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As soon as Luke leaves, I pull the handheld receiver from my jacket and turn it on. During the few seconds it takes for it to come to life, my heart freezes, afraid the tracker won’t work. But soon a blinking, red light on the screen assures me that my fears are uncalled for.
I hurry back inside and blow out the candles in the kitchen. I might not ever have a chance to live here again, but just in case, I don’t want the place to burn to the ground. Back in the hall, I use my flashlight to find my backpack and Dad’s box.
My mind races, trying to figure out how to carry the box on the bike. No way in hell, I’m leaving it here. Bungee cords! I bought a set when I first got the bike. I run to my room and dig in the closet for a couple of minutes before I find the unopened pack at the bottom of a pile of books. Backpack secured to my shoulder and Dad’s things in tow, I trot outside and secure the box to the back of my bike, using all the cords, except one.
I straddle my Kawasaki and, with the remaining cord, secure the handheld receiver to the middle of the handlebar, where I can easily keep track of the little flashing dot on the screen. I put on my helmet and, in a couple of minutes, I’m following Luke’s electronic trail, weaving through south-bound streets.
He’s moving at a considerable speed. I twist the accelerator, trying to maintain a constant distance between us—enough to keep track of him and still stay out of sight.
The traffic on I-5 is light, nothing like pre-takeover levels, but I’m surprised to see the way Eklyptors are gaining confidence every day in spite of the rebellion’s constant attacks. I keep my body low and tight against my bike, glad for the protection of my helmet and visor. It’s stupid, really. The only thing that offers me protection is the buzzing signal transmitted by my brain, but I always feel as if something in my eyes will give me away.
We stay on I-5 for about twenty-five minutes, then exit on Highway 518 toward Tacoma International Airport. After only two miles on 518, Luke veers right and actually takes the exit that leads to SeaTac. I follow the road warily, wondering if Hailstone actually set up their headquarters at the airport or if Luke is headed elsewhere.
He could very well keep driving south and out of the airport service roads, but passing through this area to reach any destination other than SeaTac would make no sense. So he must be headed there. Too leery to follow, I pull into an abandoned-looking rental car facility while Luke follows down Airport Expressway.
From the many rows of lonely rental cars, I pick two and park between them, keeping a close eye on the receiver. The electric poles are working here, so I make myself small, pressing my body close to the bike, to avoid being seen.
After a minute or two, the blinking dot that indicates Luke’s location stops. According to the map, he parked in Departure Drive which, as the name indicates, is where people get dropped off to board their flights—not that any travel goes on these days. From what I understand, keeping airports functioning isn’t an Eklyptor priority at the moment. Securing things on land has been and continues to be their focus, especially in Seattle. Owning the skies is certainly part of their plans, but they have to win this fight first.
I sit tight for a few more minutes, watching the dot for any movement. It stays in place. Biting my thumbnail, I try to decide what to do. Should I leave and bring this piece of intelligence to James? I scoff at that idea. IgNiTe must already know about this place, just like they knew about Whitehouse headquarters. I’m just not privy to that type of information. Regardless, I’ll still have to tell James, on the off chance this is news. I wish I could give him something juicier than a mere location, though. I itch to find out more.
I ponder my options and decide to wait for at least another hour to see if Luke stays or leaves. I look around for a more comfortable place to stake him out other than perched on my bike. The rental car building seems like a good place, but I decide against it, in case I set off an alarm trying to break in. The cars would also be equipped with alarms, but maybe . . .
I get off my bike, hang the helmet on the handle and start testing doors. The first three cars are locked, but I finally luck out with a white minivan. I figured I’d find one. I’m willing to bet most of the cars are actually unlocked. Before The Takeover, this place would have been teeming with people 24/7, travelers and workers driving cars in and out. The probabilities that they bothered to press the lock button are small.
Hunched low, I move my bike next to the minivan. I open the sliding door and throw the receiver and my backpack inside, turning off the inner lights for added stealth. Before going in, I turn back and decide to also get Dad’s box. After sliding the door shut, I let my eyes adjust to the gloomy interior. The nearby lamppost shines good-enough light on the passenger side, so I push my stuff that way and, folding the backseat out of the way, clear a nice space for myself.
I set the receiver right in front of me and place Dad’s box to my right. Luke’s tracker blinks away around the same general area as before. I assume he’s somewhere inside the airport now, but the tracker is only so accurate.
For the next ten minutes, I watch the dot until my eyes cross and boredom hits me like a sack of bricks. I eat a protein bar and drink a bottle of water, throwing the garbage on the back seat. All the things that Luke revealed tonight whirl inside my mind, drawing my attention to Dad’s box.
“It isn’t like that for my host. That consciousness never developed. It didn’t have a chance.” Luke’s mind was never human. Always an Eklyptor. How? He implied it should have been that way for me, too. Why wasn’t it?
Different DNA, you idiot!
But whose? Not Karen’s. Not Brian Scott Guerrero’s.
I tear at my hair. You look just like him. You have to be his daughter, damn it! God, I can’t lose Dad, too. I can’t!
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m digging into that box, desperately and unreasonably trying to find the hope I’ve lost. He is my father. I feel it in my heart and, so help me God, there will be something in here that will help me prove it.