J. Curtis - Calexit - The Anthology

He walked off, and Ryan felt like someone had just clobbered him upside the head with a two-by-four. Boll seemed to be having a choking fit.

“But… I don’t want to court anyone!” Ryan finally managed to choke out.

“Now, now, don’t tell him that right now.” Boll’s amusement came out in his voice. “And I wouldn’t tell him just yet your momma’s a sniper, neither.”

“I have no idea what’s going on.” Ryan decided he’d take the horses to water. It seemed like the best bet.

He was standing in the shade watching them suck up cool drinks when his cell phone vibrated. It startled him. He’d forgotten he’d left it on, and now he checked to see who had texted him. It was Pat. She’d just sent two words, but Ryan felt tears start to fall, much to his inner rage. She’d just said “be okay.”

He’d be okay. She’d be okay. They’d all be okay. He swiped at his face, and straightened his shoulders. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He could hold a man’s place. It would be okay.

Overhead, the thumping of a helicopter’s blades came closer and closer.

“’Night, Joe,” Jennifer said as she passed her hand under the clinic’s reader to clock out. A faint beep and a flash of red light from the appliance let her know that it had recognized the chip in her right hand and that she was officially able to start her vacation.

“’Night, Jen,” Joe replied. “Gonna be another hot one tomorrow.”

“We’re heading to a bed and breakfast in Monterey for a few days,” Jen held the door open as she paused to talk with the man. “It’ll be cooler on the coast.”

She was tall, with long legs and well-muscled arms. Her hair, which one of her college boyfriends had once described as the color of honey in sunshine, ran down the back of her faded gray scrubs in a tight braid.

“At least you’ll be away from all this smoke.” Joe’s teeth stood out against his dark skin as he smiled at the nurse and stepped out to join her on the cement entranceway. “You want me to walk you to your car?”

The smell of wood burning struck Jen as soon as she stepped out of the clinic’s air-conditioned comfort. The news feeds had been bursting with reports of wildfires in the Sierras all week, but the government had assured everyone that no damage to homes or businesses was expected.

“Nah, that’s all right,” Jen said, smiling again. “It’s just over there.” She nodded at the small, beat-up compact she had parked on the far side of the parking lot. It was the only vehicle left in the lot, since Ramon, who had relieved her for the night shift, had been dropped off by his boyfriend. The harsh light of the LED bar that hung above the entrance reached just far enough out that she could see its dull gray outline against the trees.

“Well, I’ll be here if you need me.”

“Thanks.”

Jen gave the parking lot a good, long look before stepping away from the crumbling patio at the building’s entrance. Her car sat in the shadows of tall eucalyptus trees at the far end of the lot, their pungent scent competing with the smoke in the faint, hot breeze. Above it, the skeletons of floodlights, which she had never known to work in the two years she had worked at the clinic, looked down on the cracked asphalt like immense aluminum flowers. Seeing nothing, she fished her phone from her bag.

She tapped “Hi hon. lving work. C U in the AM. Miss U” onto the screen once she had unlocked it with her identity chip and the CalSec emblem had faded to allow her access to the network. She hit send just as she reached her vehicle. The car noticed her presence and unlocked the door for her. It cheerfully chirped at her and helpfully turned on its interior lights. Their dim illumination made her feel better as she looked over her shoulder to see if Joe was still standing at the door to the building. He saw her look and waved.

Jen raised her hand to wave as well, when she heard rushed footsteps coming across the pavement. She turned to see where the noise was coming from just as someone grabbed her from behind and threw her up against the side of her car.

Instinctively, Jennifer threw her elbow back just like her instructor at her “Strong Women of the Future” class had taught her. Pain lanced up her arm as she felt the corner of her elbow impact with something that crunched under its hard bone.

“ Pinche puta! ” a voice squealed as Jen screamed for help. She tried to turn around to confront her attackers, but strong hands forced her head down. Blood bloomed from her forehead as it caught the hard edge of the door. Jen heard voices behind her, then felt hands tearing the thin fabric of her scrubs.

She screamed again, thrashing to get away. Her phone rattled to the pavement beside the car, along with her bag. Her struggles gained her enough freedom to stand upright once again, and she caught sight of the door to the clinic closing as Joe ducked back inside.

Then, someone grabbed her long braid and used it to drag her head back, then shoved her hard against the windshield. She felt the drawstring of her pants scrape along her hips and thighs as they were yanked down, then another blow to her head made the world fuzzy and dark. The last thing she heard before slipping into unconsciousness was the sound of laughter as someone cut the strap of her bra.

Jen heard someone’s voice as if it were far off and under water. Pain, again fuzzy and far off, crushed in on her from every angle. The blinding light that struck her when she eased her eyes open, however, was insistent and instant. She blinked a few times, which for some reason added to the pain, before her vision cleared and she blearily looked around the small room.

Jen blinked again, trying to get a better picture of where she was. The concrete block wall opposite her was painted a soft gray, with a single maroon stripe running diagonally across it. Harsh sunlight was coming through dusty blinds on a narrow window, some of it reflecting from a mirror above a sink. To one side of her a dingy plastic curtain hung from a long metal rod. On the other side, a small woman wearing a plain brown suit looked down on her with a look of concern. Her pale complexion made her look cadaverous under the cheap light fixtures embedded above the bed. To Jen’s somewhat addled mind, it looked like she tried to compensate for it by wearing too much make-up. On the lapel of her jacket, a badge of some kind winked in the light, driving daggers into Jen’s eyes every time the woman moved.

“Ms. Bradford-Costa?” the woman said in a sweet, gentle voice.

“Missus,” Jen slurred. Her tongue scraped against the roof of her mouth as she tried to speak.

The woman picked up a cup from the small table next to Jen and pressed its straw between her lips. Jen sipped, letting the cool water swirl down her throat. Swallowing was agony, but the feeling of the water in her mouth was heavenly.

“Thanks,” Jennifer said tiredly. She slowly pushed her tongue across her dry lips, then withdrew it when she felt stitches prick at its tip.

“Ms. Bradford-Costa?” The woman’s voice was reedy and pitched in a way that made Jen want to wince.

“I’m married. It’s Mrs. Costa.”

The woman’s lips quirked up in a faint smile. “My name’s Gloria Anderson-Hermosa. I’m an investigator with People Services.”

“Where am I? Where’s Mark?”

“I understand that he’ll be here in a few minutes, but I have to ask you a few questions first.”

Jen tried to take a deep breath, but stopped when pain from either side of her torso stabbed at her. “What happened?”

“Well, that’s what I’d like to know,” the woman said. “Just let me get this down, all right?”