Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3 (8 page)

As soon as the guy was done I vowed to head straight home to the safety of my bedroom. And never leave again. I wasn’t made for this much stress. I waited while the guy peed, and peed, and peed some more. Man, he really had to go. I leaned my head back against the building and let myself relax, just a little bit. In a minute I’d hear him walk back to the work site and then I’d be safe.

I heard the stream taper off, and a zipper being yanked up. And then a click and the EMF humming like he’d turned the detector back on. A few seconds later, his detector made the raucous beeping sound it had made earlier in the field. Startled, I jumped. Over the noise, I heard him say, “What the hell?” to himself, and then he shouted back to the others, “I’ve got something here.”

I didn’t wait around to see what happened next. I ran. I ran as fast as I could, which suddenly didn’t seem fast enough. I heard the guy yell, “Hey!” and knew I’d been spotted.

There was a small incline behind the building and I was out in the open. Not great, but that’s the way it was. I didn’t have time to think about it much anyway. I was on fast-forward, my legs fueled by adrenaline and fear.

I’d have more places to hide once I got to the houses of Old Edgewood, the neighborhood where Nelly Smith (now in the hospital) resided. But that was three blocks away. Behind me I heard the pounding feet and a voice calling out for me to stop, but there was distance between us, and besides, I was younger and faster.

When I reached the road, I made a rookie move and looked behind me. I told myself it was just a quick glance to assess the situation, but it turned out to be a big mistake. Two men were coming after me. The worker who’d stopped to pee was the closest of the two, the detector dangling from his hand; periodically it would beep, which was weird, since we weren’t anywhere near the field with the fragments. The other guy was one of the armed guards, a burly man whose large shoulders and overall build made him resemble the Hulk. Despite their advanced ages, they were speedy, and my pause to look helped them to gain on me.

I’d been on the track team in middle school, but I heard how competitive things got in high school and didn’t even bother joining my freshman year. A good decision, I’d thought at the time, since I’m really not much of an athlete. Since middle school, I’ve played baseball with the local rec team over the summer and disc golf and basketball with my friends just for fun, but that was the extent of it. None of it had prepared me for this night.

“Halt!” one of the men shouted behind me.

“Stop or I’ll shoot!”

Halt. Stop or I’ll shoot.
Unreal. Like in a movie, or a dream. It occurred to me then that maybe I was in the middle of an extremely vivid nightmare, one of those where all your senses are engaged right down to the bite of the night air and the frantic realization your life was in danger. The situation was bizarre enough to be a nightmare, but it felt too real. I was out of breath, panting, but still my legs kept pumping, almost on their own. Fear is a powerful motivator.

I felt something hit the base of my neck. The sensation was followed by a sharp sting and a burning sensation, but I didn’t have time to think about it. The pain, and the fact that I was close to Old Edgewood, gave me a surge of strength. In a minute I’d no longer be out in the open, but close to houses and trees and fences. Places to hide.

Despite the burning on my back, I just kept moving. When I got to the edge of the residential section, I leapt over the curb. I had a stitch in my side like I used to get as a kid when I ran with my mouth open. I’d been sweating so hard my T-shirt was glued to my body. My sweatshirt suddenly felt overly warm, but the dark color also gave me some protection. I ran in between the houses and made a dash for the thick shrubbery that divided two properties. The pounding of the men’s footsteps seemed to be getting further away, but I didn’t let up. I gulped in air and crouched down between two rows of bushes. Although there were streetlights there, I was a ways back from the road and almost invisible in the shrubbery. As an added bonus, I could push through to the neighboring yard if I needed to.

I kept low to the ground and listened. My hands rested on the ground and I got a whiff of my own perspiration mixed with the smell of dewy grass. Even though I’d dodged them, the men weren’t giving up. Their voices drifted from the street, talking about me.

“Where did he go?”

“We couldn’t have lost him.”

The sound of a car approaching made me hopeful. Maybe it would make them wary and they’d retreat. With any luck, it would be a cop and my worries would be over. A guy in a white suit accompanied by a dude carrying a gun would have some explaining to do.

The car stopped, its brakes squealing slightly, and I held my breath, listening intently. Instead of a cop asking what they were doing out and about in the middle of the night, I heard the sound of multiple car doors opening and the footsteps of the passengers leaping out. Then men’s voices, all talking at once.

“Quick, before we lose him!”

“Which way did he go?”

“Did you get a good look at him?”

“Men, spread out and comb the area. He couldn’t have gotten far.”

This was starting to sound like an FBI manhunt. For trespassing? I was in so much trouble. Would I be better off running or staying put? I couldn’t decide. When I’d been running I didn’t have much time to think or feel—I was too busy fleeing. Now I felt a tidal wave of terror come over me. Panicked, I peered out of my hiding place, trying to decide what to do.
Think, think, think.
I watched as four men in white dispersed, all of them holding their buzzing detectors in front of them. The armed guard conferred with the man in the dark clothing, the one I’d thought was the boss of the operation.

A front door creaked open and an old woman dressed in a green bathrobe stepped out onto the porch. “What’s going on out here?” Her tone was sharp. No one I’d want to mess with.

“No need to get alarmed, ma’am. Just a civil defense drill,” the boss said.

She shook a finger at him. “A civil defense drill? In the middle of the night? I’ve never heard of such a thing. I’m calling the police!”

“Please, ma’am.” The man’s voice got louder as he approached. “Let me show you some identification. That should ease your mind.” He walked briskly up the walkway and onto the porch.

“Get off my property! I don’t want to see any—”

Silence. I held my breath, wondering what he’d done to make her stop mid-sentence, but when I peeked out, all I could see was the two of them standing side-by-side, his hand on her arm. He spoke so softly I could just hear him. “Just go inside and go back to sleep. Forget you ever saw us.”

She looked around, confused. “Go back to bed?”

“Yes, that’s right. You’ll sleep soundly, and when you wake up you won’t remember any of this.”

“All right then,” she said, turning and going back into the house.

The boss walked back to the car, and he and the armed guard got in and drove away. As I watched the taillights go off in the distance, I felt relief wash over me. I wiped my sweat-slicked hands on the front of my jeans and blinked back tears.

Only then did I stop to think about the throbbing on the back of my neck. I reached up to rub the spot and found it sticky and wet. When I pulled my fingers away and looked, I realized that what I’d thought was sweat plastering my shirt to my body was actually blood. I had no idea how this had happened. The men who’d been chasing me hadn’t even come close. But something clearly had made contact with my neck, causing the stinging sensation. And that something had broken the skin.

I didn’t have time to think about it. I had to go at least a mile before I got home, and I needed to do it without getting caught. I looked up and down the street before crawling out of my hiding place. Lights were on in a few of the houses, and the streetlamps lit up the road, but the trees, mature and abundant in this part of town, would help me hide along the way.

I’d gone through Old Edgewood so many times before that I knew all the good hiding places. I darted between parked cars and behind hedges. Crouched behind garages and moved stealthily between trees. The men in white had their detectors on, so I knew I’d hear them if they were close. Meanwhile, I could be absolutely silent. I tried not to think about the man with the gun. Maybe he and the boss had left for good.

I came to Knitting-Lady’s house. Looking through her front window, I noticed she was up to her usual routine. Seeing her working at her knitting made my world seem normal again. For a moment I could fool myself into thinking I wasn’t being hunted by men in white suits and a man with a gun.
Hunted?
Wasn’t that the word Mallory had used? And here I’d thought she was being overly dramatic.

Leaning against a tree trunk in front of Knitting-Lady’s house, I allowed myself the luxury of a few moments’ rest. I watched as she yanked at a skein of pale pink yarn, then resumed her work, fingers effortlessly manipulating the yarn into something that would (I guessed) eventually be a scarf. Observing her going through the motions was soothing; I let my brain whir with all that had happened. Even though I’d essentially been spying over at the train station, I hadn’t seen anything of interest. Why should the men even care that I’d been there? And why spread out and search with their detectors on? I thought about how weird it was that the old lady had changed her mind about calling the police. She almost sounded drugged. Maybe the boss man had hypnotized her? Or maybe it was mind control, like Mallory talked about. None of it made sense. I looked at my cell phone and groaned when I saw it was half past three. My alarm would go off in three hours.

Reluctantly I left Knitting-Lady’s yard and continued carefully toward home: through the industrial park and past the strip mall, until I was finally in New Edgewood at last. My side of town lacked the foliage, but the houses were closer together. I was familiar with every barking dog, every motion-sensor light, and every residence that contained a fellow insomniac who might be looking out the window. I avoided all of it. I didn’t see any further signs of the men who’d been chasing me, and I decided they must have given up. The worst was over.

When I got to the back door of my house, I felt a surge of happiness so enormous it trumped Christmas morning. It was bigger than the feeling I got hitting my first winning home run. Home had never looked so good, and I could easily imagine a life where I would never leave it, and would stay cocooned safely inside for the rest of my days. I opened the screen door and turned the knob slowly to keep the noise down. Once inside, with the door shut behind me, I wiped my feet on the mat and, after considering how dirty they were, leaned over to take off my shoes.

From my parents’ room came a shuffling noise and then the squeak of a door opening. I froze. If my mother was headed to the bathroom, she might not even come this way. Turns out, she wasn’t going to the bathroom.

“Russ?” Once she’d called my name I knew there was no getting out of this. “Russ, is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” The good news was that since Mom hadn’t ventured out of her room she couldn’t see me. If I was lucky, she would stay where she was and I could bluff my way through this.

“Oh thank God, I thought someone had broken into the house.”

“Nope, just me.”

“What are you doing up, honey?” she asked, her voice floating through the darkness. “Trouble sleeping?” Even without seeing her, I could picture her forehead furrowed in concern.

“No, I just woke up hungry, so I had a snack.” I thought fast. She’d certainly heard the outside door open and close. I needed an explanation. “Then I noticed the garbage was full, so I took it out.”

“Oh. Well, thank you.”

“Good night, Mom.”

“Good night, Russ. Get some sleep.”

“I will.”

She retreated back into the room. When the door clicked shut, I went into the kitchen to check the garbage. It was almost empty, just as I’d thought it would be. Earlier, after dinner, I’d taken it out without even being asked. Luckily, my mom hadn’t remembered my kind gesture. Menopause was turning out to be my friend.

I headed up the stairs and straight to the bathroom to check out my wound. I looked in the mirror and it was like seeing someone else. My hair stuck up funny, and there were dark circles under my eyes. The right side of my sweatshirt was dark with blood, and there were streaks of it on my right cheek. I must have touched my face with my bloody hand. My hands were streaked with dried blood as well, but I’d wiped most of it onto my clothes. I pulled at the neckline of the sweatshirt to get a better look, and the motion made me wince. Oh man, did that hurt! I ignored the pain and took off all my clothes, one piece at a time, and piled them in the corner, careful not to let the bloody part touch the floor. My parents rarely came up here, but I wasn’t taking any chances that my clothes would stain the rug or vinyl flooring.

I twisted around in front of the mirror, trying to get a look at the source of the pain on the back of my neck. Could I have snagged my shoulder on something attached to the train station building and not realized it until later? The wound was circular, like I’d been poked with a large skewer, and it was still bleeding, though not quite as badly. I placed my hand over it to see if I could stop the flow, and my fingers got oddly warm. Pressing on the wound felt comforting and lessened the pain. I kept the pressure on, my fingers getting warmer and warmer, like they had a fever of their own. Beneath my touch, there was a sudden movement, like something jerking free. It reminded me of when I was a kid and my dad pulled a sliver out of my palm. A pinch, a pull, and before I could even say ouch, he’d gotten it out. But no one was doing this, it was just happening on its own. Something was rising out of the wound at the base of my neck; I could feel it making its way to the surface.

And then it was right under my fingertips, a small, bloody lump. I stared at it for a second before turning on the faucet and rinsing it off.