Tracking Blood: Episode 8

An apocalyptic serial

Table of Contents

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Will had been on Stanley’s trail, working every contact he had. The courts only had a P.O. box on file, and Stanley had little in the way of known work associates. At least none of the real life, offline variety. That Will knew of, he had even fewer friends.

His brother had suffered a lifelong inability to keep acquaintances of any kind. Stan was the typical computer type, spouting about “non-hierarchical activist groups” the way most guys talked about getting together for pizza and beer. It turned most sane people off after about a week, once the initial excitement wore off.

After a few dead ends, Will finally found someone who knew where Stan lived.

The apartment building in Brentwood was a long, white building near the train tracks. At least, it used to be white, before the years of dirt and graffiti. Will knew it wasn’t a coincidence, being so close to the trains as it was. Stanley had always liked a good exit strategy.

He entered the building, noting the hallway smelled awfully similar to the alleyway behind The Oasis, and knocked on the door his source told him was Stanley’s. There was no answer. He knocked again.

“I don’t think he’s home,” a voice said from down the hall. It belonged to a bald man, middle-aged and harmless-looking.

“How do you know?”

“His van’s gone.” The man took a few steps closer. “Are you a friend of his?”

“Brother, actually.”

“Oh. I didn’t know he had a brother. Then again, I don’t know much about him. He’s, uh, pretty private.”

“Believe me, I know.”

The bald man chuckled. “I got one the same way. The guy could be married with six kids and I wouldn’t have a clue.”

Will could tell by his demeanor that he was either the landlord or the super, but he decided not to let the guy know he knew. His instincts told him the brother angle would yield better results than the bounty hunter angle. In truth, once Stan had signed a bail bond, he’d handed over the right to have his residence searched, with or without a warrant. But for the moment, Will wanted to play nice with the man in front of him. “Hey, do you know where I can find someone with a key?”

The man scratched his neck nervously. “Well, that would be me, but I can’t let you in there. Building rules. I can get in a lot of trouble.”

“I totally understand,” Will said, looking around. He stopped and held out his hand. “I’m Will, by the way, what’s your name?”

He shook Will’s hand hesitantly. “Ed.”

“Listen, Ed, I’m worried about my brother. He’s been really weird on the phone lately. Then a few hours ago I got this … unsettling call from him. I came over here praying, well … I hate to say it, but praying I didn’t smell a dead body.”

Ed frowned. He looked half-concerned, while the other half of him hoped he didn’t have to clean up after a dead guy. “I feel for you, but I can’t lose this job.”

Will pretended to look distressed. “I don’t know what else to do. What would you do if it was your brother?”

Ed’s face softened. “Probably bust the door down.” He looked over his shoulder, then back. “I’ll give you two minutes, but don’t tell anyone.”

Will smiled. “You’re a life saver, Ed.”

Ed pulled out his enormous set of keys and fished through them. “I had to tell your brother I didn’t have a spare key.” The door unlocked and Ed pushed it open, revealing the dark room beyond. “He’s a bit paranoid.”

“I noticed that.” Will stepped inside while Ed waited in the hallway, pretending to fix a broken doorknob.

Will turned on a lamp that looked like it hadn’t been used in a year. The smell of burning dust wafted into the air as he began looking through his brother’s things.

The small apartment was full of typical conspiracy theorist stuff. Books and various hand-printed newsletters- the kind he didn’t think anyone made anymore- on everything from Scientology and Illuminati to the processed food industry and the Catholic Church. There were combination locks and a surprising number of drug testing kits around, the meaning of which eluded him. Hanging on the wall was a poster of a flying saucer with the words I WANT TO BELIEVE. The image looked familiar, like it was from a movie, but Will couldn’t place it.

Stanley’s bedroom was tiny. Clothes were strewn in every direction, as if someone had ransacked the place or, more likely, had hastily packed for a trip. By the side of the bed, Will found a garbage pail.

“Times almost up,” Ed whispered nervously from the hall.

Will dumped the pail on the bed and started sorting through the contents. He was looking for names, dates, places, anything that would point him toward where his brother might be hiding out. He pulled out a crumpled, blue scrap of paper and unfolded it. There was a date scribbled in Stanley’s erratic handwriting, and under it, a name.

“Marco.”

“That’s it,” Ed whispered. Will swept the papers back into the pail and put it back before he left. It was a force of habit- don’t let them know you’ve been poking around.

“Do you know who Marco is?” he asked as Ed relocked the door and wiped the sweat from his lip.

“No. Well, it might be the big guy I see around here sometimes. I think he works at that computer repair place up the street.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He walks here from that direction. Sometimes he has a hat with their name on it.”

“Thanks so much, Ed. You’ve been an enormous help.” Will turned to leave, then stopped. “You said he drives a van?”

“Yeah. It’s this dark green monstrosity, like something out of a horror movie. Looks like he should be cruising for little kids to murder in it.” Ed caught himself. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Will replied. “My brother’s a genuine piece of work.”

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The shop was small. There were shelves and shelves of computer parts on each side, and the air smelled of plastic and soldering iron. Will approached the counter, finding a big guy with a beard hunched over a small device, screwdriver in hand.

“Are you Marco?” Will asked.

“That’s me.” The big guy had his eyes on the computer screen next to him. A news site was open, where the typically alarmist media were calling the mysterious virus the zombie apocalypse. Another headline said the Governor of Colorado had declared a state of emergency.

Will pulled out his badge, thinking it might have some pull this time around. “Do you still hang around with Stanley Sharpe?”

Marco looked over. He saw the badge, sighed, and looked Will in the eye. “Can’t you leave him alone?”

“My name is Will. I’m his brother.”

“I know who you are,” Marco said. “You really don’t remember me?”

Will squinted at him.

“Of course, the football player doesn’t remember the computer nerd.”

“I played hockey, actually, and I’m betting you didn’t have a beard back then.”

“Same name, though.”

Will shifted on his feet. “Are you going to help me find Stan, or am I just wasting my time?”

Marco leaned over the counter. “I get he has to answer for his crimes, same as any of us, but I’ve never been a rat. Not to one of my friends.” He paused. “To be honest, though, I’m a little worried about him.”

“What do you mean?”

Marco sniffed, clearly uncomfortable. Will could tell he really cared about Stan, which brought Stan’s grand total of friends to exactly one.

“Listen. Marco. If you’re so concerned, tell me where to find him so I can get him to safety.”

The big guy scoffed. “That’s what people say right before they throw someone in a cage.”

“Maybe. But sometimes that’s where we put people so they don’t hurt themselves.”

The big guy nodded. “All I can tell you is he went north,” he sighed.

“Anything more specific than that?”

Marco shrugged. “He never tells me specifics. But I noticed he was packing a lot of warm clothes. I know he has a cabin in the Forest County area, but I never saw it.”

“That’s a long way from D.C.,” Will remarked, and Marco shrugged. “He bought a cabin up there?”

“From what he told me. It’s where he goes when things need to cool down.”

Will smirked. “A hideout.”

“I guess you can call it that.”

It was a good start, better than he was expecting. “Do you have his cell number, by any chance?”

“Sure, but it won’t do you any good,” Marco replied, and Will gave him a confused look. “Do you even know your brother? He’s got three cell phones, which by now are all burning in an alley somewhere. Stanley doesn’t take risks without having a strategy. He’s got a back-up plan for his back-up plan.”

“And yet he still went to jail,” Will remarked. “How am I supposed to find a random cabin in the middle of Pennsylvania?”

“I don’t know, man, you’re the bounty hunter.”

Will frowned at him. While Marco had been helpful, he also knew the guy was holding out. “Do you want Stan to get help or not?”

Marco scratched his beard. “Alright, look, he’s a man of many names, if you know what I mean. In Pennsylvania, he sometimes goes by the name Steve Agudo.”

That was the final piece he needed. “Thank you, Marco,” he said, but the big guy had already turned back to the news broadcast, pretending as if Will wasn’t there. That was fine by him.

Will zipped up his coat and stepped out onto the street. He would have to pack something a little heavier when he got home- it looked like he was heading north.

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