Walking Ghost Phase (6 page)

“
I love you.”

Vasquez dug his fingers around Emily
's elbow and dragged her through the door. “We need to go. Now.”

As he led
Emily toward the sidewalk, her mother watched from the porch, hands cupped over her mouth. Mr. Thomas stood at the edge of the lawn, not saying anything, and he waved goodbye with the same emotionless gesture he delivered whenever Emily went on her walks. The little girl's squeals of delight resonated in the park. The driver of a black Camaro revved the engine as he sped down the street.

Emily was halfway to the transport when she heard the dull whom
ping sound of the little girl's red ball, which bounced off the park sidewalk, hopped again in the middle of the road, smacked the grass and rolled to Emily's shoes. She knelt, which freed her from Vasquez's loose grip, and picked up the ball. By then, the little girl was standing in front of her. Another car zipped past the transport.

Vasquez grabbed Emily
's elbow and yanked her upright. “Give the kid the ball. I'm on a tight schedule.”

The
little girl's mother stood on the park sidewalk, checking for traffic. “Her mom will be here in a second,” Emily said.

“
I don't give a damn,” Vasquez said, and punched the ball. It sailed out of Emily's hands and bounced onto the street. The little girl's eyes widened, and she laughed, preparing to chase after the whomping ball.

Emily reached around the
little girl's waist and stopped her from running onto the street. “Wait for your mommy, okay?” Vasquez yanked again, but Emily held tight to the child.

A green pickup truck sped toward Emily
's house. The ball, now bouncing in the middle of the road, impaled on the truck's front grill, exploding in a hundred chunks of red rubber. “My ball,” the little girl cried.

Vasquez chuckled.

The woman crossed Emily's lawn and stared at the two MPs for a moment. She reached out her hands. “Let's go, honey.” The little girl climbed into the woman's arms. “Thank—”

Vasquez
yanked Emily forward before the woman could finish her words. At the transport, Emily climbed up the back, forced a smile for the girl, who was now crying, and then took a final look at the neighborhood. Douglas followed Emily in first. Vasquez stood on the bumper, hit the green tarp with three quick slaps, climbed in and took a seat beside Douglas. “Let's move,” Vasquez shouted. The engine roared, drowning out the little girl's faint whimpers, and the transport lurched forward. A growing wind ripped through the rear opening as the sea of white houses and Jack McDonald's face vanished in the distance.

At the first stop sign, Emily
's eyes watered, and she buried her nose inside her cupped hands. An odor of sweat and musk reeked from every fiber of the green tarp. Her neck tightened as her tongue tried to escape into the depths of her throat. On the opposite bench, Vasquez and Douglas studied the clipboard, seeming unbothered by the foul smell. A moment later the transport crawled ahead again. As it gained speed, wind circulated through the back and refreshed the air. Emily gasped, filling her lungs.

Va
squez looked at her and snorted. Then Douglas tapped the clipboard, and after Vasquez studied the papers, both MPs laughed. Emily leaned closer, trying to see what they found amusing, but Vasquez flipped over the clipboard. “Eyes forward, soldier.”

Emily stared at Douglas, expecting his posture to straighten.

“Soldier, are you deaf?” Vasquez focused squarely on her.

Emily slammed her back against the tarp railing.
“No.”

“
No? No, what?”

“
No—?” She hesitated. “No—
sir
?”

“
Get used to that word, soldier, because you're going to say it a lot.” He stared at her as if he waited for a response.

“
Yes, sir,” she said.

Vasquez examined the clipboard again.
“Now, where were we?” He looked at Douglas. “Should I impress our new
recruit
with my fortune telling skills?”

Douglas chuckled.

Vasquez rubbed his temples. “I'm seeing…wait, it's coming. I see…I see a group…yes, a group of equally pathetic losers.”

“
Five more to be exact,” Douglas said.

“
I also see lots of complaining.”

“
The list does have mostly chicks.”

Emily rolled her eyes.

“What else, Great Swami?” Douglas asked.

Vasquez continued to rub his
temples, adding a low hum to the performance. “I feel a long trek exists ahead of us, and our young soldier will learn much about…about…I can't say it.” He exhaled an exaggerated breath. “The stress is too overwhelming.”

Emily crossed her arms.
“Not funny.”

Vasquez cracked his fist against the metal bench.

“Sir!” Emily belted out.

“
It's okay, soldier. You'd accuse me of joking even if I told you the truth.” He shivered. “Get chills thinking about it.”

Emily
's stomach twisted. “You're messing with me—sir.”

The transport rattled as it slowed, and the engine sputtered lifeless. Vasquez, clipboard in hand, rose from the bench.
“Am I?” His guttural laugh echoed against the tarp until he hopped off the back, down to the street.

Douglas, right behind Vasquez, paused at the transport rear.
“He enjoys this too much, but he isn't lying.” He looked at Emily and chuckled. “The truth from a psychopath. Imagine that.” Douglas disappeared around the side.

Emily rubbed her hands along the interior of the tarp. At least one previous occupant
, she guessed, must have possessed some sense of curiosity rather than sit blind in the sweltering heat. A moment later her fingers snagged a frayed edge of the fabric, revealing a hidden slit. She stretched open the hole and pressed her face against the tarp.

Emily recognized this part of town, with its tiny houses separated by three feet of overgrown grass. In front of a white cottage, Vasquez read his statement to a girl whose black hair fell below her waist. A child of maybe seven or eight, probably a little sister, clutched the girl
's leg, and behind them an older woman shook her head in an endless gesture of denial.

Once Vasquez finished his reading, the woman and girl shared a hug. Emily
's soon-to-be companion then crouched to one knee and whispered something to the little girl, but before she could lean in for a goodbye kiss, Vasquez dug his fingers into her arm. He jerked her off the ground and dragged her toward the transport, a mane of black hair swinging to each side of her body. He shoved her to the curb, and inside she climbed.

Her frayed jeans snagged a splinter on the floor as Emily tried to read the vulgarities spoken by a green and yellow bird on the girl
's t-shirt. She plopped down next to Emily, glanced at the swaying tarp and leaned forward. “Hey, assholes, we're in the twenty-first century. This truck has to be a hundred years old.”

Emily expected Vasquez to come running, ready to inflict a measure of pain on his newest victim. A moment later, when he hadn
't appeared, Emily nodded. “I know, right?”

“
And what the hell is that smell? Are they trying to make us puke?”

Vasquez tossed his clipboard
on the bench. “I don't mind the chatter, ladies, but keep it respectful.”

The girl shrugged and extended her open hand toward Emily.
“Sarah Winston.”

Emily shook it, and throughout the trembling of their joined hands
, she looked at Sarah's face. The image burned into her mind with ease, a feeling—until now—she had forgotten. “Emily Heath.”

“
Have you two met before?” Vasquez asked.

Sarah
glanced over Emily. “Not—that I know of?”

“
Sir,” Emily whispered. “He likes to be called sir.”

“
Not that I know of,
sir
.” Sarah seemed to want her sarcasm noticed. “Hell, I didn't even remember my little sister when I got home.” She pointed at Emily. “That's why you're here, right? The bomb dot com?”

Emily nodded.
“What a deal, huh? Allow me to save your life—or some semblance of it.”

“
And later, we'll drive you off in some World War Two-esque truck to God-knows-where and subject you to daily anal probes.”

“
You're alive, aren't you?” Vasquez asked.

Both girls nodded.

“So shut the hell up.” He chuckled. “Besides, anal probes would be letting you off easy.”

“
He's messing with us, right?” Sarah asked Emily.

“
No,” Douglas said. “You'll both go through an alternative training regimen.”

“
For how long, sir?” Emily asked

“
Six months.”

“
That's it—sir? Then we can go home?”

“
That's the plan.”

“
Easy,” Sarah said.

Vasquez leaned close to Emily and Sarah.
“I did one night of training. Just one night. For the next week, I ate painkillers like they were candy. You get six months of it. When you finish—if you finish—come back and tell me it was
easy
.”

“
What do they make you do?” Emily asked.

Vasquez glared at Douglas, who stayed quiet.

“That's cruel,” Sarah said.

A short time later, the truck stopped
, and the soldiers prepared their routine. Once they cleared the rear of the transport, Sarah and Emily pushed their heads together and shared the peephole. Foot-high grass swayed in the morning breeze, and aged oak trees cast a shadow over the ranch house's front deck. The interior was dark, lifeless.

Vasquez knocked on the front door and waited. No one answered. He knocked again, this time slamming his fist into the door. After waiting a few minutes
more, he lifted two fingers toward Douglas. The soldiers went in opposite directions around the house

“
Think they ran?” Emily asked.

“
If my mom had the money, I would have.”

Vasquez and Douglas
, still alone, reappeared from their trek behind the house and returned to the transport. Vasquez held a radio to his ear. “4801 Elm—yes—the Henrys—affirmative.”

The soldiers climbed inside and prompted the driver to head for the next stop.
“Looks like we'll have one less traveler with us today,” Douglas said.

“
She won't make it far,” Vasquez said as he wrote on the clipboard. “Half the country will be looking for that girl when every news network posts her face above a caption that accuses her of being a potential terrorist.”

“
You would do that, sir?” Emily asked.

“
Remember Susie Padgett?”

Emily nodded, having seen the girl
's picture plastered on every channel for the last week. She had wondered how a star athlete and straight-A student could find herself accused of transporting nuclear secrets. “What happens if you catch the family, sir?”

“
When
we catch them,” Vasquez added.

“
If they made an honest mistake,” Douglas said, “and only if they contact a base immediately, we'll issue an
apology
. Her parents will still get a fine from the federal government. Secretly, of course. But if they ran, in which case they'll probably get caught—”

“
More than ninety-nine percent of them do,” Vasquez interrupted.

“
—her parents will receive a mandatory sentence of ten years in federal prison. It will appear in the papers as conspiracy to commit a terrorist act.”

“
It was a genius plan,” Vasquez said. “Kid runs. We put the parents in prison and still ship their ungrateful brat to base.”