Lost Contact (The Bridge Sequence Book One) by Nathan Hystad (ereader iphone .TXT) 📕

she didn’t freak out, which was better than I would have done if our roles were reversed. She climbed into the car and rolled the window down. “Rex, you won’t let anything happen to my kids, will you?”

That was my sister and her big heart. She was always worried about everyone else before herself. “No, Bev. I won’t.”

She drove off, and I returned to my rental car.

“Good news. Passports are done,” Marcus said from his makeshift workstation in the back seat. “We can pick them up in Boston.”

“You know, I’m glad you kept some unsavory friends from college, buddy,” I told him. “How’s the leg?”

He shrugged ambiguously. “Fine. Stitches tickle a bit.”

Lucky for him, the gunshot had grazed his leg, resulting in Tripp giving him a handful of sutures on the flight to Chile. It could have been far worse.

“Let’s tell Veronica we’re coming,” I said as I backed out of the parking spot.

“Done.”

The streets were busy in my hometown, with most of the residents still off for the holiday season. The restaurants and malls looked hectic, and I drove by them with little interest as we hit the interstate. The truck stop came quickly, and I took the turnoff, slowing as I skidded on the gravel lot.

“Do you mind checking the radio?” Marcus asked, and I tapped it on. We had a few minutes to spare, and I was tired of hearing myself overthink our plan.

“Bill, you don’t think we’re supposed to believe these Objects, as everyone is calling them, are actually stopping at Earth, do you?” a deep-voiced man asked across the radio waves.

“Carl, I’m only reiterating what I’ve heard. More and more members of the scientific community are beginning to ascertain just that. The Objects have not only changed trajectory twice so far, but their speed is no longer constant. What do you think that means?” Bill McReary asked.

“They did move close enough to Saturn to be affected by the gravitational pull of that planet, not to mention the smaller forces of the moons,” Carl told him.

“You’re both crazy. How in God’s green Earth do we even know they are real? Have you seen the things people are doing with CGI these days? This is another conspiracy to distract us from what’s really going on down here,” a different man said.

“And what’s that, anonymous caller?” Bill asked with a snicker.

“Our guns. The government wants our guns, and if you ask the right people, they’re after our firstborns too.”

“Firstborns? I think you’ve called into the wrong show. Rumpelstiltskin isn’t in today,” Bill joked, and I turned the radio off.

“What’d you do that for?” Marcus asked.

“These wackos’ theories aren’t going to help us,” I said. The window was open, letting in cool air. I pushed on the mirror, adjusting it. A minivan was directly behind us, a hundred yards away, and the car was running with the lights off. A trail of exhaust floated from the rear. I tried to see who was inside, and for a second, it was Francois, his menacing eyes piercing into the reflection. Then the door opened and a woman walked out, shouting at a little boy to hurry up. I was starting to lose it, to see things that weren’t really there. I had to assume the Believers were around every corner, or they’d catch up to me.

A knock rapped on the passenger door, and I pulled the gun from under my seat.

“Relax, Rex,” Veronica said as she opened it. Her hair was cut shorter, dyed a dark brown. Her eyes were a penetrating bright blue as she stared at me. “Tripp’s waiting inside. Care to join us?” Her voice held a sharp edge to it.

Marcus had already determined there was no CCTV here, and that was why we’d chosen the discreet meeting location. Plus, with lots of truckers coming in and out, as well as penny-pinching travelers during the holiday season, no one would notice our group.

“Tell your contact we’ll be there in two hours, Marcus.” I climbed out, depositing the rental’s keys in my pocket. I pulled a Red Sox hat on and saw my reflection in the gas station window. My beard was coming in, and with the dark bags under my eyes, the plaid jacket and the baseball cap, I didn’t even recognize myself.

The door chimes rang as we entered the diner, but no one turned to see who was there.

“Sit anywhere you like,” a red-headed waitress called from behind the counter. She was hastily refilling two truckers’ cups, and we joined Tripp in a corner booth that would accommodate a party of ten. It smelled like every diner in the state: a mixture of stale coffee and hash browns.

Tripp could have been a stranger. His head was trimmed into a buzz cut, his face bare as an egg. With a leather jacket and jeans on, he looked nothing like the military man I’d come to know.

Marcus kept his own cap low as he sat, scooting over to Tripp’s side. He’d chosen to grow a goatee and wore a plaid jacket similar to mine, completing his disguise. Veronica waited and went beside Marcus. I took the other end, constantly scouting the entrance for any sign of Bev.

“Coffees,” I said, and the waitress flipped our white china cups, splashing thick brew into them.

“Anything else?” she asked.

“I’ll take a burger. Fries.” Marcus slid a menu at her and shrugged. “What? A guy’s got to eat.”

I was still a mess, not ready for a meal until Bev and her family were safe. I couldn’t let anything happen to them or to these three people. Hunter’s death clung to me like a bad cologne.

The chime rang again, and Bev was there, Fred taking the lead the moment he saw me. I stood, confronting his angry posture. “Fred, before you say anything—”

His fists were clenched, his eyes burning. “What have you done?” He spoke quietly despite his mood, and I motioned for them to have a seat.

The kids stayed behind Bev, who seemed