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Max and Logan heard the rustle of the dense foliage scraping the roof as the train began to slow. The train officer tapped Logan politely on the shoulder and nodded toward the door. The officer had looked dubiously at Logan's wheelchair and pantomimed an awkward apology, but hadn't indicated that the he was planning to make any special accommodations for Logan. The train slowed gradually, approaching the clearing in the trees. Logan had seen enough previous stops to know that he only had a few seconds. He moved his chair gingerly to the edge of the stairs leading off the train and bumped quickly down the last two steps, hanging on grimly to the railing. Max shoved him clear of the last step as the train started up. The jungle soon swallowed the train again.
As the sound of the train faded away, the quiet sounds of the train station settled over them. Actually, it wasn't much of a station. Four upright posts supported a wooden roof. The rectangle of shade thrown by the little roof was barely big enough for one person, but at least the structure gave the spot an idea of a train station. Some of the larger towns they had passed had signs in English and Thai, but this stop warranted only a hand-painted sign in the wavy local script. One lone man sat behind a faded cooler, selling brightly colored juice in plastic bags, the tops of the bags wrapped tightly around a tiny straw with a rubber band.
"Are you sure you want to drink that?" Logan cautioned as Max offered the man a few coins.
"I think my X-5 stomach can take it. Besides, I'm too thirsty to care," Max added, sipping at the warm juice.
The train tracks had roughly followed the path of one of the local rivers and the trees grew thick around them. Logan hesitated a moment at the edge of the pavement. A rough dirt road led down a slope and disappeared into the trees. Max came up behind him and leaned lightly on the back of his chair.
"It's not a mission, you know," Max said gently, guessing Logan's thoughts. "Let's just see how it goes. One step at a time."
Logan grunted at the irony of her words and let himself roll down the dirt path with Max following behind.
The path wound through the thick trees. Occasionally, the sounds of birds or other small animals interrupted the silence. The road was quite clear, suggesting that it saw regular traffic even though they were the only ones walking on it now. Logan pushed his way slowly over the rough ground. His thoughts strayed back to a few weeks ago, when he had left Max at the cabin with Zack. She had asked him to run away with her and he had smiled sadly, thinking about how impossible an idea that was. Now, here they were, not quite running, but at least trudging along a strange path on the other side of the world.
They rounded the next corner to find that the path ended in a small square, flanked on all sides by small wooden buildings. Some buildings were clearly shops, with baskets of rice and dried fish and spices lined up neatly in front. Next to one house, the heavy wooden platform that served as a bed had been pulled outside to take advantage of the slight breeze. Two men sat on the edge of the platform, smoking cigarettes and talking quietly. A boy lay on his stomach at the other end, tickling a cat with the end of a long feather.
Max consulted the folded paper with the instructions written neatly on it.
"It says we're supposed to look for Mr. Koonikorn's friend in the old clinic.
A storefront with a faded caduceus on the sign stood in the middle of the line of buildings. Someone had laid cement pavers in an area on either side of the door. A porch roof shaded the area, making a rough waiting room area where a few children and their mothers sat on wooden benches.
As Max and Logan approached, all five sets of eyes turned to look at them. For once, Logan was pretty sure they were staring more intently at Max's curly hair and his blue eyes and not at his chair. Out of the corner of his eye, Logan saw everyone in the waiting room sneak out quickly as he and Max went in the door, making even the hair on the back of Logan's neck prickle.
"Max might not do guns, but I wouldn't mind having mine right about now," he thought
The space in front of the counter was narrow, with barely enough room for Logan to turn around. He backed up until his back wheels touched the wall. A teenage boy sat on a stool near the end of the counter, flipping through a comic book. The man who stood behind the counter finished counting some pills and swept them into a plastic bottle before looking up. He sized up Max and leaned forward on his hands to look down at Logan from above the high counter.
Max began, "We're friends of Tarapunchai Koonikorn. Are you the pharmacist here?"
The man drew his hands back under the counter and nodded once.
Logan reached into his backpack to pull out the package, a round box the size of a small orange, wrapped in brown paper. As he reached up to set it on the counter, Max's sharp ears heard a click under the counter.
Max dove over the counter, her hands wrapping around the man's neck, pushing him up against the back wall. The boy sprang to life, pulling out the long barrel of a shotgun from behind the counter. Logan pushed off the wall behind him, barreling into the boy who stumbled.
"Drop it, now." Max shoved the man hard against the wall for emphasis. The boy regained his footing. He held his ground, aiming the twin barrels at Logan's chest.
"Open it," the man croaked, his voice squeaking out from under Max's arm.
Logan eyes Max, who nodded toward the package.
Logan pulled off the brown paper and held up the round plastic object.
"It's a mouse." Surprised, Logan pushed forward and put the object back on the counter.
"A what?" Max kept her tight hold on the older man.
"A mouse… for a computer."
The pharmacist gave a disgusted grunt and waved a hand toward the boy. The boy relaxed his hold on the shotgun leaning it against the counter. Slowly, Max let go of the man, who straightened out his collar and rubbed his neck, ruefully.
"That stupid brother of mine is going to get me killed someday," the man remarked in clipped English. He picked up the mouse and tossed it to the boy. I guess you really do know Punchai. I can never be too careful. The local thieves are getting braver, and more stupid. They know I order painkillers once a week, but I'm ready for them now.
The man shuffled forward and gestured to them to follow him into the back. "Sorry about the gun, although it looks like you two can handle yourselves all right. All I can offer you is a cold drink, but then you'd better be on your way. It's a long ride back to Bangkok."
He led them into another room in the back of the house. He looked at Logan with concern as he navigated his way around the crowded room, as if he had become suddenly aware of his wheelchair. A noisy air conditioner hummed in the corner. The man opened a dilapidated pink fridge and pulled out three bottles of soda. Logan drifted over to towards the corner towards the desk where the boy now sat. The desk held a couple of hard drives, ancient even by Pulse standards. The boy had apparently rigged a keyboard and screen to the computers. He plugged in the new mouse and began to type furiously.
"Where did you say you were from again?" the man asked.
"Seattle. That's where we met your brother." Logan answered. He gazed absentmindedly at the newspaper photos and clipped pinned to wall behind the boy.
The elder pharmacist brought one of the bottles to the boy and set it down next to the computer. Max brought the second bottle of soda to Logan and sat next to him in one of the chairs. The boy grabbed his father's arm and jabbered excitedly with him, pointing at the computer.
Logan sipped his drink slowly. He became aware that the boy and his father had fallen silent. They were staring at the computer screen and as he met their gaze, he realized that they were also looking intently at him. The father and son began speaking quickly in Thai. Logan couldn't understand flurry of words, but he did understand one phrase – 'Eyes Only.'" Logan found himself focusing on the clipping directly behind the boy. It was a blurry newspaper photo of the familiar cable hack's red, white, and blue stripes and the eyes….his eyes. Suddenly, the other headlines leaped out at him too. The wall was covered with clippings about the undercover cyperjournalist from Seattle.
"You're Eyes Only," the man said, rising to his feet. Logan put his hands to his wheels, backing up, his heart pounding. Max stood up too.
The man cracked a wide smile. "Eyes Only…deserves more than a cold drink."