Origin - Season One (28 page)

“Well it
was
my alarm clock, but I think it’s a cell phone.”

“Your alarm clock?” she said, looking puzzled.

“It started vibrating at my feet. I almost smashed it to pieces with a log, thinking it was a rat or something.”

She turned it over in her hand and studied it for a moment. “It doesn’t even have a brand name on it.”

“I know. Weird, right?”

Amanda finished the can of rice pudding and looked that much better for it. Jesse had started gathering up supplies and packing them into a backpack he had found under the floorboards, along with an assortment of clothing and food. He also found a pistol, which he laid down beside the backpack.

They shared out the clothes, what little there were. When they were both dressed they surveyed each other. Jesse couldn’t help laughing, even though it hurt his throat. To say they looked impoverished would have been a compliment. They looked like two homeless people who would give anything to be just poor. Jesse had the advantage of being male, but Amanda was both the wrong sex and several sizes too small. She had tied her jeans at the waist with a length of twine and folded up the hems several times. She wore a wool-lined red tartan work shirt with elbow patches that came almost to her knees. The only thing that fit her was her hiking boots, which had dried out by the fire. Jesse wore a pair of Wrangler jeans that were a decent fit, but the effect was offset by the brown corduroy jacket and boots that were at least two sizes too big. The most useful thing Jesse had found was two thousand dollars in small bills rolled into a rusty tin can.

Jesse remembered the satellite phone, but it wasn’t anywhere in the cabin. When they were almost ready to go, he told Amanda he needed a piss and went outside. He walked back to where the woodpile had once been and stood surveying the carnage. There was a shallow, jagged crater where the entrance to the bunker had been. The butt of the M16 was sticking up out of the ground about halfway up the slope. A few feet away, beyond the edge of the crater, he saw the arm. It was bent at the elbow and two of the fingers were missing on the hand. He walked on, following what he guessed was the line of the tunnel, and found the exit. When he peered in, the first thing he noticed was the several inches of water that had built up in the bottom. He had been prepared to go in and look for the phone, but that seemed pointless now.

Halfway back to the cabin, he saw Amanda coming around the corner. She waved and walked over to meet him. When they were only ten yards apart she stopped and looked down. He looked down himself and saw the body. Amanda was holding a hand over her mouth. When Jesse reached her she raised her head slowly and the look she gave him sent a chill down his spine.

“My God,” she said. “What happened?”

“Do you really want to know?”

She looked back down at the thing on the ground then shook her head. “No. I just want to get the hell out of here.”

When they got back to the cabin Amanda took the strange cell phone from the mantelpiece and held it up. “I came out to ask you if you wanted to take this.”

“Do you think we should?” Jesse asked.

“I don’t know. It’s creepy. Like the hard drive. And look where taking that got us.”

Jesse took it from her and looked at it for a moment. The word
Contact
was still flashing on the screen. He dropped it onto the floor. “You’re right. It’s a bit too much like déjà vu.”

“All over again?” Amanda asked and they both laughed.

That phrase had been Bill Perry’s all-time favorite for a whole year in high school. It got to a point where he would steer a conversation just to use it and it had driven Jesse and Amanda nuts.

“What do you think Bill’s doing now?” Jesse asked.

“Probably trying to win over an Amish girl with some of his best Jesus jokes,” Amanda said.

That made Jesse laugh again.

“I kind of wish he was here. Don’t you?” Jesse said.

“I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. Bill least of all.”

“No. I guess not.”

When they reached the lake they turned left and followed the beach. A few minutes later they found the boat. Jesse pulled the tarpaulin off and looked inside. The outboard was still there.

“I don’t get it,” Amanda said, “How did he leave without the boat?”

Jesse shrugged. “He probably had one of those James Bond fold-out helicopters stashed away somewhere out here.”

“I’m being serious,” Amanda said.

“So am I,” Jesse said. “What do you think? Should we take it?”

“What’s the alternative?” Amanda asked.

“A shitload of walking.”

“I’ll help you get it into the water.”

They got the boat in, and Jesse mounted the small outboard. It started on the first attempt. They set off along the shore, keeping the boat no further than ten yards out. Amanda sat at the front with her face into the wind. It was a beautiful day. Above them, small cartoon clouds drifted carelessly through a baby-blue sky. Under any other circumstances it might have been cause for joy.

Jesse’s arm had stopped throbbing and begun to howl. He strongly suspected he would need to get to a doctor sooner rather than later. When the lake narrowed he set a course for the other side. Not long after that they were pulling the boat back out of the water.

“I think the road is that way,” Jesse said, pointing east.

“You think it’s safe to hitch?” Amanda asked.

“Safer than starving to death out here.”

“Ha ha, very funny. I meant people might be looking for us.”

“People
are
looking for us,” Jesse said. “But I don’t see what else we can do. It took us hours to get up here by car. It would take a month to walk the same distance. And we’d still be in Canada.”

“Where are we going, anyway?” Amanda asked.

“I don’t know. But I think I need a doctor.”

Amanda took one of his hands. “Your arm?”

“Hurts like hell.”

“Fine,” she said. “We get to the road and flag down the first car we see. It’s settled.”

They reached the road fifteen minutes later and just missed a truck going in the right direction.

“I think we should lose the gun,” Amanda said. “Don’t you?”

Jesse pulled the pistol out of his pocket and looked at it.

“I’d feel a lot safer if we didn’t,” he said.

“Can you even use it? I mean with your arm.”

“Sure, I can shoot with my left.”

Jesse thought Amanda might have persisted with the “old Jesse,” but he was gone and she seemed to know it.

They reached the road, crossed it and set off at a lumbering pace in the direction of Three Rivers. Two cars passed them going the wrong direction in the first hour. About fifteen minutes later a truck came rumbling by and they both stuck out a thumb. It didn’t slow down, but gave them a long honk on the horn and Amanda switched from thumb to bird.

“Patience,” Jesse said, but he had started sweating and already felt a little feverish.

Ten minutes later a green pickup truck passed them and slowed down. At first it seemed the driver was only having a look, but then it pulled off the road and stopped. They started running. Halfway there Jesse stumbled and fell. Amanda came back and helped him up, then took the backpack in one hand and his arm in the other and urged him on. When they got to the truck they saw the driver was an old man.

“Three Rivers?” Amanda said. “Trois Rivers?”

She held up three fingers hoping it would help.

“Trois-Rivieres? No,” the man said, shaking his head. “La Tuque.”

Amanda shrugged and pointed at the truck bed.

“Okay?” she asked.

“Oui, oui,” the man said.

An hour and a half later the trees began to give way to houses and small buildings. A quarter of an hour after that they were in La Tuque. The old man either didn’t care where they wanted to get off or thought he already knew. He stopped outside the local bus station. They got out and Jesse almost fell again. People were already eyeing them. A few of the onlookers seemed amused, while others looked more disapproving. Amanda guessed there wasn’t a big homeless problem around here if not even the bus station was safe from judging eyes. They stood on the curb looking lost and clueless.

“Wait here,” Amanda said. “I’m going to see if there’s a hospital or medical center around here.”

Jesse watched her go with vacant eyes. The moment she walked through the door and out of sight he collapsed onto the pavement.

Orlando, Florida

Friday 21 July 2006

2105 EDT

The US Airways Airbus A320 touched down in Tampa shortly after nine and taxied to one of the many gates standing empty along the terminal building. Only twenty or so people were on the flight, most of them middle-aged men in cheap suits and comfortable shoes with a pack of cigarettes in one pocket and a lighter on stand-by in the other. In seats 32 A and B two men, Edwin Hollister and Charles Woodrow of Indiana, squeezed into the aisle, took their briefcases from the overhead locker and made their way to the front of the plane. They were both wearing off-the-rack Walmart specials, one navy blue, the other dark green, and cheap white sneakers. To a casual observer the phrase
scraping by
would probably have been about right.

The young male steward standing by the airlock put a hand over his mouth to stifle a yawn and wished them both a pleasant stay in Tampa. Charles, the younger of the two, gave him a wink.

“You be sure to get some sleep,” he said, flicking his eyes down to the steward’s crotch.

The steward smiled, gave him a quick once-over and turned to face the man walking up the aisle behind them. When they were in the main terminal building, Mike turned to Francis and chuckled. “Part of your disguise?” he asked, looking amused.

“The Sixties are over,” Francis said. “Being gay these days is like being invisible. You should try it.”

“I’m having enough trouble with the contacts,” Mike said. “I’ll leave the rough stuff to you.”

“You can take them out as soon as we’re in the car,” Francis said.

When they reached the Hertz rental counter Francis handed his forged driver’s license to the woman behind the counter. She flashed them both a well-practiced smile. “Welcome to Florida, Mr. Woodrow. Are you here on vacation?”

“Strictly business,” Francis said.

She smiled again and handed him a set of keys. “The account’s paid up so you just need to pick up the car. It’s got a full tank. We ask you to fill it up before you drop it off. The shuttle leaves from just outside the main door every ten minutes. Is there anything else I can do for you today?”

“No, I think we’re all set,” Francis said and offered her a tired smile in return.

The car was a white no-frills Chevy Cobalt. Francis opened the trunk, threw his briefcase inside and beckoned for Mike to do the same. When they were in Mike reached up, held his left eye open with one hand and pinched the contact lens out with the other. He did the same with the other eye and sat blinking for a moment.

“How the hell do people wear these things?” he asked.

“You get used to it.”

“I don’t think I want to.”

There was almost no traffic and it took them only five minutes to get onto the 528 Bee Line Expressway. Francis stuck to the speed limit, keeping one eye on the rear-view mirror. Mike was looking out the window, lost in his own thoughts. Things had been happening so fast it was hard to get any real perspective on the situation. Four days ago he’d been sitting in his office contemplating the price of real estate with nothing but a rebellious son and a pissed-off wife to worry about. The man sitting next to him had changed all that. He wondered where Susan and Josh were and how they were coping with being kidnapped, because that’s certainly how
she
would see it. He couldn’t imagine what she had been told to get her out of the house, much less into a stranger’s car with their teenage son. It occurred to him he might never see them again, but he brushed the thought from his mind.

Francis had been well prepared. When they had returned to the taxi at LaGuardia, the clothes, documents and briefcases had all been in the trunk. The picture on Mike’s new license and passport had been taken from the FBI website and doctored somehow. His hair, naturally black, was light gray and his eyes had gone from brown to a dark blue. Before Mike could ask how that was going to work, Francis had produced the contact lenses and a bottle of hair dye. The result had been quite remarkable.

“Subtlety is the key,” Francis had said. “Go overboard and you draw attention. The trick is to choose one or two prominent features and change only them. Short of reconstructive surgery, there’s no better way to reinvent yourself.”

To prove his point Francis had put on a pair of rimless glasses, then covered his hair in gel and combed a part along the side of his head. It was still clearly him, but someone asked to describe him was most likely to remember the glasses and the hair.

Edwin Hollister and Charles Woodrow worked for a small property developer in Terre Haute, Indiana and were in Florida scouting for a little slice of the vacation homes market, Francis had explained. The cover was strictly for conversational purposes, should they end up seated next to someone particularly social, or one of those nervous fliers who couldn’t keep their mouths shut. That had turned out not to be necessary as the handful of passengers on the plane had been scattered throughout the cabin and the two of them had had several rows to themselves. To Mike, the experience had been nerve-racking, but Francis had slipped into character like a seasoned actor. Mike supposed a man who could kill an innocent woman – a pregnant woman – didn’t get nervous too easily. The idea was almost too disturbing to believe, but Mike didn’t think Francis had been lying about that. It made him both scared of the man and grateful to know he was in the company of someone who could handle things when the shit started hitting fans.

Francis stirred him from his thoughts by tapping him on the knee. “Almost there. I need you to wait in the car while I go inside. I shouldn’t be long.”