ZACH

 

I’m lying with my shirt off on a metal table that Marcus rolled out over by the computer monitors. I’m staring blankly up at the bright lights planted into the ceiling rafters. They almost blind me but it’s easier to focus my attention elsewhere than the pain coursing through my side as Marcus digs through the gunshot wound. Though it’s not very serious, and certainly not life-threatening, it hurts like hell as he pricks and prods at the wound.

He grabs onto a particularly tender piece of flesh with cold tweezers and it forces a wince from my lips and eyes. My attention steers over to him to see how ridiculous he looks with a pair of magnifying glasses on his eyes as he investigates the wound.

He continues to dig the shrapnel out from my wound and then questions inquisitively, "What is this?" He digs even deeper into the wound and I can feel the tweezers rubbing against the insides of my flesh. And I can feel the tweezers pinching at something just underneath the surface of my skin but I don't know what it is. All I know is that it hurts like hell, stings like a bitch. I grit my teeth and groan out loud as he tears something out of my body. And when my eyes flash back open, they trail to see Marcus inspecting a tiny little piece of metal that hangs off the edge of the tweezers.

He squints and looks even closer before he cocks his head sideways, contemplating.

I sit up on the metal tray to get a good glance at what he's looking at. It's so damn tiny but it's not shrapnel from the bullets. That much I know to be true. And though I don't know exactly what it is, I have a feeling that I'm not going to like it when I find out.

"What the hell is that?" I question him as I kick my feet off the edge of the table and land on my feet. I step up to him to get a better look. "Is that…?"

"Yeah." He swallows nervously, a gulp making its way down his throat. His eyes shift to meet mine. "I think it's a tracking device."

"A tracking device?" Lola says from beside me and crosses her arms. She seems to sink down into the ground, shaking her head. “But how?"

"The technology exists to implant a tracking device inside of a bullet." He shakes his head and carries the little piece of metal, the little device that is most likely a tracking device, to his desk. He sits the small object down and powers on his computer.

Lola and I circle to stand behind him as he begins to search the internet for possible clues. Soon enough, our suspicions are confirmed.

"We have to get this out of here." He reaches for the tiny little tracking device and begins to inspect it real close. He nods before twisting in his chair to face me and passes me the tracking device. "Do you see that?"

I shake my head and say, "No."

"Squint really hard and I think you'll see it."

I do as he tells me to do. I squint my eyes so that I can take an even closer look. And that's when I see it, a barely noticeable red flashing light. "Son of a bitch."

"Does that mean that they know we're here?" Lola questions nervously from beside me. "We have to get out of here.” She begins to pace back and forth, chews on the ends of her fingernails

I'm trying to focus but it's hard to do when both of them are panicking. So, I take a few steps away from them so I can think in silence. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see them both looking at me for answers. Looking at me for what to do next, but I don't know.

"We haven’t been here for long so if we can get out of here fast enough then maybe they won't suspect anything,” I say quietly but loud enough for the both of them to hear me. I’m honestly just thinking out loud.

"But the last time they saw us, we were only a mile away." She exhales sharply. "They could be here any second. They could even be here right now."

"No," Marcus says and points to the monitors on the screen, points to the security footage playing live video from just outside the factory. "We’ll know if someone's here."

"Well, that's a little bit of relief but I still want that thing out of here,” I say.

"No shit," Marcus mumbles under his breath as if I can't hear him. As if Lola can't hear him. And then Marcus purses his lips in contemplation. He's thinking so hard and intently that it's almost like I can make out exactly what he's thinking. Almost like I can get inside of his mind.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" I question him but I don't wait for an answer to continue. "We can use this to our advantage."

“How?” Lola questions, and I'm a little bit surprised. This seems like something that’d be right up her alley. It seems like something that she would have engaged in with her years of dealing with her father's crimes.

"We can use it towards our advantage by tricking them." I point at the computer screen that has the information about these kinds of tracking devices listed in an encyclopedia format. "These devices are not meant to be seen. They’re meant to embed deep enough in the skin to avoid detection. If someone is wounded with a bullet and they don't die, this tracking device serves as an insurance policy to make sure that whoever was shot can be found. It ensures that the job can be finished."

She nods as if she's understanding exactly what I'm saying. And then I look at Marcus to find him nodding too. We are all on the same page it would seem, but now we need to figure out the course of action.

"So what do we do?" I scratch at the back of my head trying to think of the best option. "Do we just throw it into the ocean?"

"No." Marcus clears his throat before pushing himself back in the chair and then rising to his feet. He snatches the tracking device off of the steel counter and then gestures with his hand for me and Lola to follow him. 

### 

Marcus leads us upstairs. He didn't say so much as a word as we rode in the elevator. It almost looked like he was too nervous to speak. And I didn't exactly understand why until we reached the surface and exited out into the parking lot. He made his way to the first white company car sitting in the gravel and popped the door open.

He reached into the car and put the tracking device on the passenger seat. And then he had me follow him into the warehouse and into a storage room to collect two crash-test dummies. I wasn't even aware that we had such a storage area in the facility. I guess there's a lot that I don't know.

I'm the muscle, not the brain.

He had me and Lola each carry a crash dummy back to the car and put one in the passenger seat and one in the driver seat. At that point in time I was still confused because he still hadn’t let us in on the plan.

Then he placed what looked like explosives, contained in a small black box, into the back of the trunk. It was only after he closed the trunk and locked the car, after he reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone and started the car electronically using his phone that I began to piece together the plan.

The headlights flashed on and that's when he had us go back downstairs with him.

And in the elevator ride back down he made his plan known. 

### 

Marcus sits at his desk, controlling the car using his computers as if the car itself is a drone. He's always been a genius, but this is the last thing I expected. He’s now using the car like bait, and with the tracking device in the passenger seat, he’s hoping to be able to lure these men into a trap.

We briefed Marcus on what was going down and what was still supposed to go down. While he had some light moral objections to the plan, he understood why we were doing what we were doing.

After all, he is a part of Ford Security. He plays a part, a big part, in saving lives every damn day. He is a force of good in this evil world. And he understands that these people are evil, and he understands that they have taken countless lives all in the name of money and power.

The car is parked at a red light and there are no other cars in sight. Out here in the industrial part of the city, a part of the city that it is run down and where businesses no longer operate, not really, there aren't many people out at night.

It’s at the red light that a van pulls up behind our car. The windows are tinted on our car so it would be very hard for the people in the white van behind the car to be able to see the two crash dummies sitting in the seats. It will be difficult for them to realize that they are not real people. It would be difficult for them to realize that we are not in the car at all.

And I have no reason to suspect otherwise.

The light turns green and Marcus shifts the car into drive.

"You need to make this more realistic, Marcus. They know we know they are driving around in white cargo vans. So what I'm trying to say is, gun it."

Marcus does exactly as I ask him to.

The car races forward, straight through the next red light. The white van, as I suspected, gives immediate chase. And now we are in a high-speed pursuit. It's like a video game, but there are real life consequences at stake.

I let Marcus do his thing though. I let him do what he has set out to do without me interfering too much. This is his job and I'm not gonna tell him how to do it. And this is his plan, so I'm going to let him reap all of the rewards and enjoy all the fun.

Our car steers right and into a parking lot just over by the docks, but there is a chain-link fence blocking the path into the parking lot. The car powers through the fence, pushing the chain-link out of the way as the car races in onto the asphalt.

The van does the same, its tires rolling over the downtrodden fence. And up just ahead are cargo containers. Closer and closer, Marcus steers the car towards the docks and towards the canal that leads out into the ocean.

I draw my thumb to my lips and begin chewing on my fingernails nervously as I await the collision. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Lola holding her breath. I reach across the short distance between us and hold her at her waist, comforting her in these nervous moments.

The car begins taking fire as bullets spray the back of the car. Marcus continues to steer the car as if nothing is wrong, he zigs and he zags on the rough asphalt as he tries to dodge the bullets. Not because anyone in the car is at serious risk of being injured—they are only dolls after all—but because he's trying to put on a show. He's trying to be as realistic as possible, and though there's nobody actually in the car, he wants to present the scene as if there are two people running scared for their lives.

The car continues to take heavy fire from assault rifles. Stray bullets chip against the paint of the car and shatter the back window. That's when I get nervous, because now they can see inside. And if they look close enough, they will realize that not only is nobody driving the car, but neither Lola nor I am inside.

And if they discover the truth, then this entire charade will be over.

Finally, a bullet lands against one of the back tires, forcing the car to spin out of control. Marcus tries to steer the car, but it's no use. He's now lost control.

I look away from the monitor for a split second, trying to catch my breath and come to terms knowing that our plan has most likely failed.

"Don't get your hopes up yet, Zach." Marcus says with a light chuckle. “Just sit back and watch the fireworks."

I shift my eyes back to the screens and watch as the car veers to the right, heading straight for a pair of oversized propane tanks. And I can't help but to smile, can't help the wild grin that hitches across my lips. I now finally understand his entire plan.

I drop down to my knees to get a better look at the footage on the screens. The car races forward, skating out of control, but Marcus is able to steer the car just enough so that its barrels into the two propane tanks.

The collision is impactful, crunching the front of the car against the metal of the propane tank. There's a split second pause before the propane tanks and the car erupt in a fiery volcanic explosion at the touch of Marcus’ finger against his phone screen.

And that's when the cameras go black.

"You did it…" Lola says, dropping a hand onto Marcus' shoulder. "Lola Grimm and Zach Richards are dead."

Marcus cranes his head over his shoulder with a proud smile painted across his mouth. I can't help but to jump to my feet and throw my arms around him in a big, strong, manly bear hug.

I'm in awe that it worked. Or at least I think it did. There's no way of knowing for certain if the men in the white van will believe that we really perished in the fire. But to my mind, there's no reason why they shouldn't believe it. After all, someone had to be driving the car…

But this is only the first part in what’s to come. Tomorrow will be the real test.

I’m more than ready for a long, hot shower.

I’m more than ready to hit the sack and get some rest before I have to wake up to do this all over again.