Authors: Shawn Hopkins
He watched the faded yellow lines fly toward him, constantly turning an upward eye to the sky. There were a lot of things that weren’t adding up in Mayhew’s story, the relationship between the priest and Daniel, whatever their different agendas could be, how they got here, and who they answered to. But the one thing that wouldn’t leave his mind was why Mayhew would have risked his life to get the ring back. It seemed to stand in stark contrast to the rest of his story, against his confession that he didn’t know what it was. But again, he tried putting it out of his mind. He didn’t care. He only wanted to get rid of Mayhew and head to Canada. The ring wasn’t his problem. It had been sent to Jack, and Jack was dead. But as Mayhew lay sleeping in the seat beside him, he found that he
couldn’t
ignore the mysterious puzzle that the ring presented.
He didn’t know, however, that a large piece of that puzzle was resting in the canvas bag still hanging over his shoulder, beneath the stolen army jacket.
18
S
cott pulled the Humvee over to the side of the road just as Mayhew sat up and looked around.
“We out of gas?” he asked.
Scott threw the vehicle into park and pushed open the door. “No.” And then he slid out, shutting the door behind him and stretching on the shoulder of I-87. Peering down the road, he could make out two twin bridges. Hearing Mayhew open the passenger door, Scott said, “I think there’s a town ahead.”
Mayhew followed his gaze further south, over the bridges. “Probably.”
“I think we should ditch this thing now. We’re not gonna want to leave it anywhere near where we’re staying.”
Mayhew nodded and looked behind them, through some trees and tall grass. “In the river?”
“Yeah.”
They both knew it wouldn’t be wise to drive a fully armed stolen Humvee through the heart of town. The lane that was whispered down here was probably a pretty short one that ended right at the police department. Which would make for a real unpleasant visit. But they couldn’t leave it here on the side of the road either because a passing police car would bring the same results.
Scott looked nervously up the road again and half expected to see a line of red flashing lights. “Hopefully, they won’t notice that their missing vehicle is transmitting from the bottom of a river.”
Mayhew raised his eyebrows. “It’s been over an hour. I’m sure they know exactly where we are.”
Scott opened the door. “Maybe. Maybe not.” He started up the jeep as Mayhew stood off to the side, watching for anyone coming down the road. Scott took the vehicle over the grass and squeezed it between two trees, stopping at the water’s edge. Then he got out. “It’s in neutral,” he said.
Mayhew walked around and joined Scott at the back of the Humvee, and together they pushed it off the bank. It rolled into the stream, the current moving it only until something beneath the waterline prevented it from going any further. The water was just over the hood.
“Maybe the trees will conceal it for a while,” Scott mumbled.
“Yeah, right.”
And then Scott nodded to the AK-47 Mayhew was still holding. “You gonna walk through town with that sticking down your pants?”
Mayhew sighed before heaving it into the water. “You still have your pistol?”
He nodded, and they began walking toward the bridges.
“You have some kind of idea where we’re going?” Mayhew asked, his empty hands now deep in his pockets.
Scott shook his head. “Not really.”
Mayhew looked around. Trees to his right, the northbound lanes across the median to his left, the bridges ahead.
“That’s Albany ahead, across the bridge. I’m figuring it’s about one o’ clock.” His watch was in a billion pieces, back with the priest.
A gust of cold air made Mayhew pull his hands out of his pockets and fold his arms across his chest. “Do you have any money?”
“No.”
A car passed by them but didn’t stop. It crossed the bridge and drove out of sight.
“I do.”
Scott looked over at him, his stride slowing a bit. “How much?”
“Three thousand.”
“Ameros?”
“Yeah.”
“That should cover a motel for the night.”
“It better cover a lot more than that,” Mayhew stated.
Scott nodded silently. “We’ll see.”
After a few more minutes of walking, Mayhew asked, “So what else did the priest say to you?”
“He said to protect the ring.”
“From who?”
“Everyone.”
Mayhew took a couple of quicker steps to get up right beside him. “What does that mean?”
“I have no idea,” he answered. “He said that it was a key.” And before Mayhew could ask the obvious question, Scott stated, “I don’t know.”
“Anything else?”
Scott looked up ahead to the approaching bridges. “Something about a rose.”
Then he turned his head so that he was looking at Mayhew, deciding how much more he should disclose.
The twin bridges were an architectural beauty, a scene one would expect to see hanging framed on office walls. It was named the Thaddeus Kosciusko Bridge after Thaddeus Kosciusko, a Polish man who served as a colonel for the Continental Army during the Revolutionary War. The Continental Congress honored him by making him Brigadier General, and, in 1794, he went on to lead the Kosciuszko uprising against Imperial Russia. At least that’s what the plaque hanging on the bridge said. Scott thought it strange that the sign was still there, references to the Revolutionary War having been scrubbed from most public places by now. Perhaps it was an indication that the little town hadn’t been as corrupted by what was happening in the rest of the country.
The bridges were actually a pair of identical arch bridges made of steel with cables connecting the deck to the arch. There were three northbound lanes on the east bridge and three southbound lanes on the one they were currently walking over. The Mohawk River was below them.
Scott looked over the side and down into the water as multicolored leaves floated by beneath them.
“Mohawk River. Some kind of importance during the French and Indian War and the Revolutionary War. Forget what, though.”
“Was that on the plaque?” Mayhew asked.
“Mohawk River was. Apparently, we just walked out of Halfmoon,
Halfmoon
being the name of Henry Hudson’s ship.”
Mayhew nodded ahead of them. “And this is Colonie?”
“That’s what it said.”
The view from the steel bridge was even more beautiful than the twin bridges themselves. The water reflected the colorful trees along the riverbank below, their leaves turning and fluttering away in the face of coming winter. For the next few days, the sight would be a remarkable one. And then for the next few months, there would be no colors at all.
They walked off the bridge and went another half mile down 87 before crossing over the northbound lanes and entering a grassy clearing beside the interstate. From there they could see the town.
“Dunsbach Ferry Road.” Mayhew read the sign aloud as they passed by it. The road was lined with houses on both sides.
“Let’s hope no one calls the cops on us,” Scott mumbled, his eyes searching the houses as they continued walking.
They were almost to the last house when a man working on his car looked up and noticed them. Scott watched from the corner of his eye as the man stood to attention and watched them walk by. After stealing a look left and then right, the man started walking across the front lawn toward them.
“Excuse me!” he called out, stepping onto the street.
They stopped and turned to face him.
“Yeah?” Scott asked, his heart thumping in his chest.
The guy looked him up and down before shifting his gaze over to Mayhew. Their condition — soot-covered clothes, cuts and bruises decorating their faces — was not lost on him. “Where you guys heading?”
“We were heading to Manhattan, but our car broke down up the road. Now we’re just hoping to find an auto shop or a motel we can spend the night in.” Scott looked past the man, quickly examining his living conditions. The guy was barely getting by, most of his house in disrepair. Scott knew what he wanted.
“Well, you’re a long ways off from Manhattan. Not sure why you’d wanna go there anyways, but if you’re lookin to spend the night here, there’s a motel off Loudon Road bout two and a half miles from here.” The man was wiping grease off his hands with a dirty rag.
“Loudon Road?” Mayhew asked.
The guy smiled again, about to play his hand. “Yeah. You want, I’ll give you a lift.”
Scott nodded, deciding it was better to play the game than to go against it. Besides, times
were
tough. He couldn’t just kill him because of that. “That would be very nice of you, sir. I think we’d appreciate it.”
“No problem at all, it’s just a few minutes down the road.” He turned and walked back up the lawn, pulling his keys out of his pocket. “Hop right in.” He went to the front of the car and slammed the hood shut.
“You sure about this?” Mayhew whispered to Scott as he opened the front passenger door.
Scott whispered back, “Get your money ready.”
And they entered the stranger’s car.
It was only a two minute drive, and the motel was right off the road like the guy had said. “Thank you very much,” Mayhew said as he climbed out.
The man turned away from the steering wheel and looked back at Scott, a knowing look in his eyes. “If by chance anyone were to come around looking for you fellows, what is it that I should tell them?”
“We only have two hundred ameros,” Scott lied.
The guy turned away and looked out through the windshield, visibly upset. Scott had guessed too low. But then the guy turned back and forced a smile.
“If that’s all you got.”
Scott waved at Mayhew, signaling for his money.
Mayhew pulled a hundred and twenty ameros out and handed it to him. Scott then slapped it down into the man’s open palm.
A huge smile beamed from his face. “Your secret’s safe with me, boys. But I wouldn’t be here come sun-up. Not unless you can scrounge up another hundred.” And he winked at them.
To which Scott leaned forward, his eyes suddenly ice cold. “I don’t mind giving you the money. I know you need it. And I appreciate you not alerting the police…” Then he whispered, “But if we get visitors tonight, I know where you live.”
The look of fear that passed over the man’s eyes let Scott know that his point was taken, and he stepped out of the car as the guy started it up. Standing there beside Mayhew, they watched the car head back up Loudon Road.
“You think he’ll talk?” Mayhew asked.
Scott turned away from the road and began walking to the motel. “I don’t think so.”
When they reached the counter, they were confronted only by a sign that read,
NO DOLLARS ACCEPTED — PLASTIC PREFERRED
. Scott hit the bell and, while they waited for service, swept his gaze through the room. There was a camera up in the corner behind the counter that was aimed right at them.
“I doubt it’s linked to anything but an old recorder in the back room. This place looks like we could buy it with the money I have in my pocket,” Mayhew commented.
A minute later, an old man wearing big glasses and a flannel shirt hobbled through the door behind them. “Oh, didn’t see you come in. Sorry. Was out raking the yard.”
As he rounded the counter and approached the computer, Scott asked, “You take ameros, right?” He pointed to the sign.
The man stopped, squinted up at him through his thick lenses. “Why? You don’t got no card?”
“Stolen,” he lied again.
The old guy hung his head, wagging it back and forth. “The NAU is all about electronic transfers. They want everything on record, and they give a tax break on plastic sales.”
Scott smiled as he nodded. “I understand. Do you have any rooms open?”
“Yeah, pretty much all of them.”
“Well, how about you skip the whole computer part of the process, and we’ll throw in a few extra ameros to make up for your loss?”
The old man blinked. “How long?”
“Just the night.”
He smiled a gapped, enlightened smile. “You were never here.” He reached over for a key as Mayhew reached for his money again.
“Thanks,” Mayhew said, handing over more of his stash.
The old guy squinted through his goggles again and looked up at Mayhew as he took the money from him. “Nice little gash you got on your head there.” Then he smiled again, shoved the Union notes into his pocket, and walked out from behind the counter.
“Follow me. I’ll show you to your room.”
19
I
t was five o’clock in the evening, and all that remained of the sun was an orange glow floating over the horizon. Matthew Scott was sitting on an old chair in the simple motel room, leaning back with his arms folded. Mayhew was asleep on the queen bed that occupied most of the room, the muted paper-thin UD television hanging on the wall across the room. An old black and white movie was playing, teasing Scott’s sense of reality with an alien portrayal of life within the former US. And even though Scott knew that the program had been an illusion masking the troubles of its own day, it was accurate in at least showing how truly blissful the ignorance of a generation could be — as long as that generation wasn’t the one required to pay the price for it.
The last bits of sunlight were coming through a pair of red curtains covering the window, setting the room on fire with dark hues of orange and red.
Scott couldn’t sleep. Too many nightmares were waiting for him there. Instead, he was going over the last three days, moment by moment, trying to figure some way out of his predicament.
Suddenly, he began to feel the room creeping in on him, the walls getting closer, suffocating him. He felt trapped. Trapped by his circumstances, trapped by his memory, trapped by his conscious, and trapped by his future. Shifting his gaze away from the beam of light that was sneaking its way between the curtains and running up the wall beside him, he set it on the worn messenger bag that was resting by his foot.
A piece of the puzzle,
the priest had said.