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THE FLAMING TIGER
By
Edita A. Petrick
© copyright June 2008, Edita A. Petrick
Cover art Alex DeShanks, © copyright June 2008
ISBN 978-1-60394-187-7
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidental.
Chapter One
May 1982, Red Rock Canyon State Park,
Ricardo, California
Seabring sat on something hard and low to the ground.
"Sea, I want Mommy. I want to go home." Andy pushed against her so hard she fell over and hit her head. The pain forced tears into her eyes. Holding onto him with one hand, she raised the other to touch the duct tape they'd used to tape her mouth and eyes.
"Don't touch your eyes," a voice warned grittily. "Just sit there and don't move. And don't let your brother move either, or...."
"Idiot!" Another voice sounded. "Can't you see she's fallen over? Go pick her up. Make sure neither falls down again. Then get over here. I need you to monitor the tower communications."
She felt herself dragged by her shoulders then pushed down hard.
Andy whimpered again. "Sea, I want to go home. I want my Mommy."
"Shut up, kid, or I'll tape your mouth again, along with your nose. See how you like that," the gritty voice said.
Andy started to cry.
"Fuck this ...!"
The second voice interrupted. "Get over here. They must have switched frequency. I can't get anything but static. It's almost noon. There ought to be a flurry of activity if they're ready to roll tomorrow."
She held onto Andy, trying to swallow tears because the tape wouldn't let them flow down her cheeks. She breathed through her nose, but her throat felt hot, scratchy.
"I'm going to take the tape off your mouth," a voice sounded. It wasn't the one who’d sworn. It was the one who’d spoken with what Dad called ‘calm authority’ when he coached her how to deliver her part of the Gettysburg Address in Ms. Johnson's first grade annual pageant. "Keep quiet, hold onto your brother, and everything will be all right. Do you understand?"
She nodded.
It hurt when he peeled the tape off her mouth, but the freedom to be able to take a deep breath helped her to stay quiet and not scream.
"Now, I'm going to peel the tape off your eyes and replace it with a bandanna," he said.
"What the fuck are you doing, man? One kid's already seen us, and now she'll see us, too," the gritty voice shouted.
The calm voice ignored him. "Keep your eyes shut after I take the tape off, all right?"
It hurt to speak, but she whispered, "I’ll keep my eyes shut."
She didn't feel the pain when he peeled the tape off her eyes because her throat burned and she felt nauseous.
She kept her eyes shut and her head very still as he tied the bandanna, knotting it tightly in the back of her head.
"That's a good girl," he said. "Now sit here, both of you, and don't make a sound."
Just then, Andy whimpered.
"Be quiet," she hissed, feeling with her hands for his head and shoulders to pull him closer to her. "Just be quiet and they won't hurt us."
"That's right," the calm voice said with a chuckle, and she felt a hand settle on her head and deliver a pat.
* * * *
Andy fell asleep in her lap. She knew it from his breathing. Now and then he sighed and wailed for Mom. He was only four years old but Mom called him ‘my big boy’. He was heavy, and she couldn't hold onto him. Her back hurt. She leaned over a little, and kept leaning until she fell backwards and hit her head again. This time it hurt so much she almost cried out.
"Leave them," the calm voice commanded. "They might as well sleep on the floor. One of you should go out and get some food. There's a roadside diner just outside of Ricardo, butte-something or other. We don't want to starve the kids. We're just babysitting them until their father complies."
She hugged Andy tighter. It made her warm. The place was dusty because every breath scratched her throat, but it was also cold. They had to be in the desert. It felt as cold as the time when Dad had taken them camping in Sequoia Park. He'd brought down-filled sleeping bags and let her and Andy climb in with him. He'd used all three sleeping bags to make a big, warm pile. These men were not going to give her and Andy a sleeping bag.
She wanted to ask the calm voice for a glass of water. But he thought they were sleeping and if that's what he thought, he might talk, say things about Dad and whatever it was they wanted him to do.
She buried her face in Andy's shoulder and listened.
"I think we gave Roberts too much time," the gritty voice said.
"I'm not paying you to think. You're paid to baby-sit, and monitor Center’s communications," the calm voice said.
"A month ago, I ran into Mick Hilroy at Pancho's. It's an officer's lounge at Muroc's Clu...."
"Spare me the tour guide crap. I've lived at Edwards for three months. Get to the point."
"Hilroy's on the developmental test team. Their function calls for interaction with the contractor team. I don't get to talk to contractor's staff because I'm operations."
"You're serving a two-week suspension for drunken and disorderly conduct. Any other lawyer would have buckled under Wilton's prosecution, and you'd be staring now at a dishonorable discharge. Be precise. Then again, I'm no longer required to listen to your grievance bullshit. Get to the point."
"Hilroy said the Fitz & Wynd engineers aren't sure that all risks have been identified. Roberts got into an argument with one of their design guys. He said his engine prototype's ready to conquer the sky."
"I'm sure that by tomorrow night, Mr. Roberts will feel otherwise. Who knows, he probably already does. However, if all the risks have been identified and eliminated, then the new engine would be going to production, not to make noise over Nevada. That's the purpose of the test flight they're running tomorrow, you moron."
Then a new voice sounded. It was worried because it shook a little. "Cal's right. We gave Roberts too much time. Sending those lizard cards wasn't such a great idea. Maybe one or two, but nine...he's had two weeks to think about it. He wouldn't go to see Greggson. He doesn't get along with him, and he won't talk to the base intelligence, but he'll bring in the FBI. He's got friends...."
"So do I," the calm voice interrupted. "In fact, General Greggson’s my golf partner, whenever I visit his base. Everything's on schedule, everything's just the way it should be."
The gritty voice announced, "I'm going out to get some food. It'll give me a chance to look around, see if there's any unusual activity around Edwards."
"It's not what the plan calls for," the calm voice said. "I'll have to check with the Soobrian dispatch."
"So the lizards pull your strings, eh?" the gritty voice said and laughed.
There was silence for a long time, and then the calm voice said, "Fine. Do it carefully and don't screw up. Remember, you're under suspension. That's just a step away from house arrest. And get me a couple of jars of olives at the convenience store—the green ones, medium, not large, and some crusty bread and cheese."
She must have fallen asleep because when she woke up the dust smelled different—moist. She knew it was morning. Andy stirred in her arms and whimpered. She whispered to him to keep quiet. He started to cry. He'd peed in his shorts. That's where the moisture smell came from.
She was about to ask to let them go to the washroom, when the gritty voice sounded.
"I stayed outside the house for a while. There were no cops, local or military. I didn't see the wife. Roberts went to Edwards and came back. He stayed a couple of hours and left again. He's moving too much. I don't like it."
She realized he was giving a report to the calm voice.
"He has to move, you idiot. He can't leave the wife home alone for long, and he has to show up at work. The test's still scheduled for fifteen-hundred ...?"
"Yes. Confirmed."
"Well then, he's carried out the Salamander Protocol." The calm voice sounded cheerful now.
"But what if he was caught and told them about the Salamander ... showed them the cards, instructions ...." The worried voice trailed off.
"Then they'd have cancelled the test, you moron," the calm voice said.
She heard footsteps then a door banged. Someone must have left but not all of them because she felt a presence approach. He stuck two fingers underneath her blindfold and tested.
The fingers smelled bad, oily. It made her gag. She heard him chewing, swallowing. He didn't say anything but before he walked away, she heard him spit noisily. Something landed in the dust with a soft splat. She played with Andy's fingers, tickled him a little. He leaned against her and a few minutes later, she heard his soft snoring. His face, where it touched her chin, felt hot. It scared her. Andy was sick. There wasn't anyone to help. She tightened her mouth to stop it from quivering. She mustn't cry. They'd come and hurt her, hurt Andy.
She must have fallen asleep, too, because the voice sounded as if the speaker stood far away.
"He's done it. We can read about it in the papers tomorrow. The contract's definitely finished. So is Roberts. I doubt anyone will be able to find the Fitz & Wynd business listed in the Yellow Pages again. Soobrian will be delighted to hear that the bidding's once again open to all interested parties."
She held her breath. That name again. She heard it before. Fitz & Wynd. Dad worked for the Air Force and Fitz & Wynd worked for the Air Force. Now both were finished. How?
She held onto Andy, trying not to breathe noisily. She heard them moving away, their voices fading until there was silence, and only then whispered to Andy that it was going to be okay. Dad would come soon. He was finished.
Andy struggled to sit up and fell back down into her arms. She heard a door creak, a long silence, and then the calm voice said, "You idiot! You were followed...!"
Suddenly, Andy's body jerked in her arms. "Daddy! Daddy!" he screamed and pushed her away as she struggled to hold onto him.
"Daddy, daddy, daddy," Andy chanted.
"Baby...!" Dad's voice came, just as high-pitched as Andy's. She heard feet rushing, kicking, stomping. Andy screamed. She heard a hard smack and Dad cried out. Someone smashed something against the wall. Dad grunted.
She held her breath. Andy wasn't crying anymore. Did they hit him? Did he fall? She heard Dad groan then something smashed.
"Daddy...!" she finally screamed. It hurt so much she started to cough. She clawed at her blindfold ... and stopped. They said not to take it off. They were still shouting. Dad kept repeating Andy's name. She struggled to rise on her knees and was about to pull herself up all the way when the shots came.
Two quick pops … one after another. She froze in mid-crouch, trembling from the effort. Dad groaned. Three more shots sounded, deafening this time.
She screamed, tears choking her, eyes burning. Her throat was on fire, but she kept on screaming until her voice gave out. The silence hurt as much as it hurt to scream.
She rose and stood there, shaking. Her knees buckled and she fell down again. With one hand she touched the wall while pulling off the blindfold with the other. When it was around her neck she used both hands along the wall to get up. When the fireflies stopped dancing in her eyes she took a step, stumbled, then another step.
Finally, her eyes adjusted to the murky light of the cabin.
"Daddy?" she whispered when she saw her father's body lying on the floor. He didn't move. Was he so tired he went to sleep, she wondered?
She knelt beside him, her hands settling into the dust, fingers raking it softly. There were pebbles in the dust, sharp, hard. She started to pick them up, one by one, and stuffed them in her pocket. She did this whenever Dad fell asleep in a chair in the backyard and she played jacks beside him. He slept now. His blue work shirt was covered with mud. Mom would have to use a lot of bleach to get it clean.
"Daddy," she called softly and touched his hand. It was closed into a fist. She pushed and pried with her fingers until her hand slid into his. Her fingers felt objects, took hold and drew out. She looked at what it was then put two gold trinkets into her pocket. That's what she did with everything she picked up. Mom called her a ‘magpie’. She wondered what a mad pie looked like or even if a pie could get mad.
Dad was asleep. She had to get Mom. Or maybe send Andy. That's what she did when Dad fell asleep in the backyard ....
Slowly, she turned her head. Andy was asleep, too, on the floor beside the fireplace. His head rested on the stone lip. He was muddied, too. Must have gotten dirty from Dad. Well, she'd have to go get Mom herself.
"I'll be back," she whispered. She rose and shuffled for the door. Just before she pulled it open, she turned and said, "You shouldn't sleep on the floor. Mom said that's how you get sick."
She walked through the desert, avoiding darker spots and shadows. The rocks scared her because they crackled, though she heard whispers, too. It had to be ghosts, hiding behind the upstanding formations. It was a clear night. The moon was out. She felt cold and shivered.
"It's not scary in the dark," she said out loud. "The sky has its lights on." But the shadows moved, and the desert was noisy. Her heart started to pound. She shuffled her feet faster on the parched ground until her flight turned blind. The shadows were chasing her. The creaking, chirping and rustling noise swelled until it sounded like the time when Dad took her to the zoo. There were wolves and bears and tigers ... run, Sea, run ...!
* * * *
Jim Tarrymack reached for his CB radio. It was eleven o'clock. Instead of trying to make the stretch of 395 from Bishop all the way to Highway 14, he should have swung east and stopped at a trucker's stop just outside of Ridgecrest, and caught a shuteye in the cab, except he was behind schedule. He had to ride the 14 down to its Mojave junction with 58, swing northwest for Tehachapi and knock off another hundred miles before taking a nap in Bakersfield. The headlights of the big transport truck kept carving strong wedges of light across the road. A new sign announcing that he had just crossed the boundary line of Red Rock Canyon State Park flashed by. It hadn’t been there last month when he’d driven down 14, though he heard talk when he stopped at Milly's ‘Butte-rest’ in Ricardo for a bowl of home-made chili that the parks people were drafting something called ‘1982 General Plan’ to bring out early next year. Milly liked to attend all public meetings that dealt with such stuff. She liked to yell and scream at the government people.
Well, to him the place always felt like a page from an old book, filled with history and traditions—of people and critters. It was a clear night, good visibility. He hoped the Park's wildlife would stay in their lairs and not dart across the road. It was the main reason why he didn't like doing 14 at night. He shrugged to loosen his neck muscles. He would make it to Bakersfield by midnight, or a tad later, but not all the way to Fresno. Just as he was about to click his CB, his eyes shot a message to his foot to stomp hard on the airbrakes.
"Jeeee...sus!" he shouted, fighting to keep the steering wheel from spinning out of control. "...Christ!" He finished explosively when the truck's grille came to a bone-chilling, screeching stop a few feet away from the pint-sized apparition that had bolted out of the roadside shadows and ran right onto the highway.
"Jesus, Maria, and all saints," he murmured again, swiping cold sweat from his forehead. "A kid ... what's a kid doing out here ...? Jesus, Maria ...." He climbed down, jumped off the last step and ran to see whether he had grazed the child. "What the hell ...?" He stopped. The girl was out of breath and shaking.
"It's all right, honey. It's all right." He softened his voice. "You okay there? Someone chasing you...?"
The girl didn't speak or nod. She just stood there, shaking. He saw her wide opened eyes and knew silent terror drove her flight. He approached as close as he dared, making soft, comforting sounds until his hands settled on the girl's shoulders. He meant to stop her tremors. However, the moment he put his hands on the little shoulders, the girl collapsed.
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