Jason Frost - Badlands

"About why he's got the cassette tapes in the truck, but no cassette player."

"That's the cabin," Paige whispered. Only it really wasn't a cabin at all. More like a converted barn. "It looks different."

"You sure this is the place?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. It's just… oh, never mind." How could she explain that she remembered it as it was when she'd last seen it, through a sixteen-year-old's romantic eyes. It had been their family retreat, a place to hike and run and yell at the top of your lungs if you wanted. Christ, now it looked old, weather-beaten. Shabby.

She started toward it, trancelike.

Eric touched her shoulder. "Better wait."

"For what?"

"To make sure it's safe."

Paige let the implication register for a moment. "OK."

"Besides, what makes you think he wouldn't have taken off with the others when he read your phony flyers?"

"No way. Not Dad. He'd know the government would have to get him out sooner or later, and he'd certainly recognize this silly ploy as their style."

Eric stared at the house awhile. Nothing unusual about it. Someone had spent a lot of money a long time ago to have this place built. It wasn't a barn, merely built to look like one that had been converted, a popular style years ago. But time and neglect had ravaged its appearance. Yet there was something a little funny. The windows were clean.

"How was your father on housework?"

"A menace. Last time I saw him he told me he'd converted entirely to paper plates and plastic forks rather than wash any dishes."

"Better call in again, see if your friend's made it back."

"Right." Paige pulled the transmitter from her backpack, tapped out a coded message. It wasn't Morse or any of the others Eric knew, so he just watched the house while she and Dr. Bart Piedmont conversed in dots and dashes. It didn't matter anyway; he already knew what the answer would be.

"Well, Steve isn't back yet." She was trying to sound casual, but Eric could hear the tightness in her voice. "Guess he's slower than we thought."

"Might have sprained an ankle or something."

"Yeah, right." Paige began chewing on her thumbnail, a habit she'd been fighting for the past fifteen years. "Could have sprained an ankle, or gotten a little lost."

"Uh-huh."

"But you don't believe that?"

"I don't know. But just in case, we'd better start working fast, OK?"

She nodded. "OK."

"Let's go; Keep three feet behind me and to the left. If anything spooks me, I'm diving to the right. You drop where you are and get ready to shoot. Clear?"

"Clear."

They both lifted their HK 93s, checked the clips and flipped the safeties off. Eric's crossbow was slung over his shoulder.

"Just don't accidentally shoot my father, OK?" She wasn't being smart, it was a sincere plea.

"As long as he doesn't shoot at us."

"He's never even fired a gun in his whole life."

"Lucky man. Only since the quakes, a lot of people have done a lot of things they'd never done before, or ever thought they could do." He pointed his gun at the front of the house. "Like I said, people have changed, but most haven't gotten neater. You say your dad was a slob, but those windows are spotless. That's unusual out here. Most people are too busy surviving to do anything more than the minimum of cleaning."

"You've made your point, Eric. Let's get on with it."

Eric lead the way through the thick weeds and thorny underbrush. Paige gripped her HK 93 tightly, her teeth clenched so hard her jaw ached.

The thirty yards around the house were cleared. What weeds and grass grew there had been pulled or tramped down. Eric stopped when he reached the edge of this yard. He tensed his finger around the trigger with one hand and cupped the other around his mouth. "Hey!" he shouted at the house. "Dr. Lyons?"

There was no answer. He could see no one at the windows either.

"Anybody in there? We're not looking for any trouble."

Paige waded forward a few steps and shouted, "Daddy! It's Paige."

No answer.

"Now what?" Paige said, more to herself than Eric. Her voice was heavy with disappointment. She let the HK 93 sag to her side.

"Maybe he's being cautious."

"Sure," she said. "And maybe he's dead."

"Maybe. But as I understand your mission, you're to bring back either your dad or his papers. Right?"

"Yes."

"Then we go ahead. If he's not in there, maybe there's some sign of where he went."

"Like a body."

"Like a map, a letter."

"A treasure map?" She scowled at him. "You think I'm only here for his lousy plans, don't you? Little Paige, government robot who follows orders no matter what. Maybe that's how you were, mister, when you were in 'Nam, but I'm not built that way. Yes, I want his papers, but I want him more."

Eric touched her shoulder. "I didn't doubt that, Paige. I didn't mean a treasure map, but something to indicate where he might have gone. You said he was expecting to be rescued."

"Yes." She brightened. "Yes, he might have done something like that. He was very meticulous when it came to his work."

"Well, let's find out." He started toward the house, crouching low, the gun set on semiautomatic.

A movement behind the window, someone peeking and ducking away. Too fast for Eric to see a face clearly. "Someone's home," he whispered over his shoulder.

"Let's huff and puff and blow the house down."

Eric patted his HK 93. "That's what these are for."

They were only fifteen yards away now, Paige still behind and to the left of Eric. She was chewing on a sliver of thumbnail that had come off earlier.

"Come on out," Eric said to the front door. "We don't mean you any harm."

The front door flew open and they all came charging out at once.

"Five minutes," Fallows told his men. "That's all."

The men stopped running, some holding their sides, trying to rub out the stitches that had settled into their muscles a mile or so back. Others just dropped to the ground, panting and puffing, fumbling open their canteens, guzzling water. Bedlow was hugging a tree, vomiting on the bark. But no one complained. It was hard to while being watched by Fallows, who wasn't even breathing hard.

"You all on your periods?" Fallows laughed, brushing his white hair with his hand. "Christ, even this little kid can outrun you sissies."

Tim stood next to Fallows, fighting to control his breathing. He wanted nothing more than to drop to the ground with the others and gulp air like a dying fish, but he wouldn't give them the satisfaction. He regulated his breathing, just as his father had taught him. Besides, Fallows pointing him out like that made him feel kind of proud. Funny, he never thought he'd feel that around here. He shoved his hand in his pocket, felt the smooth casing of the 9mm bullet.

"Soon, kid," Fallows said, patting Tim's shoulder, "I'm going to have your father right where I had him in 'Nam. Then you're going to see what he's really made of. The kind of man who let his family be destroyed that way. Who abandoned them the way he abandoned me. He could've been my partner, made a fortune with me. Wars are God's way of letting the strong get rich. But he turned me in instead. Testified against me. Well, he's done the same to you, Tim. That's why we have to stick together."

Tim wanted to cry out, defend his father, but he was afraid Fallows would take his bullet away. And he wanted that bullet more than anything in the world. Besides, Fallows wasn't saying anything that Tim hadn't sometimes thought himself. Why hadn't his father rescued him yet? Was he even going to try? If he was, what was he doing up here where Fallows had to chase him?

Eli Palmer was running down the road toward them, his heavy boots thumping the dirt road. "Sir… sir…" he panted.