The Ghost Pattern

…49

Alex landed hard face down, the shock knocking the air out of her lungs. All the hardware she carried in her vest pockets crushed her flesh when she’d smashed into the ground. She breathed shallow, feeling a sharp pain at the left of her sternum with each breath, but managed to put her hands on top of her head, trying to protect herself from the flying, smoldering debris. She looked to her left and saw Sam squinting and cussing under his breath. She couldn’t make out what he was saying; the sound of the explosion still rang in her ears. It didn’t matter though. It mattered he was still alive.

To her right, Lou and Blake were starting to move tentatively, as to figure out if there was anything broken. Good, we’re four for four, excellent score, she thought, trying to encourage herself to get up.

The falling debris let up, only smaller pieces of lighter materials, ash, and embers still coming down on them. She stood slowly, checking every limb carefully, mindful of all aches and pains, ruling them out one by one as non-critical. A cut on her forehead dripped blood in her right eye, and she wiped it off with the back of her hand. It wasn’t deep; she was OK. She turned toward Blake, who also stood, a little dazed, but in one piece. Sam got back on his feet with a little more difficulty, continuing to mutter oaths at every step, pallor appearing on his stained face. He wiped his shaved head with his sleeve, and walked a little crooked, dragging his left leg.

“What happened?” Alex asked.

“Nothing,” he replied, barely audible over the persistent ringing in her ears. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry. Let’s take care of that,” he said, pulling out his first-aid kit and extracting a butterfly bandage. “There,” he said, applying it gently to her forehead.

“I lost the spare ammo,” Lou said bitterly. “It’s gone. It was near the hangar door.”

“It’s all right,” Alex said. “We’re all carrying spare clips, we should be OK.” She turned toward Blake, who continued to look dazed, standing, yet appearing as if he was about to collapse. “Blake, you OK?”

“We got nothing,” he replied, sounding sad and defeated. “We have no proof, nothing. It’s all gone.”

“No,” Alex replied enthusiastically, “that’s not the case. Now we know you were right. We’ve all seen that plane with our own eyes. We don’t need to prove that to anyone to know what to do next. We know it, and that’s enough. Now we know she’s alive.”

Blake looked at her with renewed hope.

“Yeah, but where?” Lou asked. “They could be anywhere.”

“Ah… don’t worry,” Sam replied, “we’ll find out.”

Blake looked at Sam with hopeful, intrigued eyes. “How?” he asked.

“The old way, the spy way,” he replied with a faint smile on his pale lips.

They looked at him intently, waiting for him to explain what he meant. This time, he wasn’t going to get away with his coined phrase that implied he was just going to work some miracle and make it all happen.

“When nearly 500 people are moved through a place so small, without major population density, someone is bound to have noticed something. Anything. And we'll start from there,” he said, his cryptic smile continuing to flutter on his lips. “Trust me,” he added and winked, creasing his soot and mud-stained face.

“What next?” Alex asked.

“I’d recommend we get the hell out of here,” Lou said. “There might be a cleanup crew coming, and we should take cover. Let’s head back into the woods, and find us a place where we can wait for Sam to work his magic and get us some field intel.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Alex said. Then she approached Lou and grabbed his forearm. “Don’t let him go alone, Lou,” she whispered in his ear, “he’s badly hurt.”

“And you?”

“I’ll be fine. I have Blake, and we have guns. We’ll hide somewhere and hang tight until you get back.”

Lou nodded his agreement, and then spoke louder, for everyone to hear. “It’s time to call in the support team. We have a confirmed scenario, and we’ll need help the moment we have the final location.”

“Agreed,” Alex replied. “How long before they get here?”

“They’re coming from Sapporo, on Hokkaido Island, that’s about 200 miles out,” Lou replied. “Shouldn’t take them more than sixty, at most ninety, minutes by chopper. They’ll have to fly low and slow to avoid radar.”

Alex took in a gulp of hot, humid air and bit her lip. This is it… it’s about to get real, as real as it gets, she thought, bracing herself. Unsanctioned paramilitary action on another country’s sovereign territory, behind an unofficial enemy’s lines. We better be fucking right about everything we’re doing.

“Let’s not waste time, then,” she said, sounding confident. “Send them the coordinates.”