Day Thirteen ∞ Wednesday evening

"I WONDER HOW LONG she's going to take," Dawson said as he closed the garage doors, hiding their car from view. "What if she never recovers her memory? We'd be on permanent vacation."

"Patience," Weaver mumbled and, on passing, tapped on the wooden post that proudly held the sign with 'SOLD' splashed across it.

The question reminded him of the risk they were taking. Permanent vacation or permanent retirement—he couldn't picture himself in either position. He had to be investigating something or be undercover, or else he'd be a dead dog.

It wasn't like he had a life—he'd lost all that soon after the end of his tour in the 'Nam, after he'd already been recruited by the CIA. That virtually killed any chance he might have had. And whatever chance he had, he gave it up. He was no longer fit to be part of a family. The divorce made Cambodia a perfect outlet for his frustration and anger, a way to numb the guilt of being an absentee father during all those years in service. Instead, he ended up compounding it with his worst images of guilt.

The faces.

It was always the faces... of the women.

Both young and old. 

Just because they lived in a village where the main livelihood was heroin.

But that was water long gone under the bridge. The same water that came circling back to haunt him when he least expected it.

And now there was something else to worry about.

Apoc.

The end of the world.

Weaver hadn't told his partner yet. He wondered how Selina was holding up. No doubt she'd be under severe pressure. He wouldn't wish that man's tactics on anyone, but it was something he was well versed with himself. If the situation dictated it, he had the training to do it.

He was the first down the stairs to the basement when agitated movements on the surveillance feed caught his attention. He rushed the last few steps and grabbed a headset, staring intently at the monitor.

The mother was wringing her hands, then holding her forehead as she turned to the window.

"You're blowing this way out of proportion, Mom." The subject's sister came into view.

"You don't know that. Last time your brother went out on that contraption, he almost got himself killed! 'It is written, Thou shalt not make trial—'"

"Mom! You've got to stop worrying so much. That's like six, seven years ago."

"I'm always going to regret not selling it when I could—I don't know why I thought I should be keeping a promise to your father."

"Mom, Dan's not going to be doing—"

Weaver turned to Dawson who was waving a flashing tracker at him. "They're on the move," they said in unison and Weaver pulled off the headset, a corner of his mouth lifting in amusement.

"He's on his bike. Looks like the day hasn't ended yet!" Dawson continued, practically rubbing his hands. He was looking forward to a change of pace.

∞

They caught sight of the two motorcycle riders as they turned the last corner leaving the neighborhood, on the westbound. They were both wearing helmets, but Weaver recognized them as a male and a female on the right kind of bikes, plus the tracker confirmed that they were on target. 

"Keep your distance," he said, though he knew it was unnecessary. His partner was not a novice at tailing a subject. Weaver looked in the wing mirror, then turned to look at the road behind them.

"They're not going to town," Dawson commented.

"No." Satisfied that there were no suspicious vehicles ahead or behind them, Weaver sank back into his seat with his eyes on the two dots up ahead.

"Wonder where they're going."

"I have a hunch." But it was too early for Weaver to make the call.

They drove in silence. The subjects kept just below the speed limit on US-82. They kept going through the districts of Corner and Midway, and when they continued straight through Union Springs without making a stop, there was no doubt about it. "This isn't a short trip...," Dawson said, glancing at Weaver.

"They're going to Maxwell."

"The base."

"Yes..."

"Why doesn't that surprise me? But what are they going to do there? They can't just mosey on in."

"I'm pretty sure he knows that." Weaver was checking their tail again. "But I do hope they don't stir the hornets' nest. 'Cause that would mean this game would definitely be over. No... buffer zone for her to recover her memory."

They were silent a while as they waited for the last stoplight in town to change, with the subjects six cars ahead. Then Dawson said, "So you think this is just an attempt to jog her memory."

Weaver nodded. "More than likely."

∞

For the first time in nearly forty-eight hours, Selina was allowed to rest without interruption. She found herself freed soon after the last session, allowed to walk around without leaving the room.

A flurry of activity followed immediately thereafter, resulting in a mopped floor, a plain mattress, the return of the padded chair, an extra table with basin and water, and a portable toilet.

She was provided with soap, wash rag and towel, clean T-shirt and khaki pants with elastic waist that she had to roll up. A steaming hot meal from a restaurant was served, along with a water jug and a thermos of coffee.

Then she was left alone to her own devices, although still constantly observed from the control room. Apocalypse was there, but this time his focus was more on her light self, seeking to understand how it functioned, how she and it interacted. So she entertained him, making it move around the room, having it hover beside her while she ate. She made it look like she was communicating with it by touching its field and exchanging energies. That was when his interest really peaked, but she knew their micro-stream exchange would have been imperceptible on the monitoring system. Only her hand would show up with an added glow where she interfaced with her self.

Keeping her light self visible meant she could not go into deep rest, which was what she really needed at this point. Her body was still buzzing with excess energy, to a lesser degree now that she effected cleansing and repairs. Most of the pain from the ordeal was gone; she did not remove all of it because she wanted to keep a reminder for a while. All of the drug was now flushed from her system. But her mind, her essence, felt depleted. The best she could do right now was to decrease the visible size of her light self and have it hover next to her as she sat in lotus position on the mattress, eyes closed, and sink to her core while ever maintaining control.

They returned hours later, motioning for her to stand up and her light self to move away to the corner. They had chains, one to restrict her legs by her ankles, another for her wrists. They did everything in efficient silence. They wanted her—still barefooted—and her light self to follow two men into the corridor, with two more men behind her, each carrying an M-14 at rest. She was satisfied: they were finally on the move.

∞

The road was clear now, so Danny steered into the lane and slowed down for Mickmi to catch up with him again. They glanced at each other and laughed.

He could see how much she was enjoying herself. The freedom of a never-ending road stretching before them, miles of sparsely populated wood, farm and pasture land—he'd almost forgotten how much he missed riding his bike. Except he'd never gone on a long trip like this before. Now he felt like he was having his cake and eating it too, with Mickmi beside him.

Dusk was just touching the sky when they entered the suburbs of Montgomery. The road widened into double and triple lanes. Danny led the way through late after-work traffic to the westside of the city. Eventually, he pulled over before a large intersection, just across from a service station. He took off his helmet as Mickmi pulled up beside him and followed suit. He nodded toward the road on their right.

"That's it," he said. "That's the road into Maxwell Air Force Base. You're not gonna see much from here, though..."

She followed his gaze. There was a large sign a distance in on the road. Beside the stark, winged star symbol, it said in bold white letters,

U.S. Air Force
Maxwell Air Force Base - Gunter

The road was lined with a band of trees, obscuring any structure that may lay behind.

"Not from anywhere, actually," Danny continued.

She was silent at first. "I want to go in," she said eventually without turning her head.

"Not without escort, or some arrangement. We'd get arrested for trespassing. And there's no point you going anywhere near until you've completely—"

She met his gaze. "Can we get closer?"

"Well... I don't know if it's closer, but we can definitely get an uninterrupted view across the runway. Maybe see a couple of the hangers. I don't know if that's where they have your vessel, though."

She gazed at him thoughtfully. "You know this place."

"Not really. I've been here before. On a school trip. And with a friend who was in training here."

"Training? But you did not train."

He chuckled. "No, I was interested in the planes, not training for the military or air force. Fortunately for me, the draft's not compulsory here in the States anymore."

She looked at the sign again, then put her helmet back on.

They crossed the intersection, merged with another road before following the long northward-bound curve. Barely five minutes later, they turned off the main and came to a halt next to a chainlink fence. The land beyond was as flat as everywhere else, a green field stretching to cleared patches and, beyond that, a number of buildings were visible.

Mickmi put down her helmet and got off her bike, her attention fully on the view ahead. She stepped off the curb into the grass and went up to the fence. Danny stayed back; he didn't want to disturb her. For a long while, she stood there, gazing. Then she lifted her hand, palm forward as if to test the air. "Daniel..."

He went to her side.

"I feel it not." Suddenly she turned to him, stretching her hands to him.

He understood; she wanted him to help her access her collar like they did on the balcony at home. He took both her hands in his and rubbed them with his thumb. She smiled faintly and closed her eyes.

"Your mind is at peace," he said, trying to recall what he'd said last time.

"My mind is at peace."

"You don't have to do anything, there's no pressure on you to remember anything... Just let your mind wander freely wherever it needs to go... Where does it need to go?"

"It needs to contact my vessel."

"And how would it do that?"

Her hands twitched. "Via my I.A. sinnesband."

"Okay. Don't think; just listen to my voice and let your mind go where it needs to go... Let it go..." He fell silent. It was like the last time, her eyes moving under her closed lids as if she were dreaming, her hands heating up, sending tingles up his arms.

"I found the door," she said eventually, her eyes becoming still. "And I am the key..."

"That's right. Open it."

It went faster this time, like she knew what to do. She lifted her face to the sky, her eyes still closed, the glow from her collar stones growing stronger in the evening light. "It responds," she said, tilting her head slightly in concentration. "It is undamaged, operational, completed repairs." She opened her eyes, meeting his. "It expects instructions... Whether it should come to me..."

"No no, no no." Danny shook his head vigorously. "Leave it right where it is; we don't want to attract attention yet... 'Cause you don't remember everything yet. Right?"

The glow faded with a few pulses and then died. "Correct." She gazed at him a few moments longer then withdrew her hands to turn back to the view.

Dusk was getting denser now, limiting the range. There were no streetlights here, just spots of lights on the buildings in the distance. Danny put his arm around Mickmi's shoulders and gave her a rub. "You okay?"

"Aye."

"It's getting dark, and we have a long way back... You ready to go?"

∞

Colonel Walters had just returned from inspecting the custom-built holding cell when a shout drew his attention. He ran back to the main area of the hanger to find the cocoon-vessel transformed. This time, its surface appeared alive with molten metal, indescribable waves rippling from top to bottom, from bottom to top along the length of its hull in mesmerizing slow-motion. It was the first time it had activated since the near-disaster almost a week ago.

He looked at his watch, nodding. It wouldn't be long before the ETA of the EBE. The ship must be communicating with its operator, or at least, picking up on the approach. It felt good that the wait was almost over. No more secrets...

Footsteps approached, and Anderson came up beside him, shaking his head in fascination. "I can't wait..."

Walters glanced at him and allowed a smile. "Indeed..." He nodded, then tore his eyes away from the ship, turning to Anderson. "Have your men ready to receive the EBE. The APOC team is in charge of the EBE once they arrive, but we are in charge of the ship. We'll have to cooperate..."

∞

The traffic was less heavy on their return leg. Danny rode ahead with Mickmi on his tail, heading through Montgomery. They had just cleared the long curve back to the intersection when he noticed a row of headlights on the road ahead. As he crossed the intersection, he noticed something dark was hovering above the approaching convoy. He slowed down, curious, as the drumming of a helicopter rotor intruded on the vibration of his motorcycle.

Two black cars came first, '78 Plymouth Furies, followed by an armored car, then two more Furies. Prisoner transport? In an army vehicle? The helicopter was almost above him, it had reduced its altitude to perhaps five hundred feet, pounding at his helmet, his body, then the impact of its blades moved away. Danny threw a glance over his shoulder, didn't see Mickmi right behind him and slowed down onto the curb.

—Daniel...

The voice caught him by surprise, and he braked hard, spinning around on a dime. The convoy was turning onto Air Base Boulevard, and Mickmi had stopped a distance behind him. But that wasn't Mickmi's voice... he'd never heard her in his head before. His heart rate jumped as it slowly sank in.

—Daniel...

The voice was different, as if labored, tired. But he recognized it just the same. Crap...

—Stay away...

Mickmi! She was half turned on the curb, staring after the convoy as it disappeared onto the base, the glare of the head- and taillights marking the way. Danny rode past her and waited for a black Dodge Aspen to pass before he made a U-turn to come up beside her. "We've got to get out of here," he said, his heart pounding.

It was as if she wasn't noticing him, her gaze fixed on the path the convoy took. "She is here, my guide," she said after a moment.

"Yeah, I know, we've got to go. Mickmi," he patted her on the shoulder, "you're not ready."

— ∞ —

*Bible reference:
Matthew 4:7 [ASV]: Jesus said unto him, Again it is written, Thou shalt not make trial of the Lord thy God.

©2017 by kemorgan65

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