Chapter 1 Part 1 - Friends?
He was sitting in his office staring at the reports and other paperwork in front of him on the desk. He’d been staring at them for some time now as his mind wandered off. The door to his office opened and a head popped in. Taking in the face and the expression on it, it wasn’t good news Frank was about to give him.
“Bank Seven, solar flare.” The man informed him. His chest heaved with the disappointed sigh he let out looking at his boss.
Shaking his head Duncan stood from his desk. “Let me guess, seven, eight and nine are on the power grid unfiltered now.” He stated looking Frank in the eyes.
As Frank’s head started nodding his mouth opened slightly and his face became very disappointed with his lips pulled tight. “Took out the light unit this time too.” He pushed the door open the rest of the way as he pulled his head back and turned towards the door out of the office area. He looked toward Connie giving her a depressed quick smile as he headed back to where their problem was.
Walking to the door he followed Frank out and onto the floor of his lab. His eyes ran over the layers of plants, they utilized standard lighting that had been on the market for years. The messenger of bad news was on his way down the stairs heading towards the area the smoke was coming from along the back right hand side of the room as Duncan looked out over it. Releasing his hand from the office area’s main door and letting it close, he turned to the stairs and followed after Frank towards the mess.
The control and power distribution panel was hanging open and burnt electrical fire smelling smoke was pouring from it, the circuit breakers on the front of the panel all showing their red flags from being tripped when the high voltage boards inside blew. He looked over at the lights that this panel controlled. He felt something inside him sink as he witnessed the smoke pouring from his invention. Solar flare, what he and his people referred to one of his lighting banks burning out as. This time it was a total loss, controls and lights.
“Ninety-seven hours. All we got out of her Mr. Galt. Ninety-seven hours after we put her on line voltage, POOF!” Frank’s voice carried his disappointment. “Banks one, two and three are on generator power, four, five and six are on battery feed, these here are line and the last three are on filtered.” He turned his face towards his boss. “They’re all fine, no stress showing, no solar flares on any bank we put on those sources.” He looked towards the smoldering mess of bank seven’s control box. “Burnt to slag.” He said as he shook his head.
The problem was the dirt in the line voltage from the power grid. His generators were clean, as was the power from the batteries they used to provide clean DC voltage to the control boxes. His filters cleaned the power from the grid good, they worked well only they were cost intensive for consumers. His lights were exceptional, however, if a customer was unwilling to spend the money on a DC system, his filters or install generators, he’d be out of business in the lighting market.
It took a vast amount of power for his lights to provide the light they did, which in the hydroponics market was exponentially better than anything currently available. “How’s the rectifier bridge coming?” Duncan asked looking for some good news. They were working on a solid-state solution to replace the battery system that would be more economical, and a way to reduce the power consumption of his organic lighting source.
“Rough, trimming four-forty three phase into DC, not a problem, would be great if we could get the lights to run on that, but for thirty-three hundred volts…” Frank shook his head as he watched the smoke billow up. “Need a better engineer than me to solve that problem.”
Duncan looked over at him, he understood his feelings. “How are the other cells holding up? How long have they been online?”
Frank wobbled his head around as he looked over at the two remaining banks on line voltage down from them. “Eight’s got the new protection circuitry on it for the lights, been running about thirty hours now, box is stable so far. Cooler seems to be helping, but that’s an expensive addition. Nine’s using the cross-over build, been running just over a hundred hours now, power packs are switching more. Went a little over twenty-four hours between switches at first, now, every couple hours.” He inhaled deep and let his breath out through pursed lips. “Won’t be long Duncan, they’ll blow. Why the hell can’t the power company produce clean power like we do with our own generators?” Frank started walking towards the control panels for the next bank down. “The cooler helps, but the guts are still going to breakdown. We need to reduce the draw, get the lights to run on less, produce the same. Then we’re in business.”
The long distance transmission of the power, multiple substations, ground noise, even if the power company put out pure clean wattage, by the time it arrived at the lab, all the dirt would be back in the power. If he could get the large light banks to run on three phase, or ideally on single phase two-twenty, their problems would be solved. The lights Duncan invented were revolutionary, now he just needed to make them affordable.
“Want me to keep the other two banks on?”
Duncan walked up to the bank Frank was at and looked at the readouts on the display mounted in the panel. He switched to the history of the component temperatures. He compared them with the overall draw and output readings from the history. “No, shut ’em down.” He looked back to the smoldering remains of bank seven. “Shut the banks on the power grid down and clean up seven. Shit.” He gave Frank a look as he walked by.
What else could they do. The other line voltage banks would die in a solar flare if they were left to run, the other banks were fine. He needed those for testing the longevity of the lights and their output, even if they lacked seriously in the efficiency department.
Back in his office he pulled up his designs. He looked down at the papers on top of his desk again. Picking them up he stood from his chair and walked out to the reception desk Connie was behind. His office was on her left, there was another office to her right that was currently unoccupied that should have a research and development person in it.
“Connie, can you deal with these? Just use your best judgment okay?” He said to her plopping the papers on the elevated bar above her work area.
“Sure thing Mr. Galt. I’ll get the ordering done yet today, and the invoicing in the morning.” She said with her pleasant voice and smile. She took good care of him.
“Thanks.” He told her then turned around and strode back into his office.
Sitting back down at his desk he looked to the drafts of his lights again. “How can I get you devils to munch less and still produce?” He muttered to himself as he launched his mind into his problems. If it wasn’t for his companies hydroponic seed production for contracted seed companies, he’d be in the red. But they were keeping him in the black, just barely. He looked at the clock, would he stay late? Grabbing his mouse he considered that thought as he exploded the views and looked at his lights in print form.
No, he’d head out about normal time wise. Fall hours, less daylight. He shivered.
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“I’m thinking I’m going to work from home tomorrow Connie.” Duncan told his administrative assistant, she really ran the place. “Looks like we might have some weather heading our way tomorrow too, make sure they have the barns locked down good, shutter the windows, you know the drill.” He said with a smile.
She returned a knowing smile. “Will do Duncan. Have a good night.”
He rapped his knuckles on the top of the reception desk and nodded. “I might swing by around lunchtime, picking up supplies from in town. Oh, if you think of anything we need that wasn’t ordered, shoot me an email.”
“Will do Duncan.” Connie replied then he turned and walked out the door.
He looked over towards the remains of the dead light bank, that’s what he’d be working on in his den tonight, tomorrow, it was what he did to counter the effects of insomnia. He preferred working from his den at home over traveling to the lab. His mind worked on his power problems as he descended the stairs. When his slow downward plod finally took the test banks of lights out of his view he faced the door and went to his truck.
He stopped by the hardware store in town. His lab was on the south side of town, his house on the west side, both over ten miles away from the rinky-dink one horse town. His business was the second largest employer in the area, next to the sheriff’s department. He chose the town for two reasons. One, he already owned property in the area and two, it was far away from big cities and the mess they offered.
After he dropped off his order at the hardware store that he would pickup tomorrow he headed out the door. “Evening Mr. Galt.” Sheriff Hanks said to him as he passed by walking down the sidewalk towards the only diner in town. “Sheriff.” He answered with a head nod. Duncan crossed behind the Sheriff and climbed in his truck and made for home. Before he pulled out he considered picking supper up from Olivia’s Café. It would be microwave dinner tonight though.
He pulled the truck into the garage and closed the door from the button next to the side door. He looked around his yard as he walked. His eyes walked over the light arrays of his design that hung from telephone poles across his acreage. The black globes looked ominous in the sun. He unlocked the thick door and walked into his house. Closing the door behind him and locking it he looked at the clock on the wall across from him and made a mental note of the time.
He’d worn a light coat that he hung in the closet before he went to his den and turned on his computer. Sitting on the top of his desk to the right was a prescription bottle. He picked it up and looked at it. The pills were supposed to help him sleep. Even doubling the dose didn’t help. He looked at the date on the bottle. They weren’t out of date yet. Maybe he’d give them a try again, he hadn’t used them in a few months. What he really needed was something to stop him from dreaming.
Setting the bottle back down he walked to the short hallway that went from his library into the kitchen. To his right were two sets of stairs, one leading up to the second floor of his house, the other leading to his bunker of a basement. The basement was original though the house wasn’t. When he left the service of the CIA and built the new house, he added generators and an extravagant security system. The basement was his main control room for both.
Duncan hated the hours of darkness between sunset and sunrise. Going to the control panel that was in the first room in the basement he readied the generators for the night. They would run at an idle state and stay offline unless needed.
Heading back upstairs he microwaved his supper. When the beeper sounded on the oven, he took his supper from it, grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and went to the den to eat while he worked. His typical night since he moved out here. Setting his food on the desk he turned on his monitor then checked on the exact time of sunset. He looked at the clock in the den and set the alarm on his cell phone.
Half an hour before sunset the alarm notified him and he secured his house then returned to the den and worked on his light problems, another night just like the last year of nights had been, and the year before that. Shortly after midnight, he turned his monitor off and took his dirty dishes to the kitchen, rinsed them and deposited them in the dishwasher.
He’d leave them there to join his breakfast dishes. He checked his security system over, making sure all was quiet on the outside then made his way to the bedroom. Sitting naked on the bed he tried to clear his mind. He thought about trying the pills again, then simply pulled the covers back and climbed into bed and hoped to have a dreamless night and actually sleep for more than four hours.
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The sandman was slow in coming. The latest prescription, number nine or ten now, only made him constipated, made his dreams worse and did nothing to actually help him sleep. He watched the projection of the clock on his ceiling slowly tick away. At some point, the sandman finally took him.
It was the week of his 14th birthday. His parents had planned for him to be out in the country as a special treat for his birthday. He didn’t blame them, he was excited for the week. They didn’t know, nor did he, that it would be the most miserable time and his worst birthday experience.
Play time was not allowed. His uncle, despite what he and Duncan’s father had talked about, decided that Duncan was lazy, too egg-headed and needed to learn to work. There was to be no lolly-gagging on the farm, there wasn’t time for that. Duncan would have to earn his keep his uncle had said. His time to enjoy himself was allowed only after ‘chores’ were done.
Being the new kid on the farm, the least desirable tasks were pawned off on him. Once when he complained to his uncle about the treatment he received from the other kids, Duncan’s face was smacked.
“Quit whining cry baby.” His uncle yelled. “Get your worthless ass out of here. You’ll do whatever you’re told to here, else you won’t eat.”
It was that night, after he was deemed to be ’as worthless as tits on a boar hog’, Duncan was made to sleep in the barn. His aunt made a short objection, but her words were cut short when she too was smacked. The other boys laughed at this. The only daughter in the family did not.
“Learn your place, woman. This is a man’s decision.” His father’s brother told the wife. Her sons chastised her along with their father.
Duncan saw a different side of life that day, one that made him sick. He had a new perspective on reality now. That was day two on the farm. His birthday party never happened. The gifts his parents had left with the family for his birthday, had been sold; to ’cover the cost of your being here’ he was told.
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Duncan was walking in the woods surrounding the farm alone after being sent away from the table because his presence made the father angry. He tolerated no weaklings in his household. Now in addition to being made to sleep in the barn, he would also eat after all the real men ate, in the kitchen with the women which was where a sissy boy like him belonged; according to his uncle.
He and the two women would be allowed the leftovers from the men once they were finished. In the kitchen the women busied themselves with dishes and cleanup duties until after they were ‘checked in on’ to make sure nothing was happening that the ‘men’ didn’t approve of.
With a finger on her lips indicating secrecy and silence, the mother pulled from the oven a fresh dinner that he shared with the two women of the house. She softly explained the men-folk would be drinking beer and whiskey outback on the veranda for several hours now.
After he ate, the mother hurried him out the side door of the kitchen. “Make yourself scarce boy.” She had told him. Out of site, out of mind was his aunt’s logic.
He had been walking in the woods, maybe half an hour, when he heard the crunch of leaves and sticks behind him. Fearing the other boys were in pursuit, Duncan darted off in another direction, away from the sound. He could hear more than one set of feet in the woods. He was getting turned around in the woods and wasn’t sure of the direction to the farm.
Suddenly he was knocked to the ground. The wind was knocked out of him.
While he lay on the ground gasping for breath, he stared up into the ravenous growling face of a large angry dog. It wasn’t a dog his mind told him. Far too big. Wolf. A timber wolf his education told him. The eyes of the wolf were locked with his. Duncan couldn’t help it, he pissed his pants. When his breath returned he pleaded with the wolf. “Please, I’m not a threat, please, please, don’t kill me!”
Duncan became aware of other sounds around him. He cautiously looked around with his eyes. He took in the sight of another wolf passing by. This one was carrying a pup by the neck and was followed by two other pups.
Duncan looked back at the wolf on top of him, locking eyes with it. “I understand, please, let me live, I wont hurt your family! Please!” He raised his hands, or more so put them above where his head was, palms out.
The wolf’s open mouth growling lessened some then its mouth closed to a teeth baring snarl.
Several other wolves ran past. Duncan began crying when the wolf looked away and watched its kin pass. He locked eyes with Duncan again, his eyes bode a warning to Duncan. ’Stay away from us’ they seemed to say. Duncan nodded at the wolf.
The snarling stopped. The threat in the eyes of the wolf was more than enough. The wolf looked up past where he had Duncan pinned on the ground. It’s expression softened as its eyes returned to Duncan’s. The wolf seemed to comprehend that Duncan was no threat, to understand how he felt.
It was strange, at some level, the two seemed to communicate.
The others were now well passed. The wolf was only protecting his own. Duncan apologized to the wolf. It was a strange interaction, Duncan didn’t know how, but he felt somehow the wolf understood. It moved it’s face forward and licked the tears from the right side of his face and looked respectful at Duncan, then leapt off of him and was gone.
Duncan lay on the ground shaking for several minutes. Finally, from his back he looked around. He was alone in the woods. Duncan slowly got up. He looked at the considerable wet spot that filled the front of his pants to the waistline and went almost to his knees. Shame filled him. At that moment he was glad he’d been moved to the barn. Had he needed to go into the house, he was sure the results would’ve been unpleasant to say the least.
He looked around; he wasn’t sure which way was home, or to hell as it were. He fumbled around the woods for about forty-five minutes, only seeming to become more lost in the woods. Night was coming soon. He was starting to panic. He’d begun running in one direction, only to reconsider and begin running in another. He could see the direction of the setting sun, the only thing was, he didn’t know if that was towards the farm or away from it.
His chest was heaving, his heart pounding with panic. He heard a bark, a snarling bark. His heart seemed to stop; he looked in the direction of the sound.
There stood the wolf he recognized. The one that had him pinned on the ground. Its eyes locked on him. He was standing sideways to Duncan, his head turned to look at him. He moved his nose and mouth up in the air when he barked, then looked at Duncan.
The wolf was about ten yards away. After it barked, it looked away and trotted off slowly. Then it stopped, looked back at Duncan and barked again then trotted a few feet again. It did this several times, then stopped and turned fully around and looked towards Duncan. The wolf started towards him.
Fear gripped him. He wanted to run, but his feet wouldn’t obey. The wolf came right up to Duncan, close enough he could have put his hand on its massive head.
Then the wolf did something very unexpected. He stuck his nose in Duncan’s hand and snorted. Then he looked at Duncan and cocked his head. ’Follow me.’ Duncan felt it was telling him. Then the wolf turned and started trotting away again.
Duncan’s fear subsided. He felt a strange peace, a trust. Was the wolf really helping him?
This time when the wolf stopped and looked back and barked, Duncan was able to move and followed the wolf. It would trot ahead, then stop and look back. This routine continued until Duncan could see through the fading light, the lights of the farm he had come from. Relief flooded over him. He wouldn’t die in the woods after all. Though, considering the next five days there, it may not have been a bad way to go.
When Duncan looked to thank the wolf, he was alone. He turned around and faced the woods and quietly said ‘thank you’ to the woods.
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The following morning Duncan asked if he could call his parents. “You got money to pay for the call?” His uncle had asked. “That’s long distance, unless you have money to pay for it, you ain’t making no long distance call on my phone.” When Duncan inquired about the cost his uncle said he would charge him ten dollars for the use of the phone and one minute of time. He knew Duncan didn’t have that much money.
When he talked to his aunt in the kitchen while they ate and the ‘men’ drank outside, she told him that her husband kept the phone locked up so no one could use it but him.
Duncan kept thinking about the wolf, how it had helped him. The eyes. The power in them.
Duncan later requested a stamp so he could mail a letter instead. ’You ain’t gettin no stamp, you don’t be needin’ to mail no damn letter, now get in the barn you bastard.’ Was his uncle’s response to that request.
The following morning his uncle removed all the paper, notebooks, everything Duncan had to write on from the barn. Fortunately Duncan had anticipated something like this and had hid his letter home. That night, undercover of the dark moonless night, he made his way from the barn, down the driveway and the some three miles up the road to a neighbor’s mailbox.
He had no envelope nor stamp. He had taped the pages closed with duct tape he found in the barn and wrote the to and return addresses the same and put a quarter with the letter and a note begging the letter carrier to deliver it.
He hoped it would make it to his parents before they left to pick him up.
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Duncan was sitting on the veranda at the front of the house when his parents pulled in the yard. He was clean and well dressed, bags setting neatly beside the short railed steps leading onto the veranda by the front door. His aunt and uncle were sitting in a swing bench talking and laughing while the other boys sat in chairs, all drinking lemonade and appearing to be one big happy family.
The daughter sat smiling talking with Duncan. It was all quite posed.
His uncle had threatened Duncan, telling him that he was to tell his father and mother of the great time he had there. He said if he didn’t he was to expect a visit from him in that city of his in the middle of the night. He was told he’d be shown what a ’Nam vet is capable of.’
When his parents car pulled in the drive, it stopped some hundred feet shy of the house. Duncan’s father emerged from the driver’s side. The car remained running as he closed the door. Duncan’s mother stayed in the car and he heard the sound of the power locks as his father strode towards the house.
His gate was unusual.
Duncan’s father was considerably smaller than his brother, Duncan’s uncle. While his uncle stood well over six foot, his father was a mere five foot seven inches. The uncle was a mountain of a man, very muscular from a life of farm work. His sons were of much the same build with only the youngest still under six foot.
“Get your bags, put them in the car, then get in with your mother. I need to have a few words with your uncle Duncan.” His father said about halfway to the house. The laughter ended on the veranda.
Duncan heard his uncle snort and say, “This ought to be good, get in the house boys, looks like Bradley is a touch angry with me.”
Duncan moved without a word. He grabbed the suitcases and hurried towards the car. As he passed his father he looked up at him. He couldn’t remember what his father said, but he could remember his eyes and the look in them. He had seen that look days before as he lay on the ground and stared up into the eyes of the wolf. This time though it would be six threats against the one protector. Duncan looked back at his uncle after he passed his father. The man had his hands on his hips and wore a smug arrogant smile.
Duncan feared for his father.
Once he reached the car Duncan’s mother popped the trunk for him to put his bags in. He hurried them in and closed the trunk of the large Cadillac. He heard the doors unlock as his mother made ready for him to enter the car.
“Something bugging you Brad?” He heard his uncle say. “Inside Russ.” His father had said.
The two men started into the farmhouse and the two remaining sons followed. “You ladies stay out here, my brother and I seem to have something to talk about.” His uncle said with threat in his voice as they went in. The women quickly ran towards the barn and went inside. Duncan had seen the cold fear in their faces.
Shouting started coming from the house. Then the sound of breaking glass and other items being knocked around soon followed. Duncan started around the side of the car then burst into a run towards the house. His mother had stepped from the car yelling after him to ’get back here and get in this car’, she didn’t want him to see what was happening in the house. She didn’t come after him though.
Some things a boy needed to learn on his own.
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When Duncan arrived at the farmhouse he ducked in behind some bushes and peered in a window near where the sounds had come from. They had oddly stopped. He heard his uncle’s voice as Duncan saw the situation. “You always were not so bright Brad. Walking in here, six to one.” Russ laughed.
Duncan saw the two eldest boys behind his father holding his arms. His uncle had his back to the window. Duncan could hardly see his father as the others surrounded him. His uncle was rolling up his sleeves, preparing to beat his father while he was held. Two of the other sons were doing as their father was, rolling up their sleeves while the youngest who was Duncan’s age procured a bat from a closet.
“Just like when we were boys eh Brad?” Russ said. “Time to get your ass beat again.” The group laughed. His uncle started to put up his dukes, making ready to beat his father’s face. “Your little pretty-boy face won’t be the same when I’m done with you this time brother ol’ boy.” His uncle stated as he moved in front of Duncan’s father.
As the others moved around Duncan was able to see his father’s face. His eyes. There was no fear in them. Again, he recognized the look. His eyes were feral. There was no sign of defeat in his father at all. His face was calm and his breathing was even and steady. Something inside Duncan said his uncle and sons were outmanned. Six to one, they would still come up short.
Duncan had never seen his father mad before. Never heard him raise his voice. Even when Duncan had been bad and earned a spanking, he had never raised his voice. Duncan’s father was always a man of control. He metered himself in everything. He never ‘lost his cool’. Even now, he was calm and in control of himself.
Duncan found himself smiling.
It was at that point Duncan’s father saw him in the corner of the window. His father looked him directly in the eyes and his mouth formed a light smile. Then he winked at Duncan as his brother’s fist came forward. What happened next, at the time, was amazing to Duncan.
He had always seen his father as a kind, somewhat meek man. Not one to fight or cause trouble. He never would have expected his father to be able to manhandle six muscle bound oafs. But facts are facts, and he witnessed the events with his own eyes.
When there was no chance of his brother stopping the blow, some inches from his face, Brad exchanged his position with that of the eldest son. The concussive blow to the young man’s face included the sound of breaking bones which resulted in Brad being able to free his left arm.
The second eldest boy was stunned by what had just happened and failed to react quick enough to prevent the next action from Duncan’s father, which was to remove him from his standing position to that of a horizontal one and as a projectile towards Russ.
The youngest did react, swinging the bat down towards Brad’s head. Brad grabbed the bat with his left hand and thrust it backwards into the face of the operator, the flared butt end connecting with the young boy’s face just below the nose. This action contained a considerable amount of force as at the same time, Brad’s foot connected with the under part of son number four’s chin.
The youngest son’s face exploded. The end of the bat made it about halfway into his mouth. He was out of the fight. Son number three lunged forward as the bat seemed to hover in the air, as did his father who had not a foot on the ground.
Brad’s hands came together as the third son arrived, open palmed in a clapping motion on each side of the boys ears. This was shortly followed by one of Brad’s knees connecting with the underside of this boys chin. He flew backwards and past where son number two and Russ were righting themselves following the collision of the two, tumbling them to the ground.
Brad retrieved the bat from midair and holding it like a battering ram, introduced the second son’s breadbasket area to the Louisville Slugger. As the boy crumpled to the floor the contents of his stomach arrived slightly before the boy’s face.
Russ had turned his back on his brother, reaching into the drawer of a small table across from the window Duncan was observing from. As his son landed face down in vomit, he turned and was holding a forty-five caliber automatic pistol, the hammer already cocked.
Russ aimed the gun at Duncan’s father who moved in a flash. His uncle had pulled the trigger, his father however had moved his hand forward placing the webbing between his thumb and index finger between the hammer of the pistol and the firing pin. His father’s hand closed around the pistol.
Brad’s face was calm. The clip fell from the gun, and with another sudden move, his father moved the breach back, ejecting the chambered round and locking the gun in a loading position. Russ had a look of awe on his face as Brad calmly and with ease, removed the gun from his brother’s hand.
“Boys, collect your wounded and leave.” Duncan’s father said to the two groaning boys who were still conscious. Brad stepped back and locked eyes with his brother, allowing room for the two boys to retrieve the limp bodies of their siblings and retreat.
That was Duncan’s cue to bolt back to the car. He was about halfway to the Cadillac when he heard his father growl and roar. This was followed by the voice of his uncle screaming and begging for mercy.
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Duncan sat in the back of the large Cadillac silently and stared at the barn where the ladies were hiding. Inside the car he was safe from the sounds that were coming from the farmhouse. His mother sat unmoving in the passenger seat ahead of him.
“Linda, Tracey!” Duncan heard his father’s voice yell drawing his attention forward. He was about half way to the car and was standing at the edge of the path that led to the barn. Duncan could see red on his fathers tight black shirt and pants. The red was on his hands, arms and face also. He was wet with sweat.
The two ladies emerged from the barn, timidly. Brad motioned them closer. “It’s all right. Come here please.” Duncan’s father called out to them. The two ladies moved slow the first few steps, then the daughter followed as the mother broke into a quick run.
Duncan couldn’t make out what was said. He watched as the two ladies nodded and cried. When Duncan’s father turned and headed to the waiting car the two ladies ran back into the barn.
When his father climbed into the drivers seat it was then Duncan noticed the seat was covered in plastic, he heard the sound of it and looked. He looked to his feet with understanding.
A deep sigh came from his father and he hesitated a moment before putting the Cadillac into drive. The car made a U-turn in the yard and headed down the driveway. His father turned up the road, opposite the direction they should have turned to head home.
They turned left into a driveway across from a mailbox marked ‘Cromwell’, the one Duncan had placed his letter home in. They went to the farmhouse. They were warmly greeted by the couple there and their two remaining adult children.
When young Duncan was introduced to their daughter Betty, he found himself having difficulty responding to her. He was captivated by her eyes and smile. He’d just recently started taking an interest in girls. She was four years older than he. Duncan thought to himself, when he was old enough to drive, he might have to come back and visit the Cromwell’s. Especially Betty.
The family welcomed them into their home and his father went upstairs to utilized their shower while the family entertained their guests. Once his father returned, the Cromwell’s served an early lunch after which the husband of the house and his father left the group. They talked in a private room for about fifteen minutes.
“I’ll take care of it Brad, you can count on that.” Mr. Cromwell was saying as they exited the room and the two men shook hands. “I know everyone at the bus station personally, my son manages the place. Won’t have any problems arranging things.” He finished.
Duncan looked at his father. He had the look of a protector in his eyes still. He thought of the wolf again. The power behind the look.
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When they arrived home, Duncan’s father took his bags. “Get something to eat, you’re probably hungry by now.” He said to Duncan with a gentle voice and a smile. Duncan nodded and headed to the kitchen.
He had grabbed some milk and cereal and mixed the two in a bowl on the island in the kitchen. He had taken his first mouthful from the bowl when he noticed an opened letter on the table. It bore an airmail next day service emblem in the upper right hand corner. ‘Open Immediately!’ was written above the address to be delivered to. It was postmarked from the area he had just spent a week in. Milk dribbled down Duncan’s chin as he reached for the letter. Inside the envelope he found his letter home and a note.
He read the note that accompanied his letter:
Dear Mr. Galt, my name is Evelyn Wolf, this letter was in the Cromwell’s mailbox addressed to this address. It had no envelope or postage, only a quarter I assumed was to pay for the postage. Forgive me, but I did read this letter, I am paying to have it rushed to you.
In our area, we know how violent your brother is, and if your son is staying there, he is in danger! Russ Galt is a cruel and evil man. Please contact the Cromwell’s at the enclosed number. They will be talking with the sheriff.
Evelyn Wolf.
Duncan began to cry. He didn’t notice his father enter the room. He felt his father’s hands on his shoulders.
“You never know son, where you will find friends.” His dad said softly.
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It was two weeks later Linda and her daughter Tracey arrived at their doorstep. The marks of their trials clearly visible on their faces and arms.
Brad had told them when they departed, should they decide to leave, the Cromwell’s would help them to the bus station. Tickets for the two of them would be waiting and enough money to get them safely to the home Bradley and Connie Galt.
“You’re father said we could come here.” Linda said to Duncan in a shattered voice. Tracey looked empty and hollow. “Are your parents home?” She asked.
“No, but you are now.” Duncan said to her holding the door open and extending an arm of welcome to the inside of their house. “Drop your luggage at the door, I’ll take care of it for you.” He told them. “We have a room waiting for you.”
“Thank you.” Linda said with tears streaming down her face.
Duncan took their bags and led them upstairs to a large bedroom with two beds made on either side of the room complete with nightstands. After he placed their bags by the door he told them he would set the table and put out some food. He apologized for his lack of cooking abilities and his parents not being there. Tracey was silent, standing by the bags next to the door. “You never know where you will find friends” Duncan said to her and smiled. She smiled back as tears began to form in her eyes. Duncan left for the kitchen.
Duncan sat bolt upright in bed covered in sweat, his dream still vivid in his mind. He looked at the alarm clock beside his bed, it was almost four in the morning. He shook his head trying to clear the memories from his past that kept returning to him in his dreams. He had other dreams that repeated themselves, this one was the least disturbing and the only one that was a real event.
Taking a deep breath he laid back in bed, waiting for his heart to stop racing. He watched the display on his ceiling tick away, at 4:05am, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. He’d take his shower now and start his day.
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The chime of the grandfather clock in the living room whispered in Duncan’s ears. He’d never made it to his lab like he’d planned, spending the entire day at his computer working. The shops in the town would be closing soon, and Zed Diller would have his order waiting for him. He saved his work, climbed from his chair and moved back looking at the monitor a few steps then finally turned and left the den.
He needed to get going now if he was going to pick up his order and be back before nightfall. A storm was heading their way, areas along the path were already under severe thunderstorm warnings, his area still had the watch going. The sky was still blue and clear as he looked up on his way to the garage.
He was a few miles down the main road into town when he flipped on the radio to listen to the weather report. A car was coming up on him fast, it had it’s emergency lights on and Duncan pulled off on the side of the road. The sheriff’s squad car blew by him, no siren only the flashers going. “Must be a good sale on doughnuts.” Duncan commented to himself with a smirk as he pulled back onto the road.
Town was quiet as he turned around in the street and parked in front of the hardware store. Zed had his camera out again at the front of the store when he walked in. “Duncan! Was thinking you wasn’t gonna make it today after all.” The owner greeted him as he walked in.
Duncan shrugged with his palms out near his waist. “Got into what I was working on, lost track of time. Had planned on swinging by the lab, that’s not happening now.” He said with a smile.
Zed brought a cart filled with his order on it. “I got the grocery items you wanted also. Harland was coming this way anyways, so no delivery charge this time.” He told Duncan as he handed him the invoice for his order. He pulled out his credit card and paid, then Zed helped him carry his purchases out to his truck.
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The sky was getting dark; deep clouds were rolling in. It looked like the thunderstorm was about to hit, the sirens would wail soon. Nightfall would be in a couple hours. Duncan had just finished loading his purchases into the back of his truck. Days like this he was glad he’d made the investment of a cover for the box.
He released the straps that held the box cover neatly rolled up and unfurled it down the length of the truck bed. Looking at the sky briefly he began snapping the cover over its payload. He’d be home well before sundown, but he would definitely be carrying in his goods in the rain.
A cool wind lapped at Duncan’s arms as the snaps grasped each other with their ‘click’ sound. He acknowledged the smell of rain and looked towards the black edge of the grey sky again.
’This is going to be a big one.’ He heard someone say.
’Yeah, a real turd floater for sure.’ Another voice replied.
’Huge low pressure ridge the weatherman said.’ The first man commented.
’May get a couple inches, we sure could use the rain, as long as there ain’t any flash flooding.’ The second voice affirmed.
’My south field is going to be a mud pit for sure.’ The first voice stated.
’Yeah, I best be gittin’ on home, get the horses inside.’ The second man answered.
’Catch ya letter Marty.’
’Take care Hank.’
Duncan finished with the snaps. ’Right you are, going to be a real turd floater.’ He thought to himself, overhearing the two talking. He’d checked NOAA this morning, storm was almost right on time.
He looked around the small town; watching people as they scurried about making ready for the approaching weather about to hit them. Even though he’d been a fulltime neighboring resident for almost nine years now, there were only a few people he actually knew.
Everyone seemed to know him though. Small towns loved to talk.
He knew there was a mystery about himself. It wasn’t odd that he didn’t frequent town much, most of the families from the country only made a weekly or biweekly trip to town. His were more of a monthly stop; he had most of his needs delivered even though he passed through town daily. He wasn’t fond of leaving his property.
’She doesn’t fit in around here.’ He thought to himself, spotting a young girl, dressed in black denim and leather with silver snaps and buckles showing on the surface of her clothing. Her skin was paste white, hair jet black. Though he couldn’t see them from this distance, there was something about her eyes. He could feel them on him. She had jewelry in her ears and face. New York gothic style.
Defiantly not from around here.
He looked away and hurried from the back of the truck to the drivers side door, looking back to her once as he moved. Her eyes were still on him and she was moving in his direction from across the street and about a block down.
He opened the door quickly and reached behind the seat grabbing the sawed off 4-10 shotgun from its custom made holster on the side frame of the truck. Duncan cocked the gun and pulled it up, out of sight of anyone nearby and keeping it behind the frame of the door of the truck.
He looked back towards where the girl should be. She wasn’t there. He quickly looked around the area near where she’d been; then across the street to where he guessed she should’ve been based on how fast she was walking if she’d crossed the street.
Nothing.
“Is that legal length?” Duncan heard a voice say.
Turning he looked over the door of the truck, the Sheriff was standing near the front of his truck next to the open door. His eyes moved from the gun to Duncan.
Duncan looked back to the street behind him. Still nothing. He un-cocked the gun and shoved it back into the holster. “No.” He said without looking at the Sheriff as he climbed into the truck.
The Sheriff’s arm was atop the door but he quickly moved it when Duncan pulled the door to close it. The Sheriff moved directly across from the door as Duncan put his key in the ignition and cranked the truck to life.
He could tell the Sheriff had his hands on his hips while he watched him. Duncan looked forward, not acknowledging the Sheriff any further, put the truck in gear and drove off.
’Its not sunset yet. I was over reacting.’ Duncan thought to himself as he drove towards home. He looked at the now fully black sky. Rain was starting to fall and thunder could be heard. ’They can’t be out even in this light. They wouldn’t even be up yet, despite the weather and the dark.’ He assured himself.
Duncan flipped a switch on the dash of his truck then stomped the accelerator of the truck. It sprang to life shooting his speed up from the posted fifty-five miles per hour to a hundred and forty in seconds. The radio couldn’t be heard over the power plant under the hood and the oversized exhaust it exhaled though. He turned on the wipers and lights. It was getting very dark.
He glanced in the mirror and saw headlights behind him. They were keeping pace with him, not diminishing in the distance. ’The Sheriff would have hit his cherry bombs by now if it were him.’ Duncan thought.
His turn was coming up soon. He slowed as he approached his turn flipping the switch he had used back off. He took the turn at sixty, watching the headlights approaching from his left. The road normally would have been dust covered from him turning onto it, the main road was tar, his was dirt, the rain kept that down.
He saw the Sheriff’s car blow by the turn. He backed his hand away from the switch on the dash and put his attention back on the road ahead of him and accelerated hard. Without looking, he flipped the switch on the dash again engaging the supercharger and nitrous. He felt an urgency to get home. It was too dark.
He turned into his driveway as the whine of the engine upgrades died down. It was a full downpour now. The storm had erupted into a full scaled thunder-boomer; high winds, raindrops the size of marbles and a night like sky lit by lightning. Actual sunset was still just over an hour away.
Duncan stared at the clock on his dash radio a few seconds after he had pulled into the garage. Putting the truck into gear he backed out of the garage and pulled right up to the house and backed the truck to the step. He only undid the first two snaps on each side of the cover and dropped the tailgate. He jumped towards the door, unlocked it and propped the storm door open then began pitching his goods into the house.
He wasn’t wasting any time. It was too dark. It was night dark, even though sunset hadn’t happened yet, better to error on the side of caution. He climbed into the box, under the cover, and pulled the last of his goods towards the tailgate and hurried them inside. He slammed the tailgate shut once done and locked the house then quickly drove the truck to the garage leaving ruts from the effort in the yard.
Closing the garage door with the remote, he didn’t bother to re-snap the cover down when he left the truck. “Good enough till morning.” he said to himself as he ran out of the garage side door, slamming it shut and continuing on at a dead run to the front door of the house.
He already had his keys in his hand and looked around in a distressed manner as he let himself in. The yard lights were already on. Too dark.
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After the Sheriff watched Duncan head out he went into the hardware store to talk to the owner, he said he had a picture of a suspected identify thief. His deputy had walked the back street behind the bus station and gone into the station to talk with the man running the place. He was only in the store a couple minutes, Zed liked to talk but he made his visit short.
His deputy was on his way up the sidewalk from the bus station when he left the store. “Anything?” He asked calling out to him as he approached. The deputy’s head shook. “Nothing Sheriff.” He waited for the man to get to him then the two went back to their squad car. His deputy asked him about what happened with Duncan Galt as they walked. He gave him a brief rundown, mainly to get him off his ass.
Sheriff Thomas Hanks looked at the picture Zed had given him again then unlocked the cruiser and climbed in. He pulled off heading the same direction Duncan Galt had gone on his way back to the Sheriff’s station in the next town. Once cross the four lane that crossed the road they were on the Sheriff opened the throttle. He noticed James look over at the speedometer.
“Going a bit fast aren’t you Sheriff, we’re not on a call.” His deputy stated looking out the front. Thomas inhaled deep and released his breath then accelerated more bringing the squad just over a hundred miles an hour.
He heard James scoff. “We have a picture of the perp now, I think we should get that out on the wire as fast as we can, good enough for you James?”
The deputy shook his head and scoffed again. “I think you’re just using that as an excuse, Sheriff.” He answered. “You’ve got a lead foot, we aren’t on a call, no reason for going this fast.” He commented as the radar unit lit up with the speed of the vehicle they were approaching.
Both men glanced at the readout, 55 it said. The Sheriff was reaching for his flasher and siren controls so he could pass the vehicle safely when the radar unit made a noise indicating a speeder. The readout shot up to 147 mph. The squad roared as the Sheriff put the pedal to the floor. He could see it was Galt’s truck ahead of them now but he never turned on the lights.
He took his foot off the gas and let the car coast down as he watched Galt’s truck swing down his road home. “Why didn’t you stop him?” The deputy asked the Sheriff as they passed where Duncan Galt had turned off, rather abruptly. The deputy’s face was excited and exasperated.
“Because, he was just on his way home.” The Sheriff said in a growly voice.
The deputy looked out the back window with a confused look on his face, then over at the readout on the radar. “He was over a hundred and forty Sheriff, that’s very reckless driving.”
The Sheriff sighed and pursed his lips. “He was in a hurry to get home.” He looked briefly over at the deputy, then back at the road. “And I don’t want to know why.” He finished.
The two continued down the road in silence for almost five minutes before the deputy spoke again. “What about the gun? You said it was chopped down to about a foot, for a shotgun, why didn’t you take it from him and arrest him then?” His deputy asked without looking at him.
He stared forward, his face set in an agitated serious manner. The Sheriff chewed on his bottom lip. He could tell by the deputy’s tone he was demanding an explanation, or else he’d be talking to the state office informing them of his failure to enforce the law, and talking to his union people too.
He gave an angry exhale. “James,” he started, his eyes glimmered slightly, “what I am about to tell you, can go no further than this car, I would rather not tell you, but if I don’t you’ll be crying to the state about how I didn’t do my job properly and becoming even a bigger thorn in my ass than you already are.” He looked over at the deputy. “We clear on that?” he asked, looking back at the road then back at the deputy waiting for his answer. The deputy had an angry look on his face as he stared forward. “I said are we clear? This never leaves this car.”
“Yeah, we’re clear, Sheriff.” The deputy said, finishing with a sour note.
“Mr. Galt, Duncan, he has a doctorate in bio sciences, some heavy stuff, with a specialty in forensic evaluation. He’s no lightweight, he worked for the CIA, investigations, field agent. I’ve seen some of his files.” The Sheriff gave a glance over to his deputy. “Before he started his research in agriculture and his business in hydroponics and growing better crops, which has been very profitable for him, he worked in very sensitive areas. Very dangerous avenues, you get what I mean?”
“He was a federal agent, so?” The deputy replied.
“Listen you moron, he wasn’t just an agent, sitting in some office, he was out in the field, he is very well trained, people like him don’t spook easily. Back in town, he was spooked.” The Sheriff looked over at the deputy who looked back at him, his face displayed his sore attitude. “Sometimes kid, it’s best just to walk away. I’m the Sheriff and I’m smart enough to know when to keep my nose out of things, sometimes it’s better if you don’t know.”
“I will be taking this to the union, and the state. You neglected your responsibilities and are afraid to do your job. That’s the way I see it. That’s what I’m going to tell the state.” He replied.
“Do whatever you want James. You’re just pissed I beat your daddy in the election is all. You’ve had it out for me since I took this job.” The Sheriff pushed back on the steering wheel as he leaned back in his seat. “Been nothing but a pain in my ass, everything I do that you don’t agree with, you go whining to the state or the union. If I could fire your ass I would, but according to the union, I don’t have the grounds. I use my best judgment in situations, and you fight me every inch of the way. If you put your effort into doing your job and trying to understand why I do things, you might just make a good deputy. Instead, you aren’t worth two squirts of piss as a deputy.” The Sheriff ended.
“That’s abuse of a subordinate right there Sheriff.” James responded.
“Whatever you call it, it’s the straight truth, you don’t have to like the truth, doesn’t change it any Jimmy.” The Sheriff chuckled, he knew he hated being called ‘Jimmy’. “Tell you what Jimmy boy, you go ahead and investigate Mr. Galt, with my blessing, I’ll turn over every file I have on him and the case is all yours.” The Sheriff said with a smile as he looked over at him.
They were almost back to their hometown now. Another four miles. The deputy’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Why the hell would you do that? This is a nothing investigation. It’s an illegal gun. I confiscate it and arrest him. Case closed. I do a job you failed to. It would actually be good for me.” The deputy looked over at the Sheriff. Suspicion on his face. “Why would you turn it over to me?” He asked.
The Sheriff guffawed. “It’s not that simple, he had pulled the gun, in town. He was looking back at someone, or something.” The Sheriff glanced over at his deputy. “You need to find out why. Why was he pulling the gun, you have a report that he had it out in town, you need to follow that up. Who or what was he planning on using it on. Why does he have it in the first place. There’s a lot more to this than just a simple illegal gun, there is a target and a motive.” The Sheriff wore a smile now.
“Fine.” The deputy snorted. “That still doesn’t answer why you would turn it over to me.” He demanded.
“That’s simple Jimmy.” The Sheriff looked over then back to the road. “Don’t you watch the movies? In cases like this, it’s the nosy deputy that never comes back. Then it’s a state problem, not mine.” The Sheriff looked back at his deputy as he tapped the brake to take the cruise control off. He was chuckling. Once he stopped his eerie chuckle he said, “As a law enforcement officer, my job is to prevent trouble and deal with it when it happens, not to go out looking for it.”
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Duncan jumped over the supplies he had piled in the entry of his home only to jump back to the door to verify it was locked. He looked out the window. The rain was pouring down. Even the concrete slab in front of the door that was under the extension of the roof that gave the building a six foot by six foot square covered entry was completely wet.
He looked intently around at the yard to the tree line, the rain made it hard to see even with the numerous yard lights that burned brightly. The yard had countless telephone poles planted in it. Only a few had lights mounted on them. The others had odd black devices that glimmered black in the light and rain.
Duncan made his way to his basement. It was not a typical basement, once down the long stairs there was a short hall, maybe four foot in length, that led through a steel door that resembled a vault or bulkhead door on a ship. The walls were very thick, as were the walls on the house.
The room he entered into looked like a security control room, filled with monitors displaying all areas of the house and the yard around it, including the inside of the garage and the other three outbuildings. He checked indicators on some panels, then pressed some buttons. Nodding at the displays ‘good, good’ he said and returned upstairs.
He checked his clock and nodded.
Near the entry, where his packages were still piled, he opened a small hidden door in the wall that revealed a control panel. He pushed a button and there was the sound of motors and clacking. Steel curtains that looked like the doors of roll top desks quickly streamed down between the two layers of thick glass that formed the windows in the over a foot thick walls. They rolled to the bottom and the sound of hooks locking into them securing them could be heard ending with a muffled clunk.
He touched a few more buttons and other hidden panels opened in the walls in the rooms throughout the house revealing the hidden monitors of the security network. They powered up and displayed the views of different cameras around the yard.
“One hour till sunset.” He said to the empty room, with a nod he went to his pile of boxes and began putting his supplies away.
