contain that machine,” he said nodding his head toward Conrad’s device. “It seems your mission is to protect Conrad. Let’s hurry. We saw him heading away from the Navigator. He’s looking for his cousin, Ryan Marshall.”
“Tell me you’re kidding…he can’t be here too.” Rafie replied, bemused by all that had come to light the last few minutes.
“I know…the man’s one stubborn pain-in-the-ass,” Henry responded.
“You’d think Freeman could have briefed me you two were backup. Man, it’s good to see you guys,” Rafie said with a grin.
The three men ran past the Navigator. “Let’s just find Conrad before something else goes haywire,” Henry urged. “Freeman’ll skin all three of us if we lose this guy.”
Rafie grimaced and quickened his step. “Thanks for the reminder.”
Jarrod made it to the Navigator and immediately discovered the bullet holes that pockmarked the front of the vehicle. The windshield had not shattered, but there were several telltale holes attesting that the driver had surely been hit. He glanced inside, bracing himself against the possibility of finding a body, but thankfully found no one. Blood on the seat and smeared on the door, however, didn’t bolster confidence; whoever had driven it into the back of the trailer was badly injured.
There was no time for a close inspection, but Jarrod spotted a Brighton purse with the initials “SM” on the sterling silver clasp. Mystery solved. It’s Sarah’s, he thought. I knew this was Ryan’s doing. Where are you, cuz?
Jarrod searched around the perimeter but couldn’t see any signs of his cousin. What the hell?
From far off in the distance, Jarrod thought he heard a shallow voice calling for help. He paused, straining to hear, cupping his hands to his ears and hoping to pick up a direction. With all the background noise and the blaring sirens, the sound could have just been his imagination. But then he heard it again.
“Help me, Lord,” the faint voice weakly called out.
“Ryan, where are you, man?” Jarrod shouted, rushing headlong in the general direction of the voice calling out from the darkness.
“Conrad…stop!”
Jarrod looked behind as he ran, spotting three men fast closing in on his location. He could just barely make out their forms through the extreme background light coming from the depository. He couldn’t be sure of their intentions, but wasn’t about to stop. Ryan was lying out there somewhere. He had heard his voice. He was sure of it.
“Ryannn!” he yelled again.
Ryan was on his hands and knees struggling to stand. The excruciating pain from every part of his body rendered him practically immobile. The decision to jump from the car before it slammed into the truck seemed like his only choice at the time, but now he deeply regretted it. His head throbbed, his back ached, and he could feel something trickling down his neck. He put his hand to his face and wiped a warm, slippery liquid from his forehead. Although he couldn’t clearly see his hands, he knew they were covered with blood. He’d sustained at least three gunshot wounds, and blood was seeping from his head, neck, and shoulder.
There was no way to determine the severity of the bullet wounds, although he knew he was rapidly losing blood. He was beginning to feel faint, cognizant that shock was beginning to set in, but the concussion to his lower back and hip was his greatest concern. He figured he’d hit the ground at near sixty miles an hour, and although the sandy ground had absorbed some of the impact, he knew he had sustained several broken bones.
He managed to stand with great effort, but when he tried to take a step, his legs gave way and he dropped back to his knees. My God, w hat have I done? he wondered, totally incapacitated.
Ryan looked at the sky ahead, ablaze with lights and sirens. He could make out the trailer and noted for the first time that the Navigator had made a direct hit. He remembered bullets hitting the windshield before he set the cruise control and aimed the car in the direction of the trailer just before bailing out. He was amazed it actually worked, but had no idea if he’d helped Jarrod in the slightest. He was disconsolate; a feeling of failure blasted through his consciousness. It reminded him of Jacob. Not again. Just as I failed Jacob, so, too, have I failed Jarrod.
He remembered the day Jacob had died. Ryan had slept on the floor beside his bed the night before, his son’s labored breathing more tortured than ever. He couldn’t bear the thought of Jacob dying alone. He still remembered their last conversation:
“Dad,” Jacob asked, “what happens when you die?”
Ryan had searched his soul for the right words to answer his son’s profound question. Clearly Jacob was scared, but faced his fear with the courage of a lion.
“I don’t know for sure, son,” he’d answered. “But I do know that you don’t have to worry about anything. You’ve been a good boy and you’ll go straight to heaven. You’ll fall peacefully asleep and your spirit will rise from your body and you’ll be whisked to heaven by a legion of angels welcoming you home. You’ll be able to fly, Jacob, and that old muscular dystrophy will never again keep you from doing anything your heart desires.”
“What about you and Mom…will I ever see you again?”
“Of course you will, son. Your mom and I love you more than life itself. You’ll go ahead and prepare the way. Just you wait…we’ll all be together in heaven one day soon, your brother, Jer, too.”
Jacob had survived the night, but Ryan could tell from his pale blue complexion the next morning that the end was near. God was merciful in the end; Jacob’s death came swiftly and Ryan wasn’t present when he began to choke. Unable to catch his breath, he quickly asphyxiated, slumping forward in his wheelchair. Had Ryan been present, the impulse to start CPR would have been irresistible. When the paramedics did arrive, it was too late. Their efforts to revive him were for naught. Jacob died with his little dog, Minnie, on his lap, a loyal friend to the very end.
The haunting despair of this memory and the powerlessness he’d felt following Jacob’s death came storming back. Once again he felt an inconsolable emptiness, as if his soul were mortally wounded and the stabbing pain in his heart would never heal. All his efforts seemed hopelessly inadequate. Ryan hung his head in shame, putting his hands to his face, and began weeping. Why does this keep happening? What do you want from me, God?
“Help me, Lord!” he called out, throwing his hands to the heavens in surrender, coming to terms with his abject helplessness and despair.
Jarrod’s voice rushed him back to reality. “Ryan, where are you, man?”
“I’m here,” Ryan called back, straining, but his voice was barely more than a whisper. He tried to stand again but the pain was too great. He remained on his knees, not even sure if he could lie down. “Jarrod,” he called again with the last ounce of energy he could summon. His body began to tremble at the realization that Jarrod was still alive.
The three cleaners caught up to Jarrod just as he stumbled upon his hapless cousin. They had somehow been thrown together in this strange affair and were treated to one of the most amazing sights any of them had ever seen. Rafie pulled a flashlight from his pants pocket and for a moment they let the cousins have their reunion. It was a moment not to be interrupted.
Kneeling before them was Ryan Marshall-blood oozing from multiple gunshot wounds, unable to stand, tears running down his face, tortured by the thought he’d failed his mission. Jarrod Conrad knelt down in front of him and gently took him in his arms.
“You did it, Ryan,” he whispered reassuringly. “You’re a hero. Through everything that’s happened, you made it here. I don’t know how you did it, but you saved me, you rescued Jer, and you recovered my research. You’re amazing, Ryan,” he said, hugging him like he was consoling a small child. “I’ll never distrust you again. Nono and Nana would be so proud of you. Well done, Ryan.”
Ryan let his head slip forward onto Jarrod’s shoulder and silently wept, overcome with relief and gratitude. His quest was finally completed. He hadn’t failed after all. A peaceful tranquility and lightheadedness transcended his consciousness. Nothing else mattered.
The lights on the horizon were no longer visible and the siren’s wail faded away. The darkness came swiftly. Ryan Marshall closed his tired eyes and gave way to the weariness that beckoned for him to stop. He had nothing left to give. He was completely spent. Thank you, God…take me home, was his last thought.
