Synthetics (6 page)

“A big snowstorm is drifting down from the north. This could be our only chance to leave for months. I have to get back to Washington.”

“To return the thingy?”

Cole nodded and then chucked my bag to me.

“Come on, we’re leaving now.”

“Will this thingy be on the plane then?” I asked, “So I’ll get to see it?”

“You ask too many questions Fletcher.”

Somebody was a bit grumpy. I followed Cole down the elevator and into an underground garage. We hopped into a Bentley, Cole in the drivers seat, and drove along in what appeared to be an underground highway. Finally, we reached a checkpoint, got frisked by guys with Kalashnikovs and emerged into the outside world.

“It’s a three hour drive to the airfield,” said Cole, he had big black bags under his eyes, “You might as well get some shut eye.”

“Why aren’t we using the airfield we arrived at?” I asked.

“Too risky,” said Cole, “Hopefully the package will already have been loaded by the time we arrive.”

Too risky? What was going on? I was too tired to worry much however, so I just dozed off. I dreamt of Kate and cheesy pizza.

***

We arrived at the airfield as the sun breached the horizon. I had forgotten how beautiful a sunrise was. It reminded me of home and I got a sudden heartache. I hadn’t seen my parents in almost three months now. They seemed so distant. Like they were in another world. I wanted home. I’m such a mummy’s boy.

Cole didn’t seem to be in the mood to appreciate nature. Swearing under his breath, he hauled my luggage out of the car and ordered me to follow him to the plane. The plane was a twin prop antique, hidden under camouflaged netting. It was definitely a step down from the private jet we came on. When Cole found the pilot he started jabbering away in a foreign language, which I assumed was Russian. The pilot smiled at him and made a mock bow, gesturing to the open door.

“Get in,” demanded Cole, “Now.”

I was starting to wonder how serious this was and if we were really just escaping a storm. I did however, notice dark clouds on the horizon, threatening to ruin my sunrise. A storm was approaching.

The inside of the aircraft was cold and smelt like old boots. It looked as if it had once been a passenger aircraft, capable of seating maybe twenty people at max. Most of the seats had been torn out and a dividing wall had been erected to create a storage space. Cole’s ‘package’ must be behind that wall. I assumed it was a death ray or a batch of nanobots, or at least something intense like that. Cole was sitting in the copilots seat in the cabin so I was left alone. After we took off and I got used to the shuffling sensation of flight, I fell asleep for the second time.

***

I awoke to a cabin bathed in red and the stuttered scream of an alarm. I made sure my seat belt was fastened, shook myself awake, and put my head between my legs like the little cards in commercial air flights tell you to do.

“What is happening?” I called out. Cole and the pilot were shouting at each other in the cabin, but I couldn’t make out the words.

Two facts gave me a clue as to the nature of our current predicament. Firstly, it felt like my stomach had jumped into my mouth to say hello to my tonsils and secondly I felt like I had a negative weight. We were either making an emergency landing or falling from the sky to our certain deaths. I panicked and started screaming out to Cole. Screaming like a man; a man who sounds like a little kid.

“What?” Cole had stumbled back to the passenger area. “Stop shouting. We’re making an unplanned stop over.”

I abandoned the panic position and looked Cole in the eye. “Tell me the truth. What is happening?”

Cole sighed. I could even hear it, which was an impressive thing to do considering the noise of the aircraft.

“We were hailed by an unknown authority on the ground. They threatened to blow us out of the sky with stinger missiles unless we landed immediately. You’re going to be fine Fletcher. I’ll sort this out.”

Cole took a seat beside me and fastened his seatbelt.

“And now all we can do is wait.”

Chapter 8

The plane touched down to a chorus of groaning rivets and shrieking metal. We bounced along for a few seconds before shuddering to a halt.

I vomited.

Embarrassment, shock, and fear are an odd mixture of emotions. We sat in silence, composing ourselves, before Cole finally spoke.

“Well this is it then. We better go meet whoever is waiting outside.”

Or we could hide… That was an option. I liked that option. It meant I had a better chance of survival, which also meant I might get to see Kate again.

“Come on Fletcher,” said Cole offering me a hand up, “There is no where to run to.”

As we stepped outside I saw that he was right. We had landed in the middle of a frozen wasteland. It was white as far as the eye could see, and snaking through that white was a thin line of vehicles heading directly for us. We were screwed. I went around to the cockpit to check on the pilot, only to discover that he was already sprinting towards the convoy as fast as his stubby legs could take him.

“At least we know who ratted us out,” I called to Cole.

Cole looked so calm all of a sudden. He should be panicking like me. It was disconcerting.

“The landing gear is torn off and the left prop is mangled,” I observed, “I guess we ain’t flying out of here.”

Cole was sitting in the snow now. He had his tweety bird tie on again. I bet he had more than one.

“The storm is getting closer,” he said slowly, “I think we will be stuck here for a while. Welcome to Siberia, Fletcher.”

“Lovely to be here Cole.”

Cole didn’t reply. Perhaps he didn’t catch the sarcasm in my voice. At least I knew where we were now.

“They are taking a while to get here,” I observed.

“Where can we go?” replied Cole, “They are not in a hurry.”

“Are they military?” I asked.

“No they’re not. No tanks or heavy gear. They look like a militia, just small arms and jeeps. Probably some mob boss’s pet army. They probably didn’t even have the capacity to bring us down.”

“So why aren’t you having a nervous breakdown?”

Cole’s calm was rubbing off on me.

“Because they have no idea what they are getting themselves into,” he said.

“You gonna go all ninja on them?” I laughed.

This was the strangest situation imaginable. A group of well-armed thugs were approaching and we were sitting in the snow having a little chat.

“No need to,” said Cole.

“So they are after the package then?” I asked, “In the cargo area?”

“Yes, I imagine they are.”

“Can you tell me what it is now?”

“You will find out soon enough.”

***

When the convoy eventually reached us it was snowing. What had used to be a white expanse was now grey. They pulled up in the big trucks and arrayed themselves out in front of us. I saw a few RPG’s but they were mainly equipped with assault rifles. There were about twenty of them, all looking very fearsome and aggressive like I assume all wannabe soldiers do.

What looked like the leader approached us. He was a big man with a flowing moustache. Moustache Man came to a halt in front of us and kicked snow into our laps. “Lie down,” he growled, in rough English, “Do it now.”

I stared at his feet and at the men in the distance. Two rushed over and patted us down for weapons. They looked cocky. Moustache Man was stalking around the plane, looking for a way into the rear cargo space.

“You,” he said, nudging my head with his boot, “American. Inside the…”

“I’m Kiwi, not American,” I said on reflex. This earned me a sharp kick in the ribs. I regretted nothing.

“You are stupid,” he spat, “That is what you are. Now go bring me the…”

“You really have no idea do you,” cut in Cole, “Someone told you that the contents of this plane were invaluable and now you’re looking to cash in. But you don’t know what you are getting yourself into.” He looked up at Moustache Man and said slowly, “Give us a jeep and leave now.”

“I am the one making demands, Kiwi!” Moustache Man was getting angry so I refrained from clarifying that Cole was actually American and I was the Kiwi.

“Get me the package,” he roared, “Or I rip off your fingernails one by one.”

That would hurt.

Cole just smiled, “Okay then. I will do as you wish. I will get your package.”

Cole did not get up but stayed lying prone in the snow. Sharp and precise, he called out one word.

“Frederick.”

Confusion flitted across Moustache Man’s grizzled features.

“Frederick?” he whispered to himself.

“We are not transporting a package you idiot,” shouted Cole, “We are transporting the future. Now run! Because Frederick does not like Russians!”

But kindly leave us a jeep, I added mentally.

“I am not Russian,” said Moustache Man softly. The creaking coming from the plane entranced him. Finally a figure emerged, stepping down into the snow with a dull crunch. He was seven foot tall, looked like a cast-iron god, and appeared angry. Moustache man obviously had been expecting something that glittered in the right light and couldn’t snap your femur like a toothpick. Poor guy.

***

Frederick started walking towards the thugs. A few less courageous individuals were already piling into vehicles and gunning their engines; former pilot included.

“Keep your head down,” said Cole, resting his hand on my shoulder, “This could get messy.”

I couldn’t take my eyes of the metal colossus and neither could Moustache Man. For something or someone so large, Frederick moved so gracefully. I found myself smiling at how dangerously beautiful he was. He was the epitome of freedom. It was just like Sasha said. You give a man a gun and he can defend himself. You make a man bulletproof and he no longer needs to defend himself. No one could control Frederick or exploit him. He was truly free. But then wasn’t he Sasha’s employee? I wonder if he had a pension plan.

I was jerked back to reality by the terrified screams of Moustache Man, “Shoot it! Kill it! Don’t let it reach me!”

“Will he kill them all?” I asked Cole.

“No, at least not intentionally. Frederick is gentle.”

“Really?” I said in disbelief, “Lucky for them.”

And then the bullets started flying. The few that hit Frederick just ricocheted of his titanium plated exterior. The air was full of a symphony of gunfire and pinging bullets. Frederick kept walking towards Moustache Man.

And then someone had the smart idea to pop off an RPG at Frederick. The thug miraculously managed to get it on target, but Frederick merely swatted it aside into the fuselage of the downed airplane. I ducked my head, as we were showered with debris. My ears were ringing but I still couldn’t take my eyes of Frederick. He had nearly reached Moustache Man.

“Please,” Moustache Man was getting very worried by now and his men had ceased firing for fear of hitting their leader. “We can come to an agreement? We can sort this out!”

Frederick did not speak. He grabbed Moustache Man by the shirt and lifted him from the ground. They looked at each other, one with eyes full of tears and one with eyes of ebony. Suddenly Moustache Man’s countenance hardened and he spat upon Frederick.

“Do your worst, devil. I am not afraid.”

Then Frederick drew back his arm and threw the man towards the line of soldiers. He sailed through the air, screaming in rage all the while, until he was silenced by gravity. He landed in a snowdrift beside a truck and lay there moaning.

The firing did not resume. Instead the thugs packed their incapacitated leader into the back of a truck and retreated. They even kindly left a jeep behind in their haste. I was in shock.

“So what happens now?” I stammered.

“We follow them to civilization, contact CANA and then wait out the storm.”

I suspected that there would be multiple kinds of storms on the horizon.

***

“We’re running low on gas,” said Cole, the inside of the jeeps cabin was icy cold, “We will have to find shelter soon.”

We had lost the retreating convoy in the blizzard, which overtook us that night. Cole didn’t even bother with the headlights. They made no difference in these conditions and just made it harder to spot lights. I was praying for a light to appear in the darkness. I wanted warmth. Nothing more. Just warmth. My joints were aching and my breath made me look like a chain smoker. I started wondering what it would be like to freeze to death.

“It’s empty,” said Cole softly as the Jeep coughed and died.

I guess I would get to find out what it felt like soon enough.

“We will have to walk.”

I looked like an ewok in the four jackets I had on. We had found a stash in the boot of the jeep. I pitied Frederick who was crammed into the back. He wasn’t a very convenient size.

“But we’ll freeze out there,” I said.

“We will freeze in here as well. At least we will have a chance.”

I couldn’t speak. I was twenty years old and about to die in a Siberian wasteland. All I could think of was Kate. I wanted my last thoughts to be of Kate.

“Let’s go. We don’t have time to waste here.”

Shaking like a leaf in a cyclone, I stepped out into the tumult.

***

With each step I felt my strength leaving me. Cole staggered along beside me. We grasped Frederick’s waist, taking shelter from the wind. I was soaked to the bone and couldn’t feel my hands or feet. I’d lost my replacement cane, unable to grip the slick handle, so each step was agony. Frederick essentially dragged me along. He still did not speak.

Every single human through history has faced what Cole and I were about to face. It came in many shapes and forms but its essence was the same. It was like the moment when you were perched on the edge of a cliff and then you felt yourself being pushed off. It wasn’t the falling that terrified you. It was the uncertainty. What was at the bottom of the cliff? Water or concrete? How high was the cliff? Two feet or two hundred? There was always the little flame of hope, that perhaps you would survive the fall. Perhaps there was something waiting for you at the bottom, something that explained why you had to fall in the first place. But surrounding that hope was the enshrouding dark of realism. There was nothing at the bottom. Only concrete.

My flame was growing dim. I passed out.