The Trekker
by Shronda S.
forum: The Trekker
speculative fiction for the internet generation.

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The Trekker


Anne sat on top the cold lab of the Baltimore City autopsy room. The only sound in the closed down morgue was that of the nail file over her forefinger nail. It was midnight and she had been there for two hours now. The stiffs that were wheeled in late and sat to frost were her only company who she didn't want to talk to. Anne moved to her middle finger, sharpening the fire red nails to a point as a sound entered her quiet haven. Looking at her watch, the minute hand pointed to a minute passed. Anne sighed and continued to turn her nails into weapons.

As she jumped her fourth finger for her pinky, the door of the storage freezer opened. Standing with the blue sheet wrapped around his waist was Henry Doyle.

"Took you long enough," Anne murmured as Henry looked about, dazed. His skin still showed the hue of blue from his freezer sleep and his limbs contracted out of the rigor mortis he'd suspended himself in.

"Where are my clothes?"

Anne pointed to the counter space that held his three-piece suit.

"Can you for once not get killed or maimed every other week?" Henry scooted past her back to the freezer. "It's not like I haven't seen it before, Harry."

He stopped and turned to his young cohort.

"Cover 'em."

"Oh, come on, Harry." He signaled her with one finger, not another word spoken. Anne covered her eyes as Henry began to strip and get dressed.

"I can't keep breaking in here and every other morgue just to get your body out. Someone will know."

"Are you stealing?"

"No… not anymore. Besides, once the Chief ME finds out you're not on your little bed, they're going to put out a notice."

"No different from the other times. How do I look?"

Anne uncovered her eyes to the handsome man she was here to "rescue", or so she put it. "Like a body that just regenerated inside a morgue."

"Perfect. Let's go."

Anne moved beside Henry, locking each door they came through so as to not leave any clue they were there. The sky was black with no stars or moon to help them. Henry liked it that way. No one could see him or what he was. Anne didn't even know who he was when he woke up in the San Francisco morgue she worked at. Jumpers from the Golden Gate Bridge were nothing Anne couldn't handle, but one that came back to life was something she only read about. Once she found out about him and helped him out of there, Henry could think of only two things to do with her: kill her or use her. Getting out the morgues he got himself into was hard enough. With some help, he could have his clothes ready and be out with no one the wiser until morning when his autopsy was up. Anne didn't have to be dragged to join this death-defying—literally—man on whereever he went and the trouble he brought.

Anne continued to switch her attention from the road and the man in her front seat. Henry continued to loosen his joints in the blasting heat of the car.

"Can I at least roll down the window? It's a sauna in here."

"I'm almost done warming up."

"Next time, I'll remind the coroner to wrap you up in a wool blanket." Anne flipped off the heat and rolled down the window, bringing in the comforting fall breeze. "You'll warm up at the motel." The two were fifteen minutes outside the city limits heading for Wilmington and on to the city of brotherly love.

* * *

The motel Henry picked wasn't the Ritz or even the Radisson. Anne expected rats to run away from the roaches that probably infested the place. Walking in, they were faced with a wall of Plexiglas, possibly to pass as bulletproof. The piece of slob that sat behind the counter kept his eyes on the 13-inch black and white that sat below his big waist. Anne moved up to the glass and knocked.

The supposed innkeeper removed his cigar but not his eyes from the screen to screech, "Whadda ya want?"

"What the hell do you think? I want a room!"

He turned to Anne, removing the unlit cigar from his mouth. He stared at the young woman in front of him, anger and a puissant attitude to boot. He then looked to her partner, a dark figure who hid his face from him and the security camera.

"What's with ya friend?"

"You got a room or what?"

"One room, but it has only one bed."

"How much?"

"Fifty bucks."

Anne reached down into the tan satchel she had hanging around her shoulder, pulling out a thick roll. The man placed the key on the counter and started salivating as Anne counted out fifty dollars in twenties and tens. Anne slid the bills under the glass but was caught by the fat hand from the other side.

"I'll throw in a washer and dryer for an extra thirty."

"Screw you."

Anne and Henry found the room a bit of a comfort. The bed looked clean, save the thousands of fluids and other things on there. The carpeting was as hard as a concrete floor. Anne hopped into the bed as Henry sat at a makeshift desk with a chair and the dresser that held the small television. Anne quickly turned it on as she dumped the contents of her bag. A lock picking kit, a slim-jim and rolls of cash fell to the bed. Anne pushed her tools to the side as she began to sort the bills into twenties, tens, fives, and ones. No big bills, mainly because of the venues she hit up.

"For the seventh time in a month, a local convenience store was robbed. Witnesses say a blonde haired woman in sunglasses threatened store clerks with an unseen weapon for the money in the cash registers. It is unknown how much she received from each store, but if you have any information…" Anne switched off the set as she thumbed the tens in her hand.
"You would think by now they know it's a wig. I have to get another one, anyway. That blonde one itched. Maybe I can be a redhead." Anne tossed the short bob cut of her dark brown hair.

"If you got a job, you wouldn't have to rob convenience stores."

"If we settled, I could get a job."

Henry scoffed as he held on to a gold chain. From the chain spun a golden coin as it held the mute light from the lamp. Anne watched as Henry became mesmerized by the valuable he kept near him at all time.

"This guy in Philly, he's supposed to tell you what the coin's for?"

"I know what it's for. I just need more information on it," Henry ran his fingers over the intricate designs that fashioned the coin. The coin was not only valuable in its weight and price but for the life it held. Henry's life spanned back as far back to the time the coin was made. Five hundred years from the Spanish explorers came the coin and its curse to who possessed it. Henry never knew so long ago that he would live beyond those he knew to a life where everyone wanted to know him. Whatever secrets the coin held, Henry wanted to know.

"Get some sleep. We're leaving at three."

"In the morning? That's like an hour from now. We just got here."

"I know, but your new little friend up front will get wise to your flash of cash and call the cops. So get some sleep. I'll wake you."

Anne never argued with Henry, because she'd never seen him mad. She didn't want to see him mad or who knows what he would have done. Anne packed up and curled up under the thin comforter and fell fast to sleep.

* * *

The midday rush had passed as Anne and Henry made their way up and down the blocks of Philadelphia. Anne kept her face averted and covered from the crowd, in hopes no one recognized her from the surveillance videos. Henry, on the other hand, almost jumped up to see over the crowd of pedestrians on the city sidewalk.

"His shop should be two blocks up." Anne kept close to Henry like a child holding onto her mother's dress. If separated, or worse, caught, who knows what would happen to either one of them or what would come up. As they passed another tall apartment building, possibly the tenth they'd seen that say, something coked back she saw them.

"Not to sound like a movie cliché, but I think we're being followed." Henry turned to the two uniformed officers, their eyes set on him and Anne. Henry grabbed hold of Anne's arm and pulled her through the crowd.

"On my signal." They took two steps before Henry pushed Anne forward, sending her running full speed down the street. Henry made a dash in the other direction, across the full parking lot into an apartment building. Henry stomped up the ten stories, the officer close behind him. Opening the roof door, Henry was greeted by the clear blue sky and the crisp skyline of Philly. Henry looked down off the building he had entered to the ten-story drop with pavement below.

"Turn around!" the cop yelled. Henry turned to the officer, whose weapon was brandished. "Put your hands were I can see them."

There was no way out. Henry knew that Anne could evade the police and not get caught. She had been doing so for the past few months, but he couldn't get caught. Henry hated running from a fight, but that's all he could do to not show his true self, a man who'd lived, and died, for over five hundred years. There was no way out except down. Henry backed closer to the edge. He felt the barrier on the back of his legs as the officer moved toward him.

"Sir, don't. Just come with me."

Henry smiled before he sailed off.

* * *

Anne sat on the cold metal counters, the dollar store book in her hand. She did something she hadn't done for some time, she brought something. The book wasn't anything but something she could have to pass time. She was halfway through when she heard her name.

"Anne! Where the hell is it?" Anne looked up to see Henry in a cobalt blue suit. Anne never knew why he wore suits, just that it was all he had. Henry continued to dig through his pockets as Anne jumped off the morgue counter.


"Where's the coin? Didn't you put it in my jacket?" Anne dropped the coin from its chain in front of him. It gleamed in the fluorescent lights from above.

"No, I had to grab it before they got to you." Henry grabbed it and admired it as if it was his first time to see it. He dropped it inside a pocket before looking as his young assistant, her auburn hair cut to frame her face. "I talked to your guy. He says that coin's special." Henry moved back toward the freezer, closing the door to those left.


"It's circa Mayan Civilization. He says that it was one of a few given to Spanish conquistadors as a curse for what they stole from them. He didn't know what curse, but definitely a curse. He didn't tell me much else." Anne moved behind him as he stood silent.

"Where to now?" Henry turned to Anne, smiling.

"St. Louis. I'm driving."




copyright 2007 Shronda S.

Shronda S. has had stories published on Silverthought and with Megan’s Closet. She had been writing since she was twelve and tries her hand at everything from sf to nonfiction. She is currently a student at the University of New Orleans and is currently working on a degree in Chemistry.
Shronda has a blog ( and a profile currently on Myspace ( where she posts some of her writings, some currently on Silverthought.