Chapter 227 B4. 18.2 – Cop Hunting Trio

Kudos to the Corebrings for finding my disguised self. Where did the word ‘kudos’ come from? Was it Mexican for ‘good work’ or something? Some other language? Or was it an animal, a relative of the extinct dodo?

Whatever ‘kudos’ was, the Corebrings didn’t deserve much praise. Trepanner and Clive had met my disguised self near the area where Red Hood disappeared; it was expected they’d try to look for that mysterious woman when the BID wasn’t around. Could also be that my illusion blood disappeared while getting tested, triggering investigations.

I didn’t really care how the Corebrings figured they should look for my disguised self. Asking the public for help meant they were stuck. Zero leads. And no one could help them because that woman didn’t exist.

“Maybe she’s a PCM member?” Deen wondered. “Someone important in the organization?”

“I’ve met most of the high-ranking PCM officials,” said Cecilia. “This woman isn’t one of them.”

“She could be connected to the 2Ms,” I suggested.

“I maintain my wager that she’s with Red Hood,” said Cecilia. “The Corebrings view Red Hood as the bigger threat, necessitating this announcement.

Deen gave me a sidelong glance. “That’s possible…”

Deen knew that I had worked with gangsters. ‘Worked with’ was a generous way to describe it. ‘Used them’ was more appropriate. With my best friend’s telepathic connection, I surmised that Deen thought I had roped in a random bystander to escape the Corebrings. Now, the Corebrings were looking for an innocent woman. Something like that.

I looked at Deen and shook my head once. Would she insist on her suspicions?

I snapped a picture of the TV before the picture disappeared. “We can ask Marlon about this the next time we visit him,” I said, which I had no plans of doing.

How could the Corebrings find a woman who didn’t exist? The Corebrings were wasting their time; we shouldn’t follow their example because we had a flight to catch.

“Who’s McCarran?” I asked while stirring my chocolate drink back and forth.

The three of us jet-setting girls sat at a café inside the airport, waiting for our flight. We should qualify as jetsetters even though our destination was just San Diego, the next state over—we’d be riding airplanes that were jets. No idea what stuff classified an airplane as a jet.

With time not on our side—the BID and Euphonia were also hunting PCM members—we decided to take a plane instead of driving back to California. There’d be more driving later, once we got to San Diego. Technically, we could’ve arrived at our destination much earlier if we had left by car last night. But Deen didn’t want to drive for hours and hours in the darkness.

I thought Deen would be in a rush to find Khaki Cop since she was the prudent one. However, I get the sense she wasn’t too keen on finding the communes. Was she assuming we’d kill innocent people besides Khaki Cop? She’d be right.

“Are you referring to the name of this airport?” Deen pointed at a massive screen outside the café displaying the flights. ‘McCarran International Airport’ in bold letters was at the top. “He was a senator decades ago, before the Adumbrae War. He passed several aviation-related laws. If my memory serves me right, he pushed for the separation of the Air Force from the Army.”

“Sounds like a good move,” I said, wondering how to get my name on buildings. I’d like a hospital named after me. It’d make people think I was a good person.

“A good move made by a person who wasn’t good,” Deen said. “He has a history of racism. There’s a petition to change the name of the airport. It might push through this year.”

“They can name this airport whatever they want,” I said, “if they can reduce the delays. Look, our flight’s been moved back twenty minutes.”

“It could’ve been worse,” Deen said.

“Have you booked our hotels?” I asked. “Separate rooms?”

“Three rooms,” Deen confirmed.

“Does no one want to sleep in the same room as me?” Cecilia sipped coffee with a cube of Adrian inside. “Reduce our expenses for this trip.” She had managed to make cube forms of her serum for our travels. Luckily, the K-9s didn’t sniff anything weird when we passed them.

Cecilia had also cobbled together a device, made from sci-fi-looking parts bought from the Understrip, that could momentarily hijack the bio-scanners, causing them to display normal readings. She explained that most bio-scanners at McCarran airport were old models, not super secure and prone to breakage. This reminded me of La Esperanza.

Despite Las Vegas being known for technology, its airport wasn’t modernized. It seemed that they had budgetary problems here. Corruption stuff, too. We just had to avoid passing through the bioscanners donated by Greaves. Cecilia assured us that the more inhuman members of the PCM used this airport all the time. They visited Las Vegas to secure machines from the Tea Party for their experiments to cure seeding.

Cecilia had proven herself extremely useful this time. The hacker/techie archetype was really a requirement for every group of protagonists. That was supposed to be my role, but Cecilia could have it. I didn’t even know how to use a humidifier.

“Erind and I won’t be able to sleep while you perform your experiments,” Deen said. “Do you even sleep?”

“I do,” said Cecilia. “You’re worried I’ll slice off your flesh while you’re asleep. I promise not to do any such act.”

“You’ll be in a separate room,” Deen firmly said. “We’ll hunt you down and kill you if you escape.”

Cecilia smiled over the rim of her cup. “I wasn’t aware I was a prisoner.”

“You are one until you’ve proven your loyalty,” Deen replied in an icy tone. Turning to me, she added, “Erind, we can share a room. We’ve slept together before.”

“Uh, phrasing,” I said. Deen was referring to that time we hid in the forest after the BID destroyed a PCM base. “And I value my solitude. Anyway, Cecilia, have you booked us a car?”

We didn’t have Deen’s car, so we had to rent one. And we really needed a vehicle to get close to our destinations. There’d be some hiking involved afterward.

One PCM commune was hidden in a cave in the San Gabriel Mountains, Los Angeles County. Another was at the foothills of Otay in San Diego. Some sort of abandoned quarry. And east of San Diego was the last commune, an old motel at Anza-Borrego. Not sure if that last one could be considered a commune because it was just one building.

We decided to target the Otay and Anza-Borrego communes first, and flew to San Diego Airport. San Gabriel Mountains were closer to La Esperanza. If the BID would find a PCM commune, and they had already found one before, they’d target San Gabriel Mountains first.

“Yes, we have a car from a private individual,” Cecilia replied.

“I hope that we don’t need to cover our tracks,” Deen said with a sigh.

Instead of renting a car from an agency, I had Cecilia make a fake account and contact a random guy on Snippet. If something went wrong, we might have to dispose of the car. It was also possible that the car would be destroyed; the PCM had monsters and weapons. It’d be easier to cover our tracks by offing this guy than if we dealt with a car rental agency.

Not counting the slight delay, our flight was smooth sailing.

Um, smooth flying.

Since we were in the sky.

Cecilia transacted with Car Guy, who was a prospective corpse, and got the car keys. Soon, we were on the way to Otay.

I opened a map of the area that Deen had bought outside the San Diego Airport. “It might be too late to confess that I don’t know how to read a map.” We purposely avoided using a navigation app. We were also using burner phones. I was proud of how responsible we were.

“We’ll take this road.” Cecilia slotted herself in between the driver’s and passenger’s seat, pointing at a squiggly line on the map.

I followed the line. “Otay… And here’s the Otay Open Space Preserve.” I tapped at a blob of green that was greener than the surrounding green. “The Otay Truck Trail isn’t on the map.”

“Since it’s an off-road path used mostly by quarry trucks and hikers,” said Deen, “the mapmakers didn’t include it. But it should wrap around the preserve.”

“Cecilia, do you remember the exact spot of the commune?” I asked. Marlon had provided coordinates for us. Obviously, he couldn’t give a street name or something because there was no such thing out there.

“Of course,” Cecilia replied, pointing at another spot on the map. “It should be somewhere here. It’s a quarry and concrete batch plant. From my research, it appears that the quarry is still operational, possibly controlled by a PCM affiliate. But the plant has been shut down for years. If I were the PCM, and I previously was a member, I’d turn the large silos into commune houses. There’s plenty of space available to hide people.”

“This is a very well-thought-out hiding spot,” Deen said. “PCM members and food supplies can hide in the trucks carrying the rocks.”

“That means we’ll also need a truck to get in there,” I said. “Cecilia, where’s the spot that I can hijack a truck you mentioned?”

“Alta Road in Otay Mesa,” said Cecilia. “Over here. This is the southwestern base of the mountains. There are quarries and concrete plants in this area, necessitating plenty of heavy industrial freight. It wouldn’t be so easy to steal a truck given the high level of activity.”

“Leave the hijacking to me,” I said. “Truckjacking. Where did the word hijacking come from? Does it only apply to airplanes?”

“Though not definitive,” Cecilia said, “one of the proposed origins of the word is a blend of highway and jacker. Hijacker. It originally described robbing those passing the road.”

I grinned, pleased at Cecilia’s usefulness. Unlike Deen, who’d brush aside my tangents, Cecilia was supportive. “I’ll be employing the original meaning of the word. Well, not really. I’ll steal the truck, not its contents.”

“Erind, it might be better if I do it,” said Deen. “My powers—”

“No need,” I cut in. “It’ll be cleaner if I do it.”

It was about half past nine when we reached our destination. We picked a stretch of the road with no street cameras. Deen slowed down at the bend, sticking to the left. I looked behind us. There was a truck coming. I opened the door.

“Erind, don’t kill the driver,” were Deen’s parting words. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” I said. “I have Cecilia’s syringe.”

I jumped out of the car, rolling on the ground as I belatedly rolled my eyes. Of course, I wouldn’t kill the driver. That would be against Rule #4.

But if I managed to goad him into attacking me… I still wouldn’t kill him. I didn’t want to dirty the truck with his blood; I had learned that lesson from Adrian. I’d just put him to sleep. Yet another point to Cecilia.

Hiding myself in the dehydrated bushes and the sparse trees, I summoned my third mask. I placed the syringe containing a powerful sedative on the ground. Then, I wore the mask before someone would investigate the weird light. Through the branches, I spotted the incoming truck. It wasn’t a huge truck that hauled rocks and stuff. Instead, it was a smaller white one with a boxy back. Not sure what it carried.

The truck slowed down as it rounded the bend. I stepped out of the bushes and waved my hand. I held the syringe with my other hand, hiding it behind my back. 

The driver visibly jolted in his seat. He must’ve driven past this road daily for years, and this was the first time he had seen any person here. He decelerated some more, almost sticking his confused face to the windshield. I walked toward the truck so he could see me better.

He jolted again and abruptly braked. The heavy truck stopped right next to me. The passenger’s side door opened.

“Melinda? What are you doing here?” The driver’s bushy face was full of bewilderment. “Get on, get on! You didn’t tell me you were coming.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” I said, unsure of who I turned to be. “You weren’t at the office.”

“Of course, I’m not there. I have work to do.” Bewildered Bush drove the truck forward. “What surprise—? Wait, how did you get here?”

“It’s part of the surprise.” I scooted over to his side. I didn’t know the seats in trucks were this high above the road.

“I-I don’t understand. Who drove—?”

“I teleported with the power of love.” I touched his arm and focused on absorbing his image.

His chin drooped a bit. The truck slowed again as his foot eased on the pedal. I grabbed the wheel and steadied it. Heavy? No problem with my super strength. Just surprised me with how different it felt compared to a car.

Bewildered Bush shook his head, his eyes out of focus. “Wha-what…?”

I stabbed the syringe into his arm. There. I kept my promise with Deen and didn’t hurt this man. Cecilia assured us that this was a quick-acting sedative.

I slightly felt bad that I tricked this man by turning into Melinda, his… I don’t know. Bewildered Bush could no longer answer or talk to me because he had dozed off, slumping over the steering wheel.

The truck was still moving. I grabbed Bewildered Bush, pulled him across me, and deposited him on my left side. Then, I transferred over to the driver’s seat.

The seat was way too high, made even higher by a padding thingy that Bewildered Bush had added. It meant that the pedals were quite far for the short legs of my original body. Thankfully, I wasn’t Erind right now, or this would’ve been a pathetically comedic scene.

Not-thankfully, I stared down and saw three pedals. Three.

To my right was the stick shift sticking out of the dashboard. It had the dreaded illustration of the way the shift should be moved to change gears.

Holy Mother Core… This is manual!