As Caplan darted down another stretch of sidewalk, he felt his mind break free of the chains he’d wrapped around it. Memories — ones he’d kept at bay for months — flooded his brain. They swarmed within him, around him. They consumed him.
Consumed his very soul.
Chapter 9
“I need a favor, buddy. But you’re not going to like it.”
“Hang on.” Zach Caplan typed a few more keys, bringing up one of fourteen cameras operating within Sector 76. An image of grassland, covered with four inches of snow, appeared on his monitor. He studied the grassland, a popular corridor for many of the Vallerio’s animals, for fresh tracks. Seeing none, he whirled around in his chair and eyed the newcomer with suspicion. “Forget it.”
Tony Morgan popped a frown. At six feet, two inches and a hefty 220 pounds, Tony was a giant of a man. Between his set jaw and a few days of stubble, he reminded Caplan of a former football player. But Tony had never played traditional sports, preferring instead to focus on outdoor activities like cycling, kayaking, and caving. “But I haven’t even told you what the favor is,” he replied.
“You’re the one asking for it. That’s all I need to know.”
Tony shook his head in mock sadness. “Is this how you treat all your friends?”
“Only the ones who keep asking me to break the rules.”
“I swear this is the last time. It’s just that—”
“Wait, let me guess.” Caplan tapped his jaw in mock thought. “You’re making a wreath, but ran out of leaves. Or maybe you need to collect droppings to fertilize your pretend garden. Or maybe—”
“Laugh all you want,” Tony said, “but every single one of those trips had a purpose.”
“A bullshit purpose.”
“Maybe so.” He smiled. “But they still had purpose.”
Chief Ranger brought with it certain responsibilities, including control over the keys to Roadster, Hatcher’s primary ground vehicle. Equipped with four-wheel drive and numerous other off-road features, it was well suited for the Vallerio’s varied terrain.
But while Caplan maintained physical control of Roadster, actual control rested in the hands of Deborah Keifer, the president of the Vallerio Foundation. Anyone who wanted to use the vehicle had to file a specific research request with her. If she approved it — which was rare — Caplan would receive a notification from her office. It was then his job to select the appropriate date and time for the outing, based on weather conditions and animal movements.
Caplan took a deep breath as he spun back to his keyboard. “Did you file a request with Deborah?”
Tony hesitated. “Umm… yes?”
“And she approved it?”
“Do we really need to do this?”
Caplan looked at him for a few seconds. “What’s in it for me if I help you?” he asked.
“A bottle of Hamron’s Horror.”
Caplan’s ears perked at the name of his favorite scotch. “I was kidding.”
“I know. But it’s still yours if you give me the keys.”
Caplan liked Tony, liked him a lot. The guy hadn’t even batted an eye when Caplan had started dating his sister. But he’d made a mistake by letting Tony take Roadster out for an unauthorized spin a few weeks back. Ever since then, the guy wouldn’t leave him alone.
“Where to?” Caplan asked.
Again, Tony hesitated. “Sector 84.”
Caplan’s fingers flew across his keyboard. Within seconds, six video feeds appeared on his screen. They showed a heavily wooded area, drenched in snow. Like the grassland in Sector 76, this particular stretch of snow was pristine. “Not much activity,” he said. “What’s your interest in 84?”
Tony pursed his lips and arched both eyebrows in comical fashion.
“I see,” Caplan said slowly. “You’re not interested in 84. So, why do you need Roadster?”
“I just… need a break from this place.”
Caplan sympathized with that. Hatcher Station was a neat place to live, but he often felt cooped up within its walls. He longed to run through the Vallerio, to explore it. To see it for real rather than over video feeds.
On the other hand, rules were rules. They existed for a reason. Keeping the Vallerio free of human influence allowed Hatcher’s staff to observe and record nature at its wildest. The scientific benefits were immeasurable.
“So, what do you say?” Tony asked. “Can I take Roadster?”
“Yes,” Caplan replied after a moment. “But I’m coming with you.”
Chapter 10
The loud honk reverberated in Caplan’s ears. Memories of that crisp, cool January day vacated his mind. He became aware of his surroundings. The hot pavement under his trail runners. Pulsing, swirling heat upon his chest. The smell of engine exhaust mixed with New York’s standard grab bag of gag-inducing odors.
He swiveled to the right. Fixed his gaze upon a well-waxed sport utility vehicle. A couple of dings, nothing big though, lined its shiny red surface. Its chrome wheels glinted in the early morning sun. Waves of heat emanated from its hood.
Like so many of its brethren, the SUV had most likely been purchased for fashion reasons rather than functional ones. The concept, like so many other aspects of civilization, was utterly foreign to him.
Desk jobs, retirement plans, farmer’s markets, organic groceries, art exhibitions, Broadway shows, celebrity tours… he’d dealt with them all in one form or another over the last five months. And while he rarely saw value in any of those things, he didn’t dismiss them either. After all, he was the weird one. The fish out of water, so to speak.
More honks rang out, joining forces to form one mighty blaring noise. Caplan felt eyes, dozens of them, staring in his direction. Shifting his gaze, he looked past the SUV. Cars and taxis were lined up as far as he could see, filling the air with electrical heat and noxious fumes.
“Get out of the road, asshole!”
Caplan glanced at the red SUV. The driver, a petite brunette in a tight black shirt stared back at him from behind the windshield. Her tiny hands held the steering wheel in a death grip. Her jaw quivered in fury.
What was it with these city folks anyway? Always in a hurry to go nowhere, always angry at the slightest delay.
As Caplan trudged across the street to the waiting sidewalk, a second wave of loneliness crashed over him. He missed Amanda Morgan. Tony Morgan, too. And he missed all the other people who lived and worked at Hatcher Station. More generally, he missed being around people like himself. People who sought out the wild rather than artificial parks. People who preferred nature’s clock to that of mankind. Five months ago, leaving it all behind had seemed like his only choice. A bit of penance for sins that could never be forgiven.
But had that really been the right move?
Rubber squealed as the red SUV shot into the intersection, turned left, and disappeared from his life. The stream of cars and taxis followed after it, their drivers burning his ears with shouts of “jerk” and “dumbass.” And then they too were gone. Bystanders, attracted by all the commotion, turned away. Life in the city went on, same as before.
Caplan hiked past a small Thai restaurant and stopped next to a brick wall. He placed his back against it and tipped his head upward. He took deep breaths. Shallow breaths. And deep breaths again.
Now that he thought about it — really thought about it — he found himself doubting his decisions. His decision to leave Hatcher Station. His decision to relocate to Manhattan. And most recently, his decision to turn down Corbotch.