Dissolving the injectable devices is possible in an emergency. But it’s uncertain what the consequences might be, and in Mom’s case it may as well have been cancer. For all practical purposes her body responded with similar symptoms, and she tells me again how guilty she felt when I quit the Air Force because of her.
She knows I didn’t want to return to Hampton to live in the barn again, working for NASA as Dick directed. But plain and simple, he wanted me home with her, not that I needed him or anyone to make me take care of my mother. There wasn’t a question what I would do, and he seized the situation as an opportunity he could use to further his scheme.
Mom’s bad outcome was an unexpected gift, really. Dick facilitated my leaving the military, an unusual thing for a 4-star general to encourage. It would be fortuitous if I went to work for NASA Langley, and he claimed it was in the cards for me anyway. But just not quite so soon, and he’s yet to tell me what cards he meant.
“There’s been no better place for your training,” Mom places a soap pod in the dishwasher, starting it up.
00:00:00:00:0
“TRAINING for what? To be a cyber nerd, a test pilot, a human factor pessimist?” I ask, monitoring the live security video images in my smart lenses, looking for whatever just triggered a motion sensor light near the barn where my Chase Car is parked.
“Best to learn things from the ground up,” Mom the educator says. “No better person to pilot the plane than the one who created it . . .”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I exclaim as I see Lex in my SPIES at the same time rapid footsteps sound in the dining room.
Dad looks terrified and dazed, padding into the kitchen with no shoes on, the overhead light shining on his hair sticking up everywhere like Einstein. His eyes are wild behind his thick glasses, in gray sweatpants, his corduroy shirt buttoned crooked.
“We’ve got real trouble,” he says in a quiet fast voice.
“What’s Easton doing?” Mom dries her hands on a paper towel.
“He’s asleep.”
“What’s happened, Dad?” I ask.
“Nonna just called in a panic because Lex isn’t there,” and no matter the crisis he’s always low key and soft spoken. “She doesn’t know when he ran off or where he might have gone, and he’s not answering his phone.”
“He’s here,” I reply.
Picked up by our security cameras, he’s small and frantic, breathing hard as if he’s been running. Hesitating in front of the barn, he stares at my Tahoe, looking around, wearing his same green jacket, his backpack on. I remember the transit bus when I was leaving the mobile home park, and he must have been on it instead of asleep in his room as Nonna assumed.
“I’ll get him,” I hurry back through the dining room, and Dad’s right behind me, ready to fly out the front door in his socks. “No!” I tell him.
“Let me help, Calli. This is my fault.”
“Right now, I need you and Mom to stay inside with Easton. And it’s not about fault, never has been, never will be,” as I go out the door into the cold, not bothering with my down vest.
Hurrying down the walkway, I detect a droning noise coming from the water, something small and quiet like a two-stroke engine. And then I see the shadowy shape of the boat coming close, no lights on, two people in it, nearing our dock at the same moment Lex steps out from behind the pecan tree, bathed in blue among Dad’s shiny squirrel traps.
“Run!” I yell at him, and he freezes as tripped motion sensors illuminate the dock.
I see the gas cans in the back of the boat as I recognize the man from the Hop-In, and the woman has short black hair, a dark jacket and white fingernails you could see from space. Both of them are armed with machine guns, and Lex has turned into a statue.
“RUN!” I scream at the top of my lungs, and he doesn’t budge, staring at the monstrous duo as they dock their boat.
I take off as fast as I can, down the sidewalk, across the driveway, cutting through snow and slush. Grabbing his arm when I reach him, I take cover as best I can behind the pecan tree, which isn’t nearly thick enough. We’re sitting ducks, the distance between us and the dock about the length of a tennis court.
I pull out my Bullpup as the woman with short black hair and white nails trains the barrel of her full-auto weapon at us, the man lifting gas cans out of the boat.
“Drop your gun. Step away from him, and he doesn’t get hurt,” she calls out in a flat shrill tone at the same moment I hear a car on the driveway.
Fran is returning home, it occurs to me, all of us about to die. I order Lex to get down on the ground behind me and not move. Raising my pistol, I wait to be ripped apart by a barrage of bullets as I feel him pressing against my legs while headlights shine through trees, getting close. Then the unearthly hooting starts.
. . . WHO-WHO-WHO . . . !
Louder as a shadow swoops close to the dock, straight toward the killer couple. Mr. Owl dive-bombs them feet first, his talons going for their heads as they duck and shriek, and I start shooting.
BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!
Both the man and woman are down, not moving, and just as quickly the great horned owl is gone. He gives a final hoot somewhere in the darkness over blue-spangled trees along the river.
“What were you doing?” it’s all I can do not to explode at Lex. “I told you not to leave the house. I trusted you when I could have locked up your butt. You’ve got to stop almost getting me killed!”
“I shouldn’t have frozen like that!” is what he has to say about it, angrily.
Mom and Dad are headed toward us. She’s carrying my down vest, and it’s a good thing because I’m freezing.
“What the owl did was awesome!” Lex exclaims, his attention riveted to the illuminated dock with the bodies on it. “Are they dead?”
“I’m pretty sure they are,” I reply, and as if on cue the motion sensor lights go out.
“Good, because they’re bad! But I froze! I was stupid,” he’s about to cry.
“It’s okay, son, you were very brave,” Dad assures him while I look at the Tahoe on the driveway.