Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Lexi
Gray kept to the back streets as we wound our way out of Atlantic City. The SUV’s headlights carved long ribbons of light through rows of shuttered souvenir shops, darkened motels, and flickering neon signs advertising all-night crab legs.
“No black SUVs in sight,” Gwen murmured, peering nervously out the back window.
“Nothing on this side, either,” Basia confirmed.
I kept checking the mirrors anyway. The night felt too quiet, as if the city was holding its breath.
Ginger sat up in the middle seat between me and Gwen, foil wrapped around her shoulders, crinkling with every bump in the road and as she occasionally shifted position.
Ginger scanned the world outside with eerie calm, eyes following each passing shadow, mapping the world in real time.
Gwen lightly massaged Ginger’s lower back absentmindedly while she looked out the windows.
I leaned closer, patting Ginger on the leg. “Doing okay, girl?”
She nudged my hand, which seemed like an answer in the affirmative, but since I couldn’t confirm that with an alphabet board, it didn’t make my anxiety disappear. But at least the fact that she was safe here with us made me feel better.
At some point, Gray turned off the main road and onto a narrow, sandy lane lined with beach grass waving in the ocean breeze. “This is the street,” she announced.
“It seems pretty remote,” Basia observed. “A good bit out of town.”
“Remote is good,” Gray said. “Remote is off-grid, and that’s where we need to be right now.”
“Agreed,” I said.
The SUV rumbled over a final patch of gravel, and the headlights washed over a small beach cottage sitting back from the dunes.
The house looked like something out of a cozy mystery novel—weathered cedar shakes, a faded blue door, two shuttered windows on the second floor, and a crooked little porch with a single Adirondack chair.
There was a wind chime hanging off the gutter that clinked mournfully in the breeze. The house was completely dark.
“Charming,” Gwen said.
Basia snorted. “Sure, if charming means haunted by dead sailors or pirates.”
Gray cut the engine and the sudden silence was loud. We climbed out of the SUV, and the smell of sea salt hit us, cool, sharp, and grounding. The waves crashed rhythmically somewhere beyond the dunes.
Ginger hopped down and sniffed the air, tail low but alert. I punched in the code Slash sent us. The door clicked open and I stepped inside.
The house was small, sandy, and weathered.
I tried the switch and the lights flickered on.
The inside was small and sparse, but it felt safe.
We stood in a cramped living room with a couch, recliner, and no television.
In one corner, a round table and some chairs served as a dining room.
The place smelled of sunscreen, dust, and old seashells.
We piled in, Ginger following us after taking another potty break outside.
I unclipped her leash and tossed it by the door, heading for a nook disguised as a kitchen.
It was comprised of maybe two feet of counter, a 1990s-era microwave, and an ancient fridge that groaned when I opened it.
It was empty. There were a few plates, bowls, and glasses in the cupboards, but no food.
There was only a single, sad saltshaker sitting alone on the shelf.
“No food or drink,” I announced. “Good think we had the fast-food snack.”
“There are two bedrooms,” Basia also called out. “Some clean linens and towels in the closet.”
“You and Gwen take the bedrooms,” I insisted, gesturing down the hall.
“Hey, I get Basia, but why me?” Gwen protested.
“Because you’re the bride-to-be, and you’re also the only one who can sleep through anything,” I responded. “Gray and I will take the couch and recliner so we can keep watch for any intruders.”
“Fair enough,” Gwen said and disappeared into one of the rooms.
I exchanged a glance with Gray, and she headed for the recliner.
It squeaked ominously as she sat and reclined, but at least it didn’t collapse.
I took the couch and discovered it was three inches too short for me to stretch out fully.
Plus, it smelled dusty. I got a couple of extra sheets for me and Gray and we settled in, the room lit only by a dim lamp and the moon through the curtains. The ocean murmured outside.
Ginger made a circle on the floor between Gray and me and promptly lay down.
They way she curled up caused the foil to bunch around the vet’s adhesive tape.
It looked uncomfortable for the dog, so I removed one strip and loosened the other.
She adjusted her position slightly and promptly relaxed and went to sleep. The quiet felt strange after the chaos.
“It’s weird, but I did read something once about the CIA doing experiments on animals to help them spy,” Gray suddenly mused, keeping her eyes closed.
“I’ve read that somewhere, too,” I said. “I remember seeing an article about fish being fitted with microcameras and birds with microphones. There was also something about robotic dragonflies. Now, of course, we have drones, so maybe they were onto something.”
“They also tried bugging dolphins,” Gray said.
“Of course they did,” I said. “Dolphins are smart enough to unionize.”
We shared a laugh and then Gray shook her head.
“It’s crazy to think someone out there may still be experimenting on animals, trying to turn them into intelligence assets.
I suspect the old research was revisited because of the huge gains in microminiaturization and biomedicine.
The CIA may not be sponsoring it any longer, but someone appears interested. ”
“Do you think Ginger is part of an intelligence community research program?” I asked softly.
“No. I think she’s something…different. Special.
And I think someone wants her badly enough to threaten us…
maybe even harm us…to get her back. That must mean something, although I’m still not sure what.
But with all the advances in robotics, it just doesn’t make sense to invest in animals as a means of transporting or inserting listening devices.
Today, there are dozens of ways to do that much easier.
Plus, you don’t need all the language training she’s clearly had.
This is different in some important way we don’t yet understand. ”
“Well, whatever they are doing, she’s scared and hurt,” I said. “I just hope that she doesn’t have to go back to a place where she feels abused.”
“I agree.”
The couch creaked as I shifted and then sneezed. “Well, I’m going to try to catch a bit of sleep.”
“Me, too. We’re safe enough for now. We’ll do some more research in the morning and make some decisions.”
“Sounds good.” I reached down and stroked Ginger’s ear. “Stay close, okay?”
She yawned and rolled over, tucking her back up against the couch. I let my hand hang down so it touched the top of her fur, and in minutes, I drifted off to sleep.