I lift the axe again, being more careful this time. Then I slam it down in the middle of the floor.
It cuts cleanly into the wood, but a ringing noise of metal on metal blasts my ears. The reverberation from the strike travels all the way up my arms.
I jerk on the axe and dislodge it from the floor. I kneel closer. A shine of steel glints between the splintered planks. The dang thing is lined with metal.
I bring the axe down again, this time shattering a plank. More of the steel door is revealed.
I keep hacking at it until most of the hatch is uncovered, hoping there will be a lock or a handle.
But even once I have a major hole, bits of wood all over the floor, I spot nothing but the crack along the rectangular edge of the metal trapdoor.
I sit on the floor among the wreckage, even more disheartened than before. My hands are screaming, red and bruised. At least two blisters are forming. I should have worn gloves.
And I have gotten nowhere. I’m no closer to opening this secret door than I was before I destroyed the floor.
I stumble to my feet and lean the axe against the shelves in the pantry. I’ll clean up the mess later.
I can call someone, hire somebody who can cut metal. But I don’t know what’s down there. And for all I know, the people watching me would keep him from coming inside to do the job.
I have to face facts. I’m not going to be a Vigilante. I’m not going to go on more dangerous excursions or escape high-security silos.
And I will never see Jax again.
I sit at the kitchen table, picturing Aunt Bea on the other side, wearing a faded housecoat and pouring a cup of tea. My throat wells up. She was my last and only family. I’m really and truly on my own.
It’s time to move on with my life. Figure out what I want to do next.
It won’t be here.
12: Jax
I take it easy on the drive to Vegas, attracting no attention and trying to stay off the Vigilante radar. I obey all speed limits, pay with cash, and think over my plan of action.
And try to banish Mia from my thoughts.
Still, she creeps in at odd moments. A woman on a billboard reminds me of how Mia tilts her head when she’s confused. A laugh on the radio sounds like hers.
I have to reconcile myself that I’ll never see her again. Hell, if Sutherland thinks I’m checking up on him, Sam could be right. I might not survive this thing. It’s one thing to be a rogue Vigilante. It’s another to be hunted by the head of the American syndicate.
It explains why he wouldn’t talk to me at the silo, though, and why he ordered me to New Attica. He wants me out of the way. He always has. Clearly my position to take over his job was a threat.
But to what?
The drive, done like a normal civilian, takes almost two days. The night in the hotel is brutal, a crappy room with precious few amenities. I think of heading to a local watering hole and looking for company. I get as far as the parking lot and go to a diner instead. I have to forget aboutMia first.
And I plan.
When I get to Vegas, I have to think about how to contact Antonio, an old friend who goes back as far as my Phase Six days. When I left there for the West Coast, he rose through the ranks as fast as I did. By the time I got sent to Ridley Prison a year ago, he was in line to run that syndicate.
I had to dump the clone ID when I left Tennessee, so I can’t go anywhere near his silo. But because of all the years I worked the Vegas channels, I’m familiar with all the outposts and safe houses in the area.
One in particular was a favorite spot of mine when I got in a jam with the syndicate. Well outside Vegas near Lake Mead was a little old lady named Martha Clementine who ran a safe house mostly used by Phase Twos on their first missions who were feeling shaken up. Everyone called her Grandma Marty.
Marty was shrewd when it came to hiding Vigilantes from the network and giving them downtime. She got in hot water once for trading IDs, which back then were housed in our shoes for everybody, not just Phase Ones.
She would sometimes let a Vigilante take a job for one who might be struggling or was in danger of being removed from the program.
I have the technology in the car Sam outfitted for me to check and make sure her safe house is still operational and secure, but I decide against it. I’m well cloaked and even a mundane transmission like that could alert the Vigilantes to my whereabouts. I feel sure Grandma Marty will take me in if I show up unannounced. Then it’s just dealing with the discretion of anyone else at the safe house.
