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Ameraka — Recruited Chapter 2
Published: 2009-10-11 14:43:39 +0000 UTC; Views: 135; Favourites: 0; Downloads: 4
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DetourMetallic-sounding rain pounded on the roof. My head hammered. What a hangover, I thought. What a strange dream too...
Pitch black greeted my eyes. I slipped out of bed—and toppled onto an ice-cold floor. I stood up and touched cold metal walls. I was not in my own room. Panic gripped my throat.
Then memories from yesterday flooded back. It all hadn't been a dream, and I had been brought here—wherever here was--by the agents Winston and Reilly.
What was going on? Were they good guys? Or... I decided not to let my imagination run wild. I needed to find out where I was.
I walked around the room, my heart pounding. Then, I found the door handle and was about to press it open when I heard a voice. I froze.
"It's no good, Jacob," said Winston. "The craft isn't going anywhere for awhile."
Reilly swore. "I guess we aren't either."
"What about our cargo?"
"Cargo? Oh, yes, our rescuee. What about him?"
"We need to get him to base."
"I know. But what choice do we have? We have to make do with what we've got."
It fell silent except for the rain. I wondered whether I should try opening the door. I stood there for awhile. They spoke again, but I couldn't make any sense of what they were talking about.
Instead of eavesdropping on my kidnappers, I realized, I might as well try to get some answers from them. I pushed the door handle. It didn't budge. I knocked.
"Ah, someone's at the door. If you wouldn't mind, Winston..."
Footsteps clacked toward me. The door opened. Tall dark-haired Winston stood in front of me, and auburn-haired Reilly sat in front of some sort of console. And beyond them—a large curved window revealed rain-drenched greenery, a stretch of sand; beyond that spread an expanse of grayish-blue...
"Good morning, Allen," said Winston.
"Welcome," said Reilly, turning from the console to look at me. He was grinning.
"Where is this?" I felt faint, and grabbed the back of his chair to keep my knees from buckling.
"You'd better sit down." He gestured to the other chair beside him. I went over to it, while looking at this...cockpit. Was I in a helicopter? I was still not quite awake. And my head was pounding viciously.
I sat down and looked out the window. I wasn't quite ready to try to decipher what sort of green lay past the gray sheet of rain, or even what exactly this–vehicle was. I looked back at Reilly. At least he was somewhat familiar by now.
"You must be wondering where we are. We hate to admit it—-right Winston-—" Winston, who was leaning against the door, nodded-- "but we don't know much more than you do. Except that we are in a classified aircraft on a most likely deserted speck of an island in the South Pacific."
"How--did we get here?"
"We miscalculated the strength of the storm—thought we could ride it through. It proved more than a match for Winston's piloting and this craft. It was a close call. If Winston weren't the expert pilot he was we'd probably be at the bottom of the sea right now.
"Now, here's how we stand. The good news is--we're on land. The bad news is, we don't know our coordinates, since our instruments were damaged. The helicopter's hull was also damaged when we landed. And since the storm was blowing us in circles for hours, our fuel supply is almost depleted, so even if we could lift off, we wouldn't get very far.
"We couldn't get a hold of base, either. Probably won't be able to until after the storm." He glanced at Winston. "Too bad we didn't get you there. It would have been a better place for you to wake up to. How did you sleep, by the way?"
"Uhm, fine. Did you...put something in my Coke?"
"Yes, we did. It was a way of, shall we say, keeping things simple. If not for the storm, you would have woken up at our base and never known how you got there."
"Was it timed or something?"
"In a way. That's how you slept through our struggle with the storm."
"Oh." I didn't like the idea of someone drugging me so I'd go along with whatever they did. And what was this 'base' thing? An X-files-like image flashed across my brain, aliens and men in black leaning over me holding strange instruments. I snapped off that thought. But when reality had been snatched out from under me, what else could I reach for but the outlandish?
I leaned forward, trying to clear my foggy mind. "Can you tell me some more things now? It looks like we have some time on our hands. Who are you? Why do you go about snatching people out of lives they're perfectly happy with?" The second part's not exactly true, I thought. "Why did you choose me, of all people? What is this base you're taking me to?"
"Hmm," said Reilly. "Winston, would you like to take those?"
"Allen," said Winston, eyes dark and serious, "I'm sorry. We can't answer any of those things yet."
"What do you mean?"
"It's like the 'car crash' scenario, only it's happened. We're on an island, which we think is deserted, but it's not certain. And there may be populated islands nearby. If we tell you now, and you fall into enemy hands with no reason not to give them information, you could jeopardize our entire organization. Secrecy is our protection, our shield. Do you understand?"
I nodded. I didn't really understand. What was their secrecy protecting? Why would any organization need so much secrecy?
"Is there anything you can tell me? Like how long we've been gone?"
Winston looked at his watch. "0400 hours, Midwestern time. So, we've been gone about 10 hours."
"How long will you need me?"
"We can't say."
"But—my son! His game's on Thursday. And my daughter..."
Oh, what do they care about my family! I thought. What do they care about what I want?
"We told you what your excuse is."
"I don't want my children thinking I'm a criminal!" The lethargic Irish temper I had was rising.
"They'll give you the benefit of the doubt. And before long, you will be cleared of all charges and sent home."
"You mean—you'll send me back?"
"Yes."
"Well, why do you want me?"
Winston said, "We will train you."
"For what?"
"We can say no more."
"What about when we get to your base? Will you tell me anything then?"
"Yes."
"Why is it any different there? When I come back, why won't I tell?"
"Because of what we tell you. What we show you."
"How do you know we'll even get off this island?"
"We don't. But the chances are we will. It is just uncertain how long it will take."
"How do I know you're telling me the truth?"
"You will just have to trust us."
I sighed. I was terribly curious about what was going on, and frustrated, and afraid. What was I supposed to make of this? I was trapped, at the mercy of these people, whoever they were. They seemed benign enough, but still, I didn't like the fact that they had taken me away from my home, for a purpose they could not reveal. And now, we had actually landed on an island in the middle of the ocean and were stuck here who knew how long! And how would we get off? I had a million other questions, but it was so exasperating asking them, with what answers I got. I would just have to go along with the agents, trust them. What choice did I have? I could try to escape, but if we were on an island, it wouldn't make much difference. I would just have to see how things went to find out whether or not escaping was an option.
I looked out the window. The rain was clattering on the roof even harder than before. I was getting curious about what was out there.
"Are you hungry?" said Reilly.
"Sort of."
Reilly dug in a compartment and handed me some kind of ration bar that tasted like a mixture of nuts and figs. Not bad, considering. Then Reilly suggested I might be tired and Winston escorted me into the back. He gave me a flight manual to read, which was surprisingly interesting until I ran into so much jargon I couldn't follow it. With the constant staccato of the rain, I drifted away.
"Allen."
"Hmm?" I sat up on the bunk. Winston stood there.
"It's stopped raining. Would you like to come outside?"
"Do you mean—outside of the helicopter?"
"Yes."
"Sure." I got up and followed Winston through the cockpit. He opened the door and stepped into the sunlight. I followed, stepping down into some tall wet grass. A warm damp breeze blew past me.
The large, black, unmarked craft looked like a normal helicopter, except more streamlined. It perched on a small hill. A long ridge of trees stretched out below us, narrowed to a point; beyond that lay a sandy beach and the deep blue ocean touching the horizon. The sky was a clear, bright blue, with only a few white clouds drifting through it.
Beyond the helicopter's tail, a few hundred yards away, the palm trees veiled any glimpse of what might lie past them.
"Where's Reilly?"
"He's exploring." Winston was standing next to the craft, examining the tail. I walked over to him through the tall grass, which soaked my jeans up to my knees.
The end of the tail was bent, and a large chunk had broken off the tip. Some of the paint was scraped off, revealing gleaming metal. "Do you need some help?"
"There's not much you can do. I may be able to fix it, but it's doubtful, without the proper equipment. There's just too much damage. If you'd like, you can see if you can catch up to Reilly. He left about ten minutes ago." He pointed toward the beach. "And—here." He set down a wrench and walked into the cockpit. I followed him. Inside, he opened a compartment and handed me an army-green pack. "It's a survival kit."
"Do you think I'll get lost?"
Winston smiled. "You never know." He climbed back down the steps. "If you don't find him in half an hour, come back here." He reached in his belt, drew out a pistol, handed it to me. "Just in case."
"Just in case what?" I grasped the gun's cold metal grip. I hadn't fired a gun since my father took me deer hunting up north when I was quite a bit younger. That had been a rifle. And I hadn't shot any deer, to my father's chagrin.
"You never know. Be careful, Allen." He walked back toward the tail. I stuck the pistol in the pack and headed down the hill toward the trees.
