“Hey!” Rick said, trying to jerk away as the man stuck a needle into his arm.
But the guy grabbed him with his other hand and held him in place. “Sorry about that. Was really hoping you’d decide to follow my friends on your own. Could have avoided this.”
“What?” Rick was suddenly dizzy, and while he heard the man’s words, he couldn’t quite understand their meaning.
“It’s all right. Here, let me help you down,” the man said.
Before Rick realized it, he was sitting on the concrete floor.
“What are you doing?” Rick asked, the words feeling heavy in his mouth.
The man had another needle in his hand and was moving it toward Rick’s arm.
“You don’t want to get sick, do you?”
The prick of the needle stung less than the one a moment before. Still, Rick wanted to brush it away. He tried to raise a hand, but apparently it was content to stay in his lap.
“Sorry for all this,” the man said. “But we couldn’t let you die out here.”
Rick closed his eyes and put a hand to his forehead as the world began to sway.
“Just relax,” the man told him. “Here.”
Rick was moving backward, slow and steady. When he opened his eyes again, he was staring up at the ceiling.
“Let it take you,” the man said.
Take me? Rick thought. Take me where?
“Close your eyes.”
As if acting on their own, his lids slid shut, and everything went black.
“Sleep.”
Once more, the power of suggestion worked its magic.
Hiller chose the best of the last three remaining snowplows on the lot, loaded the kid into the passenger seat, and headed south. Between them was the portable radio Matt had never intended to leave behind.
When they reached the interstate, Hiller turned on the radio, checked to make sure it was set to the right frequency, and picked up the mic.
“Retrieval to M1,” he said. “Retrieval to M1.”
Matt’s voice jumped out of the speaker only seconds later. “This is M1. Go, Retrieval.”
“En route. Had to go active.”
“That’s too bad. Glad you’re on the way, though. Wait for you at checkpoint three.”
“Copy. Checkpoint three.”
Two hundred miles to the west, on board the Project Eden helicopter that was now flying in a parallel southward direction, the copilot, charged with monitoring radio transmissions, picked up the faintest of voices, hearing words like “is” and “route” and “bad” and “three.” The static was so bad, though, he couldn’t tell if it was one voice or two.
As he tried to fine-tune his reception, the transmission ceased. He hunted around, hoping to pick it up again, but there was nothing.
Since he had no idea what was being said, and no way of knowing which direction it came from, he decided not to disclose the information to Sims and the others. If he did, he was sure his boss would order them to search for the source, a task that would only succeed in keeping them through the storm.
Better to keep heading south. In a few more hours, they’d be in the relative warmth of New Mexico.
14
Martina knew it was a bad idea before she tried it. But she also knew, if they were ever going to get on the road again, the first step would be to open her eyes.
Thankfully, she had had the sense to close the curtains before toppling into bed after their New Year’s Eve celebration. If not, she’d have been permanently blinded by the sunlight.
Dear God, her head hurt.
How much had she had to drink? Three glasses of champagne? Or was it four? Could her head hurt that much from only four glasses? She had no idea. She hardly ever drank, and quite possibly never would again.
Maybe it had been more than four. She had a fuzzy memory of someone — Noreen, she thought — suggesting they walk back to the liquor store for another bottle when they ran out, but she had no recollection of actually doing so.
What was it her college roommate Crissy told her? “For every glass of alcohol, drink a glass of water. That’s the secret.”
Well, Martina had drunk absolutely no water the night before. That was one thing she did remember. Though it would be hours too late, she could probably use some now.
She flopped her legs off the bed and sat up. Immediately, she froze as her stomach did a complete somersault, threatening to disgorge everything it held.
“Please don’t, please don’t, please don’t, please don’t,” she said under her breath.
When the tumult in her abdomen eased, she tried slowly rising to her feet. The trip to the bathroom was made in a series of step-pauses that probably would have looked hilarious if she had not been the one doing it. There had been a glass on the sink the evening before but it wasn’t there now, so she cupped her hands and fed water straight from the tap into her mouth.
The first couple gulps went down with relief, but the third was a mistake. She barely lifted the lid off the toilet before the water and the rest of her stomach contents made a quick, loud exit.
When she was through, she felt better. Even her headache had eased. Though she was apprehensive, she knew she should drink some more. This time she stopped at the two gulps and was relieved when they seemed to stay down.
Thinking a shower would help even more, she stripped off her clothes and climbed in. She was pleased to find the motel’s water heater still worked. Standing head bent under the warm stream, she let the water pound into her neck and shoulders for several minutes before washing herself. When she finally climbed out, she actually felt, if not exactly normal, 65 to 70 percent there. She toweled off, carried her dirty clothes into the other room, pulled out something clean from her bag, and got dressed.
Though she knew she’d been making a lot of noise, both Noreen and Riley were lying exactly as they had been when Martina had gone into the bathroom. She tiptoed to the door adjoining the two rooms and peeked inside. Craig was still out, too.
Well, this was going to be fun. “Happy New Year, everyone,” she said in as loud a voice as her head would allow her. “Time to get up!”
“The Rose Parade,” Noreen said.
All four of them were sitting around the same table at Carl’s Jr. they had used the night before. Martina had found some frozen sausages and hamburger buns in the back, and had been able to get enough of the kitchen gear working to warm everything up.
At first, no one wanted to touch the food, but after the initial bites were taken, everyone devoured his or her portions and asked for more.
“What about it?” Riley asked.
“I missed it. It’s always over by now.”
Martina eyed her friend wearily. “Noreen, I’m fairly certain there was no parade this year.”
For a moment Noreen said nothing, lost in melancholy. “I know that. It’s just kind of a tradition. Mom and I would always get up early on New Year’s Day and watch.”
“It’s just a boring parade,” Craig said. “You’re not missing anything.”
Martina and Riley turned on him, glaring.
“What?” he asked.
“Were you born an idiot?” Martina asked.
“It’s okay,” Noreen said. “He’s right. It is boring. Was boring. The last couple of years Mom had to force me to get up with her.” Her gaze drifted out the window. “I really wish she’d had to do that today.”