Hello, readers!
Idk what's going on with the chapter's title. Couldn't come up with anything better! Why is trying to come up with a title the hardest part of the chapter? BAH! Anyway, again, any input on the dialogue is appreciated!
This chapter has been updated as of 2/28/16.
~ Crayola
Chapter Eleven
Never Ending Calamity
"Excuse me, where's the bathroom?" I asked halfway down the stairs. Sam made a bee-line for the kitchen and Mikaela followed after him. I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and waited.
Judy was the one who turned and pointed. "Right down there, dear!"
I smiled and nodded. "Thank you."
It wasn't a total lie. Judy commenting on Sam being "filthy" had me feeling self-conscious so I scurried into the guest bathroom and tried to clear away some of the smudges from the fight with Barricade. Mikaela looked pristine as ever, but she hadn't been tackled by a human-sized lawnmower.
Luckily there wasn't much to clean. I finished with the facilities and poked my head out to see where everyone was, but they were busy doing their own thing.
After I was certain no one was looking, I dipped into the hallway and slipped silently through the back door into the destroyed yard. I glanced and turned around where I stood, looking for the Autobots, but none of them were in sight.
Where the hell did they go?
Rolling my eyes, I snuck around to the front to check the street. I thought I spotted Jazz' alt form at the end of the block, but not any of the larger bots or Bumblebee. Which was weird, since it was technically his house.
But he wasn't exactly the same "crappy Camaro" Ron had bought, so he would have been out of place anyway.
Shaking my head, I sighed. "Now you learned the meaning of stealth," I muttered.
Better late than never, I decided. I tiptoed around the corner and quickly jogged back across the yard toward the backdoor. I'd wanted to tell them we were almost done. I'd wanted to maybe disappear so I didn't have to worry about Sam's parents lecturing him about the items I didn't actually want to buy.
With my plans of absconding thwarted, I snuck back inside the house and hoped Jazz still had all my shit in his pocket dimension. Whatever he'd called it.
The stupid Chihuahua started yapping when I walked inside this time and I quickly shushed him while moving about, hoping no one came to investigate. Even with the cast on his leg he was still able to almost trip me three times.
"Mojo! Don't bark at our guest!" Judy reprimanded the dog, scooping him up off the floor before putting him up on some sort of bed they had for him by a window.
It looked like a cat tree.
Sam popped out from in the kitchen and pointed a finger at me. "Mom, don't let her near him she hates Chihuahuas!"
She gasped and put a hand to her chest. "What?"
Sighing, I shot Sam a sour look and shook my head. "I don't hate Chihuahuas."
"You said they suck!"
"I just prefer big dogs! You can't hug a Chihuahua without crushing it!" I shot back, storming after him into the kitchen. "And a Chihuahua isn't going to protect you from a big scary home invader!"
Case in point, his broken leg.
Judy remained in the living room, cooing to the dog and scratching his ears. "Don't listen to her! You're an adorable little doggy!"
"Didn't you guys just meet?" Ron intoned, his eyes narrowed.
Oh shit.
To Sam's credit, he hopped on it immediately. "Well technically in person maybe, but like, we spoke in eBay. . .messages? For like, a while y'know?"
I nodded and added, "Yeah, and he. . .asked if it was okay he had a dog, since I wanted to come and see the glasses. I said sure, and just. . .asked what kind of dog it was. I had a shepherd mix when I was little, so I was curious."
"Yeah, then she said Chihuahuas suck. She's dog racist."
"That's not a thing!"
"Whatever, I want those things off of the internet tonight!" Ron chided, standing in the doorway to the living room. As he left, he sent another command to his son. "Apologize to the nice lady for wasting her time!"
He groaned, but turned to shout back. "Whatever you say Dad!"
We stood in the kitchen for a moment and Sam glared at me. "Why did you tell my Dad about this stuff?" he demanded.
"You weren't getting any result so I thought I'd pretend to be interested in buying them! I thought maybe there'd be a better chance of finding them. How was I supposed to know you were selling that junk behind your parents' backs?" I hissed through clenched teeth.
"Whatever, it doesn't matter, I got them!" Sam exclaimed. He had finished digging through his bags and was holding up an old pair of spectacles. They looked very unassuming, but the Autobots seemed to think that there was something to them. "Okay you guys wanna go distract my parents while I sneak out and give them the glasses?"
"Sure," Mikaela agreed.
Shrugging, I motioned outside. "You might need to look for them, I couldn't find them when I was in the back yard."
"Yeah?"
I nodded.
"Well I'm sure they're nearby," Mikaela pointed out. "Why would they go far without their glasses? Maybe Jazz talked them into hiding."
"One can only hope."
Someone suddenly started ringing the doorbell in rapid succession, trying hard to get our attention. The sound startled me and Sam. None of us moved to see what was going on and instead shared nervous glances.
"Who could be here this late?" Sam whispered.
"Probably no one we want to see," I muttered. "Just go around the back?"
When no one immediately answered the door, the doorbell rang several times in a row once more, incessantly. Whoever was on the other side didn't have much patience. Sam, Mikaela, and I peeked around the corner to see what was going on.
Ron opened the door, and faced the skinny, gangly man in the doorway. "Ron Wikicky?" the man asked, smiling a big, fake smile.
"It's Witwicky. Who're you?" Ron demanded.
"Agent Simmons of the government, Sector Seven," the man said, showing off a shiny silver badge he'd pulled from his inside pocket.
"Never heard of it," Sam's father replied skeptically.
"Never will."
The three of us withdrew back into the kitchen and panic rose like bile in my throat—all of my worst fears. The government had finally come knocking. I knew the Autobots wouldn't have gone unnoticed. Those meteors crashing to Earth were all over the news, and their shenanigans at this house were downright embarrassing.
"Is your family related to one Captain Archibald Wilkicky?" the man, Simmons, continued as he leaned forward to look in the house.
"It's Witwicky!"
"May I enter the premises, sir?"
Though we were already hidden from I sight, I ushered the two teens further into the kitchen. The two teens stared at me, bewildered.
"What's going on?" Same whispered.
"What's Sector Seven?"
I glanced over my shoulder and swore quietly. "The government is here, they know. We have to sneak out of here somehow and get to the Autobots," I explained in undertone, glancing out the windows into the yard.
Dark shapes moved about.
"Ronald! Ronald there are men in suits everywhere!" Judy complained, passing by the kitchen entrance. Once again she had that wooden bat in her grasp and she definitely looked ready to bash someone's skull in.
Men in suits everywhere, she said. We were trapped.
"Can you stay off the grass?" Ron demanded angrily after following his wife toward the backdoor. Mojo was yapping away. They probably would have thought twice if it was a large Rottweiler snarling at them.
I turned to Sam and Mikaela. "Is there any other way to leave the house?" I asked.
Sam shook his head. "We have to go through there, they'll see us. And there are government agents all over the place. We're not getting out of here," he said quietly. I didn't think his face could be any more pale.
"Make sure you get samples!" Simmons commanded in the living room, pointing around.
"Oh, Ron! They're pulling the bushes out of the ground! The bushes! Oh hell!" Just shouted, stomping around the house. Outside a pot shattered.
"Ma'am, I need you to drop the bat. I am carrying a loaded weapon."
"You better get those men out of my garden or I will kick the crap outta them!" she spat. Part of me hoped she would smack him with the bat. It would probably provide a proficient distraction so we could all sneak out, but then again she'd probably be arrested for assaulting a federal officer. If this branch was even real.
Once more my mind tried to figure out how my dad would have handled the situation. But oh wait, he worked for the government. He would have just sent them away! I couldn't pull anything close to that and get away with it.
Judy was making a horrible fuss and Sam surged forward to come to her aid. Mikaela and I had no choice but to follow.
We made it out and stood between the kitchen and the living room. The Simmons guy and one other agent were in the house, and they looked at us when we stepped down the small landing into the living room.
"Mom, Dad, what's going on?" Sam asked.
"Hi! How ya doing, son?" Simmons greeted him cheerily, throwing the wooden bat to a suited man next to him. Maybe Judy had tried to hit him. Pity it hadn't worked. "Are you Samuel?"
Sam hesitated. I shook my head, hoping he wouldn't answer, but he did. "Yeah."
"I'm going to need you to come with me," Simmons informed him, motioning with a hand and taking a step toward him.
Ron and Judy took up defensive positions in front of Sam.
"Woah, woah! That is way outta line," Ron warned him. Mojo waddled up in front of Ron and continued his yapping.
"Sir, I am asking politely. Back off."
"Why do you need to take Sam? Under what charges?" Judy demanded angrily.
"You aren't going to take our son," Ron insured the government man, holding his hand up as if to keep Simmons back.
"Oh really? Are you going to get rough with us?" Simmons bated, squaring up.
"No, but I am going to call the cops, because there is something fishy about this whole operation you've got going here!" Ron threatened him, standing up straighter to look more intimidating.
"Good idea, Ron. Go and call the cops and have them come out here," I demanded.
The agent's attentions fell to me, but I didn't falter and continued my rant.
"Technically, you can't do anything to us without a warrant, and if you can't show us a judge-issued warrant for arrest or search, you should just leave this man's private property right now and come back when you do!" I continued. My face heated under the scrutiny.
Now everyone was looking at me, a mixture of surprise and awe.
"What? I watch a lot of Law and Order," I whispered, turning my head to hide the blush.
"We are above the law! This badge here says so," Simmons countered with wild eyes, showing us all his shiny little badge. "I think there's something fishy about you, your son, your little Taco Bell dog, and the operation you have going here."
"What operation?" Ron demanded, looking confused and angry. Judy picked up Mojo and cradled him to her chest.
"That, sir, is what we are trying to find out."
"You still can't just bust into the neighborhood and start ripping up bushes and flowers and stealing them! You need a warrant signed by a judge, or your search here is in violation of our Sixth Amendment rights! You could be sent to jail! I don't care what branch of the government you are, you have no right to disrupt their family living without good reason!" I shouted angrily.
I really had no clue what the Sixth Amendment was, but I thought I sounded pretty smart using it right then. I knew the Fifth Amendment was the rights accused get, so the sixth had to do with something about the law, too. Whatever, I was on a roll.
Simmons trained his gaze on me and furrowed his brow in thought. "And who are you, Ms. Criminal Intent?"
"That doesn't matter! Any Joe Blow off the street can get a badge off of the internet and claim to be with the government. If we haven't heard of you, then we don't need to listen to you!" I was yelling now. My heart was beating a mile a minute and my face was flushed. I wasn't used to this kind of conflict outside of irate customers at work.
Though, I never would have taken the tone I was with a customer. The stress and frustration was starting to wear me down.
The "government" guy narrowed his eyes. "Name. Now."
I hesitated, squared my shoulders, and huffed. Try as I might, false bravado was all I could muster. "Kathryn Walker."
Simmons' eyes widened. "As in the daughter of Kyle Walker?"
Instead of losing my momentum, the mention of my father only made me angrier.
"How the hell do you know my dad?" I demanded, pointing an accusing finger at him. Dad had never mentioned anything about something named "Sector Seven" or any government agency like it. One we hadn't heard of and "never would". He'd always just told me that he did background checks for the government, not that he was some sort of agent.
"Walkers have worked for us since we were established. Sector Seven often hires within a bloodline. How old are you? Sixteen? Seventeen?" he asked.
"Twenty-two," I snorted indignantly. No way I looked that young.
"Kat you know these people?" Sam demanded.
I turned and shook my head. "I've never heard of them! I don't know what he's talking about! My dad said he did background checks!"
Simmons shifted uneasily, as if he hadn't been expecting that. "Must have asked the higher-ups not to recruit you." Though I heard him, it seemed like he was talking to himself.
He paused, then gave me a grave look. "We were all upset when we heard about his death."
"I don't need your sympathy," I spat, looking down and away from him. Some strange people had come to the funeral saying they were work friends, but I didn't recognize Simmons or the goon standing next to him.
Somehow I had to put the pieces together. Sometimes he'd be gone for a couple days on business meetings, but he never had long nights, his relationship with Mom was steady. . .had he been telling the truth? Maybe he did do background checks for this Sector Seven. And my great-grandfather, this Sam Walker, had worked for them, so if they hired family it made sense.
So then, why hadn't I ever heard of them, if they "hired within a bloodline"?
"Did he ever even mention working with him at all?" Simmons asked, pulling me from my own little world.
A rebellious part of me wanted to ignore him and not answer, but I found myself responding anyway, as if hoping he could answer all the questions burning in me. "We spoke about it in passing at dinner sometimes, but I wanted to be a banker like Mom. Dad travelled too much for my tastes."
"Banker?" Simmons repeated, face screwing.
My anger returned and I hunched my shoulders, arms crossed. "I like doing my job!"
The balding man spoke with some of the goons from outside then caught Simmons' attention before he could form a rebuttal. Simmons took his gaze away from me and looked down at the shorter man. "I think direct contact," the guy muttered to him. Simmons eyes widened and the man nodded his head once.
Contact?
Simmons walked forward, holding out small box and a sensor that was handed to him. "Sir, ladies, will you step forward, please?" he addressed the three of us, holding the sensor out towards us.
Sam stepped forward, pushing out from behind Ron, and I snapped out of my own thoughts. I reached for Sam's shirt, but he moved out of my range and I swore quietly. "Sam! No! Don't do anything until they have a warrant!"
But it was too late for that. Simmons first held the sensor out to Sam and his parents, slowly moving it up and down the length of their bodies. The box clicked frantically as it passed over Sam and Simmons stared at it, irritated. He took a moment to hold it before Mikaela, earning the same result, but when he attempted to pull that shit on me I backed up and shook my head.
"No sir, you stay away from me. What is that thing, anyway?"
Whatever the thing was reading, it was more interesting than my questions. "Fourteen rads! Bingo! Tag 'em and bag 'em!" Simmons declared, walking away.
Men swarmed around us and grabbed everyone by the arms, pulling and manhandling. Someone took Mojo from Judy's arm and carried him off, too. I pulled my arm from the grip of some goon and stumbled backwards. "Under what charges!"
The man moved on me again. I struggled for a few seconds, but he detained and dragged me out of the house. "Let go of me right now! I demand it!"
However, he had no intention of doing so and slapped some icy-cold handcuffs on me, forcibly twisting my arms around my back. I hissed in pain through clenched teeth. "You are in violation of all my American rights!"
"If you hurt my dog, I'll kick your ass!" I heard Judy yell.
"Sam! Don't say anything!"
"Yeah!" Sam replied.
"Not a word until we get a lawyer!" Ron yelled before he was shoved into a car.
"They can't use anything we say here in court! We haven't been mirandized yet!" I yelled angrily. I was beginning to feel even more glad that I had decided to be like Mom. All of these people were assholes, every last one of them.
As I realized that I wasn't going to be able to talk my way out logically, panic rose in my chest.
We weren't being arrested. We were being kidnapped.
Furtively, I looked around for where I thought I'd seen Jazz sitting, hoping that they at least knew we were being taken. Between bodies and cars, I spotted the silver car I thought was him sitting at the end of the block and, without thinking, I called out to him. "Jazz! Jazz!"
The high beams on the car flashed then went dark. For a brief moment hope swelled inside me, but when the car did nothing further, it dove like a crashing plane.
He wasn't going to do anything.
There were no other Autobots around that I could see, and they were going to let us be taken.
Defeated, I let the goon holding me shove me into one of the black SUVs with Sam and Mikaela; Sam was sandwiched between the two of us. We were all in handcuffs, and it wasn't very comfortable sitting in a chair with my arms behind my back.
"You're all going to be in big trouble," I growled under my breath, leaning forward and glaring at Simmons with an intensity I hoped burned him. If he noticed, he didn't let it show.
But the Autobots knew we'd taken. I tried to find solace in that face, even if it stung that they weren't going to do anything about it. Not yet, anyway, I reminded myself. Who knew what these Sector Seven jackasses would do. They couldn't have a fight in a neighborhood.
Jazz wasn't leaving me behind. He was just biding his time.
Simmons waited to address us while he gave the driver some directions. The car Sam's parents were in took off in one direction, and the rest of the group of cars headed in another. We passed by Jazz' spot on the street and I turned in my seat, but we turned a corner and he was gone. He'd come for me, though. I had to believe it.
Man I was tired of being fucking kidnapped, though.
Once we were out of the neighborhood and on a stretch of open road, he turned and examined me for moment, then asked, "Who's Jazz?"
I refused to look at him and muttered under my breath, "My very large friend."
"And?"
"And he's gonna be mad you stole us."
Annoyed, Simmons said, "We apprehended you. You're in handcuffs."
All I could do was scowl at him. "You can buy handcuffs at a sex store, idiot. I still don't buy you're a real government agency."
Mikaela joined in. "Yeah, for all we know you're just thugs with a big budget."
"I assure you," he hissed, "We are a legitimate branch of the government, if secret."
Sam scoffed. "Haven't done anything to prove that."
He raised his eyebrows and mocked us silently before turning back to the front and grabbing a bag in the glove compartment. "So, LadiesMan217. That is your eBay username, isn't it?" he asked, dumping a cell phone into the palm of his hand.
"Yeah, but, like, it was a typo and I ran with it," Sam explained defensively, looking at us.
I shot him a disbelieving glance. "How the hell would you get that from a typo?" I asked, but the only answer I received was a dirty look shot in my direction. Somehow I managed to imagine him just pounding on his keyboard.
"Is this you?" Simmons asked, holding the phone up and ignoring our squabble. Sam's voice rang from the speakers. "Hello, my name is Sam Witwicky and my car is alive."
"Yeah, that sounds like LadiesMan," Mikaela agreed reluctantly.
"Last night at the station you told the officer that your car 'transformed.' Enlighten me," Simmons prompted, eyes glued to Sam.
I'd forgotten that Sam had witnessed Bumblebee transform. That he'd been picked up by the police. That mixed with the falling Autobots and the fact that they'd already had a taste of the Decepticons and the Autobots led them to us. They'd come for Sam because of the statement he'd made to police.
Much as I liked to bitch and moan, this Sector Seven was the real thing.
If Dad were here, I wouldn't have been arrested.
Wait. If my Dad was part of Sector Seven. . . . He would have turned Jazz in, wouldn't he? None of this would have happened because he would have reported back to Sector Seven and they would have captured or killed Jazz and known the Autobot's entire plan. . .they would have all been captured or killed and we'd be. . . .
But no, no Dad wouldn't have turned them in? He wouldn't have done such an underhanded thing, would he? He wasn't like that, he wasn't like these assholes!
There was no way he was like them.
Sam shook his head, mouth bobbing. "Here's what I said, okay. This is a total misunderstanding!" Sam argued. Mikaela nodded her agreement, her lips pursed into a thin line. "I said that my car was stolen. From me."
Simmons raised his eyebrows. "Really?"
"From my home. But it's ok, cause it's back. It came back."
Mikaela glanced at him warily and shook her head a tiny bit before looking back to Simmons. "Well, not on its own it didn't!"
"Well no," Sam agreed quickly, his eyes wide.
"'Cause cars can't do that. That would be crazy," Mikaela offered, laughing a forced, nervous laugh. Sam joined in with an equally strained guffaw. Even Simmons and the driver joined in, but I just kept glaring at the seat in front of me.
Hoping and waiting for Jazz to come fetch me.
"Oh, funny. That's real funny." Simmons said before he cut off the laughter and took up a serious face. "What do you kids know about aliens, huh?"
Sam and Mikaela stopped laughing and watched Simmons.
"What, you mean a Martian? Like ET? Ha. No," Sam replied.
"Yeah, it's an urban legend," Mikaela agreed, shaking her head.
Simmons looked at me expectantly and I tore my gaze away from the terribly interesting seat back in front of me to glare at him instead. Was I supposed to be pretending I knew nothing about aliens? What was the point? They already knew, that much was clear.
"Guess you'll find out when they come to get us," I intoned, gritting my teeth. Sam and Mikaela glared at me.
"She doesn't mean that," Sam said quickly.
"I don't know why you guys are bothering talking to him. Just keep quiet and they have nothing against us," I advised.
Simmons narrowed his eyes and fished his badge out of his pockets to wave it in front of my face. "You see this, Ms. Criminal Intent? It's a do-whatever-I-want-and-get-away-with-it badge. No matter what you think, I am going to lock you up forever."
"Yeah?" Sam swallowed hard.
"Oh, god. You know what? Don't listen to him. He's just pissy 'cause he has to get back to guarding the mall," Mikaela hissed, glaring at Simmons. I sneered at Simmons, glad I wasn't the only one with a little bit of fight left in me.
Simmons snapped his head around to look at Mikaela. "You. In the training bra. Do not test me. Especially with your daddy's parole coming up."
"Parole? What?" Sam gasped.
"It's nothing, Sam," Mikaela insisted.
"Oh, grand theft auto, that's nothing?" Simmons countered.
Mikaela grimaced and turned to Sam. "You know those cars my dad taught me to fix? They weren't always his."
"You—you stole cars?" Sam affirmed, looking taken aback.
"We couldn't always afford a babysitter, so sometimes Dad had to bring me along," Mikaela explained, glaring at Simmons.
If my hands weren't behind my back, I would have pulled out my hair. "Guys, come on now. He's using this to try to put a rift between us. It's common interrogation practices. None of this is important to the task at hand," I pleaded, glaring at Simmons.
They looked at me, but Sam still seemed uneasy and Mikaela looked mortified that we knew her dirty little secret. "Don't give him the satisfaction of arguing with each other."
The two teens looked down and away from each other. Well, it was a start.
Simmons glared at me, part way impressed and part way irritated. However, he was still trying to rattle cages and make us talk. "Sure, don't talk to me like she says. But if you don't want your dad to spend the rest of his natural life in prison, then it is time to talk!"
Halfway through his speech, the special box they had used earlier started to click rapidly, alerting us to something. Then, a large object—a foot?—swung into the front of the car and slammed into it with enough force to jerk the car around and break the windshield.
And no one had bothered to buckle any of us in.
Our car spun, rammed something again, and I was thrown into the seat in front of me before thumping into sam. There was a flash of red and blue as we came to a final stop. I groaned and readjusted my weight in the seat, hoping that I'd managed not to hurt myself too bad in the collision. Had it been another car? Or maybe was it—
A light beamed in through the windows and I heard heavy footsteps outside the car.
That would be our rescue party.
