Chapter 3

Sleep wasn't very pleasant or restful that night.

I had a nightmare. Or better, I kept having bits and pieces of nightmares, all following the same premise.

It started with me, Dave and Missy in the apartment. The power had gone out a few days ago and the whole city was dark, so we were using candles for light. Sirens sounded out almost around the clock in the distance and numerous fires could be seen glowing against the night sky. Winter was on its way and without central heating, it was damn cold – we were all wrapped up in winter clothes, with thick blankets and quilts on our beds. Many stores were closed and the ones that weren't, were limiting what they sold to a dozen items per a person, so we were carefully rationing what we had.

Some time had passed in the following scene. Winter was in full effect now and we had lit a fire in a couple of metal trashcans we had brought in from outside, using broken up doors, cabinets and furniture for fuel. We were all sleeping in the same room now for warmth. There were no more sirens heard outside, only the occasional sounds of violence and gunfire. Our supplies were getting low, so we had begun to scavenge for food, searching empty apartments – we found quite a few dead tenants, not all from natural causes. The doors and windows were now barricaded and we had improvised weapons at the ready.

Even more time passed. We were no longer living in the apartment – there had been a fire, which seriously damaged the building. We were now occupying a classroom in an abandoned grade school. We left during the day, scavenging the ravaged city for canned goods and bottled water and hunkered down and hid from roving gangs at night. We were all filthy and reeked to high heaven, not to mention weak and emaciated. Spring was coming and warmer days with it. Unfortunately, with the cold gone, thousands upon thousands of dead bodies were melting out and rotting. The horrible smell carried on the breeze was just the tip of the iceberg ... there was an explosion in the pest population, and with them the threat of disease. In fact, Dave's cough had been getting increasingly worse the last couple of days.

In the next scene I was alone. Dave had succumbed to whatever illness had affected him. He had held on for some time, with Missy always by his side, but he eventually died during the night. There were few tears as I dug a shallow grave for him in a nearby park – Missy and I had already shed all we could spare. She hardly spoke with me the following days ... something had broken within her. One night she simply left without a word and without supplies and equipment. I searched for her, but to no avail. With nothing to stay for, I gathered everything that I could carry and left the city. I didn't know what I would find, and I didn't really care anymore.

I awoke abruptly, sitting upright in bed. I was panting heavily, covered in a sheen of cold sweat, my heart was pounding and I was trembling all over.

I got up, went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face, trying to calm myself. After stopping by the kitchen for a cold bottle of water, I returned to my room and bed, hoping that I could get some more sleep. I was certainly going to need it in the days to come.

I awoke in the morning with my alarm clock, but at a much earlier time than usual. I wanted to get an early start on things. After a quick stop in the bathroom, I got dressed and left the apartment for a run. This time, it wasn't an attempt to organize and focus my mind, but to disconnect myself from it.

I had been thinking too much lately. Makings plans while trying to predict all possible consequences, taking on the responsibility for the safety and maybe even survival of all my friends and their loved ones ... a serious stress headache had been building since yesterday morning. Last night's restless sleep and nightmares had heightened it. I needed to unwind, or I wouldn't be able to properly help anybody.

I let my legs set a steady and even pace, my feet beating out rhythmically on the pavement. I shut out my thoughts and worries, focusing instead on my breathing and the changing scenery around me. It was the closest thing to meditation that worked consistently for me and the only way I had found to really relax when I had something big on my mind.

As expected, it worked like a charm.

After an hour I returned home sweaty and slightly tired, but as relaxed as I could possibly hope to be. Plus, there was no sign of a headache.

As I was about to open the apartment door, I heard someone call out, "Marcus Brooks?"

I turn to look at a man I automatically categorized as a bike messenger. "Yup, that's me."

"Cool," he responded with a grin. "Here you go." He handed me a package with my bank's name and logo on it.

"Just sign here please." He then said sticking out a clipboard. I signed my name by the X, he thanked me, told me to have a nice day and left in a hurry.

When I had visited my bank yesterday, I had told the manager that I was looking for a property to buy, as soon as possible, and asked if he could give me some help or advice. He asked what I was looking for exactly and took careful notes of my answer. I said that I wanted to establish a vacation retreat, and that it had to be fairly isolated, out in the country with as few neighbors as possible. If it was necessary to buy out some neighbors for their land, so be it. It should be somewhat self-sufficient, with its own water supply, be it a lake, river or artisan well, and sewage disposal system.

He guaranteed me that he'd look into it and get back to me as soon as possible. This kind of response was much faster than I thought likely.

I hadn't stopped for coffee this time, so I simply heated some water and used an instant mix. Add a couple of toaster pastries and I had a breakfast of champions. I took my food to the living room, sat in my chair and started going through the two dozen files detailing properties for sale.

I had gone through a third of the listings when Dave and Missy exited their room, already dressed and apparently ready for the day. Good mornings were exchanged, but I noticed that theirs was somewhat guarded.

"Marcus," Dave said softly. "Missy needs to talk to you. In private."

His expression was expressionless, but he seemed relaxed – nothing wrong probably. Missy on the other hand could barely meet my eyes and was fidgeting nervously.

"Of course," I replied.

Dave led her to the armchair across from me and practically had to force her to sit down. This was really strange ... Missy had never been nervous around me or afraid to tell me something. She had always been one of the most outgoing and outspoken girls I'd ever met.

"I'll be in the bedroom if I'm needed." He said to me. Turning to Missy, he continued, "Tell him. You know that he'll help and not judge. Trust him." He kissed her forehead, then turned and left for his room, making a brief stop by the kitchen for his own coffee.

Missy and I were alone for some time. We just sat there, neither one of us speaking. I was determined to wait as long as it took for her to begin.

"I've been lying to all of you. Lying about my family and where I came from." She finally said softly, her voice tinged with sadness. "You telling us about what happened to your family last night convinced me to come clean to Dave and you at least." A few tears were leaking from her eyes now.

Curiouser and curiouser.

Missy had told me that she had grown up on a worn down farm with her grandparents, somewhere in the Midwest. When they had died of natural causes, mere days apart from each other, she had stayed with family friends until her 18^th birthday. She had then gathered her meager belongings and cash, and headed here to Seattle. According to her, she had no plans or desire to ever return home.

"I was born and raised into a polygamist and fundamentalist Christian cult." She gave a long pause. Whether it was for my benefit, to let the information sink in, or for her, in order to marshal her thoughts, I don't know. "When I was twelve, I was chosen to be the newest bride to one of the church elders. I didn't have any choice in the matter of course."

My imagination raced through what her life might have been like. The little I did know about those types of isolated and restrictive religious groups did not paint a pleasant picture. The shock gave way to sadness which was gradually overwhelmed by anger. Not against Missy, of course, but the people that had tried to force her into that life, with no choice about her future.

I considered her my family now ... and you don't fuck with a man's family.

"Thankfully there is an organization of sympathetic people and ex-members of similar churches - a type of underground railroad and witness protection program," she continued, seeming to lose most of her awkwardness. "They got me out before the wedding could happen, along with a few others. We were kept hidden for a while, practically in seclusion, but as we approached our 18^th birthdays, they eventually gave us new identities and some starting funds to set us up wherever we wanted."

"What about your family?" I asked.

"My father was the one to arrange my marriage," she answered, with a shrug and quite a bit of resentful anger in her expression and voice. "My mother, the third out of four wives, is a true believer. She was married at thirteen and had me shortly after. Life in the congregation is all she's ever known and she can't even imagine a different way to live." She finished with a heartbreaking sigh.

Looking me straight in the eyes now, her voice was much more determined. "I have some younger siblings though – two sisters and a brother from the same mother. They're the ones that I need to help."

"You want me to help you get them out." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes, but there's a serious catch." She was tentative now. "I was a minor when I was rescued, so all the people involved, the entire organization, are legally guilty of kidnapping."

"And if we help to get your siblings, so would we." I answered pensively. She simply nodded, not meeting my eyes.

"These are professional people we're talking about. They've done dozens of these kinds of retrievals and extractions, all around the world from all kinds of different situations. They're extremely discrete and would never reveal a person's identity and location. The problem is they usually act only at the most opportune moment, after a very long preparation and planning period. In order to organize a retrieval of specific people in a limited time frame, they want to be paid in advance." She paused, anxiously waiting for me to respond.

"If I agree to do this, it's only on one condition – they have to leave of their own free will. If they don't want to leave, they won't be forced." I said adamantly.

"Of course. That's how they did it with me," she said, nodding her head earnestly.

Without saying a word, I nodded and then got up and left for my room, leaving her alone. I returned shortly with several bundles of cash. I smiled slightly at her surprised expression - I guess she had expected to spend much more time convincing me.

"You realize that you're going to have to ask everybody else? They're all involved in this." I said placing the bundles on the coffee table before her.

She just nodded not saying anything. Her face was beginning to scrunch up, announcing an eminent crying fit. For a second I froze – as a male, I practically instinctively recoil from a crying female, filled with uncertainty as how to act. I fought through it though, getting down on one knee and hugging her.

Missy collapsed into sobs against me, clutching my arms. I think she was mumbling something along the lines of "thank you" over and over. I just stroked her hair and back, rocking her back and forth slightly.

She eventually calmed down and dislodged her death grip on me. She had pulled out a Kleenex from somewhere and rapidly and efficiently cleaned her face before I could get a good look at her. Even with slightly reddened and moist eyes and nose, she still looked great, and the smile she gave me made her look even better.

"I better go talk to Dave." She said.

She gave me an affectionate kiss on the cheek as we both got up, she then gathered up the money and patted my head on the way to Dave's room.

I admit it, I enjoyed the view of her long legs and curved ass in tight shorts as she walked away.

Damn, Dave was a lucky guy.

An hour passed as I continued to go through the property listings, making the occasional note. I was trying desperately to ignore the sounds coming from Missy and Dave's room. Apparently, Dave was reaping the benefits of her good mood.

At least at night they had the decency to try to keep it quiet.

When they finally did leave their room, they were all smiles.

"I'm heading over to my apartment to work with Maggie." She smiled and glanced over at Dave while grabbing her bag. "Less distractions there."

"This semester is most likely a bust, so I'm heading to the University's admin offices to see about canceling matriculation." Dave put in, following her out. "No need to spend the time, money or effort on classes if the world's going to end."

"Good idea," I responded. "I should have thought of it."

"Leave it. You're busy doing enough thinking and planning for all of us."

We all said our goodbyes and arranged to meet back here for dinner and another meeting.

I spent the rest of the morning going over the remaining land listings and then reexamining them. There were a few nice looking cabins, and an old farmhouse, but they were a bit too small. An abandoned motel seemed a little better, but it was too close to an urban center. Without a doubt, there were certainly some interesting properties, but nothing that really fit what I was looking for. Maybe if I were simply looking for a vacation home...

I had just sent an e-mail to my bank manager with my notes and opinions on the properties when my cellphone started ringing and vibrating in my pocket.

"Hey Sandra, what's up?" I said answering it, having recognized the number.

"Hello Marcus. I was wondering if you could come over and meet me this afternoon, before our meeting."

"Is there some sort of problem?" I asked.

"No, no ... no problem." She answered quickly. "It's just that I told my grandfather about what's been going on, and he wants to meet you."

I knew Sandra's mother had up and left when she was just a toddler, leaving her father to raise her singlehandedly. An ex marine rifleman, turn teacher, he too left her a decade later when he had a heart attack. Since then, she had been brought up by her paternal grandfather, a retired marine gunnery sergeant.