Phantom Drone III

I lay in bed, in a cold, dark room under a thin blanket. Something to the right of where I lay made a continuous, lowkey roar. It was one of those times when I knew I was waking up, but I didn’t feel like opening my eyes just yet.

“Matilda babe, I know you like to sleep in a cold room, but this is stupid,” I moaned.

From my right, a blessed wave of heated air made the room tolerable, but not comfortable. Perhaps if I got closer…

I rolled in bed toward the unseen heat source, but my left foot was very heavy and made a loud jingling as I moved it. That made me snap my eyes open!

Someone had chained my left foot to a metal bedpost. A tight loop had been made in the chain above my ankle, secured with a small, brass padlock. The chain looped again around the bottom of the bedframe with yet another padlock. The rest of the chain was wound repeatedly around an old, rusted truck transmission lying at the foot of my bed like some monstrous, mutated pet. The chain was secured around and through the transmission with lock number three.

“Wasteful,” I muttered. “I could have made it work with just one lock.”

I was in a small room, lit rather poorly by a naked, dying bulb screwed into an old-fashioned fixture set in the ceiling above. There was a pull cord made of shoestring hanging from the fixture next to the light. From where I lay, I reached up, grabbed the string, pulled. Click. Near total darkness. Pulled again. Click. Wan light. Grimy curtains had been pulled over the small windows, but there was enough of a gap that I could see it was nighttime. Wherever I was, a summer’s night felt uncomfortably cool.

Turns out the room was a metal shed with a stained concrete floor. The air was thick with the smell of machine oils and old dust. To my right was a workbench against the wall with a classic, red metal vice mounted on its side. There was a large, also red metal toolbox resting atop the workbench, and on the wall above the bench there was a… I forget what you call it, but it was some sort of vertical thing that you could hang a bunch of tools on, as it had a bunch of tools on it. On the floor between me and the workbench sat a propane heater roaring away on what I could clearly see was the lowest setting; that’s where the heated air was coming from.

“Propane heater?” I noted to no one in particular, “I hope you cracked the windows so I don’t die of carbon monoxide poisoning up in this piece.”

Next to the heater was a white, five-gallon bucket lined with a black industrial plastic trash bag. The bucket was helpfully marked “Toilet” in large capital letters made by a black marker. Seriously?

I looked to my left to see a disheveled heap of clothes and cardboard boxes piled high to the ceiling in apparent haste. With them were bottles of weedkiller, pesticides, fertilizer, bags of potting soil, and cans of spray paint. Someone had gone through considerable trouble to make room for my bed. Touching.

I looked at my right leg. A smooth slit had been cut up my right pants leg to the knee, and there was a bandage wrapped around my calf and secured with a metal bandage clip.

I sat up suddenly and made an attempt to extract my foot from the chain loop, but it was on there uncomfortably tight. Flopped back in bed with a sigh, pondered my next move. But then the door to my front made a pronounced “click”, and I saw the doorknob turn…

A terrifying scene from a classic movie flashed through my mind; a woman imprisoning her favorite author, entering the room where she kept him, approaching his bed, sledgehammer in hand…

I expected some brute with a swastika tattooed in his forehead, grinning evilly, holding a tray with various gleaming torture implements. Instead, what I got was a cute little girl in ribboned pigtails prancing in, clutching a teddy bear to her chest; a teddy dressed in the duty uniform of an American Soldier. The child’s only protection against the weather was a light windbreaker displaying a cartoon character, and that was unzipped; clearly, she did not feel the cold the same way I did.

One could immediately tell the kid was mixed race, looking like someone Matilda and I could have if, God forbid, my wife ever becomes pregnant. But I remember what she told my mother at our wedding; “I’m just not ready to have babies.” And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the deepest truth that girl ever uttered in her short, extravagantly privileged life.

Meanwhile, the child got about halfway to my bed, stopped, hustled back to close the door, and then skipped right up to my bedside, well within strangling range.

“Hi!” she chirped, fixing me with her big, brown anime eyes. “My name’s Melody. What’s your name?”

“Dante. Hey kid, could you turn the knob up on that heater behind you? I’m…”

“Oh cool! Did you write one of my Mommy’s books? Is your last name In… Im… Informal?”

“Sure kid, Dante’s Informal. Look it’s cold as hell in here, and the heater…”

“Are you okay?”

“What?”

“Are you okay Dante? Are you feeling alright?”

My mind raced for an answer.

“Actually Melanie…”

“Melody!”

“…Melody, my foot hurts. It hurts really bad! It… (sniff) it almost makes me want to cry...!”

I made sure to let my voice break and twist my face as if I were about to burst into tears.

“Oh, don’t cry!” the little girl begged. “Look at Special, he’s brave. You can be brave too, just like Special!”

She said that while shaking her uniformed bear at me.

“Well Melody, I’d feel a lot better if… wait, that bear’s name is ‘Special’? What, like Special Needs?’

“No silly, not Special Needs!” the girl giggled, “Special is a Special Operator, from the Special Forces, just like my Daddy.”

“But he’s not wearing a Green Bere—look kid, this… this chain is just so painful. It (sniff) it’s making me cry! Do you know where the key is to that padlock on my ankle?”

“Yes!” the girl declared, vigorously nodding her head, bright ribbons on her pigtails bobbing.

My heart soared. Now, we were getting somewhere!

“You do know where the key to that padlock is?”

“Yes!”

“Do you think you could go and get that key, and then give it to your good friend Dante?”

“Yes!”

“Oh, thank God!” I cried, but then Melody proceeded to stay right where she was.

Now that I look back on it, there could not have been more than 30 seconds of silence as the kid seemed content to just stand there and smile. But at the time, it felt like three days.

“Melody?” I yelped at last, exasperated.

“Dante, would please tell me a story?”

“Sure Melody. Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess who GOT ME THE DAMN KEY!!”

“Don’t shout!” the girl admonished, her pretty face suddenly stern. “Mommy says it’s rude to shout.”

“But Melody,” I protested. “I’m waiting for you to go and get the key to this padlock on my ankle like you said you would.”

“Nuh-uh, that’s not what I said. I can get you the key, Dante. Easy. I’m just not going to. Tell me story.”

“Little bitch.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Melody furrowed her brow, tilting her head.

“Dante,” she asked, “What’s a… what’s a bitch?”

“Oh… ah… that’s a girl who is… very pretty, and very, very smart.”

“Oh cool! Then my Mommy’s a huge bitch, just like my Grandaddy said!”

“Undoubtedly. Where is your Daddy, kid?”

“Oh, he’s in Heaven,” answered the girl with supreme confidence.

“Heaven?”

“Yeah. He got in a big fight with some bad guys, and my Daddy was winning, but then one of the bad guys pulled a gun and sent my Daddy to Heaven.”

A pall of pain and sorrow now clouded the girl’s cherubic visage. She bowed her head and hugged her teddy fiercely with both hands.

“Ouch,” I noted, feeling suddenly bad for the child. “Sorry to hear that, Melody. I’m sure your father was a great man, and that he loved you and your mother very much.”

The pall lifted, and the girl, taking one hand off the bear, was back to her cheery self.

“Dante, are you nice?” she demanded.

“Nice? I… I’d certainly like to think so.”

“What?”

“I’m nice Melody. Very nice. Please tell your Mommy not to torture me!”

“Oh poop!” the girl spat, clearly disappointed. “I was hoping you were bad!”

Well, that was… confusing. But I was game.

“I can be bad!” I assured her.

“Awesome!” the girl sang, perking right back up again. “Mommy says that if you’re nice, she’ll help you. But if you’re bad, she’ll turn you in so we can get a lot of money!”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, Mommy’s car broke down, and now she has to ride the school bus to her job, and, and then Uncle Jess takes my Mommy to her night job.”

“You mother has two jobs?”

“Yeah, but if we get a lot of money, then my Mommy won’t have to work so much, and then she can spend more time with me. I miss my Mommy, Dante. I really do!”

And now she was all sad and hugging the teddy bear again.

“Awl, don’t be sad, Melody!” I urged. “I know what will cheer you up. Let’s play a game!”

“Oh cool!” Melody crowed. “Oo! Oo! What game are we going to play, Dante?”

“It’s a special fun game! It’s called Let’s Get the Biggest Bobby Pin We Can Find!”

“What’s a bobby pin?” the girl asked, her brow furrowed again, cocking her head.

“I’m sorry, Melody. It seems I got that wrong. The actual name of the game is, Let’s Get the Biggest Paperclip We Can Find!”

“Yay! How do we play?”

“I will stay here and search this shed for paperclips, and while I’m doing that, you can search your house for paperclips! Bring any paperclips you find to me, and whoever finds the biggest paperclip wins!”

“Whoo-hoo! I’m gonna win. “I’ll beat you, Dante!”

“No, you won’t!” I chided. “Boys are smarter than girls. You’ll never find as big a paperclip or… bobby pin or… needle or… little screwdriver…”

“Nuh-uh, girls are smarter than you stupid boys!” Melody brayed. “I’ll find the biggest paperclip Dante! You’ll see, I’ll beat you!”

And with that, the little girl was off to the races, slamming the door shut in her wake.

I hopped out of bed, but there was only enough play in the chain for me to reach the bucket. To get any further, I had to scrape both the metal bed and the transmission noisily across the concrete floor, and that nasty old, rusted truck transmission must have weighed a cotton-pickin' ton. It was quite the workout, but I finally made it all the way over the workbench, where I searched frantically for anything that would cut the chain or pick the lock.

But I only had a minute or so at the bench before I heard the shed door creak open behind me. I turned to greet little Melody, only to come face to face with a rumpled woman in tee shirt and sweatpants. And carrying a 12-gauge pump shotgun.

Her body was fit and shapely, and her face was cute, even without makeup. And... how do I say this? She was hauling a large trailer. But you could tell that this was no college kid; here was a woman who had been around the block a few times. Also, she carried a shotgun. To her credit, she held the weapon across her body with the barrel pointed at the floor, and not at me. I remember thinking; did she give me the benefit of the doubt because we shared the same skin color?

“I hardly ever get enough sleep,” the woman complained, “So you can imagine how I felt when my daughter shook me awake for the… ‘emergency’ of helping her find paperclips for her new friend in the shed. She also called me a bitch, and apparently thought I would take that as a compliment. You feel good about yourself? Manipulating an innocent child?”

“You should have heard what I told my wife to get her to marry me. Now who do I have the honor of addressing this fine evening?”

“Leticia. Leticia Wainwright.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Wainwright. I am…”

“Dante Elijah Johnson. Project Manager, Phantom Drone. U.S. Army veteran and spy for the Communist Chinese Government.”

“At your service!” I declared, bowing low with a flourish. “I proudly… wait, wait, that last part is wrong. I am no spy.”

“Really? Cause that Mr. Forbes guy on all the news sites says you stole a top-secret device from your company and plan to turn it over to the Chinese.”

“Mr. Forbes is a glory-stealing weasel!” I snarled. “He wanted to take full credit for the Phantom Drone – which is my project by the way – and cut me and Molly out of the loop. That’s why I’m flying the drone to our company’s international headquarters in Seattle to turn it over to the Big Guy myself!”

Leticia tilted her head much like her daughter, seemingly deep in thought.

“I swear it’s the truth,” I begged. “You have to let me go. I’ve got to get out of here!”

“So, that guy… Mr. Forbes. He’s your boss?”

“Yeah?”

“He says the evidence for your conspiracy with the Chinese is all over your company emails and text messages.”

I paused, and took a deep breath before answering.

“Get yo lie straight,” the woman quipped.

“Leticia…” I begin, “I can call you Leticia, right?”

“Sure. Why not.”

“Leticia, I’m a 15-year Army veteran. If I turned traitor against this country I served faithfully for a decade and a half in hellhole after hellhole, do you think I would be stupid enough to put treasonous communications in my unencrypted company-assigned email and cell phone?”

“I don’t know,” Leticia answered, shrugging. “You were stupid enough to run off with this priceless… thing and think everybody wouldn’t assume you stole it.”

“I had to!” I shouted, quite a bit more defensively than I intended, because it made Leticia take a pronounced step back while visibly tightening her grip on the shotgun. Taking the hint, I immediately calmed and added, “I must be my own man. With my own money.”

“How does taking this… drone make you your own man?” the woman asked, cute face clouded with confusion. “And while we’re at it, did you fly it here? I mean to Fred’s Place?”

“Yeah, I flew it here.”

“Well, aren’t drones by definition unmanned?”

“You tell the world you’re making flying invisible Soldiers, every intelligence agency on the planet will be crawling up your butt. But drones? Drones are old hat. You tell the world you’re making a drone; no one cares. Besides, it doesn’t have to carry anyone, you can fly it remotely just like a regular dro…”

I finally took note of Leticia’s opened-mouth shocked face.

“Holy sh… crap!” she shouted. “That thing you flew turns you invisible?!”

A beat.

“Sorry to hear about what happened to your husband.”

“Melody told you that?” Leticia gasped, horrified. “That little stinker!”

“She’s a kid. Kids have no concept of family secrets. She also informed me that her father was a hero. Special Forces, Green Beret. It appears you have excellent taste in men, Mrs. Wainwright!”

“Ugh! Bradley!” my captor sighed, rolling her eyes. “If he survived one battle, he survived a hundred, only to return to his hometown to get murdered by a bunch of racist pigs. The cowards scattered like roaches after the shots. I rushed in to treat his wounds… you know, stabilize him long enough for the ambulance to arrive? But it takes forever for an ambulance to get anywhere out here, and by the time they arrived, my husband was… the man was gone. At least he died in my arms, not shrieking his life away in some foreign hellhole.”

“’Treat his wounds’?” I repeated, and glanced down at the tidy bandage on my right leg. “Were you the one who treated my wound?”

“Yeah. You had a ragged piece of metal shelving stuck in your calf. I stopped the bleeding, extracted the impaled object, debrided the wound, treated it with antiseptic, and then stitched you up. Everything but the stitches was done in a moving truck.”

“I’m pretty sure that if someone has a foreign object stuck in his body, you’re supposed to have a medical professional remove it.”

“I’m pretty sure the damned Nazis know where the hospital is,” Leticia retorted. “Besides, I am a medical professional!”

Then, it clicked. She wasn’t a doctor; a doctor would have her own car and wouldn’t have to work two jobs. Same for a nurse.

“You’re a Medic,” I declared. “Or at least you were.”

“Yeah, I was in the Army eight years. That’s where I met Bradley. Fell in love. Got married. Had a kid. When he ETS’ed out the Army, he took his family back with him to his hometown, out here to the middle of nowhere, where there are exactly two people who look like us… me and you.”

It took another deep breath before posing my next question.

“Look, ma’am,” I began. “I don’t mean to get all up in your business…”

“Yeah, you do,” spat Leticia. “You want to know why I can’t afford a reliable car or work two jobs when I have my Army pension and my husband’s survivor benefits.”

“You need to serve 20 years to get a pension.”

“Bingo. Being an Army vet, you would know that. But most of the people I explain this to aren’t military. As for the benefits I am entitled to, plus my late husband’s SBP and life insurance payments, my husband’s father still lives in my house, and his medical bills have put me deeply in debt.”

“Ouch. That sounds rough.”

“Eh, at least I get childcare out of it. Someone’s got to watch Melody while I’m gone 16 hours a day. And though that old man never thought much of me, he lives for his granddaughter.”

“’Your husband’s father never thought much of you? May I ask why?”

“Old coot’s crazy racist,” Leticia reported, and she took her left hand from the shotgun to turn her left arm up to me, saying, “Got a Nazi tattoo right here on his left forearm.”

“SS Schutzstaffel?”

The woman, wide-eyed and open-mouthed gasped, “How the hell do you know that?”

“You said, ‘Nazi tattoo’. In almost all cases that means a swastika or the double lightning bolts. While the latter usually passes in polite society, the former makes you an instant outcast.”

“Yeah well, he may be bigot, but he loves his biracial grandchild. Go figure.”

“Sounds to me like you could save a lot of money by having that Nazi live elsewhere while you pay regular childcare. Your husband’s gone, Leticia. Why do you have to be responsible for his dad?”

“He’s burned too many bridges,” Leticia sighed, sadly shaking her head while placing her left hand back into the proper position on the shotgun. “None of his family will have him. What can I do? Leave a sick, helpless old man to rot in the street? Besides, Melody adores her grandaddy.”

“Right. So, what is it you do for a living to be able to afford his…”

“School Nurse, at the local K through 12 school up the road a bit. I don’t exactly meet all the requirements, but until they can scam a fully Certified Registered Nurse into coming all the way out here for peanuts, I get the position. And as a bonus, I get to ride there on the school bus. Not exactly legal, but no one’s arrested me for it, yet.”

“And after school?”

“I ride back home on that same school bus and spend what time I can with my family before I have to catch some sleep. Then its off to the firehouse to be a paramedic. Jess drives me there – he’s a paramedic too, and we work the same shift. Nice guy.”

“Little Sistah, sounds like you work very hard to provide for your daughter and father-in-law. I am in awe.”

Here, Leticia flashed a sheepish grin up at me and did a little, barely perceptible twist.

“You give me too much credit, Mr. Johnson,” she giggled. “Both my jobs are about handling medical emergencies, but there are very few people out here, which means there are few emergencies. I spend most of my time getting paid to play video games, watch movies, and surf the Internet. The only downside is I hardly ever see my daughter. We go to school and come home at the same time, but I only have 8 hours to both tend to her and catch some sleep. It sucks!”

“Why don’t you sleep at the firehouse?” I suggested. “They can wake you when someone needs an ambulance, which you just told me isn’t that often.”

“Brother, you don’t think I’ve tried? The current Fire Chief’s a stickler for the rules, Dante. Last time I nodded off on shift, he threatened to fire me. I do catch some sleep in my office at the school, or rather I did, before the boys started waking me up all the time.”

“’The boys?’”

Leticia sighed and took a deep breath.

“Apparently, there’s some challenge going on currently to see which one of the high school Students can be the first to quote, ‘nail Tiana’ unquote.”

“Tiana? You mean like the princess from that cartoon frog movie?”

“Exactly. Those boys – and one girl -- keep showing up at the Nurse’s Office with BS complaints just so they can try and run game on me. I was frankly flattered at first, but now it’s just annoying.”

“Do any of them… you know, get too fresh? Like, actually touch you?”

“Yeah, a couple of them touched my butt. One of the football players totally grabbed my breasts in both hands from behind. His jeans were pressed against mine, so I could feel that he was… um… excited.”

“Unacceptable! You should sue.”

“And let three pathetic losers bankrupt this school district? We don’t get near enough funding as it is! Besides, so far slapping them in the face and telling those fools off has been all I needed to stop them. If ever I slap them and they still wanna clown, I got sump’n for em.”

“Nine-millimeter?”

“Hell yeah!”

“Impressive. You go girl! So... what video games do you play?”

That launched more discussion, punctuated by laughter. Not only did we both play video games, but we also mostly played the same ones. It was so refreshing to talk to another adult about overcoming such a challenge at such a point in a certain video game without the other person – say, your wife – looking at you like you’ve grown another head.

Admittedly, I had an ulterior motive. Leticia had the power to destroy my life, so it was in my interest to make myself as much a human being as possible in the eyes of my captor, just like the SERE Manual says. To this end, I looked deep into her soft brown doe eyes, smiled frequently, and complimented her often. In fact, it was so much fun just spending time with Leticia Wainwright that when she finally checked her watch, I was astounded to learn that two hours had passed since she’d first entered the chat. The shed. She entered the shed.

“Well Dante, seems like you’re a decent enough guy. Do you know your company is offering a million dollars for information leading to your arrest?”

“Only a million?”

She burst out laughing at that. When her laughter subsided to a chuckle, she continued, “It’s a shame, really. Melody and I could really use that money.”

“Leticia,” I told her, “Some of our facilities have emergency medical personnel on site. When I get this big promotion, and that will be very soon, I'll give you a job. Aside from great pay, you’ll also have great benefits, like a family health insurance plan that should really help with your father-in-law’s medical bills.”

She barked another laugh at that, adding, “Oh, Dante, Dante. It seems your pride – what with this, ‘I must be my own man’ thing, whatever the hell that means – has blinded you to the practical reality of your situation. I’m afraid you are not going to like how this story ends. That being said, I will be happy to set you free and give you a ride back to your precious Phantom Drone.”

“I thought you said you didn’t have a car.”

“I don’t. Jess lets me use his old pickup truck whenever he’s not using it, and at the moment, it’s still parked in his driveway.”

I sniffed, taken aback.

“Sounds like this Jess guy likes you. A lot.”

“He does, but he’s married. I frequently find myself reminding him of that fact.”

“Wow, everybody in this town wants you Leticia, and I can see why!”

“Thanks Romeo, but there’s a ring on your finger as well. Also, you wife’s boo-hooing all over social media about how your Chief Engineer is brainwashing you, and how this whole Chinese espionage plot is that engineer’s idea; you’re just a helpless pawn in her evil game. Yeah. It’s ridiculous of course, but she’s pretty, and she’s got the right skin color, so her views and likes are off the charts!”

I took a deep, calming breath and then slowly blew it out.

“I can pay you; you know? For fixing my leg?”

“Believe me Dante, you already have. You had a thick wad of crisp hundred dollars bills on you. I took $200 for the leg, and trust me, you can’t even ride the ambulance for two hundred. I jacked fifty to clean the blood out of Jess’ truck and another fifty for your fine accommodations at Hotel Wainwright.”

*

Jess’ old truck rattled and roared as Leticia navigated the narrow road winding through the evergreen forest ‘neath a starry sky. The way ahead was just barely illuminated in the truck’s surprisingly weak headlights, but Leticia sped along without apparent care. I let it go; after all I owed that woman, I wasn’t about to criticize her driving.

“Thanks for the ride,” I muttered, staring up at the view; the kind of enchanting star display you just don’t get with all the light pollution in a large city.

“Eh, you paid for it.”

“Yeah, it’s a good thing you found me when you did.”

“Oh, that wasn’t just some random coincidence,” my driver quickly explained, “Jess brought me lunch at the school, but while he was there, he received a call that some homeboy was wandering around the parking lot at Fred’s Place. Jess and I were on our way to warn you about Fred before something bad happened and thank God we did.”

As if on cue, we pulled into view of the brightly lit gas station.

“This place still open?” I asked.

“It’s a convenience store, Dante.”

“I just can’t believe folks around here pay such outrageous gas prices.”

“Usually, we don’t. There’s a truck stop in the nearest town about half an hour down the mountain. But that’s the point; it’s half an hour there and another 30 minutes back. If you want to buy something, but you don’t want to drive at least an hour to get it, then Fred’s Place is literally the only game in town. Like I said, it’s a convenience store. Everything’s convenient but the price.”

“Stop the car.”

“Yes sir!” Leticia reported, lifting her right hand from the wheel to give me a quick salute before she eased the car on over to the side of the road.

“Hey little Sistah, you got a pocket makeup kit? One with a mirror?”

“Not on me. You see the way that crack runs all the way across the rearview mirror?”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“Well, Jess bought a new one a couple of days ago but hasn’t installed it yet. If you need it, it’s right under the seat.”

I reached under my seat and brought out a box. Sure enough, there was a brand-new rearview mirror in it, which I promptly removed.

“You’ll understand if I don’t just go busting in through the front door,” I quipped, opening the passenger side door, and stepping out into the dark. “Do keep the engine running.”

“Stay safe, Brother.”

I walked from the road through a patch of forest, approaching the store from the rear. The mountain wind cut through my thin tee shirt, chilling me. I couldn’t move near as fast as I wished, for fear of bursting the stitches on my right calf. Also, every right step burned. Not near enough to make me stop walking, but plenty annoying.

Even at this altitude, the crickets were chirping merrily. I waited a minute, kneeling just inside the tree cover to watch and listen for any “friends” hiding in ambush. Confident no one was there, I worked my way around the building to the metal roof access ladder and paused under it to listen. Again, I heard no one. Then I slowly climbed the ladder as quietly as I could. Near the top, I lifted the truck’s rearview mirror with my left hand over the edge of the roof, so I could recon the objective without exposing my face to whoever might be waiting there with a machine gun.

I don’t know why I bothered; it was too dark to see much of anything. The glaring sign advertising the name of the store and its fuel prices offered some light, but it mostly swathed the roof in shadow. Nothing to it but to do it. I heaved myself over onto the roof and crept to where I’d stashed the Phantom Drone.

Nothing. My arctic parka, snow pants, and snow boots were missing. My backpack full of camping supplies was nowhere to be seen. The Phantom Drone was gone.