‘What can you see?’ he asked.
‘Nothing really - the blind is down, and there’s just a tiny space at the side of it.’
‘What if you look down?’
Vicki cast her eyes downward. ‘Just the window ledge.’
‘Anything on it?’
‘Yeah, a small white ashtray, with some nickels and dimes in it?’
‘But, that’s all you can see on there?’
‘Yeah.’ Vicki pulled back from the glass and turned to Leighton. ‘Didn’t tell me much.’
‘If your friend was in there, even just because of an accident - carbon monoxide, a slippery bathtub or faulty electrics say - well, after two or three weeks, that window ledge would be covered in flies. In summer like this, they can fill a house in a fortnight. I also checked the windows at the front and side, they’re clean, too. All of the main access points into the property are secured and undisturbed.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I believe it means you are going to buy me lunch.’
Vicki fixed him with a surprised expression, though not entirely shocked by his comment.
‘It’s okay.’ Leighton smiled. ‘Now we know her home is secure, we can discuss where Laurie is most likely to be, but we do it over some food, okay?’
‘Okay.’ Vicki sighed and smiled. ‘Let’s go, Sherlock.’
They walked back to the car, and climbed inside. It was just as Leighton had started to drive along the road Vicki grabbed his arm to stop him.
‘Oh shit! Hang on,’
The car lurched to a stop.
‘What’s wrong?’ Leighton asked, as he applied the parking brake.
‘I left my bag in the yard, hang on,’ she said, as she unclipped her seat belt, and clambered out of the car.
‘I’ll wait,' Leighton said, 'but the meter is running.’
Sighing, he picked up a bundle of tape cassettes and began choosing his next play list. A few moments later, Vicki climbed back into the passenger seat, clutching her bag to her chest. Leighton noticed she was breathing hard, too, with a mist of spray on her forehead.
‘Bit stressed. Thought you’d lost it, huh?’ Leighton said, as he restarted the engine.
‘Yeah.’ Vicki nodded. ‘My backpack is my life.’
‘Amen to that,’ he said, and the car rolled along the dusty track towards the centre of town.
12
As he lay on the ground, with his hot urine soaking through his shirt, California Highway Patrol Officer Charlie Taylor marvelled at how quickly circumstances could change. Nineteen minutes earlier, he had been cruising along Route 138, where the freeway cut through the San Bernardino National Forest.
Around that time, he had felt the first grumbling of hunger starting to form in his gut, and was thinking about a stopping off at the Lazy Faire Ranch for a burger. The place was only a few miles down the road, and the traffic was light for a weekday, so Charlie was confident he could get there less than in ten minutes. The afternoon was warm and bright, and as he sped through the dappled light of the forest on the BMW, the officer noticed something glinting through the jagged chaos of the trees.
Slowing down the bike, he turned his head to get a better look, and realised something large and silver was sitting partially concealed by the fringe of trees bordering the highway. Charlie pulled into a lay-by and, after waiting for a stream of cars to pass, turned his bike around and crossed over on to the north bound side.
As he cruised along the highway running parallel to the treeline, Charlie could clearly see shiny metal panels. As an officer with six years’ experience, he knew there was no designated parking this far north in the park. It therefore seemed likely the vehicle was possibly stolen, then abandoned. He slowed the bike to a stop on the verge of the road. Kicking down the stand, he climbed off his bike, and unclipped his helmet in a single practised move.
As he walked towards the trees, the officer glimpsed more metal from the object set back into the woods. Initially, he had thought it might be a food van, or even an old style polished RV, but stepping through the shadowy trees, he could see the actual size of the vehicle, which appeared large enough to be an HC trailer. He stumbled on a gnarled root and had to grab on to a tree for support. Although he was only moving twenty or so metres away from the freeway, Charlie noticed how eerily quiet the area was – as if someone had turned down the volume on the cosmic remote.
By the time he had walked several more metres towards the vehicle, Charlie realised there was no bird sounds either, just the regular sound of his own breathing. For some reason, he found himself thinking of the “Teddy Bears’ Picnic” song - it slipped into his head, and occupied the void left by the departing sounds of the world.
Leaving the treeline, Charlie stepped into a rough clearing, and paused in confusion before a large GMC style bus. This was not something which belonged in the middle of the woods. The bulk of the body of the vehicle was a dull silver colour, and the windows were dark and grimy. The officer figured it had been the sun glinting off the metal panels which had initially snared his attention. Still, it was strange to find something like this in the middle of nowhere. There was no actual road here; it looked like the bus had simply dropped from the heavens, or been pushed up from below.
Charlie’s eyes narrowed as he peered beneath the bus. The weeds sticking out of the dry earth appeared to be green and healthy, suggesting the bus had only arrived there recently. He stood up and gazed around at the ground and bushes. The immediate vicinity looked as if a cluster of vehicles had recently been parked nearby. Moving cautiously closer to the bus, the officer’s right hand instinctively found the solid comfort of his Smith and Wesson. He slid along the side of the bus, and reached the open door. Darting his head around to glance through the opening, he found the drivers’ seat was empty. Most likely whoever had dumped the bus here was long gone.
‘Hello?’ he called out. ‘Police. Is anyone aboard the vehicle?’
There was no reply.
Holding his gun before him like torch, Charlie Taylor boarded the bus.
Stepping up into the silence of the vehicle, the officer noticed an unusual smell that reminded him not of public transport, but a hospital or dental surgery - clean and antiseptic. He moved slowly along the central aisle, suppressing the urge to run his hands along the headrests. A sweep of the bus revealed it was not only empty, but utterly spotless. This fact struck Charlie as seriously weird. He had been on numerous buses in his life, but none of them looked like you could eat your dinner off the floor.
As he stepped off the bus and into the bright sunlight, Charlie decided the best way to deal with the situation was to radio it in, and get a team out here to investigate the scene. The technicians could use their tape and tubes, and Charlie could sit down for lunch. Turning his head to one side, he brought his hand up to the chest-mounted radio and paused. There was something wrong beneath his feet. It was the combination of sound and texture that drew his attention. Staring down at his feet, he realised he was standing on a wide square of clear plastic sheeting. This was something that had definitely not been there before he boarded the bus.
Before he had time to process the terrible implication of this shift in his environment, Charlie Taylor felt a sharp wasp-like sting on the left side of his neck. His hand shot up to the site of the pain, where his fingers found the small source of his discomfort. Pulling the foreign body from his flesh, he stared at it, and momentarily thought it was some type of insect. But, as he brought his hand closer to his face, Charlie found himself staring at a steel dart, with an orange furry tail. Before he had time to process this development, his right leg suddenly buckled beneath him, and Charlie felt himself collapse on to the slick plastic sheeting.