"Ahh, so the phone works," Victor said snidely. Michael could imagine him sitting in his office with his feet perched on top of his desk. "Please put me on speaker."
"Yessir," Michael replied. He turned the speaker on and perched the phone on the windshield.
"Stuart, are you there?" Victor asked.
"Yes, Mr. Bissett. We're sitting in the parking lot where you told us to go." Stuart replied.
"Aren't phones amazing?"
"Absolutely phenomenal creations if you ask me," Stuart said. Michael shot him a glare.
"Well, Michael ignored my calls all last week, and as a potential business partner, this is unacceptable."
"I completely agree."
"In the business world, if one partner is slacking, it brings down the whole team. We're all going to be punished today." Victor continued, "I'm not sure where you're parked, but there's a place called 'Fat Mouth Burgers' in that lot. You need to order six burgers to go. Bring them back, and we'll all eat the greasy meals as punishment. Do you think this is fair, Stuart?"
Stuart and Victor continued to talk, Stuart flattering Victor; Victor relishing each praise, but Michael had quit listening. He had decided his plan to make a run for it was back on. He couldn't kill anyone, and he certainly could not put the people he loved at risk.
"How can I help you today?" The unenthusiastic high school-aged boy behind the counter asked. He had long black hair that hung over his drooping eyes. A brightly colored single scoop ice cream cone was tattooed on his neck.
"We would like six of your single-fat patty delights to go," Stuart announced.
"State law requires me to inform you, eating more than one of our fat patties is a potential health hazard." The boy tapped the screen, "That will be nineteen-thirty."
When they left the counter, Michael made sure Stuart took a seat with his back towards the restaurant door. Stuart stared at the cashier, trying to figure out whether the boy was happy or depressed. Chin up was sad. Neck down was colorful and cheerful.
Michael paid no attention to the slimy eatery. He kept rehearsing his escape. He repeated the line in his head a few times before opening his mouth, "May I be excused to use the restroom?"
"Does Victor make you ask permission?" Stuart chirped, "Yes, you may go, as long as you promise to come back." He joked.
Stuart watched as Michael turned the corner to the hallway. He pulled the phone from his pocket and began to read through emails. The Company paid well enough that he'd been able to start his own small business as a hobby. He'd chosen envelopes because it seemed to be a commodity that wasn't leaving the market any time soon.
He read through his operation manager's weekly update. Last week they only missed one shipping deadline, not too bad considering they'd missed several the week before.
Stuart was scanning the remaining emails when he heard the happy or depressed cashier yell out, "Ben Dover, your order is ready."
Stuart smiled as he grabbed the bag of greasy meat off the counter. "Thank you." He went to leave then turned back, "Excuse me, this is an odd question. Are you happy?"
The kid brushed his hair from his eyes, "No."
"Ah, of course." Stuart nodded and turned.
Where was Michael? He scanned the place to find no signs. He scurried around the corner to find both single person restrooms unoccupied. No, no, no! Idiot. Why would he?
Stuart reached into his left pocket and pulled out a square device that looked like a first-generation smartphone. He flicked on the screen and swiftly jogged from the restaurant keeping the device in front of his chest. Come on, come on!
An orange dot flashed on the screen. 60 meters away, straight ahead. Stuart looked up to see the small compact car about to pull onto the street.
He debated making a sprint for the car. No too risky. Michael would speed out. He looked around the parking lot, saw an opportunity, and, without thinking, took off in a dead sprint. The motorcycle was barely going five miles an hour if he timed it just right...
He collided full force into the side of the unexpected rider throwing him off the bike. The man was small and skidded across the asphalt, letting out a heavy groan clutching his head. The motorcycle itself simply tipped and scraped. Stuart limped to the bike, his shin throbbing from knocking the footpeg. He pulled up the humming bike and climbed on.
The seat had been lowered to fit the rider's child-sized body. Stuart was far too big for the setup resulting in his knees digging up towards his armpits. He placed the bag of burgers between his legs, squeezed tightly between his thighs.
80 meters away. No!
He pulled the throttle, the bike swerved as he tried to balance himself. It'd been a while. He peeled from the parking lot, he didn't have time to check the location, he had to guess. Left or right? He pulled right. He held his breath as he swerved through traffic. Any second he'd know if he'd chosen the wrong direction. He waited anxiously, and finally, let out a sigh of relief when the device did not let out a buzz. He'd chosen correctly.
The street had a mile-long stretch before the nearest turn-off. If Stuart had guessed correctly, Michael was trying to get to East 880, two exits away. He took a second gamble and swerved to the left of the traffic and sped down the center of the street. If traffic was too heavy, he'd miss the first turn off, but it'd be the only way he could reach the car if it was headed to the highway.
He kept scanning the lanes ahead of him as he sped twice the speed limit. He spotted the car. It was two lanes to his right, fifty to seventy meters ahead of him. He had an idea but wasn't sure if it would work.
Michael sat in silence. He clutched the steering wheel firmly. Stuart must know by now, but what could he possibly do? His index finger tapped the steering wheel. If he disappeared, surely The Company couldn't punish those around him? Right? And if Victor was involved, even more reason to leave.
Michael was too lost in his own thoughts to see the motorcycle shoot across three lanes. The minivan in front of him slammed its brakes and swerved to the right, skidding its back tires. Michael braked hard, but too late and clipped the right tail of the van which spun his own car. The airbag smacked him in the face stinging his nose. He opened the car to find it had swerved perpendicular to the road. Adrenaline filled his veins, yet everything seemed to move slow. He walked uneasily to the van that was had a tire resting on top of the curb.
The lady was screaming in a foreign language as she climbed from the car. Her body was frail, but her face was stern. Fortunately, her van had no passengers. It took a few hand gestures for him to figure out she wasn't angry with him, but at the motorcyclist that had since disappeared. He looked down the street but saw nothing. The turned to see the freeway was a mere hundred yards away. Whoever the biker was, was long gone.
They walked to the rear of the minivan. It was hard for Michael to tell what was old and new damage. The lady pointed to the bumper, where there was a two-inch dent on the left side.
"Is he ok?" The lady asked in broken English. She pointed behind him towards his own car.
Michael spun around to see Stuart hunched over in the passenger seat with his forehead resting on the dash. Michael jogged to the car.
"How? What? The biker was that—"
"Give her this, we need to go." Stuart pulled a fist of bills from his pocket. "It's eight hundred, she'll accept it. We need to go." He said, shoving the bills into Michael's hand.
Michael snatched the bills and approached the woman. "Here, take these. I don't have insurance, please," he rambled reasonably sure she didn't understand him.
She shuffled through the bills and raised an eyebrow at Michael. She held the wad to her chest as if to ask, "For me?"
"Yes. I'm so sorry, I don't have insurance, that's.." He continued talking as he backed towards his car and quit once the lady turned, recounting the bills for a third time.
He shuffled back to the car, swinging the driver's door open. "Get out of my car."
"You almost killed both of us. You can't leave."
"Get out of my car." Michael grabbed the door frame.
"You can't run away. I have to stay within two-hundred meters of you at all times, or they activate my name." Stuart's face was stern, his cheeks were rosy, and his lip quivered. He looked just as terrified as Michael.
"You should leave now. If you stay, I'll just keep trying." Michael thought for a moment, "Did you put a tracker on my car? How did you find me?" Michael looked around, not quite sure what a tracking device would look like.
Stuart looked over Michael's face studying his expression. Had they not told him? Stuart rolls up his right arm sleeve. "I'm not tracking your car," he lifted his right arm and pulled a bandaid from his inner bicep. As he pulled it away, a fingertip-sized black magnet held against his bare skin, "The Company's tracking you." He paused, "they're tracking all of us. Your power source is lodged under your skin. They do that through the first cycle because most first time users would try to run if they could take it off."
Michael pulled up his sleeve to view the scar. He pressed against the center of the stitching and felt a similar flat round object, but there was more. There was a slender metal rod following either side of the magnet. He applied more pressure to the rod.
Michael let out a short yell as a sharp pain shot through his arm. "What was that?" Still wincing.
"Tiny gut hooks." Stuart replied, "To ensure you don't just remove the stitching and pull the battery out. Gut hooks are keeping it in place. If you open and pull, it'll rip flesh with it. After six months, they'll move you to external batteries. They have a key that retracts the hooks into the rods."
"Why six months?"
"Two reasons, external batteries are quicker to change. Waste of money to have surgery for every person. Second reason, at six months, most employees are convinced there's no use of running. Six months is what it takes for people to accept this is something they're a part of."
Michael sat in the car silent. "What happens if I run?"
"If you run, a nationwide hit will be placed on you as well as your GPS coordinates. A hit will be placed on your list as well." After seeing Michael's confusion, Stuart clarified. "I'm not sure who's on your list, but typically its the people you care most about. Family members, close friends... friend's children. It's really gruesome."
Michael pulled away from the curb, "What does this mean?"
"It means you stay with me. It means we go about your regular life and wait for further instructions. To everyone else, I am your kind, loving brother. I must remain within two-hundred meters of you at all times. If you go to the store, I'm with you, if you go to the restroom, I'm waiting outside. Do you understand?"
Michael nodded.
"Good. If you go outside that range, we both have a hit put on us." He paused to let it sink in, "Now let's go to your crazy lover's house and poison ourselves with burgers."