Night Bites (12 page)

Techno what? Oh TecnoJunk

I may be biased and all, but I have to say Clyde looks like a little heartbreaker in his new collar. It has to be the cutest thing I have ever seen, and he knows it. He has developed a little strut to his walk that hasn’t been there in the day or two that I have known him. It is making his already too big head even bigger.

“How soon before you have him in a little sweater?” Jonas asks as I try to get Clyde to settle into the big doggy bed I have put in the third row of the Suburban. I think he understands I will not be sitting next to him and is getting a little agitated.

“I will be right up front. If you get hungry or need to potty, just let me know. You can look out the windows and drool all you want back here.” My words don’t seem to be making a difference and he turns on the puppy dog eyes. “Fine. You can sit on the floorboard between me and Sebby, but you have to behave.” I take him out and walk around to get him resettled.

I can already tell traveling with the tyke will not be fun. He snuggles happily into his new spot and I am ready to get this show on the road. Well, once I get the holster and back sheath off, I will be ready.

The guys have been loading the rest of our stuff and the horse. Sebastian takes his place beside me, while I thank the gods I don’t have a bench seat. Although, Clyde would serve as a good chaperone in between us. Once Kent and Jonas get in their spots, Jonas directly behind me, Kent next to him, we are really ready to go.

“Why would he need a sweater?” I ask Jonas picking up on his previous comment. “It isn’t like we live in a cool climate. Not only that, but I am pretty sure he is his own little furnace. The flames have to come from somewhere.”

“I know that, but you see human girls all the time with their tiny dogs in sweaters stuffed into a bag they can carry the poor dog in. I figured eventually you were going to get to that point,” he comments.

Not even over my dead body is Clyde getting stuffed in a purse. “Rest assured my craziness can only go so far and that is about ten steps past that point.” I meet his eyes in the rearview mirror and he gives me a doubtful look. It is just another thing to be added to my list of things to prove to Jonas. I hope that he didn’t get a good look in all the boxes. Not that there were any purses, but the floaties probably hurt my standing.

“So Kent, you got some directions? Maybe some coordinates I can log into my GPS?”

“I imagine you know how to get to 48 from here. Just follow it when it becomes Highway 50 and I will tell you where to turn and stop when we get closer,” he claims.

“Are we staying in what the humans call West Virginia?” I call it West Virginia too, but the paranorms weren’t involved in naming the state. We have so much cooler names for things.

At first, the fact that it took Kent quite a few hours to get to Night Owl City made me wonder on the distance we would have to travel, but he was riding a horse at the time, so any guesses flew out the window.

“Yeah. It is only a couple hours away on the highway. From there, we will have about fifteen more minutes on some back roads. It isn’t far from Tygart Lake, so when you start seeing signs for it, you will be getting close.”

“Sounds good,” I say heading in the direction of the open road. “Why don’t we play getting to know Kent on the way? Since I have to work with you on this, I would prefer knowing a little something about you.”

“I am game, but there might be questions I don’t answer.” Well duh. I don’t plan on getting to know him that well, just the basics.

“So, what is your real name?” I ask deciding that is a good starting point.

“And there is a reason why you don’t believe it to be Kent Newhouse?” he asks with a little devilry in his voice.

“Just the little fact that I couldn’t find you in any of the databases I checked, even the Collective’s. You mentioned one of their people was after you, so you should be in the database.”

“True and I imagine I am. I was born Nathaniel Rogers, but I wouldn’t answer to that name these days.”

“And just why was the Collective after your ass?”

“Never have really figured that one out. I am leaning towards a case of mistaken identity. I am not inherently a violent person. I just woke up one day and they were after me. If you ever figure out the reason, I would appreciate being let in on the secret.”

“Now that I know your name, I can get into their system and see what they have on you. Where are you from originally?”

“Emerald. I used to run a small tech firm. Nothing fancy, but I made enough to be happy.”

“It wouldn’t have happened to be called TechnoJunk, would it?” The little clues snap together in my brain and I may be able to help him figure out his dilemma without a computer.

“That would be the one. I take it you have heard of it,” he replies.

“Oh yeah, I have heard of it, it was before my time really, but it made big news in Collective scuttlebutt. Since my Collective father was involved, it was a story I heard many times over the years. I didn’t know any specific names, but you would be the one that got away.”

This is too good to be true. I am out of the Collective for a month and I run into the guy Frank could never catch. I should take pictures and send them to him.

“Would you care to share said story? I think after a couple decades someone should clue me in on why I had to run,” Kent says not finding the same humor I am in the situation.

“Sure. It isn’t that long of a story. You know the end of it anyway. Frank, my Collective father for those keeping score, ends up staring into space as you disappear right in front of him. It is classic. I was just a whippersnapper at the time, so I cannot remember what happened when he got home, but the ‘incident’ was brought up years later when people wanted to joke around with him.”

“I am well aware of the ending scene. I am pretty familiar with the middle parts, too. It is the beginning I am interested in learning,” Kent says still not enjoying the moment.

“Wait. First,” I say giggling like a schoolgirl. No one better be taping this because me giggling does not leave the vehicle. “When you walked past the barrier to your ‘Ghost Town’ did you turn around and see him standing there?”

“You can see the outside scenery from inside the town, so yes, I saw him. He searched the area for at least a day before giving up.”

“Oh how I wish I had a video of that,” I say picturing it in my mind until I hear a throat clear. “Fine. The reason you were targeted is that one of your little developers made a program the Collective didn’t like. They wanted to erase anyone who had knowledge of the program.”

“It has been awhile, but I cannot think of anything we were working on that would have raised any red flags,” he replies after thinking to himself for a few seconds.

“I don’t know all the specifics, but it was a tracking program and since it was twenty years ago, I think it was a little before its time. As far as I know, other than you, the rest of the employees have been held in a Collective lab happily sharing their brains to better equip the Collective. So surprise, they weren’t actually going to kill you. The order was for you all to be brought in alive.”

“For at least a year after I got away, I tried to think of what they could want with me. I tried to think of anything we could have been doing at TechnoJunk, but we were doing only low-level work. I cannot think of anything that would have been considered for tracking.”

“I got no answers for you there. For all I know, they were scanning your projects and found something that with a change to one line of code it became interesting to them. There really is no rhyme or reason to the things they do.”

“Well, I like to think I am better off where I am now. There are some people I wish I could go back and see, but those relationships are long over these days.”

He seems a little sad remembering the days long past. His is just another life abruptly altered thanks to the great bunch of men over at the Collective. Luckily for him, he is still breathing. Most of the people they go after don’t have that luxury.

“Let’s refocus my questions to your current life. Has technology reached Ghost Town?  For some reason, I don’t expect you to have Internet connection.”

How else could he not know about Alex, Sebastian, and me making the news? Has he even heard of Facebook and Youtube? Why do I keep coming up with more and more questions?

“Inside the bubble that is the town, you won't find a connection,” he tells me. “There is a library close by outside town that we use to email and look things up on the Internet.”

“That might make doing background checks on the townies a bit difficult,” I surmise.

“I think doing backgrounds on anyone would be tough, even if you had an Internet connection ingrained in your mind. I am pretty sure I mentioned the folks are real private. Getting one of them to give you a real name is not very high on my things happening this century list,” Kent informs me. It is good to know I am not the only one that has crazy made up lists.

“Maybe I can scare their identities out of them and then step out of town real quick to run the scans.” No, it doesn't make any more sense when I say it out loud. Too bad, it seems I am going to be working a little blind.

“Hey, this is our turn at the next intersection,” Kent instructs. I really wish he would have given me coordinates. I hate backseat drivers.

“You do notice you are having me turn where there isn't actually a road, right?” There aren't even tire tracks where he is pointing. I haven't exactly seen civilization in a while either.

“More people would wander in if it was easily accessible. Trust me this truck will make it to where we are going. Just make the turn and keep going for about five miles. You may want to take it a little slow.”

“And what are we doing with the Suburban when we get there? Can I drive it right down Main Street?” I ask curious about his little vortex.

“With all the stuff you brought along, just for the Hellhound, we are going to have to try. Plus, leaving it on the outside would draw attention,” he says. I think somewhere in there was a dig on me and Clyde. This guy really doesn't want to get on my good side. “Okay, see that tree up ahead?”

“The one that almost looks like it is upside down?” I would imagine it is the right one, since it’s the only fucking one around and it is upside down making it really peculiar.

“Wait, you see it upside down? Does anyone else see an upside down tree?” he asks.

“I see a normal tree. Looks like an oak,” Jonas says.

“I would agree with it being an oak standing right side up,” Sebastian concurs.

Okay. WTF? We are seeing different trees. I don’t even think mine is an oak. I don’t think I need my eyes checked, but I am starting to worry.

“For me it is upside down. That is why I ran towards it all those years ago. It was unexpected and odd,” Kent says. “It would seem the town wants Slaughter to pay a visit. Only those that see the upside down tree are able to get in on their own.”

Great the town wants me. Just what I wanted to hear. If it wants me so bad, maybe it will make its residents cooperate with my investigation. That's not asking too much, is it?

Chapter 16

Welcome to an alternate universe

Before I can even attempt to enter Insanityville, I notice Marcus circling above us. Hmm. Wonder how long he has been tagging along. I stop briefly to collect him. He just hops in, puts his bag with the rest of the cargo, and hurries to the back row of seating.

“I am happy you could join us and glad you did it when you did,” I say having actually forgotten he was supposed to be meeting us. He just shrugs and smiles. I bet he is trying to get a take on the sheriff.

Back to the task at hand, I have decided playing chicken with a tree is a very odd thing. I know good and well that the tree isn't going to move, but Tex in the back seat tells me to drive right into it. I think driving into a tree is going on another list somewhere. If I just stop here, I wonder what would happen. The putting my toes into the water to check the water temperature versus cannonballing into the water sounds like a great method to me right now.

Sadly, my foot and hands disagree with logic and keep us on the path into the tree. I cringe slightly expecting an impact, who wouldn't, but the impact doesn't come. What does come is definitely a “we aren't in Kansas anymore” moment.

You would think with the cowboy sheriff in the backseat and the horse in tow, and just in general, the name Ghost Town, I would have been prepared for the scene before me.

You would be wrong.

I don't see any tumbleweeds, but I am expecting one any second. It is like we just drove back in time and I don't have a DeLorean. I can see a corner saloon occupying the biggest visible building.

We drive by the stables, blacksmith, doctor, and a general store. Seriously, I am not making this up. This is nuts.

I don't see a lot of people around. In fact, I haven't seen another person at all. The crazy skinner person was supposed to be waiting right out front for me. He must not have got my email.

“Pull up in front of the jail,” Kent says pointing towards the building closest to the saloon. I guess that makes sense. Don't have to take the drunks far to let them sleep it off.

I do as I am instructed. “So, are there always this many people out and about?” I ask while I take stock of the “jail”, or what he considers one. I wonder if the cells have any special protection to keep the werewolves in.

“I am hoping people are staying inside to not attract attention to themselves. It is still early and we have no idea when the skinner takes his victims.” We start climbing out of the vehicle. Clyde is up and ready for whatever new adventure is in store. I grab his leash and start walking him around a little so he can get familiar with the new place.

“Oh good, that sounds like you are going to be able to kill something this trip,” Marcus says in a jovial tone. Being late to the party, I guess he wasn’t clued in on all the details.

“You know it is what I live for,” I reply. “I forgot to ask during our question and answer period, are all the victims wolves?” I assume they are because of the low percentage of anything else in the town.