The Undesirable, page 13
“Ain’t the type,” he mumbles and then gives me a smile. “Been my pleasure to help you.” He stumbles on his next words. “You know, you remind me of my daughter. She died so young. Just five. Wish she would have grown up to be like you.”
“Like me?” I hear my disbelief.
“Yes. Like you. You’re very strong — stronger than you think.”
“I am?”
“Yes. Say it with me, darlin’. I am strong.”
“I am strong,” I repeat, still unsure if I believe it. Glenn looks down at his Hologram Watch. I mimic him. The time shines clearly at us.
“Alrighty. It’s time.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The straps of my backpack pull tight around my shoulders as we slip through the thick trees and make our way. My breath comes out of my lungs in hard, uneven spurts. I pray my heart doesn’t beat louder than the shuffles of our feet.
“Keep your steps even,” murmurs Glenn beside me. “Use the trees as camouflage.” He is wide-eyed. It unnerves me.
We pick through the trees and hit the perimeter fence. It’s taller than I remembered — at least twelve feet, concrete, with circular barbed wired and spikes at the top. When I touch it, the concrete is cold. I bite my lip.
No turning back after this.
Glenn sticks an arm in the brush for a few seconds. He smiles when his hands find something I can’t see.
“Here we go,” he says as he pulls back a small panel made to resemble the concrete blocks. Seconds later, I can see it’s a metal screen with a thin row of concrete on one side. “’Nother one of these over on the other side,” he adds. “I’ll push it out when I crawl through.”
Then he disappears. I wait a few moments before I follow. Instead of the trees fading into a field on the other side of the wall, they fade into a row of shotgun shack houses that wind around a cul-de-sac. We’re in someone’s backyard.
I blink and sweep my eyes over the yard. It takes me a second to realize someone burned this house. The stench of scorched wood hits my nostrils and burns my throat within seconds. Four other homes on the street look burned, too.
“Come on,” Glenn cautions as he points to a garage in the back of this yard. It’s the first of several I notice. We take cover on the backside, the side closest to the abandoned alley. I pant loudly. Glenn puts a finger up to his lips and signals me to be quiet.
5:36.
I raise my eyebrow and give him a nod. After a few seconds, he puts up his left hand and gives a countdown. Five, four, three, two, one. I hold my breath as we move to the back wall of the next garage. We do this seven more times until I see only one garage between us and the next street. Glenn takes a few steps and his head peeks around the side of the garage. Then he turns back to me.
“The elementary school’s right there,” he whispers in my ear. I see a section of open grass about 20 feet between the last garage and the school I attended as a small child. “We can take cover over there in the stairwell next to the door for the basement.”
“Is anyone there, I mean, on the street?”
“Ain’t anyone there now,” he asserts. He pulls his head around the side of the wall one more time. I reach for the gun on my hip and hope the action makes me a little safer. I gape at him, unsure. “Only way to get to the town center.” My ears strain to hear Glenn’s words. “We’ll go one at a time.”
I glance from him, to the field, to the school, and then back at him. I bite my lip. “Okay,” I mutter after a second. “If you’re sure.”
“It’s the only way.” Glenn whispers. After a second, he smiles. He puts up his hand for the countdown.
Five… four… three… two… one.
Glenn winks, pulls his backpack tighter, and takes the first hurried steps across the field. I press my body against the white clapboard and can’t take my eyes off him. He takes five steps. Ten steps. Fifteen steps.
5:50.
I sigh. He’s almost made it. Then I hear the voice somewhere on Metamora.
“You!” It screams. “You right there! With the backpack! Stop right now!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
I shut my eyes and squeeze them tight. I wonder if my eyes will pop. My body stays that way for over a minute and I cover my ears with my hands.
When I open them again, Glenn stands on the far side of the field with his hands up. The backpack lies in a heap at his feet. One member of The Party stands with a revolver pointed at Glenn’s head. A second person yells at Glenn. I can tell by their uniforms they’re low ranking officers, maybe second lieutenants. But I can’t tell for sure.
“What’s in this bag?” he screams. “Tell me the contents!”
The second officer kicks the bag when he gets no response. Glenn has a strange expression on his face, as if he has already left this world. I flatten myself up against the wall as tight as I can and position myself so my left eye can see what transpires.
“Open it,” he orders. His comrade complies; he pulls out the grenades, gun, and fake ID buried deep inside Glenn’s bag.
“You in the SSR?” screams the first officer when he sees the grenade. “Tell me now.”
Glenn shakes his head. The second officer spits on the ground and takes a step forward. Without warning, he kicks Glenn in the shin of his left leg. Glenn grunts and winces. I flinch as if the solider kicked me.
“Who’s with you?” barks the first officer. His guns still cocked and he’s ready to fire at any minute. I watch the other man deliver another kick. ‘“Tell me now!”
“Ain’t no one,” Glenn mumbles after a long pause. “I work alone.”
Jesus Christ. He just saved my life.
The first officer is still not satisfied. He gets closer to Glenn and yells in his face. “You have SSR written all over your face. An Undesirable!” He screams so loud I wonder if everyone in town can hear him. “Do you know what we do with Undesirables?”
I shut eyes again.
Here it comes.
A few second pass before I hear the tale tell pop of the revolver.
CHAPTER FORTY
“Why did you shoot him in the head like that?” the second Officer shouts at the first. “I had questions! He knew stuff! Now he’s dead.”
I freeze next to the clapboard of the garage. I can’t move or think .It’s all too much to take. I keep my eyes shut but allow my ears to hear the commotion.
“He’s the enemy. We kill the enemy.”
Even though I try, I can’t stop the tears. Glenn is dead. He tried to help me and he’s dead. He’s dead. I hear shuffles and bangs, then the sound of the backpack’s zipper. A shiver courses through my body.
Oh God.
“Look at all this stuff! He knows something,” the second officer grumbles. “I bet he knows where that pain-in-the-ass girl is right now.”
“Charlotte Walker?”
“You idiot.” It sounds like the second officer closes the bag again. “What do you suggest we do with his body?”
“I guess we take it with us. They’ll want to see what he had on him.”
More commotion comes from the field. I will my eyes to open; in horror, I see they’ve got Glenn’s body stretched out between them on the green grass.
“We’ll carry it back to the barracks,” says the first officer. “It’s not far from here.”
The second officer hoists Glenn’s backpack on to his body. They count to three. One takes Glenn’s legs, the other takes his arm. His body hangs limp between them. They take a few steps. My stomach churns and I want to get sick. Instead, I choke back the bile. The trio makes it a few paces before the second officer stops.
“Wait a second,” he barks. “Should we do a sweep of the neighborhood? What if he has someone with him?”
“Put the body down for a second.” I hear a thud. The first officer sighs. “Why should we do a sweep?”
“Instinct.”
I can’t stop the shakes that cover my body. Cold dread wraps around me. I pray these men don’t come back my way. The first officer surveys the street and the field.
“Nah. I think he came here alone,” he asserts after a few seconds. “If he had a big group, they would make themselves known.” He shrugs. “We’ll find them anyway, if they’re here. Come on. Back to the barracks. The sun will set soon anyway.”
“I guess,” the second officer says.
A few minutes pass. They do something I can’t quite make out. I concentrate on my breath and work every cell in my body to keep it even. I press my body so hard that the wood splinters in my hands and arms. Even though they hurt, I don’t allow myself to move.
“I still think we should find her,” the second officer says once again. “She’s here. I know it.”
“How do you know?” replies the first officer. I think he’s skeptical, but I can’t be sure.
“Instinct.”
“Like you have any instinct.” The first officer sighs. “You’re not going to get off this, huh?”
“No. Not with all that money at stake, the reward for her capture.”
“Plus you said the other day she seemed pretty hot for a fugitive,” says the first officer. I hear the sound of a zipper. I flush bright red; I don’t need a mirror to know. The thought of one of them, with me, is disgusting. No, it revolts me.
“Okay. Let’s search for her. Which way?”
“That way, we’ll head down the street, past these houses.” I can’t tell which way he points.
“Alright. We’ll hunt for her a little bit and then come back for the body.”
I sneak a glance at my watch.
6:15.
Within a few moments, I hear the crunch of their boots as they start their search. In shock, I tell from the sound they move right toward me.
One step. Two. Three.
They walk right around the corner from me. I can almost smell them. Beads of sweat fall from my forehead to the grass. Then, they stop.
“I don’t think she’s down this way,” the first officer says to the second one. “These people in the SSR don’t travel in pairs when we’re around. They split up.”
“What if they didn’t split up?”
“It would be weird if they didn’t,” the first officer insists. “Everything I’ve read says they do.” I think he grows more annoyed. “Hey, let’s look back over there. Come on. I want to check it out.”
“Ugh, fine,” grunts the second officer. “Whatever you say.”
They turn around and go the other way. I wait until I can’t hear them any more before I slide down the wall. The dry dandelions and weeds crunch under my boots.
Once again, I’m all alone.
It’s a dead body and me. Glenn’s dead body. I steal a look at him lying in a heap. One leg juts up and makes a triangle with the grass. His blood on the grass turns it purple. Supplies from his backpack cover the ground next to him. This grows more dangerous every minute.
Ten minutes pass before I cry.
The pain comforts me in a way I don’t expect as I lean against the old paint and tattered wood. I make sure I stifle my sniffles, and I only allow myself to cry for a few minutes. Through the emotion, I focus on what to do next and will myself to pull together. Now is not the time to break down. This is the time to be strong. Time passes fast. I can’t stay behind the garages because it’s too risky. I have to move. I need to move soon. I must find Fostino.
6:45.
The factory will close soon, so I rule it out. I don’t know if people work there anymore, anyway. I think about it for a few seconds. I consider all my options and decide I’ll head to the apartment.
I focus over my shoulder on the field where Glenn died. The field makes up the straightest path to the elementary school — a wide building that gives me the most cover possible until I reach the corner of Metamora and Main. From there, it’s another trip up two alleys before I hit the apartment complex. I recoil a little. If I take this route, I’ll go right past his body. The thought of leaving him almost makes me sick, again. I stare at his body and know there is no safe way out here.
He would want me to do this. He would want me to escape. He would want me to get away.
6:50.
Soon, I will run out of time. I want to get to the apartment before dark. I want to see Fostino Sanchez as soon as I can. Demons have taken over my hometown, and I want to hide. I suck in one long breath before I adjust the straps on my backpack. My gun remains at my hip. If I need to, I’ll use it.
Even if it means using it on myself.
Five, four, three, two, one.
I don’t have any choice about the field. I need to cross it, too. My left hand balls into a tight fist. I bite down on my lip and step out from behind the garage. I peek to my left, then my right.
No one’s there.
I take five quick steps. Fifteen. I shut my eyes and pass Glenn’s body. Thirty steps. Forty. Sixty. I press my back against the jutted brick of the school until it hides me again. The rough clay and brick comforts me, and I exhale the breath I sucked in minutes before. It’s like I’ve passed a huge test. After a few more long breaths, I force my heart to stop its breakneck pace. I must move. I must move.
I must move now.
7:00.
My feet carry me to the far end of the school’s back wall. My ears catch every sound with sharpness, my mouth has dried out, my eyes clear and widen. I even smell my fear.
At the corner of the school, I examine my next route. The path turns here and leads me down a residential street before a turn onto Main. I estimate the apartment complex sits 20 houses down, a few feet from another turn that would put me face to face with the Sanchez’s convenience store.
It’s a short walk and an epic one all at the same time. I close my eyes and steel my nerves once more as my head presses against the brick. Twenty garages, a few trees, five rusted ancient children’s play sets, two blocks, and a few minutes, stand between Fostino and me.
I can do this. I must do this.
I will do this.
My stomach constricts as I take the first tentative steps.
I duck behind one garage. Then another. My body slides up to the third one. I take cover in the fourth yard behind a large oak tree. Once I hit the safety of one, I scan my surroundings and allow myself a few minutes to breathe. With each move, I wonder when my luck will give out.
Each yard backs up to the open alleyway. A crumbled gravel road leads me through what’s left of my hometown. As I pass the vacant and dilapidated properties, I don’t even know if the people who own them are still alive. The thought depresses me.
I round the corner and duck behind the last garage, one that allows me to see the back door of the apartment complex and the side door of the convenience store. Forty feet or so separates me from what has become the apartment.
God, I’m so close.
I adjust my backpack of supplies and will my stomach to settle down. With a quick survey, I take in the clues I see. First, someone has busted all the windows of the convenience store. Shattered glass litters gravel like broken eggshells. Next, no lights are on in the store, and twisted metal shelves once for food and supplies lie scattered between the inside and the outside. No one has been at the store for at least a few days.
My eyes study the apartment complex. Broken and busted windows stand out against the old brick. Wooden shutters hang off their hinges and swing at the slightest breeze. Someone has been on a rampage through here, too. Fear runs down my spine like a bullet train.
But, I don’t care. Suicide mission or not, I will see this through.
I bite down one more time on my lip, stand up straight, and sprint to the open back door of the apartment complex once I see the area around the apartment is clear. After a second, I shuffle through the hallway of the building. This is it: the moment I’ve worked so hard for is upon me. In seconds, I’ll enter the apartment.
Will he be there? Is he still alive? What will I find?
I reach the door. I throw the key in the lock, and then see I don’t need it. Someone has busted the door lock since I left. The wooden door doesn’t close any more. Once I glance down the hallway, it’s easy to see the other doors don’t close, either. All the muscles in my body tense. I shake my head. I try to shut out my bad thoughts and push open the door to home. The stress even manifests in my feet; the bones in my toes clench and tighten like screws on a board. The door creaks as I force it to open, the one sound in the whole building. It’s as if I’ve entered some sort of time and sound vacuum.
Nothing else exists but this moment, this second.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
A half second after I make my entrance, I shut the door as far as it can go and turn on a small flashlight I pulled from my backpack.
Only the bed remains in the room. Light filters in through the cracks of the boarded up windows. No one who walked in here would imagine someone lived here at all. It’s hard for me to imagine myself. The backpack falls off my weary shoulders and drops to my feet. I don’t know if I have enough strength left to find Fostino. I stand in the middle of the room, next the box, and bury my head in my hands.
I’ve come so far, dealt with so much. Too much.
Fostino Sanchez’s face blots out the rest of my thoughts. After a few minutes, I sit down in the center of the room. I don’t care if someone finds me. I only think about Fostino. I have no idea where he might or what happened to him. He might be hurt, in a camp, or dead. The unknown overwhelms me.
I should have told him I loved him. I should have told him I loved him. I should have told him I loved him.
I stay on the floor for ten minutes. Only my memories keep me company. My thoughts pound through my head and punish me for leaving Fostino.
You should never have left him. You should never have left him. You should never have left him.
Soon, exhaustion overtakes my body. My back softens, my legs relax, and my arms give up their protest. What’s left of my soul doesn’t want to move any more. I give in to the pain and the tiredness; it’s time to lie down.
