by J. P. Castle
Troian cringed when she called Bastian ‘Bash,’ even so, a moment of sympathy washed over her for Rani. It must be hard to play a secondary role to a handicapped sibling who would obviously require most of her parent’s attention. Troian did her best to stick to the high road of humanity.
“I suppose I never thought of it that way, regardless, you’re all Ollie’s got now. I’m sure Bastian will catch up with you when things settle down. We have no idea what all he, Caleb, and Ledger really saw or had to do back in town.”
“Thanks, Troian. Sorry, I said you were mean. You’re not a mean person. I’m a little overwhelmed right now, and we’re packed in here like sardines. I can’t breathe in all of this squalor.”
“Yeah, we’re all under a lot of strain right now,” said Troian hands clasped together.
Troian studied the pattern on the ceiling, then imagined how easy it would’ve been to tie Rani up to the nearest tree back at camp and leave her there.
Stranded.
Little ants could crawl around her ankles while a gnat hummed its buzzy tune in her ear. She giggled silently inside, knowing she could never purposely harm anyone. That wasn’t in her true nature. Her mind shifted to Bastian.
Bastian didn’t even know my name before today. But he did say my name—once. I mean, that’s a start, right? Why didn’t I make this easy on myself and take the bus to the reservation? Who am I kidding? How can I be so shallow even to consider a stupid crush right now . . .?
BRYCE SAT ACROSS from Caleb. She tugged at the hair in her eyebrow over ‘n over. No way I’m gonna look at you, Caleb, watch me all you want. Not my brother. How could you snap at me of all people? Tell me to change my thinking. You practically live at our house. Not my brother, whatever, whatever, whatever.
Caleb kept up his gaze. She’s cute when she’s mad.
Bryce continued to ignore him. He nudged her foot with the tip of his shoe. No response. Bryce got up, tossed her ponytail to her back, and went to sit with the girls on the bed.
Caleb grinned to himself, watching her go to the back with his eyes only, careful not to turn his head. He knew her well enough to know he’d upset her earlier, twice. No time to dig into that right now, though. Not while they were trapped in a room full of frightened people.
He sat back, closed his eyes, and tried to forget about the man he’d killed earlier. A small bit of anger welled up inside of him. Why do humans get put into these situations, ones with no acceptable choice, no way out . . . forced to do things that will haunt them for the rest of their lives? Something a person can—never forget or undo. IF I undid the killing, my friend would’ve died. Maybe the rest of us, too. Gotta put it behind me . . . somehow.
No one in the R.V. really said much. Before yesterday, their individual lives had remained untouched by terrorism or any other dramatic diversions for that matter. Breckenridge, mostly a town of people with healthy incomes, never saw any real action outside of the regular tourist season. Sure, people suffered in—other places. They’d all seen many horrors in one form or another, on the news, played daily in study hall.
Whenever a big story hit the airwaves, deadly storm, mass shooting, an act of terrorism, people talked about it for five minutes then moved on. They’d say, “Oh, that’s terrible,” send well wishes to victims, then snatch up the next plastic food container. Others sent texts or posted opinions somewhere that no one cared to read. Few ever took any real action to make a significant change in anyone else’s life.
As with most of society, the real gravity of these situations, and the plights of the people involved, didn’t register on anyone’s radar. The majority couldn’t even define the word ‘empathy.’ Not until now. Not until it happened in their own backyard.
For the first time in their lives, the future held a dismal prognosis. Life may be cut short. The situation harbored sympathy for no one. No aid on the way, no volunteers to help, nothing would deliver them from this hell.
“How many people are in America?” said Bastian.
“Last time I checked, 657 million in the lower forty-eight states,” said Mr. McCrady.
“Hey Ollie, what’s 70 percent of 657 million,” said Bastian.
“It’s 459,900,000,” said Ollie. His gifts rivaled any calculator.
“They’re about to murder over 450 million people, that’ll leave around 198 million, at least here in the states,” said Bastian.
“That’s under the amount we had over sixty-five years ago in 2020 if my memory’s correct, said Mr. McCrady. “It was around 350 million back then. I read an article on that once, about how many people the world could sustain. Right now, we’re way overcapacity.
“Even uneducated adults had to realize society couldn’t go on in this state forever. The world is a giant planet, but even the world has limitations. Resources have limitations. A government should never be forced to do mass extermination. Would you want to be forced to make that decision? The majority of the world’s problems today are a direct result of overpopulation.”
“A global meltdown is in progress right before our eyes. Most won’t even realize until it’s too late,” said Bastian.
“A person your age shouldn’t have to worry about those things. Elected officials that make the laws, this is THEIR fault. But what do they ever accomplish? They sit up there in their air-conditioned offices drinking their mocha lattes, trying to dig up dirt on the next guy.
“Every single one of them deserves to be down here in the trenches where we are right now. They’ve completely ruined your futures. I’m so disgusted with them, they’ve failed us all. I’m an old man, I’ve lived my life, but I’m angry for you and the others,” said Mr. McCrady.
Everyone attentively listened in the back of the R.V. They had never seriously considered the issue of overpopulation before.
“Could we stop it?” said Troian.
“How?” said Bastian. “Even if we could stop it . . . what then? We’d still watch people starve to death, along with us, too. The madness to follow might even be worse. I don’t agree at all with what they’re doing, but I don’t have another solution, either. I agree with Mr. McC, this should’ve been handled a long time ago. Either way, now, millions of people are gonna die. It’s just a matter of whether they die fast or slow.”
“The best you kids can do right now is hide,” said the soldier tied up on the floor. “I understand you all want to kill me, blame me, or whatever, but this isn’t my fault. I’ve got a family, too. As my superiors told me, someone’s gotta make the tough decisions, and someone’s gotta carry out the orders.”
Bastian’s thoughts returned to Brock. “Where is my brother? Is he . . .?”
“They loaded up a few kids to evaluate a new vaccine cocktail on. Took ‘em somewhere to a secret facility in Northern Montana. I have no clue where it’s at. Whether he’s dead or alive, I have no idea,” said the soldier.
Bastian needed solid answers. Nothing he could do right now. Soon though, he’d have to get Brock back or at least try.
“Tomorrow, we’ll drive into Cheyenne, get better transportation and supplies. This junker won’t last us long,” said Bastian. “Right now, I need to go read these files.”
“Yeah, tell me what you find out,” said Mr. McCrady.
Bastian exited to the rear of the R.V.
THE LETTER
LEDGER MOVED UP to sit with Mr. McCrady, who wheeled the old R.V. into a Super Charge Center. The old clunker attracted rubberneckers and didn’t even have current tags. Regardless, right now, it needed a supercharge and allotment tickets at a minimum.
Bastian remained in the back while Ledger and Mr. McCrady handled business. He laid down on the bed between Rani and Bryce.
“How did you know where to find those files?” said Bryce.
“I didn’t, except last week dad showed me his hiding spots. Said if anything should happen to him to take these files. I asked him—like what? He said if he should die or disappear to get these files, then he smiled
and left. I didn’t think much of it ‘n went on to school. Suspected he was half-joking at the time. When I talked to mom earlier, she directed me to the same files.”
He opened the first file. His dad had paper clipped a letter inside:
Bastian,
There are so many things I want to say, but I have little time. Military personnel are coming to pick me up right now. If you find this letter, an awful event has occurred, no doubt about that. The next few months will bring horror and tragedy. I tried to get our family to safety before the fallout. I can only hope you all made it.
A few months back, the government asked me to take part in a plan called Operation Red Fang. The way they explained it at the time made it sound reasonable. When I found out what they were really doing, I tried to back out of the project. That’s when they forced me to create a toxic substance, designed to eradicate a portion of the population. No one ever told me how many, when, or where. They informed me, failure would bring personal consequences to my family.
I had no choice but to do as they asked to save you all from certain peril. I hope you can understand. Please forgive me for my involvement, even though it wasn’t by choice. My skill set makes me feel responsible for enabling them. I’m sure they will never let me go after I create the substance. I’d be a liability. I may even be dead already.
Take care of our family the best you can. Hide until the grisly harvest is over. That will be your sole hope for survival. They talked about sterilization after the harvest, at least that’s not a death sentence. There’s also news of chipping people in the future, sometime after the harvest. Never ever let anyone chip you or the family.
They’ll lie and say the chips are harmless, but the truth is, they carry a neurotoxin. Once released, it will kill a person near instantly. The push of a computer button can activate the toxins release from any remote location. I designed it to keep track of prisoners, as they requested. Now, I’m not so sure of the government’s intentions. They’ve lied to all of us.
Trust no one with this information. Find Professor Anders, he can help you. I will try to join you if I can, but don’t count on it. I love you, son, along with the rest of our family. You are head of the family now. May God keep you all safe.
Love,
Dad
Bastian sat back. A whirlwind of emotion flowed through his body, flooding his mind with anger against his father. At the same time, he understood the powerful persuasion and fear tactics of the government.
Dad caved to the inherent desire to protect his family—a normal human response to an impossible situation. He obviously would’ve been in a mess with either choice. If he didn’t comply, they’d kill our family, we’d starve or worse . . . from looters. If he does what they’ve asked, they’ll surely kill him when he’s finished.
Must be why they started with our town. Kill anyone he might’ve told, destroy all possible evidence, maybe even control him by kidnapping some of us. If they kill him, they’ll kill us too, so no one’s left to ask questions. What am I supposed to do? I wonder if I’ll ever see him again. This letter could easily be the last contact I ever have with my father.
Bastian glossed over the rest of the file. It had some instructions about the chip, its design, and components. He found further information on the ‘vaccine’ ingredients, though the scientific formulas may as well have been written in German. He understood one line clearly, “Red Fang One shuts down the human body two to six hours post-administration. Red Fang Two neutralizes subjects three to six weeks post-administration.”
Bastian couldn’t understand why the second version would take an extended period of time. Surely, they don’t want people to suffer longer. No way they’d be that cruel. Would they?
Bastian told both Rani and Bryce, “Keep the information you read to yourselves. I need time to figure this out. We’ll be lucky enough to survive this entire ordeal anyway, but if we do . . . we don’t want to be a part of the most hated family in America. Those left would kill us just for being related.”
The girls silently shook their heads in agreement. They knew he spoke the truth. Bryce put her head in her hands and closed her eyes, wanting to weep. Scream. But she needed to hide her emotions right now. She choked back the lump in her throat.
My own father, how could he. But, he did it to protect us, with no choice. It would be so much easier to hate someone else. I can’t hate my father. I hate this whole situation. How could my government, our government let this happen to us? Why didn’t they do something sooner?
Bastian waited for Rani to explode any moment into a hysterical rant about his dad being a murderer, but she didn’t. This could easily log as the first time Rani showed any kind of civility after receiving unexpected news. Especially life-altering news. He did himself a favor and didn’t question her silent response.
He decided to open the Professor Anders file, finding an old college photo of the man stapled inside. The caption read: Professor J. Anders, Ph.D. Molecular Biologist. It went on to say he teaches at a public university in Manchester, New Hampshire.
Bastian had no idea how long it would take to get to Manchester, New Hampshire, not without a navigation unit, but he knew they had to get there. Someone scribbled ‘Marksmen Monkeys’ on the back of the file. Bastian had no idea what the phrase meant.
After burying the letter in his coat pocket, he placed his arm around Rani and pulled her close. Bastian wanted to smell her hair and feel her warmth next to him. His body, worn to the core, needed rest. And for a moment, he pretended the biggest decision they needed to make would be the usual weekend choices . . . eat-in or out, popcorn or chips, which movie will we get lost in. With his nose buried in her long red locks, his mind fell into a deep sleep.
A couple of hours later, the group arrived at Vedauwoo, Wyoming, to camp for the night. Vedauwoo, an excellent place to hideout, and offered plenty of privacy with spacious campsites that worked on a first-come, first-serve basis.
Anyone could disappear with ease in this vast, remote park. A drop box for camping fees and no rangers in the gatehouse—exactly what they needed to get a decent night’s sleep, out of harm’s way.
Mr. McCrady and Ollie shared a tent. A few others set their tents up around the R.V.’s edge. Joaquin and Mateo kept watch over the fire they’d built, feeding the blaze throughout the night. Everyone else stayed inside the R.V. They kept the soldier tied up on the floor.
No one dared to brave the musty old bed covers. A decade had surely passed since their last wash. Hard to say what kind of vermin lurked below the top layer. Bastian and Rani stayed atop that potential hazard.
Bryce couldn’t sleep in the bed with Bastian and Rani. For starters, it registered as weird and way too crowded. She hadn’t slept with her older brother since the first grade. She got up to lay on the pull-out couch beside Ledger.
Ledger knew Bryce, knew her well. Nearly asleep, he popped one eye open to see who his bunkmate would be. Bryce smiled softly at him. He gave her half a grin and motioned for her to join. The silent communication they shared irritated Caleb, who sat in the old swivel chair. Caleb gave Bryce a ‘look.’
What’s his deal? I’m the one who should be mad. I’m too tired to care, she thought.
Ledger’s mind dwelled on the twisted pleasure of aggravating Bastian. If he gets up and lays eyes on her in my so-called bed, it will certainly send his brain into magnificent fits. If he wakes up before her, I should lay my arm over her, he chuckled in his head. That would send the ole boy right off the cliff. I shouldn’t muse on such silliness at a time like this, but I just can’t help myself.
He rested with his arm tucked beneath his head, eyes closed, and a sheepish grin on his face. In the middle of all the havoc, payback still lingered in the back of his mind over Mary Beth. Even so, Ledger considered Bryce a good friend, and he’d never do anything but protect her.
On the opposite side of the room, Troian folded the dinette table down into a bed.
“Caleb,”
she said, “if that old chair gets uncomfortable, there’s room for you here.”
“Thanks, Troian. I may have to take you up on that offer,” said Caleb.
Thanks, Troian, thought Bryce in a smirky voice in her head. Why do I care where he sleeps? I don’t. I don’t care at all. Whatever you do, Troian, don’t tell him that he reminds you of a brother, it’ll blow his mind. What’s wrong with me? My period must be close. I’m tired, grouchy . . . and one more time for the record . . . THANKS, TROIAN.
Bryce mocked his voice over ‘n over in her head. All while she made her pudgy lipped, wrinkled nose, I can’t stand you face, in the arm that she laid on.
Caleb slept lightly with his pistol in his hand. He kept an eye on the soldier throughout the night. Especially since the soldier lay feet away from Bryce. At some point, several hours before dawn, his back ached. He climbed onto the dinette bed opposite of Troian.
Ledger raised up in bed, traded a nod with Caleb, and pulled out his gun. He’d watch the soldier now so his friend could rest.
CHAPTER NINE
Cheyenne, Wyoming
THE NEXT MORNING Bastian passed through the R.V. to go relieve himself outside. He gawked briefly at Bryce asleep beside Ledger on the fold-out couch. Bastian immediately locked eyes with Ledger.
Ledger gave him that bright-eyed cocky grin. The ‘what did I do’ innocent face a person gives someone after they’ve eaten the last piece of chocolate cake. Bastian squinted at him, tightened his lips, and walked outside.
Ledger wanted to laugh so hard he could barely contain himself. Consider that mission accomplished. The train almost left the rails of the track. If I could give myself a high-five right now, I’d give myself two.
Minutes later, Bryce awoke from her pleasant slumber, brushed her long hair out of the way, then noticed the empty swivel chair—no Caleb. She wearily glanced over to the dinette bed. This drew her out of the groggy sleep a little faster.
