Exiled Omnibus (4 page)

***

Eric squeezed his way through the narrow ship halls until he made it to one of the bunkrooms and banged on the door. Eric hoped his friend was still there.

The door swung open with an angry pull, and Billy held a scowl on his face. Even after learning it was Eric who had woken him, he still tried to slam the door.

“What do you want?” Billy asked.

“Billy! Buddy, pal, listen, I need to ask you a favor,” Eric said.

Eric stuck his arm out to block the door closing in his face just in the nick of time. The thud from the metal slamming against his forearm rang through the hallway.

“I... just... need... a minute,” Eric said, his muscles tensing against the strain of the door.

Billy's strength finally gave way, and Eric barreled into the room.

“Get out!” Billy said.

“Easy, bud, I just need one thing.”

“That's what you said about us not going with the rest of the Navy. You said they wouldn't hurt us. You said people would stand with us!” Billy held up the cast on his arm.

“I can sign that for you later, but right now I need to know if you still have access to the San Diego database to look up an address,” Eric said.

Billy dropped the cast. As much as he may have hated Eric, he did enjoy hanging his abilities over other people's heads. It made him feel more important than he actually was.

“Of course I can. It's child's play,” Billy said.

“I need you to look someone up for me. Brooke Fontanne.”

The small room was cramped even with only three men inside. All of them were dressed in suits, with American flag pins on the lapels of their jackets.

Smith snapped his phone shut. Both Daniel and Edwards had remained silent during the entire conversation.

“Well?” Edwards asked.

“The
USS Ronald Reagan
is his. Now he just needs the supplies to help him defend the border,” Smith said.

Daniel let out a sigh of relief. He hadn’t realized he'd been holding his breath in for that long.

“So now all we have to do is make sure our supply route is secure,” Smith said. “Edwards, are your people still willing to help?”

“They're nervous, but they're ready. Although I would like for us to move sooner rather than later, before they second-guess themselves,” Edwards answered.

“The containers of water, along with the ammunition and food rations, are secure at the airport. Once we get the word from Congressman Edwards, we'll notify the pilots,” Daniel said.

“You're sure it's a smart move leaving everything in one location?” Edwards asked.

“It'll be fine. It's a small airport owned under a shell corporation of one of my businesses. Jones won't be able to trace it,” Daniel replied.

“There are a lot of things we didn't think Jones could do,” Edwards said.

“We'll start scheduling shipments every other day. That should give Howard the support he needs,” Smith said.

Once they left the room, they all walked in different directions. Setting up illegal water deliveries would be enough to land all of them in jail. Adding that to the fact that they were supplying the now-exiled Southwest would add treason to their judgment and ultimately end their lives.

The stakes were high, and Daniel was doing his best to hold it together. He found himself looking behind him far too often, and when he was sitting in his office alone, he would catch himself staring at the closed door, just waiting for armed guards to bust it down and carry him away.

But once he had voted against Jones’s bill, he knew which side of the fence he set himself on. It might not have been the safest decision, but it was one that he knew his conscience would be able to handle. He just hoped he would live long enough to appreciate it.

Smith was smart, and Daniel trusted him. There was no way of knowing the amount of dirt and blackmail Jones had on the other congressmen to help swing the vote his way. They were all blindsided that the annexation of the Southwest had passed.

It was harder now, but not impossible, to save that portion of the country. If Captain Howard could keep General Gallo's men from establishing a foothold in the region, then they still had a chance to work legislation on their end to get the country back on its feet.

But even if Howard was able to fend off the Mexican military, and they could pass legislation to reinstate the Southwest, it still wouldn't solve the water crisis. That burden still rested with Dr. Carlson.

That was the one process Daniel was worried about. From what he'd seen of Dr. Carlson, he was not impressed. When Beth had brought him in to meet Smith and Daniel, he’d reeked of whiskey and looked like a homeless man living on the streets.

Still, Smith said he was a genius. Daniel just hoped the doctor would be able to sober up enough to recreate his process. If he even remembered how.

***

The sound of retching, followed by splashes into the toilet, from inside the bathroom kept disrupting Beth's concentration on her work. She sat at a small, round table made of some composite material and worked on her laptop. Her blouse and skirt were finely pressed, and her blond hair was pulled back tight in her signature bun.

Jake sat in the corner. He was scrolling through his phone, checking Congressman Smith’s messages.

Beth's long nails clicked against the keyboard, and her eyes darted to the closed bathroom door once more after another long moan from Dr. Carlson.

“Not everyone in this hotel room is a recovering alcoholic, so if you could try and keep the griping to a minimum, it would be greatly appreciated,” Beth said.

More plunks sounded from Dr. Carlson's puking, and Beth shuddered with frustration. She slammed the laptop closed and almost ripped the bathroom door off its hinges. The smell that flew up her nostrils was warm and sour. It felt as though a wave of death consumed her, but she stood firm.

Dr. Carlson had his arms wrapped around the toilet bowl and was curled up in the fetal position, with bits of vomit on the corners of his mouth.

“Are you done yet?” Beth asked.

“Woman, if there were a reincarnation of Lucifer himself walking around in our world, even he would have more sympathy for me than you do,” Dr. Carlson answered.

“You'll have plenty of time with the devil in your next life, but in this one, we need you dried out and working. We've already lost an entire day with you whining about how hard this is.”

“I need to go to the hospital.”

“Congressman Jones is looking for you, and you can bet he'll have people watching hospital admissions and every other corner of this country to make sure you're dead.”

“If he wanted to kill me, he would have done it already.”

“Well, should I give him a call, then, and let him know you're here?”

“Go for it. At least he'll put me out of my misery so I don't have to listen to your incessant yapping.”

“The clock is ticking, Doctor.”

***

After another hour of vomiting, he was dry heaving. Despite his stomach's persistence, the only thing that came out now was hot bile.

Dr. Carlson pushed himself off the bathroom floor. His arms shook, and his legs wobbled. He grabbed the towel rack and used it to help steady himself.

The pounding in his head was extravagant. His entire body felt as if it was under the weight of a semi truck. He took a few shuffling steps forward and then stopped, leaning up against the cool wall of the bathroom for support.

If he could make it to the bed, he would consider it a victory. His entire body was covered in sweat. His muscles twitched from their eager cries for more alcohol.

He landed his feet on the soft carpet of the bedroom and shuffled forward another few steps. He swayed back and forth, using every bit of strength left in him not to collapse.

Another couple short strides and he finally grabbed the thick comforter of the queen-sized bed and pulled himself on top. His face rubbed against the slightly scratchy fabric.

Dr. Carlson felt the weight of sleep crush him, and as his eyelids shut, the only thought that entered his mind was that he didn't think he'd ever wake up.

***

The first instinct that Dr. Carlson felt when his eyes opened wearily was that he wanted to inhale the biggest steak that he could find. But he wasn't greeted by the filet mignon of his dreams. Instead he was surrounded by two men dressed in well-tailored suits and the succubus who had dragged him here.

“Dr. Carlson?” Smith asked.

He didn't respond. Maybe if he pretended he was dead, they would go away.

“Dr. Carlson, it's David Smith. I'm the congressman you worked with three years ago, trying to get your formula passed in the House,” Smith said.

“Well, you did a shit job,” Dr. Carlson said.

“Apparently the lack of alcohol in his system doesn't diminish his charm,” Beth said.

“Dr. Carlson, I know you're probably exhausted, but we need you up and running immediately. I'm sure you've heard about what's happened,” Smith said.

They weren't going to leave him alone, no matter how much he tried to ignore them. Dr. Carlson pushed himself up off his stomach and rolled over to his back.

“Let me guess. The country still doesn't have enough water,” Dr. Carlson said.

“This is him?” Daniel asked. “This is what we're basing everything on? This drunk pessimist?”

“And what do you do, son?” Dr. Carlson asked. “Another politician? Trying to make a name for himself by backing a long shot with potential?”

“This was a mistake,” Daniel said, turning to leave.

“Daniel, wait,” Smith said.

But it was too late. The hotel door slammed shut, and Daniel disappeared. Dr. Carlson slowly rose to a sitting position and rubbed his eyes, attempting to remove the sleep that still lingered.

“I need something to eat,” Dr. Carlson said.

“Beth, get him some room service,” Smith said.

“What about Daniel?” she asked.

“I'll handle him. Just get Dr. Carlson back on his feet as soon as possible,” Smith answered.

Smith exited to run after Daniel, leaving Beth, Jake, and Dr. Carlson alone. Beth picked up the room's phone, and it hung limply in her hand.

“What do you want?” Beth asked.

Dr. Carlson turned his head and then recoiled. His face grimaced.

“Jesus. And I thought you looked bad when I was drunk,” he said.

Jake snorted, and Beth turned her glare at him, which he avoided by continuing to look down at his phone.

***

The elevator doors pinged open, and Daniel had just stepped inside when he heard Smith yelling after him. The door was just about to close when Smith's hand stopped it.

“This is a joke, David,” Daniel said.

“I know he's a little rough around the edges,” Smith replied.

“Rough around the edges? He's a drunk. All of his research was destroyed by the patent office. You said Beth couldn't find any of his original work in the house, and you expect me to give him the benefit of the doubt?”

“He'll get it done. Beth will make sure of that.”

Daniel's shoulders slumped. He backed up into the rear wall of the elevator. He buried his chin in his chest.

“I know it's been a lot. I know. But we need to keep pushing forward. Now's not the time to second guess ourselves,” Smith said.

“It's a thin line we're walking, David. And it's not just dangerous for me. It's dangerous for my family.”

“Nothing will happen to your family as long as I'm still breathing. I promise.”

“Okay, David. Let me know when the doctor has something for us.”

Smith lifted his hand off the elevator doors, and they closed. The elevator descended. Daniel wasn't sure how Smith was supposed to keep his family safe if things went south, but for the moment, he let himself believe that it was possible.