by J. P. Castle
Troian made four plates of food. The rest of the group tried to digest the situation.
“Are our parents dead, Bastian? Is . . . is that what you're saying?” said Caleb.
“It’s a high probability from what we’ve seen back there. I’m sorry, I wish I had better news.”
“Bastian, our mom’s at Aunt Clara’s house in Boston. We need to call her and dad immediately,” said Bryce. “Dad will tell us what to do. He’s at the CDC, right?”
“Yeah, but one other problem. They’ve taken our brother, Brock. He didn’t go with mom as planned. Henry Gaines said they loaded up some kids from school, in a truck, and drove away. He told me that before he died, but had no idea where they went, or why.”
“WHAT? What are we gonna do?” said Bryce. She fixated her eyes down at the dried grass in momentary hysteria. Her legs wobbled, tears welled up, anger overcame her mind. Her twin in trouble, the twin she’d shared a womb with for nine months and carried a special connection with for sixteen years. “How do we find him?”
“I’m not sure yet. I haven’t even had time to think. First, we need more information,” he said.
“Bastian, let me take you down to the camp store. The owner has a satellite phone, but we need to hurry,” said Mr. McCrady. “After what you four have seen, we all need to get out of here. Caleb and Bryce witnessed two murders from the mountain ridge this morning, which makes things even worse.
“Heck, now we all know plenty we shouldn’t. It’s not anyone’s fault here, but this is the kind of stuff that gets people killed. We’re all liabilities now. The worst thing we can do is panic. Everyone stay calm and be quiet. Don’t talk to anyone outside of this group. We need to figure out how to get ourselves to safety before we do anything else.”
Mr. McCrady drove the golf cart down to the camp store in a mad rush. The store owner generously allowed Bastian to use his satellite phone. Mr. McCrady busied the man with conversation while Bastian slipped out the front door.
“Yes,” said Mr. McCrady, “poor boy can’t find his spare asthma inhaler. And he’s just GOT to have it. Accidentally, ran out last night. Luckily so far, he hasn’t needed it today.”
Mr. McCrady continued to spin the fictitious tale hoping the Man on High would forgive this minor fabrication under the present circumstances.
“Mom, it’s Bastian.”
“Hello son, I’ve been trying to reach—”
“I’m on a satellite phone, all cells are dead here. Listen carefully, my time is limited. They’ve killed people here in town. Soldiers are everywhere.”
“Killed people? What do you mean?” she said with concern.
“Have you seen anything at all about Breckenridge on the news?”
“No, not a word. What’s this about killing people? I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye. Your dad said Aunt Clara needed my help urgently. I flew straight to Boston with baby Gabe. He told me to take you kids, but I didn’t deem it necessary.”
“I overheard soldiers talking about a virus,” he said. Bastian updated his mother on the horrors he, Bryce, and the others had encountered. “They’re looking for me. I have to get out of here.”
“Okay,” her voice took a serious tone, “have you talked to your dad?”
“No.”
“Don’t call his phone, the line will NOT be private. The government’s involved. He insinuated some weird things last month. I thought he’d gone nuts. I should’ve paid more attention. If soldiers are in our town, we’re on our own. If you can get back to the house, get dad’s file in the O’s . . . don’t forget, the O’s. Find Professor Ander's file, too, go to him. He’s the only one that can help now. Take the money in the safe. Take it all, you’ll need it. Get off the grid. I’ll have to do the same. Don’t worry, I’ll find you eventually. Whatever you do, don’t come to this address. I won’t be here.”
“Mom, what’s happening?”
“No time to explain, please do what I said. Whoever’s behind this, no doubt has your dad on lock-down. He said if anything strange happened in the next three months to find Professor Anders. He told me not to worry, and it was highly unlikely they’d go through with it. Whatever that meant.
“He said he was working on a project for the government, at the CDC, and couldn’t discuss it. Told me it wouldn’t affect us. Take your brother and sister, get to Anders. Your lives may depend on it. Don’t call here again. I love you, tell . . .”
Mr. McCrady snatched the phone from Bastian’s hands, “Get in the bathroom—hurry. Wait there. Soldiers are coming.”
Bastian calmly walked past the store owner and entered the restroom. Mr. McCrady placed the sat phone on the counter.
“You might want to put that away,” said Mr. McCrady. The owner eyed him oddly, then moved the phone beneath the counter.
Two soldiers entered the store. The owner noticed Mr. McCrady meander to the back near the cold beverage cases and pretend to read food labels.
“Have these two boys been around here?” said the gruff soldier, while his buddy flashed last year’s school pictures of Bastian and Ledger.
Mr. McCrady shot the owner a glance that said—no—then tried on a baseball cap hanging on a nearby stand.
“No, can’t say they have. Been here all day. Me ‘n Charlie. What’d they do?”
“Not at liberty to say. If they show up here, contact us at once. You’ll have to drive down to a checkpoint near Breckenridge until cell service is restored.” The soldier handed him an official government card.
“Will do friends . . . will do. Hey, what’s wrong with the cell signal around here?”
“Not sure. We’re here on other business. You’ll have to contact your wrist-unit provider for that information,” said the soldier. He and his partner exited, spinning their tires in the dirt as they drove away.
Mr. McCrady swiftly collected Bastian.
“Seems you two fellas need to get out of Dodge. What’d your boys get in trouble or somethin’?”
“Simply a case of mistaken identity,” said Mr. McCrady. “We’ll get it sorted out soon. Thanks for your discretion.”
“Never been fond of the government anyway. All they ever do is lie, pay themselves big checks, tax me to death, then lie some more. Lots of luck to you, friend. I hope you find your inhaler.”
Mr. McCrady motioned Bastian to leave.
Outside, Bastian said, “My inhaler?”
“Cover story, irrelevant,” said Mr. McCrady, starting up the golf cart.
They raced back to the campsite, knowing it would be a matter of time before the MPs found the group.
“We have to get everyone out of Dillon, away from Breckenridge,” said Mr. McCrady. “They’ll soon have Intel on us all, have all our names. It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to find us here in this campground. It’s big, but it isn’t that big.”
“We can’t leave yet. I need to go back to my house for a file, money too. Mom said I have to find this one file. Told me the only person that can help us now is Professor Anders. A person I’ve never met or even heard of.”
“You can’t go back there. That’s suicide. They’ll kill you for sure.”
“We don’t have a choice. My dad’s involved in this somehow; he works for the CDC. Mom said the files might help us figure it out. They have my brother, too, or maybe he’s been killed. But that’s even more of a reason I have to get that file. We have a large group. No way we’ll make it without the money. The whole group’s gotta get off the grid. I need your help.”
“I’m too old for this,” said Mr. McCrady in a momentary mental lapse. “I’m just a science teacher, an old science teacher.”
“Please, trust me. I can get there and come straight back, then we leave. I’ll take Ledger ‘n Caleb, sneak back in. Our house is on the edge of town, it shouldn’t be that hard to get to.”
“Do you feel sick at all, Bastian?”
“No, I don’t. You were in town before we left on this trip. No one coughing or si
ck . . . nothing.”
“Yes, that’s true, you’re right.”
GIRARD’S WAY
“SO, LET ME get this straight. You two dim wits let two kids escape. Two kids that observed their teacher get shot in cold blood,” said General Given.
“Sir, yes sir. We scoured the town and surrounding areas for Bastian Ballentine and Ledger Thomas all night, sir. Still searching, as of today. We withheld pain medication from a Green Load classmate of theirs named Carter Lewis until he gave us their names.”
“Two kids have managed to evade two well-trained military personnel. Excellent. You two better pray they’re found before they reach an Internet connection. This could blow the whole mission. You idiots realize I have people I have to answer to, too, right? Walnut or Pine?”
“Sir?”
“Either choice would be too good for your coffins. How’s cardboard sound? Get out of my sight before I shoot you myself,” he scowled.
“Sir, yes, sir.” The pair departed from General Given’s tent, knowing their well-being relied solely upon the capture of Bastian and Ledger.
“Get me Dr. Harold Ballentine on the phone,” ordered General Given.
General Given had never failed to complete a mission—ever. A hardcore leader in service for over twenty-five years. Elders elected him specifically to complete the daunting task because he never questioned orders. He always reached the goal, by any means necessary, legal or otherwise.
Bastian’s father answered General Given’s call from a secured line at the CDC. “This is Dr. Ballentine.”
“Dr. Ballentine, we’ve encountered a snag out here. Your wife didn’t take the kids out of town, as you requested her to do, behind our backs, I might add. One of your kids, Brock, is in our quarantine by mistake. Don’t be alarmed, I’ll locate him. Your other son and daughter went on a Science Club trip, so I’m told. This would’ve been fine until your oldest son came back to town, and witnessed things he shouldn’t have.”
“What are you talking about? They all should’ve been out of town.”
“Bastian observed an uncooperative teacher get shot at the school. My guys tried to talk to him, but he shagged ass with his friend. I need to find him so I can protect him until this is over. Where would he go?”
“I have no idea, but we have to get this worked out immediately. I’m trapped here, unable to leave. Find him, I’ll talk to him. I promise he won’t say anything.”
“You realize the fate of this mission if it’s discovered. Anarchy will break out across the nation. There’s no way we’d be able to control it humanely.”
“I refuse to finish what you’ve asked me to do unless you keep your promise not to hurt any of my family. That’s the deal. I can’t even believe you chose my hometown to start with. Why would you do that? You can’t possibly still believe the death of your son, Finn, is my fault. He was a brilliant young doctor that made a fatal mistake.”
“A fatal mistake under YOUR guidance. He NEVER should’ve been anywhere near the R1 compound. Not at his level. I do hold you personally responsible for THAT. But no, that has nothing to do with my soldiers entering your town first. I had zero say in that.
“Some things are even unknown to me. I simply follow orders. But trust me, Dr., you are in no position to negotiate terms here. My own family’s fate hangs in the balance, so FAILURE is NOT an option. I’ll do my best to get your kids back to safety. Now, where would Bastian go?”
“What guarantee do I have that I can trust you?”
“None, but I give you my solemn word as a man of honor.” Same as you gave me when you told me you’d keep a close eye on my son, Finn.
“I have no idea where he would go if he weren’t at our home,” said Dr. Ballentine. “He couldn’t be far, maybe he’s at his girlfriend’s house.” Though I’m confident, my son would never go there because he can’t stand Rani’s overbearing dad, Mr. Davenport.
“Been there, he’s not at the Davenport’s residence. I’ll keep men on it. Now, let’s talk about business. The first cocktail did exactly what you designed it to do. Downed them all within twelve hours, some within just a few. Resembled the flu. I need thirteen thousand more of those, that’ll leave me a few extra.
“I’m required to hit the next town in a few days. After that, the final cocktail needs to take the full three to six weeks so we can vaccinate as many as possible before the rumors, fear, and disorder ensue. The media will get their busy noses into this soon enough. I’m informed they’ve already tried, but so far, their efforts have been . . . thwarted.
“The fate of mankind is in our hands. If we don’t do this NOW, the starvation will get ugly, worse than the vaccine. I don’t want to do this, but somebody’s GOT to make the tough decisions. You and I both know the country’s tapped the reserve grain supplies. There might be six months left at best.
“How many more people can we watch in the food lines with starving children? We’re also out of medical supplies. It’s over. They should’ve done something a long time ago, sterilization, especially for those we call—food ticket breeders. It’s too late now.
“We have to work together, even though this isn’t what we signed up for in life. They’ve chosen us. We have our orders. Do your job, and I’ll do mine. Let’s get it over with. When I find your boys, I’ll call you immediately. Try not to worry about them.”
Major General Given hung up the phone. He leaned back in his chair for a minute after the conversation. When did my duty ever include murdering innocent people? But, just how innocent are they, really? Why should I feel sorry for them? I don’t. They ignored everything happening around them, now it’s time to pay the piper, that’s not my fault.
Yeah, I did a questionable thing or two when I killed terroristic enemies overseas. But that’s war. Kill the enemy. War is never pretty. Never easy. Never clean. This is just a different kind of war. A war of survival. He poured a stiff drink.
And the nerve of you, Dr. Ballentine, threatening not to cooperate. Brock’s finger in a box might tighten up that attitude. Why did I start with your town? What a stupid question. You owe me a son, Ballentine, and I’ve come to collect with a license to fly from the government. Nothing like the pain of losing your firstborn. You’ll soon know.
I’ve fought hard to get where I’m at, my family and I deserve a warm meal every night, whatever we want. I’m not gonna be one of those starving rats out there. Save the share with your neighbor lecture for those in Sunday service.
Those losers have no idea what I do or what I’ve done to keep them safe in this country. If they did, they’d whine and protest about that, too. Treat the enemy humanely . . . what a joke. I deserve to live, and I’ve earned it for my family. Actually, I deserve an award for even taking this on.
General Given picked up his radio. “Lieutenant Colonel Riggs, what’s the status out there?”
“Sir, we found the vaccine to have eradicated 3,700 of the 4,800 people populating Breckenridge. Another nine hundred vaccinated today, and the other two hundred were out of town. The vaccine was 100 percent effective. The dead—disposed of. Less than a thousand left to burn. Collect the rest tomorrow.”
“Excellent news. We’ll pull out of here tomorrow by 1800. Prepare to hit the next town.”
“Sir, yes sir,” said Lieutenant Colonel Riggs. “May I speak freely, sir.”
“Go ahead.”
“Is this the right thing to do, sir? Killing these people. Some of the men have come to me with concerns, and I have to say I agree with them. Do you consider yourself, or us, murderers, sir?”
“I consider myself a man backed into a corner . . . a man that will never get a good night’s sleep—ever again.”
“Did you actually watch any of them die, sir?”
“Yes. Their hollow faces haunt me every time I close my eyes.” General Given paused, angry at himself for allowing any empathetic emotions to surface in his moment of weakness. “Now look, what I think doesn’t matter. Never question orders. W
e’ve been tasked to complete a mission. Make sure the dim wits bring those boys directly to me when they find them. I want them alive. Send out extra squads. Put the kid, Brock Ballentine, into solitary confinement until further notice.”
“Yes, sir.”
No way Dr. Ballentine will finish the mission if his sons get killed, and there’s no way they can live to tell their tale. My first rule, NEVER leave loose ends. General Given picked up a picture of his young son and finished his drink.
He ordered the Private standing guard at the door to bring him, Lieutenant Colonel Stevens. Fifteen minutes later, Lieutenant Colonel Stevens arrived.
“Lieutenant Colonel Stevens, I am ordering you to take command of Lieutenant Colonel Riggs’ post and continue to maintain order on your own. You are to dispose of him immediately and quietly. I just received confirmation that he sent classified documents right out of this camp, straight into the hands of the Marksmen Monkeys, making him a traitor to the country.
“Quiet disposal will lessen embarrassment for his family. I’ll send out the ‘killed in action’ letter tomorrow evening, stating that he was shot and killed by a local citizen with mental health issues. You will be put up for promotion to Colonel if you handle yourself and your men properly. Can I count on you to get this done?”
“Sir, yes, sir,” said Lieutenant Colonel Stevens, saluting.
“PRIVATE,” hailed General Given.
“Yes, sir.”
“Bring me my lunch, extra cheese on my fully dressed burger, and none of that fake soy crap either,” ordered General Given.
CHAPTER SIX
Hidden Files
“WE NEED TO leave this place. We might be in a secluded part of the park right now, but it’d be easy to spot this big yellow bus if soldiers search these woods from the air,” said Troian. She wasted no time addressing her concern when Bastian and Mr. McCrady returned from the camp store.
“Okay, I get that, but twenty-nine people are in our group. No way we can stay together; we need to split into two groups,” said Bastian.
“Where, where are we gonna go?” said Timmy.
