Chapter One

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 17 - 2:47 PM

Mike Holbrook sat on the corner of his desk and watched his students squirm in their seats. He reached down and picked up a stack of exams and flipped through the papers, building the suspense. Occasionally he paused and shook his head in sadness and disbelief, as if the student whose paper he was holding had deliberately failed the exam as a personal affront to him. Aside from the sound of shoes scuffling nervously and an occasional cough, the classroom was eerily quiet. All eyes were on the stack of exam papers.
Mike was good at building suspense; he had taught a variety of history subjects at Wichita's Southwest High School for six years and he enjoyed seeing the students in his Kansas History class suffer as much as he had suffered teaching them.
The reason he had suffered is because he wasn't a very good classroom teacher, and his students knew it. As with many high school teachers, he had been hired first as an athletic coach and then pressed into teaching classroom subjects he knew virtually nothing about. Mike's real expertise was coaching Southwest's swim team, and he had successfully led the school to three consecutive State 3-A championships.
Not yet thirty years old and single, Mike cut a dashing figure. His body was muscular and powerful. He wore his blonde hair significantly longer than the school district's Personnel Policies Manual for Educators allowed, but his success as a coach and his personal charm afforded him certain perqs, which did not endear him to other faculty members.
Mike glanced at the classroom clock on the back wall and checked it against his gold Rolex. He moved an unruly shock of hair from in front of his eyes and affixed the class with a steely gaze. "I can't begin to tell you how disappointed I am with your performance on this test," he said. "It is obvious to me that you have absolutely no interest in learning anything about the State of Kansas and the role it has played in This Great Nation." What a load of crap, he thought to himself.. "I can honestly say that these scores set an all-time low. I'm sure you realize that Kansas History is a requirement for graduation, so whether you like it or not, you will continue to take this class until you pass it. I suggest you spend a little time thinking about that before our next exam. I have arranged these papers in descending grade order and Rachel will hand them out. I will be in my office from three to four o'clock tomorrow if you have any questions. Mister Franklin, please remain after class."
Mike handed the stack to a pretty senior sitting on the front row. She wrinkled her nose at him and began walking around the classroom, passing back the exam papers to the other students. Most of the students groaned when they saw their scores. Rachel seemed pleased with hers.
At three o'clock the bell rang and the students filed out of the classroom in stunned silence. Rachel, always the last student to leave, lingered by the classroom door and wrinkled her nose at Mike again, an action which was observed by Jason Franklin, who had remained in his seat.
When Rachel had left, Mike walked over to the windows and stared out at the campus, hands clasped behind his back. "Jason," he said without turning, "what did I tell you about your score on this test? Maybe you didn't think I was serious. Maybe you thought it was just an idle threat. I've already looked the other way on your first two test scores, but some of your other teachers are starting to complain about your grades." He turned and walked over to Jason's desk. "So as of now, you are off the team until such time as you can raise your grade point average. I know you're our star diver and breaststroke swimmer, but the rules are clear. You have let me, your school, and your fellow teammates down."
Jason looked up at him and blinked. "We have a swim meet this weekend," he said. "You can't win without me, and you know it. If you kick me off the team, you'll be the one that lets the school down, not I."
Mike knew Jason was right; without him, Southwest's chances were slim, and he knew that a loss would add to an already declining win/loss record for the year. Had it not been for Jason's swimming ability, Mike would have barely noticed his existence, for there were only two kinds of students he was interested in: attractive young females who were promiscuous, and good swimmers, in that order. Jason was by far the best swimmer he had ever come across, but he appeared to have no interest in anything else. He had come to Southwest High at the beginning of the school year, his past somewhat of a mystery. Supposedly he had been arrested for shoplifting and had refused to answer any questions other than to state his name. At the time of his arrest, he had nothing but the clothes on his back; his pockets were completely empty. His fingerprints were not on file and no one seemed to be searching for him, so he had been sent to Juvenile Hall, where he eventually become a ward of the State and was assigned to a foster family. In school he showed no aptitude in any subject whatsoever, nor was he a troublemaker; he kept strictly to himself, forming no bonds or developing any friendships. For these reasons, Jason floated through the school system unnoticed by the faculty or his fellow students until his gym class began the swimming phase of its curriculum, at which time his gym teacher had suggested that he try out for the school's swim team. In two short months, Jason had become the school's leading swimmer, far outshining the other team members and spawning thoughts in Mike's head of one day becoming a famous Olympics coach. In his mind, Jason could be the next Mark Spitz.
Unfortunately for Mike, the school system had annoying rules for its student athletes, one of which was academic eligibility. In years past, Mike might have--and had--gotten away with manipulating school records to maintain a student's grade point average, but computerized records with passwords were more difficult to change than paper files--computers didn't accept bribes--and Jason's poor grades had finally caught up with him.
Mike sighed to himself. "Jason, what you say may be true--without you, we may lose. I'm sorry about that, but school is not about athletic trophies, it's about learning. You understood the rules when you went out for the team, and you didn't follow them. You're not stupid, Jason; you can pass this class easily. All sorts of people have offered to help you--including me--and you've refused. There's not anything else I can do. I've talked to Principal Keeler about this and he's already sent a letter to your foster parents--the decision's final."
Jason stood up, shaking. "I'll get you for this, Holbrook. I'll tell everyone about you and Rachel. You'll be sorry you kicked me off the team."
Mike caught himself before he flinched. "Rachel? Do you mean Rachel Roth? That's absolutely absurd."
"No, it's not, Holbrook. I've seen you together in your car. I know what you've been doing."
"Well, I've tutored her a few times, but that's all; there's nothing wrong with that, and I don't know why I'm telling you this anyway--it's none of your business. Now get out of my classroom and don't you ever threaten me again or you'll be off the team permanently."
"Just you wait, Holbrook--you and that bitch Rachel." Jason grabbed up his books and left, slamming the door behind him.

How could Jason--or anyone, for that matter--know about Rachel? Mike thought furiously. They'd been very cautious. The first time she had asked him to tutor her, he had done so with her mother's permission, and he had made sure that it was all open and aboveboard. Rachel had been wearing the same kind of baggy jeans and thick shapeless sweaters that all students seemed to be wearing these days, and even though she had the most incredible violet eyes and long white hair, she had it pulled back in a tight ponytail as usual, making her appear very plain. They had sat at her dining room table and had gone through two chapters together. She was very intelligent and quickly understood the concepts he was trying to get across, but Mike was not particularly interested in intelligence, and Rachel's plainness was not promising: she didn't appear to be overweight--in Mike's opinion there was nothing so unaesthetic as an overweight woman--but her clothes did nothing to outline her figure. Having dismissed her as unworthy of further interest, he made up an excuse to leave. Rachel was disappointed and begged him to stay, complaining that they were only halfway through the material, so he capitulated and agreed to come back the following week.
A week later when Rachel answered the door, she was barefoot, wearing a sheer sleeveless dress that buttoned up the front. Mike noticed that she had neglected to fasten the top two buttons.
He had not intended to become involved with Rachel, but one look at her and he changed his mind. No longer the frumpy teenaged girl from Southwest High, she had become a very beautiful and desirable woman.
"Uh, will your mother be here tonight?" he asked, looking around.
"She has the night shift this week," Rachel replied. "She won't be back until tomorrow morning, but it's okay--I told her you were coming over."
"What about your father?"
"My father left four years ago--we have no idea where he is." She locked the door behind them and slid the bolt into place.
She took his hand and led him into the living room. There was a small fire glowing in the fireplace and the only other light came dimly from a small table lamp next to the couch. "I'm all ready for you," she said, turning to face him. Her deep amethyst eyes sparkled in the firelight. "I thought the couch might be more comfortable than the dining room table."
Mike sat down on the couch and opened his textbook on the coffee table. Rachel sat beside him; she closed the book and sat up, turning her head and looking at him, her big eyes boring into his. She smiled and raised her eyebrows slightly.
Leaning toward him, she whispered, her face very close to his, "What would you like to teach me tonight, Mike?" He could feel her warm, sweet breath on his face.
"What would you like to learn?" he whispered back.
"Anything you want," Rachel answered, brushing her lips across his. "Anything at all."
He left Rachel as the sun was coming up, having made arrangements to meet again the next evening. After that, they met as often as they could. He checked carefully before picking her up in the park, and he made sure that nobody saw her in his car until it was safely parked in the garage of his condominium--or at least he thought he had. Once a month she would tell her mother she was going to spend the weekend with one of her friends and they would have two days together. Her mother never checked--on her nights off, she would be drunk and unconscious by nine o'clock.

Mike sat at his desk, thinking about Jason Franklin's accusation. He realized that he and Rachel had been too lax. He'd have to ask her to be more careful about the way she looked at him at school and how she always stayed after class on some pretext. He liked the way she wrinkled her nose at him, but she would have to save that for when they were alone. And he would have to be more careful about the way he treated her in class; she was starting to be considered a teacher's pet, and that might draw attention to them both. He decided to talk with Rachel that night, but he would have to be careful not to upset her--the three hours they would have together were precious.
At seven o'clock, he drove to Riverside Park and picked her up, then he headed west on Kellogg.
"Where are we going?" asked Rachel. "This isn't the way to your condo."
"I thought we'd go somewhere different for a change," he replied. He had decided to change their routine until he could determine if anyone--especially Jason--was stalking them. He drove past the airport and turned left onto a little-used road which wound around through the woods until it ended on a hill overlooking the runway. Off in the distance, the lights of downtown Wichita glimmered in the gathering darkness, but neither of them were interested in watching lights.
He shut off the engine, locked the doors and moved the seat back all the way. As they embraced, the windows began to fog over; the city lights were no more than faint halos through the glass. The last vestiges of daylight were quickly fading.
Suddenly the back of the car rocked as if it had been stuck by a heavy object. Mike couldn't see because Rachel had her arms wrapped around his neck. She leaned around his head, looked through the foggy rear window and saw the shadowy figure of a man standing motionless behind the car. The figure reached out and thrust down on the trunk again, crumpling the deck, causing the rear of the car to bottom out and recoil violently. "Mike!" she cried. "There's somebody back there!"
Mike reached across her and opened the glove box. "Get down, Rachel," he said. "I'll take care of this." He pulled a revolver out of the glove box and climbed out of the car. When he had shut the door, Rachel reached over and locked it.
The figure standing behind the car folded its arms and waited patiently as Mike approached. Mike had never fired a gun before, but its cold weight in his hand gave him confidence. "Okay, buddy," he said, "I don't know who you are, but back off from my car. I have a gun."
"Real tough, aren't you, Holbrook? Is that Rachel Roth in the car with you?"
Mike recognized the voice immediately. "Jason? What are you doing here? You're in big trouble. I'll make sure you never get back on the swim team."
"I told you I'd get you and that stupid bitch Rachel," said Jason.
"And I told you I've got a gun," Mike replied. "I don't want to have to use it, so just turn around and get out of here."
"It's too late for that. Swimming is the only thing I'm good at, and you've taken it away. It's your fault, and now you'll pay for it."
"I'm warning you, Jason--I'll shoot!"
Jason took a step toward Mike. "Go ahead--you think that thing will stop me?"
Mike cocked the revolver and aimed it at Jason's face. Jason took another step and he pulled the trigger. The hammer fell home but there was no report and no recoil. Mike looked at the revolver and back at Jason. Jason took another step toward him and he pulled the trigger again, but again there was no report. He continued pulling the trigger until Jason reached out and snatched the useless gun from his fingers. He pitched the gun back over his shoulder and laughed.
"Now what are you going to do, Holbrook? You're a real tough guy in the classroom but you don't look so tough now."
"Jason," said Mike, "listen to me: you're not off the team, you're just suspended. We can work this out--you don't need to do this."
Mike had back-pedaled and was now up against the trunk of the car. Jason was standing a foot from him but he didn't seem to have heard Mike. "That bitch, Rachel: Miss High-and-Mighty is too good for us students. I asked her for a date and she laughed in my face. Now I'm the one who's laughing. Goodbye, Coach."
Jason reached out and put his index finger on Mike's forehead. He backed off and saw that Mike was standing rigidly, staring straight ahead.
Rachel had cautiously raised her head until she could peer over the front seat. She could hear them talking but the windows were up and it muffled their speech. She saw Mike standing with his back to her, leaning against the trunk, unmoving. The other man took him by the arm and steered him toward the driver's side door. He tried the handle but it wouldn't move. He bent down and looked in at Rachel, and he could see that she recognized him. He smiled and waved; Mike was still standing where he had left him. Jason wedged his fingers in between the glass and the window sill and ripped the door off of its hinges, slamming it on the ground. The sound echoed through the woods. "Hello, Rachel," he said as she screamed. "Relax--I'm not going to touch you. I have your boyfriend here."
Rachel slid across the seat and tried to open the passenger-side door but the handle wouldn't budge. "You're not going anywhere," said Jason. "The coach, here, is going to join you. Get in, Coach."
Jason moved aside and Mike got into the car, still staring straight ahead. Rachel watched Jason as he walked to the rear of the car and stood looking at her, grinning through the rear window. He waved at her again, then he placed his palms flat on the trunk. After a few seconds she could see his face begin to glow as if he were holding a candle in his hands. As the light grew brighter, Jason turned and walked off into the darkness, leaving the light behind.
Rachel couldn't see the source of the light, but it was now very bright and she could clearly see the trees which surrounded the clearing. Tears rolling down her cheeks, she shook Mike and cried his name but he continued to stare out the windshield. She climbed over him and fell out of the car, landing on her side on top of the broken door. She crawled around the front of the car on her hands and knees over the gravel and into the woods.
When Jason had walked a few hundred feet down the road, he turned and watched. The light was so intense he had to squint. Suddenly the gas tank exploded, sending the car high into the air. It flipped end over end and landed on its roof, flames shooting from the shattered windows. Jason could feel its heat on his face and he held up his hands toward the fireball as if trying to absorb some of its power. As the flames subsided, he turned again and was gone.
The explosion knocked Rachel backwards. As she pulled herself to her feet, she could see that her legs and hands were bloody from her mad scramble across the gravel. Ignoring the blood streaming down her legs, she turned, crying, and began picking her way through the woods, away from the fire and heat.
At first the flames illuminated the woods, casting her shadow crazily in front of her, but as they died down, the cold and darkness returned. She had no idea where she was going. Rocks stabbed at her bare feet and branches reached out for her as she slowly worked her way down the hill. She hoped she was moving toward the airport, but she didn't really care--she just wanted to get as far away as she could. The sounds of her passage echoed through the dark woods.
She held her hands out in front of her, feeling her way around trees. She walked into several bushes, forcing her to backtrack around them. Each bush she hit jabbed her calves and thighs; she could feel them ripping and tearing her skin. She stepped on an exposed root and her foot slid out from under her, causing her to fall and land heavily on her side and cry out in pain. She raised up on one elbow, tears running down her face, shivering from the cold, and discovered that her hair was caught on something. Rolling onto her knees, she pulled, trying to free her hair, finally grabbing it and yanking as hard as she could. It broke free suddenly, and she flew back and landed flat on her buttocks.
Rachel put her hands over her face and cried, feeling hopelessly lost, her body wracked with sobs. As they subsided, she could feel something wet underneath her; she reached down and put her fingers into a pool of slimy mud. "Just great," she moaned, flicking the mud off her fingers. She rolled back onto her hands and knees and pushed herself to her feet. She tried to wipe off the mud but all she did was smear it around her legs and into her cuts, making them burn and sting. She heard something crashing through the undergrowth toward her and she screamed, but whatever it was veered away and headed off through the woods.
Wiping her hands on her T-shirt, she looked around, unsure of which direction she should go. The darkness was total; she could see nothing whichever way she turned. The hill seemed to slope down to her left, so she slowly moved in that direction. Her foot hurt from the root she had slipped on; she found she could not put her full weight on it.
The ground was becoming less steep now. She thought she could see some lights shining through the trees ahead of her and she was encouraged, pushing her way forward more rapidly. Suddenly the ground disappeared in front of her and she pitched forward, landing hard on her stomach and chest, knocking the wind out of her. She slid screaming down a steep slope head first on a layer of wet, slimy leaves, finally coasting to a halt. Rolling over onto her back, she stared up at the night sky, lying spread-eagled, not moving, trying to catch her breath; she could see it condensing in the cold air above her. Her chest hurt so bad she wanted to cry, but there were no tears left. She felt herself for injuries, pulling off the wet leaves which were plastered on her T-shirt. Lying there, she took some deep breaths, forcing herself to relax. As she looked up again, she thought she could just make out the faint outline of the trees above her; perhaps there were lights somewhere close.
Rachel sat up, trying to determine where she was. She could definitely make out individual trees; there was light coming from behind her. She turned her head around; not two feet from where she had been lying was a chain link fence. She felt a surge of elation as she realized that civilization was close. Grabbing onto the fence, she pulled herself upright, hanging on and looking through it at what lie beyond. She rattled it back and forth, laughing and enjoying the metallic sound it made.
Just on the opposite side of the fence was an asphalt road running parallel with it, and about a hundred yards beyond the road across a field were some large office buildings, dimly illuminated by streetlights on their far side. She looked up at the fence and thought about climbing it; it was at least ten feet high. Scaling it barefooted would have been bad enough, but she could see that the fence was also topped with barbed wire.
Rachel looked both ways along the fence. Where there's a fence, there's a gate, she thought. There was nothing but darkness to her left, but there were some bright lights far down the fence to her right. She could see that the woods did not come clear down to the fence; there was a narrow band of flat ground next to it, and then a steep slope--the slope she had fallen down--back up into the woods. Sensing that rescue was close at hand, she turned to her right and began limping her way along the fence, shuffling her feet through the dead leaves.

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 17 - 10:57 PM

Judy Carlyle was just preparing to make her eleven o'clock rounds when the phone rang. "Westcomm, gate three," she said, trying to hold the receiver with her shoulder as she strapped her gun belt around her waist. "Hold on, Jack," she said, laying down the receiver and getting her belt buckled. "Damned stupid thing," she muttered. "Okay, I'm back. What?...No, not tonight, I don't get off until midnight...Well you pick him up, then--he's your kid...I don't care how many beers you've had; that's your problem...You better not pick him up if you've been drinking...Aw, jeez. All right--tell him I'll pick him up in twenty...hold on, Jack--somebody's walking up the road."
She laid the receiver down and stepped out of the guardhouse. In the distance she could see what appeared to be a woman moving toward the guardhouse, holding onto the fence with one hand and pulling herself slowly along. As she watched, the woman stumbled and fell to her knees with a cry of pain, and then pulled herself back up and continued. Judy walked toward her and as she got closer she could see that the woman was very young, wearing nothing but a filthy, ripped T-shirt. Her whole torso was smeared with mud, and her hair, a dirty mass of snarls, was hanging down in her face. Judy could hear her whimpers as she struggled to keep her feet.
"Oh, my god!" Judy said, and started running. Rachel heard a voice and saw someone moving toward her. She let go of the fence and fell to her knees, trying to see through her hair.
Judy rushed up and knelt beside her. "Oh, honey," she said, putting her arm around Rachel's shoulders. "Let's get you inside. Can you walk?"
"Please help me..."

END OF CHAPTER ONE

Name: Roth, Rachel Address: Wichita, KS Age: 18 (unconfirmed) Date: 17 Nov Time: 2257 CST Reported to Skyguard: 2345 CST By: Judy Carlyle Multiple contusions & abrasions Photo by: Judy Carlyle