Skin Deep III - Chapter 8 - The Last Mile free porn video

Chapter 8 The Last Mile Journey's End The sound of Gary's shoes clacked off the distance from the door to the elevator, echoing off with rifle report harshness in the marble tile walled lobby of the Central Pennsylvania News and Information Services building. There were no patrons in the lobby, no security guard or facilities personnel to welcome him or to turn him back. His only company now was his reflection on either side, cast back to his eyes, barely visible in the polished dark brown marble. A sense of purpose graced his features. If anyone had been there to look on as he marched smartly across the lobby, they might have been struck by the idea that this man knew exactly why he had come here, and exactly what he wanted to do. Purpose didn't resolve anything in Gary's soul. He was heart sick, nearly panic stricken. He knew one thing and one thing only, he could not allow that feeling to overtake him. If he allowed that then he would be useless to everyone. Any doubt that might have existed about what that purpose was had been clearly defined when he allowed these people to take his daughter captive. Naively, he had been surprised to find the people from, what Caroline called The Agency, had still been watching the flat where Michelle and he had first called home. He had been enraged to see the black HOV Airsedan, ground parked between two buildings adjacent to Shipley Park only after his daughter was in harms way. But that had been the point of going there in the first place, he had reminded himself. That feeble justification had not helped him accept what he had witnessed. One man had exited the HOV and crossed the park. Beth had not looked back until he was upon her. The man had eased up behind Beth on the street and softly whispered something to her. When she spun around to see who was there, the man had covered her mouth to prevent her from screaming out and raising the alarm. Before she had fallen limp into his arms, Gary could see her search the landscape in the direction from which Caroline and he were watching. Her eyes, wide with shock and terror, had been clearly visible from their vantage point across the small park. Caroline had slipped her arm into the crook of Gary's elbow to prevent him from charging out into the open, alerting them to his position and bringing down the entire plan, as weak as it was. Seconds later, after dragging her out of sight in the alley next to the house where they had been kidnapped by Jayce and Robert only hours before, Gary watched the black, government issue HOV race up and out of sight and into the dark storm clouds above as it fought to stay aloft in the high gale force winds. Now, he had little time to feel sorry for anyone. He had to stay the course as it were. Doubt was the demon he must now fight against. His doubt betrayed his better hopes that by some miracle they would preserver and again be able to live in peace. It whispered to him of his fool's errand and its ridiculous assumption that these people would fear what the public thought and felt. He could not let his heart know that he believe what it whispered to him in a voice that no one else could hear. All is lost! All is lost! Turn yourself in before you loose them completely. Go back to the house where you raised your children and pray for one of them to find you there. Living with them in captivity is more certain than losing them because of this foolish plan. Gary set his face into a grim mask of determination, snapped his head to the right, then left quickly as if he had gotten something nasty on his skin and was shaking it off. He could not stop. He could not give into the almost crippling despair of helplessly watching his daughter being apprehended like some sort of criminal. At least Shell and the kids are safe, he tried to convince himself. It was the only consolation he could afford to offer his heart, even if it was unlikely that this was true. He wouldn't let his heart acknowledge that it was entirely possible that the others had already been apprehended and possibly disposed of. Again, Gary shook off the useless indignation of this particular miscarriage of justice. The last play belonged to him now. His hand of cards was weak, but they still held potential. It came down to how he played them. He could not afford to get distracted by things that would not help him. Once the HOV was gone, Caroline had directed him back to the service entrance they had come up through, back down into the dark, putrid abyss beneath the streets. Once more Gary was struck by the notion that things were going bad everywhere. Something had happened and it had to do with more than just the storm. Something had soured in the air all around the city, but it was most evident here. There was fear, palpable fear on the wind. The trek had been made on foot, through the abandon underground where humanities disenfranchised had taken refuge, only, there had been no disenfranchised. At first Gary had been worried about allowing Beth and Caroline to go down into the city cellars at all. He had to remind himself that he was about to willingly let his daughter fall into the hands of government agents who had no other intention than to cause her harm. While this helped him reestablish a connection to reality, it did little to allay any concerns he had for her safety beneath the streets. Apart from the people he believed they would most likely encounter, people made dangerous from desperation, there was the very real danger of flash flooding here. The rain had been coming down solidly for nearly 24 hours now. While the Susquehanna had somehow miraculously remained sequestered within its banks as it ran past Rouston, down stream the river had flown out on to a large flat prehistoric river delta that had turned into a floodplain basin. When it filled to capacity, the river would back up flooding the cities of Easton and Rouston to the north. This would spell disaster for the passageways beneath the city. God only knew when that would happen, but Gary suspected that it would happen sooner rather than later. Perhaps the most astounding aspect of all of this was the feeling of passive apathy in the eyes of those he had encountered in the three days since they had arrived back in their home town. The people here were facing destruction of Biblical proportions. Yet, even with the threat of catastrophic flood, there appeared to be an element of denial in the faces of the people here. Even those that had evacuated to Rouston from further north had that look that this could not possible push them further. There had been no word on evacuation of this place or the surrounding cities and townships. People were gathering here, even if you couldn't see it, you could feel it. The city was choked with people you could not see. Why had they come here? Why had Rouston become the arbitrary stopping point along the evacuation trail? Others had left. Store fronts were closed, restaurants, the local businesses of the natives where all shutting down. The danger was building here like water behind a weakened earthen levee. The locals sensed it for the most part, but why did he get the feeling that many, many more had come here to squat or stake a claim. This was far from the Promised Land. In fact, to Gary, it felt more like Gomorra. Somehow Gary got the impression that because you couldn't see the water from the dry side of the levee; everyone felt the levee would hold. But it wouldn't hold. It was giving way, even now. They had encountered no one in the sewers, no one! Even when Gary had been a kid in this place, the sewers had been the first best strong hold for what had been defined as the fringe. It had been the place where thousands had gone to avoid CitReg identification and the implications of establishing an undeniable identity. Later it became the last chance bastion for those with no place and no one to turn to. Now, for perhaps the first time in centuries, it was bereft of life. Even the rats appeared to have left. Had they had silently fled their semi-safe haven, sensing that things would go from bad to worse below the streets first? The signs that they had been there lay strewn about wherever they walked, but the owners of the tattered clothes and other discarded items were nowhere to be seen. The sewers had a haunted feel to them, as if discorporated eyes had been watching them from just beyond the reach of life. The cavernous echoes of their own footfalls and the sound of rushing water from the deluge of rainwater from the streets above was all that met their ears. For all the rain, Gary was surprised to find on their route the water level had not grown to more than a foot or two, well below the service passageway where they walked. While the water moved quickly, Gary got the sense that the level of waste water had been much higher down wind and would be getting higher here as well. Even above the labyrinthine passageways of the ancient sewer tunnels of the streets of town everything was still. Humanity was passively hiding from something felt rather than seen. Denial of what lay in wait for them was held firmly in place by an impermeable silence. Acknowledgment would surely wake the beast and turn its terrible eye toward those who had been once faithful to its denial. Still, mortality wafted on the breeze hunting for prey. Caroline had left him in front of the building where the Central Pennsylvania News and Information Services offices were. She had hesitated before leaving, her emotions betraying her own doubt at success. "I should get in there," Gary said, but not moving to leave her. "I'm sorry Gary," she said unable to take her eyes off the pavement at her feet. He seemed about to say something and she held up her hand to stop him. Then she met his gaze. "I'm sorry for everything." For a moment Gary had the horrible feeling that she was going to admit that she had betrayed his family and that it had all been a set up from the very first. "I wish I had done something the minute we knew you and Michelle had come back. If he had moved then Jayce and Robert could have gotten Michelle and Randy and God knows how many others." Gary gently placed his index finger on her lips, quieting her, "We can't go back, don't try. You could have changed nothing." A tear slipped from Carol's eye as she watched his calm face, mesmerized by the deep rich blue of his soft, kind eyes. Gary reached and wiped that tear away and Caroline smiled at his tenderness. "It has to mean something you know," Caroline said without meeting his eyes again. "What's that?" he asked. "Everything that's happened," now she did look up him, "Mike, me, all of us still here with the consequences of something that happened so long ago." She paused for a moment, considering something. "I guess what I'm saying is that I wouldn't change a thing Gary. You and Michelle were supposed to be. I believe that with all my heart. I don't know why it happened the way it did, but I know that for all my underhandedness... before. I know that I was supposed to help get you two there. So that must mean that this was supposed to happen too." "If so, I wish we knew why. It would sure help my piece of mind if I could read the last page now and find out how it ended," Gary said with a hint of sarcasm. Gary saw the small painful look on her face at his slightly acidic remark. He bent slightly and kissed her gently on the cheek. When he withdrew, she tenderly covered the spot with one hand, as if to protect it. "Whatever happens today, I want you to believe that I'm grateful for everything that you've done, however hard that it's been. If all this is somehow predestined to happen as you say, then you have to free yourself from any guilt that you may be feeling. It's not yours to have. So let it go. I never would have found happiness had things not turned out the way that did." He paused for a second. Caroline watched a dreadful look shadow Gary's face. To her it seemed has Gary had remembered a moment in time too painful for any man to walk away from with his sanity. When he continued, she was shocked to hear the certainty in his voice of a future that had never unfolded. "Mike would have died alone, at his own hand, famous and tortured. Before the end however, he would have taken a young girl with him. I saw it Carol. I saw it just like it had happened in spite of what we did. I think I was shone that to absolve me of guilt. So I guess I believe you. We're here by design. But I don't thing we're the ones who all this is for. Even if there was some underhandedness involved, it was not your fault, but your destiny. You have to believe that it was cause for more good than bad in the lives affected by it." Caroline said nothing, she nodded as her eyes filled to the lip of her eyelids with tears. "Let's finish this thing," Gary said. Once more she nodded and turned toward the service entrance to make her way back. Gary was watching her go when she had stopped suddenly, turned and raced back to him. He had caught her in an embrace and she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed with all her might. Around them the rain fell, the sound of it interrupted only by the roll of distant thunder. They held that embrace for a moment then parted. This time Caroline did disappear into the void of the sewer's service entrance and Gary had turned and entered the building. Gary passed the automated directory and directly to a bank of transport tubes lining the inner lobby area. Thoughts of everything that was now out of his hands plagued his mind. Caroline returned on foot to monitor Beth's signal and determine where she might have been taken. She was to communicate to Gary where the location of his family was believed to be from the plasma marker Caroline had injected into Beth's blood stream. If she was unable to do so then all truly was lost. Gary took little solace that, to this point at least, Caroline's plan had worked. But the results were hardly tangible. All they had managed to do was sneak around in the sewers and get Beth captured. He would now have to wait until Caroline sent the transmission of Beth's whereabouts to an old wrist VID. The airwaves that carried these signals were clean and free of interference, having been long since abandon. Now, as he examined the VID to ensure it was indeed on. The small screen crackled into life. The image there was not of Caroline, but Jayce Keeler. "Mr. Shipley," Gary's heart almost deflated. Anything out side of what he expected to see brought an instant fear of failure to mind. "Jayce, how are you feeling?" The inquiry was made in the interest of cordiality. Jayce smiled, "I'm fine Sir. But I believe you're really interested in this." Jayce looked down briefly and did something to the control console before him. His image was replaced by a small electronic map of the city. One area of the city was outlined in yellow. The image zoomed in of its own accord, "1918 Union Road in the old rail district," said Jayce as if he were hiding some place behind the map. "Your daughter hasn't moved in over 22 minutes. I remember this place. It's an old government urban reclamation project that ran out of funds. There are probably some thirty or so buildings down there that could be used for blinds." Gary had been briefed on the nature of duck blinds. While Caroline and Jayce had known the location of the blind, they could not be sure that a detention facility was connected to it. If there was one, it had until recently remained unused. As it turned out the Duck Blind it self was where they had taken Beth and hopefully the rest of his family. "I thought your Mother was going to let me know where Beth was. Did she make it back Okay?" "She got back a few minutes ago. She wanted me to wish you luck Mr. Shipley. We're setting up a little something to get their attention here. As soon as the news is out, we're going to turn on a few fireworks and get the city's attention." Gary inhaled deeply. He turned and looked at the transportation tubes that led to the upper floors and then turned back to the display unit on his wrist. Jayce's image was once more on the screen, "Thanks Jayce. Good luck to all of us." Jayce nodded but said nothing. The screen turned to snow and then winked out completely. He knew where they were now. It was time to tell the city. His last concern was also his largest one. Would any one really care? Would telling everyone even matter? Gary was having a hard time believing the idea that anyone would give a shit. If you drilled down into the core of the problem, his family and the plight they were currently in was hardly anyone else's problem. Never mind the problems everyone was facing right now with the deluge pouring down on nearly half the country and Canada. Why would anyone be concerned about a family that achieved more in wealth than most, they had also cheated death for so very long now. He doubted that anyone would shed a tear for them given the facts. Gary stepped into the lift tube. "News studio." Gary barked and the tube lifted and then accelerated to the 75th floor of the tower. The tube eased to a stop and Gary stepped off the platform and out into the anti-chamber that was the floor's outer lobby. Before him stood two floor to ceiling doors of solid wood. A poly-flex sign above the door announced that these were the offices of the Central Pennsylvania News and Information Services. Gary approached the door and gave them a gentle push. The doors opened easily as small hydraulic pumps pushed actuators to their extended position forcing the doors to swing wide. Inside the waiting area of the CPNIS things appeared normal. The rich dark wood walls and overstuffed leather furniture spoke of the profits of unadulterated capitalism at its best. People sat waiting for previously scheduled appointments. It felt to Gary that these few were blissfully unaware of the undefined danger on the wind. Life was business and business must be conduced for life to continue. Only when it ceased was there a threat of something sinister. Below the dark wood panels, the walls were pained in lavish rich dark regal colors of navy and mauve with exquisite molding around the woodwork. Around the space were plush wing-backed chairs, dark wood mahogany tables and tall lamps set at strategic locations for optimum lighting for visitors. Gary strode past four visitors, all waiting their turn four whatever business they had come here to conduct. The small group waiting only gave the man that whisked by a distracted passing glance and returned to whatever reading activity they had previously been engaged in. In the center of the room was a circular desk, behind which sat a young female receptionist. She was listening to something through a wireless ear on the WR screen before her, her long golden hair covering most of her features as she leaned forward to better see whatever was being described. She paid no attention to the visiting guests. The reception area was illuminated by ceiling lamps, set in recessed lamp-cans countersunk to the ceiling. The atmosphere was one of opulence and wealth, as though that suggested credibility. No one made a sound. The place was as quiet as a library. Opposite the desk from where Gary stood were two large mahogany doors which were closed. Above them was a sign that was back-lit in red that read, "Transmitting". Gary approached the desk. "Excuse me Miss." Without looking up the girl responded. "Can I help you?" There was nothing sweet about her demeanor. It was curt and rehearsed; a reflex from dealing with too many people while performing her dead end job. "Yes, I need the station's help. See..." Gary said realizing that he had no idea how to describe what he was really here for. Hell, we didn't even talk about what I should say. "Have a seat, someone will be with you as soon as someone is available." The girl droned in monotonous form. Frustrated, Gary repeated his request. "No, I don't think you understand. I need to get in the studio and tell people what's happened before it's too late." The girl looked up and for just a moment seemed to recognize him. Then her head cleared and she went back to the same road-blocking techniques her predecessor had taught her when belligerent visitors came to call. "I understand that your story can't be that important to most of our audience as it is to you. Not that I'm a judge or anything. You can wait with those people." She pointed to the people Gary had passed on his way in. "Someone will be with you as soon as possible. If that's not satisfactory, then security can see you right now." Gary was dumbfounded. How was he going to get in there without getting arrested? If the latter happened, then the plan would fail. He had no choice. He would have to wait his turn in line. Gary felt gelded. He had no power, no leverage against this young lady who now seemed, to Gary, to have control of his entire universe. "What's your name... Sir?" She said in a sarcastic tone that nearly sent Gary over the edge and over the desk to throttle her. He instead, calmed himself and said very clearly, "My name is Gary Allen Shipley, I'm the founder and current owner of a series of restaurants called The Red Fish as well as many other restaurants as well across the nation." You're an idiot you know that? Was that supposed to impress her? Huh? The girl began to write the information down and Gary watched an amazing transformation unfold across the young lady's face. As the handwritten words appeared on the screen below her digital pen, the carefully crafted artistic strokes of her pen slowed as she read what her hand had produced. She shook her head once quickly to clear her vision, as if her eyes were playing tricks on her. then said, without looking up, "I'm sorry Sir, I don't think I heard you correctly, you said you were... who?" "Mr. Gary Shipley, of Rouston, PA. Born here in October 30th, 2060." Gary's heart was thudding in his chest. Then while momentum was on his side, he said, "My wife is Michelle Shipley, the entertainer." The girl looked up slowly from her workspace, a vacant look on her face. Her eyes moved slowly up Gary's well built frame and settled on his face. "Oh... My... God!" she whispered, and Gary beamed. "That's more like it!" he said with a triumphant, satisfied air. "The girl, tapped at her screen with one finger without looking away from Gary's face. There was a beep, "What is it?" the man that Gary could not see from his vantage point sounded annoyed. "We're a little busy for interruptions." "Mr. Coleman, there's a man out here to see you." "It will have to wai--" "No Sir, I think that would a big mistake. He says he has a story. I believe him." "You do, do you? Well then, what's his name?" Coleman barked. Brenda turned toward the screen, her face was pale and sickly looking, "Shipley. Gary Shipley, Mr. Coleman." "What kind of fucking joke--" The voice on the other side of the screen stopped, "Brenda?" Coleman paused "You look like you've seen a ghost." Brenda raised her eyebrows but said nothing. She turned her flat monitor toward Gary, who simply waived at the man projected there. Recognition was immediate. The man's face was flush red with hypertension that threatened to blow off the top of Coleman's head, "Holy shit! Brenda! BRENDA!" Brenda turned the screen around to face her. "Don't let him get away. Keep him right there, I'm coming right out." Brenda was nodding. Mr. Coleman leaped from his chair as it were on fire. "Fredrickson," Gary could hear Coleman shout so loudly that he could hear it not only through the speakers of the WR but coming from somewhere behind the receptionist. "Get your ass out here NOW!" Brenda looked shyly up at Gary and said, "Mr. Er.. Shipley Sir... Mr. Coleman will..." "I heard. Thanks." Gary turned and saw that all four visitors were now staring right at him, mouths agape, eyes wide in shocked disbelief." Gary smiled a suave sort of smile and pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. "Guess she didn't recognize me." Shelly stood with Reverend Bluhurst in the arched doorway to the sanctuary of the church and watched as her children and two nephews passed single file out into the rain. They did not run, but rather, faded one by one into the intense grey curtain of rain that fell steadily from the clouds above. The two watched as the wind tore at their clothing, rippling it about their bodies until the intense rain made them invisible. When they gone from sight, she turned to Bluhurst and smiled a grateful smile. "Thank you for sheltering us." "Sadly, I don't feel I've done much to honor my family's obligation to yours," Bluhurst replied. Shelly took the Reverend's hands in hers. She was surprised to find they were cold. With that came the knowledge that this man was not well. He would not be among them much longer. Shelly did not betray what she knew to him, "You owed us nothing. Kindness begets kindness, that's all. I know that when my mother offered a helping hand to your great grandfather, she was doing it because she wanted to, not because she felt she had to. If she had wanted something in return, then she wouldn't have done it anonymously. Now, you've done the same for us. I'm personally very grateful for that." "I have a feeling that your mother is the kind of person that never expects a favor in payment for a favor," admitted the old man. "No," was Shelly's simple answer. "And now you have a demon to fight yourself." The statement was harsh in its reality, like a bleached white bone exposed in the desert sun. Shelly's smile of tenderness faltered, "Something I failed to do long ago I think. Maybe I was waiting for this. Maybe I was waiting for a time when my sister wouldn't be here to take control, who knows. I only know one thing, it's my turn. As much as I'm afraid of that fact, I won't pass the cup. I can't now." Shelly's smile returned, only now it was a genuine smile of satisfaction, "I don't even want to. I'm eager to taste the meal that we're preparing." Shelly then closed her eyes and took a deep, life restoring breath. Her smile transformed one more time. This time, to Bluhurst, it seemed to be a smile of intense inner peace. He watched her for a moment, silently, not wanting to disturb whatever spirit was filling her soul. Instead, his trembling old man's hands clasped her gently and he waited for her to return from wherever she had traveled. The moment did not last long. She opened her large, still bright green eyes and leveled them on his. There was something else there now, courage... no there was a light in her eyes he had not seen before. Youth. Yes it was youth. While her body had seen better days long past, her eyes shone with the promise of adventure and youth. Her life would mean something to more than just herself now and in that, she had found eternal youth. "I wish I had something profound to say," Bluhurst said. "But I think that anything I said would pale in significance to what I see in your eyes. Go get your family. Live every minute with them that you can." Bluhurst released her hands and she was suddenly free to go. If she could have she would have flown on wings of anticipation to where she felt she had to be. Instead, Shelly turned, hesitated and then turned back to Reverend Bluhurst, "I'll return the van as soon as we're done with it. At least, I'll try to." Bluhurst smiled, "After today, I don't think we'll be needing it." He then turned and vanished inside the massive doorway of the church. His words had left her feeling hollow. He knew something. There was no indication of just what that something might be. Just the same, they were approaching an hour that had been foretold somewhere in time. Shelly could feel it too. The notion of it chilled her to the bone. She dashed through the rain and out to the waiting van. "Church bus! Well, I figure if this plan is going to fail, it will fail in this jalopy." "Hallelujah to that sister," William exclaimed in his best Southern Evangelistic voice and then added gleefully, "Can I get an Amen!" The van exploded with laughter and cries of Amen brother! William brought the van up without clearance from ATS, quickly smashed the WR transmitter/receiver and shoved his foot through the transponder unit. As he piloted the HOV through winds, which were blowing in gusts of up to 100 knots around the vehicle, he discovered that oddly, in a twenty five foot bubble that surrounded the HOV, the weather was perfectly calm, except for the rain of course, which was falling at a dead vertical pitch within their sphere of calm. "God seems to be smiling on your mission Aunt Shelly, cried William, "Boy I wish Mom could see this," he said wistfully to himself. Shelly leaned close to his ear, full of fear but also filled with confidence that this was what she was supposed to do. "See it? I believe she's still hanging on to her old role of personal family guardian. That's just one old woman's opinion." That made William smile broadly. It did seem that with the choice to venture out and do what Shelly would have done, that the burden of fear had been lifted. While the fear of the unknown was still ahead of them, none of them seemed to feel the oppressive hand of terror weighing down on their hearts as they had when things begun to come unglued. "Where to?" he asked. "I think you know where we have to stop first," Shelly answered taking a seat behind her nephew. She was grateful that her last moments on earth were not going to be spent sitting on a cold, hard basement floor in the cargo hold of an old church. She was warm now, happy and with purpose. Life had become rich and colorful once more. It no longer mattered how long it lasted, as long as it wasn't bleak at its end. "I think I do." William said and set the flight manager to the coordinate of his mother's flat, "Home James..." he cried and flipped the FMS engage switch. The HOV lurched left and headed out on a heading of 145? toward Old Town. As they approached the building named for their family, their concerns were many. That section of town had been the original spot of the settlement of Roustonsville. Not much more than a farm patch situated on a hill at a crossroads west of the banks of the Susquehanna River in 1744. A 20,000 acre land grant from King George himself to a former British Officer named Charles Sampson Rouston. The town had grown quickly as a river port. As people began to settle there, buying, leasing or working land for Lord Rouston, concerns of flood waters that periodically plagued the bottom lands around the hill of the Rouston Estate. With time, people elevated their holdings by physically moving rocks and earth to elevate the bank on the western side of the river, preventing the river from flooding the town. Their first concern was that Old Town, in the center of the original 20,000 acres, sat lower as it had been the first part of the town to be occupied and could not be elevated when the generations long construction of the bluff that Rouston sat on began. The area was close to the banks of the river. If the Susquehanna breeched the drainage system from all the rain, then their home might be flooded. At the very least, the parking deck below the building would probably be swamped. Since no one had come for them, they could only assume that something had indeed happened to the four that had intended to make a sacrifice of themselves. If so, then it stood to reason that someone would be lying in wait for the rest of them to show up at locations familiar to them. Erin's flat would be the first place under surveillance and the last place anyone would expect someone to show up. If someone was there, watching, waiting, what then? William could see in the cab's review that everyone else was thinking of the same thing. To talk about it seemed a transgression against God or or faith, good fortune or whatever seemed to be watching out for them. So William remained silent too. As they approached, William decided to land on the roof. The HOV tube was too small for the van. The landing automation was off and with no one inside to turn the ILS on, they would have a hard time landing in such tight conditions visually. To their surprise, the streets below were clear of water. Still, to be on the safe side, they decided to take the lift from the pool deck down. They entered the darkened home of their heritage slowly, listening for stirrings of things that were not supposed to be there. They had no way of knowing that if they had arrived twenty minutes sooner, they would have been seen landing and most likely, apprehended as Beth had been. At the very least, they would have been surrounded. As it was, thinning the operation had pushed The Agency's resources to the limit. No one was on detail when they had arrived. The house however was a shambles. It had been ransacked. It was hard to tell what was gone and what had been left. Fear struck deep in Shelly's heart. They had come for one thing and one thing only. The book! Now there was a distinct possibility that it had been taken along with whatever evidence or proof of what had happened in years past. "It was upstairs in my closet. That's the last time I saw it, but it's been years since I've taken it out," Shelly whispered, just because it felt better to whisper with the house in its current condition. "I never gave it back to your mother," she told William. "No one ever asked for it back. I think I saw it not long after I moved back in with your mother, but God only knows, she might have moved it herself." "Well, we're not going to find out standing around this mess, let's go have a look." Shelly nodded and crept through the debris on tiptoes trying not to disturb anything or make noise wading through the scattered wreckage of the 200 years of life in this place. She made a poor go of it however and eventually she was passed by William and her children who were growing impatient with her cautious steps. They had almost not found it. The thing had fallen between a unit of modular shelving units between the wall and the outside edge of the shelving. For sometime they worried that their worst fears had come true. But Arron had found the thing after ripping out the shelving in frustration at the idea that the one thing that might actually convince anyone they were telling the truth had been possibly shanghaied. The book had fallen out and landed directly in the center of the floor. For a moment all they had been able to do was stand around in a circle and stare stupidly at the spot where it had lain. Finally Sharon had said, "Well, there it is." William had agreed, "Yep, there it is." Carl looked from the book to the group of family member standing around him. "I suppose someone should pick it up." "Yep," William had agreed, "Someone should pick it up." After a moment or two more, Sharon growled in frustration, "Oh, for goodness sake... and reached down and picked it up." No one said anything. They leaned in to watch as Sharon opened the book. When they saw the first page and the words printed there, the all looked up blankly for a moment, then they all began to shout for joy and clung to each other in an enormous group hug. They had found it. Now it sat in the hands of Houston Perry. The six of them stood, all too nervous to sit, in the center of the room and watched as Judge Perry's pupils scanned the pages of the journal Shelly's mother had written when the whole thing began. This was an all or nothing situation, and each of them knew it. Perry was the only man they knew of that might have the fortitude to stand before the Federal Government and advocate for their parents rights as citizens of the Federal States. This was, frankly the shortest long- shot they could think of. Suddenly Judge Perry set the book down, removed his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. He paused for moment, thinking and the turned to the flat screen WR perched on the corner of his desk. "Marilyn," he said in an even but somewhat saddened voice. "Get me Marshall Gene Simpson on the line for me." "Yes Sir," came the answer from the disembodied voice of Perry's legal secretary. None of the six wanted to say a word. Perry gave no indication as to why he wanted the Pennsylvania State Marshall's office but none of them could help but consider the idea that they had all just turned themselves in to cooperating authorities. Each waited to hear what would come next. "Hugh," Simpson exclaimed happily at the impromptu call, "I thought you were packed up and moved out you old fart. What the Hell can I do you for old pal?" "I've got a group of people here led by Shelly Banks that claim that Federal Agents may have taken her parents into custody on false charges." "What charges?" "Don't know," Perry answered. "but they believe they're being denied their right to due process." "Okay, what do you want me to do?" Eugene Simpson said. Perry hesitated, "Nothing about what I just said to you seems a little odd?" "Should it?" the Chief of the Marshall's office asked. "Shelly Banks Gene, her parents... think about that for just a second." "Who in the Hell is..." the voice of the man they could not see fell silent, "Is this some kind of joke Hugh?" "If it is my friend then you and I are both the butt of it. Besides, I'm not laughing. If there were anyone else in here claiming that their parents were still alive after all this time then I'd be on the phone to the psych-ward. You know as well as I do just who we're talking about here though." responded Perry. Simpson said nothing. Just about everyone knew the sisters who had lived to unnaturally old age, and that their children had followed suit. Houston was right, if it had been anyone else, there would have been no room for speculation. As it was however, speculation wasn't just a guest in the room, it was a God damned family member of the Shipleys. "So what do you think I can do?" "I don't know, that's why I'm calling. I have a document here in front of me that's pretty alarming though. It points to at least one crime, maybe as many as six, including fraud and lying to authorities. But that's not my biggest concern here. It also stands as hearsay evidence of a massive governmental cover-up at the highest levels. My problem is that they don't know where anyone's been taken or even if anyone was taken. These people would be witnesses as well as potential suspects in crimes that have probably seen their statue of limitation expire long before we were born. If there's a crime to be prosecuted then it's going to be kidnapping. But we have to determine if anyone's actually been kidnapped, then ..." A third voice joined the conversation unexpectedly, "Judge Perry, Sir," "Hold on a second Gene, Marilyn wants something." Perry touched a point on the screen silencing the transmission Marshall Simpson and opening a channel to his secretary in the anti-chamber outside his office. "Yes Marilyn," "I think you should probably turn on News22." "Just tell me what it is Marilyn, I don't have time--" Perry bit, obviously irritated at being disturbed. "No Sir, this will require your personal, immediate attention." Without being asked she funneled the transmission from her won set directly to the Judge's chambers. The transmission was already underway when it popped on not just the screen on Perry's desk, but also on the dominant master screen on the south wall. "... have spent our lives trying to avoid publicity," the young man with blonde hair displayed there was saying. "We've never caused any trouble. But there was no reversing what happened to Mike, it was move on or give up. We decided to move on as best we could. He was going to have to spend the rest of his life as someone other than who he'd been born as. I don't know if anyone can imagine what that must be like, but there was nothing fun or romantic about it." "Daddy," Shelly whispered catching Judge Perry off guard. He glanced at Shelly curiously and she looked back to him, "That's my father." "I thought you said..." "Shush, I want to hear what he has to say." All of them turned their attention to the set. "They took her yesterday after we buried my eldest daughter. The thing we'd tried to avoid all our lives had really happened. For a while after coming back we all felt pretty foolish thinking that our life had been spent in seclusion out of nothing more than paranoia. But it wasn't paranoia after all was it. They have her; and the only thing she ever did wrong in her entire life was listen to a stupid, selfish teenage boy who she thought was a friend." "I led her into it and couldn't get her back out of it," Gary confessed miserably. Tears hung on the lower lids of his eyes. Then, dramatically, one breeched and cascaded down his cheek "Oh Daddy," Shelly whispered in a shuddering voice. The camera flashed to a desk anchor person who had been off camera until just that moment, "So you married her in an attempt to take care of her, is that what you're saying?" "No, I married her because I fell in love with her. I was determined to make things right however, that's why I hounded her, tried to protect her." "Why didn't you seek out the authorities at the time it happened? Surely you could have gone for help." "I don't know how you can say that. They've taken her. They don't want anyone else to know what's happened. It would expose their dirty little espionage secret to all the nations of the world. They would have swooped down on her and spirited her away just like they have now. I need help getting them back. They have rights. They deserve to be heard, to have their day in court. I have an address where we believe they are being held, all I'm asking is that if the local authorities are listening, that they do what their supposed to do and keep us all from having our rights violated." The camera shifted back to the woman anchor, "For those of you that have just joined us, I'm speaking with a man claiming to be Gary Shipley, founder of Rouston's premier chain of restaurants..." "My father was the founder," Gary corrected off camera. The anchor nodded, "Very well, son of the founder of the chain of restaurants known as The Red Fish, and husband to the world renowned diva Michelle Shipley. The couple were reported to have died with their daughter and son-in-law over 140 years ago in a HOV accident along the banks of the Susquehanna river. The camera shifted back to Gary while the anchor kept speaking; "Now you say you have an address," "Yes, it's 1918 Union Road down where the old rail yards used to be." "And how did you determine where they'd been taken?" asked the woman with perfect hair. Gary was silent for a moment, "I can say right now. That's something I'd rather talk to the police about." "Monica," said a voice from somewhere out in the studio. The owner of the voice was shadowed by the bright, studio lights. "We're going outside the station for a moment to Jim Glover," "Jim, are you there?" asked Monica. "Yes Monica, I'm here." "What are you seeing, Jim?" "Monica, in spite of the weather, thousands of citizens are taking to the street in what looks to be angry protest in reaction to our broadcast. Everywhere you look people are leaving office buildings, homes and their places of business. Many of them visibly upset at the idea that the story that's just coming out could possibly be true. I've been speaking to people as they pass and some seem upset about the possible kidnapping while others are demonstrating fear at the idea of a genetically modified super-race of people walking among us. But head and shoulders above that stands the public concerns that SKINs had actually existed this whole time. That the government has been caught in what may be the greatest public scandal in three hundred years and have put this country and its citizens in grave danger of attack from other nations." "Reactions have been swift and harsh as you'll see in this interview I had just moments ago," Jim turned as if to watch a monitor someplace and a previously recorded image flashed on the screen. The man was a manual laborer, dressed in dirty coveralls, he was upset and trembling from emotion, "God Damn right I'm mad! I've read and heard all about the attitudes of the people that hate us all over the world. All they're looking for is a reason to launch their *BLEEP* drones and set them off over our airspace. You can't watch the news today without hearing something about how someone in England or Germany or Japan feels the world would be a safer place without us in it. Now this! Even if it isn't true, it looks bad, it just looks bad, you know? So I'm here to show that if it is true, I'm not part of it, none of us are. If they want someone to punish, then let them come and get our politicians. I won't try to stop em." Jim turned to the screen, "We've seen riot police along streets but they are far outnumbered by the people still streaming into the streets. They seem to have taken a passive roll here, not wanting to agitate the crowds, but at the same time, stepping in to protect those who are in immediate danger when they have to. Unfortunately, the crowds are grown too large too fast for the meager forces available in town. Police have told me that they are advising people to return to their homes and are worried that things could get out of hand quickly as tensions and concerns mount. They have also expressed concern that the storm has cut Rouston off from any outside help from the National Guard. If the crowd turns violent, then police fear thousands, if not tens of thousands could be hurt." "Jim, the people all seem to be heading in a single direction. Has anyone you've spoken to said where they're going?" "Yes they have Monica. Several people have told me that they are all going to the address given in your broadcast. That this focal point is what motivated them to get up and move in the first place. Many people here say they want to see for themselves how deep the lies run or if there's any truth to the allegation at all." The camera flashed to Gary who's head was hung, cradled in one hand. His arm propped up at the elbow on the desk he sat behind. He seemed weary and grateful at the same time. He rubbed his forehead and Shelly and the other could tell he was crying. Shelly's heart broke for him. Judge Perry turned the volume down for the entire office and touched the screen on his desk. "Gene, you still there?" "God damn it Hugh, why the Hell did you mute me out like that? The entire sky just fucking fell in. My offices are nuts. My satellite stations are swamped with calls and people are choking the lobbies. You have to get that son of bitch, whoever he is, off the God damned air." "Gene, listen to me. Get down to that address and if there's someone down there, get them the fuck out now. It won't matter to these people if they're government personnel or not, they'll hang them just the same." "I don't' give one flying turd about anyone down at that address. I happen to know that building well. It's has been deserted for years. I send my men down there and they'll all be beaten within an inch of their lives Hugh. I have about eight hundred men to protect. Men with wives and children..." "Gene, you are the only man between law and order and bedlam. If you don't..." "If you're asking me my opinion..." Marshall Simpson interrupted. "I'm not," Perry barked back. "You're a public God damn servant. Do you recall the stories of New Orleans when that hurricane hit, of San Francesco eighty years ago after that tsunami, when the cops ran out? I won't let that happen here. Do you understand me?" "You can't stop it Hugh. I can't stop it, 10,000 soldiers couldn't stop it," Simpson argued. "Maybe not, but we're not going to know until you try. Get your men to that address. I'll get the fire department to get a few of their big tankers to give you air cover. Those water cannons have enough force to knock back a sizable fire. I bet they'll push back an unruly crowd if needed." Gene thought about this for a moment. "That's not a bad idea." "Half your men Gene, I want half down in the rail district in ten minutes. I want whoever is in that building brought to me. I'm issuing an order of public emergency right now. That will get reinforcements on the move. When they'll get here is anyone's guess. The storm looks like it might be breaking up some, so maybe our luck will win the day." "I sure hope you know what you're doing Hugh," Gene said. Before he cut the transmission, Judge Perry muttered, "So do I," Perry spat the address of New22 to the WR and the screen came back, "All unnecessary communications have been suspended." "Executive order 816, Judge Houston Perry, State Supreme Justice," Perry commanded to the WR. "Order excepted, please continue," WR kindly informed. "What are you going to do?" Shelly asked. "I'm not going to do anything." Perry said glancing up, "You're going to get that man, whoever he is, to stand down before the people pull this city down around our ears." Just then, the sound of people in the streets shouting below the Judges windows floated into the room. Shelly looked to her children who all looked back at her bewildered. "Come on, get over here and tell your father to get off the air. He got want he wanted; the Cavalry is on the way." Bradley Loudon's day was getting better with every moment. The storm that had provided the cover the remaining members of the Shipley family had needed to elude capture had also prevented them from leaving the area. Well, one of them at least. There had been an added benefit to the massive storm that boiled above them. The limp-dick committee that oversaw his detachment had reneged on their promise of more time. The old fuckers had tried to fuck him over. Just three hours ago, Loudon was in a rage over the committee's decision to scrub any further operations in the area. They wanted the Shipley woman removed immediately, citing "environmental considerations." What it really meant was they didn't trust Loudon not the drop the fucking ball! No one bothered to tell him that the Halfling he had long since forgotten about, the one Sharps had been in charge of securing was believed to have landed somewhere in the area of their operation. The last thing the committee wanted was tainting their prize with a bug that couldn't be killed without killing the host. Instead he was told that he was to expect a transport that day to remove the subjects. He would continue to dismantle and move out the next day. If Loudon had been able to, he would have reached through the WR screen and throttled the old men, one at a time, until they had stopped breathing. As it was, that wouldn't be necessary. The storm had moved too far south to flank it and make a successful approach to the city impossible. Nothing could stay in the air with the 100 knot wind as low as 400 feet AGL. The buildings of the city offered some protection but eventually you found your self flying out in the open without their structure as a windbreak. Even at full thrust, a HOV could not stay aloft for long in that kind of wind. Ground transport was useless due to flooding. Nope, no one was going anywhere until this storm blew itself out or moved out over open water. That, it seemed, had bought him enough time for one of his men to drag in the other primary target, Beth Benton. If nothing else, he could, at the very least, shove foot up Senator Hill's ass with a level of self- righteous justification. "Pat?" he called out into the empty office, seemingly to no one. The WR screen flickered into life and the face Loudon's administrative assistant appeared on the WR, "Yes Sir?" "Are the machines still up in the lounge?" "Vending?" Patricia asked. "Yes Sir, would you like me to get you something?" "Nope," Loudon said pleasantly, "just checking, I need to stretch my legs. I'll be down stairs if you need me." Loudon took the stairs from his office, a fire escape that he often used to move from floor to floor to avoid being stopped by the people in the office. He hated small talk almost as much as he had hated the Shipley's all this time. Two floors below his office, he stepped into the hallway that led to the lounge area. Bradley Loudon stepped into the brightly lit lounge area of the lower office floor, "Hey Chief!" said an agent from one of the long, uncomfortable couches. He noticed as he entered that Steve Carlson and two of the administrative assistants were also taking a break. They were watching some news broadcast with the sound turned down so they could chit-chat about something that Loudon had no interest in. Loudon lifted his hand in acknowledgment but said nothing. Instead he made is way over to the refrigeration unit, opened it and withdrew a bag of cold soda. He pulled the zip-clip off the bag and pulled a deep draft from the collapsible straw built into the package. The carbonation was sharp on this hot dry throat. In spite of that, it fell soothing as the liquid passed to his stomach. He had drawn 75 percent of is goal. Far better than any of his predecessors, this justified his desire to celebrate. He felt good, genuinely good for the first time in longer than he could remember. It was good to have a purpose and goal. It was even better to push the limits of your abilities and those of the people around you to get to your goal. He felt at this moment nothing could damper his mood. Not even those old bastards back in Washington. Loudon smiled to himself as the cool liquid rolled over his tongue and down his throat. It didn't matter now that their attempt to capture the family together and get the hell out the Dodge had not gone exactly as planned. It seemed their concerns that someone was out there helping them had been a misperception of the facts. Not that the idea hadn't bothered him at first. It had appeared that someone with organized skills and resources had leapt in at the last moment to thwart their capture. It didn't help that they had been unable to ascertain the location of the offspring. But with Bethany's capture it appeared that there was no organized effort to rescue the Shipleys. Gary would soon turn himself in and they could pack up and worry about the remaining child and the grandchildren later. Maybe he would leave a small contingent behind to simply assassinate them when they poked their heads out of whatever holes they were hiding in. "Blam! Blam!" Loudon half whispered to himself, the fingers of his right hand fashioned into a make believe gun. He chuckled to himself at the mental picture his idea drew for him and took another large draft from his soda bag. He turned to leave with his soda when his ears caught something odd in the chatter from Carlson and the girls he was flirting with. One of the young ladies said something about, "There's no way someone can be that old and still look that young. It's a trick." The comment stopped Loudon dead in his tracks. He allowed his eyes to drift up the screen of the wave receiver. There on the screen, larger than life itself, sat the visage of Gary Shipley. The soda that Brad had only seconds ago been enjoying with such enthusiasm was now trying to evacuate his body anyway it could, apparently mindful of the kind of mood the image was likely to put the agent in. The stuff came out his nose and out of his mouth at the same time. He expelled an enormous fart as his body tried to deal with the shock of the vision there on the wall of the break room. The girls in the room wrinkled their noses in disgust but said nothing. It was all Steve Carlson could do to keep from bellowing laughter at this sight of his boss struggling with his bodily functions as he was. It occurred to no one that he might actually be choking. He tried to think why he would be watching something like this, why the image of the very man they were attempting to capture should be on a broadcast wave right at this very moment. It seemed too coincidental to be simply chance. "Tun.." Brad coughed, "Gak!" "You're really choking Chief?" Steve asked moving in Loudon's direction. Loudon pointed toward the screen and said, "Gurrggglllle" Carlson slapped Loudon on the back aggressively while Loudon fought to free himself from the torture of the powerful man's explosive blows. *Cough* - "Stop!" he said weakly. "Breathe Chief... Brea--" Steve's plea was cut short abruptly. Brad, for the lack of his size was an incredibly strong man. Loudon had, in one deft motion, swung his hand around and onto Steve Carolson's neck. He had then hoisted him up to his toes and held him there, "I said Stop hitting me on the back you fucking moron!" Steve wheezed and nodded excitedly that the message had been received, loud and clear. Even though the toes of his shoes were still on the floor and he had some leverage, Carlson could not break Loudon's grip. Brad had his thumb and forefinger hooked behind and inside the man's sternocleidomastoid muscle on either side of the man's neck. The tips of his fingers were crushing the man's trachea cutting off his air and compressing his carotid artery at the same time. This indignity said nothing of the pain he was enduring. "Hezzzzzzzzz," wheezed Carlson. "He's on the NEWS," shouted Loudon! Even to this point, Steve Carlson had not realized how much trouble he was really in. It was not until he saw the cords on his Chief's neck standing out like tangles of hemp rope that Carlson believe he would not survive the moment. Loudon drew his plasma particle molecular disrupter (PPMD) gun and placed it to Steve Carlson's neck just as Charlie Dunlap was coming in. "Brad... there are police all... Whoa..." shouted Charlie seeing what was going on. He lunged for Loudon's weapon, got one hand on it and pulled it and Loudon's arm backward. The weapon discharged and a huge unstable hole appeared in the ceiling of the break room. The two secretaries that Steve Carlson had been trying to bed screamed in terror as a ten foot section of ceiling vanished and parts of desks, chairs and WR equipment and coolers came crashing down into the break-room narrowly missing the three men fighting for survival. "BRAD! What are you doing," shouted Dunlap oblivious to the noise of the furniture crashing down around him? Loudon turned, struggling with Dunlap to free himself and bellowed, "I'm going to kill this son-of-a-bitch... Now letmego!" "No Brad!" insisted Dunlap, "NO! I don't care what he did, it's not worth killing an agent.... He's a good agent..." Loudon halted for just a second, "Just how good could he be Charlie?" Loudon asked and gestured with his head to the WR. There on the screen was Gary sitting at the broadcast anchor desk of frequency f1822 news facility here in town. It seemed to be a live broadcast. Dunlap searched the screen for something, anything that made sense. Then he found it, a banner at the bottom of the control display that read... A man claiming to be Gary Shipley, former celebrity chef and husband to pop diva Michelle Shipley gave News22 an exclusive interview this afternoon. The man claims to be 200 years old and also claims he and the members of his immediate family are victims of what he phrased as "SKIN" technology. He also claims his wife is, in reality the man that is at the center of one of the country's most enduring mysteries. Claims that Mike Vello never actually died, but was transformed into the woman the world eventually came to know as Michelle Shipley are now being investigated by a News22 investigation team. Further reports that his family was kidnapped by government agents when they broke seclusion to attend the funeral of their daughter, recently deceased billionairess Erin Claxton have angered citizens as far away as the Lunar and Martian colonies. Reports of universal reaction are slow to trickle in because of communication disruptions in the Northeastern Federal States..." "Oh my God!" whispered Dunlap. Above the banner, the muted new anchor suddenly began speaking as one of the agents with Dunlap turned the sound to the WR back on. Dunlap and Loudon, still tangled together on the floor remained still to listen, "Public opinion is widely varied, but the greatest concern voiced is that of global reprisals from neighboring nations should the claims of a massive cover-up made by Mr. Shipley prove to be fact. Some world opinion has been received and News22 will be airing a special on a Global Wave in one hour documenting what we've learned about the world's response the charge that SKIN's are indeed real, and have been actively in use for purposes of espionage in our government for over 200 years." "In other opinions, many have voiced their joy at the idea that Michelle Shipley may still be alive. Expressing their desire to see her return to the world stage and begin recording new music now that their secret is out and there is no longer a need to remain in hiding. So far, no one has actually seen the starlet. So proof of her survival is a rumor at this point, but thousands have expressed a desire that the woman who wrote and performed such enduring hits as This Tattered Dress, Entangled Hearts. No More Missus Nice Guy. Don't Let The Good Door Hit Ya, and Can't Run Away From You to make a come back sends a clear message that her fan base has not eroded in the past two centuries. Her last album Somebody Save Me still holds the all time single album sales record." The anchor ended with a huge smile that bored like a drill bit into Loudon's brain. He struggled and freed his hand with the disruptor. Growling as he aimed, he fired the weapon at the WR screen vaporizing it and the wall behind it instantly. He then shoved Dunlap off his body, stood and drew down on Steve Carlson. Dunlap quickly stepped between Carlson and Loudon's weapon. "Get out of the way Charlie." "No Brad. You're going to have to vaporize me. But I believe you want to think long and hard about that. The mission has turned to shit. You take me out and you're going to roast. There'll be no one who knows the entire story to tell the truth. Those fuckers in Washington are doing the green-apple two-step right now trying to dodge the shit storm that's building. You can believe this; they'll hand you over as a rogue agent without blinking. With his teeth clinched, hand trembling, Loudon lightly squeezed the firing button of his weapon. Then inexplicably the tension in his face relaxed, his arm fell to his side and he drew a deep breath. "God damn it," Loudon said. "Get the prisoners ready to transport now. If we leave in the next ten, then we can probably still get them to Washington where we'll get some Federal protection. But we're only going to get that if we have something to offer the old fuckers. That gets the witnesses out of the way and no one here will have a case." "Well, it beats the shit out of hanging around here," Dunlap said. "I'll go bundle them up. Carlson, come help me." Steve was only too happy to help. He moved to the door first and Loudon called him. Carlson held up short as did Dunlap, "Boss..." "Charlie, I was pissed. I'm Okay. Really, I just want to tell Carlson, no hard feelings. I'm really kind of embarrassed to tell you the truth." Dunlap searched his boss's eyes and found sincerity there. Charlie nodded and turned to Carlson, "I'll be upstairs, help me whe