Empire Of Salt (27 page)

T
hey returned to her grandfather's trailer, overwhelmed by information. The whole way back no one said a word. Auntie Lin saw their pensive faces when they arrived and fixed them heaping bowls of fried rice. Veronica handled her Chinese hot sauce well, but Metzger had sweat pouring from his scalp as he wolfed down the food with an equal amount of water. He never complained, but eating the fried rice was clearly an unanticipated ordeal.

After lunch, they gathered in the living room, sprawling stickily along the leather couches. The single air conditioner in the front window whined tiredly; with the curtains closed and the ceiling fan on full, the room was barely tolerable. Still, it was better than the rooftop patio.

Natasha passed out pieces of paper and pencils. Their first order of business was to find out what the crib was. They had 12 characters. What made it more difficult was that there were no spaces between any of the letters in the book at all.

But at least they had the crib.

With the crib written at the tops of their pages, each of them sat for an hour, writing guesses, then seeing if the letter sequences and frequencies were the same as in the crib. Sadly, and frustratingly, none of them had any luck.

They heard the sound of two vehicles squealing to a stop outside, then the crunch of many boots on gravel, running toward the house.

Metzger took off for the back of the trailer only a moment before someone began hammering on the door.

"Open up! We know you're in there."

Natasha frowned as she stood. She exchanged looks with Veronica and Derrick.

"I said open up. We have the house surrounded."

She went to the door. "What's going on? This is Natasha Oliver. I live here."

She heard whispers from the other side of the door, then came a voice she recognized. "Natasha, this is Mr. Hopkins. Can you open the door, honey?"

She turned to Veronica and scrunched her nose. She hated being called
honey
.

Veronica made the universal sign for shooting oneself in the head. Derrick, meanwhile, gathered the papers into a pile, then shoved a comic book over the top of them.

"What's going on, Mr. Hopkins?" Natasha asked, pouring on as much innocence as she could. And it wasn't easy. In her mind's eye, he was standing out by the buses watching all the soldiers being killed.

"Nothing, dear. I have some men with me who are looking for an escaped prisoner. They need to come inside and conduct a search."

She hated being called
dear
worse than she hated being called
honey
. "Do they have a warrant, Mr. Hopkins?"

Hopkins didn't answer right away. Instead, there was more muffled conversation from the other side of the door.

"Natasha, dear, they don't need a warrant. In the interests of National Security and the PATRIOT Act, they have a right to enter your home whether you want them to or not. I'd open up if I were you."

Veronica shook her head vigorously, while Derrick stared at her with eyes the size of clocks.

Where was her dad when she needed him? Frustration and fear shot through Natasha. Everyone back in Willow Grove knew that the reason Auntie Lin had stayed around was because the kids needed someone that they could count on to raise them. But there were some things her nanny couldn't do and standing up to armed men was one of them.

Natasha could just imagine something horrible happening, the armed men breaking down the door and doing something to her and Derrick and Veronica. The best thing to do would be to let them in and hope for the best. After all, it appeared as if Mr. Hopkins was trying to make this look legal, so if she played along, maybe she'd have a chance. Besides, if they did find Metzger, they couldn't rightly take him straight to the zombie factory. Not with all of them as witnesses.

"Natasha, are you there?"

"Yes. I'm opening the door now. Hold on a moment." She glanced back to find that Metzger had disappeared. She didn't know where he'd gone, but she had to trust that he'd find a place where he couldn't be found.

She took a deep breath to steady herself and opened the door.

Two soldiers dressed in black, combat helmets atop their heads, stood to either side of the door, rifles pointing right at her. Mr. Hopkins stood between them, dressed in a red polo shirt and jeans, wearing a self-satisfied smile.

"Mind if we come in?"

She stood aside. Never having had a weapon pointed at her before, Natasha was stunned. The very idea that she was one trigger pull away from death made her chest tighten. She felt hot tears prick her eyes and fought them back as all three men entered the house.

"So where is he?" Hopkins asked Derrick. "Have you seen him, son?"

"Leave him alone." Veronica started to stand, but one of the soldiers pushed her down. "Don't tell them anything, Derrick."

"Don't pay attention to Ms. Veronica, Derrick. Her rap sheet is bigger than her common sense. Did she tell you that she has a criminal record? Did you know that she liked to burglarize people's homes when they were away at work?"

Derrick looked from Veronica to his sister.

"Stop bullying Derrick," Natasha said, recovering from her initial shock.

"Then tell us where he is."

"He's not here."

"Then why are there four glasses and only three of you?" Hopkins pointed at the coffee table.

Hopkins glanced down at the comic book resting atop the pile of papers with their decoding efforts. If Hopkins picked it up, he'd most assuredly see what they'd been working on.

Then, of course, Hopkins did exactly what she was afraid of, picking up the comic book and holding it up to the light. "I thought I heard that Batman was dead. Did he come back to life or something?" He waved the comic book at Derrick to get the boy's attention.

"He is dead," Derrick said. "That's Robin. He took his place."

"The kid? I thought he was short."

"I suppose he grew up."

Hopkins grinned at the comic and shook his head. "Kid stuff." He dropped the comic back on the stack of papers. "So about those four glasses?" he asked, pinning Natasha with a glare.

"The fourth one belongs to my Auntie Lin," Natasha said. She couldn't even breathe. The words came out barely above a whisper. She added hurriedly, "You met her at the Space Station."

"Your Auntie Lin, huh?" Hopkins sucked air through his teeth. "If only we could all have an Auntie Lin." He snapped his fingers. "Phillips, search the trailer and let me know when you find him."

"Yes, Sir," said one of the soldiers, turning and heading down the hall, weapon leading the way.

Natasha moved to follow, but Hopkins held out his hand. She stopped and stared fearfully down the hall. All she could do was watch as the soldier searched the kitchen, opening the cabinets. He even checked the refrigerator and the oven, as if Metzger could somehow shrink himself.

When Phillips was done with the kitchen, he moved down the hall to the first bedroom and eased into it as if something deadly lay within.

She had to wonder herself where Metzger had gone. Had he escaped out a window? Was he hiding under one of the beds? The way the soldier was searching it seemed inevitable that Metzger would be caught. What would they do with him once they found him? Would they still turn him into a zombie or would they execute him on the spot?

The soldier cleared one bedroom and headed for the next, which Natasha had claimed as her own, then came to a locked door: Auntie Lin's room.

Phillips called out to the other soldier, who joined him at the door. While the new soldier guarded the door, Phillips concluded his search by going through the master bedroom. An immense crash could have been the dresser going over. Natasha pictured her father's things scattered on the floor and crushed under booted heels. She frowned at Hopkins, who stared placidly into the distance.

When the soldiers met again at Auntie Lin's door, Hopkins pulled a radio from his back pocket and spoke into it, asking if there'd been any sign of Metzger. The reply was negative. He told them to keep watching, then shoved the radio back in his pocket, turned to Natasha and said, "Let's stop dicking around."

He marched down the hall and turned back to Natasha. "I'll give you one chance. You call to him and get him out here and it will be the safest thing for him. If Phillips and Roscoe go in after him, there's no telling what will happen."

Natasha just stared back at Hopkins. She knew the truth of what he said, but what was she to do? If she was even to acknowledge that Metzger was there, it would be his death sentence. The only thing she could do was wait it out and hope for the best.

Hopkins shook his head, then knocked on the door. "Hello in there?"

There was no answer.

He knocked a little harder. "Open up, please."

A female voice came through the wood, speaking in Chinese. "
Bié jìnlai! Bié jìnlai! Wo shi chìluóluó.
"

Hopkins glanced at each of the soldiers, who shrugged in response, then shook his head and frowned. "Open the door or we're going to break it down."

The voice repeated, "
Bié jìnlai! Bié jìnlai! Wo shi chìluóluó."

Hopkins stepped back and pointed to the door. One of the soldiers kicked hard at the door knob. The door shattered at the lock and flung open.

The soldier spoke for the first time. "Oh - my - God!"

"Please! Get out of here!" came Auntie Lin's hysterical shriek.

Natasha ran over to see what was going on, imagining monsters. This time no one stopped her. When she looked in, she was as startled as the soldier beside her.

Hopkins averted his gaze, a look of disgust on his face. "Get in there and check for Metzger," he said.

The soldiers didn't move, but he yelled at them until they entered.

Auntie Lin backed away and sat on a cedar chest, almost knocking over a picture sitting on it. She crossed her legs demurely and stared daggers at the soldiers checking under her bed and inside her closet. When they didn't find anyone, they turned to Hopkins.

He was far from pleased. "Wherever he is," he snarled, "know that we'll be watching for him. Specialist Metzger is a dangerous man. Listen to him at your own risk."

He glanced once more at Auntie Lin, then turned his head and left in disgust. The soldiers followed him to the front of the trailer. When they left, Veronica slammed the door behind them, then locked it.

Natasha turned to Auntie Lin with a
What the hell were you thinking?
look.

Auntie Lin cackled happily as she stood, crossed the room, and donned a robe.

"What's so funny?" Natasha asked.

"This old body still has its uses."

Natasha couldn't help but smirk. And the smirk turned into a full-fledged smile when the cedar chest opened and Metzger climbed out.

It had become a daily regimen to face off against his captured monster. Gerald Duphrene had finished a lunch of tuna salad and sliced apples, washed his dishes, dusted the inside of the trailer, and now found himself parked in front of the Silvas' trailer once again.

He couldn't be certain, but he believed that the monster scared him a little less now than it did yesterday.
Knowledge will set you free
, he told himself. For that matter,
whatever kind of monster this is it can't be as bad as the thousands of Chinese soldiers who charged your position every day for three years.

"Fucking gook bastards."

He grinned as he said it. Funny how things he'd thought left behind in the war could come back and help him in the present day. He trundled up the steps into the house. The bedroom door was still cracked. He heard the monster before he saw it. It made that peculiar wheezing sound, as if it were trying to breathe but had forgotten how.

Gerald thought of an asthmatic he'd known in basic training. The poor sap had wanted to join the army so badly. His brother had served in the Pacific against the Japs and all he wanted to do was share in the family fame. But try as he might, even a round of push-ups would leave him gasping helplessly for air. Gerald couldn't remember the boy's name, but the sound he made was like the sound the monster made. The comparison helped him. After all, who could be afraid of an asthmatic monster?

Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the room. For a second he wanted to turn and run, but he beat that feeling into submission with his mantra.

The monster hadn't changed much. Its uniform still hung in tatters over green skin. Its hair grew in clumps, like grass in the seams of the sidewalk. The eyes still shone with yellow determination. More importantly, the jaws of the trap still held the leg.

"How ya doing, you fucking gook bastard?" Gerald kept his voice under control.

It didn't answer. Of course, Gerald had never thought it would.

"Your pals have been chewing their way through town. They got the Beachys last night. Not very neighborly of you."

The monster's wheezing increased. Its face drew into a half-smile, lips pulled back from teeth that chattered against each other.