The Falling Away (20 page)

Elise didn't wait for an answer. “Great thing is, the whole operation is environmentally friendly, sustainable. We reuse everything: the pallets, the cartons—ask people to return the cartons for a nickel each, and a ton of them come back—”

“I know,” Dylan said. Part of what had made the HIVE community a media darling was its huge effort to encourage consumers to return cartons, bags, and other containers for reuse.

“Even the packaging elements themselves,” Elise continued. “Most pallets get wrapped in cellophane, but we use this unique fiber paper that's made from one-hundred percent postconsumer materials. Actually make the paper here and sell it to other places.”

“This place is obviously a lot bigger than it looks from the outside,” Webb said.

Elise smiled. “Oh, it's definitely more than meets the eye.”

“Great,” Dylan said. “So Woodsy the Owl and the Sierra Club love you guys. I get the idea.”

“I don't think Woodsy has a middle name. It's just Woodsy Owl,” Elise replied.

“Yeah, amateur,” Webb piped in.

Dylan paused, listening as a vehicle pulled to a stop outside. Part of the gig for an ex-EOD: he was always hyper-aware of approaching vehicles.

The door behind them opened and two men entered the building, both of them with close-cropped hair, military style. The same kind of hair Dylan had worn during his time in the service.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the first one said, “but we'll have to cut the tour short. I'm Jeff, and this is Randall. We're going to take you to a safe place.”

“A safe place?” Webb asked.

“Local sheriff, a couple FBI agents in tow, at the front gate. Just a guess, but I'd say they might be looking for you two.”

Dylan exhaled. “I don't think it's a guess.”

Webb seemed to be on the edge of hyperventilating, and Dylan himself felt his heart trip-hammering.

So much for that idea, Joni
, he said inside his mind.

Which idea
?

The one to come here to the HIVE. Took the law all of about twelve hours to find us
.

They haven't found you yet
.

For their part, Elise and the two men didn't seem at all concerned; their plastered smiles never faltered, as if this were just another day in paradise.

In their minds, it probably was.

“Relax,” the first guy said as he studied their reactions. “You guys think you're the first Butch Cassidy and Sundance Kid to visit? We're just taking a slight detour. Like I said: a safe place.”

The two men turned and walked out the door; Webb followed immediately. Dylan started to go as well, but he felt Elise's hand on his arm. He turned to her.

“Things are about to get . . . confusing,” she said. “But just roll with the punches. I know you can.”

“Yeah, well, let's hope so,” Dylan said. He didn't like how this was developing, but he didn't see a way out of it at the moment.

“I know so,” Elise said. “It might get weird, but . . . just trust me.”

“Yeah, because my life up until now has been so boring and normal.”

Outside, Jeff and the other man pushed Dylan and Webb into an SUV, followed by a quick trip down one of the village's main arterial roads. They turned on one of the outer roads that circled the Village Center, as the HIVE map labeled it, then came to a stop beside a garage of some kind.

The doors opened, and the four of them piled out of the SUV.

“This the place?” Dylan asked Jeff. “Doesn't look very big.”

Jeff chuckled, led them around the back of the outbuilding where four snowmobiles were parked. He disappeared inside for a few moments, returned with two helmets, handed one to Dylan. The other man, Randall, retrieved helmets for himself and Webb.

“HIVE is more than just the Village Center where people spend most of their time,” Jeff explained. “Cattle, fields, even turbines spread out over thousands of acres. We use ATVs in the warmer months, but in the winter snowmobiles are much faster. All electric, of course; we have plenty of electricity.”

Dylan wanted to tell him he'd already received that particular chamber of commerce speech from Elise, but he stayed quiet.

Jeff unhooked a sled from the back of the nearest snowmobile, then put on his helmet. He keyed the ignition and the snowmobile came to life with a steady whir, something that sounded like the old slot car set Dylan had played with as a kid. Only louder. The helmets' dark, full-face visors made communication impossible, so Jeff motioned for Dylan to hop onto the back of the snowmobile.

Dylan pulled on his own helmet and strapped it; behind them, he saw Webb and Randall mounting a second snowmobile. Webb had been uncharacteristically quiet; maybe his arm was hurting.

A voice came into his head, and Dylan realized it was Jeff speaking to him through a helmet-to-helmet intercom. “Be there in a couple minutes.”

Jeff angled them away from the community. They sailed across the fresh snow, the whole landscape sparkling like crystal around them. Clean. Fresh. A fitting start for Dylan's next steps. He was nervous, yes, but also excited. Odd. He hadn't popped a Perk or Vike for . . . how long? Normally, he could count the hours between pills on one finger.

Eventually Jeff pulled up to the base of one of the giant turbines and killed the engine. Dylan slid off the seat and pulled off his helmet, and Jeff followed suit.

Dylan turned back, looking at the Village Center on the horizon behind them. For a moment it reminded him of that scene in
The Wizard of Oz
where Dorothy and her ragtag bunch first catch sight of the Emerald City in the distance. But in this case, instead of endless fields of poppies separating them, it was a huge expanse of white, glowing snow, punctuated by the bases of other turbines.

“Magical, isn't it?” Jeff said, standing next to him and admiring the view. “Summer, it's a carpet of green. Fall, when the grain stalks are high, it's gold. No matter what time of year you're out here, you realize what a true escape from reality this whole place is.”

Dylan turned and smiled. “Sounds like just what I need,” he said.

“I think so,” Jeff replied. He went to a door at the base of the turbine and keyed in an entry code.

This struck Dylan as odd, because it was the first bit of security—aside from the guard gate out front—he'd seen at the HIVE.

“The door,” he said, walking up behind Jeff.

“What about it?”

“It's locked. No locks in the—whatever you call it—the Village Center.”

Jeff nodded. “Farther away we get from the central district, the more the real world—what everyone else likes to call the real world—starts to take over. Gotta lock up access to the turbines to keep out the vandals. Drunk kids, thieves, that sort.”

The door opened, and Jeff let Dylan in first. He turned and keyed a code on the pad, relocking the door behind them. “Down the steps,” he said.

Dylan made his way down a flight of about a dozen stairs, and they came to another door on the landing at the bottom, also keypad protected. Jeff squeezed by, punched in another code, and the new door opened automatically. Inside were two smiling nurses who greeted Dylan warmly and asked him to take a seat in a black vinyl chair.

Dylan felt uneasy. He was underground, behind two locked doors. Trapped. But he knew that was just the paranoia in his system trying to take over. Let it go. Just let it go. These people were helping him, after all; he'd come to them after shooting two men near the Canadian border, then running from a Montana highway patrolman and one of the state's biggest drug traffickers.

Oh, and also a bounty hunter.

Not many places, outside of the rez, they'd welcome you if you did that. And even the Crow rez, he knew, wouldn't welcome him specifically.

He took a seat, and one of the nurses slipped a cuff on his arm to check his blood pressure. He glanced at Jeff, who still wore his permagrin.

“You're fine,” Jeff said. “Lisa and Nancy are here to take care of you. Just take your vitals, do a few tests.”

The second nurse produced a syringe.

“What's that?” Dylan asked uneasily. After spending several months in the VA center in Sheridan, Dylan had developed a natural distaste for anything medical.

Lisa—or maybe it was Nancy—patted his arm. “Mild sedative,” she said. “Help you relax, get some rest. You've got some big work ahead of you. You'll just feel a little pinch.”

The nurse pushed the needle into his vein, and within seconds the world around him began to swim.

“I—” he started to say, but he lost the thought before his tongue could form it. Suddenly all he wanted to do was close his eyes, close his eyes and sleep.

So he did.

33

Dylan opened his eyes, waited a few seconds for his vision to come into focus.

He was in a room. He was lying on a soft bed, a light blanket draped over him, a pillow beneath his head. Next to him, a lamp on an end table emitted a soft glow. Somewhere outside the open bedroom door he heard the sounds of a television.

He waited a few seconds, pushed away the blanket, swung his feet to the floor. When he sat up, black dots swam in front of his eyes. He took a few deep breaths and felt good enough to stand.

He expected his bum leg to radiate waves of pain when he put weight on it; after all, it had probably been several hours since his last Perk. Probably. He'd lost his sense of time since . . . well, since entering the HIVE.

Okay. The bedroom door opened in toward him. And with the television blaring in the other room, he obviously had someone guarding him. Maybe he could knock the lamp off the night table, create a crash, hide behind the door, and jump whoever came to—

“You're up. Good.” It was Jeff 's voice, but oddly tinny.

Dylan followed the sound of the voice and saw a screen on the far wall of the bedroom. Jeff 's smiling face was on the screen.

“ ‘Up' is a relative term,” Dylan said, rubbing at his head.

“Everything's relative if you don't have the big picture.”

“And what's the big picture?”

“Ah,” Jeff said, obviously enjoying himself. “You're getting there.”

“So the small picture involves you injecting me with some kind of drug, knocking me out, and throwing me into a room with video surveillance?”

“Well, there's where you're looking at the small picture. The big picture is: we're starting you on detox, keeping an eye on you to monitor your withdrawals.”

Dylan looked around. “Detox.”

“Those prescription drugs are the worst. You're in a safe, controlled environment; you'll have regular medical care and checkups; and most important, you'll be away from the outside world for a few days.”

Why isn't that making me feel any better
? Joni's voice asked inside.

Webb's form appeared at the open door of the bedroom. “Hey, man.”

“What about Webb?” Dylan said to Jeff 's form on the surveillance image. “You've got him locked up down here, and he doesn't have a drug problem.”

“Alcohol's a drug, isn't it?”

Dylan looked at Webb, who shrugged. Yeah, Webb did like to hit the demon drink a bit too much, he had to admit.

“Besides,” Jeff continued, “he has a bullet wound and needs medical supervision as well. You've got plenty of food and supplies. You'll be fine.”

“Other than being locked up and held hostage.”

Jeff shook his head. “You think we're holding you hostage?”

“Sure. Make a deal with the feds, hand us over.”

“What would we get out of that?”

“I don't know. Ask the feds. Course, I'm sure you already have.”

“Ah. Well, like I said, you don't have the big picture yet. I told you we had you in a safe place. A place no one can find you. You two have been—well, you've got yourselves into a bit of hot water. It's going to take a few days for the water to cool down. In the meantime . . .”

Dylan waited for him to finish the sentence, but he didn't.

“Look,” Jeff said. “We're the good guys. We're here to help. Right now, you're coming down off some powerful painkillers, and it's messing with your brain. That's to be expected. Once you're past the actual detox process, you'll see this for what it is.”

“And what is it?”

“It's our gift to you.”

Dylan took a deep breath. “Given freely, out of the kindness of your hearts.”

“Like I said, this isn't the first time we've had Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid join our ranks.”

“That's assuming we agree to join your ranks.”

“You will. You'll come to share the vision of the Great Sower. At HIVE we realize that individually we're nothing. But collectively, we're pointing toward harmony with Earth. That's what it's all about.”

“Yeah, I remember reading that in the welcome brochure.”

“Like I said, you're not seeing the big picture. You think you're trapped here. You ask me, you're trapped everywhere else but here.”

The monitor went dark, but Dylan noticed a camera mounted in the corner of the ceiling, red light blinking steadily.

Webb was scratching at his forearm. “I think that went well,” he said. “I can tell you two are going to be fast friends.”

“That's me. I make friends everywhere I go.”

“Those cameras are everywhere inside our digs. Every room.”

“Surprise, surprise.”

“Might as well come on out, have something to eat. We got a kitchen, full fridge and freezer, satellite TV.”

“And they give us the first month's rent for free.”

Webb smiled. “Well, it beats sardines in the front seat of Farmer Joe's old Ford.”

Dylan sighed, motioned for Webb to lead the way back out into the apartment. In the front room, Dylan sat on the couch, stared at the television screen. Mr. Clean was showing a middle-aged housewife how scrubbing toilets could be rapturously easy.