Chapter 8 - Weight of the World (Patreon)

"Well?" Cass sharply demanded, flicking her eyes between Mark and the road. It was quite dark, having left the town's streetlights behind only a few minutes ago. A part of Cass wondered if she was being too harsh on the man. Mark probably had his reasons, and she was still absolutely freaking out over the whole ‘getting shot at’ thing they’d experienced. All of that was causing emotions to run higher than normal.

Still… Mark wasted time grabbing the creature when they were fleeing the station. If anything more had gone wrong than there already had, that extra couple of seconds used to take the alien could have been deadly.

"I was… thinking," Mark hesitantly began. His eyes were still wide, the pupils within still enlarged from the stressful situation at the police station. “When those crazy guys first appeared, I thought they were just that – crazy. But then that third fella popped out through the back door. Now, first I wondered if he was trying to sneak up on your dad from behind. And, and maybe he was. Then I saw his eyes. When he burst through the door, he hardly spared a glance at anyone other than that alien back there. That was the first thing he zoned in on. Then I got to thinking. What if they weren’t some random crazy guys?”

Cass's heart leaped up into her throat. When that man had first burst through the back door, she had briefly wondered the same thing. If Mark was on the same train of thought…

Mark nodded. “I think they were after that thing. I noticed the cell door didn’t seem completely shut. Paul must’ve forgotten to lock it. I threw it open, grabbed the alien, and the rest is history.”

“So, you’re thinking if they see the alien is gone, those lunatics will run away instead of staying to fight in the station.” Cass summarized. Mark nodded again, and she closed her eyes, feeling the tsunami of stress wash through her pitiful little brain.

“Mark.”

“Yeah?”

“If they saw you take it…”

Mark’s eyes widened. “Oh crap.”

“Yeah.” Cass refocused her eyes on the road. “They’ll come after us next. And we don’t have a building full of cops standing between us and them anymore. Though… thank you, Mark. I think you might be right. Once they see the alien isn’t at the station anymore, they might just get up and leave. If my dad’s still kicking as strong as he usually is, he can use that break to plan a counterattack.”

The situation was simple, the way Cass saw it. Assuming they were correct in thinking those lunatics were after the alien, Mark and Cass needed to hide until her dad could get a bunch of guys with guns together to deal with the problem. Only then could they switch back to the original plan to hand off the alien to the government without being made to disappear forever.

The key was, where to stow away in this deadly game of hide and go seek? The opponents were out-of-towners. She didn't recognize a single one of them. That meant Cass held the home-field advantage. They knew the town. All the best hiding spots where nobody would even think to look for months.

Of course, they didn’t need to hide for that long. A day, maybe two. Only until she was certain her dad could get enough men to outnumber and overpower those psychos. Her hands tightened around the steering wheel at the thought. The smart thing would be to hide away for a few weeks, but…

The memories of the smoker crumpling to the ground, of the body on the floor behind the front desk. They popped up like visions between the gaps of the shadowy trees. The scared part of Cass screamed at her to check up on her dad to see if he was alright. The last time she’d seen him, he was desperately emptying his shotgun to give Cass a chance to escape. It was enough to make a bubbling current of worry simmer away at the bottom of her stomach. She wanted her town back. The old Carlston, the one that felt so cozy and safe. It didn’t feel like that now. It felt like a thousand more men like that smoker were hiding behind every tree, waiting to ambush them as soon as Cass dropped her guard.

“The old Henryks farm.”

Mark looked over at Cass, his eyes searching through her own for the reason for her sudden mentioning of the place.

“We can hide there, I think.” Cass elaborated. “It’s outside the city limits, isn’t connected to any main roads, and it’s quiet.”

“Except for old Henryks. He might have questions.” Mark said.

Cass spared a glance out of the window. The road had just turned from asphalt to gravel, a sign that they were finally off the beaten path.

“He passed away while you were at college. He didn’t have any relatives, so the property is in limbo right now as far as I know. We can hide the cruiser in the barn and sneak into the back of the house. Worst case, if someone finds us, we can run into the forest.”

Mark fell silent to digest the information. He worked his jaw up and down, almost like he was chewing on a string of words he didn’t want to let out.

“How did it happen?”

Ah. That’s right. Mark would have known old Henryks. They probably weren’t super close, but Henryks used to volunteer as an extra bit of adult supervision whenever the football team went on a trip.

“Heart attack.” Cass reached over with her right arm and patted Mark consolingly on the shoulder. “He was out checking on his cows. Bill found him on the ground next to his pickup truck the morning after, on his way into town. The doc says it would have been over before Henryks even noticed there was a problem.”

Cass shot another glance over to Mark. He had a lost look on his face, similar to how he’d appeared when Cass told him the Monty brothers had moved out to the big city. She patted him again on the shoulder, and the two drove along in silence as the winding gravel roads of the country opened up in front of them under the yellow headlights of the police cruiser.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The farmhouse was abandoned, just like Cass thought it would be. Henryks didn’t have any family, and his dogs were taken to the shelter by Bill, so the place was as silent as a grave. Considering Henryks was buried on the property, it literally was a grave.

Still, it was something. The property was quite a way out of town, nearly ten minutes of driving over winding gravel roads. The farmhouse itself was still in good condition, owing to the recency of Henryks death. The only difference was that no lights were shining in the windows, nor the cheerful bark of dogs welcoming the cruiser as it rolled along the driveway. The house was painted a stark white, which gleamed under the headlights of the car. The barn, clad in a shell of bright red, was a little beat up, but that was normal considering how much use it saw when Henryks was alive.

Mark hopped out of the car with that same lost, almost tired expression on his face. He quickly walked up to the barn door and heaved at it, his muscles bulging under his shirt as the massive door moved inch by inch.

As soon as it was open wide enough for the police cruiser to fit, Cass nudged the nose of it through the door, parking it right next to a rusty old tractor and killing the engine. Mark began closing the barn door behind her, causing Cass to jog around the car and squeeze through the opening before it was completely shut. The alien was left alone in the backseat of the car. Neither of them wanted to think about it right now.

“His dogs?” Mark began, but Cass interrupted him.

“At the shelter. I think Ashley’s dad was planning on taking them home. They have room at their place.”

Mark absentmindedly nodded, walking up to the back door of the farmhouse and jiggling the handle. It was locked, but not for long. Mark lined up in front of the door, about three feet away from it, bracing his shoulder and charging into it like a linebacker plunging through the opposing team. The wood didn’t stand a chance. There was a mighty crash as the door splintered, tearing from its hinges and falling to the floor.

"Oops." Mark guiltily muttered.

Cass raised an eyebrow. Even though the guy was down in the dumps and having a rough time, physically he was the same as ever – an utter beast. Still, the door was down. She stepped over it with Mark to survey the inside of the farmhouse. It hadn’t been abandoned long enough for cobwebs to form, nor were there any animals around making their home in the building yet. All the food had been cleared away by a posse of volunteers, but otherwise it was just as Henryks had left it before he went out on that fateful evening.

Cass clicked her tongue. Food would be a problem. They might have to go hungry for a bit before they went back into town. Water… Cass glanced out the window. Outside was a well, dug by the old man himself before she was even born. The well probably still worked just fine, knowing Henryks.

“No food, huh?” Mark’s words mirrored her thoughts. However, the big guy was one step ahead of her. He walked over to a door right next to the entrance to the kitchen and pulled to reveal a staircase descending downwards.

Cass’s eyes widened. The cellar. Was it missed by the volunteers? She hadn’t been directly involved, but her dad was. According to him it had been a hurried affair. No one wanted to loot the house of a dead man, merely wishing to prevent any perishable foodstuffs from attracting animals that could destroy Henryks’s beloved home before it could be taken care of by a new owner. They might've completely missed the cellar then since nothing down there was perishable.

Mark was already halfway down the stairs once Cass’s train of thought finished speeding through her mind. She bounded down the stairs after him, arriving just in time for Mark to pull the chain attached to the single bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling to illuminate the sparse room.

It was mostly dirt, packed tight to stay together and shored up by some sturdy beams. Wooden shelves littered the walls, some as bare as Cass expected, but others were full of sealed mason jars containing a large variety of pickled foodstuffs and jams. Bright red radishes, corn still on the cob, dull green dill pickles, warm orange peaches, bright white eggs floating with chunks of garlic and bay leaves, and a variety of cured salted meats hanging from hooks embedded in the ceiling.

“Well, we won’t starve to death.” Mark offhandedly remarked, looking around the room in wonder. “Henryks was always good at this stuff. I remember he always used to bring those pickled eggs of his to the football team cookouts. They were… they were really good.”

Cass wordlessly nodded. Now all they had to do was lay low for a bit. Two days, maybe three at the most would be all it would take for her dad to round up enough help, enough to where it would be safe for her and Mark to return.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The highway was bathed under the light of the red and blue light bar mounted to the roof of his car, the engine of the vehicle straining as Mr. Moon pushed it for all it had. His foot was pressing the gas pedal to the floor while the speedometer ticked past one-twenty. At this rate, they would reach Carlston by dawn if Dag's navigation proved to be correct. Thanks to the emergency lights, no cars stood in their way, nor did any police cruisers bother them.

Assuming Mr. Moon’s hunch was right and Mr. Sun’s information truly did lead to the same group of Russians that assaulted the compound in Washington D.C., the fact that an incident of some sort had happened was quite interesting.

Likely the original plan the Russkies had was to disappear into the countryside, laying low until a chopper could get in for an extract. It wouldn't be a bad plan at all. As he'd thought before, searching for a small group of people lying low in the middle of nowhere was like looking for a needle in a haystack. It flat-out wasn't going to happen without some serious luck.

However, if his hunch was right, Lady Luck was well and present. Moreover, to consider assaulting a police station… the only reason Mr. Moon could think of for them even slightly considering that was they lost control of the creature. They lost control of it and it was picked up by someone from the local PD.

The Russkies would have no choice but to assault the station to take the alien back, but the downside is that a move as big as the one they made hours ago would be near impossible to cover up. Even if all the men in the building fell, someone would hear the shots or see the bodies. Once that happened it would only be a matter of time before a report was made and Mr. Sun’s wiretappers heard about it.

“Turn right on Highway 99.” Dag suddenly spoke up. He folded the map back up in a series of expert movements and placed it in the glove compartment, where it rested against an extra Sig Sauer handgun, a roll of bandages, and a glass bottle of whiskey.

Mr. Moon nodded. The absence of further driving directions meant this was likely their last turn. Doubtlessly a sign for the town would show up soon, if not to at least tell him how many miles they were from the city limits. Dag was already checking his gear; his hands following habitual paths to ghost over the shape and feel of the miniature armory of weapons Dag kept on his person at all times. It was something the man had done multiple times already on the drive from D.C.

Mr. Moon didn’t blame the man. It was hard to say for sure the situation that they were about to go in, and for the plan to work they needed to handle as much of the direct confrontation between the two of them. Steve and Ms. Miller had their own part to play, a much more subtle one than they did. That meant unless the situation got out of hand, it would be him, Dag, and whatever was left of the local PD against the remains of a team of Russians gutsy enough to raid an FBI black site.

He pressed the gas pedal down to grind it into the carpeted floor of the car. Trees and hills flashed by, obscured by the shadows of the night. Lights from cars, pulled over to the side as required by law once they saw the emergency lights, gleamed in his rearview mirror. It all blurred together. Kansas wasn’t the most interesting state to drive through, and the shadows almost seemed to have visions of their own to share. Mr. Moon’s eyes remained fixed on the road, but as the soft music from the radio floated into his ears, his mind was sent back to that fateful day.

“That’s the deal?”

“That’s the deal.” Mr. Sun confirmed. The man’s face was grave. Uncharacteristically serious. Mr. Moon, meanwhile, looked as he ever did – a coal black two-piece business suit, a deep blue tie, freshly polished Oxford dress shoes, and an unyielding poker face that saw not even a whit of information leak from his innermost thoughts.

Mr. Moon looked over the single sheet of paper in his hands once. Twice. Three times. Each time it said the same thing. He glanced up at Mr. Sun, the portly man still staring at him with that same stone-cold seriousness. If the report had been placed in his hands by anyone else, he wouldn’t have believed it. The claims it made… they were straight out of a science fiction novel, the kind Lisa would might have picked up to read on a lazy summer day.

“The Nirvana Project.” Even saying the name of the project hardly helped in making it feel real.

Mr. Sun nodded. “Yes. I want you brought in as an asset. I need someone I can trust running security. I also figured you would be interested in the benefits of the project if it truly reaches completion. I’ve already cleared it with the powers that be for personnel working on the project to be given priority access to the results.”

Mr. Moon’s hand twitched, the only emotion that slipped past his carefully managed expression. Mr. Sun either didn't notice it or ignored the motion in favor of continuing to speak.

“Just remember,” The man cautioned. For the next few sentences, Mr. Sun held Mr. Moon’s eyes right in his own, as if to fully hammer down the importance of his words. “You cannot speak of this to anyone. Not even your wife. In fact,” Mr. Sun turned and riffled through his desk to produce a second piece of paper, “Memorize the names on this list. If anyone not on this list even mentions the name of the project in passing, deal with them. Changes to the list will be given in person, face-to-face, and by only me. No one else is authorized. If anyone else tries to add or remove a name, deal with them. We cannot afford even a single leak."

Mr. Moon took a few moments to memorize both the names and the important details on the briefing paper, and then he pulled a lighter from his pocket. He flicked the wheel to ignite the flame. The two men stood in silence as they watched both of the papers burn to featureless ashes.

“I accept.”

Those words were Mr. Moon’s only answer.

Such was fate. Mr. Moon blinked. His mind shot out from where it had wandered between the shadowy trees, forcing his ironclad focus to stay with the highway. Such was fate.

 ---------

One could consider this the ending of the first arc of the story. Or perhaps you could call it a mini-arc instead since it lasted 8 chapters. The board has been reset. Mr. Moon and Jack are speeding toward Carlston, now almost certain of the location of their targets. The Russians have spilled blood at the police station, but were unable to acquire the alien - now that it's flown to the wind, they must regroup and lick their wounds. Cass and Mark are safe for now, watching and waiting for Chief Thomson to make his move.

In other news... um, I don't think I have other news right now. Just coasting through life one day at a time rn. Can't complain really. Work has been busy but I have my writing time on the weekends to look forward to. It's one of my joys in life, being able to take most of Saturday and part of Sunday to sit down to do nothing but write and listen to some good music.

As always, huge shoutout to all you patreons, ninja editors, and lovely readers. Couldn't do this without you all!

The Leaf Club: https://discord.gg/jfRn8j5GaE

Peace