The Garden Club, James Gerard [best beach reads .txt] 📗

around their course.

 

He looked to Ron, “Hold on.”

 

Hal pulled back the yoke sending the nose of the jet soaring up to penetrate the thick layer of clouds.  Turbulence shook and rattled the craft.  In a matter of moments a field of stars emerged as the jet streaked into open sky.  Hal leveled out the flight and engaged the automatic pilot.

 

“What’s going on? Ron demanded.

 

Hal sighed, “They killed the Governor.”

 

“What does that have to do with us?”

 

“They poisoned him.  Part of the poison was in a bunch of bananas I gave him.”    

 

“Bananas from the park?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You took fruit from the park?”

 

 “I’m sorry.  I thought the filching had started again.  I took him the bananas to show him.”

 

Hal saw the look of disgust in his friend’s face and heard the chastising tone shrieking out of the mouth.  Suspicions over the dirty culprit came in an endless stream of railing accusations that were targeted at Kenneth.  He could not understand Ron’s strong conviction over Kenneth’s guilt, yet any logical points of argument at which to counterpoint the verdict did not come to mind. 

 

“Do you hear me Ron?” shouted Hal.  “The Governor’s dead!  They killed him.  They killed him before the decision could be made public.”  He looked at Ron.  “You were wrong about him you know.”

 

“Kenneth?”

 

“No.  The Governor.”

 

“How so?”

 

“Just before I escaped from Kenneth, I could’ve sworn he said the Governor didn’t sell the park.”

 

“That’s a bunch of….”

 

“No it isn’t,” interrupted Hal.  “It makes sense.  I always suspected that he was just fed up with everything…you know…like he thumbed his nose at the whole system.”

 

Ron opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words came out.  He just stared straight ahead.

 

Hal continued to scan the sky for signs of danger.

 

“Why are they blaming us?”

 

“Think about it.  Who was there ready to demolish the park this morning?  They had to have someone plant those laced bananas in a place where either one of us would find them and suspect someone from the maintenance crew of trying to steal them.  And I guarantee you that someone was there this morning to lace the coffee with the second agent to activate the poison.”

 

“Those idiots.”

 

“So my friend, it looks like we’re fugitives.”

 

“Fugitives!” cried Ron.  “That’s great.”

 

“Let’s think about this calmly.  Where’s a safe place to go to figure a way out of this mess?”

 

“I guess we could head for the Amazon basin.”

 

“Why there?”

 

“We can hook up with one of the pharmaceutical companies for restoration work.  They don’t care who you are, they just want cheap workers.  We can get lost out there.”

 

“There’s no restoration work going on Ron.”

 

“That’s not what I’ve heard.”

 

“Where did you hear that?”

 

“I’ve got my sources.”

 

“No.  Too risky.  They’ll be looking for us to show up somewhere.”

 

“How about Antarctica,” Ron offered.

 

“And survive on what?”

 

“The Persian Gulf.”

 

“Are you serious?”

 

“The news is that cleanup crews have finished the southern area of the gulf and they’re supposed to be some abandoned work camps in the area.”

 

“Come on Ron, will you just finally see the truth already.  The whole region is still just one big toxic zone.  The only thing the Energy Council cares about is keeping the oil flowing and nothing else.”

 

“How do you know that?”

 

“Kenneth left some stuff slip out without realizing it.”

 

“Oh please!  He’s like the rest of them.  I say we head for the Middle East and now.”

 

“Okay genius.  Once again, what would we do there and what would we survive on?”

 

“What harm could it do to check it out?”

 

Although Hal found the request to be a mix of desperation and hope, he nonetheless believed that a quick flyby over the coast would verify the information provided by the corporate news hacks as being fantasy, deception, or truth.

 

Hal looked over the map.  “How about we swing south to Antarctica, head east to the Atlantic, swing north along the mid-Atlantic ridge, then east over northern Africa?  Or, we’ll loop around the Arctic and Greenland, south along the mid-Atlantic ridge, then approach the gulf over north Africa, to…here, north of Dubai?”

 

"I don't care," said Ron.  "Just decide."

 

Hal inputted the flight path with the jabs of a fingertip.  The automatic pilot was activated.  The jet responded by banking in the direction of the first leg of the flight and then shot up to cruising altitude.

 

“Um, genius,” said Ron, “how much fuel does this thing hold?”

 

“Fuel?”  Hal scanned the instrumental panel.  “I don’t see the fuel gauge.”

 

“Oh great.  So we can crash at anytime now.”

 

A shrug of the shoulders made known to Ron that running out of fuel was the least of their concerns.  He pulled back on the yoke then eyed the altitude indicator.  The digital readout rose rapidly reading twenty-five thousand feet, quickly to thirty-thousand feet, and kept moving up.

 

“Are you feeling any effects from the altitude?” asked Hal.

 

“No.”

 

The jet soared up to forty thousand feet, forty-five thousand, fifty thousand, fifty five thousand, reaching sixty thousand feet.

 

Hal was somewhat sure they were high enough to evade any potential radar installations in operation and leveled the flight of the jet.  At the same time, however, eyes were left wide open and alert for any signs of danger.  He kept thinking if they could just make it to the Persian Gulf, regardless of its current condition, they could at least muster up enough time to come up with a contingency plan.

 

*                              *                               *

 

Hours of uneventful and quiet flight proved that they had evaded both the stares of electronic and physical eyes.  Peaceful thoughts led to arms lying casually on the lap.  Hal rested his head on the back of their seat.  With eyes closed, he listened to the vents puffing out whisks of warm air into the cabin.  Eyes then opened to take in the view of the clear and sparkling heavens above and prompted a whispering, “Just stay up here.”

 

As the jet streaked through the dark night to the planned destination, he glanced over at Ron.    And just as the cover of clouds below hid whatever view there might have been of active or inactive coastlines still off in the distance, so too was Ron’s emotional state behind the veil of sleep.

 

Looking at the blip on the map to ascertain the current position, Hal also saw a message flashing on the screen informing him that the final leg of the flight.  The final approach, a spot just north of Dubai, was about to be initiated by the automatic pilot.  Seconds later, the jet banked to the left and descended rapidly.  It leveled off just above the cloud cover. 

 

Within the serenity offered in the safety of the jet coasting leisurely above the clouds, Hal wondered if they had made a mistake by running.  If what Kenneth said were true, that it was a synergetic poison that killed the Governor, then how could they have figured that it was he that had administered the second agent?

 

Yes, he acknowledged, I was in the park by the hotel, but by never entering there could be no video evidence supporting such a claim—I never went in.  Then again, he thought, Chairman Wheatley and Commissioner Sherman witnessed me giving the Governor the bananas.  And, he wondered, how can I fight the charges, have my day in front of the corporate judges since I fled Kenneth’s house then rescued Ron from the park?   If that is not enough to indicate guilt, no matter how innocent I am, I can’t get around the fact that I am a fugitive.

 

He turned to Ron and saw his head leaning against the window with mouth agape and arms fold across the chest.  Hal wondered about his old friend.  It was by mere association that Ron had been caught up in the entire mess.  Hal held fondly in memory the years growing up together as friends from elementary school to college to working at the park together.  At the same time, curiosity over his friend’s changed demeanor came to mind.  Up to a few years ago he had known his friend to be an upbeat and optimistic person, yet that side of him had all but vanished and gave way to a darker side filled with what seemed of anger and hatred.

 

“Is it your family that has made you so angry?” he whispered.  “Did they disown you because you decided to skip military service and work at the park instead?  Does the park mean that much to you?  Did you sacrifice your family just to keep your dream alive my friend?”

 

Hal looked at Ron’s skinny frame.  “Has anger finally consumed you and that is why you have lost so much weight lately?  Why the hiding place?  Was that your own private garden?  Was that your kitchen?  Have you been eating nothing but fruits and vegetables and that is why you are so skinny?  I’m sorry if I hurt you.  I’d never throw away all those years of friendship so easily.”

 

“What?” mumbled Ron.

 

“Oh…almost there.”

 

“No trouble yet?”

 

“Maybe they’re not looking.”  Hal reached out to the panel that Kenneth had told him not to touch and held a finger close to the face ready to tap it into activation.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“I’m not sure.”

 

“You plan to use it?”

 

“As you can see, I’m thinking about…what the hell, let’s find out what it does.”

 

The finger tapped the screen but nothing happened.

 

“Let me try,” said Ron as he pushed Hal’s hand away.  “One of these little pads has to do something don’t you think.”  He leaned in closer.  “You sure this thing is on?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

Ron started tapping all over the screen.

 

A light flashed.  The jet surged ahead faster and faster.  The navigator went dead.

 

“What did you do?” screamed Hal as the g-forces grew stronger pinning the bodies to the back of the seats.

 

“Are we hit?” shouted Ron.

 

The jet shook and rattled.  The g-forces pushed them further and harder back into the chairs.  The jet suddenly dove toward the darkness below.  Hal summoned all his strength and managed to grab hold of the yoke and wrestled with the pitch and yaw trying to bring the jet under control.  It was veering off blindly in no particular direction. 

 

“We had to have been hit,” cried Hal.

 

“They found us.”

 

“I can’t control it.”

 

“Turn on the automatic pilot,” screamed Ron.

 

Hal fought against the strengthening g-forces and managed to tap in the command.  “It’s not responding,” shouted Hal as the jet continued to sharply dive out of control.  He fought with the yoke again but could not fend off the forces bringing them down.

 

“We need to land!”

 

In an instance the cabin erupted with sounds of thunder.  As if pelted by heavy hail, deafening noise filled the space.

 

The altimeter’s digital readout was counting down fast.  Another explosion accelerated the craft even faster.  The growing g-forces pressed hard on the chest and left the lungs battling for air.   He grimaced as micro-vibrations from the intense shaking of the airframe sent pain throughout the body.   Grogginess began to numb the senses.  Hands grappled with the yoke and desperately tried to gain control of the flight.

 

Altitude was falling fast.

 

“Get ready,” Hal screamed.

 

“Speed up,” yelled Ron, “they’re going to fire again.”

 

“Brace yourself!” shouted Hal.

 

*                              *                               *

 

Hal moaned as a thumping pain hit the brain.  Mouth smacked, tongue darted about in an attempt to scoop the cotton out of the mouth.  A sour taste in the thick and gooey saliva was detected as he swallowed in the dryness. 

 

Lying flat, aches pulsed in stretching arms and legs and arching back.  Eyes opened wide in an attempt to remove the haziness blurring the images of the objects about.  Hands clasped the head as the view before him spun ‘round and ‘round.  A groan sent the body collapsing back into the seat.  “Where am I?” he mumbled.

 

A door opened.  Someone, a hood disguising the identity, popped his or her head through the open door.

 

“Doctor?”

 

“No,” answered the person.  The hood