The Undesirable (Undesirable Series) (16 page)

“Itchy,” he explains. “It’s protection. Many people stop into this gas station, and I can’t have the wrong person realizing who I really am. So I act like an old man, even though I’m not.” He stops for a minute and sizes me up. “Well, maybe I’m old when it comes to you.”

I stifle a laugh and take in his new face — much smoother and at least 15 years younger than the man I met a few minutes before. I rock back on my feet, a little shocked.

“Your little escape has caused a pretty big stink in The Party.” Nelson’s mood seems to change. He frowns and scratches the back of his hairy neck. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

Glenn nods in the direction of the video bank. All business. “You see a lot of traffic on the monitors? A lot come across?”

“Yes,” says Nelson. “I tapped into some messages last week — the ones from some of the folks in Communication Command.” Nelson leans up against one of the shelves that hold supplies. “They came and looked pretty hard for you, right about the time you left. Now you’re not there—” He breaks off as if he doesn’t want to say the words.

“I’m not surprised about that one,” says Glenn. “Got to keep someone like her quiet.”

“I still don’t get it,” I say to them. “How did he know my mother?”

Nelson chews on his large toothpick again as amusement screws up his face. “Maxwell Cooper likes women.” He shrugs. “And he likes strippers. For years, his security detail has paid off the women he sleeps with and leaves. They started doing it back during his time in Congress, back before you were born.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I wonder how they met.”

“My guess is he came to The Handful during one of his book tours, early on in his career. Your mother drew a big crowd to the club, didn’t she?” Nelson makes a gesture with his left hand and then crosses his arms in front of him.

“I guess at some point. I knew her as a vacant drunk.” I shake my head. I’ll never understand so much about my mother. The blood in my cheeks lights on fire.

“We can make it to Harrison Corners tonight, this afternoon maybe, if we leave soon,” remarks Glenn as he returns to the task.

“You still sure about this?” Nelson says in a quiet voice. “It’s not safe there, not anymore. Not at all. The Party members are everywhere. The liquidation is about to begin.”

“Yeah,” I reply. “I’m sure. I have to go back. I can’t do this. I can’t leave Fostino and his family to die!” I don’t even want to think about it.

“Take some grenades with you.” Nelson pulls a few off one of the shelves and tosses them Glenn’s way. “Never hurts.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Glenn pulls off Interstate 295 a few minutes after we cross the Michigan border into Ohio. It’s 15 minutes before 5:00 PM when the engine of the Humvee shudders to a stop. He selects a spot to park off the main road, where a few apple trees meet a brown, fallow field on the north side of town.

“We’ll walk from here,” he says. Off in the distance I spot a metal checkpoint, about a half mile away from us at the main entrance to town.

“The checkpoint didn’t exist here a few weeks ago,” I say, unsettled. “We had just one fence.”

Glenn nods as if he anticipated this. “What did we tell you about tighter security?”

“Right.”

“And there’s another thing.” He puts a hand on my arm. “No matter what happens, make sure you get cover by nightfall. A place to hide, something. You’ll need it. I ain’t lyin’, Charlotte.” He sucks in a deep breath. “Keep your eye on the time. I talked to Thompson before we left and he says they’ve doubled security at night in Harrison Corners. More patrols. More searches. They’ll shoot you on the spot if they find you.”

I gulp.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes.” My eyes bore into his. I look out the windshield at the checkpoint and then back at him. “How will we get through it?”

“We ain’t. We’ll go around.” Glenn gestures to the right. “Figure we can sneak through these trees and then at the entrance to Ohio Street, there should be a hole in the fence. We used that hole to escape the last time.”

Oh, right.

“And at five, there’s a guard change,” he continued. “Everyone at the checkpoint will be distracted. Then we’ll make our move.”

I quickly glanced at my watch. 4:50.

“Did you put what you need in your pack? When we get out of this car — remember — don’t come back. We can’t come back to this car. Make your exit on the other side of 295. There’s an opening in the wall there too. The SSR will leave another car near that spot,” Glenn says in a flat, mechanical voice. He pauses. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

“What about your gun? It on ya?”

“Yes.” Then I panic. My stomach lurches and I taste bile in the back of my throat. “What if someone sees us? What if this doesn’t work?”

4:54.

“We’ll use the houses on Ohio Street as cover and then figure out a way to use some of the back driveways and alleys of Harrison Corners to get to Fostino. Okay. One more time. Where do you think he is?”

“It’s a Thursday,” I remind Glenn. “He’s at the factory, and then if not there, maybe the store. They still make people go to the factory, right?”

“We think so. We don’t know for sure.”

“I think that’s the best place to go first.”

“The factory’s two streets off Ohio…” He thinks aloud. “Settled. We’ll start there.”

I blink at the checkpoint for a few seconds. I can make out three soldiers there, and two of them carry machine guns. My throat has a lump I can’t swallow.

4:59.

“Glenn,” I say, and turn to face him. My eyes search his. Then I lean over and peck him on the cheek. “Thank you for all you’ve done.” My voice is soft. I want him to know I mean it. “You didn’t have to help me like this.”

“Ain’t the type,” he mumbles and then gives me a smile. “Been my pleasure to help you.” He stumbles on his next words. “You know, you remind me of my daughter. She died so young. Just five. Wish she would have grown up to be like you.”

“Like me?” I hear my disbelief.

“Yes. Like you. You’re very strong — stronger than you think.”

“I am?”

“Yes. Say it with me, darlin’.
I am strong
.”

“I am strong,” I repeat, still unsure if I believe it. Glenn looks down at his Hologram Watch. I mimic him. The time shines clearly at us.

“Alrighty. It’s time.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

The straps of my backpack pull tight around my shoulders as we slip through the thick trees and make our way. My breath comes out of my lungs in hard, uneven spurts. I pray my heart doesn’t beat louder than the shuffles of our feet. 

“Keep your steps even,” murmurs Glenn beside me. “Use the trees as camouflage.” He is wide-eyed. It unnerves me.

We pick through the trees and hit the perimeter fence. It’s taller than I remembered — at least twelve feet, concrete, with circular barbed wired and spikes at the top. When I touch it, the concrete is cold. I bite my lip.

No turning back after this.

Glenn sticks an arm in the brush for a few seconds. He smiles when his hands find something I can’t see. 

“Here we go,” he says as he pulls back a small panel made to resemble the concrete blocks. Seconds later, I can see it’s a metal screen with a thin row of concrete on one side. “’Nother one of these over on the other side,” he adds. “I’ll push it out when I crawl through.”

Then he disappears. I wait a few moments before I follow. Instead of the trees fading into a field on the other side of the wall, they fade into a row of shotgun shack houses that wind around a cul-de-sac. We’re in someone’s backyard.

I blink and sweep my eyes over the yard. It takes me a second to realize someone burned this house. The stench of scorched wood hits my nostrils and burns my throat within seconds. Four other homes on the street look burned, too.

“Come on,” Glenn cautions as he points to a garage in the back of this yard. It’s the first of several I notice. We take cover on the backside, the side closest to the abandoned alley. I pant loudly. Glenn puts a finger up to his lips and signals me to be quiet.

5:36.

I raise my eyebrow and give him a nod. After a few seconds, he puts up his left hand and gives a countdown. 
Five, four, three, two, one.
I hold my breath as we move to the back wall of the next garage. We do this seven more times until I see only one garage between us and the next street. Glenn takes a few steps and his head peeks around the side of the garage. Then he turns back to me.

“The elementary school’s right there,” he whispers in my ear. I see a section of open grass about 20 feet between the last garage and the school I attended as a small child. “We can take cover over there in the stairwell next to the door for the basement.”

“Is anyone there, I mean, on the street?”

“Ain’t anyone there now,” he asserts. He pulls his head around the side of the wall one more time. I reach for the gun on my hip and hope the action makes me a little safer. I gape at him, unsure. “Only way to get to the town center.” My ears strain to hear Glenn’s words. “We’ll go one at a time.”

I glance from him, to the field, to the school, and then back at him. I bite my lip. “Okay,” I mutter after a second. “If you’re sure.”

“It’s the only way.” Glenn whispers. After a second, he smiles. He puts up his hand for the countdown.

Five… four… three… two… one
.

Glenn winks, pulls his backpack tighter, and takes the first hurried steps across the field. I press my body against the white clapboard and can’t take my eyes off him. He takes five steps. Ten steps. Fifteen steps.

5:50.

I sigh. He’s almost made it. Then I hear the voice somewhere on Metamora.

“You!” It screams. “You right there! With the backpack! Stop right now!”

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

I shut my eyes and squeeze them tight. I wonder if my eyes will pop. My body stays that way for over a minute and I cover my ears with my hands.

When I open them again, Glenn stands on the far side of the field with his hands up. The backpack lies in a heap at his feet. One member of The Party stands with a revolver pointed at Glenn’s head. A second person yells at Glenn. I can tell by their uniforms they’re low ranking officers, maybe second lieutenants. But I can’t tell for sure.

“What’s in this bag?” he screams. “Tell me the contents!”

The second officer kicks the bag when he gets no response. Glenn has a strange expression on his face, as if he has already left this world. I flatten myself up against the wall as tight as I can and position myself so my left eye can see what transpires.

“Open it,” he orders. His comrade complies; he pulls out the grenades, gun, and fake ID buried deep inside Glenn’s bag.

“You in the SSR?” screams the first officer when he sees the grenade. “Tell me now.”

Glenn shakes his head. The second officer spits on the ground and takes a step forward. Without warning, he kicks Glenn in the shin of his left leg. Glenn grunts and winces. I flinch as if the solider kicked me.

“Who’s with you?” barks the first officer. His guns still cocked and he’s ready to fire at any minute. I watch the other man deliver another kick. ‘“Tell me now!”

“Ain’t no one,” Glenn mumbles after a long pause. “I work alone.”

Jesus Christ. He just saved my life.

The first officer is still not satisfied. He gets closer to Glenn and yells in his face. “You have SSR written all over your face. An Undesirable!” He screams so loud I wonder if everyone in town can hear him. “Do you know what we do with Undesirables?”

I shut eyes again.

Here it comes.

A few second pass before I hear the tale tell pop of the revolver.

CHAPTER FORTY

“Why did you shoot him in the head like that?” the second Officer shouts at the first. “I had questions! He knew stuff! Now he’s dead.”

I freeze next to the clapboard of the garage. I can’t move or think .It’s all too much to take. I keep my eyes shut but allow my ears to hear the commotion.

“He’s the enemy. We kill the enemy.”

Even though I try, I can’t stop the tears. Glenn is dead. He tried to help me and he’s dead. He’s
dead
. I hear shuffles and bangs, then the sound of the backpack’s zipper. A shiver courses through my body.

Oh God. 

“Look at all this stuff! He knows something,” the second officer grumbles. “I bet he knows where that pain-in-the-ass girl is right now.”

“Charlotte Walker?”

“You idiot.” It sounds like the second officer closes the bag again. “What do you suggest we do with his body?”

“I guess we take it with us. They’ll want to see what he had on him.”

More commotion comes from the field. I will my eyes to open; in horror, I see they’ve got Glenn’s body stretched out between them on the green grass.

“We’ll carry it back to the barracks,” says the first officer. “It’s not far from here.”

The second officer hoists Glenn’s backpack on to his body. They count to three. One takes Glenn’s legs, the other takes his arm. His body hangs limp between them. They take a few steps. My stomach churns and I want to get sick. Instead, I choke back the bile. The trio makes it a few paces before the second officer stops.

“Wait a second,” he barks. “Should we do a sweep of the neighborhood? What if he has someone with him?”