Page 132 of Shrapnel

Owen was, in fact, going to rescue Jackson. The plan had come to him in the wee hours of the morning while he was shifting through White Sand Mesa’s firewalls. It hadn’t been difficult to pull up the security cameras. While they were high resolution, they were poorly defended. They ran off the same WIFI the entire mansion used. Ridiculous. A child could hack into them.

There he found the camera labeled ‘basement’ which he figured was the polite way of describing a super secret prison in a Mcmansion. Jackson didn’t look like he was being tortured. He was sleeping, head pillowed in his hands and booted feet crossed. The cell he was in was small, but tidy. He looked too big for the cot they had pushed in the corner. But he wasn’t screaming in agony, so Owen figured he was doing all right.

He didn’t want to rescue Jackson for his safety. Well, he did. Knowing an innocent man was in prison didn’t sit right with him. But really, they needed him. Their Scooby Squad had dwindled considerably. Jamie was still out doing whatever it was he was doing, Noah was one step away from a total mental break down, and Owen wasn’t exactly going to be useful in the physical act of capturing a homicidal maniac.

They needed Jackson. He was smart and strong, another set of hands. And who else but Owen could rescue him? The Weavers couldn’t without starting an all out war (again) and Noah had no control over White Sand Mesa. Owen was a civilian. He had no official affiliation with any gang, at least on paper. Plausible deniability.

“We need him,” Owen finally said with a sigh. “I’m the only one who can do it without political reprisal.”

Noah nodded, eyes raking over Owen and his bag of goodies. “What exactly was your plan?”

He grinned. “Ok, so there’s a blind spot on the Northeast side of White Sand Mesa’z perimeter walls. I can park there, use this grappling hook, and get over the wall. The dungeon is in the basement.”

Noah crossed his arms. “And how were you going to find the basement?”

Owen hadn’t gotten that far. “Um. Just open doors?”

There was a look of almost pity on Noah’s face. “All right, listen up Double O Dipshit. There’s a reason the cameras have a blind spot on the Northeast wall—there’s a camouflaged guard station. And the basement stairs are hidden. You won’t find them by just meandering around. Do you even have any weapons?”

Owen didn’t. “Jamie taught me how to use a gun,” he said defensively.

Noah rolled his eyes. “Right, you fire it once and the entire property will be on you within seconds. You can’t use guns in a stealth op.”

This was so much easier in video games. The bad guys never heard you coming and there was unlimited ammo.

“I guess I could get a knife from the kitchen?”

“Jesus fuck. Just…stay here.”

Noah disappeared in a cloud of judgement, leaving Owen squirming beside his open car trunk. He was adult enough to admit his plan had been a rough draft, but it hadn’t been totally garbage. It just needed some tweaking.

He reappeared, wearing his father’s gun, and shouldering his own bag. “Let’s go, we’re wasting daylight.”

“We? You’re coming with me?” Owen asked, jogging after Noah as he moved to his own car.

“Yes,” Noah looked unsure, his eyes hooded, and lips pressed together. “I’ve messed up enough for three lifetimes. It’s time I made some of it right.”

“But if they catch you…”

“They’ll kill me?” Noah asked with a huff. “Elijah is in a hospital bed, I’ve disappointed every one of my ancestors, my only family thinks I’m a washout, and I’m responsible for the death of dozens of people.” He leveled a look at Owen. “You think I give a fuck?”

Owen supposed not, but he wasn’t sure how to answer that. “What’s your plan?”

“First, we need another vehicle.” Noah gestured to what Owen just now realized was actually Elijah’s car. “A truck.”

Owen watched him toss the bag into the back seat, sliding behind the wheel. “Who has a tru—oh God. No. He’s going to kill us!”

“Kurt isn’t…yeah, ok, that’s a legitimate fear. We’ll just make sure it’s back before he realizes it’s gone.”

Noah drove like he had a death wish. The old Bronco didn’t have any AC or radio, so they drove in silence with the windows down. It was late afternoon and if Owen wasn’t feeling so wired, he might have appreciated the sun going down over the flat desert. His fingers couldn’t sit still, and he kept glancing over at Noah. He couldn’t say that Noah was usually a chatty guy, but the silence between them was palpable. There was a negative energy coming off Noah that Owen didn’t like.

“So, um,” Owen began, choking on his words. “Who is running White Sand Mesa?”

Noah’s face soured and his eyes squinted behind the sunglasses he had stolen from the center console. He looked young in the mirrored aviators.

“Right now? Nobody. That’s the only reason this little harebrained scheme of yours is going to work.”

“Ours. It’s our scheme. I call it Operation Bargain Brand Batman.”