Ever Hayes - Redemption

“We’ve gotta find a car first,” Keena said.

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Blake answered. “If anyone was out here surfing during the chemical attacks, their cars would still be here.”

He was right. Surfers would not have been a priority of Qi Jia’s demolition crews.

The lot was indeed full of cars, but it took hotwiring a dozen before we found one with a battery that still had juice. “What surfer drives a Dodge Charger?” Blake asked.

“Hey, don’t complain.” Keena shoved him playfully. “It has gas in it, and it isn’t a Prius.”

“A Prius would’ve started on the first try.”

“Hey, both of you.” I shook my head in mock disgust. “Did you seriously compare a Charger to a Prius?” The idea of the three of us packed into a small Toyota was rather amusing. I’ll definitely take the Charger . We loaded up our gear and headed east, rounding up enough gas from a couple stations to fill our tank and head for Yosemite. The entire Bay Area was dark and abandoned. We didn’t see a single light. I’d forgotten how eerie it felt to be here. Several sets of chills coursed through my body as I thought about it. This really happened . It still was so impossible to believe.

And then my mind drifted off to Hayley. Where are you now? Please tell me you’re still alive. God, please keep her safe. The fact that she clearly wasn’t fighting against Lazzo was still eating at me, but there had to be a good reason for it. I had to get to her. I’m coming, Hayley. I’m coming .

We had followed Baker’s two planes across the country undetected—far as we could tell—until we flew over Grand Junction. I should say until they flew over Grand Junction. Lazzo, didn’t take us anywhere near it. Baker knew there was a military base there. Danny had marked them all on the map for him. I had no idea what made him pass so close to it. But on the radar screen the two dots we were following became one after Grand Junction. Evidently we’d lost one of the planes. And the element of surprise . Whoever saw the one probably saw the other. And if that plane had been shot down, Qi Jia would be scrambling troops to go investigate. That had been Thursday afternoon. They probably found the downed plane Friday morning, and by yesterday I was sure they had an entire army out looking for us—or them. Awesome .

The other plane was supposed to land at an old airfield in Aspen—150 miles from Cheyenne Mountain—but someone had changed that plan “on the fly,” too. Because we couldn’t afford to lose them, we followed them—on radar—all the way to where they landed, near the Catamount reservoirs—thirty miles from Cheyenne Mountain. When we knew they’d landed, we kept our eyes peeled for an isolated place—well south of them—where we could hide out. We found an old US Forest Service Smokejumper base slightly southwest of Cripple Creek—in an area called Long Hungry Gulch—with its own airstrip and hangar, and took advantage of that.

According to our radar, we were 34.8 miles southwest of the other plane and 28.4 miles west of Knight’s Peak. I wasn’t yet sure why that was relevant, but Lazzo had asked me to check. Perhaps that’s where we’re supposed to meet Danny? From our hideout we’d be able to see if the rescue plane took off again or if anyone approached their area. It was stupid of them to land so close to both Denver and Colorado Springs. We at least had a mountain range between us and the Qi Jia bases . Someone had to have seen the rescue plane approach and would have combined their arrival with intel from Grand Junction. Apparently Baker was trying to reduce the overall extraction time—of General Niles and whoever else was left in the bunker—but that wouldn’t matter if the enemy saw them coming. And how can they not? If indeed it was Baker who’d made that decision, he had likely transformed their hopeful rescue mission into a certain suicide mission. Idiot. Idiots .

I was keeping a close eye on the radar. Lazzo had informed me, “If we can see them, they can see us”—and “they” could be Qi Jia too. Therefore he’d suggested we unplug the radar if anything else showed up on the screen. I hated the idea of being blind, but I agreed it was probably the right move.

I had also kept a very close eye on him the past three days. On Friday he’d left for about two hours. When he returned, he seemed almost happy yet also more nervous. He kept looking at the radar screen, but he wouldn’t tell me why. Eventually he admitted he’d left to make a call.

“A two hour phone call? And you have a phone?” I was beside myself until he assured me the two calls he’d made had each been less than a minute.

“There’s no way they tracked me,” he said.

He wouldn’t tell me what he was doing the rest of the time, or give me any more details for that matter, but after Flynn fell asleep that night, I approached him and asked if everything was still a go. He didn’t say anything, but he nodded. I lay down and closed my eyes and then heard him say my name.

“What?”

His words gave me chills. “He’s coming.”

I spun over and looked at him, but he had his back to me now, also lying down. “Who?” He had to mean Danny . “How do you—are you sure? Lazzo?”

He never answered. I wasn’t sure why he told me that, but I didn’t care. I needed to hear it. Danny is coming.

Sunday morning he went out again for roughly the same amount of time as he had Friday. This time Flynn and I followed him. Flynn was impressively fast and quiet in her tracking. She was light on her feet—it helped to be thin as a rail—and by the way she held the rifle and adjusted the scope she clearly knew her way around guns. We followed him for half an hour before turning back to the hangar. The precautions Lazzo was taking—distancing himself from our hangar for his call—suggested he didn’t trust the people he was contacting. It also explained why he was gone for two hours on Friday. He didn’t want them to know exactly where we were in case they could pin his call down. I appreciated that. Guess he hadn’t wasted those years in Libyan Intelligence with his brother.

When he returned from his call this time, he was considerably less cheery.

“Bad news?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Maybe.” His look suggested I let it go at that.

That wasn’t going to happen. I looked at Flynn. “Hey, Flynn, would you go check the rabbit traps.” She nodded and headed off.

I approached Lazzo. “What is it? You seem upset.” When he didn’t respond, I pushed him more. “Is it about your family? Are you worried about them not keep—”

“No, it’s Danny.”

I felt my pulse quicken and my skin get clammy in a quick second. “Wha—” The lump in my throat cut my question off. “What? What about him? What happened?”

Lazzo raised his hands and put them on my shoulders. I didn’t even notice he had until he suddenly jerked them away. He stepped away from me. “His plane—”

“What about his plane?” I interrupted, and he raised his hands back up again—though this time he didn’t touch me.

“Hayley, their plane got shot”—he paused at my sharp gasp—“down.”

“No.” I stepped toward him, and he backed away again, nodding. “Today? Did they—wait… if they wanted him to come here why did they shoot him down?”