The God Slayers Copyright 2016 by Barbara Bretana part 1

The God Slayers
Copyright 2016 by Barbara Bretana
License Notes
This e- book is licensed for your enjoyment only. This e- book may not be re- sold or given
away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase
an  additional  copy for each recipient.
Dedication: In memory of my brother Michael, taken long before I was ready for you
to go. You were and always will be my hero.  A star burns bright burns out before its time.
GMO: Noun: 1. Genetically  m odified organism: an organism or microorganism whose
genetic material had been altered by means of genetic engineering.
Webster‟s Dictionary.
Science without conscience is but the ruin of the soul.
Rabelais: Rabelais: To the Reader.
It is a further and very worrying  step down the wrong road for humanity.
John Smeaton, National Director
Society for the Protection of Unborn Children.
Chapter One
James Emerson Cameron was a geneticist straight out of Harvard Medical School and not
likely to get a job in any hospital. In   fact, he was lucky to graduate, his ethics questionable, his
methods illegal and his research beyond the morals of his times. Yet, he was unquestionably
brilliant. Tall slender with good shoulders and trim waist from his sculling days, he put the
stereoty pe of  an  egg - head  nerd to shame. With clear blue eyes, black hair so dark it shone blue
and a dimpled chin, he presented a Calvin Klein face to the world. He simply could not
understand the ethics prohibiting genetic modification on humans.
Why, he argued,  not correct the faults in a deformed, retarded or diseased fetus before it
was born and became a drain on society‘s declining resources? 
His views were not only unpopular, radical and unethical but illegal. Still, he persisted
getting kicked out of one re search lab after another until in desperation he went to the black
market underground. There, he was approached by some dark secret organization that promised
him the world--- his own lab, his choice of assistants, equipment up to and including a Cray
super- computer and all the time and money he needed.
One catch, he had to live at the lab and it was in a desolate, unpopular location. He asked
where and was told the west. Somewhere between the Dakotas and the Four Corners area. He
said he didn‘t care as long  as it wasn‘t at Area 51. They did not find that amusing.
He supervised the building of the facility and was given state- of - the- art everything. The
only thing they demanded was that it had to be built on government land  –  hidden in the black
budget but officially known as the Wind River Indian Health Clinic/Hospital on BLM land. He
smiled when he heard that, thoughts and ideas swirling through his head on fetal alcohol
syndrome and Indian babies. A population no one would care about or miss.
―Perfect,‖ he told the shadowy people who accommodated him. When told what
modifications they wanted him to try, he was delighted that they were on the same page. He left
for his new home on a private jet some three days after meeting with his new bosses.
The clinic they built was beautiful but the real prize were the labs and complex
underground. There, he had his apartments and everything a single man could want yet he was
more into the research than Xbox, movies, surround- sound and chicks. His bosses offered to fly
in  a $1000 hooker when he wanted one but he shrugged that off in favor of the eagerness to get
to work.
The natives were suspicious because he was white, rich and from the government even
when they were offered free healthcare. The population on the reservation was small, insular and
poverty - stricken. There were no casinos nearby and the only jobs available was a three - hour trek
to the pine forest where the giant Weyerhaeuser logged and reforested.
There were a few abandoned gold and turquoise mines but none had yielded more than a
few hundred dollars in the last 25 years. Set in a deep ravine at the foot of the Snoqualmie Hills
was such a turquoise mine. Near it was a neat doublewide set on cinder blocks dug into a hole in
the ground. The house had a basement/ storm shelter and was the home of the old man who still
worked in the shallow caves prospecting.
He had raised 10 children and five grandchildren – only one of which was still alive. A
granddaughter who had migrated east to attend a prestigious school of Law just outside
Washington to become a lawyer. She went to work for the government –  the FBI. A stunning
redhead with dark brown eyes, no one knew she was  three- quarters Sioux or that she had been
born and raised on the tiny reservation. Her hair was not t he true red of a Celt but a deep
mahogany that the Indians called oxblood. She was tall too, coming in at nearly 5‘10‖.
The day she returned home to her grandfather‘s was a day of joy. She drove her old Jeep
up the horse track, tooted her horn and waited patiently for her Abuelo to come to the door.
Instead, he approached silently from the mine carrying his backpack and pickax.
―I‘ll make coffee,‖ was all he said as he took her bags  into  her protests. She looked tired
but then, she would be. The nearest airport was 200 miles away and she must have driven her car
in from Washington. He brought her things into her old bedroom, untouched but clean since the
day she had left six years earlier. She flopped on the double bed and he quietly closed the door
behind him.
In the morning over the simple breakfast of fried dough,  eggs,  and coffee, she told him
why she was there. She was, she said, two months pregnant by an important and wealthy married
man. He wanted her to have an abortion and she did not. She knew he was capable of forcing her
so she ran to the one place she knew she would be safe.
―Will he come after you , Rachel?‖ Her grandfather asked calling her by her white name.
―No one knows I came from here, Grandfather. I started fresh from college. All my
records start there, not from back here. If he wants  to, though   he could track me down but he
doesn‘t care that much as long as I disappear.‖
―A new clinic opened out by the town. Free healthcare,‖ he said.
She laughed shakily. ―Good. My healthcare stopped when I resigned from the FBI.‖ She
hated lying to her grandfather yet he knew she was holding something back.
On Monday morning, two weeks after the clinic opened, she was there for her first
prenatal checkup. She liked the nurses but the tall handsome doctor gave her an unsettled feeling.
He was surprised when he read her medical history, commenting that she did not look Native
American with her auburn hair and brown eyes.
―My parents were Renée and Jason Strongbow,‖ she returned. ―They died in a multicar
pileu p on the Delaware Watershed Turnpike.‖
―Do you have a high school diploma?‖
―I went to college,‖ she returned dryly.
―Ever have your IQ taken?‖
―Yes. It was 156.‖ He was not surprised, she seemed bright, intelligent and healthy. Just
tired. He prescribed prenatal vitamins and  a  high - protein diet. No alcohol.
―I don‘t drink,‖ she returned flatly, remembering the fetal alcohol syndrome children on
the Res.
―Good. There are too many children   here that their mothers should have heeded that
warning,‖ he returned.
―Poverty, booze make common bedfellows,‖ she said putting her clothes back on. ―Are
you married?‖
―No.‖ He was amused at her brashness.
―What brings a good- looking doctor like you out to the back - ass of nowhere?‖
―You always so blunt?‖
―I find anything e lse a waste of time,‖ she shrugged.
―No. Haven‘t  time  for relationships. You have a job?‖
―No. Why would I come for free  health   care  if I had money?‖
―Can you type?‖
Now it was her turn to be amused. ―Not on a typewriter. I can pound the keyboard of a
comp uter 100+ words a minute. You offering me a job?‖
―Yes. Doesn‘t pay much but the healthcare is great. And cheap.‖
―Maternity benefits?‖
―Will the father be paying his share?‖
―Bastard,‖ she spat. ―Not likely. He‘s married and wanted me to abort him.‖
―Him? You know the sex already?‖
―My spirit ancestor told me,‖ she grinned and left him standing there nonplussed.
She told her grandfather she was hired and would pay half the expenses. He laughed
saying that the air and water were free but if she wanted to wa ste her money on gas for the
generator and hot water to go ahead. The house was sans electricity, water was spring fed by
gravity to the house and he used coal lanterns at night, battery- operated radio. No Wi - Fi, no TV
no electric lights. 
―I  forgot  how close and clear the stars are,‖ she marveled sitting on the porch with him
and staring at the vast expanse of celestial sky. ―In Washington, you hardly ever get to see the
sky.‖
He took her hand. ―It is good you have come home, redheaded child. Orrin has spok en of
you.‖
―Yeah? What did the Great Spirit say? I‘m an idiot?‖ She stood up and strode off down
the drive that was little more than a horse trail. The old man watched as her body began the
subtle changes that marked the beginnings of her pregnancy.
They settled into a routine, she worked five days a week at the clinic and was an efficient
and perfect employee. She was amazed at the amount of work the physician did and eventually
because she was there, others began to use the clinic. Her baby bump grew unt il it began to
interfere when she drove or bent over. That was when she started her once weekly trips off the
res to the largest town staying away for one day before returning home to no comments or
explanations.
She received regular care from the doctors  including vitamin injections that left her tired
and achy for a day afterward but the fetus continued his growth on schedule, was healthy and
happy.
Her baby was born, a beautiful boy with crystal- clear ice blue eyes with black centers,
dark bronze skin an d mahogany hair even deeper than her own. She called him her Firebird, after
the Native American legend.  When he opened his eyes to stare at the new world, the doctor who
delivered him, his mother and great- grandfather,  it was as if an adult looked out of  those eyes.
She named him Lakan  which meant nothing in the Lakota language but she liked the sound of it.
Her grandfather gave him his spirit name which he would keep hidden until he was old enough
to be initiated into it.
The clinic prospered and Cameron  treated his patients. If the incidence of fetal
miscarriages and birth defects went down, the committee that oversaw such things did not notice
but put it down to better healthcare.
Children began to disappear when the boy Lakan turned three. He was a quie t child,
always at his great- grandfather‘s side or underfoot with his mother at the clinic.
It wasn‘t until she saw him reading the computer files over the edge of her desk that she
realized the boy was…gifted.
―Laky,‖ she said. ―What are you doing?‖
―Mama, these numbers are wrong,‖ he spoke with a lisp, his two front teeth just coming
in. He was going to be tall like her and his father had been 6‘2‖ yet he gave the impression of a
small child.
―Wrong how?‖ She was curious, most children that age could just begin to pick up words
like ‗read‘, ‗cat and dog‘.
―There are more account numbers than patient numbers,‖ he answered. ―For services
these other accounts provided but are not listed under the appropriate names.‖
She  gasped  to hear such words coming from h er three- year- old. ―Lakan, can you read
this?‖ She scrolled the site to Wikipedia on law cases picking a particularly convoluted case. He
read it with ease and further astonished her with its simple meaning that the litigant had violated
his own nondisclos ure contract and therefore voided the buyout offer.
He looked at his mom. ―Are you afraid of what he did to me?‖
―He? Who is he? What did he do?‖ She snapped, horrified. He told her, showed her the
secret files in the lab and the basement. 
Row after row of children hooked up to artificial wombs and kept in coma- like conditions
while the doctor and his assistants performed genetic manipulation on them only to have the
children die or suffer irreversible brain damage. Those fetuses he experimented on pre - birth
survived but damage from the alcohol their mothers had ingested and twisted their brains too
much to be useful.
―Is that what he did to you? All those vitamin injections he gave me?‖ She was aghast.
―We have to get out of here!‖
She scooped up the three- year- old and ran for her grandfather‘s not listening as the boy
tried to tell her that there were cameras recording them and he did not yet know how to wipe
them clean. On the long drive home, she met a car on the lonely road and knew instinctively that
the black Hummer with tinted windows meant them harm. She began a desperate race across the
Badlands of ravines, rocky paths and trails craning her neck behind to watch as the Hummer
followed.
The boy was strapped into a car seat and keening   with fright, his  hands holding his bottle
with his favorite drink. Cherry Kool- Aid. After all, he was only three years old.
She knew how to drive, she had  taken  the defensive driving course at the FBI Academy
and still had both the skills and her issued Glock. Locked in t he glove box and inaccessible.
Hitting a pothole, she felt the steering rod go and suddenly the car bucked like an unruly
horse. In slow motion, she felt the whole 2000 pounds of steel go over and over  o n  a roll. Too
many times to count banging her head on the crushed roof, slamming her head into the side wall
as glass broke, and then back onto the roof. It was the pointed rock through the open window
slamming into her head that killed her.
When the Jeep came to a rest a hundred feet down the ravine of the dirt road, it resembled
a piece of modern art and not a four- wheel - drive vehicle. No airbags had deployed on the
driver‘s or passenger‘s side but had in the rear cushioning the side doors. The tough little child‘s
car seat had maintained its integrity and protected the child from most of the damage. It did not
prevent whiplash or the violent shaking of his head from side to side causing his brain to jam
forward and back. Swelling was immediate and catastrophic. Vital functions begin to shut down
and the boy  began to die.
The watchers from the road waited and when no one exited the vehicle, they carefully
descended the slope to peer inside. They saw the former FBI agent, her head a battered mass of
flesh, bone, and blood. Nothing was recognizable, her eyes, her entire face was gone.
―The kid?‖
―Looks bad.‖ The second man dressed in black jeans, dark shirt and jacket reached in and
plucked the kid out. ―His pulse is barely there. Eyes pinpoint and nonreactive.‖
―Bring him anyway. The doctor wants him regardless. Dead or alive.‖
They cradled the boy and carried him back up the traverse, laying him on the back seat.
One held him on the chest with a huge hand while the other drove. On the way back, the driver
radioed in an accident report with fatalities to the nea rest police station – the Tribal Police in
nearby Trigger‘s Bay.
When they reached the clinic, Cameron met them at the entrance to the lab. ―Kid‘s dead
or near,‖ they reported. ―The woman died on impact.‖
―Give him to me,‖ he ordered and they handed over t he gravely injured child. ―Go back
on patrol. No sense you not being there to do your jobs.‖
The two BLM agents left without another word. He brought the boy into the lab and
treated him noting the dismal vitals and decreasing signs of brain function. Pour ing massive
steroids into the child‘s IV, he dropped the temp in the room and placed the boy in a sterile  icefilled container in the surgery.
Scrubbing up, he entered the surgery room to perform a craniotomy to relieve the
pressure on the boy‘s brain. The n, he waited.
One day turned into a week. The boy despite the odds and the medical impossibility
began to live. First, the EEG blinked and showed that indeed his brain was no longer flat line but
dreaming. In six months, he opened his eyes.
Chapter Two
I remembered to the day when I was born. In fact, I remembered before I was born.
While I was still just a tiny mass of cells in utero growing a brain, I had the sense of my own
awareness. Once I developed ears,  eyes, and a nose, I heard things. Like my mothe r talking to me
and naming me. She wanted to call me Jesse after an early crush from grade school but I put the
suggestion in her head of my own choice. Lakan. It meant World Changer in the old language,
the language before the great apes stood up and walk ed on their hind feet.
I remembered the trauma of birth, seeing my great- grandfather‘s wise old brown eyes and
my mother‘s sweet face, the watchful expectant look on the doctor. Instantly, I knew he was not
to be trusted.
I knew things but my infant body a nd undeveloped tongue,  mind, and the  sensory   system
could not tell of those things. I had to grow, to catch up before I could and by the time I was
ready to reveal them to my mother, it was too late. I remembered the accident and her murder. I
felt it when  the bright candle of her light went out. I felt my own brain take on such injuries that I
knew I was dying.
Yet –  the GMO that Cameron had injected into my mother during her pregnancy  had
changed me and kicked in moments from that death. Cells underwent a  radical shift into a sort of
suspended stasis while others began to repair the most critical   injuries staving off cessation of the
major functions. My brain did not remember the pain or the why, only that it must not reveal
those changes.
When I opened my eyes six months later, I saw the world through a dull perception. My
reactions and emotions we re stunted. Cameron tested me e xtensively and pronounced me
developmentally delayed. Brain- damaged. Released me back to my grandfather but kept tabs on
me with m onthly checkups at his clinic. It was easy to fool him for in truth, my brain felt dull
and lagging behind. My grandpop did not care, he took me in and cared for me as if I were an
orphan foal. He bottle- fed me until I learned how to eat again. Carried me  with him everywhere
until I learned how to walk and do those things I had taken for granted. He never judged me and
was always patient, praising me when I had done something right and  using a word or two that
meant more to me than any effusive reward.
He celebrated my birthday as milestones giving me not gifts but responsibilities. By the
time I was five, I took care of my own horse and his, the two Heeler dogs, chickens and a small
herd of sheep he raised for meat.  He believed in giving me responsibilities, giving me a sense of
self - worth and accomplishment.
He used to take me to the mine until I got lost once in the dark stope  and scared both of
us. Me into a quivering mass and he to the point of frantic. He called the Elders and they
organized a search de lving deep into the old mine and found me curled up in a fetal ball in a
shaft long forgotten and only feet away from deep water. No one knew how I‘d gotten there,
myself included. After that, I explored until I knew every inch of the tunnels. 
When I turned seven, I grew tired of lighting the kerosene lamps and using the wood
fireplace to heat and cook. Using parts from his junk pile, I built solar panels on the roof and
rigged it to provide electricity powered by both sun and wind. I also hitched a wind turbine to the
spring and  the wind- pumped water with full pressure  into the house  for the first time in 25 years.
In fact, the first time since the house had been laid there.
―How did you figure all this out?‖ Grandpop asked scratching his head.  He handed me a
bottle of red water, my favorite--- cherry Kool - Aid. He wore his hair short and under an old straw
hat he‘d found on the side of the road. He was taller than my mom but bent over through the
years. I thought he told me he was in his 80s.
―I read about it  somewhere,‖ I said in my slow halting speech. Since the accident, I was
prone to lapses in concentration and comprehension, slow to talk, act and react.
―Maybe I should‘ve homeschooled you, Lake. I don‘t think your mother would  have
wanted  you to grow up  ignorant or illiterate.‖
―No, she wouldn‘t,‖ I said cocking my head as I listened to her agree. ―She says to teach
me the old ways, too. Like you tried to teach her.‖
―You see her spirit, boy?‖
―Is it her spirit? She looks real. Solid. Huh.‖ I tried to touch her and my hands
encountered only the briefest of sensations. Sort of like a chilly surface brush. ―Mom says hello,
Grandpop,‖ I repeated. I took a drink and my lips stained from the cherry flavor. Grandpop
smiled.
―Hello, Rachel. I hope your spirit is  happy,‖ he replied.
―No, Grandpop. She wants the men who murdered her to be punished.‖
―Do you know who did it, Lakan? The police said it was an accident. She was driving too
fast.‖
―I was there, Grandpop. There was a big black beast chasing us.‖
He looked at me funny. Sometimes, the words I wanted did not come out like I planned.
They made perfect sense in my head but once they left my mouth – they were so inane.
―Who?‖
―That doctor mom worked for,‖ I answered quietly.
―Doctor Cameron?‖ He looked skeptical.
―I can prove it.‖
―How?‖
―There‘s a secret lab beneath the clinic and access below by old mine shafts where he
keeps the bodies.‖
―Bodies?‖ Now I was scaring him, my stoic brave great- grandfather.
―All those children that disappeared? He took them.‖ I co uld see he did not believe me
and I told him that I would show him.
Grabbing my backpack, I loaded it with water bottles, flashlights, extra batteries and  hard
hats with lamps. Strode to the door and held it open. ―You coming?‖
As mines go, this one had produced a spectacular amount of quartz with very little gold
to show for it but had been loaded with turquoise which in itself was rare to find so far north
from the Navajo and Hopi lands where it was more common.
This turquoise was deep blue shot through w ith strands of pink making it a rare and
costly gemstone much in demand.  Mined  to the last speck in the late 1890s, no one had brought
out more than a few karats  in the last 50 years. Called the Opal Heart Mine, it had officially been
closed and abandoned before the US government had deeded the land to the Wind River
Reservation and my great- great- grandfather had purchased it with his first and last $100. It had
been in the family since and still was even though Gramps had mortgaged it to put my mother on
t he way to law school.
We approached the old buffalo wallow that time and the weather had turned into a ravine
coming down from the range. If I looked up, I could see the tops of the mountains where late
spring snow still capped the highest peaks. It was ch illy here in the high desert and I wished I
had brought my jacket as I shivered. Standing in front of the man- sized hole covered with
chaparral brush and small piñon trees, my grandfather handed me my jacket from out of his pack.
Gratefully, I pulled it on as he reached inside the dark hole for his coal lanterns. Using a
long self - striking match, he lit the wick and trimmed it. Light flared and illuminated a scant 5
feet into the stygian black. I always liked that word stygian. Precocious of me to use it bu t then, I
read. A lot.
Grandpop took the lead obeying my directions until we came to a dead end that he had
never bothered to look beyond. The cave angled back on itself and because of the  angle,  it
presented an illusion of a flat wall when instead, another four tunnels branched off. Three went
nowhere except in circles coming back on themselves but the fourth led down into caverns that
were the epitome of the Greek version of hell, complete with a stalagmite that could have been a
portrait of Hades. Another looked like Poseidon raising his trident.
―The gods are buried here,‖ Grandpop whispered and I did not have to tell him to be quiet
as even his whisper echoed in the room.
Beneath a frozen waterfall of stone was a vertical crack just wide enough for us to fit into
but we had to remove the backpacks and drag them behind us. The headlights glowed on walls of
smooth rock, almost as if it had parted for us like the Red Sea had for Moses. The hiss of the coal
lantern and my Grandpop‘s easy breaths were the only things I could hear.
One minute we were entombed in the Earth‘s crease, the next we were in a chamber
carved and blasted by man. The walls were worked smooth, the floor concreted and machinery
hummed with electricity providing power and lights. Electricity kept the huge freezers running
and they preserved the remains of my kindred brothers and sisters.
Grandpop looked at each glass- fronted coffin and recited each child‘s name. There
weren‘t many – perhaps six or seven but he knew every one of them. What was even weirder,
there was an empty one with my name on it.
Chapter Three
―Lakan, are there cameras down here?‖ His voice was sharp and worried. I reassured
him.
―Don‘t worry, Grandpop. I‘ve been coming down here for two years and no one‘s ever
caught me.‖
―Two years!‖
―Since I was 10. That‘s when they called me and told me where to find them,‖ I
explained.
―Them? Their spirits?‖
―Yes. I suppose. I thought they were the real person ,  though.‖ I laughed shakily.
―Sometimes, they seem more real than me.‖
―In t he spirit world, they are more real than you,‖ he replied. ―We need to leave this place
and tell the Tribal Police what you have found.‖
―And the FBI,‖ I agreed. ―I can take pictures.‖
―You have a camera?‖
I rolled my eyes. ―Grandpop, I have a  smartphone. It does everything.‖
―And where did you get that?‖ He asked sharply.
―I ordered it off eBay.‖ Then, I had to explain prepaid credit cards, the Internet and
ordering everything through the library, picking up mail at my PO Box. All of which I had done
under  his nose. As for money, I had transferred part of my mother‘s life insurance into a  bankless
account in my Internet name.
―The white doctor thinks you are stupid, Lakan. He thinks you are brain- damaged.‖
―That‘s what I want him to think, Grandfather. I ha ve no intention of going back and
becoming one of his guinea pigs. I‘m not going to wind up down here in this…plastic coffin.‖
―We should leave.‖ I nodded and retraced our steps back towards his mine and familiar
territory. We eme rged into a soft twilight;  we had been down in the earth longer than I had
expected and as we approached the house, we saw the headlights of a big SUV shining on the
front porch.
Standing in front of the high beams were two of the doctor‘s henchmen, big men that
guarded his home an d patrolled the clinic grounds.
They were staring up at the solar panel array on the roof. Both men looked like exmilitary with buzz cuts, dark jeans,  shirts, and jean jackets. Neither wore cowboy boots which set
them apart from 99% of the men around us.  Both were 6 feet, well - muscled without being bulky
and very fit. Dark- haired, brown eyed and armed with semiautomatic pistols that they kept
concealed in shoulder holsters. I had seen them before; Dr. Cameron had sent them to pick me up
for my monthly checkups. I did not like or trust them any more than I did the doctor. They
treated me as if I were a stupid dog, calling me slow and retarded. Of course, I fostered that
perception of me.
―Mr. Strongbow,‖ the younger one with dark brown eyes under an LA Raide rs cap
greeted. ―Out late prospecting?‖ He didn‘t wait for a reply but pointed to the roof. ―Nice solar
array there. You have somebody come in from the big city to do that?‖
Grandpop nodded. ―Solar Solutions out of California.‖
―That must‘ve cost a pretty penny. Didn‘t know you were so flush. Come up on a big
mother lode?‖
―Why? You want to buy in?‖ My grandfather asked. ―For your information, I used my
granddaughter‘s life insurance. The boy needs light and stimulation for his brain.‖
―Isn‘t any TV or Wi - F i out here,‖ the man laughed. ―Besides he‘s…slow. What can he
learn?‖ He stared at me and I let drool dribble  out of  my mouth as I stumbled forward to grab for
his baseball cap. He stepped back as if I were contagious and muttered ‗retard‘ under his breath.
―What do you want?‖ Grandpop asked, foregoing his usual good manners. ―It isn‘t the
day or the time for the boy‘s checkup.‖
―Dr. Cameron would like to see both of you at the clinic tomorrow morning. We thought
we‘d save you a trip into town, you could spend the night in the clinic hospice rooms.‖
―I can drive myself and the boy in,‖ Grandpop said gruffly.
―Nope. Your truck has a flat tire and no spare.‖
Grandpop stared and went to look –  his old F- 150 sat on its rims, all four tires flat with a
thorn in each one. The only thorns around were down in the gully where you‘d have to be on a
donkey to ride through it.
Grandpop‘s lips thinned and I could see him thinking about resisting but his old Colt .45
single action was in his backpack and not easily accessi ble. I shuffled over to the big black
Denali and opened the door, climbing into the driver‘s seat where I fumbled with the keys,
turning it on and grinding the starter before Redcap could stop me.
With a curse, he reached in and hauled me out by the shirt  front. I batted at his face with
my hands and tried to bite him. He tossed me into the backseat, grabbed both my hands and seat
belted me in making the lap belt unnecessarily tight. His face was close to mine and I wailed in
his ears striking at him with my head but he was too quick jerking it out of the way before I
could connect.
―Tell him to quit or I‘ll hurt him,‖ he ordered Grandpop.
―Lakan, stop.‖ I subsided making only small whimpering noises until I pissed my jeans.
The smell made him rear back in d isgust.
―Pee- pee, Grandpa,‖ I mumbled, tears running down my face.
―Don‘t you touch my boy!‖ My grandfather roared and charged the men.
―Ganpa! No!‖ I yelled and kicked the back of the seat. My grandfather stopped, his
nostrils flaring like a winded horse and the other men grabbed him by the arm. ―Calm down,
grandpa. The boy‘s not hurt. Get in the car and we‘ll take a nice quiet trip to town.‖
Grandpa slid into the back seat with me, tossing his backpack onto the floor space
between us. Mine, I‘d left outside the SUV and the driver threw it into the back. I gave Grandpop
a worried look –  if either of them went through it, they would find items that did not belong in a
retard‘s pack.
I put my hand on my grandfather‘s knee and used sign to tell him not to worr y, that I
would not let them hurt either of us. I spoke in Lakota; a language I knew they did not
understand.
The two men got into the front, seat belted themselves and locked the doors. Starting the
engine, they reversed and drove slowly down our long driveway that was part road and dirt trail.
The suspension was tough and we rocked side to side on the ruts and rocks.
It was a two- hour  ride into town and once there, we drove slowly down the only paved
street in the whole village directly towards the clinic   which sat on the very edge of town. It was a
modern building built of prefabricated walls, designed to be solid in a thunderstorm,  hurricane,
and tornadoes of which we had all three. Built of cinder block and steel, it looked like any typical
small - town h ospital and this one was no more than a  five- bed  facility. It serviced the entire Wind
River Reservation and was the only hospital for 200 miles. For anything serious, patients were
driven to Bismarck or airlifted further. Dr. Cameron was the only MD on staff, for surgeries he
called in another doctor who flew in once a week to perform those.
Both men exited the vehicle leaving us behind. To my surprise, the doctor was waiting
for us at the front doors and the first inklings of panic hit my belly. I gripped   Grandpa‘s thigh
with a cold hand and he whispered to me in Siouan. ―Do you think they saw us?‖
―I don‘t know, Grandpa but I‘m not staying to find out.‖ I unhooked the seatbelt, grabbed
our packs and reached for the door handle.
―What? You going to outrun  them?‖ He laughed. ―Or change into an owl and fly away?‖
I grinned. ―Better. Almost.‖ I stepped out of the SUV and held his hand as the curious
trio approached us from the other side of the black Denali. The white government must have
gotten one hell of a discount from Cadillac. Every one of these agents drove one.
―Mr. Strongbow?‖ Cameron asked beginning to become alarmed. ―What‘s going on?‖
―You tell me,‖ he countered. I slipped into the mindset I needed and opened the veil
between worlds, saw my mother standing there and she said to hurry or they would be able to
follow. Grandpop did not waste time asking questions but followed mom through the  yellow-
tinted place. We walked through yellow sand and the sky was a pale amber, there were no
clouds, no sun, an d no mountains in the distance. No bugs disturbed the silent air which had a
scent like cedar to it.
―Where are we? The spirit world? Rachel –.‖ Grandpa‘s voice was heavy with emotion
and I could see he wanted to touch her.
―No, Grandfather. You can‘t. If  you touch her, you will bind her spirit in this place where
she can never leave it.‖
―Isn‘t she here now?‖
―She is here as a visitor as we are here. Neither living nor dead can bide here,‖ I
answered.
―What is this place?‖
―The space between. When the doctor changed my DNA, he left me open to places like
this. I‘ve just now learned how to come through and back.‖
―Where are we going?‖ He asked.
―I‘m following mom,‖ I said shrugging. ―She will take us to safety.‖
We followed her and he asked a great many questions but she had no answers other than
she was our guide in this place. We walked for what seemed like many hours; my legs grew tired
and even Grandpa took on a weary countenance. He was, after all in his late 80s.
―What‘s it like, Rachel? Are you happy? Is it everything it‘s supposed to be?‖
She smiled. ―I can‘t tell  you , Granddad. You have to die to experience it.‖
―My time will come soon enough, I think,‖ he whispered and I looked alarmed.
―No, Grandpa. You can‘t leave me alone!‖
He rubbed my head. ―You  are never alone, Lakan. Your spirit ancestors are always
around you.‖
There was no way to tell time in the yellow realm and the few times I had both a watch
and a phone, neither worked within.
Mom stopped at a place that didn‘t look any different than the  last place we‘d stopped or
the place where we‘d entered. ―Here is where you exit,‖ she smiled and blew me a kiss. She sent
one to Grandpa and I felt a soft whisper of cool air touch my cheek. I took his hand and opened
the veil so both of us could step th rough. We emerged  from   the house and the first thing I noticed
was that all the lights were on and the front door was wide open. There was never a need to lock
it, no one had ever broken into a home on the  res and Grandpa lived too far out for most to make
the trip in. He had nothing worth stealing. Besides, most of the people knew Grandpop would
give them anything if they needed it and asked.
―Did they search the house?‖ He rushed forward and I stopped him, listening to the
vibrations on the air. It told me that whoever had been here was long gone.
―Saddle up the horses, Grandpa. We need to ride into the mountains and hide,‖ I said
before running inside. Grandpop didn‘t argue. Most of my valuables I kept in my backpack but
my mini laptop had been lying  unde r  my bed next to the  high - tech  Wi- Fi hotspot device I had
made from scraps of electronics. That alone was worth a small fortune because of its radical new
design. It could hitchhike on Earth Guard and I used it to surf the net as well as give me access to
the satellite‘s programming. It was one step away from hacking the NSA. Both devices were
gone and I didn‘t waste time looking for anything else. By the time I had packed a change of
clothes, food, weapons and ammo, he had both horses saddled and had turne d the stock loose.
The dogs milled around our feet, upset because they sensed our agitation. 
We were mounting just as I looked down the trail to the entrance of the road off the
highway leading to our place. ―They‘re coming back.‖ Swiftly, we mounted and t rotted the
horses off into the soft welcoming darkness.
Chapter Four
The phone rang in Cameron‘s office, the one phone he never used because whoever was
on the other line was the only person he was…leery of pissing off. He did not know the man‘s
name, he only knew that he was the one in charge of his lab, the money and the ultimate owner
of his research. He didn‘t know the man‘s identity but had been told to call him Mr. Chase.
Cameron picked up the phone with trepidation.
―Hello?‖
―Dr. Cameron. I hear you‘ve had some problems,‖ the unctuous voice stated. ―Do you
know how much money we have funded your little project with these last ten years?‖
Cameron said, ―Millions, I imagine.‖
―Try 227 million and counting, doctor. And what have we to show for it? Nothing but
dead Indian babies.‖
―I do have something,‖ Cameron offered and there was an uncomfortable silence on the
other end. The doctor rushed to fill it. ―One of my early subjects showed promise but was
involved in a car accident in which his mother was killed –.‖
―Ah yes, the inquisitive Agent Strong. Rachel Strong. I thought her son was
a…vegetable.‖
―Not quite,‖ Cameron said dryly. ―But definitely brain- damaged. Yet, we have evidence
he found the lab and I have his laptop.‖
―His computer? He‘s able to us e a computer?‖
―Not only use it but it‘s encrypted and I can‘t get in it. I did open it up and the thing is
structured like you would not believe. Also, I found a Wi - Fi device that‘s homemade and simply
unbelievable. It looks like it came out of a Silicon  Valley R&D lab.‖
―The grandfather?‖
―Great- grandfather. No, he doesn‘t even have a landline and they barely had the modern
conveniences until last year. Now, the house uses solar energy and wind power for the well.
Someone is mechanically and electronically gifted. No one else lives in the house but the boy
and the great- grandfather.‖ The doctor hesitated, knowing what he said next would make him
sound as crazy as a fruitcake. ―There‘s a problem. I found the boy‘s image on the security tapes
in the lab. He brought his grandfather down into the cryo- lab where the bodies are stored yet
neither of them went through the complex‘s elevators or corridors. No doors were accessed or
opened. They appear and then disappear. I sent two men to bring them back in and the re wasn‘t a
problem until they stopped at the clinic doors.‖
―What kind of problem?‖ Mr. Chase asked softly and that frightened Cameron more than
if he‘d yelled. ―And?‖ He prompted.
―The both of them just disappeared right in front of my eyes. I caught it  on the hospital
CCTV. I think you should see it, Mr. Chase.‖
―Send it to me.‖
Cameron uploaded the feed directly to the spook's phone and both watched as the slender
twelve- year- old moved gracefully and quickly in the SUV to exit with his grandfather. He s poke
and his face was bright, intelligent and curiously adult, not the image of a drooling mentally
challenged fetal alcohol child. But it was the way he disappeared that shocked the scientist most.
The boy stared hard with an intense focus, leaned forward as if he were opening a door and
stepped through as parts of him simply vanished in a shimmer of yellow light. By the time
security reached the area nothing remained but scuff marks and the two bewildered agents.
―Interesting,‖ Mr. Chase commented. ―Have  you sent anyone out to the home?‖
―Yes. A team of your men. They found his laptop and Wi - Fi device as I told you.‖
Mr. Chase hesitated. ―I will be flying out there, doctor. In light of this development, the
Director has decided to close the facilities and  move you to a more secure location.‖
―Close the lab? But I‘ve succeeded in producing a prototype!‖
―Yes and you‘ve lost him. I want all your data on the projects sent to me. I will be there
in –.‖ Mr. Chase looked at his watch, an inexpensive Timex. ―Seven  hours.‖ He did not say
goodbye just the phone went dead and the computer dark.
Cameron backed up everything on a flash drive and burned the rest. He had no need to
inform the regular clinic personnel, they would most likely keep the legitimate hospital up  and
running as a cover for the lab. When he was certain all traces of the project were destroyed and
the only thing left were the bodies, he triggered the electronic sequence that activated the C - 4
buried in the walls and floor. As he left the underground  labs for the last time, he did not spare
ten years of disappointments and research a second glance.
Cameron was in the agent‘s SUV when he felt the subtle ground tremor as the detonation
occurred. He knew it was powerful enough to blow the lab to oblivion  yet would only be felt as a
mild burp in the hospital above. Not that he cared but the powers that be would pass it off as a
natural gas explosion deep underground to stifle any curiosity.
―There‘s nothing left at the house,‖ Aiken said. He was the agent  the boy had seen
wearing the LA Raiders hat, the other was named Ferron. Both were ex- military, CIA and on
loan to Cameron for dirty work.
―Your definition of nothing and mine may not be the same, Aiken,‖ Cameron said
shortly. He was quiet the entire two- h our ride back out to the house.
As they arrived, the sun was just coming up and as it stole over the plateau where the
house was nestled in a fold of trees and meadow, it lit the area with a golden glow as if the whole
scene was painted in molten metal. Sheep with lambs were grazing on the front lawn and
chickens were just beginning to come down from their roosts.
Aiken stopped at the front door which he had left open but was now closed. ―They came
back here, and let the animals loose. I thought you said no thing was left in the house.‖
Cameron said, ―Something was valuable enough for them to risk returning.‖
Aiken exited the driver side and went inside. He came back after only a few minutes to
explain, ―Clothes are gone. Some food, ammo but we took his rifles and handguns. All they
might have are knives. Nothing else is gone.‖
Ferron returned from the barn. ―Horses are gone, saddles and gear. I found some tracks.‖
Cameron snorted. ―You think you can track an Indian? Be my guest. But don‘t bother.
What the little sneak doesn‘t realize is that I planted a GPS chip in every one of my…subjects.
Including the boy and wherever he goes, I can find him.‖
―Then what are we doing here?‖ Aiken asked.
―Waiting for the cavalry to arrive. We can set up in the house until  Mr. Chase gets here.‖
Cameron stared, picked up his briefcase in which he'd placed his laptop and went inside the
house. 
The front door opened into a great room , a  living, dining, and kitchen all in one. To the
left was the master bedroom and bath done in  soothing earth colors and southwestern theme.
Neat as a pin and without the usual bachelor clutter. There were no photos anywhere but prints
and oil paintings done by local artists of landscapes and horses.
To the right was a short hallway leading to two s maller bedrooms. The boy‘s room was
the typical mess of a pre- teen with colorful posters of Star Wars and superheroes. There were
eagle feathers and dream catchers on the walls and hanging from the bedposts. The other
bedroom had been Agent Strong's and was left the same as when she had last used it except for
the corner where her desk had been.
There, the boy had made it his own, his laptop had rested there and the desk held his
mementos--- feathers, curiously shaped rocks and smooth chunks of carved wood,  fossils and his
mother's collection of hair combs.
As before, there were no photos on the walls or in the room. Cameron did not comment
but set his laptop down on the desk, pulled up the wooden chair and hooked the power cords  into
the socket. He had his own remote Wi - Fi hotspot and it uplinked immediately to the nearest
satellite. In seconds, an image appeared on Google Earth of a moving icon of an Indian chief in
eagle headdress. Aiken, looking over the doctor's shoulder snorted.
―You know where this is?‖  Cameron asked and the agent studied the topographical map.
He traced the contour lines of the mountain.
―We're here.‖ He pointed to a flat spot that denoted the plateau and the image widened as
the satellite view enlarged. It showed the flat  gr a y  of the roof and the black SUV parked in the
yard.
―Real - time  images? I'm impressed,‖ Ferron said. ―That‘s not far from here mileage wise
but considering the terrain and the elevation, it'll be a real bitch to track him down. Can you get a
helicopter?‖
―Yes, but th at would attract more attention than Mr. Chase wants. I assume both of you
can ride?‖ At their nods, he continued. ―I‘ll have horses and another team here by morning. Till
then, let the rabbits run.‖
Chapter Five
Grandpop knew these mountains, hills, valle ys and trails like it was his own backyard
which it was. He had been born and raised on this land exploring every inch of it for almost
eighty years.
The further in we rode, the more he retreated into the  mindset of the Old Ones. He
stopped speaking English and spoke only in Sioux and as he did so, he became a teacher rather
than  a runner.
―See the tracks the horses make, Lakan?‖ he asked. ―If we stop and cover their feet with
rags, they will leave next to nothing that a white man can see. Also, follow whe re I go, I pick out
places where my horse does not press as deeply and leave a tell- tale track. Watch the birds and
the squirrels, they will tell you if anyone is near. They have special calls to warn each other of
men, another for hawks or bears.‖ We listened and I heard them laughing as the dogs tried to
chase them. They barked at their jeering from high above on the tree trunks.
―Quiet,‖ Grandpop said and both Heelers hushed. They were named Zig and Zag by my
mom because they were always zigging and zagging endlessly as puppies. The horses were
called Tango and Cash after some movie my grandfather had liked. I rode the one called Tango. 
We had ridden all night between a fast walk and a steady trot and by dawn, I was ready to
call it quits. My butt was rubbed raw, my legs ached and I was so tired that the last two hours I
had been yawning wide enough to near crack my jaws.
We had climbed the first ridge, descended into a narrow valley and were climbing what
Grandpop called Sheep Meadow Peak which lay west o f the mountain called White Tooth. It was
over 14,000 feet high and still carried patches of snow on its North face.
The predominant trees growing this far up were pines and firs, the footing underneath a
carpet of needles that muffled the horses‘ hooves.  Granite shot with quartz surrounded us. One
side of the slope was  scree and treacherous footing yet that was where Grandpop led us.
For every step over, we slid one down and the horses struggled. Once we finally made it
across, I looked back and our passage was clearly marked as darker rocks turned over by their
hooves through it. Yet, I knew the sun would lighten them in hours hiding our escape trail. Once
across on the other side, we emerged in a meadow below the huge white finger of rock that gave
the peak its name. We rode over the crest. I gaped.
Mile after mile after mile of mountains, valleys and land entirely covered with evergreens
stretched before me. Millions of acres of wilderness, some of which men had not stepped foot on
in over a century. No l ogging had been done here, no commercialization of any kind.
I couldn‘t even see a glint of silver or blue to mark the presence of a river. It was a
wilderness and I thought that no one could find us in all that even with helicopters.
Grandpop smiled. ―Thi s is my true home and yours, Lakan. The land of our ancestors. It
will protect and harbor us, give us food and shelter.‖
―It‘s so…big,‖ I said at a loss for words.
―There are places down there that no one has ever stepped foot on, boy. You ready? We
can ca mp in a draw about halfway down. Up here, we are too exposed.‖ I swallowed and rubbed
my butt. ―Sore?‖ he asked with a small smile.
―Yeah.‖
―You don‘t have much meat back there. If you get off and walk awhile, it will help. Grab
the horse‘s tail and let him pull you.‖
I slipped out of the saddle without groaning although I wanted to complain but I knew
Grandpop would be disappointed if I gave in to it so I bit my lips as my feet hit the ground with a
jar. Everything seized up.
My first few steps were awkward and painful but after a few yards, it felt good to stretch
my muscles and walk.
The little bay gelding followed Gramps‘ horse eagerly as I held onto his tail. Mostly
downhill, it was merely a question of keeping my balance rather  than exerting my muscles
having to climb.
I walked for a half hour until I was gloriously warm and loose, admiring not the view
because all I saw was the butt cheeks of the bay horse.
Without warning, the gelding stopped and I nearly ran into him. Peering around, I saw the
sides of a rocky outcrop covered with trees and scrubby brush, mountain laurels and a sort of
rhododendron heavy with flowers.
Bees were just starting to drone as they fluttered from petal to petal, the sound of wildlife
created a background noise that told me  we were an accepted part of the surroundings.
Grandpop told me to mount and as I put my foot in the stirrup, every muscle cried out in
rebellion. The minute my butt hit the saddle, I cringed. He grinned at me and pointed to the rock
wall. 
―In there.‖
―Huh? ‖
―Look with your senses, Lakan, not just your eyes,‖ he said cryptically. I rolled mine at
his ancient Indian wisdom.
I stared, watching the bees and saw them disappear against the rock wall. Intrigued, I
kicked the gelding forward and found to my delight  that there was a fold of the outcrop
concealing a narrow opening. Steering the bay horse inside, I followed the sandy wash for a short
distance.
It opened up into a small meadow surrounded by hanging cliff walls. A small stream
meandered through the cente r and disappeared into a crack  in  one wall.
Before my wondering eyes was a hidden valley, what Western writers had called a
‗hanging valley'. The grass was knee high and tasseled out, the seed heads blowing in a gentle
breeze that smelled of fall. I saw  sign  of wild horses but the manure piles were old.
Grandpop led me over to an area under a particularly large overhang and there, I saw the
remains of a campsite. He dismounted, unsaddled and told me to do the same.
Taking his rifle, an old .22, he walked back towards the hidden entrance. I knew he was
going to remove all traces of our passage.
He did not tell me to do anything but I knew what needed to be done. By the time he
returned, I had unpacked our gear and set up camp, made a small fire from which the smell of
roasting coffee greeted him. Firewood wasn't tough to find; a blowdown had brought over a
hundred trees to the forest floor down at the far end of the meadow. I saw squirrels, deer and  sign
of other game animals.
The creek had fish but they were  minnow sized. There was a small pond near the middle
of the field and I could see the ripples as fish broke the surface. We would not go hungry. I
handed Gramps a cup of bitter dark coffee and he drank cautiously.
―Come on,‖ he said and I followed him. The Blue Heelers trod on our heels as we wove
our way through the deep grass. The horses had found a spot under some trees and were grazing
heartily.
In the trees, I could see a curious doe looking at us but Gramps ignored her to head
straight for the east wall where I watched the sun climb over the cliff face. I caught a smell I
knew well. Sulphur. My eyes widened and I hurried forward to find a series of shallow pools
from which rose steam and bubbles. Hot springs.
―The ones to the east are cooler and get p rogressively hotter,‖ he explained. ―The last one
is hot enough to boil an egg.‖
I stripped in record time and picked a middle one, easing my body in an inch at a time.
He laughed at me. ―Just go for it, Lakan. It just prolongs the agony.‖
I screeched when   it hit my nuts but it felt good too. The feeling of my tired and achy
muscles just disappeared. I leaned back in the hole that was as deep as my waist and big enough
for me and the two dogs. They  of course,  took one sniff and ran.
I spent a couple of hours in the natural spa and fell asleep, waking when the dogs licked
my face. They had been hunting, I spotted blood on Zig‘s muzzle and guessed he‘d caught a
rabbit. Or Gramps had and fed them the parts I wouldn‘t eat. My mouth drooled, I loved rabbit
stew a lmost as much as lamb.
Dressing took forever because I was wet and limp so I just bundled my clothes together
and walked back naked. There wasn‘t anyone around to see me and I could care less, modesty
wasn‘t part of my hang- ups yet. 
Grandpop had made rabbit stew and he handed me a towel and a bowl. I ate first and then
dried myself off, pulling on a t- shirt, boxers, and jeans after eating. Funny how everything tasted
so much better when you camped out. I took three enormous bites, remembered yawning and the
feeling of the bowl slipping through my fingers. I fell asleep as if someone had pulled my plug
and didn‘t wake up until the moon was high in the night sky and the stars as bright as
searchlights.
The fire crackled nearby and Grandpop was sitting with his back to it working the blade
of his grandfather‘s knife on a whetstone. It winked in the firelight.
―Go to sleep, Lakan.‖ His voice was mellow and kind. I rolled over in my sleeping bag
and took his advice.
Chapter Six
The gathering group of men, machines, horses and equipment more resembled a military
expedition than the supposed cover of a hunting party.
They met Mr. Chase at the small airport some two hours outside of the reservation. He
had arrived in an impressive Lear jet that looked out of place on  the small runway next to Piper
Cubs and  Beechcraft  yet it brought no raised eyebrows as corporate jets landed there all the time
on company retreats and millionaire estates in the Backwoods
The drive out to pick up horses and men took them only to the helicopter pad where they
boarded a black and white helio that dropped them off a half hour later and a hundred miles away
at a ranch  funded as a training facility for covert ops. Four hours brought them to the small house
on the plateau and they set up camp.
Mr. Chase looked every bit as intimidating in person as he had sounded on the phone. He
was six foot three inches with long hair pulled back in a ponytail, cold brown eyes and scars
buried in the wrinkles of his face. He wore blue jeans, flat soled Ropers,   flannel shirt, down vest
and Carhartt jacket with a worn Stetson in Silver belly. All of it used and not Rexall new. Or
dime store cowboy. On his hip, he wore a Glock .40 in a custom made holster and in his luggage
was a handsome rifle scabbard of worked saddle leather, the straps worn from use. The rifle was
not the typical hunting gun; this one was larger barreled and held CO2 cartridges underneath the
trigger.
Aiken said, ―Trank gun?‖
Chase looked at him with cold dead eyes. ―I don‘t believe we want the child dead or
injured do we, Sergeant Aiken?‖
―No, sir.‖
―Don‘t you have something you need to do, Sergeant?‖
Aiken swallowed and nodded, leaving Chase to commandeer the master bedroom and
transform it into an Op- Center. He installed an upload link direct ly to the satellite and opened his
laptop with   a secure  connection to the mainframe computers at Langley where he reported to his
boss.
Her image appeared on his screen. Gray hair cut short and styled, black granny glasses
perched on her nose,  a severe  frown that was at odds with the designer suit and pearl necklace.
She was thirty pounds‘ overweight, the image of a typical Washington matron but she held a
position of power that belied her appearance. Head of one of Washington‘s most covert agencies,
she a nswered only to the director of the NSA and the President. And only if the NSA Director
told her to inform the President. Right now, she was overseeing 57 covert black ops that were
classified ULTRA, 29 deemed SUPRA and 15 that only a handful of which had  clearance. It was
this group into which Dr. Cameron‘s research fell.
―Dir. Hamilton,‖ Chase greeted and she brayed  her signature laugh. Her voice was jarring
and screeching.
―Chase. Did you capture the asset?‖
―No. We‘ve just arrived on site and I have Cam eron‘s GPS program. The icon is
stationary, at an elevation of 12, 350 feet northwest of here. We will be heading out in an hour to
track them.‖
―Them? I was under the impression that the boy was retarded.‖
―He lives with his grandfather and it seems he fo oled both the doctor and the testing
equipment,‖ Chase answered.
―Keep me informed daily. Do you want access to the facility in DC or one of those closer
to the reservation?‖
―DC. I want control close to where I am.‖
―I‘ll see to it,‖ she logged off without saying goodbye, her manner as rude as ever and for
which she was known.
The men were ready to leave by the time Chase exited the house; they had the horses
saddled and packed. He studied the medium- size  range bred  animals and picked out the largest, a
ch estnut gelding. Strapping the scabbard on the off side of the horse, he mounted in one easy
movement. He carried a backpack that he hung off the horn. In  it ,  he carried the handheld GPS
tracker, a portable 2- inch  one that was as powerful as a mainframe and connected via satellite to
the mainframe back in Washington and a satellite phone. He designated two of the men to
remain behind at the house and the protocol for updates and reinforcements if necessary. With
that said and done, he moved off with ease of  a man who knew how to ride. They headed up the
plateau for the tree lines, following a faint trail and scattering the sheep and chickens still
wandering loose.
One of the men left behind went to the barn, gathered up feed and enticed the animals
back into  their pens. He fed and watered to the amusement of his partner.
―What?‖ He said defensively. ―I grew up on a farm. Besides, who wants to step in
chicken shit?‖
―You think they‘ll find him?‖ The other man named Parks asked.
Meaders shrugged. ―There is a lot of acreage out there, all of  it   in   their backyard. We‘re
just visitors here. Even with GPS, it‘s not so easy to travel here. People get lost in here every
year and are never found in this preserve. Planes go down and they never find the wreckage.
They‘re still looking for DB Cooper.‖
―Maybe they‘ll find him too.‖ He walked the perimeter not expecting to see anyone this
remotely removed from town and the only thing he did see were some coyotes slinking through
the brush below the sheep corrals.
For the firs t few hours out, the group followed a narrow trail up into the forest and as it
petered out, it was Aiken that took over finding sign where the others saw nothing. Chase pulled
out the tracker and pointed up and to the right. They stared at a sheer wall of  rock that would‘ve
challenged a mountain goat.
―They went over that?‖ Andrews was aghast and Chase said yes.
―Or around it. They headed up and so can we.‖ Aiken scouted around and found a faint
trail shaking his head as a thought of a small boy and an old   great- grandfather riding in the dark
of night on what was a hairy trail during the daylight hours. That the two had attempted it at
night reinforced the desperation of the pair.
―Will we go on until we find them or stop and make camp?‖ He asked Chase.
―We ‘ll set up a base camp if we don‘t find them by noon tomorrow. But I don‘t expect
them to be hard to locate, they don‘t know he‘s micro - chipped. They‘ll only have run as far as a
day‘s ride, and stop where they‘re comfortable.‖
He looked around at the vis ta of rocky cliffs, deep forest and small open areas on the
slopes of the mountain. They were following deer trails because the animals used the easiest and
most economical paths to maneuver the terrain. They spooked deer and other wildlife and one of
the  men swore he spotted a cougar to which Chase nodded. ―They‘re showing up everywhere,
they are the top predator in these woods. You have to look out for bear, too.‖
―I‘d rather not,‖ the man said frankly. ―I‘ve hunted bear before and we don‘t have a rifle
powerful enough to take one down.‖
―I have bear repellent spray –  industrial grade mace. It‘ll knock a bear on its ass and
Murphy will gut it with his K- bar,‖ Chase shrugged. ―He‘s crazy enough to do it. According to
my calculations, the boy is no more than a few hours away. Maybe 10 more miles.‖
―Ten miles in this terrain could be days,‖ Aiken argued. ―Especially if you don‘t know
the best route. I can plan one by the map but unless you‘re looking at it  –  well, maps ain‘t always
the truth of what‘s out there.‖
―Should I call in a chopper?‖
He hesitated. ―I don‘t think so. Mountain searches are tricky and they‘d hear us coming
long before we‘d spot them.‖
Chase stared at the tracker and cursed as the blinking icon simply vanished. He turned it
on and off, swept it in four directions yet saw nothing.
―Stopped working?‖ One of the men asked.
―Or he went underground,‖ Chase returned. ―Are there any mines on the maps?‖
Aiken rolled his eyes. ―This is Colorado, Mr. Chase. There are abandoned mines
everywhere. Some are recorded but most are not.‖
―What‘s  north - west of here?‖ Aiken checked and found two, both owned by the
Anaconda Mining Company and closed up since the 1940s. Another three were of equal size but
further south towards the town Ouray, population six. Bo th had warnings of toxic gas and not to
enter.
Two hours of hard riding brought them to the face of one cave and from the sight of a
dead sheep lying in front of the entrance, they knew it was not a safe place to enter. Aiken could
find no tracks entering   the shaft and also spotted signs that it was flooded.
A small mountain of tailings layoff to the steep side of the slope and nothing grew on the
arsenic and cyanide poisoned rock slide. The air was heavy with a thick chemical smell that
lingered in the back of one‘s throat triggering a gag reaction.
―Let‘s get out of here,‖ Chase ordered. ―He‘s not here.‖
Andrews asked, ―any more movement on the GPS tracker?‖
Chase looked but the signal had not reappeared and it was more than obvious that they
could not be  here. He gestured and the men kept  following a well- defined old road leading
downhill. The further they traveled on it, the more signs of occupation they encountered. Old
rusted sluice parts, mining cars, and wooden timbers were scattered on both sides of  the road.
Warning signs promised trespassers would be shot and sported bullet holes. At the end of the
road was a dilapidated chain - link fence, the gates hanging open and pulled apart as if by a
vehicle. A lone sign hung from the center, ANACONDA MINING. It too was bullet- pocked.
―According to the map, there‘s a small town near here called D‘état,‖ Aiken stated.
―Population 530. I doubt that‘s where they‘re headed, from what I‘ve seen I think they went deep
into the wilderness. Where they can lose us.‖
―I  think you‘re right, Sergeant,‖ Chase admitted. ―We‘ll  go  here.‖ He pointed to a spot
about a mile further out that was a flat area with cliffs on the west side of a small valley between
two ridges. It would provide shelter, had water and was a good place t o camp. High enough so
that they could signal a chopper yet far enough away from the last reported position so that their
quarry could not hear it approaching.
It was closer to three hours before the group reached it and wearily, they dismounted to
set up camp.
Chapter Seven
It was Grandpop who woke first or he‘d stayed awake all night. He had made coffee ,
biscuits, and  fed the dogs and the horses the last of the grain we brought. I rolled over and
rubbed my weary eyes, digging the gunk  out of the corners.  He was watching the sunrise and
singing a soft chant under his breath. I was surprised, he was speaking Iroquois and I
automatically translated.
House made of Dawn
house made of evening light
Screaming the night away
With his great wing feathers
Swooping the darkness off;
I hear the Eagle bird
Pulling the blanket back
Off from the eastern sky.
Invitation Song. (Iroquois)
He had never sung the morning in before and it worried me. ―Grandpa?‖ I asked sitting
up. I did not remember getting into my sleeping bag; he must have put me there. He looked tired.
Frail, his color more washed out than I remembered. ―Grandpa, are you okay?‖ I ran through my
list of warning signs and did not like the conclusion to which they pointed. I got up and hovered
anxiously over  him.
―Grandpa?‖
―You will be fine, Lakan,‖ he said quietly. ―No matter what happens ,  you will be okay.‖
―Grandpop, don‘t talk like that,‖ I said in near hysteria. ―I can‘t do this without you.‖
He smiled and said, ―you can, Lakan. You will.‖
I cried and bo lted upright, my body still inside my sleeping bag. Disorientated, I stared
around and Grandpa was sitting calmly by the fire, a soft smile on his face. ―Grandpa?‖ I said,
afraid, my heart thumping in my chest. A spark leaped in the fire pit and he didn‘t  move. Rising,
I went to him and touched his shoulder. Blinking he turned his head to me and stroked my cheek.
―Grandpa,‖ I said gladly.
―I am close to the Spirit World, Lakan,‖ he whispered. ―Not much longer will I be in this
world with you.‖
―No!‖
―I am n ot afraid to go, Lakan. I‘m only afraid for you. Come on, I caught some fish for
breakfast. You need to eat.‖
I followed him to a stump near the fire and sitting on two tin plates were baked fish.
Trout. He had wrapped them in parchment paper with wild onion and garlic; the aroma made my
mouth water.
I had eaten two of the trout before I noticed he had not. He was sitting cross - legged on
the grass, his hands resting on his knees, a cup of cool coffee between his legs. His eyes were
open but he did not see.
―Grandpa?‖ I asked and did not get an answer. When I touched him, all I felt was a cool
slackness in his muscles and a curious rushing sensation under my fingertips  – as if the last wave
of his life‘s force was retreating from me. His body released one las t whisper of air and I knew
he was gone.
―Grandpa,‖ I said helplessly and bawled. My cries echoed off the small valley‘s walls and
mocked me.
It took me the whole day to prepare him for burial. In accordance with his beliefs and
wishes, I dressed him in his ceremonial buckskins which was not an easy task for a slender 12 -year- old. It was impossible for me to lift him up onto the burial platform that I built of slender
aspen poles and set up 12 feet in the air.
So I used the horses and made a pulley  lifting  him using his sleeping bag as a harness.
Once upon  the platform, I unzipped it so that his face was open to the sky. As night fell, I sang
the death chant for him and wished his spirit safe journey knowing that mom would be there to
greet him. And because I was only 12 years old, I cried the rest of the night,  mourning the last
member of my family
When morning came, I woke stiff, cold and heartsick. I had spent the whole night sitting
underneath his grave and crying my heart out. Now, I had to decide what  to do. I could not stay
here in this valley and survive the winter on my own. Nor could I go back to the reservation. The
tribal Elders would see to my care but the moment I resurfaced, Dr. Cameron would be there to
snatch me.
I looked at Zig and Zag, the  horses and knew I couldn‘t do anything but find them some
place and someone who would care for them. I couldn‘t leave them up here to starve or be killed
by predators.
Once I had made a decision, it was easier to act on it than think about why I had to do
what I was doing. Having a set task occupied my brain and kept me from dwelling on my loss. I
packed up my gear and Grandpop's, tying most of it on the extra horse.
It wasn‘t until I‘d mounted and ridden halfway through the valley towards the far end that
I realized the gravity of the situation.
I had to scout around before I found a way out; the trail was hidden in a maze of washes
and ravines that interconnected like a maze. I finally tied the horses to a smoke bush and used
my footprints to track my path. It was the bees that showed me the trail, I followed them onto a
ledge I  would‘ve sworn wouldn‘t hold a  lizard but it was wide enough for a careful horse and
rider if you didn‘t mind getting rubbed by stone. Once I was sure it was the way out and not
ano ther dead end, I led the one horse and the other followed. The dogs politely  waited  for  their
turns.
It was with an echoed sigh of relief that all of us stepped onto the trail that deer hooves
had made and turned back into the woods. I recognized a few pea ks, guessed we were close to
Silverton and Dolores. I let the horses pick their own way, gave them their heads and soon we
were nearly  jog - trotting  down a logging road that hadn‘t been driven on in years.
The trail switched backed, taking advantage of the easy areas of the slope but still, we
made a  good time. I had a vague sense of urgency pushing me and I didn‘t stop for   lunch but ate
sandwiches that G randpa had taken the time to make and pack in my backpack. Peanut butter
and jelly, something I knew wo ul d keep longer than rabbit  stew or baked fish. Not that there was
any left, the dogs had finished off the leftovers.
They ranged ahead of me and to  the sides never falling behind so when I heard them
barking, I pulled up and kneed Tango into the brush and o ff the trail where we were hidden from
view. Presently, I hea rd voices cajoling the dogs and two hunters in  Day- Glo orange vests, caps,
and camouflage coveralls stepped into sight. They carried  rifles but both were packed in
scabbards along with their gear. On their chests in a plastic sleeve were their  hunting licenses.
Both were from the eastern part of the state, I could see their names and addresses.
―Holy Christ, boy,‖ the man named Klingemann said. ―Wasn‘t for your dogs, we might
have shot you thinking you were a bear. What are you doing out here by yourself?‖ He scanned
the empty saddle, the two packs and the .22 long rifle hanging on Grandpa‘s horse. ―You from
town? Or do you live around here?‖
―I‘m headed to the Res,‖ I answered. ―My grandfather die d.‖ I choked back a sob.
―Aww Jeez, I‘m sorry. Can we help? I have my cell phone. Want me to call the Ranger
station?‖
―No. I‘m heading home.‖
He stared at me. ―Son, the only  thing in this direction you‘re heading is a million square
miles of trees.  The nearest  town is back up that way and over t he ridge.‖ He pointed to  me, in the
direction  from which I‘d come.
―How did you get up here?‖ I asked.
―Four- wheel - drive, four wheelers and we hiked the last two days. Our guide fell and
broke his leg but we‘ve been  hunting here for 10 years and know the area. I know this stretch of
woods and there ain‘t nothing this way but wilderness.‖ He paused. ―You‘re welcome to join us.
We can give you a ride back in.‖
―My horses?‖
―We can turn them loose; they‘ll head for the  ranch ne arest the drop- off point. The Lazy
S Bar. That‘s where we parked our vehicles. It‘s a  two- hour drop off from there to Dolores.‖ I
hesitated and then thought I‘d be safer in their company than by myself. I asked if either had a
cell phone but was to ld that there was no service out here just GPS on their compass.
I offered the one a ride on  Grandpop‘s  horse  and Klingemann took me up on it. The other
man told me to call him Pete and handed me his coat and pack to tie on my own mount saying he
preferred to walk. I showed him how to tail a horse and he was grateful for the help Tango gave
him climbing the hill.
We backtracked, or I did and the afternoon passed pleasantly. They told me about their
hunting trips, their  families, and their jobs. Klingemann owned his own auto repair shop that
serviced high - end luxury cars and Pete was a Corrections Officer in a big prison in Denver. Both
of them had kids my age but neither was into hiking, camping or hunting with their fathers.
―Excuse me for asking but are yo u Native American?‖ Pete asked. ―You don‘t really look
it with those blue eyes and red hair but your skin is that color.‖
―My mom was. I don‘t know who my father is,‖ I answered.
―What‘s your name?‖ 
I hesitated torn between telling the truth and endangerin g myself or lying and causing
them to mistrust me. ―Lake,‖ I said finally. ―Lake Strong.‖
Pete shook my hand. ―Nice to meet you, Lake Strong. We don‘t get a signal out until we
go over the ridge and it‘s intermittent at best. We‘re a long way from the cell tower.‖
―I don‘t need a cell tower,‖ I shrugged. ―Just a battery. My phone died and I haven‘t
figured out how to make a solar battery small enough for it.‖
―What are you some kind of computer genius?‖
―Something like that,‖ I muttered. The shadows were growing longer, we had long since
passed the place where I had emerged from the hidden valley. In fact, I wasn‘t sure where it was
except for the faint marks of the horses‘ hooves to indicate where we‘d emerged from what
looked like a small ravine.
They stopped at a small clearing no bigger than a bedroom but it had been used before as
a campsite. An old fire ring marked the center near a log lean- to, there was a nearby spring with
frogs piping and grass for the horses. I reined in behind Klingemann and we waited for Pete to
catch up. Both men told me to dismount while they set up camp yet I tried to help them only to
get in their way. Frustrated, I stood aside and let them do their thing. In 10 minutes, they had
erected a two- room tent, had coffee brewing an d freeze- dried meals cooking.
Ingenious PVC poles opened up to form two cots with sleeping bags rolled inside. You
could tell they had done this many times, enough to be rote.
―Throw your bags inside,‖ Pete smiled. ―Go rest. We‘ll call you when dinner is r eady.‖
―I want to help,‖ I protested.
―Take care of your animals then,‖ he suggested but I had already unsaddled and turned
the pair loose to graze. The dogs were off hunting rabbit and squirrel; they would return when
they caught something or were hungry.
I sighed and dragged my packs into the tent picking a corner out of their way. Spreading
both sleeping bags on the drop sheet, I lay down on one and pulled the other over me. Just like
that, I was out in seconds and didn‘t wake until I felt the two dogs c rawling under the covers
with me. Their glorious warmth encircled me and I rolled over covered in dog fur and goose
down.
Chapter Eight
An owl woke me. In our culture, an owl was a harbinger of death although I wasn‘t sure
if I adhered to the idea –  no owl   had warned me when Grandpop had passed. It sounded almost
as if the bird was sitting o n   the wall of the tent where I slept. I wanted to go outside and check
but I didn‘t want to wake the pair.
I needn‘t have worried, both men were still up, one tending the fire and the other reading
by battery powered lantern.
―What time is it, Pete?‖ I asked.
―3:15 AM,‖ he answered. ―Hungry? We saved you something.‖
My stomach growled on cue and the dogs made a sleepy protest as I sat up eagerly. He
handed me a wrapped parcel and I unfolded it carefully to find cold lasagna, green  beans, and a
chocolate brownie. I dove in with greed not caring that he watched me in open- mouthed
admiration.
―I don‘t think I‘ve since ever seen anyone go at MREs with such reckless abandonment ,‖
he laughed. ―You must be starving.‖
I heard Klingemann call out and the dogs began barking, leaping out from under me to
run for the open tent flap. ―Hey!‖ Klingemann yelled.
There was a funny burp noise and then silence. My hand froze midway to my mou th. I
grabbed a knife that came with the meal and swiped at the back wall of the tent as Zig and Zag
yelped in distress.
I headed to  the tent and that‘s when I saw Grandfather. Dressed in his ceremonial
buckskins of pale fawn tunic embroidered with beads, porcupine quills and sun disc, his hair in
eagle feathered braids. He looked awesome. And scary.
He pointed back towards the woods and away from the fire and the fallen body of
Klingemann.
―No, Lakan. Boy Who Thinks.‖ He called me by my spirit name so I wo uld know he was
serious. ―These men who helped you are dead. Flee.‖
―But Zig and Zag, Tango and Cash!‖ I protested swallowing the lump in my throat.
―The dogs will find you. Hurry, before they see you.‖
I ran  into the trees, following Grandpop‘s ghostly fo rm as he led me through thick stands
of aspen, warning me of downed trunks and rock piles that might trip an unwary fleeing child.
Off to the side, I could see the vague flitting shadows of the Blue Heelers as they flanked me.
We twisted, turned and at one point, I could swear we were headed back in a circle
towards the campsite. Only a few branches slapped me, their leaves heavy with dew. In another
week, the temperature this high would drop and make for chilly and dangerous traveling.
As I ran, I wondered  what had happened to the two men who had taken me in. Most of
all, I wanted to go back and do  something. All my gear and survival stuff was back there, I didn‘t
even have a pocket knife, just the slim blade that came with the MRE meal.
Grandpop‘s form stepped in front of me and he hunkered down on his knees as if
listening. I wanted to hug him but knew better. I did not want to bind his spirit to this world
when he deserved to go on.
―You can rest, Lakan,‖ he said. ―This spot is one of those where the veil between two
worlds touch and are thin. No one can find you here.‖
I stopped running and caught my breath, the dogs coming close to my side and whining
softly. I patted both and touched a bloody furrow on Zag‘s side. He yelped and licked my hand.
―He‘s bee n shot! This is a bullet crease! Someone shot him?‖ I yelled.
―What do you think killed those two men? Spirit arrows?‖ he asked.
―What happened back there? Who were those shooters? Are they after me?‖
―Those are the men who work for the white doctor, the o ne who ordered your mother
killed and was the cause of your accident, Lakan. He has a thread on you and even now, he reels
it in to find you.‖
―What should I do now, Grandpa?‖ I called him by the name I had used as a baby, I was
that scared.
“Run,”  he said.  “RUN!”
I bolted forward and didn‘t realize that there wasn‘t ground under my feet until the
second stride. Flailing arms in a parody of flight, I fell unable to see anything but I could hear the
rushing of fast water.
When I finally hit, it was still a shock--- the water was frigid and moving faster than
expected. Had I been an adult, I would have broken either my back or legs but because I was
only 12 and short, I just barely grazed the bottom. Turbulence made the water frothy and I could
not see but my body instinctively went for the brightest light I could see. My scrabbling hands
broke the surface first, and then I popped my head out to stare at the moon as the river carried me
downstream.
I wasn‘t aware of any rivers large enough to carry a body in thi s area, but then I wasn‘t
too familiar with this part of the San Juans like Grandpop had been. I prayed the dogs hadn‘t
followed me.  Heelers  were notoriously heavy- boned and poor swimmers. I coughed up water
and righted myself onto my back with my feet pointed downstream letting the current carry me.
I was cold. So cold that I was past chattering and knew I would have to get out and dry
off before hypothermia killed me. Sleepiness and lethargy took hold of my muscles. I heard
Grandpa‘s voice in my ear.
“Swim, Lakan. Swim for the shore. There‟s a curve in the river up ahead and it has a
sandbar.”
I pulled my arms around and paddled feebly making no inroads against the current. Just
as I was about to give up, my feet hit the  ground  that shifted under me and I  surged upright
wading for the faint pale stretch that denoted the shoreline.
Staggering more than walking, I stumbled ashore using the rocks to pull myself in
further. The banks here were gentle but covered in boulders, the trees growing back from the
water‘s edge. I found a narrow game trail and my fingers felt the tracks of elk and deer, raccoons
and coyote.
Now my teeth chattered as I began to shiver. Shivers that racked my slender frame so
hard that I could barely crawl.
“Make a fire, Lakan,” Grandpa whispered in my ear. “Here.”
He brought me to a sheltered spot between three huge boulders that formed a small cave.
Inside it was a tangle of driftwood,  leaves, and cattails. With his encouragement and advice, I
managed to start a small hot fire the old wa y with flint and striker stone.
Blowing with tiny breaths which were all I was capable of, I made the fire live. With
clumsy, numb fingers I pulled off my sodden clothes and draped them against the rocks to dry.
The moisture steamed inside the small cubbyhole and made breathing easier. Gradually the heat
penetrated my bones and made me sleepy and complaisant. I wanted to fall into that state, let
everything go and almost had when I heard the sounds of something approaching.
I grabbed one of the larger sticks and raised it in a defensive position, lowering it only
when I recognized the dogs. They  leaped over me in joy, licking my face and whining. Both of
them squeezed into the stone hollow and cuddled next to me. Their coats were dry; they had
either run th emselves so or shook the wet from their fur. With them on guard, I was able to relax
enough to fall asleep.
Every few hours, I woke and kept the flames going. A small fire so that it could not be
seen or smelled away from my camp. We waited for dawn before   moving. Anyway, I had to wait
until my clothes and boots were dry.
Once I was able to pull my things back on, I was warmed both physically and mentally.
When the sun came up high enough to poke its way into the hole between the rocks, I was both
rested, warm and full of confidence.
Of course, all three of us were starving. Between the dogs‘ bellies growling and my own,
we could‘ve scared away a mountain cat.
―You guys didn‘t bring any pork chops or rabbit, did you?‖ I asked burying my face in
their ruffs. They smelled like wet dog but I was never so happy to see and smell their stink.
―Grandpa? Are you here, are you listening?‖ I cocked my head and Zig licked me. I
checked Zag‘s wound and it appeared clean and scabbed over. 
Rising, I hobbled out onto the rocky beach covered with everything from house- sized
boulders down to  the  fine- grained sand. There were animal footprints all over, obviously ,  my
smell had not chased them off. I saw pine martin, woodchuck, chipmunk, rabbit and foxes along
with whitetail,  raccoon , and weasel. The weasel had caught a good- sized trout and left nothing
but the bare- bones. Still, if he could catch a fish, I knew I could.
The dogs followed my unsteady progress up into the trees where I found a small stand of
willows. Using the crude knife from my last meal, I hacked off enough whippy branches to
weave a net. The dogs eyed me with interest and Zig even went so far as to gnaw on the lathes.
He spat them out making a funny face and rubbed at his tongue with his paws. Willow had a
bitter inner bark that could be used for fevers or arthritis.
Once I was satisfied my seine would hold together, I retraced our steps to the river
following it upstream until I found a shallow pool in a quiet backwater. Watching for the ripples,
I waited for e vidence of fish and was not disappointed.
Took me a while but by midmorning, both dogs and I had feasted on trout cooked in the
coals of our fire, eaten late- season dewberries and drank our fill.
I knew the water was rife with bacteria from animal feces but I had learned how to dig a
hole, let the water fill it and be filtered by passing through the sand. Fed, watered and rested, we
were ready to head downstream for help.
Chapter Nine
Chase sat his horse staring at the GPS and its telltale lack of any blip  indicating a live,
moving person. He pursed his lips in anger as Aiken cast about for any sign that the pair had
come this way.
―Jesus,‖ he griped. ―Two horses, dogs and two people just don‘t disappear!‖ He
complained.
Aiken said, ―they do if they know how  to track and know they‘re being hunted. I can see
where someone wiped out their back trail, doubled back and left a false trail. That cost us half a
day. This old man knows what he‘s doing, he is Indian after all.‖
No sooner than he‘d said that, the GPS s tarted beeping. A strong signal indicating it was
within a mile. Aiken pointed, excited. ―Just over that ridge.‖
They stared, it was a massive slope towering at 14,000 feet and an impressive climb even
on horseback. It would take them hours. They kept to a steady trot where they could, following
deer trails and old logging trails, not that there were many. The last time that this forest had been
harvested had been over a hundred years ago and it showed in the huge trees.
It was nearly 3 a.m. when Aiken called a halt. He had spotted a flickering light in the
distance. ―That‘s a campfire,‖ he told them.
Chase sent Ferron and Aiken out to reconnoiter. ―Don‘t use force,‖ he warned them. ―I
don‘t want the boy injured.‖
―The trank  gun?‖ The scout raised an eyebrow. ―What if the people at the camp are
armed?‖
―If they shoot, you can shoot back,‖ the Washington spook shrugged. ―If you hit the boy,
don‘t bother coming back.‖
Ferron and Aiken dismounted, tied their horses up and stepped  lightly through the brush.
They  got close enough to see a man around 5‘8‖ stoking up a white man‘s campfire. A hunting
rifle was at his side. He wore camo coveralls with Day- Glo orange patches that were just as
bright in the firelight. Although the pair made no sound something alerted  the man for he stood
up and reached for his weapon.
Ferron‘s reaction was instinctive, he brought his weapon up and pulled the trigger as the
man yelled, ‗hey!‘ A soft burp was all the  noise that the silenced gun made. The hunter fell over
just missing the  fire but his rifle fell into it.
Dogs barked and other figures appeared in the tent‘s shadows. Ferron waited for the other
man to step out before he shot him only to have Aiken slap the barrel of his gun down but it was
too late, he‘d already fired on the  hunter.
―No shooting,‖ he argued.
―He was going for his weapon.‖
―You   idiot! Go see if they‘re dead and who they are. I‘ll take care of the dogs.‖
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement and fired, heard a dog  yike and then they
were gone. ―Didn‘t the doc say they had two dogs? Look sharp, the kid must be here.‖
―There he goes!‖ Ferron shouted as he saw a youngster running for the trees. He took off
after  the boy  and Aiken hurried to catch up. The boy was fast, agile and desperate. He ran
without looking back to see how close was the pursuit. He ran like an athlete, leaping over
obstacles with an uncanny sixth sense that should have been impossible in the dark forest. When
he stopped, it was with disbelieving eyes that they saw him flying only to realize that he was in
fact, falling. In the distance, they heard a falling body hit  the water.
When they returned to camp and went through the dead man‘s pockets, Aiken was
speechless. He held up the man‘s wallet and said, ―you shot a Corrections Officer. Tha t‘s gonna
bring a lot of heat down on us. Chase is going to be pissed. Who was the other guy?‖
Ferron said, ―some auto repair shop owner. Their hunting licenses say they‘re from
Denver.‖
Aiken had dragged both bodies out around the fire, gathered up all t heir weapons and
gear. He found the boy‘s pack and that of the grandfather side by side.
―What happened?‖ Chase asked flatly as he rode up on his horse. Before Aiken could
open his mouth, Ferron jumped in to explain. Chase listened, interrupted Ferron. ―He fell off a
cliff?‖
Without another word, Chase shot the man right between the eyes. He fell over backward
and Chase dismounted, walking past the body as he entered the tent. The spook emerged from
the tent seconds later. ―Who were they?‖ he asked Aiken.
―Correction officer, auto repair shop owner--- both from Denver.‖
―Get rid of the bodies.‖ He told  Aiken,  who then told t wo of the other men to drag the
bodies off into the woods and throw rocks on the corpses. He watched them walk off and waited
for Chase.
―Three bedrolls.‖ His ice cold eyes scanned the area around the fire ring. ―Those their
packs? The boy‘s?‖
―Yes. He ran off without any of his gear.‖
―The GPS is still tracking him. Downriver, a river that isn‘t on any of your maps. How
far did he fall?‖
―Forty, fifty feet counting the seconds between his drop and the splash. Survivable if the
water was deep enough, if he can swim and if hypothermia doesn‘t get him. He has no spare
clothes, no coat, no food and no means to start a fire. I suggest we keep o n after him. Sun will be
up in three- four hours.‖
―Can you track in the dark?‖ Chase was skeptical. 
―Don‘t need to, just need to follow the river,‖ Aiken said laconically.
―You let that idiot shoot when I said no killing.‖
―Couldn‘t stop him. He was trigger happy. Had a silenced HK on him.‖
―What do you have, Serge ant?‖ Chase demanded. ―Give me one good reason to keep you
alive.‖
―I‘m the only one who can track.‖
―I have the GPS,‖ he snapped.
―And when it doesn‘t work like last time?‖ Aiken returned calmly.
Chase said nothing but nodded to the packs and the horses. ―Bring their gear. Pack this
place up so that it looks as if nothing happened here.‖
―Twenty minutes,‖ Aiken promised. When the rest of the group returned, they policed the
area putting it back to the pristine condition it was in prior to the hunters‘ arrival.
They mounted and rode on; no one commenting on the empty saddle. The boy‘s two
horses followed as if they were afraid to be left behind and being herd animals, that was to be
expected. Aiken reined in at the edge of the bluff. Far below, they all heard the sound of rushing
water. Here, the sergeant dismounted tracking back and forth until he found a game trail.
Handing Andrews his leathers, he told them all to wait until he could determine if  it was passable
for horse and rider. He returned in ten minutes stating that he thought the trail down the bluff
was suitable if they got off and walked their animals.
It was. Just. Had they seen it in the daytime, no one would have tried it but the horses
were mountain bred and took the narrow steep trail in stride.
Dawn was just peeking over the ridge tops when they reached the flat where the river
wound through the canyon. As they turned to look back, all of them glanced at the sight of the
escarpment th ey had descended in the dark.
The valley broadened out, the river widened and deepened. Parts of it could classify as a
Whitewater class IV and Aiken winced as he thought of a twelve- year- old trying to swim
through it after a fall of 50 feet. They rode unt il broad daylight and Chase called a halt on a wide
curve that had grass and a small stand of willows and aspens. The river curved around the finger
of land making almost an island of about 5 acres. It had water, shelter and grass deciding for him
to make a camp from which Aiken could trail the boy or find his body. The curve of the river
would have caught a dead child and washed his body up on the banks.
The men dismounted and put together a military style campsite, out of sight and efficient.
The unluckiest got to dig a pit to be used as a latrine.
―Get some sleep,‖ Chase ordered Aiken. ―Then, you can go look. State you‘re in, you‘re
likely to fall and break something. Then you‘d be useless and we all know what useless
deserves.‖
Aiken didn‘t argue, he pulled out his bedroll, found a spot near a fallen tree trunk and
shook the bag open. He was inside it and sleep in ten minutes. A few of the others went fishing,
catching some nice brown trout which were soon cooking over a fire on the camp ware. Chase
went  into the tent to report to Director Hamilton. He let Aiken sleep for two hours and sent
Andrews to wake him up. Andrews laughed at that, if he knew anything about a former military
man, especially ex- SF, it was that Aiken would be awake before Andrews could reach him.
Sure enough,  as he stood a respectful distance away and cleared his throat, Aiken opened
his eyes. ―Andrews.‖
―Boss wants you to start looking.‖
―He doesn‘t like to be called boss,‖ Aiken returned and tossed aside his sleeping bag. He
carefully folded and rolled it back up, hanging it from a string off a limb of the tree behind him.
At Andrews questioning look, he explained, ―keeps the snakes and bugs from getting in where
your body heat is.‖
―Snakes? It‘s too cold for snakes!‖ Andrews proteste d.
―Want to bet your ass on that?‖ Aiken returned and strode off to the fire. A taciturn
blonde gave him an MRE with added fried trout and hot strong coffee. He ate and disappeared
into the brush following the right side of the riverbank.
Two men followed one on each side, moving quietly and efficiently on the wide banks of
the river where it was slow. Scrambling on the wet, slippery rocks where it was fast and chaotic.
And it was cold. More and more, Aiken was convinced that he was going to find the boy‘s
corpse.
The further upriver he traveled, the more he was amazed at the terrain. Huge boulders
dominated both sides of the water, many of them ribboned with quartz and in the quartz, he saw
seams of gold. Soft enough so that his fingers could pry loose nuggets. In minutes, he had a
small fortune in his pocket. His walkie- talkie crackled and it was Andrews from the left side of
the river.
―Find anything, Sarge?‖
―No.‖
Working his way up to the foot of the escarpment from which the boy had fallen or
jumped, he stared. The river started there, bursting out of a hole  in the overhanging rock wall like
cheap champagne from a bottle. The sunlight caught the misty droplets in the air and turn them
into scintillating diamonds of every color. Here, Aiken thought, was t he real gold of this place.
If the boy had landed here, he would have easily survived a  50- foot   fall without breaking
anything, the pool was deep enough to break his dive.
Aiken couldn‘t cross to the other side so he headed back downstream to find a way
across. At one such possible fording spot, he studied the narrowing of the river where the
boulders would allow an agile and careful man a way to step from one side to the other using the
rocks as footholds. There in a gap between two rocks in the gravel and  sand, he saw a track. At
first, he dismissed it as a wolf but decided it was too small. Following it out, he found a few
more sign that a pair of dogs had traveled that way.
―The dogs are tracking him,‖ he mused in amazement. Another half hour brought him  to
the hollow between the rocks, the remains of the fire and  tuf t s of dog hair. The interior smelled
of smoke and wet dog, vomit where the boy had puked up river water and the remains of his last
meal, probably what he‘d been fed by the hunters.
On the ro cks were the outlines of where wet clothing had been hung and steamed dry
leaving lighter areas against the smoke- darkened patches.
―You‘re smarter and luckier than I thought,‖ he muttered. ―No sign of Gramps, though.‖
He found his radio. ―Aiken here. Chase? I found where he rested and dried out. He is alive but
the grandfather isn‘t with him. He did make a fire and his dogs found him. You have a GPS
location on him?‖
Chase radioed back coordinates and soon, the former Sergeant was moving inland for the
stationary dot. 
Chapter Ten
I let the dogs lead and followed them. They chose a path that was easier than I would‘ve
expected – a game trail that skirted a ridge above the river. Occasionally, I could see traces of it
through a break in the trees.
The trees here in this high valley were huge –  m ostly hemlocks and pines. Lodgepole
pines, every bit of a hundred feet tall and some so wide that four of me couldn‘t put our skinny
arms around their trunks. The dogs caught rabbits in the brush of the pine needles und er them. I
let them have two, the third I butchered for myself and a later meal.
I was tired, even after resting and eating, my energy reserves so low that moving was an
effort and my feet dragged. Several times I stumbled, catching myself on tree trunks a nd Zag's
back. He whined softly and licked my hand.
―I‘m tired, Zag,‖ I whispered. ―I don‘t know where I am.‖ I caught back a sob. ―And I
miss Grandpop.‖
Zig barked  in front of me and I froze. His frantic yapping indicated there was someone or
something up ahead that he did not know or trust. I looked around, my back trail was negligible,
I was thin and slight, my sneakers  were worn  and leaving little more than faint scuff marks. Out
of habit, I had walked in places so as to leave no impressions and the dog s had done the same
following me. With a soft whistle, I called both dogs to me and we melted back into the brush.
Slowly, carefully, not putting a foot down until I was certain what was under it would not
snap, crackle or rustle, I hid deep in a thicket o f briars and gooseberries not caring that the thorns
made scratches on every exposed piece of skin or that they stung and trickled with blood.
How, I wondered in a panic as I spied men in hunting apparel armed with  military- style
weapons and gear, how were  they tracking me? I knew I wasn‘t leaving enough  spoor  for any
white man to see yet here they were. Then, to top off the horror, I heard a man‘s voice call my
name. A man‘s voice I knew and loathed. Aiken from Dr. Cameron‘s.
―Laky, come out, come out. We know you‘re here,‖ he sang.
I swallowed a squeak, covered my mouth with both hands and both dogs leaned into me
without a sound. I could feel them trembling against my body.
―Come out, Lakan or I‘ll shoot the dogs,‖ he called but his voice was moving and c ame
from a different direction. The ground trembled slightly under me, the vibration of a big man‘s
feet. So at least, I knew what direction from which he was coming. The only way out of the
thicket of thorns was to burst through in a dash; a slow careful  crawl would only snare me
further. I told the dogs to stay and my first stride was in the direction heading straight for him, a
move he would not be expecting.
The moment I stood up, all that was visible was the top of my head and the spiky
branches clung  to me with blood- hungry thorns. I couldn‘t run, I could barely move – I
underestimated the tenacious grip of the briars and my own meager strength. I was pinned like
Andromeda before the Kraken.
―There you are,‖ he said in satisfaction and now, I saw a rin g of faces around the briar
patch. What I did not see was Dr. Cameron. ―Come out, Lakan,‖ the guard ordered.
―I can‘t,‖ I mumbled.
―Why not?‖
―I‘m stuck on the thorns.‖ He reached in and grabbed me by the shoulders, pulling me
free with a wrench that literally tore the clothes off my body. The sight of my bloodied,
scratched flesh brought a wince from nearly every one of the six men present. I did not see
Cameron or Aiken‘s sidekick, the one I‘d heard called Ferron. 
Too tired to struggle, I hung in his grip  and as he sat me down, I collapsed onto my knees
in a small clearing not far from the river‘s banks. One of his men squatted near me and opened
his pack taking out medical supplies. He treated the worst of the scrapes removing some nasty
thorns and painted me with something blue that stung. It brought tears to my eyes but I didn‘t
cry.
―Can you walk?‖ Aiken asked and wearily, I struggled to my feet. ―Where are the dogs?‖
He asked.
―I sent them away so you wouldn‘t shoot them.‖ I stumbled and nearly fell, p raying that
both would stay until hunger drove them off.
―If they attack us, I‘ll kill them,‖ he threatened. I stared at him with hate in my eyes.
Spoke in Sioux and told both dogs to go home. They bolted for the woods and were out of sight
before the men could fire on them. ―You‘re quite the little liar, Laky,‖ he taunted. ―You‘ve been
fooling the doctor and his machines for years.‖
I ran. Ran as fast and as hard as I could. Didn‘t resist the urge to look back and was
shocked when all of them just stood there with no signs of following me. I ran into someone.
Tall, hard as a brick wall and the impact stunned me but elicited no more than a grunt out of him.
Knocked the air out of my starved lungs. When I caught my breath, I looked up into the face of a
hippie, not an agent, ex - military or guard.
He was over a foot taller than me, with long hair tied back in a ponytail, ice blue eyes and
scarred skin. Wrinkles but I couldn‘t tell if they were from age or sun damage; his skin had the
consistency of old leather.  He held his arms around me and lifted me off my feet, waiting for the
rest to catch up.
―Aiken,‖ he said and his voice was bland and generic. It could‘ve been some TV
announcers. Aiken pulled out zip- ties and before I could do anything, had me bound wrist and
ankles, proceeded to throw me over his shoulder and all of us traipsed back through the woods to
their camp.
If I hadn‘t been on the run and hiding, I would‘ve chosen the same spot. It was perfect,
sheltered with good water, grass, trees and plenty of  dry, downed timber. From the string of trout
hanging near the fire, it had a good fishing hole also. My stomach growled and Aiken heard it.
He threw me onto a sleeping bag next to a trio of foldout chairs and a table. On the table were
maps and GPS tracking device along with a laptop. I rolled onto my side, it was less painful on
my scratches.
―Who are you?‖ My voice came out as a thin  squeak,  not the angry roar I had
envisioned.
―Lakan Strong, I presume?‖ The ponytailed hippie asked.
―Who are you?‖
―You can call me Chase. I work for the lady the pays Dr. Cameron.‖
I was silent. ―You‘re a Washington spook? With hair like that? I thought all you dudes
wore sidewalls?‖ I would‘ve pointed to the buzz cuts but my hands were tied.
―Some important people want to…test you, Lakan,‖ he said studying me.
―Yeah, well, been there and done that.‖ I wriggled my hands and feet but the thick plastic
had no give and I had no strength.
―Time to call for an extraction, Sergeant. See to the boy while I make the arrangements.‖
He retreated to the big tent and the Sergeant went for a plastic box that I recognized as one used
for holding first- aid supplies used by EMTs. 
When I saw him remove a syringe and a vial, I struggled in earnest. Screamed and carried
on like a baby but it m ade no difference. He held my bound arms with one huge hand, found a
vein and deftly slid the ginormous needle in. It felt like a scorpion had stung me, burned and
instantly warmed me until I felt as if I were drowning in hot molasses.
Sounds intensified  until all I heard was a loud drone that filled my head and my ears, I
felt the wind on my skin as if I were in the heart of a wildfire. Movement around me and the
thumping beat of a giant heart. Lights in my eyes and then nothing but the taste of brass in  my
mouth.
*****
Chase sat next to the child in the helicopter, studying the small boy that had led his men
on a merry pursuit. He was small, even for a twelve- year- old, his hair a curious shade of red so
deep it looked brown. It was matted to the boy‘s skull, dirty with leaves, pine needles and bark.
He was thin, the delicate ankle and wrist bones as small as a girl. His collarbones jutted out like a
bird‘s, his skin a pale fawn and blued with bruises. There were enormous blue shadows under his
eyes and his  face had the sunken - in look of an unhealthy addict.
The shot Aiken had injected into him had knocked him out and would keep him under
long enough to reach the airport, land, unload and board the Lear jet for Washington. In fact, the
compound would keep th e child in a coma- like condition until the antidote was administered.
The Lear jet landed at Langley where a blacked out Navigator met them on the runway.
Chase carried the boy over his shoulder, a blanket covering him so that he looked no more than a
roll ed- up rug. The IV the boy was attached to hung inside Chase‘s long jacket.
Carefully, he slid the bundle into the back seat, belted him in and sat next to the child,
eschewing the front passenger spot.
The Navigator zoomed off ignoring the posted speed limit. It did not detour for the CIA
building or compound. Instead, it exited Quantico and slipped unobtrusively onto the Beltway
for the inner city and a nearby safe house.
In the least desirable  neighborhoods,  there were plenty of abandoned and derelict
buildings. It was to one of these that the black beast of an automobile pulled up and drove into
the parking garage. Parked in a freight loading area and a red laser scanned the vehicle and
occupants. With a near silent whine, the concrete under the Lincoln b roke into a circle and
descended. In less than five seconds, it had disappeared leaving behind a steel hatch covering the
hole of the elevator shaft.
With a barely perceptible jar, the lift reached the bottom, the driver flicked on his head
beams to illuminate a vast subterranean complex of tunnels and roadways.
Traffic was busy with electric cars and carts whizzing by, following the traditional red
and green traffic signs. They gave way to the Lincoln which rolled majestically through the welllit corridors like a Queen ant through her hive. Reaching a brightly lit avenue, it was guarded by
uniformed and armed soldiers, armed with fully automatic rifles and full clips. They saluted as
Chase stepped out of the parked Navigator and one offered to carry the a gent‘s bags not realizing
it was a child.
―Sorry, Colonel,‖ the grunt stepped back. ―I need to see your ID.‖
Chase offered his badge--- a credit card shaped piece of plastic with a RFID chip in it.
―Get me a stretcher and a cart, ready a cot in the infirmar y,‖ he ordered and removed the
blanket from  Lakan‘s  face.
His eyes were tightly shut, his mouth slightly open and drooling. He looked nothing like
the genius Chase had been told he was. The soldiers  stared trying to do so without being obvious
but it was obvious that they were startled at the sight of the unconscious child. Both guards
double- timed back to the gate and radioed for help and transportation. Within mere minutes,
Chase, the boy , and his entourage were racing for the medical bay.
Chapter Eleven
The infirmary was bright, airy and if you didn‘t know you were two hundred feet below
the surface of Washington D.C.‘s streets, you would not have known you weren‘t in some fancy
health clinic. Capable of handling up to twenty beds at a time, it boasted st ate- of - the- art medical
equipment, MRI, cat scan and three full- time surgical suites.
The doctors were world class in that this complex was part of the covert nuclear disaster
system assigned to protect the Senate and Congress as the Presidential Bunker was  even more
secret and hi - tech.
A high- speed rail system connected the White House, Senate and Congress to the
Complex. Called simply Redoubt B, it was a closely guarded secret between the CIA and the
NSA. In fact, most of the agents involved in its day to day running thought it was just part of the
D.C. subway system.
The boy had a private room and a Marine stood guard outside his door. He took up only a
small space on the hospital cot with the rails up. His skin and hair were the only color in the
white bed although the room was painted in a soft rose. The nurses had decorated it with posters
a child might like--- Batman, scenes from Frozen and Transformers.
Cameron was there and watched the boy sleep, he was dressed in boy‘s pajamas, not a
hospital johnny.  He was hooked up to an IV of fluids and liquid nutrition, a low dose of
antibiotics to treat the beginnings of bronchitis and intestinal grippe. Probably contracted from
drinking out of the streams. As of yet, he had not administered the antidote to bring  Lakan
Strong back from his forced sleep. For that, he was waiting for orders from Chase, Dir. Hamilton
and the Medical doctor.
Chase entered the room dressed in a neat three- piece power suit of blue pinstripe with a
tie sporting tiny snaffle bits and elega nt race horses. Cameron sneered, knowing it was a Hermes
and probably cost half a cheap car.
―Doctor,‖ he greeted and stood over the child‘s bed. Cameron‘s lip curled at the ponytail
tied back with an equally fancy gold clip. He looked and sure enough, Cha se wore a diamond
stud in one ear. ―We‘re waiting for Dir. Hamilton. I believe you met her once?‖
―Short, dumpy old lady? Bad temper?‖ Cameron asked. ―Yeah. I thought she was
somebody‘s grandma or secretary.‖
Chase smiled. ―She wants people to underestimate her. Word of warning --- don‘t. She‘s
as sharp a shark as any Washington backstabber and she has the power to back it up. So, what
does this wunderkind do?‖
Before Cameron could answer, the door flew open and the director of the CIA barged in.
She looked  harried and even her expensive designer suit made her look dowdy. Her skirt was
wrinkled, her collar wilted and the color all wrong for her complexion. It clashed with her gray
hair. Worse yet, she had her nails painted in two different colors--- a ghastly  goblin green and a
dark blue that sparkled. Both were supposed to match her outfit and failed miserably. She carried
no briefcase or purse, only a huge shoulder bag that was reminiscent of a beach tote.
She  looked at   the doctor, Chase, and the hospital bed. ―Well, why isn‘t he awake yet?‖
she demanded staring at Cameron. 
―We were waiting for you, Director,‖ Chase said mildly. ―And Dr. Chavez.‖ He named
the Colonel in charge of the Infirmary.
―Well, get him in here. I have a busy schedule today.‖ She looked  at the child who had
turned on his side and placed his fingers in his mouth sucking on them like a much younger
baby. ―My son used to do that,‖ she replied and her face softened for a second. ―He has red hair.‖
―Yes, Dir. Hamilton. Agent Strong was his mot her.‖
―She was Indian?‖ She sounded surprised and her face whitened as the boy turned to face
them. ―Get him up. Now,‖ she demanded, her voice harsh and shaking.
The doctor came in before Chase could react and he took one look at Hamilton‘s face,
made her sit down while  he  took her pulse and BP. She pushed both men aside and reiterated the
demand to wake up the boy.
The doctor called Chavez was Army and a Colonel but he deferred to both Chase and
Hamilton. Picking up the boy‘s IV, he injected the antidote into the port and watched it flow
through the lines. The results were not immediate but almost.
Lakan‘s eyes fluttered, flew open, his hands wrenched from his mouth and he bolted
upright screaming in terror which brought the Marine into the room with gun drawn.
―Stand down,‖ Chase barked and the Marine holstered his weapon.
―Director?‖
The doctor attempted to calm the boy and only succeeded in agitating him further.
Finally, he sedated the child and even that took two of them to hold Lakan down for the needle.
Once he was quiet, Chase gave his attention to the obviously distraught Hamilton.
―Sarah?‖ he asked gently.
―Everyone out,‖ she snapped and all of them obeyed, even Chavez although he gave the
boy a last glance before closing the door.
―Chase,‖ she said  standing shakily and approaching the bedside. Her hand came out to
rearrange the disordered covers and stroked the boy‘s sweat- matted hair. Chase  gaped at the
show of tenderness from the hard- bitten woman.
―Did I ever tell you about my son?‖ she asked.
―M ichael?‖ Chase named the agent who had lost his life on one of his Treasury Agency‘s
missions. From all things, a hit and run crossing the street after leaving his divorce lawyer‘s
office. The Director‘s only child.
―Yes, Michael. Did you know that he and an FBI agent were having an affair?‖ At his
stunned look, she continued. ―I knew he was fucking someone but I never suspected he would
jeopardize his career, marriage and leave his wife for her. When I heard the bitch was pregnant, I
threatened him, sent a n anonymous e- mail from his computer telling her to get an abortion.
Instead, she ran. He was killed a week later.‖
―And you think this is his son?‖
―My grandson, Chase. He looks just like Michael did at that age. Except for the red hair.‖
―Should I pull a DNA test on him?‖
Hamilton opened the tote and pulled out an envelope printed with CLASSIFIED stickers.
It had not yet been opened. She handed it to Chase and said, ―I don‘t even need to read it, I know
what it‘ll say.‖
He  however, did and swiftly tore the seal, extracted the report and read the findings.
SUBJECT: DNA markers match 99.99% indicating a paternal genetic relationship
between Former FBI Agent Rachael Strong and Michael D. Hamilton. 
If it were possible for Hamilton‘s face to get any redder, he  was afraid she was going to
stroke o ut. ―Did you say , Michael?‖
Chase stared at the sheet and realized the implications. ―Son of a bitch,‖ he whispered.
Hamilton shrieked. ―Goddamned fucker! I told him to stay away from that bitch!‖
―What are you going to do, Sarah?‖ Chase asked and she stared at him with grim
determination.
―I‘m going to take my grandson home, Chase and raise him myself.‖
―He‘ll hate you,‖ he offered.
―Not after we treat his mental state. I have scientists who can make a person believe
anything, become anyone. I‘ll just have him  reprogrammed.‖
―And do what? What about your project with Cameron? You think he‘s going to just sit
back and let you steal the boy?‖
―I am the Director of the CIA, Chase. I can make him disappear. I can make you
disappear. Don‘t push me. See if the good Dr. Cameron can apply some of his fancy  schoolings
and make the boy…pliable.‖
With that, she left the room.
*****
I woke up in a strange place but that didn‘t frighten me as much as who I did not see
when I woke. Dr. Cameron and the man with the ponytail were gone. I was in a bed inside what
was clearly a cell; the furnishings were bolted to the wall, covered with a thin mattress and
equally thin sheets. A stainless steel toilet shared the corner with a sink of the same make and
functionality.
I felt ill; weak and shaky as I sat up, threw the covers back and stared at my  pajama- clad
knees dangling over the side of the mattress. I wore expensive blue piped pajamas which  were  in
direct contrast to the cell- like surroundings.
Standing up required concentration, my balance was off and I could still feel the dregs of
sedative in my system. For a while, I wasn‘t sure who I was--- I just knew something bad had
happened behind the blank spots in my memory.
―My name is Lakan,‖ I murmured raising my hands to my face. There was no mirror to
see what I looked like and I could barely remember my self - image. All I kept seeing was the
picture of a coyote slipping through the brush but this coyote had dark red hair and light blue
eyes more like a wolf.
I leaned over the sink, turned on the water and drank from my cupped hands. The liquid
had a strange flavor; one my taste buds had not tasted before. I knew I was more used to mineral
based well water. This one was treated and chlorinated.
―Hello?‖ I called and drifted over to the door. It was steel with one of those glass
windows in it impregnated with wire. An electronic keypad  was the lock that accessed both in
and out.
I scanned the room and saw no sign of camera or microphones but they c ould be so small
I wouldn‘t spot them. I knew I was under surveillance; I could feel eyes on me.
―I‘m hungry,‖ I complained and rolled my sleeves up. There, in the crook of my elbow
were several black and blues where needles had injected me.
The door buzzed and slid open into the wall. A man stood there, I remembered his name
was Dr. Cameron and the man in the sharp three- piece suit was called Chase.
―How are you feeling, Lakan?‖ the doctor asked.
―Where am I?‖
―My clinic,‖ he answered. ―You said you‘re hun gry.‖
I nodded. Chase left the room and the door hissed shut behind him. Cameron went around
me and sat on the bed.
―You know why you‘re here, Lakan?‖
―Where is here? I don‘t remember anything just coyotes and the forest.‖
―Your grandfather--- where is he, Lakan?‖
I paused and rubbed my forehead in confusion. ―I think he died,‖ I said slowly. ―I
remember the spirit guides coming for him, burying him on a platform in the old way.‖
―That was very respectful, Lakan. He would be proud of you,‖ the doctor agreed  and
handed me a robe as the door opened. I set it on the bed as Chase wheeled in a cart loaded with
food. My mouth instantly watered and I reached out for the plate, held it as Dr. Cameron scooped
fluffy scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and fresh fruit in neat  little piles. I scarfed it down and had it
half gone before I realized they were not eating.
―Don‘t you want any?‖ I asked and both shook their heads. I shrugged. ―More for me.‖
―Orange juice, milk or do you drink coffee?‖ the doctor asked and I must have made a
rude noise. Orange juice and fresh milk were not two commodities commonly found out on the
reservation. Canned milk, coffee, and water were the drinks of choice if alcohol wasn‘t number
one.
The coffee was good, rich and creamy; I drank it without sugar like my grandfather. He
already seemed a dream from long ago and I could barely recall my mom's face. Something
warned me in the back of my mind that this was all wrong but it was a distant feeble warning and
I ignored it.
The coffee tasted funny-- - sweet and with a bitter aftertaste. Slowly, I set the cup down.
The walls moved around me, sinking in towards me as the floor fell out from under my feet.
Cameron reached for me and his arms were ten feet long, his hands at the end now shaped like
dolphin  flippers. His eyes were ruby red glowing in a coyote‘s face and he spoke to me with yips
and growls. I sat there until the walls fell in on me and buried me under wet plaster that filled my
lungs making it hard to breathe.
Chapter Twelve
I had really stra nge dreams. Dreams where voices spoke directly into my brain and told
me things that I knew weren‘t true. I tried to make them stop, block them out but how far can
you get when the ideas are in your own head? The more you focus ed on not thinking about them,
the more they dominated  your mind. Eventually, I stopped trying and obeyed the voices. After
that, it was easier, they left me alone and I could concentrate on the other sensations that coursed
through me.
I dreamed about the forest and a family, about a n older woman who was my
grandmother, about my real father who hadn‘t known I was born or alive. How my mother had
run away from him and hidden me so he could not take me  away?  That he had died in a car
accident before he could tell his mother about me.
Sh e had hired a man called Chase to find me and bring me home.  Home  was the
Washington D.C.- Maryland area where my grandmother lived on a farm in the country.  Home
was the comfortable big round room in the brick Victorian mansion with the cherry  wood  fourposter bed, big screen TV and white marble fireplace with brass fire dogs. White chintz curtains
and polished hardwood floors. I sat on the small loveseat in front of the blazing fire and it all
seemed familiar yet somehow false. 
The butler entered after a discrete knock, in his hands a silver tray upon which rested a
flaky croissant covered with chocolate sprinkles and a cup of expensive hand ground Jamaican
Blue Mountain coffee with half and  half.
―Good morning, Master Lake,‖ he greeted setting the tray do wn on the table. ―Breakfast.
Your pills. Your grandmother wishes you to attend her in the Sunroom when you are through
eating and dressed.‖
―What‘s your name again?‖ I could see his face but his name eluded me.
―Charles, Mr. Lake.‖
―What day is this?‖
―Friday, Mr. Lake. October 24
th
, Friday. 6:30 a.m.‖ Then, he added something that made
my bones cringe. ―2015.‖
―2015? But –.‖ I ran  to the bathroom, flipped on the light and stared into the mirror. The
face that stared back at me was mine but different. Longe r, less rounded with sharp high
cheekbones, curly dark blood- red hair brushed back into tousled curls, ice- blue eyes that looked
haunted and much older. I remembered a child‘s face and this was the face of a youngster
verging on manhood.
―How old am I?‖ I  whispered as Charles followed me into the granite counter bathroom.
―Nearly 14, Master Lake. Don‘t you remember the birthday party Mrs. Hamilton gave
you last spring?‖
―But –,‖ my brain froze. Last time I‘d looked at myself, I  saw a twelve- year- old‘s scared
face staring back at me. ―I don‘t remember the last two years,‖ I said in dismay. I pushed past
him and bolted for the door. Running through the hallways of polished maple floors, ornately
chased scrolled walls and antiques that cost millions, down the b ack staircase to the foyer
choosing that way because I liked the back- stair connotation of sneakiness. Heading for the old
door out into the side yard that used to be the servant‘s entrance to stand in the yard under a huge
old maple whose leaves died gracefully around my ankles.
I was panting by then. Not because of exertion but in distress. All this, the house, the
yard, all of it seemed so familiar yet so wrong.
I heard both Charles and my grandmother calling for me and the sound made me head for
the dis tant tree line. Once in the woods, leaves enveloped me in their scent and sounds like
putting on an old familiar overcoat. My hands knew just where to find the pockets and what was
inside them.
Automatically, my eyes sought out the sign of animal life. I saw a deer track and
recognized one as a doe with her young  fawns. Raccoon and possum spread their mark on the
soft mud near a puddle along with deer mice and turkey.
Following, I found a game trail and kept on it delving deeper into the woods. The trees
here were oak,  maple, and gum. Some hickory and crêpe myrtles with their colorful flowers.
Dogwood and Sassafras by their hand- shaped leaves. I knew the names but my senses told me I
was more used to pine,  hemlock, and spruce. Golden quaking aspens, all the signs and sounds
and scents of the Western woods.
I could hear them stumbling through the woods behind me searching and I knew that
there was no way for either of them to find me unless I let them. I knew I was better in the
woods; I knew it with the same certainty as I knew my name. I felt like I was two different
people but inside the same body and mind. 
There was the boy, the twelve- year- old Lakan who was afraid  and remembered wild
forests with firs and aspens and there was the older, more sophisticated   Lake who lived in the
Southern brick mansion and ate with two  forks,  not one.
I ran until I couldn‘t anymore. My legs were tired, my wind was  gone and I was lost. But
not truly. All I had to do was turn around to see the distinct marks of my passage throu gh the
brush. Broken branches, scuffed  leaves, and  footprints in the sandy loam left a trail that a blind
man could track.
I checked the pockets of my black jeans and corduroy shirt. Found a slim wallet with an
ID card, credit card,  and two twenties. The credit card was an American Express and had my
name on it. Lake Michael Strong. It should have read Lakan Strongbow but then, Lakan
Strongbow would not have had an American Express card.
I circled, put my back on a twenty - year- old s hagbark hickory and judged which direction
was West. That was the route  I was  headed in   with a certainty that I knew in my bones was
correct.
I traveled for an hour, resting for 15 minute intervals every two hours. Crossed several
small streams but knew better than to drink out of them. I did find some small springs and knew
those were safe being constantly filtered as they seeped up from deep underground.
Even here deep in the woods,  I found evidence of man‘s occupation in discarded soda
cans and beer bottles. Rinsed out, I carri ed spring water in the bottles capped with the remains of
old plastic bags. I could tuck them into my back pockets and keep my hands free.
There wasn‘t much brush in there, and the further west I  walked, the higher I climbed
where  hemlock began to creep into the picture. Pines and firs followed as I entered the
Shenandoah National Forest.
I knew I had when I passed the trees blazed yellow and the green and yellow sign posted
on the border lines.
The further away I traveled from the brick mansion, the light er I felt, the clearer the
voices in my head. I had left a great weight behind and  only realized the extent as I left it behind.
The thought of leaving my grandmother, her fancy house, butler and all the comforts of a
wealthy existence did not deter me. The further I got, the dimmer those memories became. The
problem was that the other memories became no clearer.
I stopped when the shadowy forest became too dim to clearly see the ground. A moonless
night, it was pitch black in the deep where I halted.
I had no lights, no matches yet my muscle memory knew what to do. Unconsciously, I
had picked a spot with water, wood and rocks. The rocks yielded a striking stone and nearby, dry
moss. In five minutes, I had a neat little fire going which illuminated the small clearing I had
chosen. Surrounded by pines and a rocky outcrop that rose behind me, it formed a small cove
that was sheltered from the wind and would conceal the fire from anywhere except ten feet in
front of it. A small stream cut through the corner of  the rocks on my left and to the left was due
west.
Food was no problem either. I had seen animal tracks abounding under the hickory and
beechnut trees. Finding some nuts that hadn‘t been eaten by squirrels and birds was more
difficult. It was too late in t he season for berries but there were roots I could dig up.
I found where wild turkey roosted and it was no effort to knock one out of the tree, club it
and cut its head off with a broken piece of a beer bottle. The feathers and skin peeled off in one
piece. Gutting it was more difficult with blood on the glass shard; it was slippery to hold but I
managed.
Green elm branches through the carcass hole front and back laid over stones made a
rotisserie even if I had to roll it myself. I didn‘t wait for it to coo k completely, the smell made me
so hungry I ripped into it as soon as the meat turned white. There wasn‘t much white meat --- wild
turkey was mostly dark but it tasted better than any Butterball my memory dredged up.
I huddled against the rock outcrop, sitting on a bed of pine needles as I pulled my arms
inside my sweatshirt, tucking my head under as well. Cocooned inside my clothes with the fire
reflecting off the rocks, I drifted into an easy sleep. I dreamed. Dreamed of a ranch house in the
mountains and o f an old man who took care of me with gentle patience.
I knew he was my grandfather but no matter how hard I strained, I could not recall his
face or name yet I knew he watched over me as I slept. In the morning, it was the chatter of
scolding blue jays a nd irate squirrels that woke me. They were angrily protesting intruders in the
woods. I heard dogs barking and hastily stood up.
In seconds, I kicked dirt over my smoldering ashes and roughed over my campsite so
only a trained woodsman could tell someone had been there. I couldn‘t do anything about the
lingering odor of smoke. As for the dogs, all I could do was head for the stream and  pray   my
scent would be drowned in the water. My shoes were sneakers, not the best thing on slippery wet
rocks nor were wet  feet yet I ran as hard and as quietly as I could.
I had no idea how anyone had found me; I thought I was deep in and fa r enough from
casual searchers to have made finding me an impossible task.
I came upon a logging trail and rather than follow it, I ran p arallel to it. The road fell
downhill, twisting and turning to take advantage of the ridgeline‘s contours. On both sides was a
deep ravine where the creek lay and it was there I concentrated on laying my trail. I left a sign
that I had crossed the road, do ubled back and gone uphill. It wouldn‘t fool the dogs but confuse
the men.
I ran until the soles of my sneakers were in tatters; I did not stop as I passed old tarpaper
shacks buried in the woods or the expensive hunting cabins built on flatbed trailers that had been
driven in and dropped. I ran past state forest signs warning of unmapped trails and difficult
terrain. When I reached the swamp, I stopped to rest, catch my breath and look for the deer trails
through the muck. They would take me safely through and the swamp mud would bury my scent.
I waded in with fresh determination.
Chapter Thirteen
By late afternoon, I reckoned I had covered almost thirty miles into the Shenandoah
National Forest. I had crossed the Shenandoah River once where it was a mere s tream and swam
a larger section using a canoe to hide my slowly drifting body. I was tired, wet, cold, hungry and
footsore yet all the more determined to reach my goal. I wasn‘t sure exactly where out west I
wanted; I figured my brain would tell me the right spot when I reached it.
My memory pulled up a map of the area and I guessed that the next major crossing would
be the South Branch of the Potomac river, not the one Washington was supposed to have
crossed. That was nearly 120 miles back east.
I was out of Shenandoah National Park and probably inside George Washington Park, a
vast area that was largely ignored by campers and hikers. Filled with ghosts of moonshiners,
ridges runners and hillbillies, it was part of the legendary area made famous by the movie
Deliverance.
Any pursuers behind me would not fare well in the backwoods where government men
were hated worse than Yankees.  
Breakfast and lunch were fresh caught trout steamed inside kudzu leaves over a small fire
on the banks of a tiny waterfall I called Lace Knickers. It was in an out- of - the- way spot on a
small game trail that humans hadn't found in years but they had been there --- and left their
garbage. I found old Coke bottles and metal cans that had been there since the 1960s. I cleaned
the area up and buried what trash was left. Leave No Trace  was a mantra I had been born
understanding.
The air shimmered around me. Chilled and the hairs lifted on the back of my neck and
arms. I was suddenly cold and thought about scrounging up a coat.
A man walked out of the yellow mist. He was tall, with long dark braids, red skin ,  and a
solemn, noble face. Dressed in pale tan buckskins, his chest, sides and sleeves  were adorned with
exquisite beadwork. He wore only four eagle feathers in his braids  and dangling we re red velvet
ties.
He spoke in Siouan and instantly, I knew what he was saying.
―Doe key ya lay hey?”  he asked and I told him that I was going home.
“Wah gnee kyta!”
“Hunta yo!”
―Who? Who is coming?‖ I stared around  me but all I saw were trees, ridges, an d
mountains. ―Who are you? Where did you come from? Are you Cherokee?‖
“I am Tungasila,”  he answered. ― La‟kota.”
―Grandfather.‖ His was the face I could never remember, the old man who had raised me.
―I don‘t understand,‖ I said softly and he told me to fo llow him. I stepped into the yellow
mist and it curled around my ankles like a curious cat. I had the sense of being somewhere
otherworldly.
―You are in danger, Lakan. Many people search for you.‖
―I know. Every time I try to throw them off my trail, they  find me. How?‖
―The doctor who birthed you had a device implanted in you that radios your position to
him within a matter of inches,‖ he explained.
I could have kicked myself for not thinking of that but he told me that they had done
things to my brain to  make me forget. Forget my life with him, being caught and the last two
years of my life under their care.
―Will I regain my memories?‖ I  was terrified  that my mind was no longer my own.
―Where is this tracker? Can I dig it out? Disable it?‖
He pointed to my chest and the touch of his finger was a cold pinch that stung me to the
core and numbed the spot. ―It is buried next to your heart and you cannot remove it. A doctor
must do it. As for tracking you, underground kills the signal as does entry into this place.‖
I looked around. Blowing yellow sand, yellow dust, haze and far - off outlines of yellow
mountains. Yellow sky with no clouds and a barely discernible horizon.
―What is this place?‖ It gave me an uneasy feeling as if my time in here was limited and
his answer confirmed that.
―This is the land between worlds. The waiting place for lost spirits. You cannot stay here
long but long enough so that those who search for you will leave and look elsewhere.‖
―My grandmother?‖
He snorted and looked very much like  a Native American warrior. ―She is not your
grandmother. She is related to you only through the blood of her son.‖
―Her son?‖ I gaped.
―He was going to marry our Rachel but was killed before he could keep that promise.‖ 
―Her husband is running for re- election this year,‖ I said and looked around. I wasn‘t
hungry or thirsty. Good thing, I was sure there wasn‘t anything remotely like food in this place. I
sat on the sand and Grandfather sat beside me. I wanted to touch him but he warned me not to  –
that I could bind his spirit to this place forever.
―But you touched me,‖ I rubbed the still numb spot on my chest.
―I may touch you as I have no substance here, it does nothing to my existence within this
place.‖
―Why haven‘t you gone on, Grandfather?‖
―It is not  my mission to leave you, yet,‖ he replied. ―Sleep, Lakan. You have a little time
to rest before you must go on. Thicȟílȟíila iyotaŋ child chaŋtochígnake.”
I whispered back ‗I love you‘ and closed my eyes. Slept knowing I was fairly safe from
those that followed me and no dogs would pick up my scent. I had no way of knowing how much
time had occurred in this spirit realm. The cell phone my grand  – Hamilton had given me I had
tossed into the Shenandoah a day ago. Reading had brought me the knowledge that anyo ne
possessing a cell phone, a card  with a RFID chip in it or even an EZ- Pass card could be tracked
and found.
Grandfather woke me with a cold shiver, showed me the way out and warned me to be
careful. His eyes twinkled when I asked if the men were nearby.  ―No,‖ he explained. ―Black
bear. Many of them.‖
―Great,‖ I muttered. All I had for protection was a broken beer bottle. I could throw it and
piss the bear off unless he stopped to drain the dregs.
I stepped forward on a spot no different that I could see o r feel and into the world in
which I had been born. Cool forest surrounded me, the beginnings of a camp- head. I could see a
parking lot with an eclectic group of vehicles but all were SUVs or trucks. No sedans or two door sports cars.
Many sported bumper stickers from National Parks, Wildlife Foundation and
Greenpeace. Some had prominent  Leave No Trace stickers and all were tagged with either day
or overnight camping permits.
I peered into each vehicle careful not to touch or leave fingerprints and especial ly DNA
samples. The license plates stunned me. I had figured I had walked some 60 miles in two days
bringing me from Washington DC area into Virginia but if the cars were any clue, I was now in
southern Alabama near the Chickasaw Oklahoma Indian reservatio n. Once called the Five
Nations, it was a vast parcel of land the US government had given to the Five Tribes because it
was thought to be useless. Only a century later, oil had been discovered under it making it one of
the richest Indian nations ever.
They  had their own government of Tribal Council, police force, health organization,
cities, and towns. Ran their own schools and gambling establishments. Sad to  say , though  their
alcoholism rate was just as high as any other reservation. I was pretty sure I co uld count on the
Elders for help and sanctuary.
The terrain here was different, tough thickets of mesquite and cedar with sandy soil and
spiny prickly pear. What large trees I could see were cottonwoods, their leaves turning brown
and falling off. Scrublan d, thickets where one could hide out and unless you stumbled on top of
someone, would never find them. Unless you were microchipped.
None of the vehicles were unlocked or keys left in them but the hood on the Park
Ranger‘s truck was still warm. I guessed t hat he had just arrived and was either collecting rent or
checking on who was overdue. The back of his pickup had crap piled in it and offered a hiding
place between old tarps, garbage bags, and someone‘s ratty old tent.
Climbing over the tailgate, I arranged the tent over me and prayed the Ranger wouldn‘t
notice someone or something had pawed through it. Luckily, it was cool enough that the garbage
didn‘t stink and I could lie there quietly. Even though I had slept, I fell asleep again not  waking
until I h eard the engine  turn  over. The truck lurched forward and for the next hour, I endured a
spine- jarring, bone- bruising ride of torture until the truck hit the highway. That wasn‘t much
better but at least it was faster.
I got cold. The air whistled down over  the cab and  straight through the bed. If I hadn‘t
been holding onto the tent and tarp it would have flown out. It flapped loud enough to hit and
annoy me.
His brakes came on a few times on curves and finally, he skidded to a stop. I risked a
peek and gaped. Standing in the middle of an  arrow- straight  highway was a horse – a spotted
horse and astride it was an Indian. He wore blue jeans, Carhartt  jacket , and a black felt Stetson.
His horse was a big black and white paint with a narrow head and a mean eye.
―Redline,‖ I heard from the driver of the truck. ―What‘s up?‖
His reply was a soft murmur that did not reach my ears but the voice of a girl sounded
loud in my face as something thin and whippy hit the tent over my head.
―Out,‖ she ordered as I flinched. ―H urry up before Ranger Rick notices.‖
―Huh?‖ I returned brilliantly.
She reached in, grabbed my collar and heaved me onto the horse. I wrapped my arms
around her slender waist so I wouldn‘t fall ass- backwards over the horse. She kneed her mount,
an equally  impressive red paint around to the front of the truck making the driver jump.
―Jesus! Rach, where did you come from?‖ He studied me but couldn‘t see much as I was
hidden behind her.
―Grass fire on old Tupelo Road,‖ the man reported, nodded and loped off.  She followed
and I went with them having no choice as she kicked the horse into a gallop nearly tearing my
head off.
Chapter Fourteen
We galloped across the flat playa, the horses weaving skillfully around creosote bushes
and Spanish dagger. I saw that they were following dirt bike trails but I had no idea where they
were going – I didn‘t see anything in the three directions I could see over her shoulders.
―What‘s your name?‖ I asked between thumps of my butt on the horse‘s croup. I had to
push myself away   from the cantle  so I didn‘t squish my nuts.
The horses galloped for ten minutes and as I looked back, I realized that we had
descended but it was so gradual that you didn‘t notice until you looked  backward. The Park
Ranger‘s truck was long gone and spread out below me in a sunken pit was a truck, horse trailer,
campers and a small plane. If there was a runway, it wasn‘t apparent to my eyes.
Neither of them stopped until he drew level with the plane; I saw that it was already
running and the pilot behind th e perplex   windshield was another handsome dark- skinned Native
American hanging out the passenger door.
―Come on, Rachel,‖ he called. ―Redline, hurry.‖ The older man dismounted from his
running horse to land on his feet. The horse continued on to the traile r. The girl pulled hers to a
sliding stop and if I hadn‘t grabbed hold of the saddle, I would have flown over  backward. She
pushed me off with an elbow and when I landed on my back, it knocked the air out of me. A
cloud of dust lifted around me and the hor ses‘ hooves. I choked. It was the younger man who
reached down from the open doorway and dragged me to my feet.
―How, ‖ he said and I got my breath back but she rushed past me into the plane and all
three of them bundled me inside. Set me down and seat belted me before I had a chance to open
my mouth. In seconds, we were bouncing along on a dirt trail scraped out on the bottom of the
pit and literally bounced into the sky. The younger man slapped a hard plastic shell on my chest
and I felt it humming.
All three of them proceeded to strap their own seatbelts and faced forward ignoring me.
Pressure built up in my chest. What started as an annoying tingle became an inch, then a pain,
and then – a crushing weight. I couldn‘t breathe, couldn‘t move even though I tried to reach out
and attract their attention. Finally, I passed out.
*****
―Wow,‖ a soft female voice murmured near my left ear. ―I‘ve never seen anyone turn that
shade of blue before.‖
―Yes, well, the EMP shield is not supposed to interfere with brain or  heart electrical
impulses. It‘s a good thing you saw him stop breathing and did CPR, Rachel. He‘d be dead if it
wasn‘t for you.‖
―How old do you think he is, Uncle Pete?‖
―Fourteen, maybe fifteen. His great- grandfather was a friend of your dad and I met h im
once. He was a Lakota, from a well - respected and revered line of Shamans.‖
I stirred. My eyelids fluttered and my hands went to my sore chest. It felt as if my
grandfather had rolled a boulder with him sitting on it  onto  my chest.
―Grandfather?‖ I asked and stifled a sob as I saw neither home nor grandfather. What I
saw was an open room decorated in Southwest motif  in  a fancy house of hand- hewn timbers, a
house of obvious wealth. Out of   two sets of open French doors, I saw huge deck overlooking a
mountain lake surrounded by tall pines and snow- capped peaks. The air smelled of pine and
cedar and I heard the whistle of a hawk and the cry of a loon.
―How do you feel, Lake?‖ The older native asked and I saw he was Cheyenne or
Arapahoe. He wore comfortable fresh - pressed jeans, starched Western shirt and soft Lucchese
boots. The girl  from the plane  was with him and she wore jeans, T- shirt and jean jacket. Ladies
Ropers and  heirloom silver jewelry.
―Who are you people? What‘s going on, what are you doing to me?‖ I demanded.
―Well, you certainly wake up in a bright cheery mood,‖ the girl pouted.
―Who are you?‖ I asked her directly. She was very pretty, and inch or so taller than I with
glossy black hair, exotic black eyes and skin tone lighter than usual.
―My name  is Rachel Vaughn Little Bear,‖ she said. ―This is my uncle, Redline Pete
Otseno, and my brother, George Little Bear."
―Okay. So how did you know I was in the Ranger‘s pick - up? How did you know who I
am?‖
―Your great- grandfather is my friend, Lakan,‖ Redline answered. I swallowed.
―Was. Was your friend.‖
―He still  is,  Lake. Just because he‘s passed does not mean he stopped being that. Besides,
he told me where to find you and how to help you. As for what‘s happening  –  the shield over
your chest contains an electromagnetic field that interrupts the signal embedded in your heart.
We were flying to the Casino Tower where the Elders will discuss what to do with you. But you
coded so we made a stop at my house.‖
―What to do with me? I need to hide! Some crazy wom an has sent goons after me! She
says she‘s my grandmother!‖
―Dir. Hamilton,‖ Redline nodded. ―She wants you and the head of one of her Black Ops
wants you. They‘ve been engaged in a tug- of - war over you for the last two years. A man called
Chase  just found out where she‘s been hiding you. Dr. Cameron is pestering the NSA for access
to you, also now they are aware of your…unique abilities.‖
―My what?‖ I stared hard at him but he wasn‘t intimidated.
―Oh, come on,‖ Rachel sneered. ―You know the doctor from Harvard genetically
modified your mother‘s DNA before you were born. He made you a super baby.‖
I snorted. ―I‘m just a regular kid. No super genius or superhero.‖
―Then explain how you can enter the Spirit Realm and speak to your grandfather and
mother,‖ she retorted.
―I don‘t know what you‘re talking about,‖ I started and she touched me. Instantly, I was
back inside the Yellow Realm and the man who called himself Tungasila was sitting cross legged on a big yellow chunk of quartz.
―Lakan,  Boy Who Thinks Too Much,‖ he greeted me. ―These people are your friends.
They will hide you and Redline‘s niece is pretty, too.‖ He grinned.
―Grandfather!‖ I said embarrassed, using the term out of respect not because I recognized
him.
He stroked my head. ―You‘re on the cusp of becoming a warrior and a man, Lakan. Be
happy, that‘s all your mother and I want for you.‖ Abruptly, I was back in the plane surrounded
by expectant faces. Rachel looked sleepy, yawned and leaned back against her seat cushion.
Her uncle explained, ―it tires her to visit the Spirit Realm. Does it affect you that way?‖
I shook my head. ―I don‘t remember going there before…today, yesterday. I literally
woke up Friday, October 24, 2015. The last day I remember clearly was August 29,  2013, and I
was with that  man who says he was my great- grandfather. Yet I remember a woman saying she
was my grandmother – Sarah Hamilton. I can‘t remember my mother or father at all.‖ I shut my
mouth with a snap as I realized I was babb ling.
Redline patted my arm. ―You‘re safe now, Lakan. No one can take you  off - reservation
land without the permission of the Tribal Council and they have to find you first. As far as they
know, your signal disappeared in the Devil‘s Sinkhole in Tularosa, Alabama about 10 feet up in
the air.‖
The pilot called back, ―landing in ten, fifteen minutes, Chief.‖
I looked out the window and saw a small city below us, laid out in a grid shape with a
modern skyscraper dominating the center. Other equally imposing multi- story buildings lay at its
feet as if in w orship. It vaguely resembled a restrained Las Vegas with the same desert scrubland
surrounding it yet no Lake Mead or giant pipeline feeding it.
The airport runway was modern and large enough to take a DC - 10 or 727 and there were
several terminals for the  main carriers. We had no wait time, the pilot was directed to set down
on the runway and taxi to Hangar Twelve where our ride was waiting. The air traffic controller
called the pilot by name and they chatted before we hit the tarmac.
I watched as we rolled over to a hanger set on the side. A black stretch limo was parked
there with a waiting driver. He was Indian but his only concession to his chauffeur duties was
that his hat was a baseball cap, not a Stetson. When he saw us, he reached inside the open lim o
window and put a Stetson on his head.
Redline said, ―my other nephew. Darren White Deer. He drives for the casino.‖
―Does he wear a suit then?‖ I asked.
―Nope. Guests expect Indians to dress in buckskin and eagle feathers. He wears jeans and
a jean jacket. Sometimes, he braids his hair.‖
I looked again and sure enough, he had long hair tied in a ponytail that disappeared down
the collar of his jacket.
The plane stopped. Two men ran out from the hanger with wooden chocks connected by
ropes and tossed them  under the wheels. I heard noises outside the door and it popped open as
everyone unhooked their seatbelts. Redline gently pushed the girl and she woke groggily,
rubbing her eyes.
―Come on, Rachel,‖ he said. ―Darren‘s waiting.‖
She was up and out before I could blink and I saw her throw herself into the driver‘s arms
planting a passionate kiss on his face. I frowned. Cousins were not allowed to intermarry in
Indian culture, especially close cousins.
―Can you walk?‖ George Little Bear asked and I stood up. W obbled and he held the
shield up against my chest. I wondered about my back and whether the EMP shield covered both
directions. Instantly my brain was processing the technology that was behind the shield, how to
expand and improve on it. I held it on myself. ―I‘m okay. My feet went to sleep.‖
I stepped forward and descended the four steps to the ground with Redline in front of me
and George behind me. Rachel and Darren came forward. He spoke in Cheyenne and whatever
he said pissed Redline off.
―Mind your bu siness and your manners, Darren,‖ he said shortly. ―Drive us to the
Tower.‖
―As you say, Uncle.‖ He turned on his heel and returned to the limo as Rachel flounced
after him. We piled into the back seats and he did not hold the door for us. She sat in the f ront
and faced forward.
The interior was plush and had a minibar. No alcohol but bottles of sparkling water, soft
drinks and iced tea. George handed over a water without me asking and I drained it dry. I was
also hungry and he gave me my choice of energy bars or fresh fruit. I took both and ate until I
was full.
The limo pulled off and onto  the  main road, the suspension so smooth and quiet I barely
felt us moving. The windows were blacked out but I could see the panorama of open country,
sagebrush brush, piñon trees, cactus and cottonwoods in the draws. Although it looked flat, there
were arroyos and dips that could hide a car. What I didn‘t see were sources of water  –  no creeks,
no rivers,  and no small ponds. Occasionally, I saw a windmill turning lazily near a stock tank.
No cattle although we did pass a five- strand barbed wire fence that trailed off into the distance.
One minute we were in the desert, the next we entered the neighborhoods surrounding a
small city and streets merging into the downtown area.
Chapter Fifteen
We were met at the curb by armed security guards, some were Native American and
others white. They stared at me but no one said anything as we were ushered inside, led to an
open waiting elevator that had only one- floor button – ‗P' for th e penthouse. The ride took ten
seconds and with a discrete ding, opened on a space large and luxurious. Equally as expensive
and impressive as the Hamilton estate.
―Bullet- proof glass and treated so no lasers can penetrate. You should be safe enough
from a nyone accessing the tracer in your chest until we can remove it,‖ George said. 
―Remove it? I was told it required heart surgery!‖
―It‘s no more complicated than putting in a pacemaker. We have top heart surgeons who
can do it here under local anesthesia. We do have a state- of - the- art hospital,‖ he returned. ―The
choice is yours. You can hide in here indefinitely and wear the shield 24/7 or have the bug
removed so you can go anywhere.‖
―So, heart surgery or prison?‖ I twisted my mouth. ―Not much choice.‖
Rachel and the driver had disappeared into one of the hallways. I assumed it led to a
bedroom but she emerged carrying a plate of sandwiches and coffee. She set it down on the glass
covered table and poured three mugs of fragrant black brew. I recognized the  smell of chicory.
―There‘s a room for you, Lakan. When you‘re ready, I‘ll show you to it.‖
I grabbed two sandwiches, lifted the bread and saw roast beef and ham with Swiss
cheese. Took a bite, chewed and swallowed as if I hadn‘t just eaten a half hour ago .
―What is it I‘m supposed to be able to do?‖ I asked after both sandwiches were gone. I
picked up a cup and poured myself a coffee. Added cream and sugar to the mug which had a
picture of Wayne Newton on it, whoever he was.
―We know Dr. Cameron worked on  GMO research. We know he used Indian babies that
were diagnosed with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome and that you were the only child to survive,‖
George said.
―My mother didn‘t drink.‖
―How do you know? You said you can‘t remember,‖ she said.
―I don‘t know how; I  just know she didn‘t.‖
―According to the records, you were in a fatal car accident that killed your mother when
you were three. You suffered serious brain damage and weren‘t expected to live. But you did and
were diagnosed Developmentally Disabled. Failed  to advance beyond an IQ of 40 yet you clearly
created items that were of significant advancement in  microchip design,‖ George added.
―There‘s more, too. Our scientists have postulated on what modifying an embryo‘s genes could
achieve.‖
Then, he did something that made me screech in pain and alarm –  he poured hot coffee
on my hand. Instantly, the skin blistered and scalded. I ran for the nearest water source  – a
dispenser in the corner but by the time I reached it, the burn had stopped hurting, the skin ha d
turned my normal color. There was no sign of what had been the beginning of 1
st
and 2
nd
° burns.
―You heal almost instantly  from minor injuries,‖ George said. ―Your blood carries
antidotes for anything you can contract, you‘re faster, hear better, see better than any human on
this earth. You learn instantly what y ou‘ve  read and know it word for word.‖
―Bullshit,‖ I returned and he handed me a book. I opened it, flipped through the pages
and stopped. It was a book on anatomy and my head was suddenly full of the Latin names of
bones and medical conditions.
―You could fly a 747 after reading the manual, pilot a helicopter, perform brain surgery,‖
he continued. ―Just after reading or seeing it done.‖
―No,‖ I whispered. ―No. I can‘t even remember my childhood. How can I know this
stuff? I was slow as a child, I suffered brain damage.‖
―We think it took years for your brain to repair what had been done to it in the accident
and because you had some awareness of the danger, it caused you to suppress your intellect;   your
brain kept you in the dark until puberty kicked in. That started everything. Then, the Director‘s
men caught you. From what we could learn, she‘s had you for two years, re- programming you as
her grandson . Your mother was  Agent Strong. S he was an FBI Special Agent and she had an
affair with Hamilton‘s son, Michael.‖
―An FBI agent had an affair with the President‘s son?‖ I asked.
―Agent Strong was dating the son  against her wishes. Your mother vanished and we
suspect Dir. Hamilton scared her away before she could do anything worse.‖
I threw my hands up in the air. ―I give up! Get this thing out of me so I can go back to my
old life!‖
Once I had made my decision, George wasted no time in setting up the operation. That‘s
what he called it--- the ‗operation‘. He was on the phone for an hour and I grew tired of sitting
around doing nothing so I stood up and went exploring.
The Penthouse was huge and on one top floor covered by a huge skylight was a
shimmering blue swimming pool. I was amazed but even more so  when Rachel showed me the
stairwell to the roof which was a marvel of garden engineering.
The staircase was circular, one piece and each stair tread supported the one below and the
one above. I was fascinated by the mechanics and engineering behind it and  my brain conjured
images of bridges, roadways, and pedestrian walkways all using the same techniques. In a frenzy
of inspiration, I drew on the walls with a BIC and no one stopped me.
Rachel dragged me away after an intense fifteen minutes to show me my ne w room. It
was nearly as large as the one at the Hamilton estate; done in earth tones that reminded me of the
desert. The furniture was modern and comfortable, clearly expensive. I bounced on the low bed
with geometric quilt, ran my hands across the ASUS computer keyboard and opened and closed
the oak dresser drawers. There were clothes folded neatly inside --- underwear, socks, t- shirts and
jeans.
The closet was big enough to house me  let alone my meager clothing collection which
consisted of one pair of jea ns, torn t - shirt, and underthings. Someone had lent me a thin jacket on
the plane but I had left it in the limo.
There were soft paintings on the walls of desert landscapes. Some so realistic that they
resembled photographs. The bathroom was done in terra  cotta tiles, double sink, commode,
walk- in shower with three  glass sides and a whirlpool tub. The towels were thick and plush, the
faucets and knobs gold and I meant real gold. Ostentatious in a gaudy way that seemed at odds
with the understated elegance o f the rest of the suite.
Rachel stood in the doorway. ―There‘s Netflix, HBO, Showtime, Cinemax and Hulu on
TV. It‘s in here.‖ She went to the only wall not holding a painting and pushed on a small knob.
The wall slid back to reveal a 52‖ TV, bookshelves and a steel door.
―That‘s a safe,‖  she added. She went to the other wall near the bathroom and opened
another hidden panel to reveal a door to a panic room. ―Once inside, only you or  Uncle Redline
can open the room. It has independent electric, air and phone   lines. Enough food in storage for a
month‘s siege. An escape hatch into the cellars via a pneumatic tube. It‘s only one way and leads
to a tunnel, buried in bedrock out into the desert where a  mini bike and radio are stored. The
former owner of this Penth ouse was a bit of a zombie Apocalypse fanatic.‖
I‘d seen the movie with Brad Pitt, thought it was stupid. The reality of my situation hit
and I was overwhelmingly depressed. Turned around and smashed both hands into the mirror
over the vanity and screamed  in anger as glass shattered and blood splattered.
Rachel yelped in shock and tried to wrap my hands but I ran for the roof. I had a sudden
irrational idea of throwing myself off to see if I could heal from that. 
I was halfway up the circular stair when Rac hel‘s yells brought others into the room.
Before I could open the door to the roof, George had thrown something. When I could look, it
was a south American bola. It hit me in the legs, wrapped around them to knock me down. I
tumbled down the steps only to be caught in his arms.
I cursed. I ranted and raved, punched him, tore my nails into him and when he was within
reach of my mouth, I even tried to bite him. Just when I thought I had broken free, somebody
stuck me in the butt with what felt like a needle t he size of a drinking straw. I felt an instant heat,
lethargy ,  and my vision darkened to a tiny pinhole. Then, even that popped and I was washed
into a sea of impenetrable darkness.
*****
I woke up in stages. Whatever they had given me kept me dragged down. I‘d open one
eye, stare at a picture of a desert rose and then drift into sleep. I knew something was wrong but I
didn‘t care, the hold of the drugs was stronger than my will.
What finally woke me was not my stomach though I was starving but the need to pee. I
rolled over and slid out nearly onto the floor as the bed was very low. I had to stand up to walk
off. My feet had a tendency to drag and I stared, puzzled as the layout of this bedroom did not
conform to the memories of my room at home.
I went to t he door I assumed was the bathroom but it turned out to be a huge walk - in
closet with clothes in my size that looked like the kind I‘d wear. The bathroom was a study in
some playboy‘s dream, even the mirror over the marble sink was just too much. I did my
business and washed my hands staring at the sleepy- eyed boy who stared back at me. My hair
stood up in rat- tails, my eyes were bruised underneath and matter caked the sides of my mouth.
I was thirsty. I drank out of the faucet and nearly brained myself whe n a man‘s voice
spoke to  me.
―That is a disgusting habit, Lakan. There are tumblers under the sink.‖
I whirled around. George stood there, holding out freshly pressed jeans,  polo, and
underthings. He sported a black eye and I flushed, knowing I was respons ible for it.
―Sorry,‖ I said briefly. I reached out and to his credit, he did not flinch away as my
fingers touched the swelling mouse.
―What happened, Lakan? Rachel said your eyes went all flat, completely black as if your
spirit had just…gone.‖
―I was suicidal, I think,‖ I whispered. ―I was going to hit the roof and jump. I‘m tired of
this whole GMO/DNA thing. I just wanted some peace.‖
Under my fingers, his skin grew warm and then cool. The mouse disappeared and the
black and blue with it. His eyes widened and he reached up to prod what had been swollen flesh
and was now  normal  healthy tissue.
―You healed me,‖ he said, dropped the clothes in my arms and examined his face in the
gilt baroque mirror. The black eye was completely gone but I looked like death warmed over.
―What did you shoot me with?‖ I rubbed my butt where there was a huge bruise.
―Ativan and Thorazine. You were psychotic, Lakan and hard to handle. We were afraid
you were going to hurt yourself.‖ He grinned and his eyes sparkled. ―I feel grea t. You‘re a
healer, too.‖
―I don‘t know what I am except hungry,‖ I returned. I picked up the clothes that I had set
down, stripped and started dressing not caring that he watched me.
―You‘re in pretty good shape, Lake. What did you do at Hamilton‘s? Go to  school, play
football? Work out?‖
―I told you all, I don‘t remember anything more than waking up on Friday. Everything
else is like a dream. Breakfast? Or lunch?‖
―Closer to lunch. You can eat here or in one of the restaurants in the Tower. Your
choice.‖
―You‘ll let me out of the cage?‖
―You‘re not in prison, Lake. The door is open any time you want to leave. Just know that
once you leave this Tower, every satellite and cell tower will home in on you.‖
―I want a hamburger and fries,‖ I said. ―How about your chef cooks up one or three for
me?‖
He laughed. ―I‘ll see if Rachel is up to it.‖ He left me to follow or not.
Chapter Sixteen
Rachel said, ―Uh- uh, no way am I cooking for you. Next, you‘ll want me to do your
laundry and pick up after you.‖ Today, she wa s dressed in skinny jeans with rhinestone studs on
the pockets and a fancy silk blouse with trailing sleeves. I thought they were useless and would
get in her way. Her boots were also impressive and hand - sewn. Everything about her screamed
‗money‘ yet she didn‘t seem to care for the ‗bling‘.
―Grab a jacket and I‘ll take you out to eat,‖ she suggested and I wasted no time in
obeying. I was eager to investigate this tower and its occupants. She took me to the twelfth floor
which was one fancy restaurant after another. And some not so fancy. I had always had a craving
to try McDonald‘s but Mrs. Hamilton wouldn‘t be caught dead near one let alone inside. When I
asked if I could try a Big Mac, she informed me that those were no longer on the menu. I settled
for a  mushroom bacon cheeseburger,  fries, and a vanilla shake. With my belly full of grease,
carbohydrates, and plastic cheese, I burped in contentment.
―Want to try some of the games or the machines?‖ She asked, a strange gleam in her eye.
―Sure. Why not? It might be fun.‖ We went down to the lobby and entered a world of
fantasy and make- believe. I‘d never been to Las Vegas but I imagined it looked very much the
same. Gold, glitter, costumes, bright lights. Girls with cleavage wandered between tables
wearing bl ack suits and ties with short shorts. The dealers wore neat uniforms like old - time
Western card sharks.
There were rows upon rows of slot machines and several went haywire with alarms and
lights signifying jackpots. Rachel stood back and let me take it all   in. I was overwhelmed, I‘d
never seen so much activity and commotion going on 24/7.
A waitress approached us carrying a tiny tray and not much else. She was blonde,
extremely well - endowed and carrying a year‘s worth of face powder. Her eyes were made up to
look like a cat and her lips and nails matched in a deep red.
―I‘d ask if you wanted a drink but I know you‘re under age, Miss Vaughn. Coke? Pepsi?
How about you, sir?‖
―Dr. Pepper?‖ I asked trying not to stare. Up close, she looked like an overly made  up
doll and not a real woman, much older and harder than I thought.
―Hello, Nikki,‖ Rachel greeted. ―This is my cousin Blake from the East coast. I‘m
showing him the casino.‖
―Well, have a good time and beginners luck,‖ she said giving me the once over. She
licked her lips as if I was a tasty tidbit. ―Be right back with your sodas.‖
―Thanks,‖ I said and wandered over to the Blackjack table. I watched for a while and
without even thinking too hard, calculated the odds of the next cards to come out of the shoe. 
Rachel stood at my side and handed me a hundred dollars. ―Go ahead,‖ she said with that
same strange gleam in her eye. ―See if you can beat the odds.‖
I pulled up a chair and for the next hour played the game. I won more than I lost, I could
almost pred ict what cards would appear next and my luck attracted attention especially since she
was at my side.
The hundred dollars grew exponentially. Before I knew it, I had amassed a small fortune
of a hundred thousand before the manager came out to whisper in the dealer‘s ear. I heard him
say, ―I already changed the shoe twice, sir. He‘s not counting cards and he‘s too young to be a
card shark.‖ The manager was Native American and he stared at Rachel.
―Hey. Don‘t look at me,‖ she laughed. ―I had nothing to do wit h this.‖
―You know the House Rules state no one under eighteen can gamble, Miss Rachel,‖ the
manager said.
―That‘s a Federal law, Mr. Longbow. We‘re on reservation land,‖ she came back. I
pushed the chips back to the dealer.
―Here. I was just playing for fun, anyway,‖ I said.
―How did you do that?‖ The manager Longbow asked. ―Can you calculate the odds on
certain cards appearing?‖
I hesitated as I looked at Rachel. In truth, I wasn‘t quite sure how I knew which card
would come up next, it was almost as with as if I saw it before the dealer flipped it over.
―Intuition,‖ I answered weakly. Mr. Longbow escorted Rachel and me to a back room
behind the bar where a huge flat screen TV was playing LOTTO numbers. As soon as he closed
the door, all sound from the gam bling room ceased but we could watch the action on overhead
CCTV‘s.
The desk faced the door and the closed- circuit TV‘s, there were no windows in the  woodpaneled room. No photos, no paintings, the TVs the only decoration to be seen. There were two
plush c hairs done in leather opposite the desk and a massive overstuffed office chair behind the
desk.
It was a work of art that desk – black granite top polished to a mirror shine and flecked
with mica sparkles. A laptop was the only item on the surface.
―Have a seat, Mr. – ?‖
―Blake Strong,‖ Rachel answered for me. ―My cousin from the East Coast. He‘s
visiting.‖
―Didn‘t know you had any redheaded cousins on the East Coast, Rachel,‖ he returned
mildly. ―What were you doing, Blake Strong?‖
―Playing cards,‖ I answered nervousness playing with my stomach. ―I wasn‘t trying to
break your bank or anything. I just wanted to see if I could predict the play of the cards.‖
―Gambling is 90% luck and 10% skill,‖ he returned. ―What you did was more than luck.
Rachel, unless your cousin wants to be banished from this casino, I suggest you limit your
playing to the machines.‖ She nodded. ―And Rachel, I don‘t like to see any underage players in
my casino.‖
―Yes, Mr. Longbow,‖ she swallowed. She stood up, took my hand and tugged me
towards the door. Twenty minutes later, we were back in his office after having played four
machines to five jackpots, the largest hitting twenty- five thousand dollars.
His face was grim as he pointed to the chairs and we sat down again. This time, he
stud ied me with razor- sharp, hard anthracite eyes. Abruptly he pulled a brand - new deck of cards
out of his desk. Flipped the cellophane off the pack and shuffled them leaving all the cards  –
Jokers and instruction card  in   the deck. Slapped them down on the desk and split them into two
piles.
―Name the cards, boy,‖ he ordered and flipped over the top two of each pile.
Ace of Diamonds Queen of Hearts
Joker Two of Clubs
I called them down to the last card and missed only two. His lips thinned even further as
if I had somehow offended him. ―How are you cheating?‖ He demanded.
―I‘m not,‖ I protested.
―Rachel, have you given him anything to help him?‖ He demanded and she became
angry, leaping out of the chair to spit in his face. Her eyes flashed like chips of obsidian, cold
and flinty.
―How dare you! I value honesty and integrity as much as my father did and my uncle
does! I would no sooner cheat than I would prostitute myself! Lakan, come on!‖ She grabb ed my
hand and pulled me out of the chair, the room and the casino.
I heard the manager protesting all the way behind us as we stepped  into  the ornate lobby,
down the escalators and out onto a broad avenue that looked like a second strip. Casinos,
theaters, steakhouses and outright massage parlors vied for space with pawn shops, wedding
chapels, and even diners.
I tried to get in a word of warning but she was so incensed that she ignored me. She
didn‘t stop but simply ran across the street, down a set of ce ment stairs and dragged me into a
well - lit, modern subway system.
―You‘ll be safe enough down here,‖ she panted. I didn‘t think it was because she was out
of shape but more to do with her emotional state.
I planted my feet and she was pulled to a dead stop  on the platform where posters
advertised shows and eateries,  not products. Surprisingly there was no graffiti on the pure white
walls.
―Rachel, I can‘t go wandering off into the underground! Even if my…signal didn‘t go
out, there are people who will see m e and report me.‖ Even as I said that, there were commuters
veering around us as the train pulled in. I stared, although it looked like an old West UP engine
and cars, the train was electric and worked on a maglev rail. The only noise I heard before it had
pulled in was a slight whoosh as it displaced the air in the tunnel. Even the air conditioning units
on top produced little or no sound. The loudest noise down here were the voices of the
commuters. These were the service people – dressed in uniforms or coveralls. They smiled
politely as they detoured around us and a few even greeted Rachel by name.
―Come on,‖ she hissed and pulled me over to a corner near a pillar, a restroom and a wall
boasting French CanCan dancers at a theater uptown.
―This is the rea l world of the casino, Lake, the real people live down here.‖
―Live down here? In the tunnels?‖ I asked.
―The subway system was built using old mining tunnels and caverns. The workers built
homes into the bedrock and made a small town down here. With water and Hydro- electric power
from the river. The ones who live above are the rich who‘ve embraced the whites‘ values and
morals. Down here, no one will ‗rat‘ you out.‖
―Rachel, if I wanted to hide in a hole in the ground, I could have stayed in one of the
caves in Shenandoah National Park. Besides, your uncle is going to have the tracer removed.‖
She stared at me and hung her head. ―Lakan, I saw your X- rays that they took when you
were…asleep. That thing implanted in your chest is more than just a tracking c hip. It also
regulates your heart itself. Any attempt to remove it will cause it to send a lethal shock into your
heart and kill you.‖
―But, your uncle said they have doctors who can remove it!‖
She shook her head. ―What they were going to try was open you  up, implant a small
shield around both sides of your heart and hope it blocked enough so that it would only give out
a distorted image that the government couldn‘t trace. But, you would show up only as a curious
anomaly on any X- ray or scanner.‖
―Rachel, what am I going to do? I want to go home, retrieve my memories, find out who I
used to be!‖ I whined and she took both my hands in hers. Instantly, we were back inside the
Yellow Realm and the sand slid insidiously into my sneakers, the wind carried pieces  into the
crevices and cracks between my skin and clothing. My hair lifted and even the dark shine of
Rachel‘s black hair had a yellow glow.
Tungasila stood watching us, his face in shadow. ―Hunta yo!”  he said and ran. We
followed him, my heart pounding in  sudden fear yet I had no explanation for that feeling. Rachel
ran with me.
Chapter Seventeen
I don‘t know how long we ran. There was no sense of time in that place but it was long
enough for our legs to grow weary yet the man who called himself my great- g randfather and
Tungasila did not slow or falter. He ran with lithe, easy strides that promised he could go forever
but we were mortal and tired.
Rachel stopped first and I slowed to stay with her taking in the surroundings. We were in
a small meadow with stunted yellow trees that resembled aspens, yellow grass that looked
withered but wasn‘t and the far- off mountains. It was the first time I‘d seen anything growing in
this place. Still no sign of water, insects or animals.
Tungasila came back and urged us o n. ―I can‘t run anymore,‖ Rachel gasped, her chest
heaving. My eyes were drawn there and I felt an uncomfortable fullness below. He saw it and
smiled.
―Danger is a powerful aphrodisiac, Lakan. That is why many babies are born before and
after wars.‖
―What‘s coming, Grandfather?‖ I asked using the polite and respectful term in his
language.
―Soul snatchers. Creatures that masquerade as coyotes or small dogs. They will kill you
for trespassing and steal your souls, binding you here forever to be tormented by them as slaves
to their lusts.‖
―Why are they after us?‖ she gasped as she bent over, searched for a pebble to suck on. It
was an old trick to fool your mouth into thinking you were not thirsty and to ease the stitch in
your side. ―They never bothered me before.‖
―The more you enter and longer you stay,‖ he explained, ―the greater your signature on
the landscape, the stronger your scent where they can track you.‖
―What should we do?‖ I asked ―Is it safe to exit? Where will we come out? In the city?
The Tower or the subway?‖
―Wherever you want. Just focus where you will step through,‖ he said. His head lifted
hurriedly. ―Quickly, Boy Who Thinks Much. They are coming for you!‖ 
I opened the door and we stepped out onto the subway platform, nearly in the exact  spot
from which we‘d left. I glanced up at the big clock on the walls and the schedule board with its
LED display. Four hours had passed. No wonder Rachel was exhausted and my legs tired.
―They must be frantic over our absence,‖ she noted worriedly. She pulled out her cell
phone and I was surprised to see that it was an old Tracfone with no SIM card and untraceable.
The thing was almost archaic, stone- age. I knew that no one could track her by it as it was
unregistered.
She dialed and spoke into it, using a  language I assumed was one native to her tribe but I
understood it without knowing how or why I knew it. She was telling her uncle we were safe, in
the subway and would be back inside the casino shortly. She asked if anyone had reported me
missing and did  not seem surprised at his answer. I could hear his strident tones through the cell
phone and started walking back towards the steps leading up to street level.
When I reached the fourth step from the top, I was able to tell that it was early evening
though the skies were lit up by the 24- hour cycle of a nonstop gambling Mecca. People were
bustling back and forth; the streets as busy then as they had been during the day. Night- time
brought out the women who worked in the massage parlors –  women who dressed  for sex and
had the looks that plastic surgery had created. There weren‘t lines heading into their
establishments but they were humming along with no lack of customers. The pawn shops were
busy, too and for the first time, I saw drunks stumbling down the s treet. Some were panhandling
and others lay on street corners of back alleys.
I couldn‘t help myself; I went over to one and pulled him into a sitting position out of the
street. He was dead to the world, drool and vomit staining his once white dress shirt with a string
tie and scuffed boots. I checked his pockets and found his wallet. His name was Jamie  Bolton
and he was from Alpine Texas, a member of the PBA or had been up until two years ago.
Rachel stood over me. ―I remember him. He was bucked off, broke his back and couldn‘t
ride anymore. Started drinking. Alcohol is our curse,‖ she sighed.
I touched his shoulder and felt that same tingle flow through my hands and into him. He
stirred, muttered something and opened his eyes. Clear, deep brown and solemn, he studied my
face and called me Shaman. I swallowed and told him not to sleep here on the ground but to go
back to his hotel room where it was safe.
He informed me that he had no residence only a trailer he pulled with his old truck. I
gave him part of our winnings from the casino. He climbed to his feet, tucked the cash inside his
shirt, thanked me before he walked soberly down the street and out of sight. Only then did I walk
back into the casino where we were met by the Manager, Security,  Redline, and  George. All of
them surrounded and escorted us back to the Penthouse.
Redline was furious and he started several times to berate us, finally sputtering to a stop
as he plowed his fingers through his hair.
―Do you realize that even now the NSA could be de scending on us to retake you, Lakan?
Do you want to spend the rest of your life in captivity as a guinea pig? There are AMBER alerts
going out all over the US. How long do you think you‘d last out there? We have customers who
come from all over the country to play here.‖ He paused. ―The Park Service found two skeletons
near where your great- grandfather used to live and one of them still had his cell phone--- he was a
missing Corrections Officer up hunting with his best friend also missing for two years.
―Unf ortunately, the last photos taken from his camera was an image of a 12 - year- old boy
who called himself Lake. The FBI is investigating his disappearance and  is  now looking for you,
too.‖
―Shit,‖ I said and started looking for a way out, an escape route. He  grabbed my
shoulders.
―You wouldn‘t get ten miles, Lakan. You are on Reservation land, that gives us some
warning before they can legally come after you. However, we both know that legalities mean
nothing to the NSA and Black Ops.‖
―Why didn‘t you tell me  the truth about the implant?‖ I demanded.
George looked at Rachel. She stared back defiantly. ―We felt it was in the best interests
of your mental health not to tell you.‖
―There is one way you can remove it,‖ I said with a dry mouth and sweaty palms. I
looked at the floor and at my feet. I couldn‘t believe I was going to say what I had in mind. ―You
need to stop my heart. Once I‘m dead, you can take it out and then resuscitate me.‖
―Are you nuts?‖ Rachel burst out. ―No way!‖
―It‘s the only way.  You have cardiologists here an d a full - fledged operating room.  Then,
the risks are minimal. If you were willing to implant a small shield around both sides of my
heart, then this should be child‘s play,‖ I argued. ―I‘m not crazy about the idea either but it‘s the
only viable way I can see to remove the tracer without doing open heart surgery. Besides, you
might trigger the device doing it your way and kill me anyway.‖
George slowly nodded his head. ―We were aware of the possibility but were hoping your
enhanced cells would prevent death from occurring. After all, it saved you when you were
three.‖
―I wouldn‘t want to bet my life on it,‖ I said grimly knowing that it was exactly what I
was doing. ―When can you do this?‖
―I already had everything set up for noon tomorrow. The doctor…wants to play tonight
and frankly, we need him to be sufficiently in debt so that he has no reservations.‖
―You‘re bribing my doctor?‖ I gaped and he had the decency to flush.
―Well, we don‘t have a consulting cardiologist or cardiac surgeon in our back pocket and
although we do have ties to some Native American MDs, we thought we needed one we
could…manipulate into keeping silent.‖
―He agreed to do this?‖ I continued.
―We told him only that we had a patient who needed a pacemaker implanted.‖
I was aghast in horror. ―When were you planning to tell him the rest, when my chest was
open?‖ He didn‘t answer. ―I insist you bring him in here and let me talk to him.‖
George nodded and took out his cell phone, spoke into it and we waited. Twenty minutes
later, Hotel Security escorted in a tall, lean man with gray hair, deep blue  eyes, and casual attire.
He had long, slender hands with well- cared for fingernails.
―I‘m Dr. Rivers, you‘re the patient?‖ He held out his hand to me and I shook it.
―Lake Strong ,‖ I said and he seemed surprised at my age. ―I‘m nearly fifteen,‖ I added.
―And it‘s not a pacemaker in me.‖ I handed him my x- rays and he read them swiftly, his face
stilling as he realized the implications of what he was seeing.
―What the hell!‖
―My li fe is in your hands, Dr. Rivers. If you don‘t take this thing out of me, I‘ll not have
a life, I‘ll be spending it in a cell under government confinement just because I was an
experiment.‖
―What do you expect me to do with this?‖ He asked soberly. 
―You hav e to  stop my heart, remove the implant and then restart my heart,‖ I said calmly.
―Any other intervention will send a lethal shock into my heart and fry it.‖ I went on to explain
exactly how he needed to remove the bomb and he listened intently.
―Fourteen,  you say? You know what your IQ is?‖
―198,‖ I answered. That was one of the things I remember from the Hamilton estate. She
had boasted to everyone that her grandson –  me –  had the IQ of a superior Einstein, that I took
after her side of the family. Of course, I wasn‘t sure if those were real memories or something
fabricated by her programming of the last two years spent under her ‗care.‘
―What kind of schooling have you had?‖ He continued and I couldn‘t answer him. I could
and did tell him what I knew of my past medical history. Somehow, George and his group had
access to that, back to the car accident when I was three. He said, ―your brain scans at that age
were…catastrophic. How is it you recovered from what was clearly a fatal brain injury?‖
―I‘ll let George explain that one,‖ I said. ―Now, I‘m hungry and I have a hankering for a
thick steak and mashed potatoes with gravy.‖ I nodded to Rachel and she picked up my hand,
heading out the door and back to the elevator with Dr. Rivers in my wake.
―Wait a minute, Lake,‖ he said. ―There‘s a few things I need from you before I touch a
scalpel to your chest.‖
I stopped. ―Doesn‘t George have all that in my records?‖
―No. And I wouldn‘t be much of a surgeon if I took his word for it.‖ He turned to Redline
and Little Bear. ―I need a phlebotomist and a surgical tech in this OR of yours and I want to
examine it before I do anything. You have a lab, too?‖
George nodded. ―I can show you the facility.‖ He entered the elevator and held the door
open for us. I hesitated and Rachel pushed me inside. We rode in silence down to the seventh
floor and it was a full- fledged hospital run by the Indian Health Service, staffed by Native
Americans and serviced both natives and customers. Much as a cruise ship‘s infirmary would
operate.
I spent the afternoon being undressed, blood  was drawn , vitals taken, EKGs and x - rays
retaken, weighed, probed and gone over until not one inch of me remained untouched. Last, he
ordered an MRI of my brain but not my chest, afraid that the metal inside  would be affected by
the magnetic machine.
During the few minutes between tests, a pretty young nurse brought me a light lunch of
cheese sandwich, tomato soup, and coffee. I fell on it like a rabid wolf and when I begged for
seconds, she brought me a repea t.
I sat on the edge of the bed hooked up to the machine that took my vitals and listened to
the pre- op nurse explain the procedure. She warned me not to eat or drink anything after
midnight and no alcohol. I rolled my eyes at that. I was  nearly  15 and had  no way to procure
booze.
―Yes, well, boys your age are very creative at acquiring alcohol,‖ she said and I had to
snort.
―You‘re not much older than I am,‖ I retorted.
―I‘m 22.‖
―An old lady,‖ I teased. Her name tag said Penny Bright Star; she had copp er skin and
brown eyes, pretty dark brown hair cut short and curled over her ears. She was an RN.
―You‘re here for pre- op? What kind of surgery?‖ She looked at my orders and her eyes
widened. ―Cardio –  you have a bad heart?‖  
I knew what she was thinking – I didn‘t look anything like the typical heart patient, I was
too healthy. Not thin, gray with sunken and hooded eyes. Fatigued and depressed.
―Will you be one of the nurses on tomorrow?‖ I asked with a lump in my throat. Hers
might be the last friendly face I saw before I died.
She saw my fear and gave me a hug. ―I‘ll be here before and after to take care of you,
Blake,‖ she promised. ―You won‘t be alone.‖ She smiled and told me she‘d be back later.
I was ready to leave but Dr. Rivers suggested I spend the   night resting. I suspected he
wanted to make sure I didn‘t bolt.
Chapter Eighteen
Around midnight, I finally fell asleep and that was after Penny came in and took my
vitals again. She joked with me, spent time doing the Times crossword  – the Sunday editio n that
was supposed to be super hard and we finished it in ten minutes. After that, she gave me a
sleeping pill.
It was a different nurse that woke me up early in the morning. She bustled in with a tray
that she set down on the bed near my legs. ―Good morn ing, Lakan,‖ she said quietly. ―I‘m here
to put in your IV.‖
Quickly and efficiently, she tied off my elbow,  wiped  it with an alcohol wipe and inserted
a butterfly into my vein. I stiffened as she made ready to inject me with something. She‘d called
me ‗Lakan‘ when I was registered only as ‗Blake‘.
―What are you giving me?‖ I demanded. My eyes searched for her ID card and she wore
one around her neck but the picture didn‘t look like her.
―Just a pre- op sedative to relax you,‖ she returned and stuck in the needle. I grabbed her
hand and managed to knock the syringe away before she could press the plunger all the way.
Even so, I felt drunk as I attempted to get out of bed. She reached down for the syringe and
pushed me back.
I punched her; a wild swing that had no power yet it was enough to knock me out of bed
into her. My weight caused her to woof as I knocked her air out. I felt soft breasts under my
hands and the needle close by. I picked it up and pushed it into what flesh I could reach and
slowly, she melt ed  into  me.
She had ridiculously long eyelashes over dark gray eyes, brunette hair and lightly
freckled skin. She looked Midwestern or even English but not Native American. I struggled to
get up, whatever she had forced on   me was strong enough to make me feel as if I were drunk or
stoned.
I pushed myself off her, my hands sinking into soft flesh that felt more like dead rubber
than a human female. I could see the call button hanging off the side of the bed but  getting   to it
was like running a 50 K marathon on my knees. When my fumbling fingers finally reached it, I
laid my head on my arm and rested my face on the cool floor. Only then did I push the
emergency button. When someone finally arrived, all hell broke loose. They wouldn‘t let me get
up until they c hecked me over and made sure I had no broken bones.
In halting, slurred speech I told them what had happened. In minutes, George arrived
with the Head of Security who insisted on moving me to another room and posting an armed
guard. One of them carried her off and I did not see her again.
The doctor gave me another shot and this one charged through my veins like bleach
cleaning a spot. I was suddenly and instantly awake as the Narcan reversed the sedative she had
given me. My first words were to George, ―W ho was that woman? She was sent here to snatch
me back, wasn‘t she? Where is she now?‖
I was in a VIP room on a wing that was open only to keycards, guarded by armed men
and security equal to high- powered movie stars. George was at my side and the doctor who had
treated my drugging had been replaced by Dr. Rivers.
―Her name is Sarah Coventry, she is an RN at a local hospital who was contacted by an
anonymous man on the Internet; he offered her $100,000 to kidnap you and bring you to an
undisclosed locatio n,‖ George answered. ―She has a drug and gambling problem. $100,000
would pay off her losses, school loans and then some.‖
―How did she know who I was?‖ I asked.
―From the AMBER alerts. She recognized your face in the casinos, saw the posters and
looked  you up on the Internet. As soon as she did that, her query triggered an alert which went
straight to the NSA. It wasn‘t but hours later they had a team alerted from Chicago and heading
out here.‖
―She‘s from Chicago?‖ I asked in confusion.
―No. She works in the hospital, Denver General. The NSA keeps files on everyone in the
U.S. that‘s on the grid – Social Security, credit cards, student loans, cell phones. All they needed
to do was pull up a query on an RN with credit problems and twist the knife. If  it wasn‘t Ms.
Coventry, it would have been someone else. At least they didn‘t want you dead --- the drug in
both of your systems was propofol. Just enough to knock you out and keep you under for 8
hours.‖
―Eight hours? So, they were taking me out of the country?‖ I asked.
He shrugged. ―Maybe. Or the East Coast somewhere they couldn‘t fly directly and
needed to transport you on the ground.‖
―Is there a plane waiting at the Airport?‖ I asked.
He looked pensive. ―I don‘t know. Uncle Redline has the security part of this deal.‖
I looked for him but he wasn‘t one of those in my room. Dr. Rivers was and I asked him
if he was still going ahead with the operation. ―Are you sure, Lake?‖
I nodded. ―Even more so, now. Now, they know I‘m here in this state, t his city , and this
building. I have to disappear. Or die to get them off me. You said they sent a team from
Chicago. Are they here yet?‖
―The plane lands in an hour,‖ George said.
―Can you do this anywhere else? Like a clinic?‖ I asked Rivers.
―No. No  matter how I plan this, I need a sterile environment and micro instruments or I
have to crack open your chest. That requires a lengthy hospital stay and a long convalescence.
You won‘t be able to run from anything if I go that route,‖ he argued.
―I may not have a choice. You need 75 minutes‘ minimum to do this?‖ At his nod, I
continued. ―You‘d better get started, then. I‘m sure the agents have some idea why I‘m hiding
out in a hospital.‖
―All right.‖ Once he decided to go ahead, he was a whirlwind  of actio n. In 10 minutes,
both of us were prepped and ready for the OR, a different one than previously scheduled. I was
happy to see that Penny was one of the nurses and George, too. Rachel was there in the waiting
room and she gave me a soft kiss on the cheek ne ar that silly hat they put on over your hair for
surgery. I was in a gown covered with blankets, doped and groggy.
―I will see you when you wake up, Lakan,‖ she said. ―Promise me.‖ 
I knew what she meant. ―We will not meet in the Spirit Realm, Rachel Little   Bear,‖ I told
her in a slurred voice. George did something to my arm and told me to count. I made it to three
before the darkness took over.
*****
My chest hurt. It felt as if I had the worst case of heartburn, nausea and sore ribs ever.
Like I‘d been pummeled by the entire scrimmage line at practice and then kicked by a mule. My
eyes wandered over my surroundings. I didn‘t recognize anything. I was in a small room with a
curtain across it, a blue spotted one and in a hospital bed laid almost flat. The ceiling  was tiled
and a couple was painted with superheroes. Spiderman and Arrow, the Flash and Batman. There
was a machine recording my vitals and a chair presently occupied by George who was dressed in
scrubs. No window, no bathroom, no pretty girls to fawn over me.
―Did it work?‖ I asked in a voice that sounded as if it belonged to an 80 - year- old frog.
―How do you feel?‖ He asked quietly.
―Sore. Like a mountain fell on me,‖ I rasped.
―We had to shock your heart twenty times to stop it,‖ he said soberly. ―F inally, Dr. Rivers
gave you a massive overdose of potassium chloride. Then, he was able to remove the tracer and
the device. Starting it was a hell of a lot easier.‖ He hesitated. ―Lakan, there was also a minute
amount of an explosive in it, enough to blow  your heart to hamburger along with half of your
body and probably anyone within touching distance. These people don‘t care who they would
have killed besides  you.‖
―I  thought as much,‖ I mumbled. ―They would want to take me out if they suspected I
might fall into the hands of terrorists or worse. Where am I?‖
―Not the recovery suite,‖ he grinned. ―This is one of those extra rooms we keep for the
…less privileged of our patients.‖
―The bum‘s room?‖ I mumbled as I fell back into anesthesia - induced sleep. I d idn‘t hear
his answer.
Fingers running across my forehead pushing sweat- dampened  hair back woke me.
Perfume and clean- smelling clothes. Coconut shampoo and makeup. ―George?‖ I mumbled and a
girl‘s voice laughed.
―I hope not.‖
I opened my eyes to Rachel‘s s miling face. Her eyes were suspiciously bright, almost as
if she had been crying. George was gone.
―Where‘s your boyfriend?‖ I mumbled and she flushed.
―Darren isn‘t my boyfriend. He‘s working at the airport, driving some VIPs around
looking for the casino. How are you?‖
―Been better.‖ I raised the bed and winced as the change in angle made my chest ache.
My breathing roughened and I was grateful for the 02 pumping through the nasal cannula. Next,
I tried to push aside the covers and slide my feet onto the   floor. She made sounds of protest but I
ignored her. The floor was cold. It seemed so far away from my  head as if I were on a
mountaintop and my feet in the valley. I swayed, caught myself on the bed railing and waited
until my blood pressure leveled off. By the time I felt almost capable of moving, Rachel had
placed new clothes on the bed for me.
Without comments or fuss, she helped me dress in underwear, new jeans, polo in black
and teal blue, socks, boots, and down vest before she ran a comb through my  hair. I was passive
and let her treat me as if I were a  life- size doll. Or mannequin. 
―Lakan, are you with it?‖ She asked me, snapping her fingers in my face. I stared at her
cross- eyed.
―I feel kind of loopy,‖ I admitted. ―For a supposed Superman, drugs s ure have a potent
effect on me.‖
―You‘re still human. Mostly.‖ She helped me walk over to the chair and sat me down in it
while she pulled out her old cell phone. ―Uncle Pete, he‘s dressed and awake. We‘re ready to go.
Are you bringing a wheelchair? He‘s a  little shaky on his feet.‖
I didn‘t hear his reply but her face blanched and she hung up. She grabbed my arm and
put it on her shoulder as she stood me up. ―Those agents? They‘re in the hospital with warrants
and US Marshals, Lake. They‘re not intimidated by our Tribal Laws or immunity.‖
―I can walk,‖ I said and managed to place my feet in front of each other. Exiting the
room, we stood in a small hallway on what was an unglamorous wing of the hospital. Small
rooms just down from the laundry and the morgue , easy access to freight elevators to the
basement and the subway system.
I didn‘t put all my weight on her but she carried more of me than my own legs. The only
good thing was that the more I walked, the clearer headed I felt. The freight elevators were b are
boxes with half - doors, half - gates so that we could see the walls of the shaft slide by; the floors
passing with quick glimpses of the less desirable parts of the Casino Tower Complex. If we saw
any people, it was the Service Personnel and they would no t say anything to anyone.
It creaked and clanked its way to the bottom, opening on the lowest floor of the tower  –
Sub- basement IV. Carts of dirty linen lined both sides of the broad hallway and steam marked
the entrance to the cleaning facility which serv iced the hotel rooms, bathrooms and hospital
floor. Towels, linen, bedding were all piled on trolleys. Dirtied, cleaned and folded. Mountains
of white and colored stuff, enough to supply a city.
Rachel hurried past heading for a cross hallway and another set of doors that led to the
subway system. Once through those, we were in a warren of tunnels that were lit only by small
13W LED bulbs every 10 feet making it just barely bright enough to walk. She seemed to know
where she was going and I had no choice but to follow her.
Chapter Nineteen
She took me ever deeper until I was almost afraid that I would never see the sun again or
I would step foot in Hades‘ underworld. When we emerged in a vast cavern, I gaped in
astonishment. I had read about the Crystal Cave  in Mexico but its beauty was limited to those
scientists who braved its dangers because of the extreme conditions of the cave --- heat,
maneuverability and the like. Plus, they had re- flooded it to preserve the spires. This cavern,
although smaller was a co mfortable 68˚ and there were open paths between the crystals. Not all
of the were plain quartz, I could see topaz in golden yellow, rose quartz, and even amethyst.
Crystals as large around as a full grown heavy man and in clusters resembling pipe organs. O ne
particularly fine cluster looked like a purple aster only it was the size of a Uke‘s tire. Any one of
them would make us a millionaire yet I noticed no one had so much as broken off a piece nor
picked up one of the shards.
To one of the Native Americans, this place clearly belonged to the World of the Dead and
when we passed old burial platforms, I knew why it was a sacred place. The old ones laid to rest
here had been placed in graves over a 1000 years before white men had stepped foot on this
continent. I could tell by the archaic pottery and grave ornaments on the skeletons and by the
patina on the bones. 
―Who were they?‖ I whispered reverently and Rachel shrugged.
―Not Cheyenne or Arapahoe. These people came before us. We had our archaeologist
examine  them without disturbing the graves and they dated the pottery at around 1000 to 1200
B.C.E. Some even had clothing still on them – buckskin with painted geometric and floral
designs that bore a resemblance to Egyptian motifs.‖
―Did they do DNA?‖
―No. The Tribal Council would not allow that. To touch the bones of our ancestors is
taboo. A sacrilege. It does not hold the same connotation as the ‗ chindi‘ of the Navajo but braves
have gone to war over burial grounds being disturbed.‖
―Why did you bring me here?‖
―There is an entrance through here to the upper world in the desert where my brother has
stored a vehicle, papers, cash and a map to the Interstate. We‘ll leave the Reservation and head
north to the border, lose ourselves in the woods and cross into Canada. There‘s a big Reservation
that straddles both countries and the natives will take us in until we can establish a new identity
for you – a family, school , and papers.‖
―I want to go home,‖ I said flatly.
―They‘ll look for you there,‖ she shook her head.
―That‘s the last place they‘ll look. I don‘t remember where it is, they made sure of that
when they wiped my memories. So how can I go someplace I don‘t know?‖
―Why do you want to go back? What‘s so important you‘d risk everything?‖ She argued.
―I hav en‘t a clue, just an intuition that says I have to do it,‖ I returned. ―With or without
you.‖
―I can‘t go with you,‖ she said. ―If I disappear, they‘ll link me with you and it‘ll make it
too easy to spot you. I was going to take you to the car and then ret urn home.‖
―Was?‖ I asked.
―We left without meds, just hours after you died, were revived and had major surgery,
Lakan. How far do you think you‘ll get on your own? You‘re barely moving under your own
steam; I‘ve been carrying you for the last hour.‖ She let go and my legs wobbled. I said down on
the nearest stump which turned out to be a flat crystal of white quartz the size of a piano. It
reflected the lights strung up on slender poles like Christmas garlands on a tree. I wondered
where the power came fro m that fed all these lights. There had to be a substation somewhere.
I yawned, found myself slowly sinking down the side of the slab until my back was on it
and my feet on the cavern floor. ―I‘ll just rest here a bit,‖ I mumbled and was vaguely aware that
she had removed her jacket to use as a pillow under my head. She sat next to me, gathered my
upper body against her and I fell asleep in minutes warmed by a very soft and fragrant girl.
*****
―You got anything to eat or drink?‖ I asked her before I opened  my eyes. My head was
tucked on her chest, a surprisingly soft and  sweet- scented pillow.
―Good morning to you, too,‖ she returned tartly.
―Yeah? How do you know what time it is?‖
She flipped open her cell phone and held up her watch. ―Indiglo.‖ I read both,  she had
them synchronized at 5:43 AM.
―Christ on a crutch,‖ I said. ―I don‘t get up until noon.‖
―Really? I thought you were a country boy up with the chickens.‖
―Chicken tenders maybe. So, is there anything to eat? Or drink? Did you think to grab
anything before we took off on this jaunt?‖
―No. I wasn‘t exactly planning a picnic but an escape,‖ she snapped. ―As for water,
there‘s the underground river that runs through here.‖
I realized I had heard the soft susurrations of running water in the background  as a
subliminal noise that barely registered. I knew it was safe to drink but I wasn‘t sure if I could get
to it.
―Let me,‖ Rachel said, sighed and walked over under one of the lightbulbs. Once she was
fifteen feet from the light, she disappeared from my s ight. I strained and could barely make out a
dim form moving through a forest of stalagmites. The harder I  strained, the eas ier it was to
discern shapes against  her moving body. When my ears heard her gasp and then a loud splash, I
leaped to my feet and ra n for the now faint glimmer of water.
―Rachel!‖ I shouted and heard her call my name from further away. The river here was
running at a good clip; my brain automatically calculated the distance from her voice and where I
stood, the rate at which she was mo ving and the river.
I dove in, a shallow dive and the water was a sudden shock. It was ice cold. I knew within
minutes, Rachel would be unable to move and would drown before hypothermia could take her. I
swam furiously, my chest muscles pulling but I shoved the pain down and concentrated only on
reaching her. The current helped, pushing me along until I was going at least a mile or two faster
than the water.
―Rachel?‖ I called and got a mouthful of ice cold pure water that tasted curiously like
Perrier. Ahead of me, I could just barely make out a white oval that I knew was her face.
My reaching hands grabbed her hair and such was her apathy that my snatch didn‘t cause
a reaction as I dragged her into my arms by a handful of her locks losing some in the proce ss.
Next, I tried to swim for the banks but all I could grab were sheer rock walls as my ears
picked up the sound of rapids. I kicked as hard as I could for the sides hoping to find something
to grab onto but there was nothing.
We entered the stretch that contained the rapids and here, I could see the ghostly
luminescence of the frothy water. Enough so that it highlighted the stalagmites causing the river
to roil  like an angry child in a tantrum. Not enough to keep me from bouncing off them or
breaking bones, just enough to steer Rachel‘s body away from the worst of the impacts.
Thankfully, the river took us through that section fast and the next stretch was a soft curve of
relatively quiet water that felt warmer, too. I was tired, achingly cold and hurting.   I knew ribs
were broken and suspected maybe an ankle or two.
I sensed something under my feet, held my breath and dropped to touch gravel. Once I
knew the ground was  underneath   me, I lunged towards the sides of the river bank and felt it
coming up under  me. I stood up and waded through the quieter waters of a shoal and onto a
gravel bank. Staggered as I climbed the shallow hill and set Rachel down. The cold was affecting
my brain, it took me several minutes to associate the stuff underneath us as plants or grass. When
I looked up, I saw stars but they didn‘t look familiar until my tired, cold brain deduced that I was
looking at the night sky through a collapsed cavern ceiling. Quickly, the sights, sounds and
scents of the afterworld rushed in on me. I wan ted only to lay down and let nature take over but I
barely recognized that if I didn‘t do something both of us would die here. If Rachel wasn‘t
already dead from the cold.
I shook her, tried to listen for her heartbeat but I was shivering too much myself.
―F- f - f - fire,‖ I chattered. ―G- g - g - gotta – m - m - make f - f - fire.‖ Dumbly, I stared around,
broke off pieces of the brush that grew around  nearly everywhere and then reached  for the rocks
scattered within reach . There was a lot of quartz, nuggets of what I suspe cted was gold but
finally, I found flint and a striker stone. Cold fingers, a desperate need and a body going into
shock and hypothermia did not make starting a life- giving fire easy. Yet somehow, I managed.
The blaze was a beacon in the dark sinkhole. I could see the wall; the cave was as big as a
Cathedral and had the same hushed atmosphere. The river curled around one side appearing from
a large tunnel and disappearing down another.
Grass, brush , and small trees grew in the center where light could reach, an area about the
size of a small banquet room. The trees were manzanita, juniper and cedar, the brush yaupon and
mesquite. I saw prickly pear and Spanish dagger. Both could provide some antiseptic salve and
had some food value. In fact, prickly pear jelly was a gourmet item I had enjoyed at Hamilton‘s.
I kept the fire small enough knowing that my fuel was limited. Once it was hot enough to
make my ring rocks hiss, I set about digging a shallow pit just the size of a grave and deep
enough to hold two bodies. It took a long time and I prayed the fire was enough to keep her alive
until I finished. Once I judged it deep enough, I pushed the rocks into the bottom. Over that, I put
handfuls of grass and needles, stripped off my clothes which had somehow dried o n me. Then, I
removed all of Rachel‘s things except for her underwear. Her skin was gray and had the texture
of cold rubber. When my fingers lifted off of it, no blood rushed to fill the spot.
―Oh God, Rachel,‖ I moaned in despair. ―Please don‘t die.‖
I pushed her into the hole and lay on top of her, using one hand to arrange her damp and
cold clothing over the top on the sticks I had used as joists. My body heat and the warmed stones
under us slowly filled the hollow and the moisture from damp clothing mad e our breathing
easier. It wasn‘t a sweat lodge but the closest thing to it that I could build.
I fell asleep unable to stay awake even though I feared she was too far gone. It was
shivering that woke me. At first, I thought it was because the wet clothes  had fallen exposing my
back. Then, I realized it was underneath me and I was rising and falling as she breathed. I felt the
flutter of her breath on my cheek.
―Rachel?‖ I asked raising myself off her by leaning on my elbows. She mumbled
something. Her black eyes opened and she looked directly into mine. She kissed me. Rolled her
body and arched her arms around my back, pressing into the dip above my hips. Her nails dug
lightly into my skin and sent a lightning jab of pleasure through me. ―Rachel?‖ It was a  ques tion
for which I didn‘t have an answer but she did and she showed me a world of pleasure that was
almost pain yet I would have endured torture to remain in it.
Chapter Twenty
In the morning, I watched her sleep. Her face in repose was beautiful and nob le. With
dark lashes, aquiline nose, soft lips and cheekbones to die for. Tawny skin the color of apricots
but paler now.
Her body was long lines and lean; she was taller than me. The arch of her ribs as finely
made as a thoroughbred  racehorse, her breasts just large enough for my hands to cup. Her waist
was tiny, her hips the hips of a runner with long, muscled legs and high insteps. She did not paint
her toenails.
I was in wonder. I had masturbated in the privacy of my bathroom but I had been a virgin
when I had met her. At least, so my programmed  memories had inferred. Yet, I had not had ‗the
talk‘. I mean, I knew how it worked and all, but I had no idea it was like that.
―Could you move over?‖ She asked with a grunt. ―You‘re squashing me.‖ I blushed and
she stared at me in confusion. ―What? What did I say?‖
―You…you –,‖ I stammered. ―I –.‖
―Hey. You saved my life and all, Lakan. It‘s just sex. I don‘t love you or anything,‖ she
snorted. ―Now, get up so I can go pee.‖
I moved and  yiked as all my hurts took that moment to remind me that they were still
there.
―What‘s wrong?‖ She asked sharply, gently rolling out from under me.
―I broke some ribs,‖ I muttered. ―And my ankle.‖
―Crap.‖ She managed to extricate herself from the hole and stood over me. The vie w took
my mind off my own pain. ―How the  hell did you get down there  with me?‖
―Desperation. I slid in on my belly.‖ She could see the shallow scratches and abrasions
on my stomach, knees and hands.
―Can you raise your arms?"
I did and although it pulled o n my ribs, I held back my groans as she helped me out of the
grave. Her eyes roamed up and down my naked body as I knelt on the edge. She turned me on
my butt and slid me over to the remains of my fire before she jumped back  into the hole to
retrieve our c lothing.
Once dressed, I felt less vulnerable but agonized over her previous statement. Worried
about  it more than the aches in my body. Her words had pierced something in my chest.
―You and Darren?‖ I asked painfully as her fingers probed my swollen feet.
―We‘re fuck buddies,‖ she said briefly. My eyes widened in shock. ―What? You‘ve never
heard of it before?‖ Her eyes rounded in sudden comprehension. ―Oh my God!  Were you a
virgin? I didn‘t know!‖
She pulled my foot. I didn‘t have time to scream before I passed out. It was only for
seconds, when I opened them again, I was flat on my back and she was wrapping both ankles
with a torn T- shirt. ―One is broken, the other‘s just a bad sprain. Your ribs  –  they might be
cracked but I‘m not going to mess with them.  I could puncture your lungs. Better to leave them
alone if your breathing is fine. Is it?‖
―Is what?‖ I asked dazedly.
―Your breathing.‖
―I guess. I‘m doing it, right?‖
―Look, you‘re not going to get all goofy and stuff because we did it?‖
―Rachel –,‖ I said softly.
―Never mind, Lakan. Look, it was just a way to  thank  you, okay? No strings attached. It
doesn‘t mean anything.‖ She walked off looking angry.
―It means something to me,‖ I whispered. She came back minutes later, saying that she
was cold and cuddled next to me, murmuring that I felt like a furnace. After a few more minutes,
she repeated it, touching my back.
―Lakan, your body temperature is higher than normal --- are you running a fever? You‘re
hot, burning up in fact.‖
I nodded. ―I can regulate my   temperature,‖ I said slowly. ―That‘s how my clothes dried
on me and yours didn‘t.‖
She handed me her jacket which was still a little damp. ―Can you dry this?‖ I hugged it to
my chest and steam pooled off the damp denim. In seconds, it was dry although still wrinkled.
She giggled. ―You‘re almost as good as an iron. How do you feel? Hot?‖
I assessed my aches and pains and wasn‘t surprised to see that the minor scrapes and
abrasions were gone or that my ankles merely sore as if I‘d only  strained  them. My ribs didn‘t
hurt at all and I wasn‘t any warmer than normal. 
―We have to climb out of here,‖ I said. ―Unless you know of another way  out of here that
doesn‘t involve swimming.‖
―This sinkhole wasn‘t part of the cave system our people explored and mapped. I haven‘t
a clue where we are or where we‘ll come out.‖ She stared up at the bright blue sky without a hint
of clouds. Judging from the angle of the sun coming through the opening, I guessed it was about
noon. My stomach grumbled reminding me that my last meal  had been too long ago.
―Too bad I can‘t fly,‖ I muttered walking over to a patch of pear. Carefully, I popped off
several leaves without disturbing either the large thorns or the small hairs that caused painful
itching. Laid them in the coals and burned th em clean.
The skins roasted and broke apart exposing the cooked meat inside. Rachel and I ate just
enough to quiet the craving in our bellies--- too much pear would give us cramps and diarrhea.
Not a good thing in an environment that was hot and dry.
The sugar hit me like a shot of caffeine. I could feel it zoom through my bloodstream and
I wanted to use that energy to finish repairing my wounds. But, I held off knowing that I needed
to keep it to climb out of here.
Rachel had coaxed the fire back to life and made a torch out of a large branch of yellow
lechugilla. With it, she explored the floor of the sinkhole. I studied the sides and found that my
vision was just as sharp in the available light as if the place was lit up by Klieg lights.
Walking over to the south side of the walls away from the underground river, I thought I
could make it part of the way up, almost to the rim. It was the rim that defied my climbing
knowledge, it hung under like the inverted lip of a bowl --- meaning I would have to hang from
my fingertips and flip my legs backward over my body, head and hands to land on what I hoped
would be flat ground. For all I knew, it could be the sides of a cliff or a mountain. There was no
way I could carry Rachel out without ropes, pitons or a harness.
Rather than call her over, I let her explore on her own guessing that there was no other
way out. I flexed my hands, shoulders and legs, rubbed my palms through the sandy soil
roughing them and thought how much easier this would be if I had sucker pads on  my fingertips.
The route I picked out started with a large crack that had filled in over the years with
fallen debris. I climbed over dead trees and branches, boulders and gravel, disturbing the bones
of burros and deer.
It was easy climbing until the cra ck narrowed and became nearly vertical. Here, I had to
ascend using the chimney technique, i.e. my back and feet holding me in like a cork. This
required some great physical effort and my energy was quickly depleted before I‘d reached the
halfway mark.
It was then that I noticed how my fingertips stuck to the rock surface. On closer
inspection, I could see fine depressions and pads where my fingerprints had been. I kicked off
my shrunken tennis shoes and found the same sticky pads on my feet.
―Huh,‖ I said with a grin. ―Spiderman has nothing on me.‖ With renewed enthusiasm, I
continued climbing. Before I knew it, I was on the edge of the lip and my newly adaptive hands
and feet carried me over with little effort.
Once on the outside of the rim, I stood up and looked around. Orange- tinted rose
mountains and cliffs climbed and fell around me. Below  me  lay what looked like crumpled paper
bags covered with the white icing of snow where wispy yellow grass poked their stem- heads
through the blanket of white. Junipe r trees dotted the landscape like green pimples on an  acned
surface. Desolate wasn‘t the word to describe this landscape. Moonscape  fit s  it better. I could see
for miles and yet, I saw nothing that would help us. I still had no clue where we were or even
what state we were in.
―Rachel?‖ I called down and leaned over the edge of the rim to see her standing in the
center nearly 150 feet below. She looked frightened.
―How did you get up there?‖ she asked.
―You ever read Spiderman comics?‖ I returned grinning.
―No. How are you going to get me up there?‖
I looked around. No coil of rope fell out of the sky at my feet, no ladders lying around
and I couldn‘t run down to the local Home Depot for supplies. I climbed down the mountain
ridge to stand on the rocks at th e base and spent the next hour searching for another entrance into
the sinkhole. There wasn‘t one.
By the time I had returned to Rachel, she had wedged herself into the chimney nearly to
the same spot where I‘d been stuck. Her voice was hoarse from calling   me, she was nearly in
tears and her limbs were trembling from exertion.
I climbed down quickly, maneuvered under her and held her against me using my body as
a ledge upon which she could rest.
―You okay?‖ I asked in genuine concern.
―I thought you‘d left  me,‖ she gasped.
―Rachel, I would never abandon you,‖ I promised. ―Can you climb on my back and hold
on?‖
―Lakan, you can‘t carry me up, too! Your ribs!‖ she protested.
―Trust me,‖ I said softly and she nodded once. Climbing onto my shoulders took the last
of her strength. I used the torn strips from my ankles to tie her wrists in front at my neck and
bind her waist to mine.
Like a new parachutist bound to his instructor, I climbed back up to the rim. It wasn‘t
easy. Every muscle screamed for release and my  tissues demanded more fuel and less strain.
With gasping breaths and trembling arms, I barely made it over the top and collapsed in a jumble
of limbs. Hers and mine. There was a definite limit to what my body could take.
The sky darkened. I thought I felt soft lips on my neck before my face hit the rocks.
Chapter Twenty-One
I wasn‘t out for long. Rachel shook me awake and even had the foresight to carry water
up with us. She‘d found an old coke bottle and some cans washed in from somewhere and filled
them  from the river. She was more careful this time and had laid on her belly instead of trying to
wade in. One she wasted pouring on my head and that was what had woken me. I came up
sputtering and nearly pushed her off the top of the ridge.
―Hey! What did you  do that for?‖ I complained and looked at my bare feet. Oops. I
shouldn‘t have kicked off  my shoes or  left them down the sinkhole.
Rachel reached inside her shirt under her jacket and dangled the sneakers in front of my
eyes. ―You might be a super genius,  Lake but you‘re D.U.M.B.‖
I snatched them from her hands and slipped my feet back into the ratty canvas and leather
ASICS. Hamilton might have been richer than Croesus but she shopped at Walmart and Payless.
―Ready?‖ I asked and stood up. Rachel did a 360° and tried to recognize where we were.
―Any ideas where this is?‖ I asked heading for the same track down that I used before.
―It looks like the moon‘s surface,‖ she marveled. ―What a strange place. That mountain
to the southeast might be Maglin‘s  Table. 
― What‘s that?‖ I slid down and held my hand out for Rachel but she managed on her
own.
―Maglin‘s Table is a flat plateau on the high desert, a part of the Badlands and the
Buffalo Gap Grasslands. If that‘s where we are, we‘re surrounded by Federal Park and  the Pine
Ridge Indian Reservation. It reaches all the way up to Alberta.‖
―I thought we were in Colorado,‖ I said as I stepped down onto the small track that
skirted the edge. I could see the scuff marks made by a hooved creature, most probably a burro.
Th ey were one of the few animals that could survive in these barren hills,  washes, and arroyos.
Further on, we came upon their manure but it was old and dried out.
―We were until you passed out o n  the plane. Then we took a detour to Uncle  Redline‘s
and the Casino. We let you think you were still in Colorado in case you were thinking of ditching
us.‖
I didn‘t say anything. Then, I suggested we follow the tracks as it would most certainly
lead us to water. Eventually. We walked for a couple of hours heading towards the Mountain flat
called Maglin‘s Table where Rachel said the Snake River ran. The terrain changed more to a flat
grassland with rolling hills and far off, I could see the massive brown lumps that dotted the land
and became the humped coats of bison.  They smelled us long before we smelled them and the
bull lowered his head to paw slowly at the ground. His hooves dug furrows and sent clumps of
dirt and withered grass flying behind him. Rachel  stomped and began singing a chant.
Ta tanka ho
Yo hey hey ho
Ta tanka ho
Yo hey hey ho.
I understood her words, that she was calling the buffalo and honoring him. I was uneasy
with her actions; he was over two tons of angry testosterone on the hoof. And he had big horns.
―Uh, Rachel, I don‘t think he likes your singing,‖ I mumbled and just as the bull charged,
I scooped her up and ran. Not back away from them but towards the bull which made two things
happen. Rachel started screaming and the bull stopped in confusion as the puny two - legged
creature--- me--- doubled in  size as it came for him.
He threw up his tail, bellowed and swiveled around in a rollback that would have made a
prize reining horse jealous. Within seconds, the  herd was gone in a cloud of dust and flying
divots.
I set her down and she yelled at me in Ab enaki not Siouan but I understood that, too. My
eyes widened. Some of the things she called me and promised to do were highly inventive. I
knew why braves would rather die than be given over to the women of the tribe. I waited politely
until she was done a nd then when after the fleeing buffalo.
*****
Cameron was livid. He stood in Hamilton‘s office and screamed at her for losing the boy.
Hamilton took his abuse without complaint. When he finally wound down, she nodded in
agreement. ―You‘re right, Dr. Cameron. I put too much faith in my people‘s programming. He
was fine until the last session. Have you had any sign of the tracer?‖
―A short signal for about ten seconds. Just enough to trace it to Oklahoma. But it
was…odd,‖ he admitted.
―Odd?‖
―It disappeared 10 feet into the air.‖
―An airplane?  Did they take  him in an airplane? Why would that make the signal
disappear?‖
―There‘s only three reasons, Director,‖ Cameron shrugged. ―He‘s underground, they
removed it surgically and killed him or he‘s dead.‖
―I was under the impression you removed the failsafe option,‖ she said her voice deadly
quiet. The door to her office opened and the man known as Chase entered without any
announcement. Hamilton‘s personal assistant hovered anxiously in the background. He looked a s
if he expected a firing squ ad for allowing in the NSA director.
―Shut the door, Jason,‖ she said curtly as Chase made himself comfortable. He was a tall
man, handsome with cold eyes so gray that they appeared colorless.
―Director,‖ he greeted. ―Dr. Cameron, I hear you‘ve lost something that I‘m interested
in.‖
―Oh, what would that be?" She growled.
―The boy you called your grandson,‖ he prompted. ―The one you‘ve kept under wraps for
the last two years.‖
―Why do you want him?‖ Cameron asked. ―He‘s just a fifteen - year- old boy.‖
Chase threw down a vanilla folder and it slid on the Director‘s desktop to reveal patents
and blueprints from the US Patent Office, micro circuitry designs of computer processors, Wi- Fi
routers and solar cells well beyond modern models out on the world market. All of them had
been applied for and awarded to a company called Lake Enterprises LLC.
―Took a bit of digging but we‘ve traced the ownership of Lake Enterprises LLC to an
offshore bank account used by the CIA to front Black Ops b ack in the 90s, Director. Operations
you were well aware of and in charge of.‖
―I wasn‘t with the agency then,‖ she countered.
― No, but your husband was.‖
She snorted. ―I had nothing to do with his covert activities.‖
―Really? You used agents to spy on him   and your son‘s love affairs. That‘s how you
found out about him and Special Agent Strong.‖
―What do you want, Chase?‖ She snapped slapping the folder, patents, applications and
blueprints onto the floor.
He leaned forward. ―I want the boy, his medical records and everything you have on him.
From both of you. I want where he was when he escaped, his last known whereabouts and the
last recorded coordinates of his trace.‖
―Then what?‖ Dr. Cameron asked. ―Do I get to continue my research on him?‖
―Just what did you expect from him, doctor? A super soldier? Genius? Superhero? Just
what is this child capable of doing or growing into?‖
Cameron looked bleak. ―That‘s just it, Chase. I have no idea. He fooled me for thirteen
years. I have no clue what he‘s capable of .‖
Hamilton‘s cell buzzed and she answered it, her face remaining hard but her eyes burned
with a brilliant flare. ―He was spotted in a casino on the reservation in Oklahoma by a nurse after
seeing an AMBER alert. She called it in and was offered $100,000  to kidnap him. A team is on
its way out from Chicago.‖
―Give me the address of the nurse, her name, the casino and whatever else you have,‖
Chase ordered flinging himself up out of the chair. He was headed out the door as he threw over
his shoulder, ―Dr. Cameron, you‘re coming with me.‖
Cameron looked at the Director but followed the agent out of the CIA building where an
unmarked black SUV with blacked out windows and a driver waited. Both got in the back and
Chase gave orders to drive to the airport on ba se where a Learjet was waiting. Twenty minutes
saw them in the air with a team of agents already aboard.
Chase did not hand out any briefing folders and spent most of the flight napping. He
opened his eyes exactly 30 seconds before the pilot announced that  they were landing at the Pine
Ridge Airport. Cameron wasn‘t surprised to note that none of these men were of the group he
used to track and hunt the boy two years earlier.
He cleared his throat. ―You know this kid is Indian, right? He‘s an expert tracker  and
knows to hide his trail.‖
―Native American, doctor. We must be politically correct. Besides, I thought your
programmers wiped out all his memories?‖
―We did. Somehow, his brain is rewiring itself and negating that programming.‖
―He‘s 14, has no money,  hasn‘t used Dir. Hamilton‘s credit card,‖ Chase shrugged. ―He
has limited resources.‖
―Yeah? Then, how the hell did he get from Virginia and D.C. to Oklahoma and on a
plane to the Dakotas?‖
―He hitched a ride,‖ Chase said slowly.
―Our computer analyzed his estimated arrival between sightings and  relayed that it was
physically impossible unless he took a USAF jet, had a police escort to clear the roads and a
helicopter to drop him out of the hatch. Last I knew, you couldn‘t do more than 100mph on
Interstates.‖
―Really? What‘s your explanation?‖ Chase sat up, his eyes curiously bright. ―Does he
twist time? Open a dimensional portal? Run as fast as the Flash?‖
―Sneer all you want, Chase. He can open a rift; he calls it the Yellow Realm. I saw it  once
when he escaped us at the Clinic. He opened a door and stepped through. He and his greatgrandfather. When he did that, no tracer signal got through. He vanished.‖
―Why didn‘t he use this trick to escape from your…custody in D.C.?‖
Cameron shrugged. ―We don‘t know. We tried to get him to do it while wired but he
couldn‘t. Said he didn‘t remember how and we couldn‘t replicate the trigger. We couldn‘t even
recognize the activity of his brain. When we did a PET scan, the thermal image showed red
across the screen. All parts of his brain firing at the same time and at an incredible rate. If we had
a computer with half his capacity, I could solve every mystery on earth.‖
―So you think this kid is a…god?‖
―He very well could be,‖ Cameron said bluntly.
―Then we must be the God Slayers.”
The wheels touched down smoothly and Chase was up, out of his seat and heading for the
door before the pilot‘s announcement of ‗you have arrived.‘
Chapter Twenty-Two
Not surprisingly, the four- man team that boarded the plane in Chicago and d e- planed at
the small Indian Run Airport were tough men, two of which Cameron would have recognized.
One was Andrews and the other Aiken who had been sent for his tracking skills. Because there
had been an AMBER alert put out on the boy, the FBI also had a  team on the way from
Bismarck, their main office in the Dakotas. Aiken and his team had those credentials as well as
their official government ones. 
They were met at the terminal by a limo driver who was Native American but wore jeans,
t - shirt, and Carhart   jacket. He wore a battered black Stetson and fancy ropers.
―I‘m Darren White Deer. I‘ll be taking you to the casino and your hotel.‖
―No,‖ Aiken said flatly. ―We want to go to the hospital.‖
―The hospital is in the Casino,‖ Darren shrugged. ―So we‘re going to the same place. Get
in.‖
Three of the men sat in the back and one in the front passenger seat. Darren frowned, but
said nothing other than, ‗seat belts'.
All five of them buckled up and he drove out of the airport and back towards the city.
They coul d see the massive towers that seen in profile against the Black Hills looked like a
drawn bow. Though not excessively high, the towers were larger than Aiken expected for such
an out of the way place.
―What brings people all the way out here to gamble?‖ he  asked curious ly.
―No tax on the winnings and we bank it here where the IRS can‘t touch it,‖ White Deer
said. ―You‘d be surprised at what a draw that is.‖
―The IRS doesn‘t step in and freeze your assets?‖ One of the other agents asked.
White Deer snorted. ―They‘ve tried but according to one of your treaties way back when,
we were given the right to manage our lands, monies and assets free from Government control.
Your FBI and IRS can walk on this land but are only visiting tourists. Nothing more. You are all
subject to our laws and not the other way around.‖
―Until you step foot outside your reservation,‖ Aiken smiled and Darren met his gaze
with the look that Custer had seen and dismissed to his regret. White Deer did not say another
word as he took them on a scenic tour around the city avoiding the daily gridlock that occurred at
lunchtime and prolonged the usual 15 - minute drive to half an hour.
Anderson tried to tip him when he pulled up at the front arch of the casino entrance. He
went around to the trunk and placed all four bags on the first step.
―It‘s part of the Casino‘s service, man,‖ White Deer said and finished with ‗assholes‘ in
Abenaki. ―That‘s good luck in my language.‖ He drove off around the block and parked the limo
in the lot reserved for drivers.
The four men stepped inside the lobby and two commented that it was as fancy as Trump
Plaza, the women as exotic as Las Vegas. They were met by the Manager who brought them
through to the Hotel‘s front desk where their rooms were confirmed. 9007 and  9009, on the ninth
floor.
Going up in the elevator, Aiken was first out onto the hallway and in the suite. Andrews
unpacked and went over the three rooms searching for any recording or listening devices. When
he was done, he did the second set of rooms and pronounced both clean. Only then did Aiken
outline his plans. He sent Andrews and Ferguson to find the nurse, Sarah Coventry, break in and
search her hotel room while he and Martin would check out the hospital. They left the room with
electronic key  cards safely tucked away in their suit pockets.
The hospital was two floors below the hotel, on the entire seventh floor. The tower had
four elevators dedicated solely to its use but every elevator in the complex had a button marked
‗H‘,
Aiken was impressed, the entrance looked like any  first- rate  emergency center yet it
wasn‘t frantically busy such as Chicago Memorial which treated dozens of GSWs every day. 
There was a varied mix of Caucasians, Afro- Americans and Native Americans in the
waiting room but most of the staff were Hispanic or Indian. A pretty girl in nurse‘s scrubs with
chocolate eyes and feathery black hair cut in a pixie asked if she could help them.
Aiken pulled out  his wallet to expose his FBI credentials. ―Special Agent John  Tighe,‖ he
said. ―This is my partner, Special Agent Edward Herr. We‘re here because someone reported a
missing juvenile.‖
―Here? In the hospital?‖ she asked and Aiken read her nametag.
―You‘re Penny Bright Star,‖ he smiled. ―Pretty name, Penny. Yes, a nurse reported
seeing th e child.‖
―Do you know this nurse‘s name?‖
―Sarah Coventry.‖
She ran it through her computer and frowned. ―Sorry. We don‘t have a Sarah Coventry
working here.‖
―She‘s a guest at the hotel,‖ Aiken said.
―Sorry. I can‘t access the hotel or casino computers.  What‘s the boy‘s name and why
would she spot him here? Was he in an accident?‖
―That‘s what we need to discuss with Ms. Coventry.‖
―His name?‖
―His name is Lake Hamilton. And I didn‘t say anything about him being male or female,
Ms. Bright Star.‖
She flushed. ―I just assumed the child was a boy. I heard the AMBER alert, too. It‘s been
playing on all the TVs since he‘s the grandson of the President. How did he escape the Secret
Service agents assigned to protect him?‖
Aiken looked pissed. ―He wasn‘t being wa tched by Secret Service, he was under the
protection of his grandmother, Director Hamilton.‖
―She wasn‘t too careful about his safety, was she?‖ Penny retorted smartly.
Aiken said, ―I want a list of your ORs and any surgeries scheduled today and tomorrow. ‖
―You‘ll have to ask the DON for that,‖ Bright Star said. ―I can‘t give out any information
on patients. HIPAA you know.‖
―We can get warrants,‖ he threatened and she smiled sweetly.
―Warrants stop being legal the minute you crossed onto Reservation land. ‖ She rose from
behind the counter and disappeared down the hallway towards the cubicles for examining
patients.
Aiken shrugged, pulled the computer monitor around and stared at the screen saver that
held a message in what he assumed was her native language. He copied it into the web browser
and translated. ―It says ‗go home, assholes‘,‖ he grinned. ―Not good luck.‖
They wandered on the floor and checked out every room allowed access and found no
trace of the boy. Of the four ORs, two were in use and neithe r held a 14- year- old boy. Aiken
double checked by flashing his badge to the people anxiously pacing in the waiting rooms.
One group were the children of an 80- year- old who had slipped and fallen getting out of
his car in the parking lot of a grocery store.  He was in for repair of a broken hip. The other
couple was parents of a ten - year- old native girl who had fractured her arm falling off a bucking
horse.
The parents told him that the other two surgical suites had been empty since Monday, two
days earlier a nd that it had been used for the victim of a hit and run that did not survive. A drunk
school teacher from Boston who had left the casino to wander downtown looking for sex and
found more than she had bargained for.
Aiken was amazed at the frankness of these people‘s information but suspected fear and
adrenalin had loosened their tongues. That and the fake Federal IDs. Most people didn‘t question
the authority behind the FBI badge, they just assumed and went on from there where police
credentials were ignored or disrespected. Of course, most of those he talked to were Caucasians
and had an innate respect for the badge.
By the time Aiken and Martin had searched the entire seventh floor, Ferguson and
Andrews had returned and met them in the hospital cafeteria.
―Her things are still in her room but the desk clerk said she checked out last night. Her
reservations state that she booked the room  for  the weekend, she has tickets open to Denver on
Sunday afternoon. We pulled her credit report and phone records from her cell and the room. She
called the Chicago office to report the sighting. Someone intercepted her call and called back,
offering her $100K to kidnap the boy.‖
―One of Chase‘s, I assume. Where is she supposed to bring him?‖ Aiken questioned.
―Don‘t know. She must have her cell phone. It would be on there but I haven‘t been able
to trace that call or cell tower,‖ Martin returned. ―Why are we here, anyway? Is the kid sick, hurt,
what? I saw a photo of him, he looks healthy enough.‖
Aiken had deliberately kept some information from the team. Now, he outlined the boy‘s
unique makeup; his relationship and the tracer in his chest. He did not disclose the exact nature
of the device or that it was explosive. He fully expected to hear a bomb go off inside the hospital.
What he heard instead and it made him jump, was his cell phone vibrate in his pocket. He
answered it; the call came not from Cameron but Dr. Hamilton herself. She brought him up to
date on the situation and warned him not to contact Dr. Cameron as he was with Agent Chase
and they were searching for Lake.
―There‘s no sign he‘s been here although I caught a nurse lying to me,‖ he returned. ―And
the other nurse has disappeared.‖
―She was reported boarding a commercial flight to Denver an hour ago,‖ Hamilto n said.
―I have an agent in place ready to pick her up. Find my grandson before Chase does,‖ she hissed
and hung up.
Aiken sighed and wondered who had arranged for the woman to disappear. He would bet
his eyeteeth that she wasn‘t on the plane. ―Search the  hospital again,‖ he decided. ―We‘re
looking for the nurse, Coventry.‖ He passed around his cell phone with the image of the fair
skinned brunette with gray eyes. She was pretty in  English peaches and cream way yet her eyes
contained a defeated look as if life had beaten her down. Aiken knew she was deep in debt; her
car repossessed, her apartment in the process of eviction and her credit cards maxed out. She was
living paycheck to paycheck and taking extra shifts anywhere she could to catch up. Yet, she sti ll
gambled. The one hundred K would have pulled her up and out of the hole she‘d dug herself. If
she could bear to use the money to pay off her obligations instead of gambling it into a bigger
stake.
They found her in a semi - private room on an IV drip that was keeping her out. She had a
large bruise on her face and a black eye. Aiken removed the IV and put Andrews outside the
door while he dressed her lax body, lifted her into a wheelchair and casually removed her from
the seventh floor to their own rooms.  No one noticed or made comments, the staff were busy
with the influx of dozens of vomiting tourists. 
Chapter Twenty-Three
Aiken filled the tub with cold water and sent two of the men to collect ice cubes. He
cranked the air- conditioning on and slid the unconscious woman into the tub, tying her upright so
that she only had her feet in the water.
Slapping her face, he attempted to wake her but it was more than an hour before she
stirred with a groan. She opened bloodshot eyes staring in confusion at the bathr oom and the
agents standing over her.
―Ms. Coventry,‖ Aiken said. ―Where‘s the boy?‖
She sputtered already attempting to deny when Aiken slapped her. Her skin instantly
reddened showing the imprint of his palm. She cried and folded, begging him not to hurt   her, she
needed the money but didn‘t remember what had happened after she had found the boy in the
lobby and the hospital.
―He punched you?‖ Aiken prompted.
―I don‘t remember,‖ she wailed. ―I swear. I don‘t even know where I am.‖
―You‘re still in the Casino Complex, Ms. Coventry. Tell me everything you can
remember.‖ She spilled her guts, shivering as the water and ice dropped her temperature. Aiken
stared at her and she became paler than he thought possible as she realized that her life was
measured in seconds.
―Please,‖ she begged. ―Please don‘t kill me!‖
Aiken smiled. ―You‘re lucky we‘re on reservation land, Ms. Coventry and that I have no
contacts here to help me dispose of a body. You‘re scheduled on a plane for Sunday afternoon.
You better be on it or you‘ll just be another set of coyote gnawed bones out in the desert.‖
―Anything,‖ she promised. ―I‘ll do anything to make the flight.‖
Aiken nodded to Andrews who cut her down and helped her over to the toilet where she
rubbed the circulation back into  her hands and feet. Her toes were shriveled and white; Aiken
suspected she might have lost a few to frostbite.
―I‘m afraid you‘ll have to stay here until dark before we can escort you to the airport,
Sarah. In the meantime, I‘m sure you can…entertain my me n.‖
She looked terrified but nodded fractionally as a grinning Ferguson dragged her off to
one of the bedrooms. Minutes later, they heard the muffled sound of a woman screaming and
sobbing and the grunts of the agent as he raped her. Only Aiken abstained a nd when the last man
had finished, he shook his head at Aiken‘s questioning look.
He entered the bedroom to stare down at the nurse. She was bruised and bloody. Her
breasts had been bitten, one nipple nearly  tore off and hanging by a thin strip of tissue. She was
bleeding between the legs and semen glittered on her pale skin from her mouth to her knees.
None of them had used a condom and when he rolled her over, he saw that she had been
sodomized. His fingers reached for the pulse in her neck and it came fa intly. It would not be long
before it faded completely.
―Martin, get rid of the body,‖ he ordered as if telling the man to take out the trash.
―Dump it in the desert?‖
―No. Wait until dark, dress her, take her up to the roof and push her off. Given her cre dit
history and debt problems, the authorities will assume she jumped.‖ He turned around and went
into the kitchenette where he perused the available foodstuffs before making sandwiches. Once
he had eaten, he called Chicago and the phone drop relayed his s ignal to Hamilton‘s private
encrypted line. He reported all the information he had to the recorder and waited for his return
instructions. When it came, he was alarmed. Chase was on his way out there with his team and
aware of their arrival. He told Andrews to get rid of Coventry‘s body by ditching it in the nearest
laundry chute and vacating the hotel. His instructions were to return to the airport, track Chase
and his men, let them find the boy and then snatch him back. Aikens didn‘t like the idea but he
knew better than to argue against Hamilton.
The limo driver was a different man; this one was a Pakistani who spoke limited English
but enough to understand ‗car rental‘ and ‗airport‘. He rented a Jeep SUV and waited for Chase‘s
private Lear jet to touch down. Watching from their vehicle in the long- term parking lot, they
saw the jet come in and make a graceful landing before taxiing to the VIP terminal.
The new group had a short walk over to the car lot where Chase picked up a large SUV.
One of the younger agents carried the luggage and stored it in the back cargo compartment. Dr.
Cameron was seated between the two agents in the back seat while Chase took the passenger
side. Aiken recognized the driver; he was a discharged SF sergeant from Iraq and they kne w
each other, and each would know why the other agent was there. Needless to say, Aiken did not
want Chase or the driver to spot them.
They watched the SUV drive off and followed at a discrete distance although tailing them
wasn‘t necessary yet--- Aiken knew where they were going.
Surprisingly, the SUV did not go to the casino or the hospital entrance but downtown
near the subway system entrance. Two men exited the vehicle and disappeared down the stairs as
the SUV drove off and Aiken watched as they proceed ed to the gambling tower where they had
already allowed the valet to park the car. Each man went around and picked up the small bag in
the back with the exception of Cameron. They entered the casino. Aiken sent in Martin as he was
unknown to them and would  not arouse suspicion. He was dressed in a flamboyant tourist outfit,
beachcombers and Hawaiian T- shirt, sunglasses and a deep tan. Aiken gave him instructions to
follow them only to the elevator and observe which floor button they punched but not to
approach them or make eye contact. Chase stepped into the elevator and went up to the eleventh
floor where the management offices of the casino were situated. His team kept the doctor
between them as he flashed his credentials to the good- looking secretary who sat at an equally
expensive looking desk just outside the lobby of the security offices. The name on the door read
Nathan Pete which was not a Sioux name but Navajo. The girl looked up with a professional
smile.
―May I help you?‖ She did not seem impressed  at his badge or his authority.
Chase said, ―I want to speak to Peter Redline Otseno.‖
―Mr. Otseno is on his way to Pine Ridge Reservation Tribal Council, Mr. Chase,‖ she
smiled brightly. ―Perhaps I can assist you?‖
―Where is Lake Hamilton?‖ He snapped and   she jerked back as his spit hit her in the face.
―Lake what? There is no Lake Hamilton around here.‖
―Not what, who. Lakan Strong Hamilton, a runaway you were seen harboring. I can have
you all arrested and jailed for kidnapping the president‘s grandson.‖
―This isn‘t your land,‖ she returned. ―And your laws don‘t mean squat here.‖
―Really? You think your tribal regulations will stand in the way of Homeland Security
and the Secret Service? Just try me," he barked. ―I want access to your video cameras, guest   lists
and hospital records.‖
The door to the Security Offices opened and a tall man stepped out dressed in a finely cut
three- piece suit with a string tie. Instinctively, all of them went backward as this individual bore
a decided resemblance to the great Indian Chief Crazy Horse. ―Can I help  you ,  gentlemen? Rosa,
some coffee please,‖ he smiled at the girl. 
―I‘m not thirsty,‖ Chase snapped and the security man looked at him without any change
on his impassive face.
―The coffee is for me.‖
―We know you have  Lakan Hamilton," Chase said. ―He was seen exiting this casino and
in the company of Peter Otseno. Where is he?"
―I have no clue," Nathan Pete shrugged. ―I just flew in from a conference in Las Vegas
with the Gambling Commission. The Governor was there; shall I call him to confirm my
whereabouts for you?‖
Chase fumed. ―Where is Pete Otseno?‖
―Tribal Council Conference. You‘re welcome to search the casino,‖ Pete shrugged. ―You
can see the guest lists.‖
―The hospital?‖
―That too. We have nothing to hide. Rosa, print out what Agent Chase requested,‖ the
Native American ordered.
―Before I get your coffee, Mr. Pete?‖ She asked sweetly as she stood up.
―Why no,‖ he cracked a smile and his teeth were  white and perfect. ―I would prefer a cup
from the Starbucks.‖ She scurried off and all of them watched her trim rear end in the tight linen
skirt. Dr. Cameron snorted. Nathan Pete gave him a curious look. ―You have something to add,
Agent –?‖
―Dr. Cameron,‖ he answered. He leaned forward and got in the Security Manager‘ s face.
―I am the one who implanted the tracking chip  in the boy, Chief. And my instruments state
unequivocally that he was here in this building. Your people might have removed the tracer but
he was marked with no less than four such markers, one of which  is a radioactive isotope that is
unmistakable. We know he‘s here.‖
Nathan Pete licked his lips but his face remained impassive. He spread his hands. ―Go
ahead and search. No one here will stop you. All I ask is that you don‘t disturb the guests.‖
Chase took his team and started at the first floor systematically working his way up.
Cameron and one of the other agents were going over the computer lists when the doctor saw the
guest names in the hotel. He circled it and told the Agent to check room 12503. Cha se answered
on his cell phone. ―Doctor?‖
―Yes,‖ Cameron replied.
―No, Dr. Cameron. What do you want?‖ Chase was short, he was frustrated and wanted
to take it out on someone.
―Room 12503 is a Dr. Rivers. He‘s a pretty famous cardiologist and surgeon from Boston
General. If they took out the boy‘s implant, a doctor such as he would be the one to do it. If he
gambles –  well, you get the picture.‖ Chase didn‘t say goodbye, he simply hung up as the pair
headed for the twelfth floor and the cardiac surgeon‘s roo m.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chase waited 30 seconds for a reply after he knocked on the surgeon‘s door. When it was
not answered, he nodded to the Sergeant who took a slim card from his vest pocket and slid it
through the digital keypad. It hummed, clicked and  the light turned green as the card opened
River‘s lock.
It was a suite, probably comped although the heart surgeon surely made enough money to
afford the high - end hotel room. It had a balcony with French doors and one of his men went to
check if the doctor was hiding out on it. 
The room was obsessively neat and no sign of anyone having been staying in it. They
opened drawers, closets and checked the drains in the sink,  tub, and kitchenette. Even the mini bar was fully stocked.
―It‘s a ringer,‖ Cameron said.  ―They knew we were coming and changed the reservation
list to an open room.‖
―Check the rooms on either side and one floor lower,‖ Chase ordered but Cameron
stopped him with a terse word as he activated his chemical sniffer. Designed to ferret out minute
traces of harmful radioactive waves, he had adaptive it to seek out and triangulate certain other
isotopes. It worked very much like a microchip worked on a dog.
―He‘s been here but not in this room,‖ Cameron said. ―The concentration is greater near
the el evator.‖
―The Penthouse?‖
Cameron walked over to the Penthouse Elevator and held the scanner to the doors. He got
a strong reading. ―We can‘t access the Penthouse from here, we have to get it from the lobby.‖
―What about the stairs?‖ Chase asked. They were  locked and did not go to that floor from
the 12
th
. By the time they had returned to the lobby and been admitted into the Penthouse
elevator, a half hour had passed. His two men stationed in the lobby reported that guests had
come and gone but none were the doctor, Otseno or the boy. It took some threatening and
blustering before Security would allow them entry to a private residence but Chase had come
prepared with a Federal warrant even though it wasn‘t quite legal on reservation land. Someone
had called  the Secret Service and to Chase‘s annoyance, agents were on the way to the casino to
investigate the disappearance of a presidential grandson no one had previously heard of or
reported.
―We have to be out of here before the Secret Service arrives,‖ he told   his men. ―Dir.
Hamilton hasn‘t told her husband that the boy is his grandson.‖
―With or without the boy?‖ one asked and Chase snarled it had better be with or they
would all be dog meat.
They searched the penthouse down to the cupboards and the laundry ch ute. The most that
Cameron could state was that he had been there and suggested that they try in the subway system
for further traces of him.
Without a word to the management, they left the hotel and followed the doctor as he
retraced Lakan‘s trail underground.
I
We followed the buffalo although rightly they were bison. Their trail was easy, they left
behind a huge cloud of dust. They didn‘t run far, perhaps a quarter of a mile before they settled
down and started grazing again.
This time, as I approached  t he lead bull raised his head to stare at me and snorted softly.
He pawed the ground but he was more curious than angry. Slowly, I approached him while
Rachel called dire warnings behind me. I think I was more surprised than she when the bison let
me touch  his shoulder. In my head came the image of me scratching the area nearest his hump
where ticks had lodged, driving him mad with itching.
I dug in my nails, and found the hard scabby lumps, removing them. The harder I
scratched, the more the bull leaned into me and grunted his relief. I climbed on his back and he
reached around with his massive horned head to sniff at my feet. Grumbled and lazily twitched
his tail. Waited for me. I had to swallow  nausea  in my throat at the rank smell of him, it was
worse than  a wet dog and heavier than pig manure. 
―Rachel,‖ I called softly. ―Come up slow.‖ I patted his shoulder as he watched curiously
but only continued to switch his tail and stomp at green bottle flies.
Reaching down, I took her hand as she swung her leg over his back. She settled herself
against me and held onto my waist. She smelled like a  girl   and I drew in an appreciative lungful.
―If Crazy Horse could see us  now,‖ she giggled. ―No one would believe this.‖
―They might when we ride into town,‖ I grinned a nd directed Buffalo Hump to head for
the nearest civilization. Riding him was more like sitting on a camel and he was wider than was
comfortable for human legs but he covered ground faster and more efficiently than we could
travel.
The herd milled around p uzzled at our scent but eventually followed the bull. We
traveled for several hours heading east and hit a drift fence that channeled us towards a wash that
became a creek and finally a river that Rachel said was the Snake.
Here along its banks,  we saw signs of occupation. Coke cans and campfire rings, places
where canoes and white water rafts had been dragged ashore.
I slid off Buffalo Hump before he attempted to cross and helped Rachel down. Both of us
were leg sore, stinky and thirsty. Rachel cautioned me against drinking straight from the river. I
told her that I guessed that it would be full of bacteria from animal feces and heavy minerals not
intended for human consumption. She showed me how to dig a hole in the sand and let water
filter in, cleaning m ost of the dangerous stuff out. We used the coke cans to scoop out the clean
water and drink.
The bull and the herd spread out along the banks and grazed after drinking. I gagged as a
few dumped in the water and turds floated lazily past us.
Hunger pains gripped my stomach and wistfully, I thought of the backpack lost in the
cave. It would have had candy bars and sandwiches in it.
―Hungry?‖ Rachel asked. ―I recognize that look on your face.‖
―What look?‖
―The one that boys have when they see something they  want and can‘t have it.‖ She
walked off and began scanning the ground.
―What are you doing, Rachel?‖
―Looking for something to eat,‖ she said. Before too long, she bent over and dug up a
plant throwing it at me. Others followed. Amole. Agarita berries and  sump  weed. I knew all the
names of the plants but didn‘t know how I knew them. When she had an armful, she pulled off
her t- shirt and piled them in the material carrying it back to me. After that, she scrounged for
cow patties, picking only the driest. Once I realized what she was doing, I joined her.
There weren‘t any trees out here to start a fire so we made do with what the pioneers
used. She even had the foresight to find flint and striker stone. Within a few minutes, she had a
merry little blaze going. Using the coke can, she boiled up a sort of tea and roasted mesquite
beans. We dined on plants that most people would have considered weeds and it was just enough
to satisfy the hunger pangs.
Next, she waded into a shallow cove of the river and washed off. I marveled that she
could endure the cold until I remembered that she was counting on my super metabolism to
warm her up. When she flung water at me, I ducked and gaped at the flopping fish that lay at my
feet.
―Lakan, wake up,‖ she snapped. I grabbed the salmon and whacked its head on the
nearest rock killing it. Then it was my job to gut and clean it. Rachel was a mean fisherman. She
tickled two salmon and a trio of catfish that we cooked for later. Bellies full, we gathered up our
leftovers, doused the  fire and followed the river downstream.
One moment we were alone on the wild grasslands surrounded by bison, the river and
lonely cottonwoods struggling to grow and the next, we were on the edges of a camp with boy
scouts, tents,  ATVs, and teepees.
Most of the kids were around 14 and all boys. There was a mix of white, black and
Hispanic. The Boy Scout leaders were two middle- aged white men who looked fit, tanned and
perplexed when we walked into camp.
―Where did you two come from?‖ The older one had gray  hair and brown eyes, his accent
was east coast. ―Are you lost from another group?‖ He stared at our bedraggled clothing, my
shoes were worn almost to uselessness and lack of outerwear.
Rachel burst into tears and blubbered about falling off her whitewater craft, me diving in
to save her and both of us being separated from our party. She told them our names,  Blake, and
Rachel and that our cell phones had gone to the bottom of the river. She also said that our
families were on the reservation.
Both men bundl ed us into blankets, brought us to the tent, plied us with food,  coffee, and
first aid. I let them baby me; it felt good to just lay back and pretend I was helpless. Besides, I
was really hungry and the taste of hamburgers, hot dogs, and chips satisfied the hole in my belly
more than weeds and fish.
The group leader‘s name was Rudy Scolari and he wanted to call the police on his cell
phone. Rachel convinced him to call the Tribal Council instead of 911 as the only authority
recognized on Reservation land was the Indian Police. The last thing we wanted to do was let the
authorities know where we were or that we‘d surfaced.
Bellies full, warm and comfortable, I finally asked a question. ―Where are we?‖
Scolari looked puzzled. ―Badlands National Park.‖
―No,‖ I shook my head. ―What state?‖
Now, he looked alarmed. ―Did you hit your head? What‘s your name? Today‘s date?
Who‘s the president?‖
―I‘m fine,‖ I answered patiently. ―We were on the Snake and probably crossed a border.
We started our trip bear Bennett‘s Mountain.‖
―Holy crap,‖ Scolari said. ―That‘s nearly a hundred miles north of here. You‘re in
southern Idaho,  not the Dakotas.‖
―The reservation?‖
―Four Rocks. Small, mostly Blackfoot and Cree.‖
Hereditary enemies of the Sioux, I thought. Rachel spoke up. ―My  grandmother is near
here. We can call her. Abenita Stands Alone.‖
Scolari  gaped at the mention of the woman‘s name. Even I had heard of and read about
the fiery Amerindian crusader. She also happened to be a State Senator and had been governor
for two ter ms back in the 80s.
―You know her number?‖ We both asked at the same time and Rachel nodded. The Boy
Scout leader handed over his cell and she dialed from memory.
Her conversation was in Abenaki. I heard every word and even heard the replies but I
kept my  mouth shut and my face blank. The number she had dialed was the time and temperature
in Spanish; it was repeated as Rachel carried on her pretend conversation. Finally, she said
goodbye in English and shut the cell off. 
―She says she‘ll send a plane for us as soon as she can arrange it. She wants us dropped at
the nearest bench where it can land.‖
―That would be Sumpweed Bench, about ten miles from here,‖ Scolari mused. ―That‘s in
the middle of nowhere. Town‘s closer and has a decent road in and out. You should both be
checked by a doctor, not just first aid from me.‖
―You can‘t refuse a Senator‘s order,‖ Rachel said so that was why we were sitting on an
ATV in the middle of a godforsaken part of the country where the average person per square
mile was 2.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Cameron snapped his laptop open as he heard the particular chime  he had marked for
Patient Zero, otherwise known as Lakan Strongbow. He swiped the screen to reveal a rotating
image of a DNA helix superimposed over a map of Idaho.
―Jesus,‖   he whispered. ―What is this kid?‖
Chase‘s head swiveled. ―Doctor?‖
―Load up your guys and head back to the plane. I have a reading, a strong one…in Idaho.
Near the National Park.‖
Chase‘s reaction was almost the same as the doctor‘s. ―Idaho? How the fuck  did he get to
Idaho?‖
―I‘m guessing --- on a plane?‖ Cameron retorted. Chase called in his men and they left the
casino complex in a flurry of squealing tires and disgruntled employees.
Aiken‘s men watched them retreating and reported back, was told to meet  up with their
leader to follow Chase‘s team. When they saw that they were returning to the airport, Aiken
remarked that Dr. Cameron must have gotten a trace on the subject.
Chase and his team boarded the Lear Jet and it took off ten minutes later, bumping
several commercial flights. Aiken heard the waiting passengers complaining in the terminal as he
called his contacts and asked if the jet had filed a flight plan and where. He requested a chopper
and was told that one would be waiting at Terminal 5. The contact also reported that the subject
had been spotted in Idaho in the company of a troop of camping Boy Scouts.
NSA had picked up several phone conversations between the Boy Scouts and their
parents, about two teenagers walking out of the Badlands Park after falling off their raft on the
Snake River. One boy had actually mentioned the teen‘s name and snapped a cell phone image
of the boy --- Blake. The girl was named Rachel and an Amerindian.
Aiken said that was the name of the CEO‘s niece, Rachel Little Bea r. ―She must have
helped him get away,‖ he said. ―Probably walked right past us dressed as two girls. He‘s not very
tall for a 14- year- old.‖
Martin replied he hadn‘t seen any teenage  Indian girls in the casino or airport and would
have noticed because they would have stood out as underage. Besides, he would damn sure have
noticed a pilot under the age of 21 if he was suggesting she had flown Lakan out of the city‘s
airport.
The chopper waiting for them was a commercial /agriculture bird. The pilot said he
m ostly flew for ranchers to locate lost stock but was under government contract on a ‗will call‘
basis. He explained that he‘d only been called out twice before--- both times for lost tourists in
the desert. Both had been found dead of dehydration one hundre d miles from nowhere after
leaving  the broken down vehicles and trying to walk for help. He told them cheerfully that more
than one  mobster  had left behind in the desert a new resident skeleton and ghost. 
Martin was spooked as he climbed into the seat nearest the team leader. As the chopper
lifted, he leaned close and spoke into Aiken‘s ear. ―Just what is this kid, Sarge and what can he
do? I thought we were after a runaway half- blood that‘s related to Hamilton?‖
―We are. But he‘s so much more,‖ Aiken retur ned. ―Which we don‘t need to know
about.‖
I
Chase worried his lip, sucking part of his cheek into his mouth and chewing on it. His
eyes seemed even colder and more mercurial than ever. Twice, he got up and spoke to the pilot,
then returned to his seat to o nce again worry his cheek. Cameron finally went and told the agent
that the trace hadn‘t moved significantly in the last two hours; it was solidly planted in the
middle of the Snake River Plateau in Idaho but not on Federal Reservation land.
―Just what do  you think this kid is capable of, Doctor?‖
Cameron hesitated. ―I know he‘s never caught a cold or a childhood disease even when I
tested him and he was a brain - damaged patient. He was inoculated for everything but never even
had a head cold. He never seemed to have cuts and scrapes nor broke any bones playing. As a
child, he was capable of intense concentration for hours but at simple tasks, like threading his
shoelaces or putting pins in boxes. He never once showed any sign of intelligence higher than 65.
He rarely spoke. I tested him extensively and he was brain damaged, his IQ 62.‖
―He was faking it?‖ Chase asked. Cameron shook his head.
―No. That‘s what makes him so valuable. Once a brain cell dies, it‘s dead. It can‘t be
repaired or replaced like bone cells or blood cells. Yet, he did it. Which means if we can find out
how he did it, we can do it too.‖
―So? We fix retarded people?‖ Chase shrugged.
Cameron sneered. ―Your brain renews itself, your cells renew themselves, your body
doesn‘t break down  or age. You extend your  lifetime  for virtually forever and you don‘t get
dementia.‖
―Immortality? Bullshit!‖
―I don‘t think  it‘s bullshit. Even if he isn‘t immortal, he can create  microchip designs that
are lightyears ahead of the rest of the world. His solar array on his great- grandfather‘s house is
still working maintenance free. We reverse- engineered it to build one of our own. Right now, his
designs are powering an entire military complex in the South using less than $40 a day.‖
―What did Hamilton want with him?‖ Chase was curious as to what the director of the
CIA intelligence committee wanted with him.
―He‘s the last remaining link to  her son, Michael,‖ Cameron said.
―I thought he was the President‘s son?‖
―No. We lied to her, we wanted to drive a wedge between them, split them even further.
She applied for divorce right after he won the second election and she kept the news of the boy
quiet because the president promised to appoint her head of the CIA for a second term.‖
The pilot announced that they were over Boise where they would land near a waiting
helicopter from the Parks and Rescue people. It would take them to the plateau where the tracer
originated. Ground agents were also on the way with ATVs and horseback. There was no way
the pair of teens could e scape the net that was closing in on them.
II
I looked at Rachel, at the Boy Scout leader who had insisted he drive us to the supposed
rendezvous with the Senator‘s chopper and spoke. In Abenaki, I asked, ―what are we doing here,
Rachel Little Bear? No one  is coming for us, not from the time and temperature phone call you
made.‖
She answered me in Siouan which I did not know she spoke. ―I didn‘t know what else to
do,‖ she admitted. ―We can‘t go back to the reservation, call the police or the casino. I
remem bered that a cousin lived out here on a sheep ranch. I thought we could walk there and ask
him for help. I didn‘t think the belangi  would bring us here and stay until we were picked up.‖
She used the Indian word for white man.
―Some people have a sense of responsibility, Rachel. There‘s no way he could leave us
here and justify it to his conscience.‖ I stared at Mr. Scolari and felt a shift inside my brain. My
senses told me that he was nervous, unsure and didn‘t quite believe in us anymore. I resonated
my brain waves with his and slowly, his thinking became more relaxed. I could feel his emotions
and even read his surface thoughts. Which prompted me to try something else. I pictured in my
mind the image of a helicopter approaching, the noise of the rotors, the smell of the engines, the
turbines blowing the bunch grass heads into the legs of our borrowed jeans. It was as real as I
could make it and I caught Rachel staring up into the perfect blue sky with her mouth hanging
open as she saw the fake image too.
―Look at me,‖ I told her and the minute she dropped her eyes, her face tightened as her
brain reacted in pain at the wrenching pull out of the hallucination I was creating.
She stared at me as I manipulated Mr. Scolari‘s mind into seeing us board the chopp er,
wave goodbye and take off. Without another word, he mounted the ATV and left us there alone
without any means of travel except for our feet.
―How did you do that?‖ She demanded. ―How did you make me see what wasn‘t there?
Do you read minds, too?‖ She l ooked afraid. ―Can you see inside my head?‖
―Hell, Rachel. I‘m not sure what I just did myself. All I know is that he was expecting a
helicopter and I gave him one.‖
―Couldn‘t you make him leave the ATV?‖
―Not and explain why he walked back on foot. They  need the ATV more than we do. I
can always call Buffalo Humpback.‖
―We‘re 100 miles  from his territory. There should be some BLM mustangs out here. Can
you horse- whisper them?‖
―Oh sure. You want a paint or an Appy?‖ I retorted and smart- ass that she was,  she
ordered a leopard ap  mare for herself and a bay   medicine hat paint for me. I closed my eyes and
let my mind drift out, caught the telltale emanations of equine life and coaxed it towards us.
―It‘ll be a while,‖ I said doubtfully. ―They‘re a long way off. We might as well start
walking.‖
I put one foot in front of the other and headed north for the ridge of mountains I could see
in the distance. What looked like flat grasslands were a broadly rolling series of gullies and
washes. In the deeper washes, small trees and brush competed for the little rainfall the collected
during flash floods out here.
I saw dung –  mostly from range cattle but out here it took nearly 20 acres to support one
steer and ranches were upwards of 200,000 acres or more. Mostly lease d from BLM land. Wild
horses were common and when they grew too numerous, the government rounded them up and
sold them across the US. Those animals were incredibly tough and savvy mounts. Sadly, they
were still shot and left for varmints because they took  grass away from the more profitable beef
steers. 
I heard a hum in the background and it didn‘t register for a while because of the image I
had put into Mr. Scolari‘s head. I heard the muffled beat of helicopter blades and passed it off
first as my imaginat ion but when Rachel heard it too, I stopped to stare at the sky.
A green and yellow Park Service chopper was coming straight at us from the east. My
heart thudded and my stomach dropped as adrenaline flooded my system. I didn‘t stop to
question the sudden  fear that hit me, I grabbed Rachel‘s hand and ran.
I didn‘t know where I thought we could go, the only cover for miles were the washes and
they would only hide us for seconds. ―I thought your people removed the tracer!‖ I yelled and
Rachel‘s reply was unintelligible. I realized I was dragging her more than she was running and
jerked her up onto my back piggyback style so I could run faster. Her weight seemed negligible
and I put on a burst of speed. The chopper caught up and I dodged down into a wash but the
footing was loose and treacherous. Rachel screamed in my ear.
―Lakan! Run!‖ I ran but it was useless. As fast as I was, I couldn‘t outrun a helicopter and
finally, I staggered to a stop as my body simply refused to go another step and fell to my knees.
Rachel slid off my back as the chopper landed in front of us and discharged six men. I
recognized one of them. Dr. Cameron. His grin was huge and predatory as he stalked up to me.
―Lakan. Do you know how fast you were running?‖
I stared at him and the calc ulations were in my head. ―Not fast enough,‖ I said and he
pulled out not a shot but a Taser. Before I could do anything but gasp for breath, he zapped me. I
remember falling over, my muscles spasming and my brain misfiring like when I‘d seized. I
didn‘t e ven hear Rachel scream.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The effects of the Taser wore off after half an hour and I woke up on the floor of the
chopper hands and feet tied together like a trussed turkey. My face was smashed into the floor of
the bird and between the feet of the agents. I tried to turn my head to look for Rachel but all I
could see were boots and shoes, the metal struts that held the seat to the frame of the helicopter
and the rudders on which the pilot‘s feet rested. I reached out and seized control of  the pilot‘s
brain, cyclic and rudders, forcing the chopper to the left. The pilot yelled and fought back but
whatever my mind was doing was stronger than his control of his hands.
I smelled engine exhaust and burning oil as the RPMs increased beyond their  normal
capacity. The chopper flung itself in the opposite direction and I watched the metal holding the
seating   stress, melt and loosen. The hatch opened and two of the seats gave way to let those
unlucky agents fall out, their screams echoing long after t hey were gone.
Voices raised in alarm around me. I heard Rachel scream and it shocked me, made my
concentration falter. Cameron reached down and grabbed the back of my neck by the hair,
slammed my face down twice into the steel floor. I felt my cheekbone s hatter and blood poured
from my nose and mouth. Sounds became muffled, words wrapped inside a blanket of geometric
wool shot with arcs of lightning. I marveled at the intricate design not realizing it was my
consciousness splintering.
My next recollections were fragmented and thick with pain. My face hurt. My ribs ached
and I couldn‘t move. I couldn‘t see, either but I felt it when someone deftly inserted a needle into
my arm and taped it to my flesh. I felt the flow of cool IV liquids and then a warm sensation that
traveled up my arm and into my chest bringing a detached mood that I struggled to resist. 
―Don‘t fight it, Lakan,‖ his voice said gently. ―It‘s Thorazine and a dose strong enough to
sedate a horse.‖
I opened my eyes and mumbled. ―I can‘t see!‖
―You‘re blindfolded. I‘m not sure how you took control of the chopper  pilot and nearly
crashed it but we‘re taking no chances with you until we learn how you did it. Visually or
mentally, so you will be kept gagged, blinded and sedated until we control you.‖
―Rachel?‖ I asked thickly and waited with a sick feeling for the answer.
―She‘s fine. We gave her a dose of  Rophynol  and made sure she doesn‘t remember
anything. Dropped her off on the reservation near the police station,‖ he said and I was still
awake en ough to know that he was lying.
―Rachel?‖ I called out that my voice never made it past my lips. I was aware of being
moved in a wheelchair, loaded into a small jet and taking off. After that, only bits and pieces
made it into my head. The taste of brass in my mouth. My stomach tight and crampy. My mouth
so dry   my lips cracked and bled. I had to pee and my bladder hurt. Crinkly noises around my
bottom and legs. Cold shivers on my skin. Iodine and antiseptic. Faint  pricking on my
cheekbones. Droning voices o ver my head.
Things cleared up sometime later. I had no idea how much time had passed only that it
must  have been hours or days. I was lying on my back, handcuffed to a hospital bed at wrists and
ankles. The room was small with green painted walls and an o verhead light; the kind they used in
examination rooms and ORs. At my feet was a door with a small wired window. The only thing
in the room was me, the bed, an air vent blowing AC and the light. I was wearing an open
hospital gown laid over me but not snapped. An IV was in my right arm and to my disgust, I had
a urinary catheter in place. I felt horrible. Every muscle ached, even my bones felt as if they were
made of brittle plaster of Paris.
My eyes wandered over to the IV poles but someone had thoughtfully placed it behind
me where I couldn‘t reach it. Thankfully, Cameron had not made good on his threat to blindfold
or gag me. The Thorazine running through my system was enough to make keeping any single
thought in my head impossible, let alone attempting to plan an escape.
Every time I moved, a machine chimed. My movements were minuscule; I could turn my
neck from side to side, bend my knees up two inches and roll my torso about the same. I could
lift my ass off the bed but that made my belly ache with what  felt like bruises from somebody‘s
boots. All these efforts left me exhausted so I lay quietly and let my thoughts drift aimlessly.
When the door opened, the man who entered wasn‘t Cameron but the long- haired hippie
I‘d seen in the helicopter. He wore his  hair in a ponytail and had a one karat diamond stud in his
ear. His clothing , this time, was an expensive three- piece suit that I recognized from association
with Hamilton‘s aides.
―My grandmother will have you shot,‖ I said and the words came out slurred  and not
nearly as frightening as they‘d sounded in my head.
―Your grandmother is helpless,‖ he smiled and his teeth were predatory and very white
against his cold gray eyes.
―Who are you?‖
―My name is Agent Chase. I‘m with the NSA, not Director Hamilton‘s  CIA.‖
―But Dr. Cameron –,‖ I said and stopped.
―I kidnapped him and convinced him to join the winning team.‖ He studied me from my
toes to my head. ―You look  whiter than Amerindian. I‘ve seen pictures of your mother and
father. You do look like Michael Ha milton.‖
―Where‘s Rachel?‖
―She‘s safe. As long as you cooperate, she‘ll remain safe. Tell me how you did what you
did to the chopper and the pilot?‖ I tried to reach his mind and tweak his brain waves but the
anti - psychotic was too strong to overcome. ―Yo u‘re trying to do something now, aren‘t you?‖ He
smiled. Raising his voice, he called for the doctor  and Cameron‘s came on over an intercom.
―I‘m getting some interesting EEG readings, Mr. Chase.‖
My stomach cramped and I felt vomit hit the back of my throat but I swallowed it before
I could puke. Chase rubbed my throat and it wasn‘t because he felt sorry for me but because
puking might cause me to aspirate. I might drown in my own vomit.
―You feel sick to your stomach, Lakan?‖ Cameron‘s voice sounded almos t as if he was
standing next to me. ―I can order you Reglan. You‘ve been on several different drugs that can
upset your stomach.‖
―My stomach hurts,‖ I said through clenched teeth. ―Somebody kicked me.‖
―Yes, an unfortunate occurrence. One of the agents that fell out of the helicopter was a
younger brother of the one left behind. He‘s been…reprimanded.‖
―Did you check me for ruptures?‖ I asked and that brought silence. Next thing I saw;
Cameron was hurrying into the room pulling a portable X- ray machine wit h him. Ten minutes
later, I was receiving two units of blood and being sedated for emergency surgery. I tried to keep
my eyes open as they wheeled me down the hallway. It looked like a hospital corridor with open
patient doors but the nurses and medical personnel I saw wore uniforms under white coats. I
didn‘t hear any announcements and I saw only one other room with a closed door where an
armed soldier stood guard.
I mouthed ‗Rachel‘, made an intense effort and managed to sit up. I could barely see
through  the window but enough to recognize Rachel‘s black hair as she sat on the bed. She saw
me and leaped for the door but then, Chase and Cameron pushed me down where I melted like a
boneless fish on a  grill. Chase stopped outside the OR doors and Cameron went  in.
The room was freezing. I started to shiver and then, my metabolism kicked in turning up
my body temp. I heard the surgical team commenting on how I was running a high fever; one
adjusted the IV and I sank into a darkness I could not control.
*****
Soft rustlings pierced my dreams. I sat on a rock the size of one of the giant turtles in
Central Park. It stood all alone in a primeval forest while below me, the people moved with the
seasons. I saw Indian maidens foraging for wild rice and oats, acorns and  chicory. Creating
slender reed baskets from willow strips and cattails. They worked deer hide with their teeth and
softened it into exquisitely tanned and decorated buckskins.
I saw some squaws bought and paid for with many gifts and when the white men ca me,
horses bought their favors. They built their homes in teepees on the winter prairie and moved
further north into the great forests where the braves hunted elk and mule deer.
I saw a great warrior fight the white men and was saddened as I recognized Cra zy Horse.
His way of life would soon end bringing misery, starvation and alcoholism to the tribes.
I saw a warrior I knew--- his name had been Tungasila or Grandfather in Siouan and he
wore the garb of a medicine man.
Lakan, he spoke. Boy Who Thinks Too Much. You must be prepared to die to be free. You
must escape before these evil men learn all your secrets.
I can‟t leave Rachel, I said without speaking.
Nor should you. You may speak with her in your dreams where they cannot go.
The Yellow Realm? Can I escape them there?
The Hunters have your scent and would track you down swiftly, he warned. And you
cannot concentrate long enough to hold that door open. Perhaps Rachel Little Bear could do
that for a while. Long enough to aid you in an escape.
They cut open my belly, I said. I don‟t know if I can walk.
He sneered. The braves in the Sun Ceremony hung from hooks in their flesh for days
before they danced themselves free, tearing at their flesh. Are you any less than they?
I swallowed and when I opened my mouth  to answer him, he was gone and I was
standing in a girl‘s bedroom with posters of pop stars, dream catchers and computer CDs
everywhere. An easel stood near the window with gauze curtains and there was a painting of a
doe and fawn in a field of goldenrod.  It was exquisitely detailed and realistic, a real piece of art.
Standing in front painting blissfully unaware of me and in pajamas was Rachel. Her hair was
down to her waist, her face soft in repose. She was concentrating with her tongue between her
lips a nd a tiny frown between her eyebrows.
―It‘s missing something,‖ she said staring.
―A Hunter,‖ I spoke and pointed to the corner where the beginnings of a forest were
suggested. ―Danger lurks even in paradise.‖
She did not whirl around startled or afraid that I was behind her. ―Lakan.‖
―Rachel. Are you okay? Did they hurt you?‖
―Is this your dream or mine?‖ She turned her head to look at me, her dark eyes calm and
deep as midnight skies.
―Both, I think. Put a warrior here but have him holding his bow down as   if he chose to
leave his gift of life for the pair.‖
She smiled and swiftly painted in the figure before she laid down her brush and brought
me to her bed.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Rachel cradled my head against her breast and stroked my hair. Her voice vibra ted into
my chest. ―You‘re a very talented 14- year- old lover, Lakan,‖ she murmured.
―Is this still my dream?‖ I wondered, awed at the second set of sensations coursing
through me.
―Yes. And it‘s about to end so you‘d better figure out how we‘re going to es cape,‖ she
retorted.
―You have any suggestions?‖ I asked marveling at how real this dream seemed. Because
it was my dream, I felt everything  –  the satiny texture of her skin, the sweet scent of her hair, the
lightness of my own body after an ejaculation. I  wondered idly if my body back in the solid
world had experienced a nocturnal emission. I laughed. It would serve Cameron or Chase right if
I came all over one of them.
―I can open the door to the Spirit Realm for you but your great- grandfather warned me
t hat the Soul Hunters would find you almost immediately. Plus, I‘m not sure if I can physically
carry you with me.‖
―I‘m drugged back in my room, Rachel,‖ I told her, playing with a strand of her hair.
―They operated on my belly. I had a ruptured spleen.‖
―Then they won‘t be moving you anytime soon. Or experimenting on you.‖
―Maybe not. That doctor is crazy, he did things to me when I was a kid and he often
didn‘t use painkillers.‖
―Your childhood must have been terrible, Lakan,‖ she encouraged. I knew she  wanted me
to speak about  my youth but truthfully I didn‘t remember anything.
I felt myself drawing away from her. Stubbornly, I tried to hold onto the dream but it was
no use. A woman‘s face in a mask and surgical scrubs was shining a penlight in my eyes.
―Dr. Cameron, he‘s coming up from the anesthesia,‖ she spoke over her shoulder to the
doctor. He was in scrubs also and his face framed by a surgical cap that covered his hair.
―How do you feel, Lakan?‖
―Floaty.‖
―You had a 2- inch laceration of the splee n and 2 pints of blood in your gut cavity. Of
course, it was closing as I stitched you. Probably would‘ve sealed itself without my help but we
did surgery anyway. Your pressure is normal and your temp, too. At first, we thought you were
spiking a fever of 105° but as soon as we warmed you up, your temp dropped back to 98.6. You
can regulate your internal temperature?‖
I mumbled something and slipped back into sleep. Didn‘t feel it when they wheeled me
back to my room, transferred me to the bed and put me into restraints. I did wake up as they
rolled me onto a bedpan and told me to poop.
Of all the things that have been done to me, that ranked as the most humiliating, not
being able to crap on my own or wipe. After that, a male nurse came in, washed me off ca refully,
changed my sheets and re- gowned me in a clean one. Another checked my IV, the covered
incision and took my vitals.
I still wore the continuous IV and the pain was a distant memory telling me that I was on
some kind of painkiller or the Thorazine. It was like thinking through a cloud of pea soup.
―Thirsty,‖ I whispered and the male nurse placed a few ice chips in my mouth. They
melted instantly. ―Where am I?‖
―Recovery. Just rest, Dr. Cameron will be by later,‖ he said.
―Your name?‖
―Blue. This is Red.‖
―Better than Smith and Brown,‖ I returned and closed my eyes. I heard them  muttering
about the room but I ignored them. Late that afternoon, I was more cogniza nt of my surroundings
and others around me. Either the doctor had not reordered the Thorazin e or it interfered with the
pain medicine that the male nurse Blue injected into my port every four hours. Those  shots  left
me sleepy but not so spaced out that I couldn‘t think.
I was alone, my hands still in restraints but these were soft padded  leather,  not stainless
steel handcuffs. My ankles wore the same leather and sheepskin but these were looser so that I
could move my legs and almost turn on my side if I didn‘t mind stretching one shoulder
uncomfortably.
My stomach grumbled. I was almost hungry. I  had a vague memory of the old man
Tungasila bent over a campfire cooking steaks. Bears steaks he had caught earlier that year
because the animal had been attacking our sheep. He had stalked and shot the bear with the help
of our closest neighbor but the me mory of that person or their name did not come back to me.
“Oma key yo!” I mumbled but no one answered or came to my help. Time drifted and me
with it.
The door opened startling me. In came the doctor who did the surgery and Cameron,
followed by men in suits with Agent Chase. They stared at me with hard eyes and Cameron
pulled down the sheets, pushed aside the gown to peer under the surgical tape. His fingers were
cold as he pressed hard on the incision. My guts writhed under the pressure yet it didn‘t hurt any
more than the bruising from the kicks.
―The incision looks days old, not post- surgical,‖ he sounded excited. ―The bruising and
swelling have all but disappeared, there is almost no evidence that this child had a severe
laceration of the spleen twelve hours ago. I would calculate that within twenty- four hours, there
won‘t even be a sign  of a scar.‖
―Can the ability transfer through his blood?‖ One of the suits questioned.
―We‘ve only acquired the subject these last seventy- two hours, Sen. Gibson. Further
testing has to be done,‖ Cameron admitted. ―First and foremost, we need to control his
behavior.‖
―Can‘t you just threaten him? Pay him off or something? What about his parents?‖
Chase stepped in. ―His parents are dead.‖
―So, what‘s the problem?‖
―His  grandmother is Sarah Hamilton.‖
―The Director of the CIA?‖ The Senator gaped. ―That does pose a problem. I take it she‘s
not aware that the boy is in your custody? Does the president know?‖
―He doesn‘t know that he has a grandson, no. The Director has managed to keep Lakan
Strongbow a secret for two years,‖ Chase said. ―He‘s the son of that FBI agent that disappeared
fifteen years ago.‖
―Why? Because of his genetic mutations?‖
Cameron answered the Senator. ―At first, she funded my GMO research but when she
learned that he was her grandson and one of my test subjects, she had him snatched, brought to
D.C. and re- programmed with memories she created. Something went wrong and he ran. We
tracked him through the Shenandoah National Park, George Washington Forest  and all the way
to Red Pine, Oklahoma. His  microchip tracer disappeared and showed up back in the Tower
Casino Complex on the Pine Ridge Reservation. In the Dakotas for about thirty seconds.
―Then again in Idaho where we apprehended the pair.‖
―Pair?‖
―An other juvenile, Rachel Little Bear. She‘s 17, an Amerindian and the niece of the
Tower‘s CEO,‖ Chase added.
―His girlfriend?‖ One of the other suits asked. He looked like an aide to a Senator, too
young to be one. Chase called him Johannsson with Special A gent in front of it. He had dark hair
with just a touch of gray over the ears and a fashionable two- day scruff perfectly trimmed. His
eyes were a pale blue and he had slight freckles on his nose. It looked like he used a tanning
booth, he was too bronze for this time of year.
―She‘s not my girlfriend,‖ I denied. ―Just a friend and I only met her for the first time
three days ago. I‘m hungry.‖
Cameron nodded. ―I‘ll have the orderly bring you a lite meal, Lakan.‖
―Is he going to feed me?‖ I asked peevishly, w iggling my hands and feet in the restraints.
Cameron laughed. ―We can dispense with those for now.‖ His hands were swift as he
released me and I swung myself up to sit on the edge of the bed. All of them stepped back as if
they were afraid of me with the e xception of the doctor. He put his hand out to hold my chest as
my body tried to fall onto the floor. I tried to right myself but my head whirled and I had
absolutely no sense of balance and no feeling in my legs. I had lost the ability to stand.
―What hav e you done?‖ I cried out. 
―Hobbled you, Lakan. You won‘t be escaping on those legs.‖ He carried me over to a
wheelchair and seat- belted me in. Shortly after that, he drove me out into the corridor and down
to a small room that was set up for meals. On the  table were plates of breakfast stuff  – eggs,
toast, bacon ,  and sausage. Coffee, cream and sugar. Catchup. Salt and pepper. Fresh biscuits. It
was enough for everyone, all of them sat down and made themselves a plate while in orderly
remained at the door. He did not look like a nurse but was clearly there for security.
I was starving but still in shock over what he had done to me. I stared at my legs and
cursed them. I was able to move them normally but the moment I tried to put any weight on
them, they turn ed boneless.
―Your hands work, Lakan,‖ Hamilton said. ―You said you were hungry. Eat." He pushed
a loaded plate towards me and I picked up a fork. Shoveled eggs and bacon in, eating not
because I was hungry but because I knew I needed the fuel to keep my  system running. I
despaired over how I was going to escape when I couldn‘t even walk.
They discussed my case in front of me as if I wasn‘t there. Finally, I had had enough,
slammed my knife down on the plate and glared at them. ―I‘m here, not some plastic  petri dish,‖
I snarled. ―I‘m a real person, I bleed, I hurt.‖
―But are you human?‖ The Senator asked holding up a piece of sausage on the end of his
fork and stared through it at me.
―As human as you are,‖ I retorted. ―Although I‘m not sure if a US Senator  classifies as
human. More like a subhuman species.‖
He didn't like that and he sputtered, food flying from his mouth as he stood up. He got in
my face; I opened my eyes and drew him in to hold his mind in my own, the hold of their drugs
not quite so stro ng. He sat down abruptly and said, ―you're a dangerous creature, Lakan
Strongbow.‖
I let him sizzle, to change his attitude too quickly would send up a red flag that I had
taken control of his will. He reached forward before Chase or Hamilton could stop hi m and
slapped me on that cheekbone previously broken.
―Don't smart mouth me, boy. I can do worse to you,‖ the Senator threatened and I wiped
my face as involuntary tears ran down by cheek.
―You gonna let him do that, doctor?‖ I asked.
Cameron sniggered. ―You ask me, you deserved that and more. You killed two Federal
Agents, Lakan,‖ he said. ―When you're done eating, we‘ll go visit the labs.‖
―I can hardly wait,‖ I returned. Little did Cameron know that I had planted a suggestion
in Gibson's head to visit me later with certain items from the nurse‘s cart.
I couldn‘t say the visit to the lab was a piece of cake. It qualified just this side of torture.
The lab tech was matter- of - fact but it still hurt when he took bone marrow samples, blood, skin
scrapings an d all those other things that Cameron wanted. Halfway through the session, the
Senator and his group grew bored and Chase escorted them out of my presence. I tried not to
watch anxiously as my slim chance of escape walked out tucked away in the Senator‘s head.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Cameron had ordered a complete physical for me, one that in the outside world only a
VIP patient would have rated. After that, he had me brought to a room that was clearly used for
interrogations. The walls were padded, the table  and chairs were bolted to the floor and a large
shackle ring was affixed to the table for handcuffs to ease through. It was all done in depressing
gray. No windows, the door was steel and locked behind him. It was cold inside, the temperature
just this side of uncomfortable especially if all you were wearing was a gown and  pull - on  slipper
socks. Mine were gray and matched the walls. I was afraid to raise my temperature thinking that
his instruments would record my returning abilities. The room made me depr essed and I slumped
in defeat.
Cameron entered, placed a laptop on the table and opened it. The glow from the screen
was the brightest thing in the room. ―Good evening, Lakan.‖
―Is it evening?  You people don‘t have clocks around here. I don‘t know what day  it is or
what time,‖ I complained.
―Answer my questions and I‘ll answer yours,‖ he said and opened a site. For the next two
hours, he ran me through personality and perception tests, an IQ test, behavioral analysis and
every other examination out there geared to finding out how I thought, felt, rationalized and
coped with the daily stress and life of a human. When we finished, he checked the time on his
computer and looked astounded.
―Holy Jesus.‖
―Didn‘t know you were religious, doctor,‖ I said exhausted  from the extensive rounds of
testing. Mental tests could be just as taxing as physical ones.
―I‘m not, Lakan but you just finished ten hours of testing in two and you passed 100% on
those that scored that way. Your IQ is off the charts. If you had been enr olled in a gifted program
on the East Coast you‘d be w inning a Nobel Prize in science right now.‖
―But I'm not smart enough to stay out of your custody," I retorted.
He laughed and it was cold. ―Well, Lakan you are only fourteen years old and led a
sheltered life at your great- grandfather's. And I've had twenty years to learn spook tricks.‖
―How many tracking bug s did you implant in me?‖ I was curious and halfway didn‘t
believe he would answer.
―Four besides the one on your heart. Just how did you have that removed?‖
―I thought it away,‖ I answered flippantly.
―I think not. You had surgical scars on you when I saw you last and I saw the doctor‘s
report,‖ he came back.
―There wasn‘t any surgery,‖ I said flatly.
―Really? Because when we threatened to pull Dr.  Rivers‘ license, he caved,‖ Cameron
stated.
―Dr. who?‖
―It doesn‘t matter, Lakan. He‘s not going to be a problem anymore,‖ he p romised. I was
silent, I knew it  most likely meant that Dr. Rivers was dead.
―So, what are the other four? I heard you say somet hing about my blood being tagged?‖
―As I‘m sure you‘re aware, Lakan your blood is tagged with a radioisotope that can be
picked up by any satellite. There is another in your skull that was put in during the surgery to
save your life after the car accident but it hasn‘t been active these last five years and can‘t be
removed without major brain surgery. Another is implanted inside the bone marrow of your
femur. I won‘t tell you which one but it also cannot be removed without taking part of the bone
with it. Suffice to say, you wouldn‘t be walking on it. The last one is  in   your neck attached to
your spinal cord. That‘s why you can‘t walk, it‘s been programmed to interfere with the signals
from your brain to your leg muscles and nerves.‖
―I was working on somet hing like that for paraplegics at Director Hamilton‘s,‖ I said
slowly. 
He smiled broadly. ―Oh Lakan, the discoveries I found in your room and on your
computer! The irony is –  your creations to help cripples recover is also keeping you a prisoner.‖ I
tried  to lunge for him but he stepped back nimbly and I fell out of the chair to land at his feet. I
banged my elbows, hip and knees but he didn‘t offer to help me get up. He left me lying there
while he finished making notes and I desperately tried to influence  his mind. Finally, he closed
the lid with a snap, went to the door and called the orderly into the room. It was Blue and he
picked me up by my armpits and put me back in the wheelchair. His fingers grazed the bleeding
abrasions on my knees. I saw his cheeks clench but he said nothing as Cameron told him to
return me to my room. The doctor stayed behind.
It was a short ride back down the hall but Blue passed the door to what I guessed was my
room and continued to another further on. He pushed the door open  with his back and wheeled
me in backward  to an exam room where he lifted me onto a table. Turning his back to me, he set
out gauze 4 x 4‘s, scrub and Band- Aids. He was gentle as he cleaned off the scrapes and treated
them.
―What‘s your name, Blue?‖ I asked carefully.
―Brian Blue, actually,‖ he grunted as he concentrated on what he was doing. The stuff
stung but it was a minor ache compared to say – the bone marrow aspiration and the spinal tap.
―I guess I can call you Blue, then.‖ I sucked in my breath as he washed off the blood on
my knees.
―What happened?‖ He asked me.
―I tried to deck him. Missed and fell out of the chair,‖ I admitted.
He stopped and gaped at me. ―You tried to hit Dr. Cameron?‖
―Well yeah. He‘s a dick and an asshole,‖ I defended.
―He can also have you dissected and not wait for you to be dead when he does it.‖
―I‘m worth more alive than dead,‖ I said gloomily.
He finished smoothing the large Band- Aid on my knee. ―What‘s your name?‖
―Lakan Strongbow.‖
―Your real name?‖
―That is my real name. My mother was Lakota Sioux.‖
―No shit? I thought you were some relation of CIA Director Sarah Hamilton?‖
―She‘s supposed to be my grandmother,‖ I admitted candidly. I went on to explain but he
held his hands up.
―Don‘t tell me  any   more, I don‘t have the clearance for this shit,‖ he said.
―Will you help me escape?‖
―Are you nuts? Do you know where you are? Besides, he fixed it so you can‘t walk. You
going to crawl out of here on your hands and knees or do you fly?‖ He stared at his wound care.
―You hurt anywhere else? I can give you some pain meds.‖
―Just take me back to my room,‖ I said. He did, stopping just short of Rachel‘s door. I put
my hand on the glass and tried to reach her but her thoughts were barred from me. I knew Blue
wasn‘t sympathetic enough  to let me talk to her. He helped me back into bed. I turned my back
to him, pulled the covers up and forced myself to sleep so I could dream of her.
*****
Rachel was sitting on the big chunk of quartz that resembled a roughly cut yellow
diamond. Her long  hair was down and braided into four plaits,  not the traditional two. She wore a
red shirt and blue jeans when I had been expecting tanned and beaded buckskins. On her feet
were moccasins and white bobby socks. She wiggled her toes.  
―Don‘t look at me. I wo uldn‘t have picked these socks and shoes, it‘s your dream.‖ She
jumped down to stand next to  me,   I seemed insubstantial somehow. ―You figure out a way to
escape yet?‖ She asked me.
I walked around and studied the dreamscape we were occupying. There were  elements of
the Nutcracker Suite with tin soldiers holding back the gloomy trees, faint images of sugarplum
fairies holding bows and arrows, and the huge crystal sitting in the middle of a sandy clearing. It
was wound around with Christmas garland and red ribbons. I couldn‘t see any sky overhead; it
just faded into a dull mist. In that darkness, I heard soft and eerie rustlings, the hoot of an owl
and the thumping beat of a nervous heart.
―You‘re frightened and worried, Lakan. Me, too. That nasty man Chase  has threatened
me and some of the things he wants to do are just… if I was a warrior, I would show him about
torture.‖
―I planted a suggestion or two in the Senator‘s mind,‖ I said. ―He supposed to come back
and help me but I don‘t know if it‘s strong eno ugh to override his plans for me.‖
―And those were?‖ she prompted.
―He has access to where it is I‘m being held. From what I can see and read about it‘s the
super- max lab in D.C. called the Complex, run by a joint committee of the NIA and NSA.‖
―And how do  you plan on leaving this SuperMaxx prison?‖ She climbed back on the
crystal which reformed under her like a chaise lounge. I crawled up and joined her. Curiously,
her flesh had the same hard, cool consistency as the rock.
―He was bringing handcuff keys and his access card. Clothes from his secretary but that
was before I found out Cameron had re- programmed my own nervous system to be paralyzed,‖ I
said unhappily. ―I think he‘s done something to my brain, too. I can‘t quite grasp his thoughts
like I did wit h the others. I can‘t find the door to the spirit realm, either.‖
―You can‘t walk?‖
―No. The minute I try to stand, all feeling goes and my legs just won‘t hold me. I‘ve tried
to bypass the obstruction but I can‘t reach my own nerve center.‖
―When are you  going to initiate this escape?‖ she asked.
―You‘ll be the first to know,‖ I said. ―Do you think you can try to bring me in now?‖
She grabbed my hand and concentrated. The door appeared floating above our heads and
both of us could hear the growling, snarling, claw- scratching of the Soul Hunters behind it.
―I don‘t think it‘s a good idea to open the door,‖ I said shakily. As soon as the words left
my mouth, a mournful howling picked up with an eagerness that let me know I was definitely on
something‘s menu.
―Rachel, you go through, they‘re not interested in you.‖
―Yeah, right. Besides, I can‘t hold the door open and pass through without your help,
Lakan,‖ she denied.
―Can we open the door, let them pass into this world and trap them here while we race
through  theirs?‖
She hesitated. ―I don‘t know if they can leave the Spirit Realm, I don‘t think letting
monsters into our real world is a good idea. What if they attacked and killed waking people?
How would we stop them? How would you prevent them from finding and killing you here?‖
The door cracked as something huge hit it a resounding blow. Rachel screamed and
jerked me by the hand blowing my concentration. We were catapulted out of the dream world
and back into the waking one. I woke to find myself in my room b elted in with restraints and an
orderly seated in a chair this side of the door. It wasn‘t Blue or the other, Red. This one was
clearly a guard with muscles the size of beer kegs and a brain to match. He possessed no
curiosity and in fact, had so little go ing on inside his head that it left me nothing to work with or
infl uence.
I had no way of knowing how much time had passed while I was in the dream state. It
could have been the same night or days later. One thing I did know, my thoughts were sluggish
and  my reactions diminished. Which meant I was back on Thorazine.
―You awake?‖ the orderly asked in a voice that surprised me. It was soft, beautifully
modulated and cultured. Which only went to show that no one should be judged on first
appearances.
―Yes,‖ I  managed but it was an effort to speak.
―Just listen,‖ he said without moving his lips and he told me what to do.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The orderly‘s name was Michael Roan Horse and even though he looked like a muscle bound stereotypical jock, he wasn‘t. Owning a degree in Physics and the medical field, he had
taken the job in the government for personal reasons, the least of which had been to spy on the
white lawmakers of the BLM. Under his ‗roid exterior (which was entirely genetic and not
enhanced) rested the keen brain of a political activist and Native American radical. Yet his brain
was one of those closed to my influence making me think that he had been one of those
unfortunate developmentally delayed brain .
He had done something to the cameras in my room so that they were rerouted showing an
image of me sleeping in the bed but it wasn‘t me or my room. It showed the room next door to
mine so whatever Mike did in my room wasn‘t recorded or fed to those that were observing me.
First, he untied me, propped  me up and then dressed me in women‘s clothes. Pantyhose
over lace panties which chafed uncomfortably. A linen skirt in navy blue with a matching jacket
blouse that he filled out with a sports bra. He put the soft stretchy material around me and stuffed
the cups with  water- filled  latex gloves. Arranged a short blonde spiky wig on my head and
proceeded to carefully paint my lips, eyes and cheeks with feathery touches. Held me at arm‘s
length and admired his work.
―Damn but you make a pretty girl,‖ he said as  he scooped me up and stuck me in the
chair.
Slowly, he opened the door and peeked outside. ―No one wandering the halls yet.‖
He put me on my feet, my arm around his shoulder and half- carried me down the long
sterile corridor.
―Where‘s Rachel?‖ I asked. He  hushed me. ―She‘s waiting for us. Keep your mind on
walking.‖ We reached the end and there was an elevator; his keycard opened it and we stepped
inside. He nuzzled the side of my neck and I wrinkled my nose.
―Ewww,‖ I said. ―Man, I don‘t swing that way. Gross.‖
―No but the cameras are watching us so act like my girlfriend who‘s drunk,‖ he returned.
―Guards smuggle chicks down here all the time. It turns them on to be romanced in the
government nuclear disaster bunkers.‖
―Romanced?‖ I raised an eyebrow, one  muscle that didn‘t require much effort to move.
―Sounds better than laid,‖ he grinned and stuck his tongue in my ear. I tried to punch him
but he grabbed my hand and tucked it around his waist.
Once the door opened, we were surrounded by men and women in uniforms,
congressional pages, dudes in three- piece suits who stayed close to Senators and Congressmen. I
saw men wearing those ear wires that denoted Secret Service and guessed which ones were CIA
types. They all followed the same pattern --- a certain look. Six feet give or take an inch, average
looks, and good looking in a bland way with normal haircuts not too long or short and no three day scruff. I did see some that must have been DEA or Narcs because they looked scruffy and
dirty.
―Don‘t talk and don‘t  stop,‖ Mike whispered as he swiveled me towards a set of gates
standing between us and the lobby doors. Metal detectors. The guards were more focused on
those people coming in.
―Wait,‖ I squeaked. ―I‘m tagged. I might set off the metal detectors.‖
―Can‘t be helped. We‘ll just have to risk it,‖ he decided and we stumbled through it
together, knocking the frame with a ping almost as loud as the alarm as I passed beyond it to
sprawl on the floor. My linen skirt hiked up to reveal the tops of the pantyhose he had made me
wear.
I pulled it down before anyone could see the bulge that no girl every had behind the lace
panties. Mike helped me up, apologizing to me, the approaching guards and the curious lookie loos.
―She‘s a wee bit loaded,‖ he confessed as he flipp ed out his ID. I was amazed, he no
longer looked like a mindless ape but a sharp dressed aide.
―She has to go through the scanners,‖ one of the guards said eyeballing my chest.
Luckily, the water balloons hadn‘t burst when I‘d  mashed  them on the floor.
―Why? We came through with no problems,‖ Mike protested. ―Look, she promised me a
special surprise if I showed her the Vaults.‖
―You brought another secretary to the Vaults, Roan Horse? You dog. That‘s four this
week,‖ said the guard. His tag read Brian Volker.
I slapped Mike, rose to my wobbly feet and marched out in indignant silence. Behind me,
I heard hoots and wolf calls.
I exited onto a subway platform white tiled with black and white floors and brilliant
lights everywhere. No gloomy, depressing undergro und here, clearly millions had been spent on
this special rail system.
There were no exits, no stairwells out to the streets and I dallied on the platform waiting.
Mike came at a run, grabbed my elbow and dragged me towards the approaching lights which
tur ned out to be a train. Electric, small cars with enough room to seat twenty people and
connected to each other by a sort of airlock. We went all the way forward to sit in the carriage
behind the conductor.  There was a man sitting behind the conductor in jeans and a jacket.  He
gave us a brief glance and I tried not to stare. He was Native American, one of the Southwestern
tribes. Navajo or Hopi.
The train slid smoothly forward into a dark tunnel interspersed with lights every hundred
feet or so to reveal brick and cement walls free of graffiti; doorways or access points. There
weren‘t even walkways for the maintenance workers.
We traveled in silence until we reached a station and pulled into a huge terminal that was
broadly lit by an open skylight and wide arches. People dressed in everyday clothes with heavy
coats were rushing back and forth. From their clothing and their packages, I was able to ascertain
that it was near Christmas time for many of them carried brightly wrapped presents while others
wore seasonal garb. I saw two women that would have won hands down ‗the world‘s ugliest
sweater contest‘. In the far corner out of the wind but in an exit way, a salvation army clerk was
ringing her bell by her kettle. 
My eyes saw everything; down to the smallest detail as if the entire scene was at the end
of a microscope. The doors of our carriage opened, the tall man  exited. Mike touched my elbow
and we followed him out of the train merging into the crowds. He was tall enough to follow and
Mike tall enough to see over the crowds.
The stairs up brought us to streets that I knew from my programming memories that
Hamilton had given me. We were in downtown Washington, D.C. near the Nations Bank
building, minutes away from the Capital and White House.
Police were ever ywhere. The man we followed walked past them without giving any a
second glance and we trailed behind unnoticeable as the holiday shoppers were thicker than
thieves.
Ahead loomed a mall, one of those giant ones with Sears, Macys and the like. Both the
trai n passenger  and Mike headed for the entrance, up the escalator to the food courts. We found a
table at a Steak‘nShake where he ordered a meal for both of us.
I ate slowly, the drugs easing off in my system so that I could hear the chatter of busy
minds if I concentrated hard enough. If I wasn‘t careful, the incredible din of it would
overwhelm me.
So many people, so much information coming in. I had sudden access to the computers in
the stores, the banks, ATMs and a veritable unlimited data stream lay at my  fingertips.
Accessible to my thoughts. I could have anything I wanted merely by tweaking numbers in my
head and through the net. A whole new world was opening up before my eyes. That  is  until Mike
thumped me on the forehead.
―Pay attention, Lacey. You can‘t space out like that in public,‖ he said gruffly. ―We still
have to get you out of the city.‖
―Bus, train, car or plane?‖
―They‘re watching everything as soon as your absence was discovered which would have
been --- ‖ He looked at his watch. ―Approximately 12 minutes ago. I guarantee you wouldn‘t
make it by bus, airplane or train.‖
―Car? Is someone driving me out of the city? And when do I meet up with Rachel?‖ I
asked. I scratched at my thigh where the pantyhose pinched and he snatched my hand away.
―Ladies don‘t do that,‖ he hissed. ―Keep your elbows off the table and your hands off
your crotch.‖
―Okay, dad,‖ I sniped. ―Cuz, technically, I‘m jailbait to you. I want to see Rachel.‖
―She‘ll meet us at the safe house, later,‖ he promised. Leaning over, he kis sed me on the
lips and I fought the urge to wipe off my lips on my sleeve.
―Wait here. Leon will pick you up and take you home,‖ he ordered and left me.
―Who‘s Leon?‖ I asked nobody in particular.  I could watch his progress through the
crowds until he dropped from sight on  the escalator. Leon must have been nearby because as
soon as Mike left, t he  man from the train approached my table carrying a box of pizza and an
orange Crush.
―Hi, Lacey,‖ he said and his black eyes twinkled. ―I‘m Leon DeCarlos.‖ His pupils were
dark and unfathomable in his tanned face with its outdoor squint lines. He had that long lean look
of the Navajos and not the squatter barrel shape of the Hopi. His hair was short, bristle stiff and
black, his age could have been anywhere from 25 to 50.
He had the serenity and confidence of an older man but the athletic movement of the
younger. He sat down and ate his pizza without talking to me; I knew that waiting for me to
begin was Navajo courtesy but I was part Indian too. I could play the silent game as well as he. 
Finally, he spoke but it was not what I expected. ―I love the pizza here. They cook it in a
brick oven.‖
―Really? That‘s all you have to say?‖ I sputtered.
He lifted his eyebrow. Did it better than me, both of mine went up together  no matter
how I practiced it. ―What is it you want me to say? Hello, is the US Government spy culture after
you? Seen any spooks lately? How do you feel about genetic manipulation or water boarding?
By the way, you‘re a pretty half- breed.‖
I told him a na sty word in Anglo- Saxon and he laughed. Wiped his hands on his napkin
and stood up. ―Ready or are you going to finish massacring your burger?‖
―I‘m done.‖ I rose too and nearly fell over on my short heels. I could feel a general
weakness in my limbs and worried that Cameron would re- activate the chip  that took away my
ability to walk. He had obviously turned it off trusting in the Thorazine to keep me sedated and
compliant. I had no idea how soon he would use his tracers to pinpoint me. The sooner I made it
to a location with a computer and electronic parts, the sooner I could make something that would
neutralize anything still in me.
I looked around. ―There a Radio- Shack store in here?‖
―Probably. Why?‖
―You have a credit card?‖ I asked instead of answering.
He nodded. I dragged him off to the small store sandwiched between a Payless and
Gertrude‘s Chocolates. When I was finished shopping, I placed everything on the counter
waiting impatiently as the sales associate totaled the bill. Surprisingly, it came to  less than $400
and that was including the miniature soldering gun.
Loaded with packages bearing the store‘s logo, we hit the CVS next where I had him
purchase a pre- pay cell phone. I told him I had to use the restroom and he steered me towards the
WOMENS when I inadvertently headed for the MENS. Luckily, it was a one seat toilet and I
dragged him in with me. Locking the door, I stripped the back of   the phone, exposed the
motherboard and reconfigured the  whole thing with the parts that I had picked up at Radio
Shack. A little bit of soldering, a quick charge in the bathroom plug and I had an electronic
jammer that was capable of masking any signal that I could put out.  I called it a quipp.
Unfortunately, the power it used drained the quipp  in an hour if I le ft it on that long.
―Now, no one can track me,‖ I said. ―Once we get to the safe house, I can make
something that will blow most of the tracers‘ electronics.‖
―Most of the tracers?‖ he questioned.
―Yeah. I can‘t do anything about my tagged blood except for a total transfusion. You
have access to a dialysis machine?‖
He gaped at me before I opened the door and gestured him out. There was a line waiting
to use the bathroom. I smiled sweetly at the old lady in the front of the line. ―Always wanted to
do it in  the ladies‘ room,‖ I said and sashayed off.
Chapter Thirty
Leon caught up with me in a few strides. Besides being 8 inches taller than me, he also
had legs like a giraffe. Kind of moved like one, too. Graceful and yet with a touch of youthful
awkwardness.  I revised my estimate of his age down ten years.
―How old are you?‖ I asked as we passed the perfume counter. An improbable redhead
smiled at me and held up a spritzer. I shook my head but she squirted me anyway. I was
enveloped in a mist of sandalwood, ja smine, musk and vanilla that made me sneeze. Gagged.
She looked offended as I waved the air in front of me.
―Phew! That stinks!‖ I complained and moved on as he took my elbow dragging me by
store counters and displays back out into the mall‘s open walkways   until we exited on the
opposite side of our entrance.
The parking lot was huge, filled with cars and tour buses sandwiched between a few
trucks and SUVs. This wasn‘t farm country where trucks were commonplace. There were so
many men dressed as casual shoppers that it made my hackles raise and I wondered if all these
undercover agents were here because of me.
One of them accidentally bumped me. Wrinkling his nose at my scent, he excused
himself and walked towards one of those big black Navigators. I saw him  look down at a cell
phone but it was more than that because the jammer in my pocket was vibrating like crazy telling
me that he had a tracking device.
I pulled Leon away from the vehicle in a detour. He didn‘t say anything as he steered me
towards a non - descript Ford Taurus, one of  the thousands  in the lot. Silver gray, the most boring
color and one of the most common.
I sat in the passenger seat and buckled in as he drove smoothly away. Craning my neck
around, I watched to see if any of the big SUVs follo wed but so many cars were coming and
going, I couldn‘t be sure if one was shadowing us.
―Relax,‖ Leon said. ―Those agents haven‘t a clue  as to who I am nor are they looking for
me.‖
―You know they are agents?‖
―Of course. They had a reading on you 12 minutes after you escaped and enough of a
trace to know you were heading this way. The only thing out here where you could be heading to
is the Mall. So they blanketed it with agents. Good thing you make a pretty girl.‖ He wrinkled
his nose. ―Stinky, too. It made the one asshole not even look at you.‖
I sneezed. In the close confines of the car, the smell of the perfume was really bad. My
eyes watered and he handed me a box of tissues. ―How can you stand it?‖ I asked and he
answered.
―It smells kind of nice. Sexy,‖ he grinned as I scooted further towards the door. ―Don‘t
worry, little Chiquita. I have a beautiful lady that takes care of all my needs,‖ he said. ―Your
virtue is safe with  me.‖
―Where‘s Rachel? Is she waiting for me at this safe house? How did she ge t out and who
helped her?‖
―She‘ll meet you later,‖ was all he said. My stomach did flip flops because I felt
something was wrong. I put it down to the near accident he just avoided as a garbage truck
plowed through a red light and rear- ended  the car in front of us. Then to my horror, it literally
exploded into shrapnel with  a  major portion of it hitting the windshield and knocking our vehicle
into three others like a mad ball in a pinball machine. And us with it. Blood spattered the
windows as both of our  heads cracked the glass. It knocked me silly for a moment. When I
opened my eyes, I watched in delight as the sun caught individual shards floating effortlessly in a
scintillating rainbow of jeweled colors. Time moved in microelements.
Leon‘s groans brought me out of my reverie and time resumed its normal speed. I looked
over and he was bleeding copiously from a hideous gash in his chest where a large piece of metal
had impaled him pinning him to the seat just below and to the right of the xyloid process.
Puncturing his lungs, liver and just missing his spine. 
―Leon.‖ I spat out a mouthful of blood but I thought it was just from biting my tongue.
Unhooking my seat belt, I leaned over and touched the metal spear.
―Don‘t,‖ he said faintly. ―Bleed out.‖
―Leon,  you‘ll die either way. This is gonna hurt.‖ I concentrated and felt the warmth run
through me, down my fingers and into the metal. He screamed as it cooked his insides and I
pulled free the spear as it loosened. Only a trickle of blood followed. I concent rated on healing
the huge lacerations inside his body; he coughed and expelled a veritable flood of  oxygen - rich
blood in my face. His went from pale grayish tan to a rich bronze, and his eyes widened as he
took a deep full breath of air.
When I took my hand away, the hole in his chest was gone and with it, all the other
scrapes and dings. His eyes closed and he slipped into shock - induced sleep.
Moving like an old lady, I punched at the crumpled door but it wouldn‘t open. Screaming
at the top of my lungs, I kicked and the whole thing flew off to land in the street at the foot of a
pedestrian who was on his cell phone. I ignored him and pushed my way towards the other cars
involved in the accident. There were five counting the garbage truck but I didn‘t check  on them
as the drivers were wandering around shocked but unharmed. My goal was the remains of the car
that they had totaled.
The front half was smashed into the  front of a bus kiosk and nothing was  left of the stand.
If anyone had been inside it, they were  gone. When I looked inside the car, I nearly gagged at the
mess of what had been a driver. The steering wheel had sheared off crushing her rib cage, the
door had crumpled in amputating both legs and one arm. The only reason she was still alive was
that the airbag had cushioned some of the  impacts and was keeping her from bleeding out. She
was unconscious, her pulse so faint that I could barely feel it.
As my hands touched her, she blinked her eyes, stared into mine and spoke. ―My kids.‖
I couldn‘t even tell if she was white or Afro- American, she was  that bloody and bruised.
Her internal injuries were so  vast that I was amazed she was still alive.
―How many kids?‖ I asked urgently.
―Three. Two boys. Girl.‖
―I‘ll find them,‖ I told her and was able to stabilize her. Removing the parts holding her
in required no more energy than healing her but I could feel it draining me faster and faster.
Reattaching the limbs was child‘s play compared to healing her internal organs.
Someone behind me shouted, ―Oh my God! The re are kids in here!‖
I tried to run but my legs felt like Jell - O as I stumbled over to a bizarre sight. The back
half of the car stood impaled on a broken light pole like a giant lollipop. Kids‘ hands hung from
what remained of broken windows; blood dripped steadily down the fingers. I knew some were
alive; I could hear faint moans above the ominous creaking of metal tearing. People gathered
underneath taking pictures but I knew my jammer was still working and would prevent them
from posting anything on U- Tube.
―Call 911,‖ I said and put my hand on the pole‘s base. Heat flared, the metal softened and
slowly, with infinite care, I directed the angle of descent until both wreckage and pole were on
the ground. One of the onlookers stepped forward and offered to help. Together, we examined
the remains and pulled on the doors. The rear left side flew off and a pre - teen boy fell out at my
feet.
―You know first aid and CPR?‖ I asked and he nodded. ―Good. Take him over there and
assess him.‖ I‘d already scanned him and other than a broken ankle and sprained ribs, he was
uninjured. 
―His back or neck might be broken,‖ he said. ―You‘re not supposed to move him.‖
―This wreck is going to fall any minute and crush all of us,‖ I replied. ―They‘re not safe
in there. He has a broken ankle, bruised ribs and maybe a lung so it‘s safe to move him. But
move him by supporting his head and neck with his shirt.‖ I showed him how and he agreed. I
watched until he had dragged the boy out of the way.
Crawling inside, I found the other two and swallowed back  nausea.  The girl was bad,
maybe dead and the boy broken in so many places that moving him was too risky so I did what I
could inside the car. This time, the heat took longer and made the interior light up like a
Christmas tree. I heard voices outside over the strident sounds of sirens and helicopter blades.
Carried the boy out and laid him on the piled coats that the crowd had put down. Another
covered him. There was complete silence as I brought out the girl. She hung limp in my arms,  so
gray and white that they knew she was dead. Her head fell  backward and from the angle, I knew
she had broken her neck. Death must have been instantaneous and painless. I laid her down on a
red wool jacket and looked at the crowd, tears running down my  face.
―No,‖ I said. “No. Not on Christmas Eve!” Pouring myself into my hands, I willed her to
live, I gave everything left in me; saw the crushed and mangled spinal cord and piece by piece,
cell by cell, I rebuilt her spine, fused the bones and made her  better than before.
I found that precious, unmeasurable spark that poets called the soul and gave part of mine
to her so that it kick- started what had been slowly fading away. She met me there and I knew
her, her family, her mother, brothers, and father. I became a part of that family. Her grandparents
were there and gently pushed her towards me saying it was not our time to walk their path.
Under my hands, I felt the faintest tremor of a shiver, a beat of an unbroken heart, the
shifting of tiny muscles. She opened her eyes and whispered my name. Around us was a cocoon
of indrawn breaths, a silence of hushed cathedral shaped immensity. She sat up, drawing the
wool coat around  her even as I knew that she was allergic to it. I had no need to tell her about the
f amily, she knew what I had done. I tried to stand up but fell over. It broke the crowd‘s stillness
and one of them, a woman reached down to grab me.
―Honey, are you alright?‖ she asked and I smiled lopsidedly.
―I will be.‖ Now, photos of me were popping everywhere. I staggered up with her help
and everyone wanted to touch me. I shrank back. ―Please. I gotta throw up.‖ I begged and a lane
appeared just as the first Paramedics arrived at the scene. I slipped through the crowd and as they
turned to look at Life Flight, I headed for a back alley where I could rest. I wanted to go back
and check on Leon but the minute I took two more steps, a crushing blackness swept over me. I
never even felt it when I landed face first on the sidewalk.
*****
Washington General was known for its Trauma Center especially for GSWs. It was
informed that Life Flight was bringing in multiple victims from a multi - vehicular accident
involving a garbage truck and cars. They braced for severe trauma and readied the ORs.
As the first victims arrived, they were shocked. Not by the injuries but at the lack of
major ones. No one had anything more serious than bruises and scrapes, even the child one firstaid trained witness had vowed was dead.
Curiously, one driver had holes in both the front and back of his clothing consistent with
a through and through impalement but the only evidence was a bruise on both sides of his torso.
His blood pressure was low and he showed signs of shock as did all the victims.
The worst case was a teenager who had administered first aid to all the victims according
to eye witness reports. She had been found unconscious with deteriorating vitals, on the sidewalk
behind the crowds. Paramedics intubated her, put her on IV fluids and a cardiac monitor but it
wasn‘t until the nurses stripped her in the ED that they realized it wasn‘t a teenaged girl but a
young boy in a wig.
―Transgender?‖ they wondered but continued with their care.
―BP is 60/42, pulse 32, respirations 30 rapid and shallow,‖ the nurse reported.
―No blood  in his rectum,‖ the ER doc said. ―Let‘s get X- Rays and an  ultrasound of his
belly and CAT scan of his head. Let‘s see if he‘s bleeding inside.‖ He opened an eye and stared
at the brilliant blue orb, flashing a penlight in both. ―Right pupil is blown. Looks   like we‘re
dealing with a subdural hematoma. Let‘s go, people. Our golden hour is ticking.‖
―Anyone know his name?‖ one of the nurses asked the Paramedics who had brought him
in.
―Asked and someone said he‘d come out of a Ford Taurus with another victim.  Name of
Leon DeCarlos.‖
―His…son?‖ He looked at the dark red hair that was almost black.
―He‘s not married. Girlfriend works at Bethesda Hospital. We‘ve notified her and she‘s
on her way over.‖
―This DeCarlos conscious?‖
―No. He was  in shock, we transported him by ambulance.‖
―Okay. He‘s J. Doe until we learn who he is,‖ the doctor nodded as they whisked him up
to CAT scan.
Chapter Thirty-One
My eyes opened but they didn‘t open physically. I was floating in the Spirit Realm and
my soul shriveled in terror as I waited for the Soul Hunters to attack me yet they were strangely
silent. I wandered for a while, creeping softly and trying to leave no trace of my passage. Finally,
I found myself back at the giant crystal where I had met Rachel in my dreams. I climbe d the rock
but couldn‘t feel it under my hands and knees.
Stood up and gazed as far as I could see yet I saw nothing. Out of the corner of my eye, I
spotted movement, whirled around and there they were. Tungasila and Rachel. Both were
dressed in ceremonial robes and wore an expression of sorrow.
―Rachel!‖ I jumped down and touched her. She did not move away nor did the old
grandfather.
―Lakan,‖ he said and I saw that he was crying.
―What?‖ I was confused. ―Rachel, how can I touch you?‖ I was terrified.
―We‘re all dead,‖ she said frankly.
―You‘re dead?‖ I could barely get the words out. ―How? Rachel, I‘m so sorry. You can‘t
be dead.‖
―That man Chase. He tried to get me to tell him your secrets and he killed me.‖
―He tortured you?‖
―No. He used drugs. I was allergic to the Sodium Pentothal and died before he could use
something else to bring me back. He tried but it didn‘t work. It was the diversion you needed to
escape, Lakan. You‘re more important than me, anyway.‖ She hesitated. ―You don‘t belong here,
Lakan . You belong to the whole world. You have to go back.‖
―But, I‘m dead! You said I died,‖ I cried out. ―I don‘t want to go back, not if you‘re not
with me! I remember everything now that I‘m here. Grandpa--- .‖ 
―Lakan, you can‘t die. Your body won‘t age or b reak down like ours did. Only your mind
can stop your survival. You‘re willing yourself to die. You need to wake up and run before the
agents learn who you are.‖
I didn‘t want to listen to him, all I wanted to do was mourn and wallow in self- pity. They
would have none of it, badgering me until I had no peace. Even the Soul Hunters would have
been preferable to their carping. Rachel told me that as long as I was on the strange border
between life and death, they could not hurt me. Reluctantly, I explored the  passages back into my
body and found it strangely alien, almost as if I were pulling on a suit that didn‘t quite fit.
Everything ached. But especially my head. I had a headache the likes of which I‘d never
experienced before. Even the light on my eyelids  hurt, I was nauseous with vertigo that made me
question whether I was vertical or prone.
I had a tube down my throat that was breathing for me. Panic set in. I fought it, setting off
alarms as I struggled. People in scrubs rushed into my room and flashed lights in my eyes. One
was a doctor with green eyes and he pressed his hand down on my chest.
―Take it easy, son,‖ he said gently. ―I‘ll take the tube out.‖ He did so and the relief was
enormous. ―Better?‖ I nodded, tears filling my eyes. ―Don‘t try to talk , your throat is going to be
sore. Can you sit up?‖
At my nod, he raised the bed. I tugged on the restraints tied to my wrists; they were only
gauze. ―What‘s your name? Why were you dressed as a girl? What‘s your relationship with Mr.
DeCarlos?‖
My first question to him was to ask about the Jacobi family. ―They‘re fine. A few minor
cuts and bruises, we released them yesterday and they went home. They left you flowers and
thank you notes.‖
―Leon?‖
―He‘s fine, too. Slept 16 hours straight through. We were a b it concerned, he wouldn‘t
wake up until then. He says he‘s your…boyfriend.‖
―No. Costume party. Name‘s Lacey.‖
―Lacey what?‖
―Lacey Hamilton.‖
―You‘re not transgender?‖
―No.‖ I closed my eyes, the healing had taken more out of me than I‘d suspected I could
handle.
―People said you did something. We found some strange metal in your X- rays and
ultrasound. You had a bad subdural bleed in your brain, Lacey. Lacey, can you hear me?‖
I mumbled something. All I wanted to do was go back to sleep. They wouldn‘t let  me.
Someone kept slapping my face or running their fingernails down the soles of my feet. Finally, I
yelled in outrage and a warm feeling of righteous anger settled in my belly. I opened my eyes
and complained bitterly.
―Lacey, you can‘t go back to sleep,‖ the doctor told me. ―You‘ve been in a coma for a
week. We‘re afraid you‘ll slip back into it. You have to stay awake.‖
I looked around the room. It was private, nicely appointed and filled with flowers, cards,
gift baskets and balloons. ―Where did all this stuff come from?‖
―The people you helped save. The Jacobis, Mr. DeCarlos, the Waste Recovery Company,
Mr. Anderson and Mrs. Spinelli. The drivers you rescued.‖
―Oh.‖ I was quiet for a moment and then my stomach growled. Hunger pangs hit me and
he smiled. 
―Hungry? I can have something brought to you.‖
I looked at him with suspicious dread. ―Not Jell - O.‖
―Something lite. You haven‘t eaten solid food in a week.‖
―Tomato soup? Grilled cheese?‖ I countered.
―That‘ll be okay. Don‘t be surprised if you‘re full b efore you can finish it.‖ His voice
faded and I shook my head.
―My head hurts. Can I have an aspirin?‖
His response was to examine my eyes with a penlight and it speared all the way to the
back of my brain. It hurt. Instant nausea.
―Lacey? Can you hear me? ‖ His voice came from far away. It had a smell like citrus and
brass. My bed tilted and I watched dreamily as the ceiling lights went whizzing by overhead
down a hallway that was as long as a train ride. They took me to a place that was really cold.
Buzzing on my head and tufts of hair fell in slow motion. They were shaving my head.
After that, I heard voices talking but none of it made any sense.
I
―Lacey?‖ The air smelled of crisp fall leaves and Lysol. I moved and crinkly sheets
moved under me. My feet hit the top sheet and I kicked at the tightness as it rubbed on my toes. I
was thirsty, my throat and head hurt.
Faces slowly coalesced in front of me. Serious faces that I didn‘t recognize. I tried to
speak and my lips felt like those rubber ones I‘d played with at Halloween. When I tried to talk,
the sounds coming out of my mouth were gibberish.
The man wore a surgeon‘s cap, his eyes light brown and serious as was the expression on
his tanned face. He wore green scrubs with muscular hairy arms. The woman had bright red hair
and freckles with emerald green eyes. They watched me expectantly.
―Lacey, do you understand me? Just nod if you do.‖ I nodded slowly, my head pounding
like a kettle drum. It felt empty and hollow. ―You had another bleed in your brain, t his one
caused massive swelling; we had to open your skull to relieve the pressure. Understand?‖ Again,
I nodded. ―We‘re not sure how much damage the injury caused to your brain. We‘ll be doing
tests to determine what, if any.‖ I agreed. ―What‘s your name?   Lacey Hamilton?‖ I nodded.
―Where were you born? Who are your parents?‖
I shrugged. ―Is the year 2015?‖
Yup. Another nod. We went through the standard questions used to determine
intelligence. Most of them I could answer with a yes/ no, T/F but it was tir ing. Finally, I put my
hand to my head, felt the bandages and the short buzz cut. I managed to ask a question of my
own.
―How long me here?‖ That wasn‘t what I wanted to say but that‘s what came out.
―Three weeks, Lacey,‖ he said quietly. ―Two in a coma after your surgery.‖
―Who pays?‖
―Your medical care is being covered by the Waste Recovery Company until we can
locate your parents.‖
―Orphan.‖
―Who takes care of you?‖
―DeCarlos.‖
―He‘s been here to see you, along with the families you saved. I‘ll be happy  to tell them
you‘re awake.‖
―Police?‖
―What about the police?‖
―They see me?‖
―I‘ve not allowed anyone in to see you, Lacey. We weren‘t sure if you‘d wake up. I
didn‘t want anyone disturbing your chances of recovery. Still, they come every day. Do you want
to see them?‖
―Just Leon.‖
―We‘ll call him. You rest now.‖
―Sleep?‖
―If you need to.‖
―Me hungry.‖
―Good.‖ He smiled. ―That‘s a great sign. What would you like?‖
―Ice scream . For brain freeze,‖ I said and they laughed at my feeble joke. Both of them
left but another nurse remained in the room bustling about.
―Where me?‖ I asked her. She came over to my side and raised the bed higher so I could
see the room and her more clearly. I was in a sort of suite with a hospital bed, table, chairs and a
lounge area.  Bathroom, TV and closets. It looked more like a hotel room than a hospital. She was
a pretty blonde, no more than 5‘4‖ and petite. She looked around twenty- five and kind.
―Pine Valley Rehab Center, that was Dr. Albans and his nurse, Regina. I‘m Annmarie,
y our day nurse. What would you like to eat?‖
―Ice scream ?‖
―Vanilla or chocolate?‖
―Both. Water?‖
―That I can do right away.‖ She poured me a glass, stuck a straw in it and I drank as she
held it to my lips. Some dribbled down the side of my mouth and into  my gown. No matter how
careful I was, I couldn‘t swallow without some leaking out of my lips.
―Don‘t worry about that, Lacey,‖ she soothed. ―It‘s just some residual….‖
―Brain damage,‖ I said. ―Stroke symptoms.‖
―Therapy and rehab will help you regain what  you lost,‖ she said.
She didn‘t leave me but hit the call button and asked another nurse to bring two things of
ice cream to my room. She fed me slowly and carefully but I couldn‘t manage to eat more than
half of one cup before I was full and sleepy. This  time, no one woke me up but let me sink into
that deep slumber where not even my dreams carried me.
The nurses woke me every two hours, explaining that they were concerned I might slip
back into a coma but once 24 hours went by where I remained easy to wa ke, they would stop
bothering me. I was grumpy at the interruptions in my sleep yet I was able to deal with it. Okay,
mostly deal with it if you didn‘t count the complaining and whining.
Annmarie brought me ice cream or toast with PB every time she woke me--- the ones
taking my vitals collecting blood, urine or checking the drain in my head were the ones that
bothered me the most. Probably because they brought the pain. How curious to think that fluid
was leaking from my brains into a little bag to be collected, analyzed and deciphered.
In the morning, the doctor called Albans came to see me and inspect his handiwork. He
seemed pleased at the rate of recovery as he checked my reflexes, strength, comprehension and
speech. He sat back and studied me seriously.
―You have some aphasia, Lacey but it‘s not too profound. Your cranial pressure is almost
normal and your EEG acceptable. There is some damage to the right temporal lobe which is
causing your speech difficulties. There is a 3mm area which is dead in the spo t we call
Wernicke‘s. We can do extensive speech therapy to reroute your brain and you can relearn how
to speak.‖
I knew all that. ―Police book me?‖ I tried again. ―Look?‖ I interrupted him.
He hesitated. ―They were. We, that is, I told them that you expired.‖
That explained why I wasn‘t recuperating in some secure facility buried underground.
―Why do that?‖
―Because of what the witnesses say you did, Lacey. I want to know how you did it. Can
you teach other people to do it?‖
I knew to what he was referring   ―Nearby kill me.‖
―Yes, but it didn‘t. In fact, you‘re healing faster that I would believe possible. How?‖
I shrugged my shoulders. ―Didn‘t shave Rachel.‖ A tear made it down my cheek and
despite my resolve, I bawled like a baby. He attempted to console me but I pushed him away
with an angry shove.
―You use me just like NSA want,‖ I accused. ―Not for sale.‖
―I‘m sorry, Lacey but for your own safety, we can‘t let you leave here.‖ He spoke to the
nurse and once again, I was restrained by heavy canvas straps  at my wrists and ankles. I ranted
and raved. When I chafed myself raw and bloody, he ordered a muscle relaxer that took away my
strength and made me lie there like a stunned flounder.
Some  time  later, Regina entered with a tray of food and fed me. I thought about refusing
but I was hungry. After I was finished, she cleaned off my mouth and sat me up so that I could
see the room.
―Who is Rachel?‖ she asked. I struggled to explain and when I was finished, both of us
were teary eyed. I asked about the people in the accident; she told me that Dr. Albans had
informed all of them that I hadn‘t survived the brain bleed. So everyone thought I was dead.
―Yes, Lacey,‖ she said and I realized that I‘d spoken aloud. ―Your words were perfect.‖
―Regina, will you help me escape?‖ I looked her in the eyes and she looked back.
―Do you know where you are, Lacey? This isn‘t a regular hospital, this is a private mental
health facility that is run by Dr. Albans‘ family and a consortium of other doctors. He has you
registered unde r an assumed name; he even supplied a corpse that the Jacobis buried under your
name.‖
Lacey was an assumed name, too, I thought but didn‘t tell her. I wondered if Hamilton,
Chase or Cameron would mourn or look for me. I resolved then and there that I was  going to
escape and track down those responsible for Rachel‘s death if it was the last thing I did.
Chapter Thirty-Two
A year passed. A year of intensive therapy and schooling. They moved me to a private
suite in this mental institution. I had all the comforts of home minus a TV, computer, radio, or
anything electronic that I could possibly use to force an escape. I had a bathroom much like in a
prison cell, a toilet with no seat, handle or water tank. Nothing I could use to create a weapon.
I had a kitchen   minus a microwave, stove or oven, no knives or utensils other than a
plastic spoon and fork but they allowed me a small dorm sized refrigerator.
My bedroom had no windows and only a mattress on the floor. No exit except for the one
door out onto a hallway. The door itself was steel and worked not on a key code or punch but an
old- fashioned Klieg lock that I could have picked had I a fork, pen or paper clip. Sadly, they
were vigilant about leaving any such devices with me. 
My time wasn‘t spent idly; one of the doctors and Albans provided me with books so that
by the end of the year, I had accumulated the equivalent of a college degree from a university on
par with MIT, Harvard or Caltech. In fact, Albans presented me with a diploma and told me that
he had su bmitted all my work, papers, and tests online and I had earned a Bachelors through
MIT in Advanced Computer Microelectronics. I held the certificate and diploma in one hand
staring at the name in Old English Script. Lacey Hamblin Bachelor of Computer Science
―That‘s not my name,‖ I stated. I had never told them my real name.
―It‘s your real name now, Lacey. I‘ve applied for a Social Security card and ID in that
name for you and have a birth certificate too. Your date of birth is January 12
th
, 2000.‖
―What day is this?‖ I had no way of knowing, without TV, radio, telephones or
computers, I could not process the date or the seasons.
―March 15
th
, 2016,‖ he said and watched my eyes. I was in shock. My real birthday had
passed, I was 16 years old and two years I  had spent in this prison.
―What do I look like?‖ I asked. They didn‘t allow me a mirror in this place nor had I
anything reflective where I could see my face or judge my age.
―Older. More mature. Quite handsome. You‘ve grown, too. You‘ve hit the six- foot m ark.
Surprisingly, considering that you‘ve been in this room for two years, you‘re in good shape, not
too  fleshy .‖
―A year,‖ I was in shock and denial. ―You‘ve taken another year of my life!‖ I went to
him and the guards who were orderlies easily restrained me. I had learned early on that any
attempt to attack one of the personnel brought instant retaliation and a dose of Thorazine. This
time was no different except that Albans was frightened of me. He nearly dropped the syringe on
my belly and caught it be fore it could bend the needle. He stuck me in the hip. It burned going in
but its effect was immediate. I melted in their arms and was thrown on my couch. One of the
goons arranged my feet on the cushions and placed my arms at my side.
Albans sat next to me. ―This time has come to test your abilities, Lacey. My tests have
shown your brain has healed and is sufficiently mature to handle the stress of healing someone
else.‖
―No.‖
―Yes. I can keep you in this state and in this room as long as I wish. Or, you c an go into
one of the quiet rooms in the basement.‖
I shuddered. I‘d been there once after an episode where I had punched one of the
orderlies and attempted to bribe a nurse to help me escape. It brought me a week in the dark, no
food, no light and only en ough room to lay curled up like a shrimp. The quiet didn‘t bother me as
much as the close confines and the dark.
Later that evening, just as the Thorazine wore off, Albans, two of his orderlies and a male
nurse entered my room pushing a wheelchair. Without speaking, the nurse dressed me in jeans, tshirt, winter jacket and boots, lifted me into the chair and tied my wrists and ankles. I was
strapped in, a lap robe put over my knees and left the room for the first time in two years.
I tried to ask questions but the moment my first words came out, Albans ordered the
nurse to gag me. Worse, they put a hood over my head that caused instant panic as
claustrophobia attacked me. I fought furiously, kicking, screaming through the gag and almost
managed to flip the wheelchair over backward. There were so many hands trying to hold me that
they got in each other‘s way. I heard Albans say in a high breathless gasp that he wanted to
sedate me but he‘d dropped the syringe and one of them had stepped on it.  
Inevitably, one of them succeeded in stabbing me with a needle and instantly, I became
limp under the mass of their bodies. In fact, I couldn‘t breathe until Albans screamed at them to
get off me before they suffocated me with compression strangulation.
I had already passed out from lack of oxygen and wasn‘t aware of anything until
someone lifted my ribcage off the ground forcing air into my lungs. That and another man had
O2 going into my nose. I could hear their hushed and frantic discussions around my body on the
floor so I hadn‘t been out for long.
Albans checked me over looking for broken ribs, anoxia of the brain and only when he
was satisfied that I hadn‘t been injured (beyond nearly suffocated to death) he ordered the nurse
to pick me up. Instead of being taken out of the hospital in a wheelchair, I was carted out on a
gurney into the back of an ambulance with two EMTs, a  nurse/guard, and Albans. The security
guards followed in a n  SUV  which I barely saw through the back door windows of the rescue
unit.
I could see o nly a small portion of the route; I felt the twists and turns more and once we
entered the highway, the thrumming of the steel - belted 17in radials and diesel engine made me
even sleepier than the shot. I drifted in and out of consciousness catching snatche s of
conversations over my head.
―Vitals?‖ asked Albans.
―Stable. Heart rate went over 200 but it‘s down to 66. Temp is normal, BP is 112/68. O2
levels are 98%,‖ the EMT said.
―I gave him 50mg IM of Thorazine 20 minutes ago,‖ the doctor said.
There was a b lank period. I jerked awake as the ambulance applied the brakes making my
cot slide forward. Mumbling a question, I waited for an answer but no one responded. Licking
my dry lips, I asked for water and someone held a bottle with a straw to my mouth. I drank
slowly letting the fluid swirl in my mouth before swallowing. Fell away again before I could
drink more than a few swallows.
Highway 319, six miles, Albans said. Puts us downtown, the Marriot Hotel. Someone will
be waiting for us. Senator---Red light.
Not going to the hospital?
There‟s a space to pull up out front. Unload here.
Cold air roused me as the back doors opened. A big bump as the gurney hit the end of the
truck bed and unlocked the wheels to drop to the ground. I looked up at the concrete rotunda of a
fancy hotel entrance where uniformed valets and bellman held open the doors.
We entered the lobby. Two other men dressed in nice suits, armed and with that vague
military air of retired Special Forces met us. Both wore ear mics and barely glanced at me as
they escorted our party into a special elevator which the two men allowed only me, the doctor
and nurse to enter. It went to the 15
th
floor.
More armed and wired men met us and I saw Albans and the nurse  were subjected to a
full body pat down. Then , it was my turn and I did nothing to stop them. The EMTs had not
come up with us. Albans and the nurse pushed the gurney down a nicely decorated hallway to a
pair of double doors which opened before we reached them.
Standing inside was a handsome older ma n with slicked back black hair, dark eyes and a
Latino complexion. Only, there was a grayish tint to his skin. He looked tired and lines of pain
bracketed his mouth. Another man stood up and approached, his hand out to Albans.
―Dr. Albans,‖ he greeted as he stared at me. 
―Dr. Taylor,‖ Albans said. ―Senator Lourdes.‖
―This is Lacey?‖ the Senator asked. ―Is he ill?‖
―No. Sedated,‖ Albans answered briefly. ―He wasn‘t cooperative.‖
―Will you be able to use him if he doesn‘t want to do it?‖ Taylor asked. ―I didn‘t give
Jaimie his morphine and he‘s hurting.‖
―It‘ll work,‖ Albans promised. ―Once you have the blood tests for proof, you can release
the funds and you‘ll be all set for your Presidential campaign.‖
Senator Lourdes said softly, ―I had my resignation speech all prepared for next week.
There are rumors about my health and speculation whether I was going to withdraw from the
race.‖
―Senator, after today, no one will ever guess you had Stage III liver cancer,‖ Albans
boasted.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Albans had  the nurse and one of the Secret Service agents prop me up on the couch. I was
as cooperative as a doll; a puppet being manipulated by its strings. He tied off my arm, drew up a
vein and popped an IV port into my elbow. First, he took a pint of blood from me which had the
effect of making me even more light- headed than I already was. He hooked me up to fluids
giving the Senator my pint of blood.
We were tied to each other like a bizarre set of conjoined twins, our tether the lines and
fluids going from me to  the other. ―There are markers in his blood, Dr. Taylor that will destroy
any carcinomas in Senator Lourdes‘ cells but the amazing thing is this.‖ He taped my hands to
the Senator‘s upper arms so that we were literally joined face to face, an uncomfortable  and
repulsive position for both of us.
Unwanted and uncalled for, the glow from my body brightened the room and bathed both
of us in its brilliance. I felt my consciousness slipping away and into another man‘s body.
Traveling at the speed of a neuron‘s flash, from   the brain to nerve cell, I was in his blood and
system before I could blink. A blink was a snail‘s pace, an eternity.
His cancer had metastasized and was invading everywhere except for his brain.
Curiously, I could not breach the blood/brain barr ier and I wondered idly if Albans knew that.
My blood entered his bloodstream and ate the cancer cells and tumors with a voracious appetite,
hunting them down to the last defective gene. We waited at the gate to his brain until my blood
cell warriors signa led the all- clear before the WBCs dissipated from his body. As the last one
died, so did my connection to him.
I looked out of my own eyes and shoved him away from me. The tape holding us together
had melted leaving only a residue of glue. He fell onto the carpeting and his agent hurried to help
him up, at the same time shoving me away.
I was already sinking back into the cushions, more exhausted than the drugs had made
me. Nausea assailed me and I vomited, just missing their shoes. Albans quick action pulled a
small trash can in front of me just in time to catch the puke.
Taylor checked Lourdes out while Albans ministered to me. Taking the sample vial of
blood from Lourdes, he then proceeded to give him a physical exam palpating the Senator‘s
abdomen.
―Any  pain?‖ he asked.
Lourdes shook his head. ―I feel funny.‖ His face twisted and he gasped. Albans stepped
in and helped the man over to a plush lounger, taking his vitals. 
―It‘s normal,‖ he said hastily as the agents became agitated. ―It‘s a shock to the system.
He‘ll sleep and when he wakes, he‘ll be fine.‖
―And the boy? How is he?‖ Taylor questioned.
―Don‘t worry about him, Dr. Taylor. He‘s my little golden goose and he‘ll be treated like
the treasure he is. It knocks him back, too but takes only a day or  so to recover.‖
―Jackson,‖ Taylor spoke to the agent still inside the room. ―Take this blood vial to the lab
on Clinton St. They‘re expecting it and know what tests I want to be done. Tell them again it‘s
STAT and to deliver the results to you.‖
―I‘m to wa it for it, Sir?‖ the agent asked.
―Yes. It‘s a rush job, shouldn‘t take more than a half hour. Till then, we wait for the
results.‖ I heard the door open and close but I had closed my eyes and opening them again
seemed to be one of Sisyphus‘ chores.
Albans had chosen to use me to make himself rich off the diseases of the wealthy and
powerful. ―How munch?‖ I asked quietly and both of them heard me.
―Munch?‖ Taylor looked puzzled.
―He‘s aphasic when he‘s tired. It takes a lot out of him to do this.‖
―How often can he do it? How does he do it? Produce that blue light? Is he…human?‖
Albans laughed. ―I‘m still not sure. His DNA is human; he has 23 pairs of chromosomes
but he has markers I‘ve never seen before. We know nothing about his family history; even his
n ame is an alias. We only know that he is of American Indian extraction and Anglo/Saxon
heritage from the British Isles.‖
―Red hair and blue eyes are  Indian?‖
―Red enough to be seen as black sometimes. His eyes--- we tested them. He can see at
night as well as an owl.‖
―Where did you find him?‖
Albans shook his finger in the other‘s face. ―That would be telling. But his exploits have
him saving the lives of several accident victims, one of which was clearly deceased with a
broken neck from eye- witness reports.‖
―He can raise the dead?‖ His voice sounded terrified.
―I‘m the second coming,‖ I said loudly enough so that both of them heard me. ―I won‘t
spare you in the Apocalypse.‖
Albans taped my mouth shut. ―That‘s enough out of you, goose.‖
I couldn't move, sp it in his face or even moan. I let my mind drift and where there was
once a rich internal landscape, now there was only a gray mist.
It was closer to an hour before the agent returned with a large manila envelope. Taylor
opened it and swiftly devoured the results. He gently shook the Senator‘s shoulder. ―Jaimie,
wake up.‖
Lourdes woke easily, his dark eyes sparkling and his skin had a healthy bronze glow as if
the sun had kissed him. ―Your blood tests have come back negative for the carcinoma markers,
Jaimie. No sign of any elevated PSATs but to be absolutely sure, I want X- Rays and ultrasounds
of your liver.‖
―Release the money, David,‖ he said. ―I feel great. Better than I did when I was 18.‖
―Are you sure, Jaimie?‖
―David, most mornings when I got up, I could barely stand, my guts hurt so much. Even
the pressure of my waistband hurt. Now--- ,‖ he pushed hard on his belly and then proceeded to
thump himself. He grinned, did a few deep knee bends and then an athletic flip over  backward
that jarred the floor.
The door flew open as his other agents hurried in because of the noise. Lourdes waved
them back. ―It‘s okay, guys. I was doing backflips.‖ And just to prove he could, he did a series of
them across the carpeting.
―I need to get my patient back to his hospital room,‖ Albans said. ―If you‘ll excuse us?‖
Lourdes helped lift me back into a wheelchair holding the IV bag over my head. I still
had my eyes closed so I didn‘t see the look from the Senator to his doctor but I could sense that
something was out of place.
I went down the elevator in the chair surrounded by their agents and Albans‘ guards.
Once they put me back on the gurney and locked me in place, I heard the doctor softly warn the
men to take a different route home as he did not trust the senator or his men.
As the diesel engine started, it covered the sound of the doctor‘s cell phone conversation
yet I knew he was checking to see if his money had been transferred to his offshore bank
account. I knew that he had started it years ago scamming money off M edicaid fraud but it was
small potatoes to the scheme he had running with me. I could almost see his brain working and
picking out his next customer. There was a huge pool of old rich people with health problems
who would pay dearly for what I could give them.
―You‘re scum,‖ I said and he sneered at me.
―Rich scum, something you‘ll never be.‖
―I was rich,‖ I said and stopped before I said too much. ―Where are we going?‖
―You‘ll find out when we get there.‖ He turned away from me and sat in the front with
the driver. It was not the same pair of EMTs that had brought me--- these were the hospital
security staff that had accompanied me to the hotel. I looked out the windows and saw that we
were heading north, not back west towards the hospital.
I tried to questi on one of them but no one would speak to me. Eventually, I let my
exhaustion carry me into a nap where my dreams frightened me. I woke up as two things
happened. The first was that a particularly ugly demon thing was eating me piece by piece and I
woke to scream   as his teeth bit into my groin just as the security guard called Brian Murray
dropped the gurney onto the sidewalk. It was warmer here but still had the chill of late winter.
Everyone wore heavy coats. We were  in   the driveway of an older nursing hom e set back in the
woods which surprised me. Anyone wealthy enough to pay Albans for  the  use of me couldn‘t be
living in such a dump. It was drab and rundown.
I was sweating and shaking in the aftermath of the dream; aware enough to feel the
weakening of the last dose of sedative. I pretended that I was still under its effects.
―Nightmare?‖ Murray asked and locked the legs so he could drop the head part. He
pushed me inside under the portico towards the automatic doors even though an aide stood there
and he ld them open. We entered a dark, dreary lobby with the receptionist‘s desk on the left. It
smelled like pee and disinfectant but the pee was winning.
A woman sat behind the circular desk, her hair pulled back off a face that had been
severely burned but made somewhat normal by plastic surgery. She had been beautiful once yet
she made no attempt to hide her scars or deny them. Her eyes were a sparkling hazel and they lit
up when she saw the doctor.
―Dr. A, how are you?‖ She stood up and came around the counter to hug him. Only then
did she look at me. ―This is your patient? We have a room ready for him on the first floor of the
Hoboken Unit, F Wing. 121.‖
―Thank you, Mary - Margaret. It‘s good to see you, too. You look wonderful.‖ He sounded
sincere and she smiled. Her muscles pulled her lips up and it  was a lovely smile.
―You‘re blind as usual, Dr. A but thanks anyway. You want me to show you the way? It‘s
a bit of a mess, been closed down for ten years.‖
―I remember, Mary - Margaret. Thanks.‖ Albans led the way down a wide corridor, the
walls covered with artwork done by the patients. Some were childish, others exemplary and
some the product of a deranged mind.
After a five- minute walk, he turned right down a series of other hallways. This part of the
home was nearly empty; the rooms needed painting and plastering, water stains marked the
ceiling and the linoleum cracked with missing sections. Plywood closed off some of the
doorways to abandoned rooms yet he pushed me deeper into the wing‘s heart turning into   the
corridor after corridor until we were lost.
The room he chose was once a large private one and it must have housed a severely
deranged individual. The walls were padded and there wasn‘t any furniture in it; just locking
stanchions on the floor and wall where handcuffs could be run through and bolted. Nothing
removable that a patient could tear off and use to assault staff or themselves. No windows, and
bars across the doorway with an intercom next to that. I was sure there were cameras in the room
but I dou bted that they still worked.
Albans shoved me into the center of the room and locked the wheels of the gurney. He
ran the belt restraints from me to the anchors  o n   the floor. I tried pulling and he‘d left me no give
at all. Ordering his men to follow, they  exited.
I shouted. ―Hey!  Are  y ou   going to leave me here alone? What if I get loose?‖
He turned at the door. ―Try. Murray and Jason will be just outside the door which I am
locking.‖ He slammed both bars and steel door. I heard the distinct clunk as the l ocks engaged
yet I heard nothing from the other side. The room was sound - proofed. No one could hear me
screaming nor could I thump hard enough on the gurney to make any noise that would travel. I
tried. After an hour of fruitless straining, twisting and ho llering, all I had to show for it were sore
wrists, throat and some pulled muscles.
I was sweaty, too but that wasn‘t a problem in the dry, dusty room. Although it wasn‘t
heated, my exertion kept me warm. I was ravenously hungry which made me more exhauste d
than before my tirade.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Waiting for me was hard. I‘d spent almost  two years of my life waiting for something and
to lose even an hour now drove me crazy.
The only clue I had that someone had returned was when the door opened. I raised  my
head off the flat pillow to see the doctor pushing a young man seated in a wheelchair. He had
that blank- faced frozen look of someone with a traumatic brain injury. From the scars on his
head and face the accident must have been horrific. His arms and l egs were drawn up in
contractures, he was perched in the chair more than sitting in it.
He wore hospital scrubs in a dark navy with booties on his feet. His forearms were bare
so that I could see his tattoos. He had been in Afghanistan with Special Forces .
―He‘s one of the SEALS, isn‘t he? Let me guess, someone‘s rich and famous son? Won‘t
that bring you unwarranted scrutiny, Dr. Albans? When he shows up on two feet and completely
recovered?‖
―I see your aphasia has disappeared. I knew it would. You‘ve hea led that part of your
brain. You‘re amazing, Lacey. I foresee a long and profitable relationship between the two of us.
Say hello to Michael Faraday, Master Sergeant. His father is CFO of Black River
Pharmaceuticals.‖
―Who supplies drugs overseas to third  world countries, I know. How did he get hurt?
IEDs?‖
―Suicide bomber on a motorbike.  Rode over the hill into the ravine where the men were
patrolling. Right into the middle of Faraday‘s squad and blew himself up. Six men and  women
died. He was one of the lucky ones.‖
He went on to recite the litany of the sergeant‘s injuries which included total destruction
of his spleen, most of his bowels, part of his liver and amputation of his genitals. I winced. He
would definitely have wanted to die along with his tea m rather than live like that.
―Bring him over here,‖ I said and Albans looked surprised at my cooperation. I ignored
him as I pulled at the restraints impatiently. The doctor released my arms and the security people
stepped closer, one closing the door. They held Tasers at the ready.
I took hold of his contracted arms, my palms cupping his elbows. Slowly, his head turned
towards my face but there wasn‘t anything behind his green eyes. Warmth spread from my hands
and bathed both of us yet I was careful not to let the glow touch either of Alban‘s men.
His brain was open to me; my blood did not need to circulate through him to heal these
injuries. I started with the organs first, a relatively simple task of forcing his own cells to
replicate and regrow new tiss ue. Every human has the ability stored in their lizard genes but not
the knowledge to turn them on. I repaired his genitals making sure that I did not turn on the gene
that would open his ability to do what I did or to make it inheritable. I kept him wholl y human,
homo sapiens, not homo super iors.
The last thing I tackled was his brain because that was the hardest. So much was blank
and dead, many memories lost and gone forever. He knew his name, rank and the faces of his
buddies. He knew they were dead. He knew he was gravely injured and wanted to die. He knew
his mother and his childhood address. The name of a bar in D.C. and a girlfriend named Ivy. He
remembered BUDS training but not that he had passed. A field of bluebonnets in the spring. A
cotton candy  cone of clouds out of  an aircraft‘s window. Wearing his dress blues to a funeral but
not whose funeral it was.
I knew him better than he knew himself as I slowly retreated reiterating that all would be
well, that he was well and not as he remembered.
I slumped onto the gurney in a faint so missed seeing him explode out of the chair and
nearly take out both men before they tasered him to the floor. He was handcuffed and watched as
Albans picked himself up, rubbing his chest and jaw where Faraday had punched  him.
Albans slapped me gently on the cheek, bringing me around. I blinked weary eyelids. I
couldn‘t see through him so I wasn‘t sure how the Sergeant was.
―Mickey?‖
―How do you feel?‖ His fingers were at my pulse. ―Jacobs, get my bag,‖ he ordered and
the  man left the room at a trot. He left the door open. ―Lacey, your heart rate is 32!‖
―I‘m tired.‖ I closed my eyes. ―Go away.‖ He slapped me again and I felt my heart skip a
beat. Pain radiated in my chest and spread down my arm. Sweat beaded instantly on me, soaking
my clothes.
Things got hazy after that. Albans stuck me with several needles but they didn‘t hurt. The
first one made my heart jump like a frog stuck  in  an electric socket. It raced and it hurt. My brain
calmly told me that I had gone into bradycardia and with a shot of adrenaline, I was now
experiencing tachycardia, the end result of which was heart failure and death. Although I wasn‘t
sure if I could die that way. I thought only   the complete destruction of my brain would ensure
death. And maybe  not even then.
―Goddammit!‖ Albans cursed. ―Don‘t you dare die on me!‖ He was about to stick this
enormous needle in my heart and I reached up with my left hand to hold his away from my chest.
―Stop.‖ He did. I sat up, lines and leads trailing. He had fou nd an old EKG machine and
had hooked me up to it. I slowed my heart beat to 66, my BP to 112/68 and raised my core temp
to 97°. Then, I looked over at a wide- eyed Mike Faraday who was now sitting in an old, dusty
folding chair. In handcuffs and sandwiched  between two of Albans‘ men.
―La--- ,‖ he started and finished. ― cey .‖ He had been about to speak my real name ‗Lakan‘
but had changed it with my subconscious warning. That connection would slowly fade but right
now, he could almost read my thoughts and  me,  his.
He knew I wanted to escape and his eyes promised he would try to help me. He moved
his arms and legs tentatively, gaped his mouth to ask the doctor who he was, where he was and
what were they doing to the both of us.
Albans answered him patiently, explaining that Faraday‘s father had arranged for a new
treatment for wounded veterans of which he, Mike Faraday was the first to be experimented on.
With spectacular results. He was now heading home after a short physical. Mike knew that
Albans was lying but he also knew that he had to go along with it as he was almost powerless.
No clothes, no money and two big dudes with Tasers beside him. He had no clue where he was
or what direction he could run.
Faraday looked at me. ―My team?‖ he asked with an audible  thickening in his throat. He
knew my answer but he wanted to hear it, like picking at the scab even when you knew it would
hurt.
―The bomber. All six and the Major, too,‖ I said. He closed his eyes, remembering the
flash as the bomber exploded and pieces o f human flesh, bone, and metal sheared through him
and his friends with the force of a hurricane‘s wind. And then, the flames as his flesh caught fire.
The smell of roasted pork and sizzling blood.
He was wheeled away and such was his sorrow that he didn‘t object as they removed
him. Immediately, Albans restrained me in the ties bolted to the floor and we waited for the
guards‘ return to repeat the process with me.
Parked in the drive next to my ride was a brand new, state- of - the- art ambulance manned
by paramedics and more security guards dressed in three- piece suits. There was also a stretch
limo with blacked out windows. I watched as the sergeant was helped into the car and the fancy
ambulance drove away empty. No one said anything, no comments on Mike‘s c hanged looks or
status. I wondered if they thought he was someone else but that changed when the back window
rolled smoothly down and a distinguished white- haired man leaned out. I recognized him,
Charles M. Faraday, CFO of Black River Pharmaceuticals. I couldn‘t believe Albans was stupid
enough to let them see me. He studied me with an appraising eye, speaking quietly to the doctor
but I could hear every word.
He promised Albans that a million dollars had been deposited to the Bahamian bank of
his choice as of five minutes ago, matching the good faith deposit earlier in the week.
Albans replied that Senator Lourdes had recommended his case and had asked him to
look into it as a favor to him.  
―Someone will call you later this week,‖ the senior Faraday retur ned. ―He has a son that
OD‘d and is brain damaged--- on life support. The doctors told him to pull the plug but he
refused. His son can‘t leave the facility. Can you do your treatments there?‖ His eyes swiveled to
me waiting on the gurney. ―Is he another one of your patients?‖
―Yes,‖ he lied smoothly. ―Automobile accident. He‘s recovering nicely but I have to get
him back before he misses his PT.‖
―Thank you again, Dr. Albans. You have no idea how much this means to me, to have my
son back whole and sane.‖
The window closed and the door opened as the CFO stepped out. He extended his hand
and they shook. Albans waited for him to return to the seat and drive off before they loaded me
like cargo into the ambulance‘s bay. We followed the drive out to the state hi ghway and back
towards Pine Valley. The drive took several hours and drove through two states. I dozed most of
the way, waking only when they stopped for bathroom breaks and twice to eat at rest stops.
Murray brought me MacDonalds and fed me Big Macs with  fries and a green shake. St Patrick‘s
day, he said. I ate until I polished off every bite and he went back for seconds, bringing out three
more full - sized meals. I ate those too. My caloric requirements after a healing must have been
astronomical. He told  me if he ate like that, he‘d weigh four hundred pounds.
―Help me,‖ I said softly so that only he could hear me.
He hesitated. ―Can‘t. He owns us.‖
―It isn‘t right, what he‘s doing to me. I‘m no better than his slave.‖ The rest of them
climbed in and he s hut up, roughly wiping the salt off my face and sitting back against the steel
wall of the unit. We rode in silence into the afternoon and night. The only break in the monotony
were the lights bouncing into the back of the rescue bay.
Chapter Thirty-Five
I was tied in a chair in the room I‘d come to learn was called the ―Special Treatment
Room‘. In the basement hidden away at the end of a long maintenance tunnel, it was an eightfoot square box with padded walls and a cement floor with a drain. The only hea t inside was
what leached in from the furnace and boiler room next door.
I didn‘t know why I was down here; I hadn‘t done anything wrong or refused any of
Albans‘ requests. I‘d been out of my room three more times performing miracles for him and
each time, I was laid low from the energy drain yet I bounced back within a day or so. He was
careful to keep the healings to one every two weeks, afraid that it would burn me out. By my
closest guess, he had made nearly twelve million dollars. How much money, how  rich did one
man need to be? I‘d also heard that Senator Lourdes had taken the four  more states he‘d needed
to win his party‘s nomination for the Presidential race. Rumors of his ill health were just that ---unfounded rumors.
I knew my continued health and well- being was of utmost importance to the doctor so I
couldn‘t understand why he had brought me down to this spare room. It was damp, dark and
depressing. The cement floor stained an ugly blotched gray paint, the walls padded with old
mattresses and the only illumination was a pull  light   ten feet above the center of the room on a
steel beamed ceiling joist. He had dosed me with a stiff shot of Thorazine so I sat like a
lobotomy patient as he locked the chair in place and handcuffed my wrists to the armres ts and
my ankles to the  frame,  not the leg rests. Those came off, resting on pins that allowed them to
swivel. 
The door slamming shut and locking echoed with the same ponderous note of doom as
the one in the Indiana Jones movie. Only I wasn‘t the intrepid  archeologist and I didn‘t own a
trusty bullwhip.
It seemed hours later that men returned. These men were none I‘d seen before, dressed in
chinos with heavy parkas covering their torsos. Armed and serious. They unlocked my chair and
one pulled out a handcuff key, removing the cuffs from my limbs but he replaced them with  zip
ties. As he brought out a black hood, fear made the drug‘s hold ease back a little. I groaned and
tried to speak but all I could manage to do was drool all over myself. He put the hood o ver my
face and I panicked. I couldn‘t believe that they were doing this to me  again.
A curious thing happened next. Sound disappeared except for the rapid pounding of my
heart. I no longer felt anyone‘s hands on me, nor smelled the acrid scent of our swea t. I rubbed
my face on my shoulder and was able to lift the hood over my eyes. What I saw made my fear
escalate. Everyone around me was frozen in place as if time stood still. I stared only for a second
and began furiously throwing myself against the back  of the chair. It didn‘t move at all, stuck in
the same special stasis as the men. I turned my attention to my wrists. Pulling against the ties
hurt but they stretched until they broke;  it was like pulling taffy. The plastic  made no sound as
they fractured.
I had no idea how long this strange cessation of time would remain so I hurriedly
unbelted my waist and tore the ties holding my ankles to the leg rests.
Standing took as much energy a wading through deep mud; I could see my blood
descending from my wrists as if the drops were floating rather than falling yet I moved faster
than the droplets. I was down the hallway and  out of the main entrance before the blood hit the
floor.
I didn‘t spare a glance back or study my surroundings. I headed for the tree line  I could
see along the long driveway instinctively cataloging   the various trees. Sweet gum, magnolia.
Dogwood, pine, Catawba and cedar. Somewhere south then. It wasn‘t until I heard red - eyed
vireos chirping that I realized that time had resumed its normal p ace.
Behind me, I heard strident alarms and shouting voices. I ran deeper into the woods,
tearing off my coat and reversing it so that its bright blue nylon was now a dark gray that would
blend better in the shadows.
I ran on a carpet of leaves that rustled and crackled as I scanned for the best route through
these woods heading for the deep heart of the forest where I could elude pursuit. I ran on
trembling legs that drugs and inactivity had made weak but as I looked at my back trail, I was
gratified to see that I was leaving no trace of my passage on the trail.
There were trails through here--- dirt bikes and horse hooves had torn up the ground and I
followed some for the first mile or so until they crossed a wider jeep trail marked by Forest
Service signs.  There, I left the trod- upon ways and worked my way uphill towards a ridge thickly
covered with hemlocks where the red clay was slippery and wet. Cattails trembled softly around
the edges of small bogs a nd late season berry bushes where  long thorns snagged  my clothes. I
was grateful for the jeans as they stopped most of the damage from briars but they tore at the
nylon of my jacket and my exposed face. I turned around to make sure I hadn‘t left any material
on their voracious points to give away my position.
The slope became almost a 60° incline and slowed my progress even further than my
exhaustion. In some places, I had to use my hands and knees to pull me up using tree trunks and
rocks. More and more rocks broke the ground until I was on an escarpment  too  sloping to be
called a cliff but it sure came close.  
Two hours later, I had reached the crest without skylining myself. From the top of the
ridge, I could see down into the valley where the institution lay in a small cove of woods near a
winding road that went southeast towards a highway. I saw flashing lights on vehicles parked in
the driveway but was too far away to make out the ant- sized figures. I assumed the doctor had
told the State Police and Rescue that a mental patient had escaped.
I looked beyon d the ridge and saw a vast expanse of forest laid out before me. In that
wilderness, I saw no roads, no houses and precious few patches of open land. I had no supplies,
no weapons, and no means to survive on my own outdoors. On the plus side, I was clothed ,
warmly dressed and highly motivated to stay free. I began walking with a sense of determination
and an eagerness that I hadn‘t felt in years, walking downhill aiming West towards the setting
sun. I knew that the searchers would stop when it became too da rk to track me unless they
brought dogs. That was the one thing I  feared,  I knew I could break my back trail with men but
dogs were harder to fool.
I reached down and grabbed a handful of red clay and  squeezed, it  went through my
fingers like very wet Play doh. Georgia clay. I was willing to bet that I was in Georgia.
Sliding down the steep slope on the other side of the ridge left more sign than I wanted
but it was too steep to walk down in places. Still, I disguised most of my passage by using the
available deer trails. I saw where they  had taken  advantage of the easiest route and followed in
their path. I passed spots where the big bucks had rubbed the velvet from their horns and other
places where  the black bear had scraped their claw marks 8- eight foot- high up on the tree trunks.
Coyotes followed me as I made it down into the hollows at the ridge‘s base but
backtracked when my feet stepped onto a well - traveled hidden road.
Cautiously, I followed it, emerging in a clearing of ten acres of young plants that  stood
only a foot or so high. At first, I thought it was corn planted in neat rows to attract the deer but
then, my eyes caught the glimmer of nets overhead. Camouflage nets.
Skirting the edges of the clearing, I saw booby- traps laid out. Knew then that t his was one
of those illegal marijuana patches hidden on state or federal land and was probably guarded by
big dogs and/or armed men.
When I heard the click of a trigger pulled back, I froze. I raised my hands slowly and
spoke. ―I‘m a fugitive! Don‘t shoo t!‖ I felt a barrel touch the back of my neck and did not move
as another pair of hands searched me.
―No ID but he‘s wearing a hospital bracelet  from Pine  Valley Mental Clinic,‖ a cracker
voice whispered. ―Ain‘t that down in Georgia somewhere?‖
―You escape from the loony bin?‖ Definite southern with its corn pone twang. My mind
raced trying to decide what to say. For  me,  it was an eternity, to them it was only a second that I
hesitated.
―Yes, but I‘m not crazy. My parents put me in because I have a drug  problem and won‘t
quit.‖
He guffawed. ―What kind?‖
I didn‘t look like a meth addict, my nose showed no sign of coke use but I did have a
collection of needle marks on both arms. ―Heroin.‖
―Well, fancy that. How old are you?‖
―Sixteen. What are you going to do to me?‖ I didn‘t have to put the quiver in my voice, it
was already there. ―I haven‘t seen your faces, I don‘t know where I am or where your plot is and
besides, no one would believe an escaped mental patient anyway.‖
―You know that nuthouse is 40 miles over the ridge from here? How did  you make it
that ?‖
―Desperation,‖ I answered honestly. ―I followed the deer trails.‖
―Who‘s lookin‘ for you?‖
―State Cops. Search and Rescue, the hospital staff.‖
―They‘ll follow your tracks and find our patch.‖ Now he sounded ominous.
―Bro, I looked. He didn‘t leave no tracks. Cain‘t even find where he came down the
road,‖ the second voice said. ―I ain‘t stiffen‘ no kid, especially if the state pigs want him. What
are we going to do with him?‖
―You always was too  squeamish,‖ the one holding the gun said and pulled the trigger.
Time stopped. Again. I threw myself sideways and down, saw the bullet leave the barrel
where my head had been seconds before. I saw the slender doughy- looking redneck with a
twenty - two Ruger in his  large well - calloused hand. He wore camouflage like his brother. And
like his brother, he was 5‘8‖ tall, sandy - haired  and blue- eyed, none too clean. Neither man would
have stood out in a crowd of country people but if there was ever a description of a shift y
character, it was this pair. I would have drowned them at birth.
From the looks of his camos, I probably wasn‘t the first one he‘d shot in the head. They
were blood- spattered and filthy. I watched the bullet slowly make its way along its trajectory and
realized that it would hit a steel shed on the tree line that was barely visible under the hemlocks.
One of those kit ones you put together with a hex lock and screwdriver.
Trig equations went through my head instantly and I calculated that the bullet would
ricochet off that and hit the second brother in the belly. I hesitated, the second man hadn‘t
wanted to hurt me. The other had been going to kill me and still might if I didn‘t leave before
time resumed.
I tried to move the bullet and found that almost as  hard as moving the wheelchair had
been. I could move  freely in the stasis but objects required massive energy to shift them. I did
succeed in moving its trajectory enough so that the twenty- two bullet went straight through the
shed and impacted a tree behind it.
I searched their camp and came up with enough gear to help me survive. A drop cloth,
cooking utensils, hunting knife,  fish   hooks and line, sleeping bag and a backpack in which to
stuff it.   it all in. I took some of their food – stuff I could carry  easily like the MREs. Even so, the
pack weighed close to 40 pounds by the time I was done. I sort of hesitated over the sleeping
bag. I was afraid it was crawling with lice after having seen the two‘s hygiene arrangements.
They had none.
As I took my first steps out of their camp under the hemlocks, I heard the sounds of the
forest come back. That and the  screaming. I ran. As quietly as I could through the brush, not
following any trails but taking an easterly direction away from them and back towards the
Institute. Within minutes, I had lost them and when  I continued at a jog until it was so dark that
even  I couldn‘t see. Night had finally claimed the woods and I needed to find a hiding spot.
In a small gully w h ere water collected and ran off below me into a stream, I made my
way down. I could hear the water trickling so I followed it as best I could. The footing was
terrible, rocks rolled under my feet and I was afraid that I would turn an ankle. Or worse, fall in
and soak my clothes. Of course, I could ra ise my metabolism so I didn‘t freeze to death but that
would make me stand out like a supernova on FLIR  helicopters. I was positive that they would
use choppers to track me. I wasn‘t sure how far Albans would go to recapture me; I was  more
afraid that his search would bring Chase‘s attention to the affair. 
Ash began drifting slowly and settled on my lashes and hair. I smiled. I had set fire to the
pot patch before I‘d left knowing that both men would try to rescue what they could rather than
chase me. When  the authorities checked, they‘d find the burned area, maybe the two if they were
stupid enough to stay there but nothing to indicate I had been there.
Now the ravine opened up to a small clearing on the edge of an escarpment. It was only a
drop of 20 feet  yet it offered a spectacular view and a place to camp. A small crescent moon had
risen, providing just enough light so that I could see. Endless miles of trees, giant pines and firs
spread far into the darkening distance. To my right, the sky was brighter  indicating the glow of
some big city. To the left, more darkness but I could see winking lights of amber and white with
occasional blue ones. It must have been a major highway for that many headlights. What I did
not see were any search or aircraft lights.
Once I spread out the drop sheet, I unrolled the sleeping bag. I couldn‘t stand the thought
of lying on it so I risked a ten - second  flare of intense hear that literally fried whatever was living
in the down and nylon folds. Then, I shook it out and was a mazed at the microscopic debris that
fell off.
Satisfied that I wouldn‘t become  infested, I crawled into the subzero bag and fell asleep
in minutes as it held the warmth of my body.  I didn‘t dream or I didn‘t remember any of them.
It was the sun climbing t hrough a gap in the mountains that woke me. Which meant that
my traveling had turned me from west to east. I poked my head up and watched the sunrise. Not
having seen one for two years, I was especially appreciative for the ever- changing display. I
whispered a prayer for Rachel and my  great- grandfather and then blessed the morning.
I turned my attention to my wrists where I‘d torn them breaking the zip ties. Both had
already scabbed over with nearly healed lesions beneath. Another few hours and they would b e
totally gone.
I was starving. Opening three packages of MREs, I bolted down the first two before the
growling in my belly quit. After the third, I was satisfied but thirst began to plague me. Digging
through the pack, I found the canteen I had taken from the drug growers. It was full but I wasn‘t
sure if it was water or booze. If it was booze, I was going to dump it out and refill it from the
stream I could hear nearby.
Pouring a little into my palm, I stared dumbstruck as my hand turned blue. A cautious  sip
and I  was  tasting blueberry Kool - Aid, the drug duos‘ drink of choice. It was sickeningly sweet
but my body took it in with happy abandon.
Doing your business in the woods took a lot of careful planning. You wanted it far
enough away from your camp that the smell didn‘t hit you but not so far that you might get lost
or hurt in the dark. You didn‘t want to leave any sign that you had been there and a big stinking
pile of human feces was a dead giveaway that humans were in the area.
I hadn‘t thought to bring a shovel but there were plenty of rocks available. Digging a
latrine was out of the question but I could scrape out a small ditch and covered it when I was
done. Some leaves kicked over the disturbed soil and no one would notice it before they ever
stum bled onto my campsite. If they ever found it.
The escarpment didn‘t offer an easy way down, not without ropes and climbing gear. I
did find a narrow trail along the cliff‘s edge made by deer that I could easily follow. Clever
creatures, they had descended  the ridgetop in a ravine that brought them concealment, water and
an easy escape route up to the places where they yarded for the night. Grass lay flattened in a
small series of open patches, too small to be called clearings. I found plenty of deer pellets
scattered about; I didn‘t linger. Kept going down the trail. 
It was midmorning when I stepped on a small berm above the highway hidden by
Cherokee Rose bushes and massive thickets of oak leaf hydrangeas. Live oaks were scattered
around, huge trees that formed enormous umbrellas of leaves. Some of these covered acres with
their low hanging branches and offered an easily accessible hiding place if I wanted to climb.
Not much of an escape route once up in the tree and I would have to share my perch with fire
ants. They weren‘t kind neighbors. Over the top of the mound of sand and dirt, I was looking at
I- 20 which went from the Georgia coast to Texas. Not where I wanted to go but then, I was
heading back towards the east coast, not Colorado.
Traffic was pretty  heavy, especially the 18 wheelers. I saw so many of them that it made
my mind ache. I was pretty tired from the forced activity I‘d done in the last few hours. After all,
I‘d been stuck in a room for a year while they   experimented on me. Once again, I wondered if I
was tagged like a piece of luggage or a lost pet.
An occasional State Police SUV or car whizzed by yet the one thing I didn‘t see were
choppers. They were conspicuously absent from the sky, I di d not even see a local news one.
Hitchhiking was definitely out. I knew that the minute I stepped onto the pavement, I
would be on every trucker‘s CB and the cops would pick me up. Same thing if I attempted to
walk on the shoulders; pedestrians weren‘t allowed on the interstates. No sense heading for the
ne xt exit; I had no money to get a bus ticket, train seat or rent a car. Not that anyone would rent
me one--- my age, lack of credit resources and no ID were all against that happening. I didn‘t
know how to steal one and although I knew the theory of hotwirin g the ignition, I wasn‘t sure if I
could.
I looked at  the next rest area and for once, my luck was with me. It was only a few miles
up the road and I could walk on the edge of the wood line where no one could spot me.
A brisk twenty minutes through the leading edge of the tree- line brought me to the off ramp leading into the next town of Poplar‘s Bluff. It was a village of some 35,000 people, small
enough to get around on foot but large enough to not be immediately noticed as a stranger.
Unless, you hitchhiked in. I timed my arrival with a school bus, mingling with the teenagers as
they disembarked, flying off the bus and down the street towards a Burger King. My stomach
chose that moment to decide it was hungry and had no qualms about letting the entire wo rld
know about it. I dug through the backpack and found a hidden slot cut in the lining. Inside that
was a wallet from the brother who had wanted to shoot me.
To my surprise, he had four IDs inside, along with credit cards in eight  names with
addresses in GA, TN, and NJ., and a wad of  fifty  and hundred dollar bills.  The only driver‘s
license that looked like the brother was the one with the name DWAYNE DAVID PEEBLES.
The others probably belonged to the people unfortunate enough to stumble on the pair. They
were most likely dead. I had been lucky not to be their next victim.
I shivered with excitement as I sidled up to the counter and ordered my first ever take out
meal on my own. A giant Whopper, large fries, salad and a large black coffee. Sat down at a
tab le near the back doors and ate in slow contentment as the dining room erupted with the noisy
and cheerful chatter of fifty teenagers.
I was aware of them studying me but their attention was diverted when a State Trooper
strode in and ordered at the counter. He turned around and stared at the kids, grinning as a dead
silence fell over the raucous group. I was with them, my hand  froze at my mouth with a dripping
burger running down my arm.
When he left carrying a bag and a coffee, talk resumed. A pretty girl with white blonde
hair and cornflower blue eyes stood up, dumped her tray and walked over to my table. 
Chapter Thirty-Six
She introduced herself. ―Hi. My name is Kelly. Kelly Macintosh. Like the apple.‖ She
had a soft accent that was sweet and slow, almost as if she had learned English as a second
language. There were some that suggested southern drawls were a second language.
―Andrew,‖ I said using one of the names I‘d seen in Peebles‘ wallet.
―Haven‘t seen you around here before.‖
―Naw. Just moved in last week. We‘re staying at the motel down the street,‖ I lied after
having seen the Clarion Suites.
―Looking for a place to rent? You and your…family?‖
―Just me and my dad. Yeah, he lost his job and we moved  away  where he could find
work.‖
―The chicken processing plant? My mom works there. Maybe she could get him in.‖
―No. He‘s into construction.‖ That‘s what I remembered from the stuff in DeCarlos‘ car.
―You gonna be in Poplar High School?‖ She looked down as her phone played  the old
country tune, Hillbilly Rock. ―Gotta go.‖ She wrote her phone number on my napkin and scooted
off to join the crowd of teenagers as they left en masse. All I could see was Rachel‘s face, her
dark eyes and black as midnight hair. I wanted to put my head down on the table and bawl, I
didn‘t want any girl to think I was fair game or interested in them when my heart was still reeling
over her death.
I picked up my garbage, dumped it unnecessarily hard into the can and went out the back
door to wander aimlessly down the street. Two avenues over was a strip mall and a Walmart.
The parking lot was well - lit with video cameras at the tops of poles. I watched them swivel as
they panned the lot but most were too high to record more than general impressions of a face.
The cameras inside the s tore were a different story but I saw and avoided them whenever I could.
Walmart had a good selection of pre- paid phones that didn‘t have to be registered. I
bought the cheapest smartphone, a 200 minutes‘ card and spent an hour in the bathroom charging
and re- wiring the cell  so that it did more than take photos, make calls or text.  In short, I made
another quipp  that I could use to do any number of illegal things.
I used the browser to look up DeCarlos‘ phone number which gave me access to his e mails, his home PC and his work‘s. He was not just in construction, he owned the company. One
of the tenth largest in the South called Cherokee Engineering and Construction.
I typed, Leon, your girlfriend misses you. Can we meet? I need money for a new dye job,
a funeral suit and flowers for an empty casket. Omikiya yo.
Sent it to his work PC and waited. I didn‘t know if he was in his office, on a job site, on
his phone or even back to work after the accident. I couldn‘t wait in the men‘s room much
longer, I‘d already   had two irate men pounding on my stall door and demanding I get out. I
gathered up my gear, slung the backpack over my shoulder and wandered through the  men's
section picking  out a change of clothes.
I bought new jeans, underwear, socks, sneakers, two fla nnel shirts, t- shirts, long
underwear and a rain jacket. Then, I had to purchase another backpack to carry it all as the
sleeping bag took up most of the room in the other pack. I wanted to get a new sleeping bag but I
was afraid to spend more money as the clerk was already eyeballing the roll of bills in my wallet.
After that, I wandered down the street to a coffee shop called Java Joe‘s that had free WiFi and computer stations. I sat near one with a large mocha latte which cost a cheap two bucks
and surf ed the web, checking out the NSA, CIA, and HS sites. Googled Albans and found out
that President Hamilton was no longer in office and his ex- wife was not the Director of the CIA
anymore. Instead, it was Allan Chase and Dr. Cameron was listed as one of the  scientists on his
staff.
There was no mention of Rachel Little Bear‘s death and nothing on Yahoo about the
Casinos or its CEO. I did find several articles on the accident, scores of news blogs on Senator
Lourdes and only a bare mention about Michael Farada y returning home to his family estates in
Vermont.
My phone vibrated and I touched the screen to open an e- mail from
horseofadifferentcolor@gmail.com.
Who is this? How did you get my e-mail address?
I texted back Meet me at the place where sorrow begins. E wang oh ma nee yo. Your
kisses suck.
Doha,  he texted me. I grinned. For the first time in a long time, I felt a lift of optimism.
Long shadows followed me as I scuffed my feet through the litter and debris in the street
gutters. This small town had sidewalks and the businesses that comprised the downtown area
were mostly chain places like Rite- aid, dollar stores, and Piggly - Wiggly. Most of the mom and
pop places were gone and what remained were Insurance agencies, a few knick - knack places,
thrift shops an d a hardware shop. Liquor and quite a few bars were next to the empty store fronts.
I didn‘t see a police station but that didn‘t mean there wasn‘t one. There were a few
people walking around and the usual crowd hanging around outside the bars smoking in  the chill
air. A few looked like they could be Dwayne Peebles cousins. One of them wore mechanics‘
coveralls. I suspected I seemed a likely target  for  them with my two backpacks and rough
appearance. I looked like I had spent the night under a bush. A perfect mugging victim or bait for
chicken hawks.
Time to find a place to hole up until I could get a ride to my meet with Leon. I went
inside the Rite- aid, bought myself a cold Pepsi and used the smartphone  to find the bus station,
its schedule and pay for a  ticket to the town of Hartford, Tn. It wasn‘t far, just about an hour‘s
drive upstate, over the border into Tennessee. I then set the phone into GPS mode so that it
worked just like a Garmin in a car, although once I had seen the route, I had memorized it  and
didn‘t need the map. Walking through the coming dusk staring at a phone screamed ‗tourist and
victim.‘
I walked past the bar again on my way back to the bus depot. Three of the smokers got up
off the bench, threw out their cigarettes and started to follow me.
―Hey, kid,‖ one called. He was over six feet, greasy gray long hair in a ponytail with an
acne- scarred face. Worn jeans none too clean, Carhart  jacket and boots held together with duct
tape. ―You got any money on you?‖
―No.‖ I kept walking.
―You a runaway? Hey, stop!‖ He started to come after me. I ran, both packs thumping
against my back and knee slowing me down. After a few yards, he stopped, bent over and
gasped, his wind gone between the smoking and booze. He cursed me and I threw him the finger
until I heard the loud chortle of an unmuffled car behind me. An old  rust bucket Firebird  in  a
two- tone orange and gray primer stopped to pick him up and come after me. I ran. Skidded
around a corner and nearly fell on the hood of a Mini - Cooper in white a nd blue racing stripes.
The door opened on the rear driver‘s side and that girl Kelly yelled to get in. I didn‘t waste time,
I bailed in head first and she was stomping the gas pedal before my legs had cleared the door. 
I landed on another kid‘s lap, a lan ky boy with spiked brown hair, brown eyes and rings
in his lips. He pushed me off his lap and shoved me into the empty seat behind the passenger
side.
―Bit of trouble, Andy?‖ she asked accelerating down a  straightaway  with old warehouses
interspersed with apartment buildings. I caught a few street signs, enough to let me know where I
was. We weren‘t heading towards the bus station but out of town towards Route 8 where I
wanted to go. I turned to watch the back view and didn‘t see any muscle car headlights
f ollowing.
―Relax, those drunks won‘t follow us for long,‖ the boy shrugged. ―They can barely
remember the way home.‖
―Yeah? How do you know?‖ I snapped.
―Cuz one‘s my dad.‖
I drew up the image of the group on the bench, compared the facial structure of all  and
picked out the one closest to the boy‘s features. The blocky man in coveralls with  Thom’s
Garage.
―Thom‘s Garage?‖
―That‘s my hero,‖ he sneered. ―Thomas Healey, mechanic, stock car driver, and weekend
alcoholic.‖
―It isn‘t the weekend,‖ I said stupidly.
―His weekend starts on Monday morning and doesn‘t end until the following Sunday
evening. His buddies drink 24/7. Actually, I‘m sure old Bernie doesn‘t have a license anymore.
Those plates on the Firebird  must be stolen.‖
Just then, I spotted the car an d they must have seen us, too because the roar of his muffler
doubled as the car leaped forward. He was going to catch us in seconds.
―Oh shit,‖ Kelly said and twisted the wheel to the right, running a red light and nearly
clipping a park bench as she barreled down an alley clearly not designed for an automobile. I saw
the street sign. Culver Avenue.
―Turn right on the next road. Pearson St.,‖ I said and she did as it came up quickly. ―Left
on Ames. Right on Anderson, right on Jackson, right on Stillway,‖ I said, the map of the town in
my head. She obeyed without question and it brought us to a car lot‘s front gate that was
unlocked and hanging open. The boy jumped out and opened the chain- link, Kelly drove in and
he latched it behind us. She parked in the second inner row of cars where a passing vehicle could
not spot her Mini - Coop. the engine ticked as it cooled, the springs settled as he returned to the
back seat.
―Andy, this is Rake. Rake, Andy,‖ she said.
―Rake? What kind of name is Rake?‖
―Nickname,‖ h e answered briefly.
―You know your way around pretty well for a dude that just got into town,‖ Kelly
observed. ―How‘d you know where this place was?‖
I showed them my phone with a map of the route I had just downloaded. ―How did you
find me? Were you looking for me?‖ I asked her. ―Why? Why did you come back and help me?‖
―You‘re a runaway, aren‘t you?‖ she asked instead.
―No. More of an escapee.‖
―Juvie?‖  He sounded sympathetic.
―Sort of. Mental institution.‖ I waited to see if that made them nervous but ne ither
blinked an eye. ―Look, I need a ride to the bus station. Can you drop me off there?‖ 
―You just got here, Andy. What‘s your hurry to leave our beautiful little town?‖
Before I could blink, Rake stabbed me in the side with a Taser. The electrical storm that
seized my muscles also disrupted the nerve impulses in my brain causing a massive  seizure,
unlike anything I had ever felt before.
I came awake slowly, my body sore and aching, my brain sluggish and unable to come to
grips with what had happened. I remembered a car chasing me and then…a lightning storm. I
was tied up, that I recognized. I thought I was back in the special room with Albans but this
place smelled different. Almost like a…garage. I groaned and struggled to lift my head. As I
opened my ey es, I was stunned to see that I was in a garage and chained to one of those lift
things, hanging halfway from the ceiling.
An old Chevy Impala was on blocks in the next bay. On its hood stood the boy named
Rake and next to him on the  oil - stained cement floor was Kelly.
―Why?‖ I asked, painfully, memories flooding back into my head. I remembered him
tasering me.
―You‘re on the Net,‖ she shrugged. ―Big reward for info on your whereabouts, a million
bucks if you‘re caught unharmed.‖
I was silent. ―The office o f Homeland Security and the NSA are after you. What did you
do? You some kind of terrorist?‖
―NO! I‘m no terrorist! Please, you have to let me go,‖ I begged.
She held up my cell phone and my wad of cash, the IDs, and Peebles‘ wallet. ―You kill
all these people to get their stuff?‖
―No! I stole it off a drug dealer in the woods. Please, let me go,‖ I repeated.
―Can‘t. They‘re on the way to get you,‖ she returned.
―You think they‘ll pay you? They‘ll snatch me, stiff you or worse --- you‘ll just
disappear,‖ I sa id. ―They‘ll kill you to get me back.‖
She snorted in derision. ―We‘ve got you hidden where no one will ever find you.‖
―His dad‘s garage?  The first  place they‘ll look for me. Your house, his house and your
parents‘ places of business. Your friends and your hang - outs. These people are covert spies,‖ I
said with scorn. ―You think you‘re smart enough to fool spies?‖
She spat, turned and walked out slamming the lever that raised me another eight feet into
the air so that my nose was only a foot from the insula ted ceiling. From the looks of the roof,
Thom the Mechanic had raised a few cars too high before. They turned off the lights and I
watched the moonlight filter through small cracks in the ceiling.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
―Hah! Gotcha!‖ Harry Hamblin shouted a nd the other programmers seated in carrels
shook their heads, rolled their eyes and declared that ‗Harry Houdini‘ had done it again. This
time,  however, was different. He actually left his cubicle with his tablet in hand, ran to the bomb proof glass doors and slammed them open before they could do so automatically. This urgent
breach of protocol had Harry‘s workmates following his escape with raised eyebrows as he
reached the Assistant Director‘s office. He burst in without waiting for the enter command.
Calloway looked up in astonishment as his chief programmer broke in without a word of
apology or warning. He was on the phone with the Secretary of Defense, chatting about the lack
of credible info coming through on certain phone taps.
―Call you later, Tim,‖   he said and frowned at Hamblin. ―Let me guess, you finally found
Elvis?‖
―No. Better. Remember that incident in western Colorado three years ago that Director
Hamilton was involved in?‖
―Yes, so?‖
―It just came on - line. Someone accessed that IP address. I  traced it to Northern Georgia,
near the Tennessee border.‖
The assistant director‘s eyes brightened. ―Go, Harry, do your Houdini stuff and get me an
address.‖ He dialed the Director‘s cell phone.
―Uhh,‖ the programmer stuttered, his face turning an ugly s hade of embarrassment. ―I
lost the trace.‖
Calloway stared, his mouth hanging open. The world‘s self- proclaimed best hacker of all
time had just admitted failure?
―Whoever this dude is, he‘s written one beautiful piece of software,‖ he enthused. ―His
trace disappeared as soon as my worm tickled its tail.‖
―What‘s that mean?‖
―I‘ve never seen a program like this--- it‘s part cell phone, part PC, tracker and hacking
device. All in a cell phone package. You catch this dude, I want to meet him and pick his
brain s.‖ He stopped, thought for a moment and then smiled. ―This is the same dude that designed
those Spybot‘s that came out of Dir. Hamilton‘s lab? Cuz they smell just like the genius who did
them and that portable Wi - Fi unit the size of a matchbox.‖
―You‘ll h ave first crack at him, Harry. Right after Chase and the President,‖ Calloway
promised. ―But first, you have to find him.‖ He shooed  the Intel  officer out and left a Priority
One message on Allan Chase‘s cell phone. He rang back within five minutes.
―What‘s up? Terrorist attack? Bomb threats? Another school shooting?‖ Chase
demanded.
―That signal you‘ve been looking for just popped up in Georgia/Tennessee. Hamblin
caught it and got a partial trace.‖
―I‘ll be there in ten minutes,‖ the hard voice returned. ―Scramble three teams from both
Domestic and Foreign. I want the area blanketed with every available agent we have on the east
coast. Within the next two hours.‖
―Yes, sir.‖ Neither said goodbye but went straight into high priority mode.
Aiken sat in the Ops Briefing room checking out his gear. All he had heard was that
something big was going down in the Georgia/Tennessee area and that every available agent was
being called in. Raylan sat next to him and looked through his own warbag. ―Hey,‖ he said. ―I‘m
on your team. Hear anything about the target?‖
―Not yet. It‘s a Red- One hit but not a terrorist attack. We‘re looking for someone,‖ Aiken
said.
―Any ideas who?‖ Raylan queried just as the room filled up with the operatives that were
in the area. It was a su rprisingly large group, over fifteen men and women. The duty officer was
a man called Ben Jolson. He was short, built like a Navy SEAL with dark hair and eyes. Already
going bald, he had been in Desert Storm I.
―Listen up, folks,‖ he said in a normal tone that caused the general hum to die down so
that they could hear him. ―We‘re here because one of our pampered programmers has caught a
trace we have been looking for these last few years.  The subject  is a 16- year- old boy named
Lakan Strongbow, he uses the a liases,  Blake Hamilton and Lakan Hamilton. He is a computer
genius and can access the Net in ways a black hat hacker would kill to possess. We‘re to locate
and apprehend. This comes from the director‘s own lips--- anyone harms a hair on this kid‘s
head, we ll, don‘t plan on seeing your retirement. We have pictures and packets for you before
you leave the building.‖
One of the other agents passed around the folders. Aiken opened  his to stare at the face of
the boy he had tracked years earlier. Lakan was older, a wariness in his eyes that hadn‘t been
there before in a face that would stop any teenage girl in her tracks.
His partner murmured, ―good looking boy. Never seen red hair that dark before. Says
he‘s half Amerindian. Got the nose, cheekbones and skin to ne. He looks familiar, too.‖
―His mother was Rachel Strong, an FBI agent,‖ Aiken added.
―That‘s right. I met her once on a detail, had the hots for her. She was one fine redhead ---she was seeing Mike Hamilton, wasn‘t she?‖ His mouth gaped open. ―This is Mike‘s kid?‖
―Does it matter? We‘re here to track him down and bring him in.‖
―That‘ll be a piece of cake,‖ Rogers snorted. He was from the NY office and was more
used to dealing with drug scum.
Aiken said, ―Don‘t underestimate this kid. I tracked him for a week in the Colorado
mountains. He almost got away from us. We were a team of six when we started. Only three of
us came out.‖
―How‘d you catch him?‖ Raylan asked.
―Circled around and drove him into Chase‘s arms.‖
―The Director was in on the chase, out in the field?‖ Rogers asked in surprise.
―Surprised me, too. He can ride, hunt and track pretty good for a civilian,‖ Aiken
admitted. He picked up his overnight bag with two changes of clothing. ―We issued a bureau
car?‖
―Naw.  A pickup  truck with a camper top. They‘re less conspicuous in the country. Talk
about Deliverance, those crackerjacks down there will skin you alive in a heartbeat. I‘ve been
closer to death there with moonshiners, backwoods weed farmers than any gangbangers in the
city,‖ Raylan returned. ―You ready?‖
Aiken led the way outside to the Bureau‘s parking lot but it was his partner, Raylan that
got into the driver‘s seat of the Dodge Ram 2500. It was a cherry red,  a crew- cab  monster of a
truck, a drug seizure with chrome wheels and 4x4, powe r everything and must have set the dealer
back a cool fifty K. Aiken didn‘t say anything but pulled out his cellphone as the agent drove off.
He dialed a number he hadn‘t used in two years.
―Hey, doc,‖ he greeted. ―You heard?‖
Dr. Cameron‘s voice came thro ugh the speaker and the encryption made a hum in the
background. ―Aiken,‖ he said flatly. ―Some geek in Computer Analysis picked up a data stream
from the boy in southern Georgia/Tennessee.‖
―What are the odds that it‘s not him?‖
―With the kind of  technolo gy , this program required? One in a million. There‘s hi - tech
stuff coming out of China but it‘s nowhere close to his code. I have some other reports I want
you to look into.‖
―Sorry, no can do. I‘m on a job for Dir. Chase,‖ Aiken returned. ―I just called t o see if
you had any pointers where he might be holed up or heading to?‖
―Michael Faraday Senior‘s son came home from an institution for  severe brain damaged
veterans, Aiken,‖ he interrupted and a photo came up on Aiken‘s cell. It showed a severely
injured  man with obvious traumatic brain injuries, contractures of his arms and legs. There was
no way the man could stand, let alone walk. ―He walked out of the hospital and into his father‘s
limo, Aiken. They did it late at night so no one would notice but a photographer from the Boston
Herald was there on another story and caught the pic.‖ It showed the handsome,  solemn - faced
son of the billionaire minus any scars, contractures or wheelchair, striding forward on two sound
legs. He was dressed in jeans and a hea vy leather jacket reminiscent of the old bomber coats with
sheepskin linings.
―There was a solid rumor going through Washington that Senator Lourdes was about to
resign his campaign bid for President and step down from his Seat. Terminal cancer. One of his
aides had already typed up his resignation speech and e- mailed it his editorial staff at Campaign
Headquarters. It was pulled six hours later. Six hours! I‘ve examined the Senator‘s appearances
and they showed a man high on heavy- duty painkillers but stil l in pain. Not now, he‘s in the peak
of health. I accessed the lab where his blood test was done and the first labs clearly showed the
markers for terminal liver cancer. The latest one done shows nothing.‖ Aiken was silent.
―There‘s more. I‘ve found over seven cases like this in the last six months, all centered around a
day‘s drive from a central point in southern Georgia. There are twelve towns in that area, it‘s
called the Pine River Valley. I would check there first. Look for private clinics, nursing ho mes
and mental hospitals.‖
―You looking for a common denominator?‖ Aiken returned.
Cameron snorted. ―I‘m a researcher, it‘s what I do. It started with an accident involving a
garbage truck and five passenger cars. Several eyewitness reports said the injuries were horrific,
amputations and dead kids yet when I pulled up their medical reports, all I found were bruises
and scrapes. They treated one child for shock and a cerebral hematoma but she died. The
doctor‘s name in the ED is Arvin Costanza. Right here in Washington, D.C., Aiken. He was
here! I‘m sending you the files on it.‖
―Okay, doc.‖ Aiken‘s heart accelerated. ―Have you told Dir. Chase all this?‖
―He‘s flying down as we speak and we‘re running through the hospital  database and
Costanza's phone records, home PC, and work files. Any cross references we find, I‘ll e- mail
you.‖
―Okay.‖ He turned to Raylan. ―Change of plans. We‘re heading for Pine Valley, GA.‖
Raylan shrugged and slid the truck over two lanes for the Interstate ramp joining the other
vehicles in the search team.
He merged onto the Beltway and because the traffic was so bad, it took them nearly two
hours before they were humming along at 80mph on I- 95S. It was a nine- hour drive, nearly six
hundred miles to their destination, heading for the area around Savannah. Aiken let Raylan drive;
he came from a long line of men that had outrun everything that life had thrown at them. Cars
and racing were a part of his makeup.
―You want to switch halfway there?‖ he asked the driver and wasn‘t surprised  at his
answer.
―Naw. I‘m good.‖
They drove straight through, reaching the area around 3.30 p.m. The first thing they did
was establish a base of operations which was a safe house in the neighborhood near the
warehouse district; a place where multiple vehic les coming and going would not arouse
suspicion.
Chase had arrived earlier, coming in on the agency‘s private Lear jet and was based in
Savannah, a half hour‘s ride away. He had already assigned people to track down the information
provided by Cameron on t he ED doctor and had come up with several names in common with all
the incidents. He had a list of nursing homes, clinics and mental hospitals still in business. When
Aiken mentioned Pine Valley, Chase told him that a Dr. Albans tied the hospital in Washington
with a Psyche Hospital and nursing home with the town of Macon Springs in Pine Valley. Just
inside the circle that they were investigating.
The two teams of Aiken and Andrews met with Chase before they would spread out to
track the target.
―You want u s to show his picture around?‖ Andrews asked the director. ―If so, what
cover story do you want us to use?‖
―Witness in a drug shooting,‖ Chase said. ―But only if you attract attention from local
law enforcement. Remember, this kid likes to hightail it for  the woods. And he‘s trail savvy,
years older and smarter. He makes it into the Smoky Mountains, he‘s history.‖
It wasn‘t until they were on the way to one of the doctor‘s hospitals that the call came
from HQ. A girl had phoned in a tip stating that she ha d information on a teenage boy wanted by
the authorities and wanted to claim the reward. She had called from a  payphone  in a town called
Poplar Bluff. They turned around and were headed that way in less than a minute. The GPS told
them that it was only twe nty - five minutes from their safe- house.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
With my nose pressed nearly up against the ceiling, I had a bird‘s eye view of the garage.
Quite a few items on the floor would be definite aids in my escape  if I could just get on the
ground. Ra ising my body temp wasn‘t an option I could use --- if I could even get it high enough
to melt the chains on me, I‘d probably burn my hands and feet clean off. I didn‘t have X - ray
vision or whatever it was that allowed Superman to melt metal.
I could reach u p and touch the insulation so I pulled down what I could rip off. Plastic
and fiberglass fell in chunks to the floor exposing the sheet metal roof,  screws, and electrical
wiring. Now that, I could use.
Carefully, I pulled a piece towards me tearing it loose from underneath the insulation
until I could trace its path to the fuse box prominently displayed on the wall near the garage
doors. I wrapped it around my foot and gave it one swift jerk that the amount of play in my
chains allowed me. It ripped loose  f rom the fuse box with sparks  flying.
The lights flickered, fizzled and died. The garage doors started to raise and then fa ll shut
but best of all, the lift slowly started to come down as the hydraulics failed. Nobody came out to
see why the power went out so wherever this garage was, it wasn‘t well used or even open. From
the looks of the inside, it had been empty for years.
My chains loosened as the lift hit the ground with a thud. I had enough play to reach over
and drag the nearest tool box towards me a nd  up end  it. Scrabbling through the jumbled mess of
rusted metal, I pulled out a set of bolt cutters that had seen better days. It wasn‘t easy holding
them one- handed and closing them but I managed to cut the links between my feet. Once they
were free, I  heated the links close to the handcuffs threaded through the other chains; just enough
to soften the metal.
My wrists burned but healed quickly once I sat up, the handcuffs dangling from both
hands. I looked at the cement floor and saw that the hydraulic fluid had leaked out causing the
lift to come down; not from my damage to the fuse box.
I found a stiff wire and piece of metal in a tray  on the counter where baby food jars filled
with nuts, bolts and old spark plugs lay in disorder. That was enough for me  to pick the lock
open and in minutes, I was free of all restraint. Peeking out the garage door windows, I saw a dirt
yard littered with abandoned cars,  weeds, and sparse grass. An old trailer with barrels strewn
about rested like a drunk under an old oak  tree.  Garbage was piled everywhere. It was obvious
that the neighborhood had used this place as an illegal dump and I had my pick of old clothes.
and I had my pick of old clothes. I took a ratty sweatshirt and a stocking cap of blue with white
stripes on t he rim.
It was late afternoon by the shadows coming off the wrecks. I couldn‘t see any power
lines or poles nor could I see down the dirt lane. I did see an old land line hanging on the wall
and that I could do something with.
Twenty minutes later, I had  re- wired the phone and dialed Leon‘s cell phone. I didn‘t get
an answer but then, I suspected he was already on his way to the rendezvous. I couldn‘t encrypt
the message or disguise my voice but the circumstances justified the risks. Or I hoped it did.
I h ad no idea who the girl Kelly had called to arrange for my pickup and reward but I
could guarantee it wasn‘t the FBI or John Walsh‘s CMEC. No, it had CIA and NSA all over it.
I pulled the door open and took a quick peek outside. No one was in sight and the re
weren‘t any fresh tracks in the dirt around any of the doors. I didn‘t hear any traffic, lawnmowers
or any of the busy sounds of suburbia. I did smell fall leaves, wood  smoke, and animals. Cows
and horses, mostly.
Skulking the brush, I weaved my way towards the smells to come up against a
ramshackle fence behind the garage. In a five - acre pasture, two horses stared back at me. Both
were geldings, both unremarkable bays with the look of Walking horses. I whistled softly and
curious, they sidled closer eve ntually coming to my outstretched hand. I had vague memories of
calling a giant humped beast to me and climbing on its back.
This horse  let   me do that, too steering off my heels and seat taking me to the gate. His
pasture pal followed but I led the one horse though the hanging gate, not the other. He tossed his
head, whinnied and ran the fence line until I told him to chill out.
The pasture led up to a small barn with a doublewide a few hundred yards beyond that. A
gravel road wound around the barn and to t he road. From the amount of hoof prints on it,
someone rode down it frequently. The bay horse waited for me to hop back on and willingly took
me down the road. This one was hard pan and oiled like many country roads; fairly empty of
other homes with no close neighbors.
I was right, the horse was a Walker and he boogied right along. I wasn‘t sure if the house
belonged to the  garage  if that was where the girl, Kelly or Rake lived. I sure didn‘t want to take
the chance of finding out. I especially didn‘t want  to meet up with Thom the mechanic or any of
his barfly friends.
The road came to a four- way intersection and the horse turned to the left towards a
wooded area. I let him go, confident what he was aiming for trails in the forest where his rider
took him frequently.
We entered a State Forest fire lane with a 4x8 hand painted sign  in the name of the tract,
South Hill, the acreage 5888 and pictures of the local flora and fauna. White - tailed deer, raccoon,
red and gray fox, speckled geckos, lady‘s  slippers, and  ginseng.
The moment I stepped foot on the trail, an invisible weight lifted off me. I felt at home
and comfortable, more than I had ever felt at Hamilton‘s or the hospital. We walked for a couple
of hours on well - defined trails finally emerging on a grave l road that went south and east. I
followed that for a while coming to farmhouses that might have been there since before the Civil
War. Made of mellow rose colored brick, they fit into the bucolic scene with eye- pleasing
results. Many had pastures stocked with nice looking Herefords and Black Angus with an
occasional regal TB behind  four board rail fences. 
There were trucks parked in the driveways and as I passed by, I saw curtains pulled back
but that was the extent of the interest paid to me. We continued down the road and it eventually
became a series of small two- lane highways with signs denoting the distance to the next town. A
town called Pershing Corners was next up and my mind instantly brought up a map of the state
and the towns nearest my location. I had traveled only about 15 miles from the town where Kelly
and Rake had captured me. I needed to be at least another forty miles before I could meet up with
Leon.
The horse continued clip- clopping on the road.  Here, the streets were paved and I looked
for a barn off the road, set back from it or from   the casual  view of the road. Once I found one, I
dismounted and led him by his forelock inside to one of the empty stalls. I gave him a small
scoop of sweet feed and a couple flakes of orchard grass hay. Thanked him and searched the
barn. I found an old Schmidt coat, barn boots and a collection of baseball caps. I took the one
labeled BLUE SEAL FEEDS and mashed it down over my hair. Hanging on the wall next to
western saddles and bridles was an old 3- speed  m ountain bike with flat tires but the bike pump
hung neatly beside it.
No one paid any attention to me as I pedaled lazily down the side of the highway towards
the State Park dedicated to the Cherokee Nation where the survivors of the Trail of Tears had
ended.
The air was crisp as the sun finally went down and darkness fell. There was a full moon
so I could clearly see where I was going but I was nervous that the cars passing me wouldn‘t. I
tried to stay far enough off the shoulder that I wasn‘t spotted by  passing traffic or risk a hit- andrun. I knew that there were sick people out there who thought it was fun to run down bikers or
pedestrians. There weren‘t any reflective lights on my wheels to protect me, either.
I could do forty miles in two hours if I di dn‘t stop and if I didn‘t faint from hunger. My
body told me that I hadn‘t eaten in over 24 hours--- not since I‘d had a Whopper at Burger King. I
was starving, hadn‘t found anything in the barn except horse feed. Not even carrots or apples for
the horses. Nothing in the pockets of the jacket except a few oats and some pellets. I did find
some change and a few ones so if I came across a convenience store, I could buy something.
The ride under the full moon, bright stars and clear sky was quiet, I had time to  think. At
least until the flashing lights and sirens broke the quiet of my reverie. I pulled up in a flurry of
gravel and pushed the bike almost into the ditch watching as a whole slew of emergency vehicles
passed me heading back in the direction from whi ch I had fled. City cops, Staties, and unmarked
cars that the Feds favored. My throat tightened and I was instantly dry- mouthed.
Someone in Washington had  finally put together my escape and Kelly‘s call.  Even
though I had been expecting it, I was still frightened by the speed of their response, planning  to
be a lot further away by then. I waited in the dark, my breath pluming in the cold air until every
speeding vehicle passed me before I got back on the saddle and pedaled furiously towards Leon
and freedom .
Another half hour went by and the moon  was high overhead, almost as bright as the lights
in the parking lot of the Circle K. I could see the gas pumps and only one clerk standing behind
the counter idly wiping the top clean. Every so often, he would sip  at a Big Gulp of piss- yellow
something. Probably Mountain Dew.
I was so hungry that I was seriously tempted to walk in for a handful of hot dogs and
chips. With a 32 oz. drink for $1.79. My empty belly overcame my sense of caution and I hid the
bike behind  the bushes, avoiding the cameras. I removed my coat replacing it with a sweatshirt
and stocking cap I had taken from the garage. 
The front door had a bell on it and my appearance startled the clerk. He was only a few
years older than me--- maybe 18 with ginger hair, a scraggly goatee and reminded me of
someone. I realized he looked like the dude from the Scooby cartoon, Shaggy.
―Where the ef --- did you come from?‖ he yelped.
―Car,‖ I headed for the rotisserie and helped myself to two hot dogs with everything, a
large Pepsi with ice in a Big Gulp cup and a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. Handed him four ones
and he rang it up as the special.
―Help yourself to the dogs,‖ he said. ―They‘re like 8 hours old, I was gonna throw them
out.‖
They were wrinkled and dried o ut, like an old guy‘s peter. Suddenly, I wasn‘t so hungry
but I took them anyway. For later. The Doritos tasted like ambrosia, the salt satisfied some
dietary requirement I was lacking as my teeth crunched away happily on them.
His name tag spelled out ‗Coosie‘. ―What‘s Coosie?‖ I asked, crumbs spilling down my
sweatshirt but no one would notice with all the other stains.
―Nickname. Where‘s your car? I don‘t see anything in the lot.‖
―Parked out by the air pumps. Low tire. My dad‘s waiting. Gotta go. Thanks   for the extra
dogs.‖ He gave me a plastic bag to carry the franks and I scurried  out of the door before he got
any more curious. I could feel his eyes on my back all the way. Once in the lot, I circled around
so neither he nor the cameras could spot me re turning to the bike and pedal off.
Feeling lubricated and full, I carefully stowed my garbage in the bag he‘d given me for
the frankfurters.
It was midnight before my weary legs pedaled onto the Federal  lands  were  given  over to
the Cherokee Nation. The building housing the Park‘s Museum and Ranger Station was closed
with a sign stating the hours it was open at 6a.m. until 5p.m. for camping permits. Primitive sites
were $12 a night and electric, $25 per site. Hot showers and stalls were available at the
Equ estrian section, private cabins $45 a night and required reservations from Apr.15
th
to
Nov.15
th
. The rest of the year it was on a first come - first served basis. Overnight patrons were
advised to find an empty spot and fees were due by   the next morning.
It was eerie riding the bike down to the campsites. I had no idea where Leon might be; if
he had even stayed to wait for me. There were very few people still in the park, it was before
camping season officially opened and pretty much too cold to do much ridin g even for southern
Georgia. I didn‘t find either out of state licensed cars or rentals so I finally rode back to the
station and picked the lock. Once inside, I opened the back door by the trash bins, wheeled my
bike inside and went to sleep on the big leather couch in the Ranger‘s office. It was heated, had a
water cooler, coffee pot and snacks tucked away in his desk drawer. I had found an emergency
pack with a space blanket and once under that, fell asleep almost instantly, warm and toasty and
unafraid.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
I must have been exhausted. I didn‘t open my eyes until I heard a light switch come on
and a sharp voice cursed as they stumbled over something and hit the floor.
―What the hell?‖ a voice shouted. ―How the hell did a bike get in here ?‖
Other voices joined his and I leaped off the couch, rubbing at my eyes and wondering
which way to run as the Ranger was helped to his feet.
―Loren, your office--- .‖ 
I looked around for an escape route but there weren‘t any--- no windows so I did the only
thing I could think of. I hid under the desk forgetting my coat, bag of franks and my garbage.
From my hidden bolt hole, I could see a shorter man in Park Ranger green uniform with a
heavy   winter jacket and those Smokey the Bear hats. He scanned the room with his pistol held
firmly out in front of him. His hands were large, capable and heavily calloused.
―Come out, we know you‘re in here,‖ he ordered and I remained under the desk. ―There‘s
no way out. Come on out, I won‘t hurt you. I can see all you wanted  was a warm place to sleep,
not to steal anything. Come on. Let me help you.‖
The kindness in his voice made me choke back a sob but my mind said don‘t trust
anyone. Still, I really had no choice so I slowly pushed the desk back and poked my head above
the desktop.
I saw an older man with blue eyes and steel gray hair cut short, in a Ranger‘s uniform. He
saw me and lowered his gun, replacing it in his holster. Behind him were two other Park police,
one a young woman. She looked Indian. Dark haired, eyes and   red skin tone.
“Oma key you!” I said to her, holding my hands up.
―Well, son. Is that your bike I tripped over?‖ he asked me. His patch spelled out J.R.
Krumm.
―Yes, sir. I‘m sorry. I was just looking for a warm place to crash. I‘ll just get my bike and
be on my way.‖ I stood up and attempted to head for the door but all three of them barricaded it.
―You can stay for breakfast, surely. Can we call your parents for you?‖
―Don‘t have any. I‘m meeting someone later today,‖ I offered.
―What‘s your name?‖
―Andrew. Peebles.‖ I stepped back before any of them could touch me, trying to spot a
hole I could wedge myself through and escape. All three of them blocked the doorway and
someone else pushed my bike out of sight.
―Please, just let me go,‖ I begged  to stare a t the clock. Behind them, I heard someone call
out.
―Hello? Anybody here? I need some information.‖ I recognized the voice and yelled
back.
―Leon!‖
―Lacey?‖
Ranger JR raised an eyebrow. ―Lacey? Thought your name was Andrew?‖
Leon pushed his way past the three of them, grabbed me by the shoulders and hugged me.
―Lacey! I thought I‘d lost you!‖ He turned to the startled Rangers. ―He ran away a year ago --- just
called me yesterday saying that he wanted to come home. Did he do some damage here? I‘ll pay
for it.‖
―He broke in but there‘s no damage to the locks or the doors and he didn‘t steal anything,
Mister--- ?‖ Krumm stated.
―Leon DeCarlos. I‘m Lacey‘s uncle, his mother‘s brother. I promised to take care of him
when she passed,‖ Leon said. He spoke to me in Sio uan asking me what they knew and I replied
nothing but I wasn‘t sure if the woman spoke it or Abenaki.
―She‘s Mohican, not Cherokee,‖ he returned. ―So you‘re safe. We need to get out of here,
the Federal agencies have roadblocks  going up for a hundred mile s north of here.‖
―Pine Valley?‖
―Yes.‖
―They found Albans, then.‖ I turned to the Rangers and pushed them mentally. Not
something I liked to do and not that it always worked but my suggestions were enough to
relinquish control of me over to an obvious aut hority figure of a relative. Leon paid him a
hundred bucks for any damage I might have done, picked up my bike, personal belongings and
marched me over to a fairly new SUV. He threw my stuff in the back and told me to lie down on
the middle seat as he sat o n   the driver‘s side.
Before they had time to protest, he had stomped the gas and headed down the main road
through the Park. He didn‘t stop until we had exited the Parks‘ boundaries and were on a state
highway that went up a saddleback into the Appalachia ns. The road hummed under his tires until
we changed from paved roads to gravel, gravel to dirt and roads to jeep trails. Only then, did he
allow me to sit up where I could watch the scenery.
Trees. More trees and then for a change, more trees after that.  Old trees that must have
been second growth and uncut. Some of them were as big around as the car. It smelled
wonderful, pine and cedar, the scent of old rocks, pine needles and moss, the living breathing
odors of the forest. It was the scent of the mounta in‘s wild places and almost home.
―Where are we going, Leon?‖ I asked noting for the first time that the cargo bed of his
SUV was piled with camping and hunting gear.
―My friend‘s hunting cabin,‖ he answered briefly, switching on his headlights. It felt li ke
dusk in this forest even though my stomach said it was too late for breakfast and too early for
lunch.
―Blue cooler has sandwiches. Not allergic to anything, right?‖
―Nope.‖ I dug through the aforementioned cooler, pulled out PBJ and ham and cheese,
eating one of each. I handed him a pair and he told me he was still full from breakfast. I shrugged
and ate them myself.
―So, tell me what happened?‖ he prompted. So, I did. When I was finished, he didn‘t
know what to say and the rest of the trip we spent in  silence until I told him I needed to go to the
bathroom. He stopped in the middle of the trail and opened his door, preparing to get out. I told
him to wait.
―Why?‖
―Because there is a black bear standing not ten feet away and she looks pissed.‖
He looked but couldn‘t see anything until he slammed the door shut. That‘s when she
charged, hitting the SUV hard enough to make the vehicle rock and nearly tip over. He hit the
gas but let off when I said he couldn‘t outrun her on this trail, not without tearing of f the oil pan.
―She probably has some cubs nearby,‖ I said. We watched as she slapped at the driver‘s
side door, leaving gouges from her claws and dents from blows powerful enough to knock off a
man‘s head. ―Go home, mamma bear and play with your babies,‖  I said. She reared up on her
hind legs showing me the white spot on her chest. Glared at me to make sure I was respectfully
in awe and lumbered off, disappearing into the trees without a whisper of trembling leaves. My
breath puffed out and brought a sigh of relief from Leon.
―What did you say to it?‖ he asked shakily.
―She. I said to go home with her babies. You don‘t speak Siouan?‖
―Abenaki. French, Spanish ,  and English. You still getting out to piss?‖
―Sure. It‘s safe. She wouldn‘t have hurt me, anyway,‖ I shrugged as I hopped out.
Shadows of the lowering afternoon sun barely made it through the dense foliage but you could
tell it was getting darker as the sun went down. I wouldn‘t have wanted to drive here in the dark,
not with a newer vehicle even if it  were  the 4- wheel  drive. 
I stood at the edge of the road and whizzed for what seemed like a long time. The relief
was enormous and the sound of my zipper the loudest noise in the forest. I looked up but the
canopy was too thick to catch a glimpse of the stars or the sky.
He had shut the SUV off while I‘d peed and gotten out to inspect the damage with a
flashlight. ―Holy cow,‖ he said softly. ―I‘d hate to see what she could do if she was pissed.‖
―She was pissed.‖ I got back  into  the front and leaned over th e dashboard noticing the
On- Star buttons. My heart sank. ―Leon, do you use this?‖ I pointed to it.
―Nope. Never signed up for the service. Why?‖ His eyes widened. ―I ditched the cell
phone, picked up a burner. You think they can track me by the car?‖
―Got  Lo- jack?‖ I asked grimly. He nodded. I went to the hood, opened it and with my
bare hands pulled the wires out that fueled any tracking electronics of his car. If the NSA had
found Albans, they would find Leon. If they hadn‘t already. ―Is Leon DeCarlos you r real name?‖
I asked working on the ignition sequence. Without the On- star and Lo- jack working, the
computer wouldn‘t turn the engine over. I tweaked the carburetor too so it would get 60 mpg.
Had quite a loss of power, though. Not that SUVs were known fo r their speed.
―Start it up,‖ I said and he did. The engine sounded rough so I fiddled some more, raising
the rpm 's  until it smoothed out.
―Where did you learn auto  mechanics?‖ he asked.
―I didn‘t.‖ I sat in the front seat as he shifted into granny gear. H e drove about 5miles an
hour for the next 45 minutes.
We reached the cabin at one in the morning. He woke me by pushing my head off his
shoulder and opening his door. Cold air rushed in and I shivered as I got out. Looking around, I
saw that we were on a s mall hilly outcrop. Tucked at the bottom of a hollow lay a small cabin
built of native stone with a rusted tin roof. There were bars  on  the windows and doors with tin
sheets nailed at the bottom of the cabin walls. An outhouse stood some twenty feet away.
Hemlock and pines provided shade and a backdrop. I imagined the view in the daytime must
have been very pretty, especially in the winter with snow coating everything. There was a faint
shimmer below us, the barest hint of moonlight on a small body of water. A lake.
―There‘s a spring behind the cabin. We pipe it in for running water,‖ he said. ―Help me
bring in the supplies.‖
I opened the back of the car and grabbed an armful carrying it behind him as he opened
the solid oak door behind steel bars built like a prison gate. I knew it was to keep bears out, not
burglars.
It was dark inside but I could see. I placed the gear on a surprisingly soft leather couch
and while he started gas lamps, went back for more stuff. By the time he had the cabin lit, a fire
made in the stone fireplace, the car was empty. I saw the interior and was impressed. The walls
were honey pine tongue and groove, the floor wide planks polished to a soft shine and made
from old growth trees. Some of them were over 14in. wide with no knots, a quality not seen in
the  marketplace  for a hundred years.
There was a window on each wall with bright cheerful curtains of green gingham, throw
rugs of braided fabric and handmade pine furniture. The fireplace was  native rock with a wide
slab of cedar for a mantelpiece. The mellow light came from kerosene lamps hanging on wrought
iron swinging arms.
The sink was a dry  well   with a working spigot. When I pumped the lever, pure crystal
spring water gushed forth. I cupped my hand into it and drank from my pa lm. Pure ambrosia. 
His stove was an old fashioned wood run model with an oven and provided both heat and
cooking.
Two bedrooms came off the back end of the cabin and looked odd. Until I realized that
they were built into the outcrop and part of the rock itself. They each had two twin beds, a
dresser, and clothes closet. The floor was a floating platform of oak planks covered with  plaited
oval rugs made from material scraps.
―Let me guess, there are tunnels through the closets?‖ I asked grinning.
He nodded.  ―It was an old moonshiners and smugglers‘ hole. Runs down to the flats and
comes out on the river. You can take a canoe down to town in a pinch. Fastest way back to
civilization. You hungry?‖
I shook my head. ―Tired.‖ I eyed the twin bed and he waved his  hand. Without any
fanfare, I dove and landed belly first on the soft fuzzy wolf designed blanket. I think he pulled
off my shoes and covered me with the other comforter but that was the last thing I remembered
until I heard the birds next morning.
Chapter Forty
The smell of fresh roasted coffee and pancakes was the real reason I woke up. I had
flopped over on my back, dragging the cover with me. For a moment, I couldn‘t figure out where
I was until I heard Leon‘s voice.
―You gonna get up or lay there like a dead fish?‖
I grunted and rolled out of bed, heading for the outhouse. I snatched a cup of black coffee
and a pancake before I let the door slam on my backside. The sun was just coming up over the
outcrop of rock and bathed everything in a scarlet coat of  fire that turned golden. I stopped to
admire it, hardly noticing that I was barefoot or that the ground was cold.
When I was done admiring the view, I used the facilities and hurried back to the food.
Leon had set me a plate of chipped blue metal and piled it with pancakes. Blueberry, bacon and
walnuts. He even had real maple syrup and butter.
―There‘s a cold cellar back in the mountain,‖ he said watching me eat. ―There‘s hard
cider stored there but I wouldn‘t recommend you getting into that. It‘ll knock you on your ass.
The rest is stuff I don‘t   want to spoil. The food that will spoil, we‘ll eat up right away. One of
my buddies is a survivalist, he has enough food stored in here for a year.‖
―Whaffheffinktheworlffgonnand?‖ I said around a huge mouthful.
― What? Don‘t talk with your mouth full.‖
―He thinks the world‘s gonna end? That if it does, he‘ll actually make it up here?‖
―Yeah. Crazy. Would you wanna survive if your whole family was killed, civilization and
the world ended in an apocalypse?‖ he asked.  His face blanched as he realized that was what had
nearly happened to me. ―Sorry.‖
―Where did they bury Rachel?‖ I asked instead.
―They found her body in her car at the airport.  The a utopsy  said she died of a cerebral
aneurysm. Fake, of course. Even her uncle hasn‘t made waves but quietly arranged for a
Christian funeral.‖
―I want to pay my respects,‖ I said quietly expecting a big fight but he only nodded.
―How will we get there?‖ he asked. I was grateful for the ‗we‘.
―I need some money to get a suit.‖
―Why? You can just pop into a store and lift one,‖ he pointed out.
―Shoplift?‖ I raised an eyebrow. ―You condoning theft and breaking the law?‖ 
It was his turn to shrug. ―What are you going to do, Lacey? How long do you plan on
hiding out here?‖
―What was the big plan before I was kidnapped from your custody?‖
―Smuggle you north into Canada and disappear onto the reservation up there. We still
could, if we can get past the road blocks.‖
―Roadblocks aren‘t a problem anymore,‖ I argued.  I explained how I could freeze time
and use it to get past trouble and had an idea how I could use it to travel the spirit realm and go
where he suggested.
―What is this? Some kind of magic?‖
I gave him one of those looks.   ―No, quantum physics.‖
―Hey, I‘m in construction. I don‘t know nothing about physics.‖
―Anyway,  I‘ve never been to a real department store.‖
―Never? Your parents didn‘t take you shopping?‖
―I have memories of my grandmother but I‘m pretty sure most of them are implanted and
not real,‖ I mused. ―By the way, my real name is Lakan. My friends call me Lake.‖
He shook my hand. ―Nice to meet you, Lake. Do you think this thing would work with
me?‖
―Dunno. Why don‘t we try it? Where did you have in mind?‖
I grabbed him around the waist and  froze time, at the same mom ent that I stepped into the
yellow realm. Taking giant strides, I followed the images in Leon‘s mind to the place he was
thinking about without dwelling on the idea that the soul stealers could be just outside the bubble
we were traveling inside. My ears popped and I staggered forward onto concrete floors in a small
restroom stall. I heard a toilet flush and called out for Leon. He came out of the stall next to me
looking stoned.
―Man, do I have a headache,‖ he complained as I ran over to the sink and washed my
hands.
―Where are we?‖
―If we‘re w h ere I think we are; the Brooks‘  Brothers store at the Galleria in Chesapeake
Mall.‖ He popped his head out the door. ―Yup.‖
―You can‘t use your credit cards,‖ I said.
―I thought you were just going to--- .‖
―Oh. Yeah. Let‘s go. You know anything about suits for a funeral?‖
―Yeah, but there‘s usually a very nice gentleman who‘ll help you out,‖ he snickered and
flopped his wrist. I stared at him suspiciously. He dragged me into the men‘s shop and the
salesman was a fashionista who picked out a dark blue suit with a pale cream shirt, narrow blue
tie, dress shoes,  and socks with an overcoat suitable for a funeral. It was no effort to alter the
electronic cash register and charge it to someone else‘s credit. I made him th ink we had paid
cash. The total came to just over six hundred and thirty dollars. He thanked us and I gathered the
bags, walking out to the main concourse on the second level.
―Now  what?‖  Leon  asked  and  I  dragged  him  back  to  the  area  of  the  restrooms.  It
wouldn‘t do to let anyone watch us disappear. Back at the cabin, I hung my new clothes in the
closet and took a nap. All the running around had made me tired.
*****
―The boy was riding in the SUV with a Leon DeCarlos,‖ Morrell said reading the hospital
records.  ―He‘s  the  owner  of  Cherokee  Engineering  and  Construction,  one  of  the  largest
contracting companies on the east coast. His office said he‘s on vacation--- he goes fishing and
hunting somewhere in the Appalachians.‖
Chase said,  ―Get  me  his  license plates,  make and  model of all  his  vehicles and does  it
have lo- jack?‖
―His  main  vehicle  is  a  Cadillac  Escalade  with  everything,‖  Morrell  returned.  ―We‘re
tracing   it  now.  Albans  is  in  our  custody:  the  team  is  bringing  him  to  the  safe    house  for
questioning.‖
―Let‘s go visit the good doctor,‖ Chase grinned but there was no humor in his smile.
The  safe  house  was  already  crammed  with  most  of  Chase‘s  teams  and  they  had  been
busy. On the conference table were piled surveillance reports and files on both the doctor and  the
two teens who had called in the tip. There was another pile on Cherokee Construction and Leon
DeCarlos, including his friends and associates.
In a small room in the basement of the main warehouse, two men stood at the door while
Albans sat in a metal folding chair zip- tied to its frame. He looked dazed and frightened; he had
not come up out of the Taser‘s effects used to subdue him. He kept saying something about the
‗Senator‘. In another room at the opposite end of the basement warehouse, a young  girl  and her
boyfriend  were  lying on the cement  floor.  They were tied and  unconscious, being  watched by
Cameron and two of that team.
Chase  walked  into  the  room  with  the  doctor  and  slapped  the  man  in  the  face  until
coherence came back  into  his eyes.  ―Dr.  Albans. I‘m  Allan Chase and  you  have something I
want.‖
―Allan Chase--- the Director of the NSA?‖ he sputtered. ―What do you want with me? Did
the Senator send you?‖ His eyes looked  wary.
―Senator who?‖
―Lourdes. I know some important people.‖
―Ah,‖ Chase drawled. ―I‘m beginning to see a pattern here. Where is Lakan Strongbow?‖
―Who?‖ Albans asked frowning. He shook his head and Chase saw that he did not know.
―You  might know  him as Lacey Hamilton.  The boy  you claimed died  in  your  hospital
from a subdural hematoma.‖
―You  mean  the  girl?  She  did  die  and  was  cremated.  I  paid  for  the  services  myself,‖
Albans protested.
―You mean the child dressed as a girl. The people might believe that, Dr. Albans but you
and I know better. What did you do with the trackers implanted  in him?‖
―I don‘t know what you‘re talking about,‖ he retorted and Chase stepped back. He turned
to his agents.  ―Bring Cameron  in, Morrell.  Tell  him I  need everything  he can  wring  from the
good Dr. Albans.‖
―Yes, sir,‖ the agent left quietly.
―You‘re  going   to torture  it out of  me?‖  Albans sneered.  ―What about  my constitutional
rights?‖
―Oh, we don‘t use torture,‖ Chase laughed. ―Dr. Cameron has lots of synthetic drugs he‘s
developed in the last five years, one of which will make you tell me everything you hold most
secret and dear. Things you even keep from yourself. Unfortunately, it does fry your brain.‖
The door opened and the tall, handsome man in jeans and suit jacket entered carrying a
medical bag. He had the coldest blue eyes Albans had ever seen. Be hind him, another agent
pushed into the room a wheeled table and a light. Efficiently and quietly, the doctor set up a
sterile tray and drapes for his instruments. Needles, vials and IV ports. 
Albans gasped as he recognized him. ―You‘re that geneticist that was kicked out of
hospitals for experimenting on humans!‖
Cameron looked up. ―You‘re about to reap the benefits of that research, Dr. Albans.‖
Deftly, he wiped off the man‘s wrist with alcohol and inserted a butterfly into the vein, injecting
20cc of a pale blue liquid. Immediately, Albans felt a heat race up his arm and center in his chest.
From there, it pinged in his joints and his head had an instant ice cream headache.
―So, Dr. Albans, tell me about Lacey,‖ Cameron prompted and for the next hour, he  did.
When he finally stopped, blood pooled from his eyes, ears, and nose. He screamed a thin bleat
that dwindled as if he had forgotten why he was crying. Liquid brain matter dripped from his
ears. After that, it was only a matter of minutes before his vital functions ceased as the master
computer that ran the body was no longer functioning.
―You have what you need, Chase?‖ Cameron asked.
―Yes. Except for the present location of Lakan.‖
―He didn‘t know?‖
Morrell interrupted. ―This DeCarlos has a hunting cab in near Bloodroot Mt. We can
chopper in almost to it.‖
The door popped open and one of the techs stuck his head in tentatively as if he were
afraid of what he might see. ―Director? Cameras have picked up a feed in a mall in Chesapeake.
It looks like DeCarlos and he was with a teenage boy matching the subject‘s description.‖
―Chesapeake? How the fuck did he get there?‖ Chase snapped.
―He bought a suit for a funeral,‖ the tech added helpfully.
Chase‘s eyes narrowed. ―Little Bear. He‘s going back to her grave. When was the
funeral?‖
―Six months ago. She‘s buried in Red Rock, near  Otseno‘s ranch,‖ Cameron added.
Aiken came in, stared at the crowd, the dead doctor and added that they had found the
garage where the two teens had stashed the boy. They had also found his backpack with stolen
IDs, cash , and camping gear. One of the IDs processed belonged to a Dwayne Peebles who had
been forensically tied to a burning marijuana patch and meth lab near Albans‘ mental clinic.
―So he escaped and ran through the woods coming  up on  the dealers,‖ Chase mused.
―Where is he now? When was he sighted in this mall?‖
―11:30 am today,‖ Aiken answered.
―It‘s not possible,‖ Cameron muttered. ―Unless he‘s…slipping. Slipping through time
and space. Chase, we have to get this kid back be fore he falls into somebody else‘s hands and
before he can be hurt. He‘s too valuable to be loose.‖ Cameron‘s eyes were frantic. ―What if he‘s
killed in a car accident? Or drive- by shooting? We‘ll lose something worth billions!‖
―How? How do we track him down without his implants?‖ Chase demanded.
―He‘s going back to visit Rachel Little Bear‘s grave,‖ Aiken cut in.
―We need to set a trap for him there,‖ Cameron agreed. ―And then, we need to find
DeCarlos‘ cabin.‖ Chase nodded and the team set about doing bo th.
Chapter Forty-One
Since I‘d never been to the gravesite where Rachel had been laid to rest, I couldn‘t time
slip  to it. But I had been to Redline Pete Otseno‘s ranch house. In particular, his huge porch
overlooking his pastures. When Leon finally unscrewed his eyes, he  gawped. The sight of the
magnificent towering snow- covered Rockies could only be truly experienced when you were
standing under them. No photo prepared you for their brooding intensity. It was like  having a
suspended tsunami waiting  over  your shoulder.
The meadows below the porch were just coming off the snow cover. Patches of barely
green were the grass poking their delicate stems through the frost. The first flowers were still a
month away and overhead, a falcon cried an eerie whistle t hat echoed off the slopes. I heard the
chittering of ground squirrels and the bark of the first marmots.
The house was empty of occupants. No one was in residence yet the caretaker‘s place
was lit up and busy. They took care of the stock and horses but tha t house was far enough away
from the ranch headquarters that they wouldn‘t see us standing on the huge second - story porch.
To the east,  we caught the dim glow that signaled the lights of town. I led Leon down to
the first floor and the door out to the gara ge. Parked on spotless concrete in a four- bay garage
were two Dodge Ram trucks, an Escalade and a Range Rover. The keys were in the ignitions and
each vehicle had a mounted  garage door opener. Both trucks were fire- engine red with all the
bells, whistles a nd chrome a gearhead could wish for. He got into the pick - up and I slid in next to
him.
―Not exactly low- key, are they?‖ Leon asked. ―What is it with Injuns and red cars?‖ He
grinned.
―I don‘t know. I‘ve never been into cars, never even driven one.‖
―Didn‘ t you have a childhood, Lake?‖
―My childhood was…different, I think. I don‘t remember it. They took away my
memories of it,‖ I said bleakly.
―What are we going to do about them?‖ he asked soberly.
―I‘m going to kill them all,‖ I snarled as he stared at me.  I opened the garage doors and
he drove out onto a black- topped driveway that was ten miles long before we hit the highway.
Redline‘s truck had GPS and Leon used it to navigate the forty miles to the town of Red
Rock. We passed herds of Black Angus and co lored horses--- paints and Appaloosas. I
remembered the colorful paint   that Redline had ridden. One of the pastured horses looked like
him. We rode in silence as I contemplated those memories, especially the ones of Rachel and me
together.
―Who is Rachel?‖  he asked and I jumped, startled and wondering if he had read my mind.
―Redline Pete Otseno‘s niece. She helped me escape from Dr. Cameron,‖ I said slowly,
dwelling on Rachel‘s long, clean limbs, her expressive black eyes and delicate scent. Her
exquisite  grace as she walked barefoot on the sand, gathering weeds and flipping her raven‘s
wing locks across my naked shoulders as we lay like spoons. ―My love,‖ I whispered.
―Lakan, I‘m sorry,‖ he said and began a chant that I knew from its cadence. I joined him
and we sang the Death Chant for Rachel; he in Abenaki and  me, in Siouan.
We found the cemetery; it was a non- denominational one. We passed graves with angel
and others with the Star of David, and many with native American motifs but we had no idea
what section she was buried in. Nor could we stop and ask because I was almost certain this
place was one where I would have set a trap for me. To ask for her grave plot would bring them
down on   me.
―How will we find her grave, Lakan?‖ he asked and I had no answer. The best I could
come up with was to drive around and look for recent excavations.
The cemetery was on a gentle slope among aspen and poplar trees with one main road
that circled twice in a spiral with a center park and parking. A small building rested t here and
from its design, it was a depository for cremains. Better yet, it had a directory listing the
occupants back to the 1850s.
Rachel‘s name wasn‘t the last one listed, five other people had passed since she. Her final
resting place was in the far cor ner, lot 356, next to her parents and grandparents. We found it
without too much trouble and someone had been there before us. Fresh flowers stood in front of
her stone in a crystal vase. Columbines,  lilies,  and roses with a card that read, ‗I miss you and
love you‘ from both Darren White Deer and her uncle Otseno. I knelt and touched the granite
stone engraved with her name, date of birth and death. Tears fell freely from my eyes and bled
into the disturbed soil.
―I promise that he won‘t get away with this, Rachel. I‘ll avenge your death a thousand
fold,‖ I spoke through a thickening lump. I wanted to rail, to throw myself down on the grave
and scream at the unfairness of life that had taken my parents, my childhood and my first love
from me. I don‘t know h ow long I remained there on my knees. It was long enough for me to
notice that I had soaked through my pants and to feel the cold. Long enough for Leon to get
nervous especially when other cars started arriving and there wasn‘t a funeral service scheduled.
―Lakan,‖ he said from the driver‘s seat of the red pickup. ―We need to go.‖
I lightly rubbed my fingers across her name and stood as multiple car doors opened. It
wasn‘t mourners who exited these vehicles but men in suits and sunglasses. Federal Agents.
― FBI, Mr. Strongbow! Freeze!‖
I didn‘t. I ran around towards Leon and wrapped my arms  around  his waist. ―Sorry about
your truck, Mr. Otseno,‖ I muttered. Before the agents could approach or fire on us, I jumped
back to the cabin. Leon staggered out of my gr ip and shook his head in amazement. ―Is there
anything you can‘t do? Can you fly? Can you turn into a hawk or a wolf?‖
―I‘m not a skinwalker or a  werewolf, or even a shaman, Leon. You know what I am --- a
genetically modified human. I started out just like e veryone else born on this earth.‖ I paused.
―Are you afraid of me? Or what I can do?‖
He didn‘t answer and that was answer enough. I felt broken and unwanted that even he
who I thought trusted me and had saved my life was unsure of my humanity. I took off down the
trail heading for the edge of the bluff looking for the way down. I found one that required some
climbing skills and concentration which was exactly what I wanted. Not to have to think but
simply to move.
The bottom came up quickly, choked with br ush and rock fallen from the escarpment.
Still, some animal, most likely deer had made a narrow 12- inch - wide path through and down to
the lake.
The banks were shallow, gravel and some sand but mostly clay. The wet areas nearest the
water sucked at my dress shoes so I pulled them off, tossed them into the water where I watched
them sink. The mud crept up between my toes and through my socks. It was ice cold. I shifted
my metabolism and warmed my feet watching in amusement as the mud dried into little cracks.  I
kicked at the rocks and debris, asking God or fate or whatever why did Rachel have to die? Why
did everyone I loved die?
I would have run if I‘d worn boots and if the trails hadn‘t been narrow and rocky. Instead,
I walked. Walked all day and into the night until I was miles from the cabin. I was lost but I
could still see the escarpment against the moon.
Eventually, hunger brought me to an end of my wanderings and I circled around to find
Leon‘s parked jeep Cherokee on the road that led up to the hunting cabin. The doors were open
but no annoying ping accompanied them. Nor was the dome light on. I stuck my head in the
driver‘s side, keyed in the electronic code to start the engine and the dashboard readouts didn‘t
light up. When I opened the hood, the spo t where the battery rested was empty, the  distributor
cap was removed and the wiring harness ripped apart.
I looked up towards the cabin in a panic. Couldn‘t  freeze time and walk there because I‘d
only planted in my head the memory of the inside room, the escarpment, and the front yard. All
too open for safety if Chase‘s people were already there.
I heard a strange noise; the flapping of a bird‘s wings and translated it into a far - off
helicopter rapidly approaching my hiding spot. Saw it bank into a turn over my head and aim for
the cabin. I ran up the road keeping to the center where the grass was thickest and the stones
buried deeper. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me yet I couldn‘t outrun a chopper and I
couldn‘t do ten miles fast enough to save Leo n.
I reached the edge of the tree- line coming out on the east side of the clearing where the
cabin sat. It was quiet except for the helicopter sitting smack center of the open space in front of
the porch. I had to admire the pilot; there was less than six  feet clearance from the end of the
trees to the blades still slowly turning. As I watched, figures emerged from the house dressed in
jeans and camos. I gritted my teeth when I recognized several of them. Dr. Cameron and Chase.
Aiken, Morrell, Jacobs. Names  that went back to the time before Sarah Hamilton, faces and
names I thought I had lost forever. Yet, I still could not say I remembered the man called my
great- grandfather or any of my childhood memories.
―Any sign of him?‖ Chase demanded, his cold eyes scanning the trees. I held my breath
afraid that he could see the heat signature of that exhalation. I froze, afraid that one of them had
brought FLIR, forward looking infra- red radar. I had heard or read somewhere that a portable
handheld  model was availab le to covert agencies. I dropped my body temp to that of the ambient
area but that brought a corresponding thickening of my thoughts and reactions much like a lizard
would be in the cold. Making my temp too cold was just as obvious a sign as that of a warm
body.
―No. And DeCarlos  isn‘t   here, either,‖ Aiken reported. ―Yet, his coffee is still hot and
sitting on the table.‖
Leon must have heard them coming and ducked into the tunnels before they had landed.
Silently, I retreated to the trees where it was thicker cover and made my cautious way to the base
of the cliff, this time searching for the exit to the tunnels.
It was Leon who spotted me first; I felt a pebble hit me in the back. Whirled around to see
him poking his head up from a hole between two rocks. When I looked closer, I saw that it was a
piece of plywood with rocks glued to one side painted to look like dirt and a handle on the other.
He was standing on iron rungs of a ladder bolted to the bedrock. At his  feet , a kerosene lamp lit
the ground so I could see two backpacks, two compound bows and a bundle of clothes that he
told me to put on.
He passed the stuff up to me. I slipped off my suit and threw it down the hole, dressing in
jeans, sweatshirt, and buff - colored Schmidt coat. Wool socks and hiking boots. A Case knife,
and a quiver of twenty arrows with broadhead points. It took me seconds to strip off the suit and
get into the other clothes. With it went the feelings of helplessness and sorrow, as if I were
shedding that along with my  mourning suit. I was ready to go after those men that were hunting
us.
―We can‘t stay here,‖ Leon whispered. ―They‘ll find the tunnels eventually. We should
head back to the jeep.‖
―We can‘t, they found it and fixed it so it won‘t start.‖ I shook my head. ―This is our
world, our forté, Leon. We own the woods.‖
―I‘m no blanket Indian, Lake. I can‘t track or live off the land.‖
―Don‘t worry, I can.‖ He closed the cover and unless you knew exactly where to look,
you‘d never find it. In fact, I had walked over it twice and  not suspected it was there.
―Follow me,‖ I said and took him down the deer trail I‘d walked earlier the night before.
Twice, I had him stop to listen before we continued on. I thought I‘d heard voices and once, the
chopper came at us from the west but blew on by without spotting us. I looked at the
undercarriage and there wasn‘t a n  FLIR camera mounted below.
―They‘re searching by chopper,‖ he said.
―Yeah, but only by line- of - sight. I‘m sure they don‘t have IFR to pick up our body heat
and Albans revealed to  me that he had removed all the tracking chips Cameron had implanted in
me. Including the radioisotope in my blood. He gave me a transfusion.‖
We reached the bottom of the escarpment and were walking quietly between a ravine
overgrown with choke cherries a nd raspberry vines, a thicket so dense that you couldn‘t
penetrate it. The deer trail through was just wide enough for the width of our shoulders and
backpacks. In some places, we had to turn sideways.
Leon took the lead from there, explaining that he knew  these trails having hunted
extensively on them. We slid slowly and surreptitiously through the brush while men almost as
skilled tracked us. Several times, we had to freeze as their voices came close enough for us to
overhear their conversations. Chase must have put fifty men in the woods and unless we could
break out of their perimeter, we would be cornered.
We crossed the road a few miles uphill from the jeep and I held him back with a hand
across his chest. Men in blue windbreakers with big white lette rs on the backs of their coats were
coming up the road single file. They found the jeep and went over it, confirming that it was
Leon‘s. Their conversation was not happy, they realized someone else was up here tracking us
besides their agency. They speculated who else was involved and mentioned the Senator‘s name.
These agents had radios and some kind of hand- held scanners.
Leon whispered into my ear. ―Are they tracking you?‖
―I‘m not tagged, not anymore,‖ I whispered back. ―How far are we from the river and
that canoe?‖
―Twenty minutes, forty if we have to sneak,‖ he said.
―Head for the river,‖ I said and we slowly backed up to crawl into a stand of willows that
lined the banks of a dry wash. Leon moved almost as stealthily as I, as if he were crawling on
glass. It took us closer to an hour to reach the trail to the water. He showed me where the tunnel
exited the bluff in case I needed it and he wasn‘t with me.
The canoe he‘d hidden was an aluminum one painted in camouflage patterns and lying
under a brush pile. Carefully, he pushed it into the brackish green water and we slid in, the sound
of the metal striking against the bottom bouncing back at us. Water lapped at the boat and around
my feet soaking through to the wool socks. Sound carried a long way over the water and we
froze, waiting to see if anyone had heard it.
When we were certain no one had, he pushed us off the bottom. Both sides of the river
were visible but heavily forested. Only if someone was standing on the edge could they see  us.
Softly, he slid the paddle in and stroked us out into the current. I watched behind us to make sure
we weren‘t spotted.