As dark as it had been all day, it was actually getting lighter as night fell. We weren’t about to complain. Climbing the cliffs, we walked past a splintered wooden sign that read “Mavericks.” We were just south of San Francisco. Crap. We were way farther north than we’d intended to be. What the hell were those ships doing way up here? The Qi Jia base in Los Angeles had to have seen the rescue planes pass and sent patrols up this direction—hopefully just on the water. Based on our most recent intel report, there shouldn’t have been any military in California north of LA.
Keena pulled a map out of her backpack and clicked on her penlight. “Danny, we’ve got to cut through Yosemite from here. We can’t come up from the south anymore.”
I nodded. “Anything wrong with that?”
“I don’t know. It’s kind of like a funnel through there—one way, nowhere to hide. But there shouldn’t be anyone up here, right? I mean, they’re not looking for us, right?”
“Don’t think so. Yosemite makes sense. I’m good with that. Blake, you think they still keep all those special ATVs in the lot at Area 51?”
“Back home?”
“No. Fifty-one, not fifty-two. In Nevada.”
“Ah… Yeah. The DPV’s or the Batmobiles?
“Desert Patrol Vehicles would be great. There’s only three of us.”
“Yeah. Of course, man. They keep everything there. Anything high-tech you can imagine.”
“Hope so.” I looked at the map carefully. “Coming in from this angle is going to change everything. It’s a lot less direct.” I traced my finger from where we were through Yosemite to Creech Air Force Base, to Cedar City and along I-70 to Breckenridge, south on 9, north on 11, and finally east to the Pringtime Reservoir. This would be so much easier with a plane.
“We’ve gotta find a car first,” Keena said.
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Blake answered. “If anyone was out here surfing during the chemical attacks, their cars would still be here.”
He was right. Surfers would not have been a priority of Qi Jia’s demolition crews.
The lot was indeed full of cars, but it took hotwiring a dozen before we found one with a battery that still had juice. “What surfer drives a Dodge Charger?” Blake asked.
“Hey, don’t complain.” Keena shoved him playfully. “It has gas in it, and it isn’t a Prius.”
“A Prius would’ve started on the first try.”
“Hey, both of you.” I shook my head in mock disgust. “Did you seriously compare a Charger to a Prius?” The idea of the three of us packed into a small Toyota was rather amusing. I’ll definitely take the Charger. We loaded up our gear and headed east, rounding up enough gas from a couple stations to fill our tank and head for Yosemite. The entire Bay Area was dark and abandoned. We didn’t see a single light. I’d forgotten how eerie it felt to be here. Several sets of chills coursed through my body as I thought about it. This really happened. It still was so impossible to believe.
And then my mind drifted off to Hayley. Where are you now? Please tell me you’re still alive. God, please keep her safe. The fact that she clearly wasn’t fighting against Lazzo was still eating at me, but there had to be a good reason for it. I had to get to her. I’m coming, Hayley. I’m coming.
ACT II
TWENTY-EIGHT – Long Hungry Gulch (Hayley)
We had followed Baker’s two planes across the country undetected—far as we could tell—until we flew over Grand Junction. I should say until they flew over Grand Junction. Lazzo, didn’t take us anywhere near it. Baker knew there was a military base there. Danny had marked them all on the map for him. I had no idea what made him pass so close to it. But on the radar screen the two dots we were following became one after Grand Junction. Evidently we’d lost one of the planes. And the element of surprise. Whoever saw the one probably saw the other. And if that plane had been shot down, Qi Jia would be scrambling troops to go investigate. That had been Thursday afternoon. They probably found the downed plane Friday morning, and by yesterday I was sure they had an entire army out looking for us—or them. Awesome.
The other plane was supposed to land at an old airfield in Aspen—150 miles from Cheyenne Mountain—but someone had changed that plan “on the fly,” too. Because we couldn’t afford to lose them, we followed them—on radar—all the way to where they landed, near the Catamount reservoirs—thirty miles from Cheyenne Mountain. When we knew they’d landed, we kept our eyes peeled for an isolated place—well south of them—where we could hide out. We found an old US Forest Service Smokejumper base slightly southwest of Cripple Creek—in an area called Long Hungry Gulch—with its own airstrip and hangar, and took advantage of that.
According to our radar, we were 34.8 miles southwest of the other plane and 28.4 miles west of Knight’s Peak. I wasn’t yet sure why that was relevant, but Lazzo had asked me to check. Perhaps that’s where we’re supposed to meet Danny? From our hideout we’d be able to see if the rescue plane took off again or if anyone approached their area. It was stupid of them to land so close to both Denver and Colorado Springs. We at least had a mountain range between us and the Qi Jia bases. Someone had to have seen the rescue plane approach and would have combined their arrival with intel from Grand Junction. Apparently Baker was trying to reduce the overall extraction time—of General Niles and whoever else was left in the bunker—but that wouldn’t matter if the enemy saw them coming. And how can they not? If indeed it was Baker who’d made that decision, he had likely transformed their hopeful rescue mission into a certain suicide mission. Idiot. Idiots.
I was keeping a close eye on the radar. Lazzo had informed me, “If we can see them, they can see us”—and “they” could be Qi Jia too. Therefore he’d suggested we unplug the radar if anything else showed up on the screen. I hated the idea of being blind, but I agreed it was probably the right move.
I had also kept a very close eye on him the past three days. On Friday he’d left for about two hours. When he returned, he seemed almost happy yet also more nervous. He kept looking at the radar screen, but he wouldn’t tell me why. Eventually he admitted he’d left to make a call.
“A two hour phone call? And you have a phone?” I was beside myself until he assured me the two calls he’d made had each been less than a minute.
“There’s no way they tracked me,” he said.
He wouldn’t tell me what he was doing the rest of the time, or give me any more details for that matter, but after Flynn fell asleep that night, I approached him and asked if everything was still a go. He didn’t say anything, but he nodded. I lay down and closed my eyes and then heard him say my name.
“What?”
His words gave me chills. “He’s coming.”
I spun over and looked at him, but he had his back to me now, also lying down. “Who?” He had to mean Danny. “How do you—are you sure? Lazzo?”