Chris Lynch - Kill Switch

But that doesn’t look like it’s going to happen.

Jarrod quick-pumps the brakes before we get into the parking lot itself.

“Damn,” he says. “There shouldn’t be anybody here.”

“What?” Da and I say.

I go a little bit frantic, and my newfound control and strength go floating like so much smoke straight out the passenger window.

Da remains slouched way back in the car, out of sight, as we sit and ponder.

“I got nobody else visiting, I swear,” Jarrod says. “And that isn’t any car connected to the college I know of. Nobody has been on campus for weeks, nobody is scheduled for another two, they always let me know in advance anyway, and if this is a student, lost and confused, it’s way early for that.”

Da’s voice has dropped an octave.

“You didn’t use that phone, like I told you not to, did you, Young Man?”

I am absolutely certain he hears my Adam’s apple go ga-lulk right now.

“No,” I say, clipped. “You took it, anyway, remember? So, see-”

“Did you call anyone, Daniel?”

Oh no. There are no lies of omission with Da.

“Yes, but I used a landline-”

“Who did you call?”

“Lucy,” I say, flattened. “I called her cell from a pay phone.”

“Drive,” he tells Jarrod.

The driver tears away with surprising speed, and focus.

“Go easy,” Da says. “Stealth is more important than speed. Stealth is more important than everything. They can’t catch you if they don’t chase you, so don’t make them chase you.”

I sit, hands folded, in the shotgun seat, and I believe if my grandfather had a shotgun back there, I would not be in any seat at all. I remain silent for as long as-

“That kind of screwup can be lethal,” Da says to me coldly. “It may be yet.”

“I am sorry, Da. I am so sorry. I wasn’t-”

He punches the back of my headrest. I think it is not violence. I think I am beginning to learn the difference between what is and isn’t violence. I think that was just “shut up.”

“Driver,” Da says.

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you got one of those godforsaken cell phones?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

There is a barely nonviolent silence.

“Could you please loan your phone to my foolish grandson? His is back at the college. As long as they already know we are with you, one quick call won’t hurt. GPS can’t help them much if we are already right around the corner from them.”

I take the phone, turn to Da.

“Phone your sister, please. Get what you can.”

I do what I am told, as I will continue to do for as long as I know him.

“Lucy?”

“Dan? Now whose phone are you using?”

I try to focus through a separate conversation here in the car.

“We will need a place to stay quiet for a while,” Da says.

“I know a guy,” Jarrod says. “But I kind of figure you’re the kind of guy who would know a guy.”

“I am the kind of guy who would know a guy, but all those kind of guys I know are the kind of guys we don’t want to know now.”

“Um, what?”

“Do you know a place?”

“I do.”

“Very good. For the time being, though, drive the opposite way to there.”

“Why?” he asks.

I punch him in the arm and he complies.

“This is Jarrod’s phone,” I say.

“Please, Dan, just come home, all right? They are not going to do anything to you. But Granddad has done stuff that you don’t even know. They just want to protect him and everybody else and just get him secure…”

The phone is one of those annoying ones that sound like a little radio broadcasting to everyone in the vicinity.

“Se cure !” Da nearly vomits the word. “They want to make me secure . Isn’t that just kindness itself.”

“I think he can hear you,” I tell her. “And he’s not wildly in favor of your plan.”

“Too bad. You have to stop this before it gets all serious.”

“Did you rat us out?” I ask as Da gives my headrest a hurry-up punch.

“Why would I even have to do that? They were in my room so soon they practically hung up the phone for me. Please, Dan.”

“How are Mom and Dad?”

“Livid!” Lucy shouts.

“Perfect,” Da says with contempt.

“Tell them I miss them too.”

“You are going to screw up everything,” she says. “College and everything.”

Because Lucy is crying as she says that last bit, I think I feel something. Something small but sharp and electric zings through my chest.

My sister, my pal, cares whether I have a future, and I care that she cares.

What a chump. Pair of chumps, really.

“It’ll be okay, Luce. I can’t just-”

“He’s dangerous!” she shouts.

A highway crosswind or something suddenly blows Jarrod’s attention in our direction. “Hiya, Luce.”

Da reaches forward and grabs the phone from me.

“I think this is good enough,” he says.

He rolls down his window and, with Lucy’s little voice screaming DanDanDanDanDan like a tiny passing train, he takes his pick of the endless parade of pickup trucks passing us in the next lane, draws back that hellacious, accurate old right arm, and fires away.

The phone zips on a line and clatters around the bed of an old Dodge. And takes its GPS signal with it.

“I repeat,” Da says, “technology is for chumps.”

“I found that phone in a couch,” Jarrod says. “It was perfect.”

“Um, Da?” I venture with trepidation.

“Yes, Young Man.”

“Won’t they trace Jarrod’s car?”

He punches my headrest again. Not becoming my favorite mode of communication. I miss my phone.

“Glad you are catching on, my boy. I guess we are going to have to locate ourselves another car after Jarrod gets off the next exit to head us north.”

“I don’t think so,” Jarrod says.

I stiffen.

“Excuse me?” Da says calmly.

“It’s not my car, so it’s not registered to me. A student left it at the end of spring semester. Left it for the summer to go help stabilize things during the election in Haiti.”

“‘Stabilize,’” Da says, laughing. “I love that old chestnut.”

“Thanks,” Jarrod says, like he’s achieved something.

“Where would we be without ya, J?” I say.

“It doesn’t even bear thinking about,” he says, turning off and heading us north.

“This is your guy?” I say when we pull down the narrow lane.

“Yup,” Jarrod says.

“This is the same guy as the other guy.”

“He’s about the only guy I know. There is one other, but he’s not gonna want to know me anymore when he finds out I stole his car.”

“But why are we here, man?”

The combination of activities has conspired to leave my grandfather snoring in the backseat. I am jealous but there is no resting for me at the moment.

Jarrod points to an array of windows in a row above Matt’s shop. “He rents out rooms. Nobody will find you here. Then you can make a plan for what to do next. He’s good at plans, actually. He’ll help.”

I look up at the windows. There are little lacy curtains in each one, and a plastic flower in a milk glass. You can see the dust from the street. I have not the slightest doubt that Matt does all his decorating out of that dollar store where I got the baseball stuff.

It hits me now. Like hunger, like cramps, like the full burst in your belly when you drink an icy Coke after having nothing in your stomach during a whole scorching summer day.

I love baseball.

“Let’s go talk to him,” I say.

“Back for more already?” Matt says, laughing. He is closing up shop, no assistant helping him. “You guys are voracious.”