Chapter 14
Transmission
Translation by Raymond Potter
Sadie,
If Nick didn’t understand the scope of consequences before, there can be no doubt he does now. All indications are that he understands at least some of what is happening, though likely not the entirety of it.
We have observed Nick in multiple moral dilemmas, now. He has broken laws to save a life, but they have been small infractions—trespassing, reckless driving, disorderly conduct. It’s clear Nick places the value of life over minor laws, but this event is on a level he’s never before faced.
And yet this is something new. He’s just kidnapped a baby which is not just a felony, but an act that will cause harm to others—grief and pain to the parents and loved ones of the victim.
To be honest, I cannot be sure if he has considered this. I think his actions were more impulsive than reasoned, but this question is one that he must face sooner or later.
Speaking of that, the team is still wondering and waiting on the finalized metrics for operational success. I know we cannot steer Nick one way or the other, but the team is anxious to know, as you can imagine.
We will continue to monitor and pass on any further analysis we uncover.
-Simon
9:48 a.m. 15:30 to Termination
Time—that black and narrow isthmus between two eternities. —Charles Caleb Colton
He checked his rear-view mirror, then returned his gaze forward. No police. Flicking his blinker, he took a right off Main Street. West.
The baby cried.
He’d laid her face up on the passenger seat. She’d woken up and didn’t like her new situation. Nick reached over and put his hand on her pink fleece sweater.
He checked the baby’s numbers.
ФФД
ДДД
ДДФ
ДДД
ФФФ
ДФД
ДДФ
ДДД
ДФФ
ФДД
ФДД
No change. Taking the baby had not changed her fate, but that was not surprising. Changing a timer was no simple task, as he well knew.
“Shhhhhh.” His soothing did nothing to quiet the wriggling bundle of noise.
In the store, he hadn’t had time to think. Now that he had a moment to consider his actions, he realized things were about to get . . . complicated.
He wasn’t ready to care for a baby—even for a few hours. He needed to get somewhere safe. He needed a car seat, a bottle, some formula, and diapers. Most importantly, he needed to figure out just what the hell was going on.
Nick slowed, then turned left on 200 West. Steering with his left hand, he caressed the baby in the seat with his right. It didn’t help.
He flipped on the radio to Q92. Billy Joel’s River of Dreams played. He turned the volume down until he guessed he’d just hear the squawk of an Amber alert coming on.
After three more blocks, he heard sirens. At the next intersection, he saw patrol cars racing north toward the Walmart.
There had been three Amber alerts in Cache Valley since he’d first got the police scanner for Christmas. He’d only heard one of them—the others happening when he was away from home.
He knew how the police worked. Police from all over the valley would come, including Brigham City and Tremonton. The sheriff’s office from Garden City and Preston would also send help. When a child went missing, the police responded like a swarm of hornets after you hit their nest with a stick.
As they should.
Nick forced his breathing to slow. Deep breaths pulled from his diaphragm. Calming. Losing control would only make matters worse.
Shit was getting real.
Nick checked his watch and tried to anticipate what the police would do. He’d never researched police’s procedures for kidnapping because he never thought he’d need to. But he could make a guess.
The police would arrive at the store and request the security footage. He’d kept his head down walking out, but walking in . . . hell, he’d stood at the entrance of the store for twenty minutes staring at timers. They might even have cameras throughout the store, which means the footage would show him taking the baby.
Ten minutes. If they worked efficiently, they’d have his face on a screen in less than ten minutes.
And once they saw his face, they’d have his identification. The police knew him well; he’d hovered around death for too often and for too long.
Taking his hand off the baby’s chest, he started the timer on his watch. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone. He pressed the power button until the screen went dark. Thank God he hadn’t upgraded to a newer model. He drove with his knee for half a block while he opened the back of his phone and flipped out the battery. He shoved both the phone and the battery back into his pocket.
He slowed for a stop sign. A Fed-Ex truck waited to turn right. A tan leg stuck out from the vehicle’s driver side.
Nick looked at the baby lying on the passenger seat. He reached over and grabbed her by the fleece top. He lifted her off the seat, her head falling back. More screaming. Fists waving. He placed the baby gently on the floor of the car, against the passenger door. He turned up the volume on the radio.
He came to a stop next to the truck, music blaring from his speakers. The baby wailed. The Fed-Ex truck turned right and drove away.
Nick looked at his watch. Two minutes and ten seconds since he’d started the timer.
He turned down the volume and gently lifted the baby back up on the seat, this time careful to support her head.
This baby on the seat next to him could be the key. Could be the answer to the dozens of questions racing through his brain. She would somehow survive when nobody else would. It meant something. He could feel it deep down.
He’d been through something like this before, hadn’t he? If the baby could live, there had to be a way to save everybody else.
He thought of symbols and code and scientists and God.
Of trollies and morals and game theory and cheating.
Dark and terrifying thoughts.
He lived alone on the south side of a duplex down on the Island. Brown grass sprawled away from the house, and then poked here and there through a crumbling sidewalk. A quick glance told him no one was on the streets. Parking his car under the carport, he got out, leaving the baby—still crying—on the seat. He unlocked the side door to his apartment and pushed his way inside.
His stopwatch read 7:48. As soon as the police had his face, they would come here.
In the bathroom, he retrieved hair clippers and a razor. He grabbed a pair of jeans and a green NASA T-shirt off the floor, paused, then traded the green shirt for an orange one. He found his Leatherman in a drawer under the microwave and slipped the tool into his front pocket.
He pulled a book from the top of his bookcase in the bedroom: The Singularity Is Near by Ray Kurzweil. Tucked inside the pages was an envelope filled with cash, which he tucked into his pocket. Dropping the book, he went to the kitchen and got a white grocery sack from under the sink. He put the clippers, razor, and clothes inside the bag.
He paused, head down, fingers tapping the linoleum countertop. Then he picked up the bag and returned to his car. He looked at the other side of the duplex. Mrs. Ewell, the widow who lived there, would be at school. She taught fifth grade and hated children. The rest of the street remained empty.
The baby cried inside his car; her wails dampened slightly through the glass. He opened the back-passenger door and dumped out his groceries, grabbing the moon pies and placing them in his sack. Then he held the baby to his chest, bouncing her up and down. The quiet street drank up the baby’s wails. The white sack swung back and forth like a rustling pendulum under the infant.
“Shhhhh,” Nick said. “I’ve got you.”
He closed the car door with his foot and walked around the side of the house. He listened for sirens but heard nothing. The baby cried on.
“I’ve got you,” he said. “That’s right. That’s right. I’m going to keep you safe.”
He turned the baby so she was facing him, looking through the rift above her head. He found the baby’s life thread. It was bright red and spun out into the void. He peered closer into the rift, squinting. The mist in the background appeared different. It was subtle, perhaps because of the lighting here under the carport, but the fog of mist in the far distance appeared a faint pink.
He’d seen red code before. Every time he’d saved a person, their code turned red, just like Little Cowboy’s on that August night three years ago. But this was something different. Something else entirely.
He felt again like somebody was playing with him.
He shook his head. He didn’t have time for this. Nick had money, clippers, clothes, and a razor. And the beginnings of a plan. Right now, he needed two things. He needed a different car, and he needed a gun. He knew where he could get both.
“Shhhh . . .” he made the white noise into the baby’s ear. Turning, he walked into his back yard. The bouncing motion helped. The baby’s cries softened.
“Everything’s going to be all right. Everything’s going to be fine.”
In your entire life, he thought, you’ve never told a lie so big.
