Chapter 19: The Hunted
After driving for six hours, Sylvia pulled into the car park of a cheap hotel. It was four miles from the Highway in a town called Capville. Inside in his mind, Elliot was about to say ‘it’s not exactly the Ritz,’ but he stopped himself from saying it for fear of annoying the driver.
The hotel itself was in a state of ill repair. Some of the window frames looked like they were rotting, the walls were badly in need of a lick of paint and the car park had litter thrown around it.
“Twelve bucks a night,” Sylvia exclaimed, “You won’t get better than that anywhere else in America. At that rate we’ll make it to Mexico, no problem.”
The two teenagers carried their belongings inside with them. Sylvia left the bag of money in the boot but took what little she needed.
The front door of the hotel looked like it was about to fall off it’s hinges. They both walked through it slowly and looked up at the ceiling for any signs of falling debris.
Behind the counter was a man who looked to be about sixty years of age. His skin was wrinkled and craggy. He was half bald and had a red moustache with flecks of grey. He was slim and of average height. His eyes were blue and Elliot, insecure as he was about his safety, monitored them closely.
“Just the one room.”
“Yes,” Sylvia responded.
“That’ll be twelve dollars. There’s also a ten dollar deposit in case you don’t return the key. You’ll get the ten dollars back in the morning.”
Sylvia handed over the money and the owner retrieved the key.
“I don’t care what you two get up to, just leave it like you got it,” the manager declared in a serious manner.
Elliot was surprised by this response. All the indicators to this point did not indicate that the manager was house proud.
“Ok,” both of them replied
“Yours is number fifteen. That’s the fifth door on the right down this corridor,” he said, with his finger pointing the way.
Elliot and Sylvia made their way to their room and locked the door behind them. There was a musty smell in the room as if it hadn’t been redecorated since the 1970s. The colours were a mixture of brown and yellow but thankfully it looked like the room had been cleaned at least once in the past month. Beside the bed was an ashtray that had been used and not cleaned, some glasses by the bed appeared to have some residue in them. Overall however it was better than what Elliot anticipated.
“He seemed nice,” Sylvia said of the owner.
“Yeah, if your using Hannibal Lecter or Norman Bates by way of comparison.”
“Well, I’m sure Anthony Hopkins is a nice guy in real life. The other I don’t know. Relax, everything is going to be ok.” Sylvia reassured him. “I’ll take the bed. You can sleep on the floor.”
Elliot was a little disappointed. Part of him wanted a closer relationship with Sylvia but he would take what he could get.
“Well it beats sleeping on a forest floor with insects and rodents crawling all over you,” Elliot responded in an attempt to show Sylvia that he could be more positive and optimistic. “There are fewer termites here. At least we have a bathroom,” he said as he walked into it. “I’m going to get a shower. I really need it.”
Elliot eagerly entered the bathroom, closed the door behind him and took off his clothes. He turned on the shower and waited for the water to heat up. It didn’t. Oh well, he thought to himself and jumped in. He was never so glad to have a cold shower. They even had soap, although it was of the miniature variety that was so small it almost fell down the drain.
After he got dressed and exited the bathroom he could see that Sylvia was already in bed reading a book.
“I can’t believe you brought a book,” Elliot said, “We’re on the run from God knows how many people and you’re just completely chilled out. I know I’m bad, but you’re just the polar opposite.”
“Well, you’re no Steve McQueen. Even I’d beat you in an arm wrestle.”
Elliot didn’t like his pride being hurt but he wasn’t prepared to take her on and challenge her. Even he knew he was no match for her. He was however, disappointed. As a woman, she was supposed to enhance what ego, he had, not deflate it.
Henry Jackson, the owner of The Capville Hotel, was nervous. He was suspicious of the young couple in room number fifteen and so he had called the Reapers. He was aware that some of them were on their way. He was divided between doing his patriotic duty and his fear of the authorities. Reapers were the most powerful arm of the authorities. Where they were concerned there were no rules. The hotel owner had heard stories of their ruthlessness. He had never heard of anyone escaping their clutches. They were above the law. Mr Jackson’s fear was that the couple would leave and he might have difficulty explaining what happened. Because the couple had chosen his hotel, he was stuck in a no-win situation. For this reason, every minute, after making the call made him more and more nervous.
By 10:36 pm five men dressed in black robes and wearing large black boots and black trousers entered The Capville Hotel. Their leader appeared to have a goatee and brown eyes hidden underneath his black mask. He looked to be about six foot four in height and in his late forties.
“Where are they?” he asked in a gruff, no nonsense manner.
The owner handed him the key. “Number 15,” he said, “eh eh fifth door on the right, down the corridor.”
Henry Jackson breathed a sigh of relief after they accepted the key and made their way out of reception. His guests would surely be cornered now.
The Reapers made their way towards room number fifteen in a calm and quiet manner. The leader knocked firmly on the door but didn’t say anything. He listened for a response. Nothing happened. He took the key and opened the door. The light was on but there was no evidence of anyone still occupying it. The bed clothes were left in a hap hazard manner and there was a sleeping bag on the floor. Scattered around the rest of the floor were some of the suspects’ belongings. He swiftly moved to the bathroom where he found an open window. He moved closer to examine it and could see in the distance a man and woman running away.
Elliot and Sylvia were running towards a small forest. Elliot was sick of forests at this stage but he had no choice. It gave them a chance to outmanoeuvre their pursuers. They had rushed to get dressed. Sylvia had no money or valuables on her and Elliot only had thirty dollars in his wallet. They had left the rest of their money and belongings behind them.
As they reached the forest, Elliot gave a quick glance behind them. This time he could see the reapers chasing them one hundred yards behind them. It was cold and wet and Elliot wished he could be anywhere in the world but here. He had to keep going, he told himself.
Sylvia was fifteen yards ahead of Elliot when she ran into the forest. He could barely make her figure out in the darkness. She could probably outrun the Reapers herself, if it wasn’t for him, he thought to himself.
Suddenly, however Sylvia jumped over a small mound and fell, landing awkwardly on her ankle. There was a moment where Elliot thought, now we are done for after he saw that she was in real pain.
Strangely though the voice of a man to their left called out in a low whisper, “over here.”
Elliot didn’t know who the man was and in the darkness he could not clearly make out his face but he had no choice but to trust him. Both Sylvia and Elliot crawled over to him where they were concealed behind a large bush. No sooner had they settled into position than the first Reaper reached that position. He stopped only five yards in front of them and looked around. He could see nothing. He waited and listened. Elliot and Sylvia tried to control their breathing. Soon all five Reapers were standing there, only five yards away waiting and listening. It seemed like an eternity.
A small rodent, perhaps a mouse, moved slowly towards the young man. Elliot didn’t want to startle it and so he remained motionless. He wished it would just go away quietly, so as not to attract unwanted attention. Even the position in which the young man lay was uncomfortable. His back and legs and arms were aching but he knew he just had to stay there and withstand the pain. After all, he knew that the pain he was withstanding was nothing compared to Sylvia’s.
Like all mice, the mouse movements were unpredictable. Eventually it scurried away and was caught under the foot of a Reaper. The Reaper looked around. He looked at the large bush and seemed to be focusing on it for a moment or two before looking around him elsewhere.
After a while the Reapers started to walk slowly and quietly forwards. They knew that Elliot and Sylvia could not be far. All this time the two fugitives and their helper remained motionless, hoping and praying that they would not be discovered. The slightest sound and they would be in serious trouble. It seemed like hours but it was less than thirty minutes before the Reapers departed.
During this time the adolescent male wondered, who the man assisting them was. He was grateful for any help he was given, particularly because virtually nobody was inclined to stand in the way of the Seekers. However, Elliot hoped that this man did not turn out to be a wolf in sheep’s clothing. This mysterious man could be a serial killer or a kidnapper. He simply didn’t know and Sylvia wouldn’t be happy if he shared those particular thoughts aloud.
Elliot was first to break silence but only after he was sure that he had evaded capture. He had been lying in an uncomfortable position on damp ground for quite a while now.
“Thank you very much for helping us,” he said gratefully in a whisper. “I’m afraid that I do not know who you are.” Even now, Elliot did not know exactly what the man looked like. It was too dark, but judging by the sound of his voice and the rugged texture of his face, he appeared to be in his fifties.
“You can call me Marvin for a start,” the stranger said in a low voice as he slowly climbed to his feet. “I have nothing but contempt for the Reapers, so anything I could do for you was of benefit to me. You seem to be in serious trouble. It’s not often you see so many of them together as part of the one group unless it is important. I think I know someone who can help you. First, let me lead you to my home.” The other two climbed to their feet as he spoke and the adolescents could see that Marvin was about six foot tall, and broader than the average man.
The teenagers were taking a risk but they did not have any alternative but to trust the stranger.
Sylvia avoided putting as much of her weight on her right foot as she could while leaning on Elliot for some support. It was no more than six hundred yards to the man’s home on the far side of the forest from where they had hidden.
“How do you think that you can help us, Marvin?” In his own mind Elliot had not totally dismissed the notion that the stranger was planning to cut him up in thousands of tiny pieces.
“All will be revealed,” the mysterious man responded calmly. “This is not the place to talk about it.”
Elliot did not appreciate being left in the dark in more ways than one. He hoped that the surprise would not be a gut wrenching twist of fate. He had already been through enough hardship for a man of his age, between running for his life and being separated by his parents.
“What is it that you do?” the adolescent male asked aloud.
Inwardly Elliot hoped that he would not have to assist Sylvia for much longer. He felt as though his shoulder might crack under the preasure.
“I’m a carpenter by trade. I’m sixty-two but I retired last year. I have enough to live on I figure. I’ve been living here all my life. My parents owned the cottage before me. Life was great here until those Reapers came about. I’ve heard stories about them that would make your skin crawl.”
Eventually they reached the cottage. Marvin located some ice from the freezer and with a kitchen towel rapped it around Sylvia’s ankle. Elliot could see him clearly now. He had thin fair hair and blue eyes. The benevolent stranger, was wearing a red and white chequered shirt and brown trousers. He had a red complexion and looked like he hadn’t shaved since the previous day.
Alejandro Gonzalez, the Brazillian President peered through the window of his limousine as it entered the grounds of the White House in Washington DC. It was his first time visiting the building in his three years as Brazillian President.
Gonzalez was regarded as a hardline conservative, politician in Brazil. He and President Westwood shared similar policies and had bonded over phone calls and four international meetings in the previous three years.
The Brazillian leader liked his food. He had a bulging waistline and a double chin to show for it. He had a thin moustache and died black hair. He didn’t worry about his weight because he believed that money and power were far more important.
President Gonzalez had clamped down ruthlessly on criminal activity in his own country. He had been condemned by the United Nations for infringing on the basic human rights of his citizens and for ruining the lives of innocent parties who were rounded up alongside the guilty. The politician had also reintroduced the death penalty.
Many of his political rivals accused him of being corrupt but to most of the voters, all politicians were corrupt in their eyes. His rivals pointed to his many properties around the world and questioned how he could afford them.
President Westwood met the Brazilian leader outside the doors of the White House. They shook hands firmly, smiled at each other, exchanged pleasantries and then entered the building side by side.
Some of the White House staff greeted the foreign leader with warm smiles as he passed through it’s corridors. The walls were predominantly white in colour and were adorned by framed photographs and paintings of presidents past and present. President Gonzalez was led to the Oval Office where both men sat down on chairs beside one another. Three security guards were present in the room but no interpreters. Alejandro Gonzalez knew perfect English and preferred to dispense with translators.
The foreign politician showed the President a gift he had brought from his own country. It was a green box with a yellow ribbon tied around it. When the American leader opened it he could see that it was a wooden sculpture.
“This was given to me by a leader of the Guarani tribe. Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Why yes, it is quite attractive,” President Westwood responded as he examined it in his hand.”
In truth, Alejandro Gonzalez had been hoping to remove the item from his mantelpiece for some time now as he believed it was an eyesore. By gifting it to the American leader he was killing two birds with one stone.
President Westwood stood up with the item in his hand and placed it in the corner of the room on a coffee table with a bottle of champagne from the French President and a bowl of shamrock received from the Irish Taoiseach.
“How’s your golf game, Alejandro?” the American President asked
“I’m shooting off of sixteen at the minute but I don’t think I’ll ever reach your level, Hadrian.”
“How’s the wife keeping? It’s a pity she couldn’t make it. You’re very lucky. Of course I’d never say that in front of the First Lady.”
“She’s doing ok. She has five kids to look after.”
“And how is your mistress doing? I remember you telling me that she’s a model.”
“Well, even I find it hard to keep track. There are three of them now. Two are models and one is an actress. The downside is that they are high maintenance,” the Brazillian leader said in frustration.
Alejandro Gonzalez dared not pry into the personal life of his American counterpart. He was aware that the most powerful man in the world was quite temperamental.
“Anyway,” the Brazillian President continued after a brief pause. “I was hoping we could negotiate a better trade deal between our two countries with lower tariffs. My voters are not happy that the Argentinians have the same deal as us. I was hoping you could see things from our perspective. We do have an election coming up next year after all,” President Gonzalez smiled as he said this. He figured he would have to use all his charm to get the results he wanted.
“It is something I have given a lot of thought to Alejandro since we last spoke. I have spoken with my advisers. We think we can cut the tariff by five points but there would be one condition.”
“Yes, Mr President?” the Brazillian leader responded optimistically with a raised eyebrow.
“As you are well aware, we have a problem in our country with changelings. It doesn’t look good for us if we are the only country rounding these guys up. Many of my voters will question why it isn’t being done in other countries. These changelings may leave America and group together in foreign havens. We don’t want that. It would look better for us if other countries followed our lead.”
President Gonzalez didn’t have to give the matter much thought. To him, it was a win win situation. If he adopted the same policy as his American counterpart, he too could round up his rivals, and any other undesirables he could think of. If it worked for President Westwood in his country, then it could work for him too.
“How about eight points, Mr President?” the Brazilian leader responded.
“Seven, and you’ve got a deal,” the American politician responded as he offered his hand.
President Gonzalez accepted the hand of his counterpart and responded. “On behalf of the Brazilian people, I would like to thank you from the bottom of my heart, Hadrian my friend.”
Both politicians continued to discuss other aspects of their relationship, both political and financial. When it was over, the American President was satisfied that he had secured for himself his first close ally and he hoped it would prove to be the first of many.
Steve Cooper raised his hand to his forehead. He was about to make one of the most nerve-wracking phonecalls of his life. There was no other way around it. He picked up the phone and dialled the number written down on the pad in front of him.
There was a twenty second delay before the phone was answered.
“Hello, may I help you?” the voice at the end of the line answered.
“I would like to speak to Roger Withnall. The Scarecrow gave me this number. May I speak with him?”
“There is nobody here by that name,” the other person declared emphatically.
Steve, sensing that the other man was about to hang up the phone responded. “Look, I’m in serious trouble. I need your help. If I don’t get your help I don’t know what I can do. It’s only a matter of hours, maybe minutes before they come for me.”
“I think you have the wrong number,” the other man said coldly.
“Please help,” Steve Cooper responded in desperation. “Don’t hang up the phone.”
“Give me a minute and let me see if anyone else has heard of this Richard Wagner. What did you say the other name was? Scaramouche?”
Steve did not know whether, or not the other person was toying with him to see how he would react. Part of him held out hope that this was merely a test.
“The name of the person I am looking for is Roger Withnall. The codename of the person who gave me this number is Scarecrow.”
“Hold on and I will write this down.”
There was a long pause. “And your name is?”
“Steve Cooper”
Steve waited while he was left on hold. Each passing second seemed like a minute. Eventually the other person picked up the phone.
“My boss would like more information. Who are you and what is your situation?”
“There is only so much I can explain over the phone,” Steve responded in an extremely stressed tone of voice. “I am afraid that they may come for me before you can help me.”
“We cannot help you without you giving us some information about yourself. Where do you work?” The other man was clearly unimpressed with the lack of detailed information.
“My life is on a knife edge. I don’t want to compromise myself.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you then.”
“I work as a Sales Rep for Donaldsons Beer Company.” Even in providing that little snippet of information the salesman wondered if he had given too much information. It could leave him exposed.
“What is your address?”
Steve Cooper hesitated for a moment before convincing himself that it was too late to hold back information now.
If you give us your number we can collect you in a matter of minutes.
“Apartment 2B, 23 Sycamore Avenue.”
“Twelve minutes Mr Cooper. A van will collect you on the street.”
Thirteen minutes later Steve Cooper stood outside his apartment and a medium sized grey van approached with false number plates. The side door opened and a man urged him to jump in. He did so and the van moved away. There were two men in the back of the van who proceeded to bound and blindfold the worried man. Both men wore balaclavas. They used scanning equipment to try and detect bugging and surveillance technology. They located three listening devices and a homing device as well as a mobile phone. All devices were thrown out the door. He was unarmed.
“You haven’t been truthful with us,” one of the men declared. “Who are you and who do you work for?”
“My name is Steve Cooper and I need your help. I work for Donaldsons Beer Company.”
“Don’t treat us like idiots, Mr Cooper, if that is your real name. I doubt it’s not. Who do you work for?” As he spoke it was clear that the interrogator was annoyed and angry for trusting the bound and blindfolded man.
Steve Cooper had hoped to infiltrate the gang who occupied the van. He hoped to discover their headquarters, expose them and destroy them. Having discovered that he was wearing a tracker device, there was no way they would trust him. He was left with no alternative. In a matter of seconds he changed form to a large green and yellow beast with six inch nails on his hands and toes. In doing so he broke free of his bonds and made a dent in the ceiling. Before he could strike his captors however he was shot multiple times in the stomach. The creature fell to the ground and was dead in a matter of minutes. Aware that they were being pursued, the two men wearing balaclavas opened the rear passenger door and forced the huge creature out of the van, before quickly closing the doors again. One of the armed men in the back of the van climbed into the passenger seat of the van.
“There are five vans on our tail, probably packed with Reapers,” The driver said apprehensively.
“You know the drill,” the man in the passenger seat responded.
The driver drove as fast as he could for two miles without changing direction but he couldn’t outrun them. Eventually he found himself stuck in traffic. Frustrated, he clenched his right fist and struck the dashboard. Seven Reapers emerged from the vans behind them and surrounded the van. Their leader stood in front, raising a large handgun.
“Remove yourselves from the vehicle or we will be forced to shoot,” he ordered them authoritatively.
The driver started to sweat. He knew he had a better chance for survival if he and his comrades remained in the vehicle. He still didn’t like the odds.
“Very well then,” the leader declared, aiming a shot directly at the drivers head. He pulled the trigger and fired.
Just as the driver thought, the bulletproof glass held firm. There was however an indentation and multiple shots might eventually break it. To the driver’s relief, the traffic ahead started to move. He put his foot to the floor and drove over the lead reaper.
“You do know that it’s against our policy to take life unnecessarily,” the passenger addressed him.
“Yeah, well, it sure felt good,” the driver responded.
The van continued to move at a fast pace for almost a mile, before turning into a multi storey car park. The driver accepted a ticket and drove under the barrier before speeding up the ramp in the direction of the ground floor of the building. The Reapers continued to pursue them in close proximity. It seemed that there was nowhere to go.
As the van approached ground level, the male seated in the passenger seat pressed a button on a device in his hand. Part of the wall in front of them started to open up. “Come on come on,” the driver said aloud hoping it would open fast enough and in time to evade his captors. The van had to check it’s speed but the van eventually allowed enough space for them to pass.
Once again the co-pilot pressed the button on the device and slowly the wall started to close. The front seat passenger looked in his rear view mirror anxiously to see if the Reapers would pursue them.
The Reaper driving the pursuing vehicle was in two minds. He could risk forcing the vehicle through the narrow gap or he could save face and stop the vehicle to avoid unnecessary embarrassment. The Reaper slammed on the brakes, seconds before he knew he couldn’t make it.
The driver of the van found himself in a vacant lot, with an open gate. He headed for the gateway and turned right down the street towards safety.
The lead Reaper climbed out of the car. Behind him was a police car. A police officer climbed out and approached him. Before the police officer said anything the Reaper spoke. “I want to know who built this and I want to know now,” he said in a deep authoritave voice.
Behind them an impatient female driver beeped her horn. The lead Reaper raised his gun and shot one of the woman’s tyres. Suddenly afraid, the woman became a nervous wreck and didn’t know what to do.
As the van that evaded the Reapers, proceeded down the road, it altered both it’s number plates and its colour from grey to beige.
Eighty minutes later the same van, approached a large estate outside the city. Over the gates of the estate was the title The Red Dove Estate. The van entered, making its way down a long driveway, surrounded by green grass fields on either side inhabited by numerous horses. The mansion at the end of the driveway was enormous. It was decorated all in white and looked to be originally built eighty years earlier. It was made of concrete and looked to be ninety metres wide and four storeys tall. The aesthetic of the front of the house was enhanced by twelve white concrete columns spread across its breadth. Most visitors commented on how impressive the structure was, but few people visited this mysterious ranch.
Instead of parking in the driveway, the entrance to a tunnel opened up. The van made its way down the tunnel and the entrance closed almost immediately.
“I told you it was a trap,” the light young man of Japanese descent in the passenger seat said to the driver as he parked the van in the eight vehicle underground car park. “You owe me fifty dollars.”
Diego, the driver of the Vehicle, had a Mexican mother and an Irish Father. Under any circumstances, he was reluctant to part with money. When he wasn’t driving a van in an effort to outsmart authorities, he liked to watch Irish sports and in particular a game called hurling. Yoshida, or any of Diego’s friends failed to understand the sport, they thought was barbaric and crazy, and where it was almost impossible to see the ball. Diego was over six feet tall, fit looking and had dark hair. He had a tanned complexion which he owed to his mother and stubborn but witty nature which he owed to his Father.
“Yoshida, you know there’s damn all chance of you seeing that money. Why do you enter into those crazy bets if you know you’re not going to profit from them? Besides, these Reapers are going to catch onto us eventually. Even if you did get the money, you wouldn’t be able to spend it.”
Yoshida loved to gamble, whether he won or he lost. It didn’t matter too much to him. It gave him a rush that few other things could equal. If Yoshida didn’t have that addiction, he would have been smart enough not to make bets with tight Irishmen who enjoyed watching other men beat each other with sticks.
“A bet is a bet. Come on Diego.”
“Just remember, I’ve got fifty pounds and seven inches on you,” Diego responded, “so unless you know Karate, you’re wasting your time.”
“Are you two lovebirds going to continue bickering or are you going to get out of this van,” the third occupant jibed them. “The stench from the remnants of that creature is killing me. I’m not going to wash it down. One of you two is going to have to do it.”
“It is Diego’s turn after all,” Yoshida suggested. “This is something you can’t duck out of”
Diego knew that he would be outvoted in this situation. Jeff, the third occupant of the van took a dislike to him from the moment they met. Jeff was an intense character who rarely smiled. He wasn’t any bigger than Diego, just more serious.
Yoshida and Jeff left the van in the direction of the staircase. The underground garage itself was nearly three hundred square yards. It contained the Toyota van, a ten year old Ford saloon, a Fiat Tipo and two mopeds. The aim of the owners of the estate was to not draw unwanted attention to themselves.
The two men quietly made their way upstairs and into a large living room. All of the interior of the house, apart from the garage, was decorated as if the house was stuck in a Victorian era time warp. The furniture appeared to date from the nineteenth century and the walls had paintings of people from two hundred years ago. Yoshida believed that the décor was intended to give the impression that the owners of the house had a long history there.
The three remaining occupants of the house were located in the living room. Two of them were women.
An attractive young woman with brown hair, lightly tanned skin and blue eyes was named Debbie. She was of average height for a woman and wore a red blouse, black trousers and black boots. Debbie had a thick skin and had no hesitation in slagging off her male colleagues.
Erica Holmes and Calum Holmes aka Roger Withnall were a married couple. They were in their late forties. She had fair hair, tanned skin and brown eyes, and wore blue jeans, pink shoes and a trendy white jumper. Erica was the quietest of the group. She was always loyal to her husband and rarely criticised him. They never seemed to argue and managed to fit in a few laughs here and there.
Mr Holmes had blonde hair with flecks of grey, brown eyes and cigarette stained teeth. He wore a blue t-shirt, a suit jacket and brown corduroy trousers. He was the leader of the group. He was well educated and extremely clever. He seemed to have an interest in almost every topic on Earth and beyond. Even Jeff, rarely criticised him, such was his standing.
The large room was aesthetically decorated, albeit in an old fashioned manner. The walls were largely lined with bookcases with cream wallpaper appearing here and there. The floor was wooden, with a pine finish. Overhead were four small inexpensive looking chandeliers. At the end of the room was a large window that looked out onto large green fields with no more than seven horses grazing there.
“I take it that you are the bearers of bad news,” Mr Holmes addressed the two entrants.
“It was a trap,” Jeff replied
“I thought so,” Calum replied in a partially dejected manner.
“Isn’t it dangerous to explore so many cases that seem dubious in the first place?” Jeff suggested.
“We have to investigate every credible case or else we may end up leaving some unfortunate case behind,” Calum replied in a confident and authoritative manner. “Besides, it’s not like you got caught now is it?”
No sooner had he said this than a siren went off within the room. It was a sound that they dreaded. The alarm was intended to alert them to intruders. They had hoped that this sound would never be heard but in the last few months it seemed inevitable that it would come soon.
Calum Holmes made his way to the other side of his desk. He examined a computer screen laid out horizontally on his desk. The first image showed a possible problem on the perimeter of the estate. Using his finger he switched to an image from a camera in that particular location. The result was demoralising. Five vans, most likely filled with Reapers were approaching.
“We have ten minutes to evacuate,” the leader declared aloud. “Everybody, into the bus.” He then pressed a button on his desk to inform Diego what was happening.
Mr Holmes, pressed a button on his desk to open up a secret chamber behind one of the bookcases. All five occupants entered and once inside, Mr Holmes pressed a button on the other side to close it behind them.
“Bloody Reapers,” Debbie said aloud, “and I was just warming to this planet before they arrived.”
“Do you think they’ll catch us eventually? They do outnumber us after all. What are our chances,” Yoshida said despondently.
“We follow the plan,” the leader declared. “Then we have every chance of making it.”
The entire chamber which was twenty feet by fourteen feet, moved downwards like a large elevator. The elevator eventually came to a stop and they exited into another large underground garage. Parked there was a large bus, several motorcycles and three cars all of which were a major upgrade on the other garage.
In a matter of moments Diego had joined them.
“Luckily, we prepacked this baby,” he said. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have time to pack my favourite toothbrush.”
“Sorry Diego,” Jeff declared, “I unloaded your stuff. It was taking up too much weight. Too many girly movies. Besides you won’t need pink underwear for where we’re going.”
“They’re polka-dots,” Diego responded, “and they’re purple.”
“I think you two lovebirds should bunk together,” Debbie said with a smile.
The six individuals climbed aboard the large coach. Calum Holmes sat into the driver seat. Within a matter of seconds the bus began to make its way through an underground tunnel that led beyond the mansion to the far end of the estate. After travelling through this tunnel for eight hundred metres it finally reached the end of the passageway. The entrance opened and the bus was driven onto a narrow road. Calum was confident that the Reapers would not notice their presence as there were plenty of trees between them and their enemies.
The narrow road had an uneven terrain which made for a bumpy ride and made it difficult for any two vehicles to pass each other. All of the passengers prayed that the Reapers were not fully aware of this escape route. Once they reached the primary road, they breathed a little easier. Most of the passengers did not know exactly where they were going but to date Calum had never let them down.
Elliot wondered what he was doing standing at a bus stop for an hour and a half in the middle of nowhere. Six buses had come and gone but Marvin was insistent that he knew what he was doing. Marvin looked at his phone. It was rather primitive looking compared to those that Elliot had seen in his local school. After glancing at his rather bulky and technologically deficient device. Marvin informed them that his friends were on the way and there had been a change of plan and they would be along any minute now. Elliot didn’t like the term, “change of plan”. It worried him. However with little or no money and being hunted by Reapers, Elliot believed that he didn’t have much choice other than to trust Marvin.
The bus stop itself was located in the middle of the country. On either side of the road, were fields with next to no vegetation. This combined with a relatively strong wind resulted in a lot of dust being blown into the eyes of the group of three individuals. Inconveniently, a fast car might drive by and blow dust in their direction also.
Just when Elliot felt he was about to faint with the heat and exhaustion, a bus appeared on the horizon. When the bus stopped and the doors opened, and the young teenager saw a friendly face he breathed a sigh of relief.
“Climb aboard,” the driver said aloud.
Slowly Elliot climbed onto the bus where they were warmly greeted by several smiling faces. All except one. One man had a sour expression but Elliot was about to learn that this was the norm for the man known as Jeff.
Tired as they were Elliot and Sylvia slunk down in their seats. They were also quite hungry. Elliot in particular felt as if he might eat a cardboard box if it was put in front of him.
“How are you, Marvin my old friend,” Calum warmly greeted his comrade. Marvin returned the complement.
“Who are these two?” Calum asked.
“Two young teenagers being hunted by Reapers,” Marvin responded.
“Do they plan to follow us the whole way?”
Calum said this in an easy going manner. It appeared as if he would be delighted to assist them in whatever way he could, dependent on their intentions.
“I haven’t told them much,” Marvin divulged as he swept some perspiration from his forehead. “They have little else other than the clothes on their back. They don’t seem to want to go home. That’s all. They’re good kids though.”
“You look hungry my friend,” Yoshida said, turning to Elliot. “Do you want the rest of my sandwich?”
Elliot looked at the half eaten prawn sandwich. At this very time it may as well have been freshly made meal prepared by a Cordon Bleu chef.
“Of course, he doesn’t want a half eaten sandwich,” Jeff responded. “Who in their right minds would eat a half-eaten sandwich.”
Unfortunately Elliot’s manners got the better of him. He didn’t want to create a bad impression and so declined the offer reluctantly.
Elliot remembered little else of what was said in the next few minutes as he fell asleep in his seat. Like most of his dreams he couldn’t remember it after he woke up, but thankfully it wasn’t a nightmare as could be expected in his current predicament.
When Elliot awoke he was greeted by Debbie. She introduced herself and asked him if he wanted something to eat and gave him a number of choices. He chose a BLT sandwich from the list of options she provided. After tasting it he felt it was worth the wait. He felt able to eat two more of them but once again his manners got the best of him.
Sylvia remained relatively quiet throughout and even suggested that she wasn’t hungry. Eventually she changed her mind and requested a club sandwich.
“Calum thinks I should inform you of what is going on,” Marvin said to the two teenagers once they had finished their meal. The older man sat down in the seat opposite the the two fugitives and composed himself before speaking again. “I will start at the beginning. The Changelings that you have heard of in the media come from a planet known as Kyton. The planet was always divided into two different groups. One of these groups accounted for eighty per cent of the population. They were known as Kylons.” Marvin paused to sip from the water bottle in his right hand. “The Kylons,” he continued once more, “wanted to infiltrate the universe. They planned to travel in large numbers to some inhabitable planets like Earth and live quietly among them by taking human form. Over the course of time they believed that they would rise to power. Of course, the problem for changelings was that quite often they wouldn’t be able to tell changelings from humans and Kylons from Kylots. Kylots were the smaller group from the planet Kyton who wanted to live peacefully. There was a war among the Kylots and Kylons which forced the Kylots to move to a safer planet. The planet is called Todor. Some of the Kylots on Todor wanted to continue opposing the Kylons throughout the universe by foiling their schemes. These efforts had varying degrees of success. We seven individuals are part of a group from Todor who seek to defy the Kylons and we have been here on earth for the last five hundred years. I should say that our ancestors were here for hundreds of years. Changelings only live slightly longer than humans on average. In some cases Changelings can shorten their life expectancy by taking an unnatural form. Every Changeling has a natural human likeness, but to repeatedly change into an unnatural one can lead to illness and possibly an early death. There is no difference between Kylons and Kylots physically. Our only difference is in what we believe in.”
“Are you telling us that all seven of you can change form?” Elliot asked as he looked around at all of the other passengers.
“Well yes.” Marvin replied hesitantly as if he was pondering whether it was a trick question.
“Can you change into a woman?” Elliot asked out of curiosity.
“Again, that is more difficult and dangerous. If a male Kylot or a Kylon were to change into a female for a substantial period of time it could affect their health. They could die from it. But yes we can change into animals or just about any living object you can think of. Changing size is also dangerous. I could become ten foot tall or one foot tall but it also would be bad for my health.”
A million questions were racing around in Elliot’s mind. He was frustrated that he could only ask one at a time. “What is Todor like?”
“It is not as inhabitable as Kyton but we have made some modifications which make it liveable. We have overcome gravity and oxygen difficulties. We recycle our water and grow our own food in special sections of our city. For the most part it is a Kylot-made city and no Kylot would survive on the surface of Todor for more than six hours.”
“So you say that you are the good Kylots and that you are here to help us. How do we know that you’re on the level and you’re not going to trick us?” Elliot asked. “How can we trust you?”
“The problem for you is that you don’t have much of a choice,” Marvin responded. “Without us, you will be on your own. We have to trust you as well. Most people who ask for our help are Kylons in disguise. Every time we try to help someone, we take risks.”
While the Kylots seemed very friendly, with the exception of Jeff, Elliot had met many other people from his past who gave a false impression. Even Derren pretended to be a human hunting changelings when it was quite the opposite.
“Is there any way at all of telling Kylots from Kylons or changelings from humans. There must be something, however small.”
“Biologically, possibly. The only other thing you can go on are signals but these can be mimicked so there pretty useless.”
“In other words the answer is no,” Sylvia responded.
Elliot was surprised by how quiet Sylvia had been up to this point. He wondered what her reaction to this new found information was.
“Yes,” Marvin responded.
“Where are we going?” the young man asked.
“We can’t tell you exactly but it is our plan at the moment to return to Todor. You don’t have to come with us if you don’t want to.”
Elliot wasn’t expecting this. He assumed that Mexico or Canada was a possible destination but Todor was an entirely different planet. He didn’t even know where it was. He didn’t know whether or not he would like it there. It was an unknown quantity.
“How long does it take to get there?” the young man asked.
“In a space shuttle owned by your government it would take ten years. In our space shuttle it will take thirty-six hours.”
At this point Jeff climbed out of his seat. “Why are you telling these guys so much information. We’ve only just met them. How do we know we can trust them? You put other people through rigorous tests to determine if they’re genuine. These guys just get on our bus and you tell them everything. Give them a couple of AK-47s why don’t you.”
Jeff was angry now. Even more angry than normal. None of the other occupants of the bus were surprised by this however and remained calm.
“They are outnumbered by us and they are not carrying any electronic equipment that could be used for tracking or bugging,” Marvin responded. “This bus is state of the art. It can detect all of those things. In any case I do trust them. Sometimes you have to go with your instincts. Besides Jeff, I get the impression that you are in the minority.”
“It’s those instincts which now have us on the run,” Jeff replied. “I’m putting it on the record that I do not trust these two weeds.”
“We can put it to the vote if you like,” Debbie replied. “I don’t hear anyone else backing you up.”
Jeff sat down, like a man defeated but frustrated. He didn’t like it when Calum and the others took risks, but he was just going to have to tolerate it somehow and tolerance wasn’t his strong point.
Elliot Tomkins was just climbing out of his bed having had a good night sleep when he heard the driver of the bus warning, “there’s trouble ahead.” The bed was very comfortable as far as sleeping on buses was concerned. His mood had been improving until he heard Yoshida speak those words.
Calum Holmes approached Yoshida, who was currently the driver. He could see clearly the police roadblock in front of them. In front of the roadblock was about eight vehicles of varying shapes and sizes.
“Darn it,” Calum said to himself, “We were almost there.”
“What do I do?” Yoshida asked with a hint of stress in his voice.
“Take your time.” Calum said in an attempt to sound calm and assured.
“What then?”
“I’ll think of something,” the leader responded by turning around to face his comrades.
“We can’t change shape because the kids can’t change shape and they are the ones they’re probably looking for,” Jeff insisted. “I say, throw the kids out the back of the bus, change shape and we’re there.”
Elliot’s blood ran cold. He didn’t want to be thrown off the back of the bus but he also didn’t want to be the one responsible for getting everyone else in difficulty.
“Nobody is getting thrown off. Nobody gets left behind. I’ll think of something,” Calum responded defiantly
“There is no alternative,” Jeff replied in frustration.
“The alternative is that everyone keeps calm and stays relaxed,” Calum replied as he gestured with his hands. “Panicking will not solve anything. Remember, we’re senior citizens on a vacation. Those kids are grandchildren of myself and Erica. We’re collecting more senior citizens in the next town which happens to be Hamilton. We’re going to Anna Lucia National Park which is two hours away. Everybody keep calm and take your seats.”
In a matter of seconds all the other passengers except Elliot and Sylvia had transformed into older individuals of pensionable age. Even Yoshida looked thirty years older.
Elliot’s heart was in his mouth as the bus pulled up to the checkpoint. At the roadblock were six police officers and three police cars. One of the police officers boarded the bus. He was overweight, had dark hair and looked to be about thirty. During the entire time he was chewing on a leaf of grass that he would put in and take out of his mouth.
“Who are you exactly?” he addressed the bus driver
“My name is Chow Lin. Here is my driver’s licence,” he said as he handed it over.
The police officer accepted it, tested it for durability, compared the photo to Mr Lin’s appearance and handed it back to the driver.
“Where are you going son?” the police officer asked.
“Well, we have to collect some more of these geezers from Hamilton and then we’re going to Anna Lucia National Park. It’s very nice, have you been there?”
“Can’t say that I have,” the police officer said in a deadpan manner before walking down the aisle of the bus. As he did so he looked at each of the passengers. When he finally came to the last two passengers he was somewhat taken aback. They were much younger than the others.
“What are your names?” he asked
“Albert and Sarah Freinstein,” Elliot responded nervously.
“Do you have identification?”
“No,” the young man replied in an attempt to suppress his own anxiety. “We’re under age and we didn’t bring our passports with us.”
The police officer remained suspicious. He used a device on his person to check for wanted teenagers. It didn’t take long before he found two photographs that bore a striking resemblance to the two adolescents in front of him.
“Now what have we here?” he said aloud. Unfortunately for him that was all that he was permitted to say. In a split second he was hit over the head by Jeff, rendering him unconscious. In a matter of seconds Yoshida was driving the bus with all of the force he could muster through the road block. At the same time Jeff proceeded to bound and gag the police officer.
Within seconds, the bus was being pursued by two damaged police cars. The road itself was quite narrow and bendy. Once the two police cars caught up with the bus, Yoshida pressed a button that released an oil slick to the rear of the bus. This resulted in both police cars careering off the road and into some trees.
“Great, now what are we going to do,” Jeff declared. “We’re miles from where we want to be and now we have the cops after us. I told you that we should have ditched these two.”
“Stay calm,” Calum Holmes instructed him. “Keep going on this road Yoshida for about four miles before stopping at a statue of a man holding a cross. You’ll have to be fast if we’re to avoid being caught.”
“No problem,” Yoshida replied.
The bus continued moving along the road at a fast speed before stopping as instructed. Calum encouraged them to disembark, bringing with them any essentials they might need. Calum configured the bus to drive on autopilot before the group of nine climbed over a fence and made their way into a heavily wooded area.
While Elliot would miss the comfort of the bus and the feeling of being safe for a brief moment, he was still glad to be alive. His heart was racing and he was shaking a little but at least he was still surviving.
“Great, just great,” Jeff continued to moan. “We gave up the luxury of sleeping in a comfortable bus to mingling with bears and ants.”
“What’s wrong Jeff?” Debbie replied. “Are you a scaredy cat? I wouldn’t have put you down to be scared of ants or bears for that matter.”
For a moment Jeff was speechless.
“Tonight we won’t be able to light campfires for fear of detection,” Calum declared.
“Great just great,” Jeff replied.
“Don’t worry Jeff, you can wear my polka-dot jammies if you want,” Diego replied.
This time Jeff just sneered in an unfriendly manner.
The trees were evergreens and the terrain was quite rocky and uneven. Elliot carefully made his way through it, afraid to sprain an ankle or fall over. The young adolescent could not see very far in front of him such was the density of the forest. He knew, however when he stepped off the bus that the landscape had many hills and mountains, partly covered in trees and partly covered with barren rock. He saw no sign of bears or similar animals. He hoped to god that they were hibernating. There were many ants and other small creatures moving about as Jeff feared, but as long as they stayed away from him, Elliot wasn’t bothered by them.
The weather was also quite warm and made it difficult to carry belongings for a substantial period of time. If it wasn’t for the stress of being hunted down and carrying a bag of belongings, Elliot would probably be enjoying the scenery, the fresh air and the weather.
Jeff’s behaviour, however, was starting to affect the young adolescent. Part of him didn’t want to drag everyone else down and put their lives at risk. Another part of him felt safe and comfortable in his present company. It was only Jeff who made him uncomfortable and left him feeling guilty.
Twenty miles down the road, the bus was eventually stopped by positioning six police cars in front of it. The bus was forced off the road and crashed into a wall.
Sixteen police officers with their guns loaded surrounded the bus and approached it cautiously. The bus itself, while not completely upright, appeared to be in a stable position. It was wedged in amongst a number of trees which prevented it from keeling over. One officer named Earl Bennett tried to open the door. It wouldn’t budge. He and his colleagues were afraid to do anything more in case it was booby-trapped.
“Should we wait until the Reapers get here?” he asked aloud.
“Try blasting it open.” One of the policemen suggested.
Earl stood back nervously at a narrow angle and aimed a shot at the lock. Like he thought, it ricocheted off the surface and made no indentation.
“I say we wait until the Reapers get here,” he said aloud.
Several minutes later a large black van pulled up where the Police cars lined the road. Six tall men dressed in black robes with hoods and wearing large black boots approached the bus.
“Who’s in charge here,” the leader asked in a gruff voice.
“I am,” Earl declared reluctantly.
“Where are the fugitives?” the leader demanded.
“We don’t know,” the Police officer replied sheepishly. “We think they might be inside.”
“There is no one there aside from one of your colleagues.”
“Hey, he’s locked inside. Maybe you can get him out,” Earl suggested hoping the intimidating figure in front of him would help them.
“Don’t give me orders,” the leader of the Reapers bellowed. “Have you spoken to him?”
“No. He’s gagged,” Earl replied with a hint of trepidation as it seemed an obvious answer. The Police Officer just wanted to be rid of the Reapers. He was in truth very much afraid of them. Like everyone in this country he had heard stories about them and what they were capable of. They were answerable to no one and that was the scariest thing about them. Any dealings with them now or in the past had always felt degrading and humiliating.
The Reaper placed a small device on the door of the bus. He then stood back and pressed a button. A mini explosion happened and the door of the bus came open.
The abrupt leader entered the bus and loosened the gag from around the bound police officer’s mouth.
“Where are they?” he demanded.
“I don’t know. I was unconscious until a few moments ago,” the Police man responded.
The Reaper pushed the police officer back in his seat in disgust and stormed off the bus. “Imbeciles,” he said aloud as he brushed past Officer Bennett.
The leader of the Reapers climbed into the van once more with his colleagues and headed back from where the bus had come. The van moved slowly, scouring the roadside for any sign of where the bus might have stopped.