IENDE Page 13

  “Keep your eyes on the road,” Victor said.

  “Sounds like you’ve made some mistakes.”

  “I know what you’re thinking and you’re wrong. And Eli, he has his reasons . . . but he’s wrong too.”

  Tall, crusty weeds flowed under the car, brushing and snapping as the Caddy bounced and wobbled. Kyle couldn’t see more than a few yards ahead. They launched over a rock.

  “Take it easy,” Victor said. “It’s a rough road, and we’ve still got a couple of miles to go. Slow up a bit.”

  “Why am I driving anyways?”

  “Because, you need to learn to take an active role—make tough decisions, do the right thing. I need you fit to be contributing. You just need it.”

  Somehow, what Victor said made sense, for Kyle knew that if he were sitting in the passenger’s seat it would be a lot harder. Driving made him feel like he had some level of control, and it kept him focused.

  “Whose place are we going to anyway?”

  “The place we’re going belonged to my uncle. Eli and I used to go there when we were kids. And the other place . . . The land had belonged to my grandparents. Eli and I sold it to ourselves—under an alias, after our parents passed. The alias thing had nothing to do with the Dames . . . but that’s a story for another time.”

  Kyle thought of Mr. Sands’ and Eli’s claim that the Dames weren’t active, but he was afraid to bring it up. “Did you really work for Mr. Sands? Doesn’t that mean . . .” Kyle paused, not sure what he was suggesting. “And what was Mr. Sands trying to do to Anthony?”

  “Test my device . . . see what it does. But Mr. Sands doesn’t realize that I never would have left something that valuable lying around—the backpack had only part of a device in it. The part that doesn’t do anything. And yes, I did receive a research grant from Mr. Sands’ company. It’s my belief that they engaged me, someone who wasn’t under control, to discover how to eliminate those like us—those with Malclenersy, and maybe other conditions that render the mind immune to the Dames. What better way than to fund someone like me to figure it out for them.” Victor folded his hands. “I was a window into the fraction of the population that can threaten their domination, sanctioned to work against myself and others like us.”

  The Caddy thrashed over another rock, jarring them both. “Better focus on the road,” Victor said.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  MR. SANDS RACED back to Eli, his gaze briefly connecting with Tommy, who was still on the floor, crouched on one elbow, his free hand rubbing his head.

  “I’ll be okay,” Tommy said.

  Rachael sprinted toward the main stairway, followed by Rich.

  “Hold off,” Mr. Sands said. “They’re already too far ahead, so we have to hope Bosco and Jack stop them. I need you to help me with Eli. This was not the plan.”

  Mr. Sands, Rachael, and Rich huddled around Eli. Rich’s gun hand was trembling.

  Remmie, still secure in a headlock, wondered how Victor could leave his brother like this. She hoped Victor had something in mind to save them, but Eli needed medical help. Or did Victor believe that all was hopeless?

  “James,” Mr. Sands said, “bind her and help us.”

  Rachael pulled a couple of disposable restraints from her cargo pocket and tossed them in James’ direction.

  He threw Remmie to the floor and a lancing pain drilled into her shoulder. James became fixated on the Universal machine and the gun that lay underneath.

  “Bitch.” He scrambled to recover the gun.

  Remmie stayed down, still fighting to breathe from the fall, as James scuttled to pick up the disposable restraints.

  “Hurry up James!” Rachael said.

  James, his expression foreshadowing a retort, turned his back on Remmie. It was a moment she should not waste. But what? An escape? But who was waiting upstairs? Would she run into the woods alone, miles from nowhere? No. And she couldn’t leave Eli helpless, or even Anthony. She wouldn’t be abandoning anyone.

  Instinct got her to her feet and she careened her body into James’ legs from behind, causing him to fall backwards onto the concrete floor. She grabbed for his gun, hoping to snatch it before Rachael or Rich could stop her.

  Mr. Sands knelt beside Eli. Something caused his rosy veined face to go pale. “Rachael!”

  Mr. Sands’ cry was another decisive increment of time for Remmie as she struggled for James’ gun, his hand now grabbing for her wrist.

  Then Eli reanimated like a villan at the end of a slasher flick, ramming his fist into Mr. Sands’ throat, grabbing his shirt and pulling him down as Eli pushed his body upward.

  Eli shoved Rachael into Rich and grabbed for her gun.

  Remmie pulled James’ gun free.

  Rich’s gun bounced out of his hand and went off as it hit on the floor, the bullet zooming past Remmie’s head and penetrating the wall.

  James grabbed Remmie’s leg and she fell on her backside. She kicked at him and pulled free, but he got to his feet along with Rachael and Rich.

  Remmie stepped beside Eli. It seemed they were both holding weapons.

  “Line up with your hands in the air,” Eli said. “I will shoot to kill.”

  Mr. Sands stood, rubbing his throat but breathing rasping breaths. Eli took a step back, eyeing Rich’s gun on the floor.

  Anthony was now on the floor, lying on his arms, one leg still wiggling to get free from the strap. He’d slithered his way out at some point. Tommy drove to his feet, making a surprise move at Eli, but Anthony was able to get onto one knee and then spring forward his other leg, tripping up Tommy enough to stifle the element of surprise.

  James inched closer to Remmie and her trembling hand dropped the gun.

  “Eli!”

  Eli put a bullet in James’ kneecap, then swiftly shot at Rich, the bullet grazing his thigh. James let out a squeal as he fell to the floor. Tommy hammered Anthony’s cheek with his fist and pushed him so hard he went airborne for a second before falling on his backside.

  Rich seemed unfazed by the bullet, but James was writhing. Remmie crouched and picked up the gun again, but her body felt unstable, lines of numbness shooting across her limbs. She wanted to fall to the floor and sleep, or die. She handed the gun to Eli.

  “Remmie.” Eli motioned to Rich’s gun, then said to Mr. Sands, “Next one’ll be fatal.”

  Remmie kicked Rich’s gun across the room and returned to Eli’s side, feeling more secure next to him.

  “Please, Eli,” Mr. Sands said. “We don’t mean to hurt you, we just—”

  “Your boy there”—Eli motioned to Rich—“could have done some harm when he started shooting.”

  Remmie noticed that Eli’s arm had leaked a lot of blood. He had taken a bullet. It must have been superficial, though, because it wasn’t slowing him down. Rich looked away and remained silent, a shadow of blood growing on his pants leg.

  Eli said to Remmie, “Please untie Anthony.” He said to Rachael, “Throw some of those disposable restraints toward Remmie.”

  Rachael and Tommy tossed some disposable restraints to Eli.

  Using Tommy’s knife, Remmie cut Anthony’s bonds, struggling not to cut into his flesh with her shuddering hands. She grabbed the disposable restraints and began with Rachael. Remmie bound her, hand and foot, then Mr. Sands, and Rich, but only his hands because of his leg. Anthony bound Tommy, flinching at Tommy’s every breath.

  “On your bellies,” Eli said.

  All did except for James who was now a deathly pale, trickles of sweat lining his cheeks. He was on his back, his knee like a tomato puree. As Remmie eyed his wound she felt a twinge of guilt for having no sympathy. That wasn’t like her, yet part of her felt like burying her heel in the red pulp.

  Eli returned a gun to Remmie. “I need you to be strong. Jack is still upstairs, somewhere, maybe another guy too.”

  Remmie took the gun, feeling a pulp in her throat. She swallowed, nauseous.

  “I can take the gun,” Anthony said.
>
  “No,” Eli said. “Let’s go.”

  Eli shot up the main stairs, followed by Remmie and Anthony. As they ascended she felt a phantom euphoric bliss, still harboring a fleeting belief that Kyle would be waiting and they would all escape together.

  The Caddy was gone.

  There was no sign of Jack, either, only a white cargo van. Remmie’s heart began to pound. Kyle fled for himself. She felt tears form, but she held them in, tensing every muscle in her body. Coward!

  But then she wondered what she would have done in his shoes. Maybe Victor didn’t give him a choice.

  “There’s a garage and another car around the back of the house,” Eli said. “We don’t have much time.”

  “What about Victor and Kyle?” Remmie said.

  “As you can see, they’re gone.”

  Remmie felt lost, in the presence of only strangers—hostile strangers. She looked at the gun in her hand and dropped it to the ground.

  “What are you doing?” Eli said.

  But she didn’t want to touch the gun. She wanted to go home. She was exhausted, emotionally and physically. Anthony started to bend down and grab the gun as a familiar face emerged from behind the van. It was the man from the warehouse—Bosco.

  “Don’t.” He smiled at Remmie. “Where you going, little pretty?”

  Behind Eli was Jack, pointing a rifle at Eli’s back. “You’ll want to drop that.” Jack said.

  Eli knelt and put his gun on the ground. Mr. Sands and Rachael emerged from the house, free from their bindings.

  “Where’s Victor, Kyle?” Mr. Sands said.

  “I heard the Caddy speed off,” Bosco said, his confident demeanor shifting to obedient child in the presence of Mr. Sands.

  “What were you two doing?”

  “I thought you guys had it,” Bosco said. “We were having a smoke, around back.”

  “I need Victor, not him.” Mr. Sands tossed his eyes toward Eli.

  “We have Eli, so he’ll come, right?”

  “Didn’t you suspect anything when you heard gunshots coming from inside?” Mr. Sands shouted his question, his neck arteries pumping, but his voice crackled. He cleared his throat and rubbed the spot where Eli had punched him.

  “Didn’t hear any,” Jack said.

  “Maybe. But I think maybe . . .” Mr. Sands adjusted his collar, then looked Remmie up and down. “The kid, Kyle. He has something for this girl. That’ll help, too . . .”

  Remmie didn’t think she’d see Kyle again. He wouldn’t come for her, and he wasn’t competent enough to do anything if he did.

  Bosco leered at Remmie and grabbed his chin. “Maybe—”

  “Take them to the safe house,” Mr. Sands said.

  Tommy and James emerged from the door. James scowled at Remmie. Tommy was carrying him like a husband carrying his new spouse over the threshold. Remmie took some satisfaction at the sight. Rich followed, hobbling with a walking stick.

  “Sumbitch shot me in the leg,” James said, his voice like a crackly radio.

  Mr. Sands said to Bosco, “We’ll manage here. Move out.”

  “Gotcha,” Rachael said. She and Bosco bound Anthony’s and Eli’s hands and feet and put them in the cargo van. At Bosco’s urging, they allowed Remmie’s feet to remain free, which gave her little comfort.

  She had never felt more alone.

  TWENTY-SIX

  THE CADDY EMERGED in an open area encircled by trees and brush. There was a raggedy wooden shack in the middle.

  “Stay on the tracks and pull over there.” Victor pointed to a driveway infested with weeds, mostly dried out from the winter season, a few fresh green sprouts scattered about. “There’s a pickup out back. We just need to go inside the cabin and grab the keys. Pickup hasn’t been run in a while, so I hope it starts. There’s a battery charger and spare battery in the cabin if we need it. We’re better off switching vehicles.”

  Kyle brought the car carefully to a stop. “What are we going to do? How will we find them?”

  Victor held up his cell phone. “They’ll call.”

  “But—”

  “If Eli and the others escaped, he knows how to call us, and this phone is not traceable.”

  “Will we be able to find them if they’re captured?”

  “We’ll be able to find Anthony.”

  “How?”

  “I bugged him, back when you and Remmie were napping, just in case. Ironic that he was already bugged.” Victor chuckled. “It’s a passive device I can find anywhere in range of satellite or cell transmission.”

  Kyle regained some confidence in Victor. Maybe he did have things under control. But then Kyle started to question again.

  “What if they find—”

  “They won’t, trust me,” Victor smiled. “It’s prosthetic in nature.”

  Prosthetic? “Where’d you put it?”

  “Under his balls.”

  “What?”

  Victor stepped out of the car. “C’mon.”

  The sun was blazing, but there was a cold filtered bite in the air. Kyle crossed his bare arms and squinted as they approached the front door of the cabin. The door had a punch code lock, weird for such an abandoned-looking place. Victor punched in a code and the door clicked open. Inside the air was thick and smelled like wet cardboard. It must have been empty for some time. The living area was about the size and layout of Kyle’s living room and kitchen back at the apartment. There was a single room walled off in the corner. Victor looked the room over like he’d just returned home after a decade in prison.

  “Eli and I used to take our sleeping bags outside. Our parents would take the room and our sister, Anita, would sleep on the couch, or sometimes outside with us. But she would get cold, or scared.”

  “Mr. Sands said—”

  “She’s dead.”

  Kyle’s mind went blank. He felt like he needed to respond, but what did you say to something like that? And the only answer he could muster was: nothing.

  Victor proceeded to the small kitchen and pulled a single key from the cabinet.

  “Where are we going?” Kyle said.

  “Vegas.”

  “Vegas? What are we—” Flashing, clattering, bright-light excitement ignited, but doused before it could take hold. Remmie wouldn’t be there. He’d left her behind.

  “I know somebody there, a safe place. Then we can figure out our next move. Let’s hope the truck starts.”

  Out back was an old pickup truck, red, ’70s-looking, rust coming through around the fenders, one outside mirror hanging.

  “How old is this thing?”

  “Older than you. I’m driving. Get in.”

  Kyle opened the squeaky passenger side door, a puff of dust in its wake. The seat was frayed, with scattered chunks of foam poking out like weeds. Victor hopped in the driver’s seat.

  “The battery in this thing is top-shelf, but . . .” The engine turned like Kyle’s car did on freezing winter mornings, but didn’t start. Then again, same thing.

  “Should be primed by now,” Victor said. “Third time’s the charm.”

  The engine sputtered, caught, then the sound of a gunshot launched Kyle a few inches from his seat. He instinctively grabbed the door handle, ready to jump ship.

  Victor grabbed his arm. “Relax. It’s just a backfire. Let’s give it minute to warm up. Then we’ll hit the road. There’s a full tank in her still.”

  Kyle thought of Remmie. She probably thought he had abandoned her, and he sort of had, though God knows he didn’t want to. She would hate him. But if he rescued her?

  The motor had settled down to a speedway rumble. Victor grabbed the long gear shaft like a one-armed bandit and shoved it into first with a bone-snapping grind.

  “Sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve driven a stick,” he said.

  They were on their way to Vegas.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  REMMIE’S BACKSIDE SCOOTED and shifted every minute, each cheek taking a turn to share the burd
en of the van’s uneven metal floor. Rachael switched on the radio. “On the Road Again” by Willie Nelson was just starting and Remmie felt a moment of comfort, security at the familiar tune.

  Rachael turned the channel.

  “Do you mind turning it back?” Remmie said. “I kind of like that song.”

  “Talking’s not a good idea,” Rachael said.

  “It’s okay. I like it too,” Bosco said, from the passenger seat. His ogling face appeared between the seats with a half smile, bubblegum jammed in the other half.

  Rachael shut off the radio. “Before you say another word—maybe if you hadn’t screwed up with Victor, I’d be more accommodating.”

  Bosco sat with one foot propped on the dashboard, the other on the edge of the seat, looking over at Rachael like a defiant teenager. “I thought you guys had it. I mean—”

  Rachael downshifted, jolting the van. Bosco flopped in his seat. Rachael remained silent.

  God, every new person Remmie encountered seemed crazier than the last. Across from her sat Anthony, a new yellowish-blue bruise ripening on the side of his face. Eli was to the right, pensive, remnants of blood drying on his arm, his turbulent stare hammering against the back door of the van. How did she get mixed up with this bunch? And what would they do with her when they arrived at their destination?

  “Where are you taking us?” Remmie said. “And what’s with you and Victor?”

  “I said—” Rachael began.

  “What harm is there in talking to us? I’m not buying the badass routine. You’re not going to hurt us as long as Victor and Kyle are out there.”

  “That’s true.” Bosco blew a small bubble, causing a fist-luring pop. “We’re not people like you are.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Remmie said.

  “What he means is that you’re the bad guys, not us,” Rachael said.

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “There are other people out there trying to activate the Dames,” Bosco said. “But Mr. Sands interest is the best interest. You think we’d be better off if the government activated them? Or the Russians? Or maybe a big multinational corporation?”

  “Sounds like that’s exactly what you and Mr. Sands are.”