An Average Day at Laminax

Chapter 13

This was getting ridiculous. Three days, and we still have no sign of Oliver. Extra forces have been sent from various surrounding branches. Denver, Colorado Springs, Santa Fe, even a team was sent from Wichita and Omaha was sent to help with our hunt for him. But still no luck. People think he died, starved to death in the woods. I don't believe it. He's a smart kid, if anyone knows how to survive and evade us, it's him. Adam called me and said that he didn't believe that Oliver was dead either, so at least I have one person on my side. Two, actually. Tangaroa called me from New York, saying that the Catte could thrive in wild conditions rather than in captivity, along with its not-too-distant relative, the Panther. We were searching south, reaching into northern New Mexico. I had never been there before, the so called "Land of Enchantment." I knew that if Oliver continued heading down South, he would reach desert, and he wouldn't be able to last a day. If he did somehow survive the treacherous desert journey, if he continued further South, he would cross the Mexican border, and I'm hoping that border control would be able to get him, though I doubt he would be stupid enough to go to Mexico to evade us.

A day later, we continued searching south, and now it was nighttime, and we were traveling down the highway. I was in the back of a black Volvo with two Agents from the Santa Fe branch. They were both silent, and with their bald heads and identical facial hair, you would have thought that they were twins. The driver was silent as well. So far, we had gotten one report that a man who was eating at a Mexican Restaurant in Colorado Springs noticed a strange, cat-like figure run towards a car, and get inside with "Something that looked like a... bucket on its head." That's when we knew. When he was asked about what kind of car it was, he was able to give out a detailed decision on what it was, as luck would have it, he was a mechanic who had an extreme fascination with cars. A dark blue Ford Super Duty F-450 with a New Mexico numberplate was information we were given. So, we now know two things: Oliver is alive, and that someone is hiding him from us. The news spread quickly, and the Assistant Administrator of the Houston branch, who was taking my place while I was gone, said that the workers had finally figured out that Oliver was infected. They weren't supposed to find out, but with the story all over the news and the rumors spreading, we couldn't hide it for long.

And now here we were, driving to a motel that was in between the towns of Algodones and Santa Ana Pueblo. A car matching the exact description was last seen driving down the highway towards Albuquerque. New Mexico has plenty of rural roads, and yet the person who is escorting Oliver is simply taking the main roads. An hour later, we got a tip that the same car was parked in a motel carpark that was named Arc Da Plate Motel, or something like that. Soon after, we arrived at the motel. It was run down, and there were a few small, dead rats here and there, and most of the cars parked in the parking lot were old, sketchy vans and pickup trucks. All the doors were closed, and I wouldn't be surprised if a drug deal or anything else illegal was happening in one of these rooms.

We walked inside the receptionist's room, where behind a desk was an old Mexican man, looking down at a computer. He looked up and said something in Spanish. "Uh... hablas ingles?" I asked. The man shook his head. "Oh no. Do we have a translator? Ask him if he saw anything suspicious occur tonight. Anyone here? Espanol?" I said. One of the bald agents nodded his head, saying "I can translate." "Great, fantastic. Fire away... what's your name?" I asked. "Christian Alejo." "Great! Christian, fire away." They began to talk to each other, with Christian loudly saying the translation in English, before returning to speaking Spanish. Suddenly, a man burst into the room. He had long, black hair that was slicked back into a mullet, stubble, a dark shirt with tattoos running down his arms, with a dark belt and a large belt buckle and dark pants. He was holding a room key in his hands. He slammed the key on the desk, had a small conversation with the receptionist in Spanish and he ran out the room again. "So, he knows nothing? Nothing suspicious at all? Ask him more questions!" I said.

They continued to speak, and I was now sitting down on an old seat that was attached to the wall. A car pulled out of the parking space and sped off loudly. I cringed a little and covered my ears and took them off my ears soon after to listen to the Agents translations of their conversation. "Uh... the car left." One of the men in suits said a while later. "What? What car?" I asked. "The car we're hunting down... it's gone." The man said again. I immediately got up and opened the receptionist door. The car was indeed gone. "Jesus... why were none of you keeping an eye out!?" I yelled. I took another look outside and noticed the multiple security cameras that hung from the street lamp outside, and from above the rooms. "Alejo... ask him about the security footage."

Less than a minute later, we were looking at the footage from the night. Cars exited and entered the parking lot, men with baggy pants and bags slung around their shoulders often entered and left rooms with eachother, the bag looking lighter and the men having high amounts of energy. Eventually, the car that we were looking for pulled into the lot. Not only did we manage to get the car's license plate, but we also spotted a familiar orange bucket barely peaking from the top of the car, and we managed to get a photo of the driver; the same man who hand hurriedly entered the receptionists room just before.