Calvin and Freddie were in motion before he was. Freddie’s younger legs carried him and he dashed into the Airstream trailer at least ten yards in front of the others. By the time Cooper pulled the door open again, Freddie was already on his way out.
“Nothing,” he lamented.
Cooper’s hand cradled his jaw as he thought, “Where could she be?”
“Who?” Angela asked, walking up, while supporting Buck with her arm hooked around him.
Cooper turned to face her, “Julianne’s missing, too.”
“And?” Angela replied coldly.
“Enough,” Cooper flatly replied, cutting her off with his fierce eyes as much as his tone. “She’s the ticket to getting to the final truth about the Brushfire Plague.”
Angela rolled her eyes, “Whatever you want to tell yourself, Cooper.”
They conversed as the group slowly migrated back to the cabin. Dranko took over supporting Buck’s gingerly steps from Angela. She retreated to the shed to clean up the supplies left lying about when she had tended to Buck. Dranko helped him sit on one of the crude benches that fronted the cabin. Buck fished a cigarette out from his shirt packet and lit it. Cooper noted his still shaky hands.
“Why would they take Julianne, but tie Buck up and leave him?” Cooper mused.
Buck blew out a blast of smoke, “That’s easy. She’s a damn sight better looking than me!” The others laughed for a moment.
“Timothy’s dead. They let Freddie retreat. They knock Buck upside the head. They take Julianne and Jake. Doesn’t add up,” Cooper continued.
“Could just be the simple fact that no plan survives the point of contact with the enemy,” Dranko answered.
“Ah, what’s that mean?” Freddie asked.
Cooper looked annoyed, “It just means that maybe this wasn’t their plan. Maybe it just happened.”
“That makes sense to me. They probably only came for Jake and then Julianne got rounded up with them, somehow.”
Cooper looked unsure, “We’ll figure it out.”
“I’m gonna miss these when they run out,” Buck said, having ignored their conversation. He was holding out the cigarette, blowing a stream of smoke, and gazing at it all longingly.
“I picked up the habit in the Corps, but quit cold turkey the day I got serious about being prepared,” Dranko responded.
“Why’s that?” Calvin asked him.
“You can’t really be prepared and be addicted to anything.”
“Because it would run out?”
“Exactly. I used to laugh my ass off at others who were getting ready for the end of the world, but would be puffing away on a Marlboro while loading up their bulk food,” Dranko extolled as he laughed.
Cooper, Freddie, and Calvin smiled politely. Dranko saw the others’ muted reactions and waved his hand to dismiss them. He turned and headed back into the cabin without another word.
Moments later, he returned from the cabin with a white piece of paper in hand. Seeing that stirred Cooper.
“Ransom note?”
“Looks like it. It just gives you a radio channel to contact them.”
Cooper snatched it from his hands. He scanned it, confirming the contents.
“You going to call them?” Calvin asked.
“In a minute. I need to think about it for a minute,” he said, before moving off toward the garden area to give himself time to think.
He clutched the paper that held the radio channel in his hands. It felt rough against his fingertips when he rubbed them together. He studied the handwriting, wondering if it was Hodges’ or not. He studied it for a moment to see if he could divine the personality of the writer. You’re stalling, his inner voice warned him.
Cooper shook his head and then looked up, “Alright, where are you now?” He beckoned the Heavens for advice from his dead father, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply to clear his mind. He heard the murmur of voices from back at the cabin. The wind rustled the leaves of the trees that lined the property. An insect buzzed by his left ear. He inhaled the sweet smell of the pine trees clustered off to his right. His mind drifted.
The young boy eased the black leather shoes off of his Father’s feet. For the seven year old, it took straining his muscles to get it done. Once the shoes were off, Cooper made a big display of fanning his hand across his face, “Peee-Yoooo. They stink!”
His father rolled with laughter, despite having seen this ritual many times. His father’s laugh infected him and Cooper fell into wild, gleeful, laughter. As it subsided, they both sat in the glow found in the shared moment that had become their routine. Cooper splayed his legs out on the floor and unzipped the shoeshine kit. As he always did, he brought the kit to his nose and inhaled. He loved the smell of the polish, cleaning cloths, and the horsehair brush. He was especially proud of the brush: a gift he had bought for his father.
Looking up, “What were you doing today, Papa?”
His father arched his back, groaning, “Negotiations.”
“Nego-what?”
Cooper began to apply polish to one of his father’s shoes, setting to work diligently working it into the leather. His father smiled down at him.
“Negotiations.”
“What’s that?”
His father cocked an eyebrow, “Tough to explain. Let’s see. It’s when two sides come together and try to compromise.”
Cooper stopped his work, “Huh?”
His father laughed heartily again, “Sorry. It’s like when you try to figure out who gets to watch their TV show with your brother.”
Satisfied with that explanation, Cooper set back to polishing, “Arrgghh! So, it’s no fun!”
“Yes, sir. It’s not very much fun.”
“Are you good at it?” The child’s words held the tone of assurance that every seven year old has that his father is a god, omnipotent.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“What makes you good?”
“It’s simple, really. Know what your side wants. Know what the other side wants. Try to work it out.”
“What if you both HAVE to watch a show at the same time?” Cooper squealed.
His father chuckled, “Then it gets hard. Do you want to know what my secret is?” He had a devilish look on his face as he leaned down to whisper in his son’s ear. Cooper’s face exploded into a smile and a furious nod.
His father made a display of looking to his left and his right, as if to ensure no enemy agents were lurking nearby.
“I act a little crazy. Out of control. The other guys always hate unpredictable things!” His father cackled at delight of a joke his son had no way of understanding at that time. Confused, Cooper settled into shining his father’s shoes and the rest of the talk was easy banter.
A week later, when Cooper smashed a lamp against his brother’s head during a heated exchange over a TV show, his father fought to restrain his laughter when his wife told him what Cooper had said, “I was just acting crazy in my negosheeayshuns!”
As Cooper’s attention came back to the present, he was chuckling to himself.
He strode confidently back to the cabin, knowing what he had to do now. Raise Hodges on the radio. Plead for this son’s life. Act more unhinged than he was. Present himself unpredictability to throw Hodges off his game. He was mentally rehearsing what he would say when the throb of an engine whirring up the drive disturbed him.