The two suns climbed the west sky. One was an old red sun, fat and slow. The other was a small white point, sharp as a needle. It had not been there when Xabier first came to the Slydal Plain. He had stopped wondering about it. A planet this far out could keep whatever stars it liked.
Below him, the five sheep grazed in the triangle corner of the field. The two rams pulled at the grass. The doe-eyed ewe stayed close to her lamb. The old ewe stood a little apart, chewing slowly, her weight belt sagging on her thin haunches. Xabier lay flat behind the rock with the controller in his lap. The buried wire ran under his elbow like a vein.
He waited. Nymphs bounced in his hair. The locusts hummed. A sheep bleated far up the field, and the flock answered.
Nothing moved in the corner.
“Etorri,” he whispered. “Come on, then.”
He set his thumb on the knob and turned it a hair. A needle on the dial twitched. He turned it again. The posts in the corner gave off a faint tick, tick, like rain on the freighter’s hull. He swept the dial slowly from one end to the other. Nothing. He swept it back.
Halfway up the dial, the air in the corner shivered.
It looked like heat over a road. Then it looked like a man. Four outlines stood among the bait sheep, silver grey, edged in thin light. A fifth stood farther back near the cliff, as if he had come to watch. They wore hoods and long cloaks that hung oddly in the heavy, still air. Filters covered their mouths, just like his own. Each held a long gun with a fat drum under the barrel, and a fine cable wound on the drum.
They were men. Not monsters. Men.
Xabier’s mouth went dry. He had pictured bows and arrows. He had pictured something with claws. He had not pictured men who breathed through filters and stood on two legs in his field.
One of the outlines looked down at his own arm. He had seen himself go silver. He jerked his head around at the others. The array had worked. They knew it.
The four hunters scattered like quail. But one of them was quicker with his fear than the rest. He swung his gun and fired. A blue flash snapped from the barrel, a spark where the cable left the cloak. The harpoon took the bigger ram in the neck from no more than ten meters off. The ram fell bleating. The drum whined, and the cable went tight, and the ram began to slide across the grass toward the rocks.
“Ez!” Xabier was on his feet before he thought about it.
He grabbed his staff and the shears from his belt. He pushed off the rock and flew. One stroke of the staff against the ground, then another, rowing through the dense air in long, low arcs. He came down beside the sliding ram and caught the cable in the blades of his shears. It was thin as fishing line and tough as wire. He squeezed with both hands. The cable parted with a crack and whipped back into the ripple.
The ram lay still. Blood ran into the wool at his neck. Xabier knew that wound. He had seen it on three sheep already.
The hunters ran for the cliffs. Their outlines flickered as they crossed the array wire, silver, then nothing, then silver again. The slowest of them was the one at the back, the watcher. He moved like a man with stiff knees. His cable trailed behind him, loose, unreeled, dragging through the bracken.
Xabier dug in his staff and pushed. He flew. He landed with both boots on the trailing cable, and the old hunter jerked to a stop like a dog at the end of a lead.
They both went down. In this gravity, going down took a long time. They tumbled together in a slow, ugly arc, cable wrapping their legs, the gun spinning away. The hunter’s elbow caught Xabier in the ribs. Xabier grabbed a fistful of zamarra. It was curly, tough leather, and he clung to the wool. It tore at the hood, and the hunter twisted away.
They landed in the grass. Xabier toppled over. He held the torn hood in one hand and raised his staff with the other.
He did not swing.
He was looking at his own face.
It was older. Forty years older, maybe more. The sandy brown hair had gone grey and thin. Deep lines ran from the nose to the corners of the mouth. But it was his nose. His chin. His small ears that his mother used to tug. The eyes were his eyes, set in a face the sun had worked over for a long time.
The old man looked up at him. His filter hissed. Something passed over his face that Xabier could not read. It looked like grief.
“Txiki,” the old man said.
Little one.
Then he twisted like an eel, kicked free of the cable, and was up and gone in three long bounds. His cloak flickered silver over the array wire and vanished into the rocks. He left the gun in the grass.
Xabier sat in the bracken for a long time. His ribs hurt. His hands shook. The flock watched him from up the field.
He picked up the gun. It was heavier than it looked. The drum held a long coil of the fine cable, and the harpoon was a short barbed shaft with a ring at the tail. He wrapped his hand around the grip.
It did not fit. The grip had been worn smooth by years of a hand, and the hand had been on the wrong side. The thumb groove sat on the right. The finger grooves curved for a left hand. Xabier was right handed. He had always been right-handed. His mother had slapped his left hand off the spoon until it was.
He set the gun down.
“That’s not my hand,” he told the ram. “That’s a left hand. Mother would have slapped it.”
He thought of the face he had glimpsed in the ripple that first day, when the black sheep fell. He had told himself it was a trick of the light. It had looked familiar even then. He had not let himself wonder why.
He sat with the dead ram until the chimes rang. Tin, ting, tin, tang. The flock came down off the hill on its own, the way it always did when the bells played. He walked the four remaining sheep back to the barn. The old ewe walked the slowest. He dragged the ram himself, rowing with his staff, and laid him in the shade by the door.
Inside, he fitted the sheep with fresh filters. He did not wish them a good day. He went to the tack drawer.
The note was where it had always been, under the spare straps. He had found it his first day, folded in four. He had always thought the shepherd before him had left it. A kind man, he had decided. A careful man. He unfolded it now.
Kontuz ehiztariekin. The hunters will come for the five.
He had read it a hundred times and thought it was nonsense.
“The five what?” he had asked the sheep that first day. Maite had only chewed.
He knew now.
He took the note to the workbench and laid it next to his map of the field. He had drawn the map two days ago. Squares at each post. Thin lines for the wire. Labels in his own careful hand. Hegoaldeko zutoina. Zelaia. Zuhaitz.
He looked at the note. He looked at the map.
The “K” had the same lazy loop. The “h” leaned the same way. And there, in ehiztariekin, the “z” had a crooked tail that dropped below the line and hooked back. He had made that “Z” since he was six years old. His teacher had called it a little fishhook. No one else on Earth made a “Z” like that.
He looked at Zelaia on his map. The same fishhook.
The warning was in his own handwriting.
“Nirea da,” he said to the empty barn. “The note’s mine. I wrote it, and I don’t remember writing it.”
(Torely Stone continues to investigate the death of Tom Dantry by interviewing suspects Jenna Shaw and Rachel Holt. He also comes face-to-face with the killer and pays the price as he dances with the devil in the third part of the novella The Spill of Sangria Blood.)
The Kokosia Zoo was a sensory overload on this balmy Saturday afternoon. A discord of shrieks—both human and animal—assaulted my ears as I shuffled away from Spinnakers in the middle of the zoo. My nostrils were assaulted by the pungent cocktail of sunscreen, cotton candy, and eau de elephant dung.
Everywhere I looked a veritable menagerie of humanity that rivaled the actual zoo inhabitants. Frazzled moms pushed strollers like battering rams, their exhausted expressions a stark contrast to their spawn’s sugar-fueled mania. I narrowly dodged a sticky-fingered toddler on a rampage, his harried mother in hot pursuit.
“Trevor, no! We do not lick the penguin enclosure!”
I snorted, earning a dirty look from Trevor’s mom. Sorry, lady. Your kid’s probably building immunity or something.
As I meandered past the flamingo pond, I saw a gaggle of single men prowling the pathways. They strutted about like peacocks, eyes darting from animal exhibits to any female that looked vaguely unattached. One bold specimen sidled up to a young woman peering at the warthogs.
“Hey there. You really like those little guys. Wanna grab a coffee and talk about… warthogs?”
I cringed at the awkward pickup attempt. The woman’s polite but firm rejection was almost drowned out by a nearby lion’s well-timed roar.
Oh to be young and stupid again, I thought to myself. After all my experiences, I still was trying to prove something. I emphasized with the guy and thought about my own bad timings. A lot of failures, with the end of my sheriff career at the top of them. Why is it that no matter all the good you do, you’re only remembered for the failures?
Dantry’s death had me back in the thick of things. Maybe solving this would land me into real police work? So far, I had no clue about the killer, but “Project Atlas” was pointing me to a motive. What was Dantry hiding and who was involved?
Jenna was a possibility and so was Rachel Holt. But just because they were women, didn’t mean they weren’t involved. I needed to go over that list in the “Project Atlas” folder. As soon as Winters’ searched Dantry’s office and put it into evidence.
The lush vegetation lining the walkways provided a brief respite from the my thoughts about the case. I paused beneath a towering eucalyptus, its distinctive aroma mingling with the salty tang of the nearby Pacific. A gentle breeze carried the scent of blooming jasmine, a stark contrast to the earthy musk emanating from the primate enclosures.
As I continued my walk through the zoo, with its mix of humanity and nature, I couldn’t help thinking that the peacefulness was a far cry from the events of last night. And I wondered if things had settled down or if more monkey business was on the way.
Winters and crime scene techs were going through Dantry’s office when I showed up to make sure he’d secured the “Project Atlas” folder. He waived for me to join him. Jenna Shaw also was in the room rocking in place and holding a brown day planner.
“Jenna has something that ties you to Dantry,” Winters reached for the planner. He pointed to an entry. “Looks like you and Dantry were going to meet regarding Project Atlas.”
I read the entry for myself: “Meet Stone. Discuss Atlas termination.”
“I have no idea,” I handed back the planner to Winters. “Maybe he planned to bring me into the loop.”
“Jenna thinks you met with Dantry and didn’t like what he told you. Gives you a motive,” Winters intimated and Jenna agreed by nodding.
“First off, me and Dantry would have to meet, which didn’t happen. And secondly, I was drinking mojitos when he was killed.”
After being shot at and chasing the killer, I was in no mood for Winters’ acting like a jackass. “Let’s go down this safari trail; a better question to ask is where were you Ms. Shaw?”
Jenna Shaw turned white. “I was home… I went to bed… I had nothing to do with the murder!”
“You told me Dantry and you were in a relationship.” I threw that little tidbit out to turn the table. Shaw turned fuming mad and beet red.
“I told you that in confidence,” she shrieked. “You had no right!”
“I suppose you can provide an alibi for the time of Dantry’s death?” Winters scrutinized Jenna’s face waiting for an answer.
“Just what I told you: I was home.”
“My assistant Carrie can back me up on my schedule and whether I met with Dantry or not.” I offered. ”Which sounds a whole lot more than what you’ve got Ms. Shaw.”
“Dantry came over… and we had a fight. But I didn’t kill him!” Shaw insisted.
“Sounds like you had motive Ms Shaw.” I caught Winters’ eye and he nodded.
Jenna Shaw glared at me with the penetrating eyes of a cobra. Winters handcuffed her arms behind her back and led her out of the office. At last we had someone who might have the means for Dantry’s death. If we had motive, was another story. We had to find out the answers when Winters questioned Ms. Shaw.
After I left Dantry’s office, I wandered down to see Rachel Holt. The head veterinarian was readying to leave her office.
“Mind if we talk?”
Dr. Holt’s fingers were fidgeting with the stethoscope around her neck, her eyes darting around the room like a caged animal looking for escape.
“Dr. Holt,” I said, my voice cutting through the tension. “You and Dantry had some disagreements recently, didn’t you?”
Rachel’s head snapped up, her eyes meeting mine. “I… we had professional differences, yes.”
“Professional differences?” I echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Would these ‘differences’ have anything to do with an expansion of the zoo?”
The color drained from Rachel’s face faster than water from a leaky bucket. “How did you-“
“I’m head of security, doc. It’s my job to know things.” I leaned in, lowering my voice. “Now, why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?”
Rachel’s shoulders slumped. “Dantry… his expansion plan focused on breeding endangered species without regard for genetic diversity. It was all about profit, not conservation. I couldn’t stand for it.”
“Project Atlas was just a plan, right?” I offered to Dr. Holt. She was puzzled.
“Is that what he was calling it? I never heard the name. He only told me about his plan a few weeks ago.”
Either she knew more than she was saying about “Project Atlas” or she was clueless. I nodded, filing away the information. Dr. Holt might be hiding something, but her passion was genuine.
Dr. Holt’s assistant rushed into the office. “We need you. A giraffe is hurt.” Without saying goodbye, Dr. Holt left faster than a gazelle.
No matter. Winters returned and I caught up on the attack at the Chimpanzee House. Three people stood out; Eli, Miguel, and the fast fellow who led me on a chase all over the zoo before vanishing.
“Miguel’s going to live and Eli needed some stitches,” Winters said.
“Why were they hanging out with the chimps?”
“Turns out they were doing some sleuthing on their own,” Winters explained. “They recognized arguing and thought it might be the murderer.”
“And the dart guns?”
“Eli says he grabbed one in the veterinary office behind the chimps for protection,” Winters stated. “Sounds like they needed it.”
I pondered what Winters told me.
“We aren’t any closer to solving this.”
“Well, maybe Ms. Shaw can fill in some cracks.”
Jenna Shaw sat alone in the interrogation room as Winters wandered in with the “Project Atlas” folder and a cup of coffee. He offered the cup to her as I watched them through the observation window.
“Do you want an attorney?” he asked.
“No. Nothing I say will connect me to Dantry’s murder.”
Winters started with some basic questions that led to Shaw’s fight with Dantry.
“What was the fight about?” Winters quizzed Shaw who tapped her fingers on the metal table. She offered nothing.
“Let’s talk about Project Atlas, shall we?”
A sharp intake of breath.
“I don’t recognize what you’re talking about,” she replied, her voice wavering.
Winters chuckled darkly. “Cut the crap, sweetheart. You and Dantry were more than just colleagues, weren’t you? What got you so mad you killed him for it?”
“I didn’t kill him. Although I wanted to.” Shaw shouted. “He was never going to leave his wife… so I ended it.”
That didn’t make sense. Dantry was a bachelor. I was sure of it.
“You sound like a woman scorned,” Winters scoffed. “I suppose you’re going to tell me now you just amicably ended it?”
“Yes. And then he left.” Shaw replied. “We were supposed to go to the ballet. I still had the tickets, so I went alone.”
This was new information and took the wind out of my sails.
“You can prove you went to the ballet?” demanded Winters.
“I met up with Dr. Finkle and his wife Mary. We stayed for the performance and then had drinks. I didn’t get home until after 1.”
Winters left the interrogation room and I met him in the hallway.
“If the Finkle’s confirm she was with them, she has an alibi.” Winters declared. “With an alibi we’re back to square one.”
“Listen, Dantry was a bachelor,” I pressed. “So, I can’t figure out this mysterious wife.”
Winters shrugged and went into the interrogation room to release her.
As I stood alone in the hallway, all I could think about was we were at the beginning. All we had was a folder covered in lipstick and perfume, and two female suspects who looked like they didn’t do it.
Shaw had said she and Dantry were having an affair and he wasn’t going to leave his wife. My friend Dantry was a bachelor, so Shaw related another thing that didn’t make any sense. The only thing that did make sense was Dantry was dead and we were no closer to pinning the killer.
The sheriff’s office was nothing like I remembered; it was cleaner and modern. The waiting area resembled a hotel lobby. The walls, once adorned with the weathered faces of sheriffs past, now gleamed with sterile white paint. A single photo hung in solitary splendor – an official-looking photo of Sheriff Shelton. All the deputies behind the counter were new and no one recognized me. So much for legacy; no one would pat me on the back if they wanted to.
I absently pushed through the glass doors into the bright afternoon sun. The courthouse square spread out before me, a patchwork of old and new. The sandwich shop where I’d spent countless lunch breaks still stood, but now it was flanked by a trendy coffee bar and a vegan bakery. Next to them was the park where I often ate my sandwich.
Uneven brick paver stones made up the streets around the courthouse square and they were just as worn. I took it all in; lawyers, defendants, and family walked around me conducting business with the county. I couldn’t help but think; they all were animals out on furlough waiting to be put back in their cages.
“Speaking of cages,” I laughed to myself. “I’d better get back to mine.” I stepped off the curb and reached for my fob to enter the car.
That’s when I sensed it – a faint whistle cutting through the air. Before I could react, something pinged off the car roof. A dart clattered to the sidewalk, its needle glinting in the sunlight. Stunned pedestrians quickly moved away. I turned in the direction of the shooter. I didn’t see anyone except a line of people in front of the sandwich shop.
I dropped to the ground, my aging knees protesting. Another dart whizzed past, lodging itself between the car’s window and door frame.
“What the hell?” I growled, scanning the rooftops for the unseen assailant.
My heart pounded in my chest as I army-crawled to a nearby planter. The paver bricks bit into my palms, a grim reminder that I was too old for this crap.
I ducked close to the paver bricks. They were warm. That’s my last full memory as a sharp sting bloomed between my shoulder blades. The warmth spread out across my body as the sedative dribbled from the tip of the dart. Heat waves billowed up around me.
“Ah, shi-” I managed to slur before darkness claimed me, leaving me sprawled ungracefully in front of the courthouse like a discarded mannequin.
I groaned and pried my eyelids open, faced with sterile beige walls closing in around me. My head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton and then run over by a steamroller. My tongue was fuzzy and swollen as if I had swallowed a kiwi. Blinking away the fog, I made out three figures hovering over me: Winters’ craggy face, Carrie’s concerned frown, and… wait, was that Mary?
“What the hell?” I croaked, my voice raspy. “Sis, what are you doing here?”
Mary leaned in, her familiar scent of lavender and worry washing over me. “Oh, Torely. Thank God you’re awake. I came as soon as Carrie called me.”
I tried to sit up, but my limbs fell like lead weights. “Heard what? Last thing I remember, I was…” The memory slipped away like sand through my fingers.
Carrie placed a gentle hand on my arm. “You were hit with a tranquilizer dart. You’ve been out cold for hours.”
“Jesus,” I muttered. “Someone’s taking this game of darts way too seriously.”
Winters stepped forward, his face grim. “This is no game, Stone. The killer is closing in, and they want you six feet under.”
I attempted a sardonic laugh, but it came out more like a wheeze. “Well, aren’t I the popular one? And here I thought my charm was wearing off.”
Mary’s eyes welled up with tears. “Torely, please. This isn’t funny. You need to let the police handle this investigation before it’s too late.”
I took a deep breath, wincing at the dull ache in my back where the tranquilizer dart had struck. “Look, the fact that someone’s trying to take me out means I must be close to cracking this case. They want me dead because I’m a threat.”
Carrie’s eyebrows knitted together, her usual cool demeanor cracking. “That’s not exactly comforting, boss. You’re not invincible.”
“Trust me, I’m well aware,” I muttered, gesturing to my current state. “But think about it. Why go to all this trouble if I wasn’t onto something?”
Winters crossed his arms, his weathered face a mask of concern. “It’s a hell of a risk you’re taking, Stone. We can’t even tell who we’re up against.”
I managed a wry smile. “That’s the thing about mysteries, detective. You don’t know until you do.”
Mary grabbed my hand, her grip tight. “Torely, please. Find another way.”
I squeezed her hand back, my throat tightening. “I wish I could, sis. But sometimes, you’ve got to dance with the devil to catch him.”
The room fell silent again, tension thick enough to cut with a knife. I could feel their worry, their fear. Part of me wanted to give in, to walk away and leave this godforsaken case behind. But I knew I couldn’t. Not when I was this close to unmasking a killer.
“So,” I said, mustering as much bravado as I could, “who’s up for a little game of cat and mouse?” Though I was not entirely sure which one I was at this point.
Trash and debris covered the floor leading to the lab. Nurses, guards, and other people covered in blood and gashes poured out of rooms lining the hall. We stumbled passed them and ran toward the center of destruction.
We turned a corner. I noted a considerable rip running through the center of the lab like a giant claw hammer had torn through the building. Pieces of paper, debris, and insulation floated where the ceiling used to be. I now went to the central area, where all the computers and Dan-clones had been standing.
On the far end of the room, Colonel Cox slumped against the wall and a smudge of blood showed where his head used to sit on his shoulders. There was no way he wasn’t dead.
The chest of the clone I once thought was my brother Dan, sat on the floor next to the colonel’s body. Wires, tubes, and fluid dripped out of the bottom. He had no legs. With an outstretched hand he motioned for me to come closer.
“He wanted me to kill you,” said the clone. “Use our collective mind to alter the weather and destroy you. I couldn’t do it. Our creator never wanted us to do evil. We only were designed…”
The clone stopped whirling and his mouth froze before he could finish his sentence.
“Designed to end a drought, time rain storms to optimize the growing season, make it possible to enjoy a snowstorm on Christmas Eve,” said a familiar voice.
I turned away from the clone and Colonel Cox to face a haggard version of my brother Dan. He had a bandage around his waist and was standing on crutches next to the nurse from earlier. Behind him, a gigantic cube rotated on a wall screen.
I wondered if it was really my brother.
“Come here, brother. Let me look at you,” said Dan. I hesitated. “Oh, I’m real,” he said. “I’m not one of these clones.”
“I don’t understand. Why didn’t you come home?”
“I wanted to. But I came back less of myself,” he said grabbing my arm. “I wandered around until I could pull it together. By the time I finished college, everyone believed I was dead. I decided it was better that way.”
“Mom would have taken you back in dead or alive,” I said. “Your death hit her real hard.”
Dan pulled me closer. My brother was very much alive.
“I understand none of this. Messing with the weather, tearing up Pretty Prairie, all those people dead. It makes no sense,” I said to my brother.
“I never wanted that,” said Dan. “Colonel Cox forced me to develop my invention into a weapon. In the lab, I wanted to make it rain,” he said. I stood feeling both happy and confused.
“It was a fluke. One minute I was tinkering at a university in Wisconsin and the next thing I was heading up an Air Force weapons program here in Kansas.”
“How did you get to be so smart?” I asked. The Dan I loved was more of a jock than a scientist. “Facing death in the desert changes your perspective,” he said. “And being forced to kill your little brother changes everything back.”
“We’ll, I’m glad you didn’t kill me,” I laughed. Charlie chimed in. “Me too. I don’t think rotting in a grave would have fit into my life of ignorant bliss.”
We all laughed.
I sat at the counter in the diner in Pretty Prairie waiting for Sally to refill my coffee. Farmers overfilled the place and my favorite waitress didn’t seem to notice me as usual. She was too busy handing out plates of eggs, bacon, and toast. I thought about reaching behind and filling my cup myself.
The bell on the door of the diner rang out and in slipped Dan and Charlie returning from filling the car with gas and stowing our things. Dan slapped me on the back.
“Best be going brother.”
“Yeah, after I refill my coffee.” Sally made it to my end of the counter holding the pot of black gold and looking as sassy as ever.
“Think you can give me a go cup?”
“Will you finally get the hell out of here?”
Charlie laughed. “I don’t think she ever liked you.” Sally smiled. “Oh, I like him. About as much as I like liver and onions.”
She handed me a Styrofoam cup and touched the back of my hand. A soft, flirtatious goodbye.
Just the way I like it.
THE END
Jake Rutledge returns in Jake Rutledge and the Acadiana Gator Treasure
That’s when I recognized it. They dressed Dan in a pure white cloth suit covering up a series of tubes, wires, and circuits. He wasn’t my brother! He was just an android made to resemble him.
“Why does he look like Dan?” I roared at the colonel.
“He was a good as anyone,” Colonel Cox answered. “We needed a face of a person already dead. It didn’t matter who. Your brother popped up.”
In fact, all the scientists in white coats looked like Dan. There must have been six or seven.
“Why so many?”
“The whole thing is a secret experiment,” said the colonel. “Your presence puts a crimp in the plan. We will have to figure out what to do with you.”
Colonel Cox stared at me and in our locked eyes I realized he would not let me go back to Pretty Prairie.
“What have you done with Charlie?” I realized I hadn’t seen my friend since the fight outside our cell. Even if he was with me, I didn’t expect he was going to just walk out of here either.
“He’s entertaining my guys,” said the colonel. “He’ll be along soon.”
Dan rose from his chair and walked over to the colonel. He looked calm, and I wondered if his protest with the flag had been an act.
“I feel much better now,” Dan told the colonel. “I remain in your service.”
“What is he, a slave?” I shouted at Cox. “The only reason I’m in this mess is because I believed him when he said you were trying to turn the weather into a weapon. Plus, he looked like my brother.”
“Amazing what a little tuneup and a computer wipe can do to make you more than willing to press on,” said the colonel. “Are you seeing what’s going on here?”
Actually, I did, and it made me mad.
“We will keep testing this weapon and no one will be the wiser,” said the colonel. “Guards. Take him and clean him up. I don’t want to see him again.”
The guards pushed me all the way down the hall, passed the weight room, around the corner through another narrow hallway, until we arrived at an infirmary where I found Charlie. He was sitting on a raised gurney with a nurse swabbing blood off his right eyebrow.
“It looks like you took it harder than the other guy,” I said. Charlie winced as the nurse dabbed on some iodine. His left arm was in a sling, and he resembled a torn raggedy doll.
“I don’t know why they are fixing you up,” I said. Charlie frowned, and I was honest with him. “I get the distinct impression they plan to kill us.”
“No, we will not kill you,” said a blue-shirted sergeant. “We will let a tornado do that.” He laughed. Charlie and I did not join him. In fact, it was the first time I recognized fear in Charlie’s eyes. “Tornado?”
“Yeah, we’re testing the weather machine on you next.”
“We’ve already had it tested on us, so we’re good,” I retorted. The sergeant just looked at me failing to laugh. He did not see the irony of my previous experience in Pretty Prairie. He turned away to talk to the other guards.
“Well, we should look at you too,” said the nurse in a pleasant tone like she was stitching up two farmers rather than sending a couple guys to their doom.
“I’ll need you to show me your arm, hon.” I waited and hesitated. She smiled. I did as she told me and watched the airmen in blue.
The biggest guard bummed a cigarette off the littlest, and they stood in front of a door talking. They reminded me of that cartoon where the alpha dog prances around with the little dog yapping and jumping after him. The little guy was trying too hard to laugh at the big guy’s jokes.
The nurse placed an electrode on my left temple, my neck, my arm, and my chest. She had also dressed Charlie with wires coming out of his shirt. I suppose she was prepping me for the science project they planned to conduct on Charlie and me.
When she had finished dabbing my cuts, the nurse took the gauze and iodine and danced around the guards. She smiled, pretended to laugh at the airman’s joke, and hurried out the door.
That left me and Charlie alone. I felt rotten and Charlie appeared worse.
“So what’s the plan? Drive us out into the prairie, tie us up, and wait for the tornado to pound us without a weather warning?” Both guards looked through me and went back to laughing.
“Seriously. You don’t think we’re going with you without a fight?” I taunted them with the hope they would come closer.
The airman weighed in. “Yeah, we will strap you down like guinea pigs and wait for the storm. Now sit over there and be quiet.”
“I hardly think you can hold me down, let alone the little guy.” The small guard bristled at my taunt and started toward us. “Look dude, I’m the one with the gun.”
He had a point. Charlie and me only had our fists and each other. Still, I thought I could take him. I inched toward the guards. Charlie stood with me. Both of the guards reached for their holsters and told us to stop.
“Come one step closer, and we’ll shoot,” said the big guy. It appeared he hoped we would rush them.
“Look. We’re tired, we want to go home, and we’re done with today,” I said. “If you want to shoot us, do it. Shooting us would be a relief.”
The larger guard laughed and the little guy joined in. I didn’t care at this point. The whole mess wore me out.
“Sorry, I got you into this.” Charlie shrugged his shoulders and stood taller.
Before we could start a fight, the room shook, and we fell to the floor. Dust and smoke rolled into the room and a massive explosion took out the lab.
I jumped up, and reaching through the dust, grabbed Charlie by the arm. Together we leaped over the guards and ran toward the lab.
