The Undesirable, page 12
“We’re a few blocks from the safe house,” he whispers. I realize we can’t know if someone bugged the farmland.
“Did we bring the tools to fix this?” I try to hide the panic in my voice. I step a little closer to him so only he can hear me.
“I think so,” he says, and glances up and down the road. Worry covers his face. We’re alone, but we both know it’s a matter of time before someone comes along.
“Hmm…” he says. “We’ll move the backpacks and the black bag under the floorboard. Come on.”
I follow his orders. Meanwhile, Glenn opens up the back hatch and pulls out the replacement tire.
“Can I help you?”
“No, Ms. Anderson. You don’t help. Important Party ladies can’t be bothered with this. You keep watch. Act normal.”
Normal?
I smooth out my outfit and use my left hand to shield my eyes from the sun. Before long, another government Humvee comes from the south at a fast clip.
Oh God. There is no way they’ll miss us.
Glenn leans over the trunk and searches for the tools we need to fix the mess. He doesn’t see the Humvee on the road. As it passes, I straighten my back and stare right at it with an expressionless face. I smooth my chocolate hair; I pray the bands on my arm sit in the right place. I bite my lip.
I’m one of you; nothing to see here.
As the vehicle passes, I see two people inside. They might be men, but I can’t tell for sure behind the tint of the glass. Then the one in the passenger seat turns his head right towards me.
Oh, God. They need to keep on moving. Now.
Glenn still searches for the tools, but I know he has to hear the sound of the vehicle. There’s no way he misses it. It’s probably wise he makes no move to raise his head. The Humvee gets about 20 feet away from us and I exhale. They don’t stop. They bought it. They believed I’m one of them. I sigh as I watch the black taillights of the armored car become smaller.
Exhale.
I put my hands on my knees and focus on the gravel of the road and twigs in the ditch. I count aloud and then I hear it. Tires screech and skid. I panic. My hands go numb. The black taillights aren’t black anymore. They’re red and they get closer with every single half second that ticks by on the Hologram Watch.
Oh God.
Here they come.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
I freeze. My legs turn to concrete. I can’t move even though I want to. It’s as if fear has hit pause on every cell in my body. The Humvee roars back on the road until it sits parallel with our broken down one. Glenn pulls his head out of the trunk and stands beside our Humvee. He holds a new chrome tire and some tools I don’t recognize.
Then a thought horrifies me. All our guns and ammunition hide in the backpacks under the floorboards. We can’t reach them and we need them.
We need them now.
Mere seconds pass before the driver of this new Humvee throws the car into park and gets out. His passenger scrambles out, too. The driver comes around the front grill. He’s tall with brown hair and the longest fingers I’ve ever seen. His Party insignia mimics mine, paired with thick black boots laced to his knees. The passenger has a similar getup on, too. I can’t tell their rank. I cross my arms over my chest as the two of them walk over to me.
“Looks like a mess.” The driver points to the flattened tire. He sizes up the damage and the work ahead.
I raise an eyebrow and sneer. Then I crack a smile. “You know how it goes.”
“I do. The name’s Henry,” he offers. He throws up a hand as if he agrees with me. “And this is Sam.”
“Hello. I’m Anna Anderson.”
“Anna Anderson,” repeats Sam. He’s several inches shorter than Henry, and about 30 pounds stockier. His arm muscles ripple underneath his uniform, and I know in an instant that the man has spent hours sculpting a lethal body. “Do you mind if we see proof?”
“It’s for our protection,” adds Henry. “We’ve had a problem here over the last few weeks.” Sam shrugs as Henry says this, and I see him place a hand on the gun in the leather and chrome holster on his left hip.
I reach inside a pocket and pull out the identification the SSR cautioned me to keep on my person at all times. Henry takes it. I can’t tell from his expression if he believes what he sees or not. Either way, he hands the paperwork back to me.
“Who’s this?” he asks as he points to Glenn.
“My escort,” I say, and motion for Glenn to hand over his paperwork too. He already has it ready.
“Where did you say you all are headed?”
I blanch. We didn’t say.
“Toledo.” Glenn fills in for me. “Her father’s General Anderson — the commander there.”
Ironic.
“A little off the beaten path, right?” Sam looks back and forth at the both of us. “Even for General Anderson’s daughter.”
“You must have not seen the recent reports, my friend, about the activity North of Toledo. Not safe — not even for young ladies of The Party.” He gestures towards me and laughs. “So we took a detour. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to her.”
“No, we wouldn’t.”
“He picked me up from boarding school in Detroit.” I try the points the SSR told me to spit out if we got into trouble. “You know the one for girls in the Homeland Guard. Classes ended for the year.” I flash my winning Party smile and hope my bleached white teeth sparkle.
Henry puts a hand out towards tools in Glenn’s left hand. “Do you need some help?”
I don’t dare breathe as the tension surrounds all of us. The stress threatens to push me over altogether. My fear pushes to the soles of my feet.
“Appreciate the offer, but it won’t take me long,” Glenn says to Henry. He pulls the tools back before Henry can take them out of his hand. “We’ll be on our way in a few minutes.”
“It’ll go a lot faster with our help,” insists Henry. “We can get it done together in just a few minutes.”
His words hang in the air, but then Sam peers at his own Hologram Watch. “I’m sorry. We can’t. We’ve got to be on our own way. Must be in Chicago before curfew.”
“We’d best be on our way, then. I can’t argue with time.” Henry gives Sam a curt nod of acknowledgement.
None of us can.
Henry and Sam give us a quick salute and get back in the Humvee. Glenn and I focus on our two enemies and watch them suck the danger with them as they leave. The Humvee’s engine roars through its spoilers as it starts; the tires leave a haze of exhaust, gravel, and dirt as the Humvee speeds away.
This time, as their car leaves my view, it doesn’t stop.
“What?” I exclaim once I don’t see the car anymore. “That—”
“Stop.” Glenn says. The Southern drawl grows more pronounced. “Hush.” He throws the tools down on the ground and works with the jack to change the tire. “No time to talk about this. You do what I told you. You keep watch. We don’t have much time — just minutes. CRAP. Pretty soon they’ll be back.” His hands race as fast as his words.
“Back?” I ask. “What do you mean, back?”
“Don’t you get it?” he snarls as he throws the jack under the car. “We must leave here before they realize we lied. God, we just got lucky.”
“We did?” I know we did, but something in what he’s said tells me there’s more going on than I understand.
Glenn explodes. “General Anderson doesn’t have a daughter!” His face turns as red as The Party insignia stripe on my shoulder. “He doesn’t have kids at all!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Forty-five minutes later, we pull into the safe house at Nelson’s Grocery. Two empty gas pumps frame a small wooden convenience store painted brown. A screen door flaps in the Michigan wind and creaks on its hinges. I’m not sure anyone’s inside the store when we park the car.
“Nelson Nugent’s owned this place about ten years. Used to just be a store, but then he got one of those special notice permits from the government a couple years back that lets him sell gas to members of The Party,” Glenn offers, even though I didn’t ask. “Come on,” he says in a still urgent voice. He throws the car in park, gets out, and slams the door. He’s agitated, and I am, too. I looked down the road to see if anyone follows us. No one is — yet.
The wind forces the screen door to the store shut with a clatter after I walk inside. Sawdust from the floor kicks up onto my legs. The room smells musty and old. A small video cash register hugs the wall and I see four or five rows of silver encased MREs. Above, a harsh row of fluorescent lighting shows us the rest of the small shop.
“Not selling much these days,” Glenn smirks as he picks up one of the MREs and examines the contents. “Not so appealing.”
“They’re not,” says another Southern drawl from the back of the room. An old man with long, grey hair tied in a ponytail steps out of the shadows. I notice his beady, dark eyes. Unsettling.
‘“You here for gas?” the man asks as he wipes his hands on his Party uniform. He wears clothes identical to Glenn. He chews on a long toothpick with the few teeth he has left.
“No,” says Glenn in an even voice. “We’re here for some food.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad that looks like government stamps. “How much will this buy?”
“Quite a lot, comrade.” Nelson shuffles the papers he holds. “A case at least. I’ve got a few unopened ones in the back if you’d like to follow me.”
Glenn nods. He motions for me to follow him. We take a slow walk through the dusty store and step into a back stockroom behind a steel door. Someone painted the room white and lined the room with silver metal molding. Huge cinder blocks make the floor. I blink. I don’t see any cases of MREs here at all. I don’t see an exit or windows, either.
Glenn and Nelson don’t say a word. Nelson opens the lid of a large black box mounted on the back wall of the small room. He presses a red square button underneath the lid.
“Stand against the wall,” he orders to Glenn and me.
I jump back once the floor shifts and I hear a small hum. There, in the center of the cinder blocks, the white floor pulls back and reveals a large square hole with a small staircase.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
“Come,” Nelson says in a quiet voice before he stumbles down the staircase. Glenn motions for me to follow.
Fifteen chrome steps lead us to a wood-lined bunker that I guess at one point had been the shop’s basement. Glenn shuts the trap door behind me and hides us from the world. Nelson flips a switch on the far wall and another round of fluorescent lights illuminate the room. A bank of flat screen video monitors slides out of the wood panel and bolsters a stash of supplies. I see MREs, guns, sleeping bags, clothes, phones, stacks of ID, and more than enough to feed an army of SSR.
“How bad is it?” Nelson asks as his eyes search Glenn’s face. He still speaks in a whisper.
“Bad. We had a big setback. Flat tire. Some Party members stopped to ask what happened. So we lied.”
“That’s an understatement,” I add, reminded of the exchange with those two Party members.
Nelson spits on the floor and wipes it with his shoe. “She’s not as shy as they told me,” he tells Glenn.
“She’s not anymore,” Glenn agrees. “A feisty one, for sure. Determined.”
I just watch them and wait.
“I’ve got some new ID’s,” Nelson offers as he points at the stack of papers on the far shelf. “Who do you want to be?”
“Anyone,” I say, before I realize I’ve spoken.
Glenn smiles at Nelson. “She just wants to get back to Harrison Corners.”
“Holly Ramone and Trian Smith it is.” Nelson searches through the paperwork. He tosses a flurry of cards and passports to me.
“Thanks,” I say as I catch them with my left hand.
“You sure about this?” Nelson says as he puts his hand on his beard and starts to pull it off his leathery skin. I realize for the first time it’s a fake — a disguise. Once it’s off his face, he gives it a careless toss.
“Itchy,” he explains. “It’s protection. Many people stop into this gas station, and I can’t have the wrong person realizing who I really am. So I act like an old man, even though I’m not.” He stops for a minute and sizes me up. “Well, maybe I’m old when it comes to you.”
I stifle a laugh and take in his new face — much smoother and at least 15 years younger than the man I met a few minutes before. I rock back on my feet, a little shocked.
“Your little escape has caused a pretty big stink in The Party.” Nelson’s mood seems to change. He frowns and scratches the back of his hairy neck. “Do you know what you’ve done?”
Glenn nods in the direction of the video bank. All business. “You see a lot of traffic on the monitors? A lot come across?”
“Yes,” says Nelson. “I tapped into some messages last week — the ones from some of the folks in Communication Command.” Nelson leans up against one of the shelves that hold supplies. “They came and looked pretty hard for you, right about the time you left. Now you’re not there—” He breaks off as if he doesn’t want to say the words.
“I’m not surprised about that one,” says Glenn. “Got to keep someone like her quiet.”
“I still don’t get it,” I say to them. “How did he know my mother?”
Nelson chews on his large toothpick again as amusement screws up his face. “Maxwell Cooper likes women.” He shrugs. “And he likes strippers. For years, his security detail has paid off the women he sleeps with and leaves. They started doing it back during his time in Congress, back before you were born.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I wonder how they met.”
“My guess is he came to The Handful during one of his book tours, early on in his career. Your mother drew a big crowd to the club, didn’t she?” Nelson makes a gesture with his left hand and then crosses his arms in front of him.
“I guess at some point. I knew her as a vacant drunk.” I shake my head. I’ll never understand so much about my mother. The blood in my cheeks lights on fire.
“We can make it to Harrison Corners tonight, this afternoon maybe, if we leave soon,” remarks Glenn as he returns to the task.
“You still sure about this?” Nelson says in a quiet voice. “It’s not safe there, not anymore. Not at all. The Party members are everywhere. The liquidation is about to begin.”
“Yeah,” I reply. “I’m sure. I have to go back. I can’t do this. I can’t leave Fostino and his family to die!” I don’t even want to think about it.
“Take some grenades with you.” Nelson pulls a few off one of the shelves and tosses them Glenn’s way. “Never hurts.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Glenn pulls off Interstate 295 a few minutes after we cross the Michigan border into Ohio. It’s 15 minutes before 5:00 PM when the engine of the Humvee shudders to a stop. He selects a spot to park off the main road, where a few apple trees meet a brown, fallow field on the north side of town.
“We’ll walk from here,” he says. Off in the distance I spot a metal checkpoint, about a half mile away from us at the main entrance to town.
“The checkpoint didn’t exist here a few weeks ago,” I say, unsettled. “We had just one fence.”
Glenn nods as if he anticipated this. “What did we tell you about tighter security?”
“Right.”
“And there’s another thing.” He puts a hand on my arm. “No matter what happens, make sure you get cover by nightfall. A place to hide, something. You’ll need it. I ain’t lyin’, Charlotte.” He sucks in a deep breath. “Keep your eye on the time. I talked to Thompson before we left and he says they’ve doubled security at night in Harrison Corners. More patrols. More searches. They’ll shoot you on the spot if they find you.”
I gulp.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes.” My eyes bore into his. I look out the windshield at the checkpoint and then back at him. “How will we get through it?”
“We ain’t. We’ll go around.” Glenn gestures to the right. “Figure we can sneak through these trees and then at the entrance to Ohio Street, there should be a hole in the fence. We used that hole to escape the last time.”
Oh, right.
“And at five, there’s a guard change,” he continued. “Everyone at the checkpoint will be distracted. Then we’ll make our move.”
I quickly glanced at my watch. 4:50.
“Did you put what you need in your pack? When we get out of this car — remember — don’t come back. We can’t come back to this car. Make your exit on the other side of 295. There’s an opening in the wall there too. The SSR will leave another car near that spot,” Glenn says in a flat, mechanical voice. He pauses. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
“What about your gun? It on ya?”
“Yes.” Then I panic. My stomach lurches and I taste bile in the back of my throat. “What if someone sees us? What if this doesn’t work?”
4:54.
“We’ll use the houses on Ohio Street as cover and then figure out a way to use some of the back driveways and alleys of Harrison Corners to get to Fostino. Okay. One more time. Where do you think he is?”
“It’s a Thursday,” I remind Glenn. “He’s at the factory, and then if not there, maybe the store. They still make people go to the factory, right?”
“We think so. We don’t know for sure.”
“I think that’s the best place to go first.”
“The factory’s two streets off Ohio…” He thinks aloud. “Settled. We’ll start there.”
I blink at the checkpoint for a few seconds. I can make out three soldiers there, and two of them carry machine guns. My throat has a lump I can’t swallow.
4:59.
“Glenn,” I say, and turn to face him. My eyes search his. Then I lean over and peck him on the cheek. “Thank you for all you’ve done.” My voice is soft. I want him to know I mean it. “You didn’t have to help me like this.”
