Milwaukee Deep

Standing in the sand, staring down at the body by his feet, Jimmy thought long and hard about reaching down to touch it.

“Jimmy!” called out his mother, “Leave that man alone!”

The waves again rolled in, splashing onto the little boy’s feet. The man lay still and silent, the cold seawater failed to stir him.

“This is the last time I tell you!” yelled Jimmy’s mother, her sense of panic adding an edge to her exhortation.

Jimmy hesitated, looked around, then retreated to where his mother sat.

“He’s sleeping mommy, but he won’t wake,” he said, as he reached for his blue bucket and spade.

“Well let him sleep, dear.”

Jimmy was the only one interested in the stranger lying face down in the sand. He had spotted him the moment he reached the beach that morning. He played quietly by his mother’s side all the time looking up to keep an eye on him. Each shovel of sand, each time he emptied his bucket, Jimmy looked up to see him lying face down, motionless.

“Mommy, look, look, he’s waking – he’s waking!”

“For goodness sakes, don’t stare!”

He tried to adjust to the bright light. Lifting his head slowly, he instinctively reached out his hand to block out the sun. The man could feel the heat on his back, but it was the pain in his lower leg that finally woke him.

What the hell’s going on?

He tried to move. As he did, he felt a sharp pain in his calf. Fighting it, he forced himself to sit up and look down at the large gash in his lower leg. It was deep, almost surgical. It ran from the base of the knee to the tip of the ankle with his calf covered in dried blood. He rested his hand on his leg and ever so slowly began dusting the sand off the wound, grimacing at the anticipated pain and the genuine discomfort.

The waves continued to roll in. He looked around, trying to establish his bearings.

The last thing he remembered was hanging up on his wife after telling her he’d be home late from work that night. He remembered asking her if she could leave the front porch light on so he would avoid walking into the low lying branches that hung over his walkway, the same branches he had promised himself he would cut down as soon as he found the time.

He tried his best to stand up, but his sore leg buckled beneath his weight. The confusion was as unsettling as the sense of terror that slowly gripped him as he again attempted to stand, but his second effort failed also.

A young woman walked by him as he searched up and down the beach for help.

“You! Please, I…I don’t know where I am! My leg hurts, please, can you help?”

The young woman ignored him and continued to walk, her head down, succeeding in avoiding eye contact with the naked stranger.

“For God’s sakes, help me please!”

Sam Crease looked down at his three and a half year old daughter, Emily.

“Honey, this isn’t a joke anymore – can you please tell daddy where you’ve hidden his keys?”

The little girl smiled, “Daddy, Jamie has them not me.”

“Sweetie, Jamie is seven weeks old – he couldn’t have them. Now, no more kidding around, okay? Daddy really needs to get to work.”

Sam turned to his wife who stood quietly in the kitchen watching her husband try to negotiate his keys back from his only daughter.

“Helen, are you even trying to help here or are you just having fun at my expense?”

“Hey don’t look at me – she’s your daughter too.”

Sam turned his attention back to his daughter.

“Emily, sweetie, enough’s enough. Where are my keys?” his voice as stern it could be looking into those tiny brown eyes.

Little Emily stood there smiling at her father, her hand twirling her left pigtail.

Sam looked back at his wife.

“A little help here would be appreciated.”

“Okay,” Helen put down her coffee, “Emily Jane Crease,” her voice slightly louder now

“Yes mommy,” she responded in that sing song, all innocence mode.

“Your father has asked you three times for his keys and yet you still haven’t given them to him?”

“I’m just playing, mommy.”

“Well we’re not. Your father has got to get to work and he cannot be late.”

Emily lowered her head slightly.

“Sorry mum.”

“Don’t apologise to me – apologise to your father.”

Emily turned to her dad.

“Sorry dad – I was just playing.”

“It’s okay sweetie – go get daddy’s keys and we’ll call it even, okay?”

Helen rolled her eyes as her daughter scuffled past Sam and into her bedroom.

“What’s that for?” Sam asked.

“What?”

“I saw you roll your eyes,” he said.

Helen smiled.

“You’re too forgiving – that’s your problem. That’s why you keep coming to me to discipline her. I tell you I’m curious to see how you’ll go with our son.”

Sam moved close to his wife and gave her kiss on her cheek.

“You know me, honey; I’m a sucker for a beautiful face. Besides I’m not the disciplining type - It’s not in my nature.”

“Interesting,” replied Helen, “Did you mention that in your application to the FBI?”

“Funny, sweetheart, very funny.”

Emily walked up to her father, keys in hand.

“Well thank you sweetie – now we won’t be doing that again, will we?” he asked.

“No, daddy.”

“Good. Now go play.”

Sam turned to clock on the wall.

“Shit, I’m late! Don’t wait for me tonight, honey, I’ll be home well after dinner.”

“But I told Phil to come around tonight – he’s bringing over the fish he caught on Sunday.”

Sam stopped while opening the door and turned to face his wife.

“You’ll have to cancel. You know what’s going on at the moment, Helen - I won’t be able to make any plans until this thing is over.”

Helen looked down the hallway at her husband.

“I understand. I’m sorry, honey. I just hope you find her soon.”

“So do I. I’ve got to go…talk to you later,” and he closed the door behind him.

Special Agent Tom Harding approached Arthur Karidis.

“Have you finished that review on the last exchange yet?” he asked.

“No not yet, Sir; I’m working on it as we speak.”

“That transport ship took too long to return – we’ll need to reassess how we deliver our cargo.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Harding picked up the file that sat on Karidis’ desk.

“Any idea who we have earmarked for the next shipment?” he asked.

“We have two to choose from, Sir. One is stationed at San Quentin and the other is currently serving his fourth year on the row at Oklahoma State Pen.”

“Okay, stick with what you’re doing and I’ll get Cooper to confirm who we should send.”

“When is the next shipment, Sir?” asked Karidis

“Not until January, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to confirm that now - there’s a hell of a lot of ground work to cover once we identify our target,” said Harding.

Harding turned to the file in his hand and made his way back to his desk in the far corner of the room, passing two other agents along the way.

Before he could fall back into his leather chair, Agent Tony Cheapston burst into the room.

“Jesus, what’s with you?” Harding snapped.

Cheapston stopped to catch his breath

“We have a situation.”

“What is it?”

“The receiver - it’s on as we speak – they’re sending through a message.”

“What? But that can’t be.”

“Well its happening,” insisted Cheapston, “they’re communicating with us right now!”

“I don’t get it - what are they doing? Don’t they know we’ve got a communication blackout?” Harding sneered as he scurried out of the room, his second in charge in tow.

Both men reached the Communication centre – a tiny room lined with computers set up to intercept and decipher data from all around the globe.

Harding immediately turned his attention to the Morse code receiver on the back wall.

It was still beeping out its message. Next to it sat a printer, set to decipher the code.

It started printing out the message.

Both men stood silently waiting for the message to be printed.

The receiver went silent.

The printing had stopped.

Harding walked up to the machine and picked up the single piece of paper from the tray.

It read…

Verification Code AB4RCT77Z

Message complete

Message Verified…

Subject 432 missing…

Subject 432 top side

Contamination imminent…

Subject 432 exposed

Harding drew in a deep breath.

“Holy shit.”