Project Perses: Redemption

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Eight

I am on foot, damp to the bone and lost in Detroit.

After a few blocks, the neighborhood is getting progressively worse.   I’ve lost count of the number of burned out houses I’ve passed, or the number of crack heads passed out or loitering in doorways or alleys.  If they approach me, my look causes them to steer clear.  They’ll get no drug money here. 

My mood is dark, brooding.  I step over a crushed beer can and keep walking.  This city obviously is seeing some hard times, and is a stark contrast to Chicago or Miami.  Those cities, even in some pretty crappy areas, looked lived in.  Detroit, no such luck.  The downtrodden areas look deserted, as if anyone who might have lived here had left a long time ago.

I am keeping my course parallel with the river, heading south.  The skyscrapers of Downtown are to my left, the few that exist here.  There are a few obviously newer ones, but the majorities are turn of the century or shortly after.  The shininess of the newer ones is in stark contrast to the old brick ones, further calling out the disjointedness of this place.  Like the city is attempting to dig its claws into the modern age and failing miserably. 

There's still the sound of sirens far away as the local police force attempts to make heads or tails of what had happened earlier.  I'm miles from where I'd fallen to earth.  God knows what bullshit they’ll come up with to explain it away.  That’s not my problem.  I need to get far from here.  Keeping my head down, the stolen hoodie masking my face, I keep walking. I can smell the river water on me. With any luck, I’ll cross a major expressway and start hitchhiking south with some nice folks who have heat in their cars to dry me out.

I swear the sirens are getting louder; either that or I'm just jumpy.  I've every reason to be.  Being hunted will do that to you.

How I’d ended up here seems so simple now.  I should have seen it coming, but then again, guessing how far Mitchell’s reach extends and to what lengths the bastard would go to get his way would be akin to guessing the winning lottery numbers.  For some reason I can hear Warner’s voice in my head calling me a douche, and Teddy defending me for being so ignorant.  He’d say I shouldn’t blame myself.  I’m relatively new to this whole cloak and dagger shit, but Mitchell’s had years to perfect his game.  I must be pretty pathetic to start imagining my friends are talking to me, either that or I’m more lost than I thought and I’m not talking about my location.

I start thinking about Groom Lake, and Ellis.  He'd refused my offer to get him to Vegas or any other possible Podunk town to see a doctor, instead opting for me to help him to the infirmary where he could do a little self medicating.  We'd encountered absolutely no one throughout the entire hanger on the way out, nor when we'd tramped across the street to one of the smaller buildings that housed the infirmary.  It was just as empty as the hanger.

Mitchell had done exceptionally well in evacuating everyone in an extremely short period of time. The base was a ghost town. Lights were still on, coffee was still brewed and waiting in the pot, but other than that, there was no sign of life.  It was like being in one of those zombie movies where you’re just expecting to come face to face with something horrible.  

After seeing to Ellis’s wound, I'd prepared to leave, knowing that with the head start they had, and my lack of transportation, I was losing ground fast.  Maybe I could steal a jeep and make it back to McCarran Airport to hitch another ride on the next flight east.  I'd said as much to Ellis as he dabbed the back of his head with a wet wad of gauze and then applied hydrogen peroxide, grunting and swearing the whole time.  He was still pretty pissed off about being coshed by Mitchell’s men, and had clearly shared his thoughts on the whole deal.  No one likes finding out they’ve been used by someone they thought of as a friend.