by Jess Walker
“Hey, Dexter… are you with me? You okay?”
Dexter didn’t respond.
“Come on, kid, wake up!”
Lawrence shook him repeatedly, wanting to get a response, anything that would indicate his efforts were not in vain, that the young man was alive. When Lawrence saw Dexter’s one eye pry open, no bigger than a tiny slit, he breathed out a sigh of relief.
“You got quite the beat down. Can you walk?”
“I think so.” Dexter coughed.
Lawrence helped him to his feet. Dexter swayed uneasily as he stood up.
A squawking sound erupted from the ear piece attached to Sergei’s throat mic. A familiar voice spoke at the other end. It was Bubba.
“Sergei, Leo, do you copy? Over.” His usually calm voice sounded tense and on-edge. “I repeat, where are you? Has the kid been taken care of? Do you have the memory card?”
Bubba’s voice boomed through the earpiece. Each time it was met with only silence. The sound of static interjected by Bubba’s panicked voice, pierced the night air like a knife. Lawrence walked over to Sergei who was face down in the snow and retrieved the throat mic and earpiece from around his neck.
“We should hold onto this. It may come in handy later.”
A couple feet away from Leo, he saw a Glock embedded in the mud.
He picked it up and wiped the mud off before stuffing it under his waistband.
Lawrence examined the two Russians. They were unconscious, but still alive. Their chests rose in sync with their breathing.
“We better get a move on before our friends wake up, and I suggest that we don’t go back to the cabin any time soon if Bubba is the one behind all this.”
“Probably a good idea,” Dexter conceded.
“When we get somewhere safe, you need to tell me what this is all about,” Lawrence hissed.
Dexter nodded his head sheepishly.
“Thanks for saving my life. Why did you do it, you know, risk your life to save mine? You don’t even know me.”
“It seemed like the right thing to do. I would do it again if I had to,” Lawrence replied.
Before Dexter turned to follow, he approached the two Russians with a look of vengeance in his eyes. He scuffed the toe of his boot across the side of their heads with a couple of good, hard kicks.
“That should keep them out of commission for a little while longer.”
He spat on them in disgust.
Lawrence shook his head as he watched Dexter give them the good news treatment.
“Can’t say I blame him,” he muttered.
Dexter ambled up to Lawrence who stood fifty yards away waiting for him.
A barrage of curses flooded through the earpiece.
“You better hurry up kid,” Lawrence hissed. “It sounds like Bubba is about to blow a gasket. If I were a betting man, I’d say he’s on his way down here right now. We had better make tracks and fast!”
Dexter looked at him with a half-vacant stare.
“Something tells me he’s not coming for a sing-along, and he won’t be alone.”
At only twenty-four, Dexter had earned a degree in mechanical and chemical engineering from MIT with top marks in his class. He possessed a brilliant mind but lagged behind in social skills, as he was more comfortable in front of a computer screen than he was facing another person. When he passed others in the hallway, he preferred to stare at the floor rather than make eye contact and exchange the usual pleasantries. To him, small talk was an inconvenience and a complete waste of time. He would rather admire the reflection of the overhead florescent lights shining off the waxed marble floors.
He was nicknamed the ‘kid’ by his coworkers, as his face was as fair and as smooth as a baby’s bottom, not a shadow of a beard. He was skinny, with arms that drooped clumsily by his sides when he walked and shoulders that were rounded and hunched over. His boyish looks and demeanor overshadowed his unparalleled genius and brilliant mind.
In the short time he had worked for Bluenose Energy, he had invented a new synthetic metal. The metal was revolutionary—in a league of its own. Its composition and make-up were far superior to that of any conventional metal on the market. Its properties made it ninety-nine percent indestructible.
The speed at which oil flows is based on two factors: the horsepower generated from the pump stations positioned at different geographical locations along the pipeline, and the internal pressure inside. The higher the internal pressure—the combination of air and liquid pressing against the insides of the pipe—the faster the oil flows, much like the pressure created by shaking a can of pop and opening it. The new synthetic metal, nicknamed ‘immortal metal,’ sustained internal pressure levels fifty times greater than that of conventional steel, allowing the flow of oil inside the pipelines to reach speeds never witnessed before. This was a huge breakthrough, one that was the envy of the scientific community.
Dexter’s love affair with Bluenose Energy proved to be short-lived, however. One day, during the test phase of the pipeline, he stumbled over a broken wooden crate. The contents of the crate, a mixed assortment of assault rifles and handguns, lay spilled out on the ground. The sight of this caught him off guard; it was the last thing he expected to see at an oil pipeline. In the crate, a single type-written note detailed exactly what was supposed to happen to the arsenal. The weapons were going to be sent down the pipeline.
Dexter hacked into Bubba’s personal computer, hoping his instincts were wrong. The spreadsheets, documents, and emails he sifted through told him everything he needed to know about Bubba’s hidden agenda for the pipeline. It made his blood boil.
CHAPTER 10
November 4, 2016, Wee Hours Past Midnight—Porcupine Mountain…
Lawrence glanced back.
“Come on, Dexter, you need to hurry up!”
Dexter shuffled behind, trying to keep up. His lungs rattled like an old diesel pickup truck as he fought to catch his breath.
Having been on the run for under an hour—a time, which felt like an eternity to Dexter—his persistent level of fatigue tempted him to give up, but he resisted the urge. He pushed himself to go further and further. A thin film of sweat clung to his body, soaking the fabric of his clothes. Tiny white vapors of moisture billowed around him.
“I need to stop—I have to take a rest.” Dexter wheezed in between breaths.
“Ten minutes, and then we have to get a move on,” Lawrence replied. “You don’t want to sit around too long. Your sweat will freeze, and you’ll turn into a human ice cube if you’re not careful. That’s why you have to keep moving.”
He looked over Dexter and examined his overall condition.
“Does anything hurt?”
“The more accurate question should be: is there anything that doesn’t hurt?” Dexter joked.
“If you’re well enough to joke, you’re well enough to continue,” Lawrence shot back.
Dexter shook his head, trying to clear away the exhaustion. His face hurt, the swelling from his nose creating pressure on his sinuses. Every bone in his body ached, and even though he was sure nothing else was broken, he just wanted to lie down and pretend none of this was happening. He swiped at his face, removing a layer of sweat and grime so he could see more clearly.
“Take off your jacket and your shirt,” Lawrence instructed.
“What? Why?” Dexter replied, confused as to whether he heard him right the first time.
Lawrence responded with a cold stare, indicating that he was serious.
“Okay,” Dexter replied. He took off his shirt and handed it to him.
“I don’t want it,” Lawrence hissed. “I’m not your butler. Ring it out and try to get rid of as much moisture as you can,” he instructed.
Dexter did as he was told, surprised at how much sweat came out. He put his shirt and jacket bac
k on.
“Let’s try to keep the sweating to a minimum, shall we? When we get moving and you find yourself starting to sweat, take off your jacket to cool your body down so you don’t overheat.”
Lawrence pointed to the snow.
“Eat some. You have to keep yourself hydrated. Don’t eat too much of it as it’ll cool you down too fast from the inside-out. Your core body temperature will drop too fast, and you’ll run the risk of hypothermia.”
He took a handful of snow for himself. “There’s a stream a little way up. We’ll get some more water down our bellies when we reach it. Let’s hope it isn’t frozen over. For now, eat the snow. Stick to the top layer as it’s the freshest part. You want to avoid any of the snow on the bottom which is in contact with the ground.”
“Check, check, and double-check,” Dexter replied.
Lawrence took out his knife and pierced the tip of the blade through the bark of a pine tree. He cut a vertical incision a half-inch deep and peeled back the bark to reveal the inner white portion, which oozed with pinesap. He sliced off a thin layer of the inner bark and gave it to Dexter.
“You want me to eat a tree?” Dexter said.
“Shut up and just eat it. It’s called the cambium and will give you energy. It’s especially high in vitamins A and C.”
Dexter bit into it and found it to be rather chewy but nourishing. It tasted like wood.
“It’s better when you cook it over the fire and dry it out, but beggars can’t be choosers. Eating it raw will have to do,” Lawrence said.
“Something to eat is better than nothing to eat,” Dexter replied.
“This was a food staple heavily relied on by the Adirondack,” Lawrence said. “The very name, ‘Adirondack’ means eaters of bark.”
Lawrence looked to the east. It was early dawn as a reddish glow burned from the horizon to the skyline like streaks of splattered paint. After a long night of running blindly in the pitch dark, morning had finally arrived.
“You ready to get a move on?” he asked.
“Do I have a choice?” Dexter grimaced.
“No, not unless you want to wait for your two Russian friends.”
That was enough motivation for Dexter. He was up on his feet, ready to go.
Eventually, they entered a clearing, which had a narrow river flowing down the middle. Being out in the open, not shrouded under the cover of the trees, felt good, but it left them exposed. The sky looked like an endless sea of cobalt blue that stretched as far as the eye could see without a hint of a cloud, only the yellow glow of the sun. The sliver of warmth emitted from the sun lifted their spirits on an otherwise cold day, so cold that their nose hairs and eyelashes clung together in a thin layer of ice.
Lawrence pointed to the river.
“There’s our source of water. Let’s be quick and get into us. We don’t want to be out in the open too long.”
Dexter nodded his head, not able to speak as his mouth and tongue were bone dry. They hustled to the water’s edge and lay down on their bellies to lap up the water, drinking until their stomachs felt ready to explode.
“I can’t remember water tasting this good,” Dexter muttered in between gulps. “I only wish it was a little warmer, my tongue and lips have turned numb.”
Lawrence got back to his feet.
“Let’s walk back to the tree line and take a break. We’ve been going pretty hard.”
“Having my head plunged in the water like a bar of soap and a gun pointed at me was all the motivation I needed,” Dexter replied.
They walked to the tree line and found a low-lying section of ground hidden by a thick bush and crawled inside to take a break. Ten minutes later, their rest was interrupted by a sound whop, whop, whooshing sound in the distance. The noise grew louder.
“Do you hear that?” Lawrence whispered.
“Sure as hell do.”
Lawrence got on his knees to look out and was quiet for a moment. “Get down,” hissed Lawrence, breaking the silence between them.
The ground around them shook, and the trees swayed as the helicopter neared, hovering a few feet overhead. They remained glued to the ground, fearing the slightest movement would give away their position. Finally, they succumbed to his curiosity and looked up.
The helicopter was painted olive green. A skull and crossbones icon was emblazed on the nose of the cockpit. It was a Bell UH-1 Iroquois—AKA Huey—a helicopter heavily used during the Vietnam War to transport men and supplies around the clock.
Two black-clad figures pointing assault rifles out the doors were visible.
“Looks like our entourage has just arrived and are about to crash our party,” Lawrence muttered.
“I don’t recall them being on the invitation list,” Dexter replied.
CHAPTER 11
The helicopter rumbled off in the distance, its shape becoming smaller and smaller until it blended into the horizon and disappeared completely.
“That was close, too close,” Lawrence sighed. “They mean business, and they’re not here for a cordial visit, judging by the guns on board.”
“What’s the plan? Where do we go from here?” Dexter asked.
“Continue on. We’ll have to stay close to the tree line, blend into the surroundings as much as possible to make it hard for them to spot us from the air. We’ll be sitting ducks in the open.”
“What about the river?” asked Dexter. “Do we need to cross it?”
“At some point we do. It looks too wide here, but farther up, it narrows down.”
They walked along the tree line for three miles until they found a section of the river that narrowed to twenty feet across. A layer of ice covered it. How thick it was, they weren’t sure. Lawrence tested the ice with a stick, jabbing the butt end into it. He frowned when he noticed the ice cracked under the force.
“No good,” he cursed. “If we set foot on there, we’ll break through. I don’t know how deep it is, and I don’t want to find out.”
“I, for one, want to keep dry,” Dexter said, “and seeing as I don’t swim, falling through the ice would not be a good idea.”
Lawrence scanned the shore, searching for any viable way across the river. He saw large, rounded stones spanning the width of the river. They were close enough together to jump from one to the next, except for the last one, which was too far away from the opposite shoreline. He spotted a fallen tree branch a couple yards away, walked over, picked it up, and dragged it back over to the edge of the river.
“Oh no you aren’t,” Dexter said. “Is this your idea of a bridge?”
“It’s the only bridge we have. Got any better ideas on how to get across?”
“Isn’t there any other way?” Dexter asked. “I have a hard enough time walking and chewing gum at the same time without tripping. What makes you think I can tightrope walk across that branch?”
Lawrence said nothing.
“Alright, alright, I’ll do it.”
“Shall we get on with it, then?” Lawrence said.
He leapt from one rock to the next, pausing at each, making sure his footing was solid despite the icy build-up, until he made it to the final rock. There, he lay the branch down to the opposite shoreline, effectively bridging the gap. Without giving it much thought, he scurried across.
“Your turn. Just look straight ahead and don’t look down!” he shouted.
Dexter followed Lawrence from stone to stone, and Lawrence held his breath each time the young man’s feet slid out from under him, hoping he wouldn’t end up in the freezing water. When Dexter reached the branch, Lawrence relaxed a bit. If Dexter could manage the rocks the rest should be easy. Dexter was three quarters of the way when he lost his footing and almost fell in. Luckily, he kept his balance and only got his one boot half-soaked.
“I meant to do that,” Dexter muttered wit
h a twinge of embarrassment.
“Let’s get going before your boot freezes to the ground,” Lawrence replied.
They walked at a steady pace across an open field that eventually led into a heavily wooded area. The canopy of branches sprouting out from the maze of pine and spruce trees and mixing with the occasional birch blocked out the majority of sunlight, leaving them in the shadows. The crunching of their boots over the dead pine needles, combined with their own breathing, masked any other sound.
Lawrence suddenly stopped. He signaled for Dexter to halt. He stood still until his breathing levelled out and strained to listen, noticing something strange. It was deadly quiet. An eerie silence filled the space around them like a dark cloud melting into the shadows of the trees.
“Something isn’t right,” Lawrence whispered. “It’s too quiet.”
Dexter strained to listen. He couldn’t hear anything either.
Lawrence scanned the perimeter. He didn’t see anything unusual through the thick blanket of trees. His concentration was broken by a sound that made his skin crawl. It was a cacophony of dogs yelping in the distance.
“Shoot,” Lawrence spat, “tracking dogs. It sounds like they’re behind us. They must have found our tracks.”
Dexter didn’t say a word. He stood as still as a statue gripped in fear, too scared to move.
“Come on, Dexter move!” Lawrence yelled as he motioned for him to follow.
Dexter didn’t budge. His eyes were glazed over, dazed with a look of panic and confusion.
“Snap out of it. Come on, let’s go!” Lawrence hissed.
Dexter didn’t respond. Lawrence slapped him hard across the face, which stunned him and snapped him back to reality.
“You’ve got to get a grip, let’s go!”
Regaining his wits, Dexter followed. They ran blindly through the forest, crashing through a web of branches and brush, weaving around tree after tree. They traveled in an uphill direction, climbing one of the smaller mountains.
