Page 31 of Exit Strategy

“There is a fair bit of stolen valor that goes on around here,” she said. “Lots of people like to impersonate soldiers, or cops.”

“There is a bit of cult worship, isn’t there?” I asked. My eyes lingered on the horizon, watching the ball of the sun as it was starting to cross the horizon. The colors were fantastic, but part of my rational mind knew that was from the shield of pollution that domed over California, to our west.

“There is, but for some of the boys on the reservation, joining the military is often their only way out of this life, and I don’t blame them. There’s nothing here. There is no opportunity, just a lingering demise.”

“Why are you here then?” I asked.

“Because my people need me,” she said, her voice calm and plain for about the first time. “And because it’s what I can do. The only reason I can do that is because of the hidden contracts I have with people like you. I don’t charge anything for the locals. I soak all of the cost myself.”

“Hence my ten-grand bill, eh?” I asked.

“Yes, but itisfully discrete. I won’t turn your information over to the authorities. Fuck the Federal Bureau of Intimidation – as far as I’m concerned you were never here, and there’s no record of anything that’s been done. After you leave, all the records from this visit go into a burn barrel. Callie gets the only copy on a flash drive for her future medical needs.”

“Other people come here, same angle?”

“Obviously, but you know I won’t tell you anything about them. The confidentiality goes both ways.”

“I appreciate that,” I said with a nod.

* * *

Callie slept for two days.Not entirely on her own, but it did her no harm. Holoke, she preferred that to being called Doc, made sure that she was recovering and not sliding into a vegetative state, something about brainwaves and an oscilloscope, whatever. Callie was recovering. She had two IVs, a catheter, and there were several injections of drugs to reduce blood pressure, address swelling, and a few things she said were technically experimental and not available on the general market, and probably wouldn’t be for years. Nothing critical, but something about stem cells, I wasn’t sure.

All I cared about was Callie getting better, not worse.

12

Callie…

I stared out the truck’s window grimly as we left the good doctor and the reservation behind. I had a bag full of pills – steroids, anti-inflammatories, and the like – jiggling on the bench seat between us. Kurt was silent, and I was miserable…permanent brain damageswirling around in my mind.

I was damaged. Beyond repair and I didn’t even know how badly yet.

It was scary. It was depressing. It was… it was…

I squeezed my eyes shut and huffed a frustrated sigh.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, and I shook my head slightly.

“I lost my train of thought,” I said.

“You’re going to be fine,” he said.

“You don’t know that. The doctor didn’t either,” I said.

I turned and looked at him and he took his eyes off the road and looked me in the eyes. His were a beautiful blue, almost as blue as the sky outside his window behind his head.

“You’re going to be fine,” he repeated, and his tone brooked no argument.

He stared at me intently for longer than a few seconds until I turned my head to look out the windshield first.

“Will you please just drive?” I pleaded softly.

He turned his attention back to the road, which thankfully was straight, and we hadn’t deviated at all in our lane. I swallowed hard at the sincerity in his expression, those eyes of his burning into mine. I shifted on my seat, and he sighed.

“You’re alive, Callie, and you’re strong. You’ll be fine.”

I swallowed hard and whispered, “Not if they find us.”

---