A car had been waiting for them at the rest stop at I-80 and SR 95, as Tran had said it would be, and the three and a half-hour drive to Beowave had been relatively uneventful. Finding a satisfactory campsite had taken a little while longer, for water is scarce in the Nevada desert in June, and a flat location that commanded a good view of both rest stop and valley was even scarcer. They'd arrived just as dawn was breaking, and made camp before the sun had crested Emigrant Peak to the east
Mira whistles the theme from the "Bridge Over the River Kwai" as she sets up camp. "Nothing like camping to make you feel like a speck on the face of the world," she remarks to Martin.
"I'm more used to being the speck on the bottom of someone's shoe," he counters in a brittle, almost sad voice. "You get used to it after a while."
"Change shoes," Mira suggests.
"I did," Martin replies, hefting one of the surveillance gear cases from the back of the densely-packed Subaru. "God just hasn't moved his foot to catch up yet."
"Well, give him a little time," Mira says, slightly smiling. "He's a big fellow and moves a little slow." * * *
The three-year-old Subaru Legacy Tran had arranged to be waiting for them as a replacement for the bullet-damaged Bronco sits camouflaged with a tan cloth and sagebrush, not too far from where Mira and Martin have set up camp, a flat spot that backs up against the side of a mountain on an access road above one of the Beowave geothermal plants. Their location, about a hundred feet above the valley floor, facing the east, gives them a prime view of the valley, railroad, I-80, the rest stops, and a large expanse of desert to the south. Inevitably, the sun rose and heated the desert below to temperatures in the mid-80s: a lucky summer break in temperatures.
It’s what, Mira thinks to herself, glancing at her watch, approaching noon? The hottest part of the day ought to come around three then, she muses, taking a swig of unpleasantly warm water from her canteen. At least its a dry heat.
In the large, thirty-mile wide valley, the rest-stops sit at the base of the opposite mountain range from that in which Mira and Martin are camped. I-80 runs along the northern edge of the valley, sharply ascending directly after the rest stops. Geothermal plants are sprinkled through out the valley, in different sizes and in no obvious pattern. It's hard to get a sense of scale or distance in the sea of sagebrush.
Something - more likely someone - is watching us , Martin thinks, surveying the valley with a pair of binoculars. There’s only so much we can do up here with the nets and sagebrush. We really need some trees, or maybe a good stand of tall rocks to break up our camp’s outlines. He grins mirthlessly to himself, They probably dug all the trees up and dynamited the rock formations to make this as hard as possible. I would’ve anyway.
Studying the area, Martin stops several times to examine the only two things that seem out of the ordinary: the steam which rises from the ground in several spots; and a series of white poles, about four feet in height, with about 50 small holes running down their lengths. They poles themselves seem to be made of either PVC or painted metal -- difficult to say from the distance -- and are placed at 50 yard intervals, the entire length of the valley. Fencing -- the most obvious purpose -- doesn't run in between them, either.
Setting down his binoculars and rubbing at his eyes for a moment, Martin fishes out another granola bar and works his way through half of it before commenting to Mira, "Remind me to take a hard look at those poles after dark - with all of the wind-blown dust out here, if they're really an infra-red beam fence of some kind the beams ought to show up on the night vision gear."
"Yeah, that or something electric," she says. "Though we should probably do a little walking around when it gets cooler. Make it look like we actually came out here to camp, hike and do research."
"You're the professional outdoorsman here," he observes, taking a drink from the water bottle placed next to him on a convenient rock. "Just tell me what to do and I'll fake it as best I can." He pauses for a moment, then adds, very quietly, "Sorry about last night."
"Well, we just have to live with it now," Mira shrugs. "I'm really glad that you were there and wanted to help. It's just well, it was little strong. We could have driven out of there."
"No," he says quietly, "not once they started shooting. There's a line that sits out there, waiting for people to cross it - the line that demarcates a 'friendly' fight or argument from one where someone's going to die. Problem is, life doesn't come with a warning sign or a big buzzer that tells you you're there - you have to know it when you get there without any warning at all."
He looks out across the valley for a second, then continues, "Most people don’t know what to look for - that's why first-time victims of violent crime are something like ten times more likely to die than repeat victims. The survivors learn, and they're ready the next time. Those guys," he nods his head back towards town, "weren’t professionals. Once they started shooting there wasn't any talking to them, wasn't any negotiating - we either fought back, or you and I became statistics alongside the showgirl. Period."
He shrugs, "I figure they made their choices as soon as they drew down on what they thought were three unarmed civilians - anything after that was on them. But," he concedes, "I should’ve warned you what was going down. Not right to keep your partner in the dark like that."
"Martin, I'm going to have to teach you the value of the bluff," Mira says. "It can be quite useful. For example, you could have laid down cover fire, making them dive for cover. That would have given us enough time to get out of there."
She pats him on the shoulder, "You're smarter then those guys. You could have settled it without us leaving a big mess in the garage."
"No," he sighs, perhaps a bit sadly, "I don't think so. Those guys weren't real professionals, more like amateurs with delusions of grandeur. Guys like that... you either stop 'em cold - or they just keep coming at you, guns blazing - that's the way they work. A professional would've either walked up to us and handled it without gunfire, or he'd have walked away and done the girl later, after we'd dropped her off."
"Well, I guess we’re going to just have to disagree on that," Mira shrugs.
"Didn't mean you had to agree with me," Martin replies. "Just wanted you to know why I did what I did."
He leans forward and rubs at the back of his neck with one hand, "I just can't stop thinking... If I were still on the force they'd just chalk it up to the price of doing business - it's always bad to shoot a cop after the fact, causes more problems than they want. Problem is, I'm not a cop any more - and if they trace the images on that tape back to us... Dorothy and my Mom are hanging out to dry back in the city..." He laughs once, a bitter bark, "About the only thing being a cop did for me was keep punks like that off my family. Now I don't even have that."
"If you're worried, why don't you call Tran and see if someone from the office can stop by and check on your family," Mira suggests. "I know it's not the best solution, but at least it's something."
Martin looks up, "I'm an idiot! Why didn't I think of that?" Rummaging his cell phone out from the pocket of the photographer's vest he'd shrugged to earlier, he flips it on and waits for a connection. "I'm thinking too much I guess... Thanks."
Martin stares at the phone for what feels like hours, waiting for the LQD to change. C’mon, c’mon... change... change! he thinks at it, feeling the hollowness in the pit of his stomach grow with each passing second. Please change! A full minute passes, then another, and the tiny display still reads out its initial message: ‘No Service’.
Great, just great, he berates himself, switching off the phone and stowing it away again. I spent so much time feeling sorry for myself that I’ve let Dorothy down again - put her in real danger this time. Looking up at the sky for a moment, he prays silently, God, If somebody has to pay for that, let it be me - not Dorothy, or Mom... or Stafford. I’m the one that killed him, not them... Don’t punish them for my actions,,, Please?
Watching him, Mira shakes her head. It's different for Martin, she thinks. He still has family left to worry about. Perhaps he shouldn't have come.
A minute or two pass, and Martin looks down at the forgotten granola bar in his hand. With a sigh, he munches on the rest of the bar, carefully folds the wrapper up and slips it into his pocket, and continues, "You know anything about geothermal plants? I'm curious about those sporadic steam ventings that occur here and there - is that normal?"
"I really don't know that much about geothermal power," Mira says. "But I would hazard a guess that if you were trying to generate power from a naturally occurring geothermal event, you would have to capture the steam to drive turbines to generate power. I guess what I find unusual is that the steam is escaping rather than being captured. However, perhaps this is a necessary venting. Either way," she shrugs, "we should probably check it out."
"Not sure how close I want to get to that fence," he replies, eyeing the line of posts again. "But you're right about the closer look. It might be something we can use. We ought to watch for that cave your friend mentioned as well - it could be useful too."
"Well, let's head out. Bring some food and lots of water," Mira says. "Plus the small first-aid kit. Let's get this hike underway."
Martin nods and moves back over to the Subaru, excavating a small backpack to hold the water and the first-aid kit. Turning back from his packing efforts, he asks "You packing, or should I?"
"I'm not packing and you shouldn't either," Mira says. "Lock it up and hide it somewhere if you're concerned about someone going through our camp. But we would look extremely out-of-place if someone stops two hikers armed for Armageddon."
"All right," he nods in agreement. "Grab one of the cameras and an extra roll of film though, we ought to keep appearances up on that front anyway."
"Mainly this is a scouting mission," Mira says. "We're trying to get the lay of the land." She picks up a backpack and adjusts it. "While you're hiding and locking up the guns, could you lock up my wallet. I hate to think of someone rummaging through my stuff. And I don't really need cash out here."
'Sure," he replies, extending a hand to take it from her. "Anything else you want secured?"
"Well since I can't lock myself up,"
she smiles, "I guess not."
* * *
Even though the temperature is in the low eighties, the sun at 4500 feet is brighter than Martin is used to -- especially after decades of San Francisco weather. Sunglasses take the edge off of the glare, but soon after beginning the hike, both Martin and Mira are drenched in sweat. Once at the base of the mountain, they begin to trek to the south, towards the direction the professor had indicated. A mountain range of five peaks lies due south, and even from this distance, they can see the ravages of mining and several dirt roads snaking up its slopes. Distant cattle graze on the sparse grasses that grow among the sagebrush.
Geothermal plants litter the valley; most are no larger than the average 7-11. Steam hisses from the ground in other locations, indicating there's yet more power to be tapped in Beowave. Traffic on I-80 behind them is slow -- a car or truck passes every several minutes, but rarely can two vehicles be seen at the same time. Southern Pacific trains pass hourly, and are usually hauling livestock and coal, from the configuration of the cars.
Those white poles continue down the length of the valley, and branch when they reach the southern mountain range: one branch runs along the base of the mountains, while the other arcs sharply to the southwest. Mira and Martin are able to see them more clearly here; they are about four feet tall, with a diameter of six inches, with holes running down their lengths. The holes in each pole do not necessarily face the same direction.
Mira slows to a stop and stares down into the valley intently. Her face is a bright red shade and she mutters something about being, "spoiled by 70 degree weather."
She runs a minute amount of water over her bandanna and wipes it across her face to cool her down somewhat.
"Theories?" she asks, continuing to stare down into the valley. "For the life of me, I have no idea what those poles are there for. I'm inclined to think that there some sort of security system, but I have no idea what."
Martin removes his sunglasses, wipes his face, and replies, "I'd have guessed some sort of infra-red beam network before, but after seeing they way they've got those holes spaced around the poles... I don't know. Some sort of chemical sniffing apparatus? Like the one the Army uses to track people in the jungle by the ammonia in their perspiration maybe?"
"Yes, they could be super security," Mira says, staring at the poles. "Hell for all I know they could be a piece of environmental sculpture by Christo - you know the guy who wrapped 10 miles of white cloth around the Reichstag in Berlin. He did a piece like this, only he draped clear plastic wrap between the poles. Or Maybe they're landing lights."
"Well, do we want to try and get a closer look at these poles, or try and find that mountain of the professor's?"
“We’re already here,” Martin shrugs. “Might as well see what we can before traipsing off into the desert for another ten miles or so. At least we know *where* these things are.”
"Somehow that thought doesn't give me comfort," Mira says, moving through the scrub brush to get closer to the poles. "Obviously these were erected by a crazy gardener, bent on turning the desert into a new Eden. To do it however, he was forced to tap into the rumored underground river that flows under Nevada. However, before his nefarious plan to suck dry the river was fully realized he was stopped by Bond, James Bond."
Mira smiles at Martin. "Maybe bugs?"
Martin shakes his head, "I can't see even the US government erecting the world's largest bug zapper in the Nevada desert."
As they move closer, Mira takes a better look at the poles. The top of the pole is covered by a wire mesh, and in the heat of the June day, what is striking about the pole she's near is the cool air that seems to be emanating from it., The holes look like they could hold fencing, but don't; from there as well cool air escapes.
"Yep, it's the government all right," Martin exclaims after she points this out to him. "They couldn't build the bug zapper, so they decided to try and air condition the desert instead - our tax dollars at work." He pauses, and then continues more seriously, "You suppose that this is some kind of heat sink arrangement? To keep the installation's heat signature from being read by a satellite in orbit or something similar?"
"Possibly, but I thought that building underground helped to effectively mask your heat signature?" Mira shrugs. "But why the T-shape arrangement. Something's weird," she adds as a slight breeze carries the cool air over her face.
"I'm a little short on the scientific background needed for this," he admits, "but it seems like the geothermal plants would shield it too - all that ground heat and all... I'm stumped."
"I think we should head back to camp and settle down for the night. Watch and see what happens," she suggests.
Her partner nods, "Sounds reasonable to me, I'm pretty sure we're not going to find a maintenance manual attached to one of these things to help us figure them out."
As they start back towards their camp, he extracts a hi-protein ration bar from his vest and offers it to her, "Care for one?"
"Sure," Mira says, digging in as they walk back to campsite. "So let's review what we have. Some sort of facility built back in the 70s. At that time the entrance was in the side of the mountain. A geothermal plant that apparently doesn't have to follow the law when it comes to reporting its output, sales, etc. A rumored facility under the rest stop on I-80 near here. Oh and let's not forget the outdoor air-conditioning poles," she says gesturing to the white line that comes down the valley.
"Well, if there is an underground facility, it would have to be miles long to stretch from where the trucks were seen entering the mountain and I-80."
"Well..." Martin muses in-between bites of his own ration bar. "The entrance from the caverns could have been simply a way to ferry the material being stored into the facility during start-up. The way your professor described it, it sounded like the semi's were just cruising into the side of a mountain one after another - and that means a big enough area that they were capable of off-loading and turning around again once the were done. Sounds like they were using some sort of natural cavern system or something then..." he pauses, and an odd expression crosses his face. "I just had a really bad thought... Whatever this place is, it has to be huge from what we're seeing by way of evidence, right? I can't see any natural caverns being that big and remaining undiscovered up until the 70's... which means they had to excavate the space they needed - and that means lots of workers and equipment working for months, maybe years. In any case, too much work to have it not be noticed."
He stops walking and turns to look back at the valley, "Why go to all that effort when they could excavate all the space they needed with the touch of a button?" He holds up a hand to forestall Mira's reply, "Hear me out for a minute - It would explain the suits the men who dumped your professor in the desert were wearing... Might even explain those poles if they're part of a system to hide the traces of the underground blast, or disperse the pent up radioactivity over a large enough area that it wouldn't trigger an alarm in an orbiting monitor satellite..."
"I'm not going to argue with you," Mira says. "From 1959 through 1973, the U.S. government conducted about 10 underground nuclear tests at sites around the United States. Those sites were placed in Alaska, Colorado, Mississippi, Nevada and New Mexico. They were part of a project called the Vela Uniform Program. One of those underground blasts was conducted in 1963 outside Fallon, Nevada - about 200 miles from here.
"Project Shoal detonated a 12 kiloton device, 1,211 feet below the earth's surface in a mountain range. The purpose given for the Vela Uniform Program was to improve the detection of the underground nuclear explosions. At the time the U.S. wanted to have a definitive way of monitoring any underground tests that the Russians were doing and sought to have a way to monitor through the detection of earth tremors. Also there was investigation into earthquake detection and some additional geological phenomenon."
"But, the main point of my babbling is that there is proof of the government conducting underground nuclear blasts at locations other than the Nevada Test site. No one would probably notice the same thing going on here."
Mira pauses to catch her breath, "In the case of Project Shoal most of the contamination threat was groundwater that was exposed to radiation at the time of the blast and the residual radioactive material left over. I'm not sure that these poles are part of any system to disperse the radioactivity. In most cases, the clean-up of radioactive contamination involved shipping dirt to a treatment facility. Still, your theory is very plausible," Mira says.
"Wonderful," he sighs. "Just once, do you suppose you could tell me that one of these ideas was utterly worthless and a complete waste of time? Even if it wasn't true?"
Shaking his head, he turns back towards their camp and begins to move in that direction. "C'mon, let's get back to camp before I think of something *really* depressing."
"So this is what I propose," Mira says, trudging through the sand and rock. "Tonight we set up watch in shifts. See if we notice any unusual activity. If nothing bizarre shows up, we start out early tomorrow on the hike to find that mountain the professor mentioned."
"All right," he nods agreeably. "From what he told us do you think you'll be able to narrow it down to one or two possibilities? There are," he waves a hand at the mountains by way of punctuation, "a few of them out there to check you know."
"Well, the one nice thing about Nevada is that once you carve a road into the side of a mountain, it doesn't disappear overnight. The brush and sand stay relatively unchanged," Mira says. "We should be able to pick up that road, as we get nearer to the mountain range. I doubt they would go to the trouble of concealing it. They probably still use it and no one would notice one more dirt road in Nevada."
"Also, I imagine that these pipes have something to do with the facility. As long as we follow them toward the mountain, I think we can use them almost as a trail to where we are headed."
"Sounds enough like a plan to run
with," he agrees. "Figuratively speaking of course."
* * *
Mira takes advantage of having the early morning watch to pack up items for the trek towards the mountain. Into her sand-colored backpack goes her weapon and ammo, food, a notebook, change of shoes, Swiss Army knife, a blanket, first aid kid, an extra shirt and pair of shorts, socks, a tin cup and water. Lots of water.
"Wake-up Martin," she says, poking him with the toe of her hiking boot.
"Mmmphhhrnnng..." he mumbles, then opens his eyes and blinks several times. "You're cheerful again, aren't you?" he mumbles accusingly.
"I'm always cheerful Martin," Mira says smiling. "Except of course when I have to deal with idiots over in the government building."
Sitting up, he stretches, the falling sleeping bag revealing the Kansas City Chiefs sweatshirt he's donned the night before - and a brilliant swatch of color that suspiciously resembles a fuschia stuffed octopus. "Did you make up your mind on taking the camera or not?" he asks, nodding to the compact 35mm Olympus resting atop a pile of gear similar to hers, but a touch larger because of the military cargo frame his pack was lashed to. "I think I got it trimmed down to the point where you can manage it without any trouble once we find the Box," he adds, intentionally capitalizing the last word.
"Nice positive thinking Martin," Mira says, throwing a few more items into her backpack. She transfers her identification, some money, some loose ammo and the Swiss Army knife into a secure travelling pack that she fastens around her waist and under her shirt. "Just in case we have to abandon the rest of this stuff and make a run for it," she says in response to the inquiring look from Martin.
"The camera, well, I guess we can take it. But I don't think we need pictures of this facility. We just need to get in and out with our target - the box and any info on Project Redwing. Pictures won't stand up in court or any other venue. We'll need to take the actual documents with us."
Mira throws a couple of bungee cords into her backpack, and a flare from the roadside emergency kit as well as a bottle of a hairspray.
"Well, I'm ready to go," she says, shouldering her pack. "By the way, nice octopus."
Martin glances down at the stuffed animal and smiles a bit self-consciously. "My daughter sent her with me," he admits, rising and beginning to stuff the sleeping bag into its carry sack. "She was worried that I wouldn't be able to sleep well since I wasn't at home."
Finishing with the sleeping bag, he uses it for a seat as he pulls on his boots and begins lacing them up. "Considering the temperature," he says, frowning at a knotted lace as he works it loose, "I figured to just pack the vests in with my gear and put them on once we get underground. No sense killing ourselves with heatstroke before we even find the place." Moving to the other boot, he continues, "I dropped some latex gloves and a pair of lightweight balaclavas in with them too - might as well make them work to get anything off of any video feed they catch us on."
Finished with the boots, he stands up and stretches before picking up the last of their gear and stowing it in the Subaru. "I've got the OC sprays in my pack," he says, listing items half to himself as he checks the Subaru before locking it. "My share of the extra food and water, the Browning and ammo, blanket, a change of clothes..." he pats several pockets on the photographer's vest as he slips it on, "the compass and map, a monocular... I'm missing something...." Glancing around, he spots a plastic bottle on the floorboards and snags it, "sunscreen," he finishes. "You think of anything else we're missing?" he asks Mira, checking a few straps on his gear.
"Unless you plan on bringing the kitchen sink, I think that's all we need," Mira says, kicking up a little bit of dirt as she moves out.
In that case," he says, shouldering
his pack and following her, "Marines, we are leaving."
*****
“Whoa!” Mira gasps, as the rope sways suddenly and violently as the ground begins to rumble and shake. Losing her grip, she lands hard on something metal – about twenty feet below the surface. The flashlight she’d held in her teeth drops, clatters against the metal surface, and rolls off, falling end over end for several seconds, until it lands fifty feet below, illuminating several meters of double yellow line painted on concrete. Except for the light from the flashlight, it’s pitch black in all directions.
"Oooohh, that first step is a doozie," Mira says, peering into the darkness. "Ow," she grunts as she picks herself up off the catwalk. Carefully she crawls over to where she spotted the rungs. Once there she calls out to Martin.
"Martin, MARTIN!," she whispers, urgency lacing her voice.
Her eyes adjust quickly to the darkness, however, and she begins to make out more of her environment. Faint pinpricks of light shine down from the roof of the cavern at intervals of around 50 yards, stretching infinitely to the north. She was fortunate enough to land on a metal catwalk, fifty feet above where her flashlight landed, though as her vision clears even more, she notices the rungs of a ladder on the sides of the cavern.
Mira and Martin’s trek had taken them towards the mountain they’d suspected was the one mentioned by Professor Arlington. However, a quick side trip to one of the geothermal plants, two miles from the base of the mountain, had revealed an odd shed with a slightly open door; inside the shed, they’d found a thick steel hatch, from which cold air had poured when Mira had opened it.
The ground rumbles beneath Martin’s feet as well, though the lifelong San Franciscan quickly realizes it’s no earthquake. Peering out of the shed, he watches as two large mining vehicles -- both designed to carry many tons of rock -- climb up the side of the mountain, and out again of Martin’s view. There is a loud clanking of metal, and then the sound of their engines is muffled.
"Martin," a voice whispers from the hatch. "Martin where the hell are you?"
"Here," her partner's voice sounds quietly above her. "Keep your eyes open - a couple of earthmovers just went into the mountainside above us. They may be coming down an elevator to your position. " He pauses a moment, then adds, "I think you'd better put your mask on now if you haven't already - there'll be camera soon."
"Look, I dropped the flashlight. There's a big drop here if you miss the catwalk," Mira continues in hushed tones. "I'm going to crawl down and get the flashlight. Hold on."
There are some quiet noises as Mira makes
her way down the ladder and towards her flashlight. Reaching it, she carefully
shines the light around to better illuminate the area she is in.
The light flashes onto a brown road sign, which reads:
NSI 42 8 NSI 61 129
"You'd think the military would be nice enough to plaster a you-are-here map for all would-be trespassers," Mira mutters. "Obviously they are not making good use of my tax dollars."
The ground begins to rumble again at this point, and, in the distance, Mira can make out the twin dots of headlights. There is a humming sound, and overhead lights flash on, beginning closest to the mountain and continuing into the distance ahead. What Mira appears to be standing in is a very long tunnel, two wide lanes across, very much like that which I-80 cuts through Yerba Buena Island in the San Francisco Bay.
Spared the worst of the glare by his position above the lights, Martin stares down at Mira's exposed position for an instant before dropping through the hatch and down the rope. "Get out of there Stafford!" he calls out as his feet slam into the catwalk, hands dragging the rope across the railing as fast as he could pull it up, trying to get it out of the oncoming vehicle's line of sight. "Hurry!"
"Oh shit," Mira's eyes go wide. "I'm standing in the middle of the freeway." Quickly she scrambles across the "street" and climbs back up the ladder to the catwalk, shutting off her flashlight along the way.
Once on the catwalk she crouches down. "Think we should hitch a ride?" she suggests.
"I'm not sure," Martin replies, swinging back onto the catwalk, having just closed the hatch above them. "It would have to be faster than walking - but it could get ugly if we drove into a construction site of some kind." He pauses, then adds, "I think so - we're not going to get there on foot."
The rumbling becomes louder, and Mira can see an olive drab deuce and a half approaching them at around fifty mph. Inside the vehicle are two men in fatigues, the passenger holding a machine gun. It’s impossible to say at this angle what’s in the back, however. Behind it, a nondescript semi is hauling a flatbed trailer, its contents concealed by white canvas.
"Let's go for the semi," Mira suggests. "Once we drop down we can crawl under the canvas. If that sign I saw on the wall is correct I think it may be several miles before we reach an actual facility."
"Tell you what," Mira says, climbing over the railing. "We can discuss it on the truck."
With that she pauses, waiting until the truck with the armed guard passes. Then wasting not a moment she leaps onto the rear of semi-truck with the canvas shrouded cargo.
Mira falls, landing on the uneven, covered cargo with a sickening thump. There’s a suspicious snapping sound, and a sharp pain in her chest – feels like a broken rib.
Martin eyes the armed escort in the deuce and sighs as he shifts position to the edge of the catwalk. "Stafford, if you get me killed I'm going to make your afterlife miserable."
Dropping down beside her, Martin grunts
as he slams into the canvas-covered
cargo and lies there for a moment before shaking
his head. "No, not miserable -- a living hell."
As pain knifes through her side, Mira bites down hard on her lip attempting to not utter any noise that my give away their now precarious position. Her face goes white with surprise and pain as she shifts her body to obtain more secure footing.
She's reticent to say anything to Martin. We can't abort this just because I've got a little pain, she tells herself. It'll be OK.
"Well, I guess we should find some way to conceal ourselves," Mira says, wincing at every movement.
Martin blinks several times, and slowly rolls over to examine the canvas, looking for a way to slip under it. "You okay?" he asks, eyeing the rear-view mirrors on the cab warily. "Try and stay directly behind the cab, they can't see us in the mirrors that way."
"I'll be OK as soon as we find a place to hide and stop moving around," Mira says, trying to focus an locating a spot to crawl under the tarp and not the pain that has taken up permanent residence in her side. "What about here, where they've tied it down. Think you can get it loose?"
"Give me a minute," Martin says, working his way across the cargo-cover to her position. He begins to work at the fastenings, trying to avoid having them come loose all at once and set the canvas flapping in the wind. "Knots weren't my best subject in the Scouts..."
He nods towards the front of the truck, "Keep an eye out for approaching traffic. Big as this thing is, they've got to have more moving around down here than these two trucks."
Mira’s keen eyesight notes something else, however, coming from the rear. More headlights in the distance, these approaching the truck as though it were standing still, instead of speeding along through the tube.
As the vehicle draws closer, she sees it’s another old military truck, also containing two armed men.
"Move faster Martin," Mira says, her voice laced with urgency. "There's a second military truck with two armed guys moving up on our rear very fast. We need to get out of site fast."
She moves over and starts working on some of the knots Martin hasn't gotten to yet. A portion of the tarp comes loose and Mira is able to wiggle under though the movement costs her. Renewed pain shoots through her side. The broken rib and smell of stale air and dust under the tarp cause her to gag momentarily.
She swallows a few times and then makes her way backward so that Martin can squeeze in beside her.
"C’mon Martin," Mira calls. "I can hear 'em gaining."
Slipping in behind her, Martin struggles with the tarp for a moment, then gets it secured and relaxes a trifle. "I think they're still too far away to have seen us," he sighs in relief. "Next time, wait for your stunt double..." he begins mock-seriously, as he turns on his small Maglight to check out their surroundings, abruptly pausing in mid-word at his first good look at Mira's face since they jumped. "What's wrong?" he finishes quietly.
"Nothing serious," Mira says, wincing out a smile. "I think I just may have broken a rib or two. I'll be OK as long as we don't make this an extended vacation."
Martin curses quietly, then, looking at the awkward position Mira has twisted herself into in order to make room for him under the tarp, begins to shift position to make sure she has enough room to stretch out lengthwise, "I'll be a bit tight Stafford, but you need to lie down flat - keep that rib from moving around any and poking a hole in something important."
He finishes shifting and very gently reaches out to help her move to a supine position, "Take my hand," he says softly. "This is probably going to hurt, but it'll be better once you're stretched out and not contorted up like that."
"I'm not going to pass out on you Martin," Mira says moving into a more comfortable position, lengthwise in their hiding spot. "It's not the first time I've broken a bone. You don't need to coddle me."
"Let's just get in here and find that box and get out," she adds, wincing again. "Then I can take a nice visit to the hospital emergency room where they keep the good drugs. You'd better get comfortable - that sign I saw seemed to indicate theres a couple of miles at least before we reach anything. What do you think NSI stands for? National Security Institute? Nuclear Science Inquiry? "
He snorts, "More like 'No Such Institution' I'd guess."
Shifting slightly, he eyes Mira with a concerned look for a moment, "Are you going to be able to walk with that pack on? I can already guess about running from the way you're breathing... "
"I should be OK, but I imagine doing any sort of really strenuous activity is going to be iffy," Mira says. "Look we'll deal with it as it comes. But if the situation arises and we're being chased - get out of here. I can take care of myself. Hell I might even be able to stall them. I'll have more of chance of surviving if someone gets out who knows where I am then if we both get captured."
"No," he replies without hesitation, the same raw pain that Mira had seen in his eyes on the drive up to Reno back again. "If you stay, then I stay."