The Hidden

by C C Sommerly

  “What the heck?”

  “There isn’t much time,” said my apparent twin. She handed me a wig and some sort of ID. “Quick, change clothes with me and put on this wig. You need to escape. I will take your place in jail while we await the appeals process.”

  The driver looked back at me in the rear-view mirror and said, “Reach under the seat in front of you. Pull out the bag.”

  Prompted more by curiosity than anything, I did as he suggested.

  “The windows are tinted. If you hope to make your bus, better get changed fast.”

  I stripped out of my clothes and began swapping with my twin or doppelgänger. I shimmied out of my uniform and toss it next to me on the seat. It was not like I was able to wear it anymore, but a part of me wanted to cling to it like a child to a blanket. It was all that I had worn for years. Even on my weekends, I wore PT clothes or something that was military in nature. This was the first time I would wear civilian clothes in six years. That familiarity was taken from me. I put on the shirt and jeans, which cling to me uncomfortably and showed off curves I hid behind my uniform. They fit perfectly as did the sneakers. I carefully tucked my long, chocolate-colored hair under the wig.

  “Who are you? Why are you helping me?” I asked. I felt I had even less reason to trust some stranger than I did my robotic lawyer.

  “Teagan, you have friends. I am one of them. It is my job to get you safely to the bus terminal. Please don’t make this a harder job than it needs to be. Listen carefully, your safety and life depend on how well you follow my directions,” said the driver.

  “Okay, what do you want me to do?”

  “This vehicle is being watched. We will stop over top a sewer grate. Our people will let you into it. Take your first left, your next right, and continue to take another three rights. Once you’ve done that, you will be at another sewer grate. The construction guy standing by will make sure you get out of there without being seen. You will be walking distance from the bus terminal,” explained the driver.

  “This was some real James Bond kind of thing. Who were the mysterious friends that the driver referred to? Their foresight and detailed approach to my appearance and escape made me wary. They were just a little too organized. And, why should they help me when no one else would? What guarantee did I have that the driver was telling the truth? This could be some elaborate scheme to kill me. It’s not like I had anything else to do or anywhere else to go,” I wondered. My thoughtful friends put a pair of sunglasses and colored contacts in the bag. I had perfect eyesight, so I could only assume these were contacts that would be without any kind of correction and more for disguise than function.

  “Listen, I won’t go anywhere if you don’t tell me what this is about. I’ll take my chances at surviving in the new brig,” I demanded

  The driver did not so much as blink an eye and instead reached over to the seat next to him. “The Boss figured you might be a little testy given what you just got through.” He chucked a recorder at me. Who the hell uses recorders nowadays? I didn’t even think they were still making them, but whatever. Pressing play, I listened to whatever these “friends” must share with me. If it wasn’t compelling or at least not psychotic, then I was not going anywhere they wanted me to and was jumping from the car first chance I get. I could risk road rash and broken bones than some crazies any day.

  Pressing play, I heard the recording begin with the smooth and cultured tones of a youngish-sounding man. “Staff Sergeant Teagan, excuse me, Teagan. Given your experience and training, we have a place for you that would be the ideal fit for your skills. I’d like to offer you a chance to hear my job proposition. It’s nothing illegal. Given your recent legal troubles, I thought you’d appreciate that assurance. Allow Reese, the driver, to get you safely to rendezvous point and please get on the bus.” I waited to see if there is anything else recorded. I played it two more times hoping to identify anything in the background or in the voice patterns for clues about the speaker. He came across as genuine from what I can gather from the recording.

  “Three minutes until we hit the drop of point. Hope you aren’t afraid of the dark or are claustrophobic. You have eight minutes to get through the terminal and onto bus # 1587. Your ticket is already authenticated, but it’s up to you to make it to the bus within the allotted time. I hope you’re feeling stretched out Teagan, you’re gonna need to sprint to make it,” said the driver.

  The tight timeframe meant that I was less likely to be caught by media or any of the groups that wanted me dead. I decided to stick with the “friends” plan for now. With the intense detail to planning, I was curious to see who or what these people are and what kind of job they wanted to offer me. They had some extensive resources to pull off an escape like this. A sprint through the sewer and through the bus terminal sounds fun. I could use a good bit of exercise since I couldn’t train or run in the brig. I think they tried to make you kill yourself out of sheer boredom or by other means — neither of which worked on me. I’ll admit, I was tempted a time or two during some of my darker moments in jail with thoughts of suicide. The weight of my bleak future made me sink to dark thoughts.

  Reese looked back at me and said, “You ready? It’s go time.” I meet his glaze in the rearview mirror and nodded. My twin reached for the side door and opens the van. I grabbed the duffle bag and leapt out and nearly collided with the construction worker that was supposedly helping me.

  I rolled to my feet and the guy guided me to the open grate and I carefully drop down into the sewers. Asshole. I don’t care if we are being stealthy. Some notice would have been nice before he just dumped me down here. It was dark, but the kind of dark where it’s a faded brown and you can somewhat make out the outlines of things around you. There was a glow stick taped to the wall near where I fell. Great. I’m sure that’s just as good as a flashlight, not. Thankfully, the sewers were more water run-off and less toilet water because it is surprisingly lacking in smell. Not that it was pleasant down there, but it’s at the least it was bearable. Although, if I found any rats, I would have an epic meltdown. Give me spiders, snakes, lizards, but rats freak me out.

  I took my first left and continue with the directions I was given by the driver. At the end, I reached a sewer grate. I was not sure what I was supposed to do at this point. Hopefully, they had people looking out for me. I whistled softly and wait for a response. Someone dropped something into the grates.

  “Dang, dropped my wallet. Gotta get down there,” said a male voice.

  He opened the grate and lowers a rope. Okay, there we go. I quickly climbed up using the rope. Holding my bag tightly, I crept out of the sewer grate that was luckily surrounded by bushes, which while odd, I was going to appreciate whatever breaks I could get. After the time in the darkness, my eyes sting at the bright sunlight. Shielding my eyes, I waited for them to adjust. Time was ticking.

  “Do you have anything for me?”

  He looked at me weirdly. “What would I have for you? Was not getting you out of the sewers enough?”

  Okay, it was, but since everyone else I had encountered gave me things and directions, I figured he would be no different.

  “Oh, it’s enough. Thanks, and have a good day,” I said as I trotted off towards the bus terminal that I could now see in across the way. I wouldn’t be the first or last passenger having to run to catch their bus. Dodging wheeled luggage and families milling about in the crowded terminal, I scanned the departure board for my bus number and dart for the correct area. The security guard made a cursory glance and my ID and ticket and waved me through without a second glance. I make it just as the driver was closing the bus doors.

  The bus looked like a charter bus that had a baby with one of the military’s armored vehicles like a Humvee or MRAP. The result was a rugged, bullet and demon-claw proof creation that about guaranteed we reach our destination. The bus was equipped with stealth technology. Any extended trip, especially cross-country trips required stealth travel and noise ca
ncellation. It helped avoid detection by demons and The Demented. While, we had treaties with the demons, not all of them abided by them. The Demented were a separate problem altogether. They were some freaky mismatch of human and demon DNA after the demons came to Earth to rape, pillage, and plunger. The result was a mindless, zombie-like creature that was devoid of any rational thought and more animal than human. Rather scary, I thought. They also ate any animal in the vicinity — rats, cats, dogs, and humans. Their frequent feedings had thinned out the stray animal population in many areas.

  The bus driver opened the door and said, “Cutting it a bit close, Miss.”

  “Yes, sir, I do apologize. An accident delayed me.”

  Walking down the bus step, he checked my ticket and said, “Well, let me take your bag. Lyle McDonald here.”

  Gripping it tightly, I angled my body and bag away from him. I said, “Sorry, it’s staying with me. It doubles as my purse and I can’t be parted from it, but thanks anyway.”

  “Sure thing, up you go. There should still be a few empty seats.”

  Before entering the bus, I subtly glanced at the bus’s location display in the front window, which revealed my soon-to-be location was Cody, Wyoming. I had never been to Wyoming but recalled from my history lessons that it was known as the equal state or something like that. Just about everyone knew that Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming. Yellowstone was on my bucket list, but I never had the time to visit. As a part of the Elite Guard, we were prevented from being more than 500 miles from our Washington D.C. base. The Marines expected us to be ready at a moment’s notice to deploy, which limited how far we could travel. Not that it mattered much anymore. If Chester didn’t get my sentence overturned during the appeal, my career as a Marine would be over.

  I find an empty seat next to an overly sweaty man that reeks of onions and whose bulk spills into my seat. There was exactly one empty seat. Thankfully, I did not need much space. My muscular, but slight build meant the fatty next to me can spill over without touching me. He looks over me curiously, although with a slightly lecherous gaze. Great, he’s a potential pervert too. Lucky me. While I wanted to ask my seat mate, Senior Sweaty, about when our first stop was, I also did not want to make it too obvious that I didn’t know much about the trip. I also did not want to encourage any kind of exchange. He seemed the type that needs little encouragement and he would be all over you like a second skin. I didn’t feel able to “play nice” with anyone. I was so spent emotionally and physically from everything that happened earlier, which now that I was sitting, seemed to leech out all the adrenaline that I was running on and leaving exhaustion in its place. It was the kind of tired where you are overtired and too strung out to sleep no matter how much you wanted to rest, but your body is still screaming for sleep. My gritty eyes burned, and my mind was foggy.

  Inside the bus there was a weird combination of silence and noise. The quiet was broken up by the hushed tones of conversation that drifts around the bus — not loud enough to make out individual conversations. Everyone seemed to be applying some universally unspoken rule of not speaking loudly if they spoke at all. I wondered if part of the reason for the quiet was from a fear of encountering demons during our trip. As for me, it wasn’t so much the potential demon or demented encounter, but the number of people I was stuck with in a small space. The last time I was around this much people for a prolonged period was during the killing of the Demon Delegate’s son. Come to think of it, after six years in the military, this was probably the longest I spent in close quarters with civilians. I hope no one recognizes me. That would make things awkward fast. It feels wrong to not be patrolling or providing something in an official capacity.

  West Virginia’s terrain passed by in a blur of open land and craggy peaks and hills. The vantage point on the bus was different. You were above most of the cars and got to see the passing world from a virtually unobscured perspective. I was still too antsy to relax and wanted to wait until more people dose off before venturing a look into the bag my escape driver gave me. Although, I was rather curious about what my so-called friends packed for me? I initially suspected it was random items, but I thought back over the planning they did and quickly dismissed that idea. They were too organized for my bag to contain anything random. And, I want to know what my new “friends” think I needed for my trip.

  As I surveys my fellow passengers, I notice that enough of them were settled in and many are locked onto their mobile devices. How fortunate for me. I carefully withdrew my bag. At my seat mate’s glance, Mr. McSweaty, I stalled any of his questions or snotty observations about me taking my duffel bag with me by explaining, “Sorry, girl stuff” and gestured to my bag. As I expected, he sat there red-faced and awkward. Nosey busy body. Geez. It’s not like I have a dead body in the thing. It was too small to carry anything too dangerous or illegal.

  Walking down the aisles, I noticed that most of the passengers were too busy on phones to pay me much mind. Reaching the bathroom, I squeezed myself into what was the world’s smallest bathroom, which seemed to follow some universal design that all buses and planes had — tiny, white-washed walls and midget-sized. I dug into the bag. Inside, I found a burner phone and charger (how very practical) and a dagger (someone did their homework since it was the exact type of knife I used) — much easier to conceal than a gun, which I slid this into my boots, an inch thick wad of twenties (probably unmarked), a taser that I promptly put into my pocket, and two changes of clothes that appeared to be in my size. Oh, and someone was thoughtful enough to provide a contact case and saline — not that I wanted to take out these colored contacts, but it was a nice touch. These contacts were already irritating my eyes. Not sure how people wear them every day. Carefully, I returned everything to the bag after powering on the burner phone, I was relieved to see that it fully charged. Once I got back to my seat, I wanted to see what might be on the phone and whether there were contacts or messages. All these items were useful and having a weapon once again would ease the helplessness that was welling up inside me. I could protect myself. I could call for assistance as a last resort, because with my level of infamy, it was a 50/50 chance that the police officers would assist me and even less likely that they would help if they did show up.

  Returning to my seat, I stowed away the duffle bag and opened the cell phone. I checked the contacts and there was an emergency one listed. I dialed the number and quickly hung up. Let’s see what happens. No one calls me back, but I do get a text and it says to look for a warm welcome.

  The hours passed by — some more slowly than others. A few hours into the trip, the snores of my seat mate lulled me into a semi-sleeping state. My last waking thoughts were what I needed to do next, which was too many things to mull through in my current state.

  Chapter 10

  We hit our first rest stop at some nowhere gas station in a one road town somewhere in West Virginia. It looked like those photos of abandoned businesses off Route 66. I wait as the bus passengers rushed out — not like they can all use the single bathroom and I wouldn’t trust any food they sell in this place.

  “Everyone off the bus,” said Lyle McDonald, who was walking back and forth and looking very uncomfortable. Guess this was an unscheduled stop. Not sure why he couldn’t use the bathroom on the bus. It had to be nicer than whatever nasty setup was at the bathroom in the gas station.

  As he vaulted down the bus steps and haltingly ran, stopping every so often to what I could only assume was to get his bladder under control. Yep, I’ve been there too, especially on patrol. I might as well scope out the place. It wasn’t exactly the most secure location and who knew what was out there. Besides, if I stayed away from the other passengers, I wouldn’t have to talk with any of them. I wasn’t the most social at the best of times and at the worst of times, well, it’s just better that I avoided people.

  Not a single car was out on the road. Now, that I paid more attention, there was a noticeable lack of any sounds associated with people,
or heck, even animals. No insects, birds, or even squirrels. We seemed to be the only living things out here.

  I widened my parameter search as I moved to circle the gas station building, where most of the passengers milled about. Something was off. The hair on my airs stood up and I feel a prickling sensation on my neck, I was being watched and it’s not by a passenger. My gut was screaming at me that I needed to find this threat and neutralize it.

  I looked back at the gas station. Many of the passengers were milling around outside, some smoking, others stretching their legs. They seemed so real. It was such a normal, everyday scene and one I had no place in. Even if I was on the run, I wouldn’t be socializing, but at least before it was an option. After the “incident” with the Demon Delegate’s son and nearly dying in jail, I felt so dirty and worthless — two emotions so unfamiliar to me and ones I was not sure how to process them. So many people wanted me dead and thought I was a monster. No matter how well disguised I was, I ran the risk of being recognized.

  A scream pierced through the normalcy and the crowd scattered, fleeing the store.

  “Demon,” someone shouted as the people begin pushing and crying in their rush to get to the safety of the bus.

  I pulled my dagger from my boot and stalked towards the source of screaming. I did not see anything outside, so the demon must be inside the crappy gas station’s store. It would make it easier to avoid a sneak attack from the demon. With such close quarters, I could easily keep an eye on it. I really wished I had a second blade. I preferred fighting with blades in both hands. It was part of my martial arts training and as natural to me as breathing. This blade was new and unnatural, but it was what I had, and I am gonna make the best use of it as I go carve up some demon ass.

  There was broken glass, some combination of liquids — hopefully more soda than urine and food scattered across the floor. The screaming was coming from the far end of the store. The store clerk is huddled next to the door, too scared to move and too stupid to hide behind the counter.