by Mike McCrary
“Murphy—”
“Noah is who you should speaking with.”
“The timer… the eye scan. Thompson has to check in with a biometric ID. If he doesn’t perform the scan—”
Murphy snaps his fingers as if remembering something important.
“Oh, you mean the explosive you stuck in the back of my head?”
She nods.
“Yeah, took a real risk with that headshot on Thompson there. One nervous bitch-twitch on his part and this could’ve gone really bad.” Murphy pulls his Ka-Bar, handing it to Peyton. “Number uno on my wish list.”
“What’s this for?” She stares at his knife.
“You’re gonna need a baggie or something too.”
“For what?”
“His eyes, Dr. Peyton. Like you said, we need Thompson to scan in.”
Peyton’s face drains white.
“You can’t carry them around barehanded,” Murphy says. “That’s gross.”
Chapter 33
The park feels like a pressure cooker.
People packed together.
Side by side.
Anger transferred person to person. Growing, seeping, spreading throughout the park. Throughout the city and the country. Each person nurtures their own anger, feeds on it, then passes it down.
People shove and pull at one another. They shout with faces bloodred. Feels like anything can happen, as if Central Park rests on a giant pile of dry leaves waiting for a match. Looking to spark endless disturbing possibilities.
Faces void of hope.
A concert for the lost and disenfranchised.
Police do their best to keep it in check. Outnumbered as hell, but they hold the line. Helicopters circle above the swelling masses below. Mounted officers stand at the ready. Police dogs on tight leashes. A tactical team in full riot gear is at the ready if needed.
The media swarms.
Beautiful television personalities posing as news fight for ground among the common folk. Microphones ready and willing to hear the truth. Or at least a juicy, tasty soundbite. Something to share with those at home who think they care. Chants echo and roll out among the crowd. Signs sway back and forth among the faces locked in rage. Screaming, straining for someone to hear them.
All walks are here. Every race. Every religion. Every way of life.
Together but fragmented.
Pieces of a pissed off society thinly held together by the need to release it all.
Murphy and Peyton cut their way through the masses the best they can. He tried to give Peyton the important details. Hard to keep it all together. But he thinks he hit the highlights on the way over from the apartment building.
It was a bit of a fire hose of horrible, but she seemed to absorb it all. He told her about the resort. About Pruitt. About the flight back to the States. He tried to explain what happened to him while he slept on the plane.
Difficult to put into words.
He told her about the psilocybin Brubaker gave him. Peyton reluctantly acknowledged its effects and told him it was part of the process. A vital part of a careful plan that was hacked into a million pieces. Gave the caveat it was one of the final stages and it was to be administered along with intense therapy and careful supervision.
Murphy could only tell her that there was none of that shit on the plane. All he knows now is that they’re meeting Lady Brubaker inside this madness.
Where is uncertain.
She will call back with the exact spot they’re supposed to meet her. Murphy leads the way with his phone gripped tight in his hand. Gun tucked in his waist. Ka-Bar knife secured behind his back.
“What is she going to do?” Peyton asks.
“That I don’t know.”
A billion-dollar question.
Murphy keeps his focus on the path ahead. He holds his wound, trying to not remind himself he took a blade to the gut. Thinking about it is not helpful, not now. The pain meds Brubaker laid on him were top shelf. He could take a bullet or twelve and still not feel it completely.
Maybe that was the idea.
Maybe her people are on the same meds.
He makes a note to himself to aim for heads, if it comes to that.
A fight breaks out next to them. Two men shove and swing wildly at one another. Some punches connect. Some don’t. It’s broken up fast by a pack of cops. The men in dark blue pull them apart, securing zip ties tight behind their backs and moving them along. Murphy watches on. This is the simmer before the boil.
“Her people started this,” Peyton says.
Murphy stays silent.
“You know that, right?” she continues. “This? This is all her work.”
“She didn’t start the economic shitstorm. I’ve seen the news between my little naps. This meltdown has been in the works for months. Years even.”
“No, but she started the riots. Her and her people.”
Murphy kept his thoughts about her to himself. Kept his feelings for her from Peyton. Even though he knows Peyton can guess. She probably has massive concerns about where Murphy’s—and Noah’s—head is regarding Lady Brubaker.
He also failed to mention the girls to Peyton.
Trust is still up for grabs.
His mind shifts to Kate. To who she is—or was.
To what they had together. To the life he had with her and the girls. It wasn’t perfect, not even close, but it was theirs and there was happiness between the struggles. He thinks of what they could have again if he could reach her. If he could get to Kate inside the burning house of Brubaker.
This can be fixed.
If a human can create the problem, then a human can correct that problem.
“You’re going to undo what you did.” Murphy’s talking more to himself than Peyton.
“What?”
A man shoves Peyton hard.
Her neck snaps back. Another man screams into her face. Murphy levels him with a flat hand strike to his throat. The man spits and coughs, spinning away, disappearing into the crowd like a scolded dog.
Peyton is shell-shocked. As if her feet have grown roots, digging into the grass of the park. Life in the lab is different than the dark, messy world. Murphy taps her on the shoulder.
“Come on.” He points ahead. “Shake that shit off.”
Forward movement.
Always.
“You are going to undo what you did to her,” he says in her ear, straining to be heard over the crowd. “At the very least, make it better.”
“Murphy, I can’t do that.”
“Think you can.”
“I didn’t do this to her.”
“You opened up this hell. That much I do know.”
“This has gone beyond my work.” Peyton’s voice shakes. “This isn’t like rewriting a paper or repainting a room. This cannot be undone. No backspace. No delete button.”
Murphy thinks of the old toy his mother kept by her bed. How she’d shake it over and over. Starting over and over. His thoughts pull tight. Like a trigger squeezing. A sudden click launching a want for wrath. It’s come on so fast, he can’t even reconcile where it came from.
Green means go.
Murphy grabs Dr. Peyton by the shoulders, letting his emotions run the show. His hands grip like vices. He feels the rage flow, his blood spiked with raw power.
“Stop,” Peyton says.
Murphy squeezes harder.
“You’re hurting my arm.”
He wants to tear her into pieces.
Wants to stomp her skull into the ground. Memories flood at the speed of light.
Noah.
Kate.
The girls.
Murphy.
Something has been released inside his mind. A valve that was holding it all back. The things he saw while on the plane. Things he’s only seen in flashes. They're here with him now. This is the first time he’s seen these images, these scenes, play while he’s out in the wild. While he’s wide awake, out in the real world, not sedat
ed or stumbling through the haze of sleep. He can see it all now.
Memories of smiles.
Thoughts of what once was.
Sorrow and loss seep into Noah and Murphy. Absorbing it together. The desire for blood. The need for revenge.
Thompson wasn’t enough.
Peyton screams at him. Begging. Pleading with him. Murphy doesn’t hear a word.
Blood rolls from Murphy’s eyes.
The phone buzzes.
“Murphy. Please think about…” Peyton trails off.
Murphy shakes loose from his trance. His heart pounds.
The phone buzzes.
“It’s her,” Murphy says, tapping the screen to answer.
“Go to the rocks west of the playground,” Brubaker says. “Near the bridge.”
The call disconnects.
Murphy pockets the phone then takes Peyton’s face in his hands.
“I’m going to make this as clear as I can.” His words are ice-cold. Deliberate. Stabbing. “You are going to fix what you’ve done to us. This all needs to end.”
Peyton fights back the fear. Anger taking hold.
“What does that even mean?” she barks. “What does fix mean? Look around you.”
Murphy’s hands move, wrapping around her throat.
“What? Do you think I’m going to wave a wand and she’ll be fine? That you’ll all live happily ever after? Four of you in two heads? Tell me you’re joking.”
“She wants to talk to you,” he says.
“Fantastic. We’ll talk. Sure, that’ll go well.” She coughs as his fingers press tighter. “Might as well kill me now, Murphy.”
“Fair enough.”
Green means go.
Murphy alters his grip, places his thumbs over her eyes, pressing ever so slightly. Her hands pull at his. Slapping, clawing, fighting to get them off of her.
Murphy’s sight goes white.
Murphy releases her. Stumbling back, he bounces off a protester. Peyton rubs her neck, coughing, sucking in deep breaths. He wants to reach out to her, like he wanted to at that hotel bar. Wants to tell her he’s not a monster. Even though he knows the truth.
She steps back.
“Stay the hell away from me,” she yells.
He hates the way she’s looking at him.
She’s terrified. Afraid for her life. His hand extends toward her. His fingers tremble. Peyton looks back at him, her hard expression changing ever so slightly. As if she sees a change in him. Something different about Murphy.
Tears form in his eyes.
This time, they are not blood. He resembles a helpless child who’s lost in the park.
Peyton squints. Swallows hard.
“Noah?” she asks.
He nods.
A sharp pain puts Murphy down on his knees. He holds the back of his head. Peyton scrambles, scanning her tablet.
“Shit.” Muttering, she swipes and taps at the screen.
The timer is ticking down.
Murphy’s vision blurs. He can’t hold on to a single thought. The world is tumbling away from him as if he’s being shoved off a cliff. The sounds of the park’s chaos around them fades into the background.
“Hold on.” Peyton stands still as the eye scan validates her identity. “Stay with me, asshole.”
One green check mark shows on the screen.
One red box blinks, waiting for Thompson’s scan.
The crowd steps over Murphy as he falls on the ground. No one pays attention to the human being suffering in obvious pain on the grass. Peyton swats and pushes at them doing her best to keep them both from being trampled to death. She slides to her knees in the grass, hovering over him.
Murphy tastes metal. His skin is going cold.
The world is a blur beyond the tears.
He claws at the grass, pulling himself toward Peyton. Fighting to remain conscious.
Peyton digs into her bag, pulling out a plastic baggie that contains Thompson’s eyes. Her hands shake as she taps and swipes at her screen again. She angles the bag and an eye for verification.
Denied.
She adjusts the eye, slipping it around in the bag and trying again.
“Hurry,” Murphy spits.
Denied.
“It’s not working.” She looks over the screen then leans back on her knees. “Thompson installed a fail-safe.”
“What?”
“If his vitals flatline, then his access ends.”
Her eyes drift as the timer ticks down. Seconds left. She looks to Murphy. Murphy’s body thrashes, riding the waves of pain. The seconds peel off one by one. One last time, he reaches out to her. His hand trembles, held out for her to hold.
She looks at his open, waiting hand. Something eats at her mind. An idea gnaws. She starts to speak, then stops herself. Murphy can only look back at her, helpless and alone.
“Can I trust you?” she asks.
He can only look back at her.
“Can I trust that you’ll do what you know is right? That you’ll stop her.”
“I…” His eyes fade. “I don’t know.”
“Noah? We haven’t met. And sorry doesn’t cover it, but please...” She presses, wanting to know what’s behind those eyes. “Are you there? We need you.”
Murphy stares at her through the tears streaming down his face. He manages a simple, yet unmistakable nod. Peyton takes a deep breath, tosses aside the bag of Thompson’s eyes, then taps and swipes feverously.
The screen scans her eyes again.
She lowers her tablet and waits, staring up at the stars popping pinholes in the night. Waiting. Hoping she made the right choice. The wrong one is too much to consider. She’s removing the leash. The last thing holding back the monster.
Murphy twists in the grass. His fists filled with dirt.
The chaos of the park swirls around them.
Her phone lights up.
“This is Dr. Peyton. Yes. Echo, bravo, nine, Charlie, one, six. Yes, correct. I authorize deactivation.” She nods. “Yes, again, that is correct. I know about Thompson. Just fucking do it.”
She looks to Murphy.
“Come on,” she whispers.
The shaking slows.
His sight slips back into focus. The buzz in his mind winds down until it’s unnoticeable. The ringing in his ears starts to fade, as does the pain. Peyton reaches out her hand, meeting his, clasping fingers tight. They hold a look. He can’t imagine what she’s thinking.
But he’s thankful for whatever it is.
“What did you do?” he asks.
“I shut it down. Never enjoyed having a bomb in my little science project’s head.”
“Appreciate it.” He smirks. “But it does feel like a questionable decision given my—”
“Please don’t make me regret it.”
He nods.
“Well, okay then.” Murphy pushes himself up to his knees. “You’re in luck. That was one of the wishes. Still got a few more, however.”
He holds her hand tight, still never forgetting who she is.
Or what she’s done.
Chapter 34
Murphy and Peyton reach the bridge.
They stand on the grass near a walkway that leads under a slight, moss-covered stone arch. People run under, over and around the bridge. Shouts and screams echo underneath.
The tension in the park is pushing higher and higher.
A needle in the red.
It’s in the air. Feels heavy. Thick. Weighted down by what’s coming.
Another fight breaks out near them. Two younger boys. Too young to be this angry. Murphy places his hand on his gun but releases it as the fight dies. Once again cops break it up, taking them down then handing the boys off with their wrists bound with nylon zip ties. Police are everywhere but yet there is little sense of control to be found.
Murphy’s eyes scan the area.
Searching for Lady Brubaker. She’ll be with others. More than likely the two guys from the plane. May
be more. Thompson and Peyton said they didn’t know exactly how many there were. Not a comforting feeling. Murphy thinks they are probably safe in the park, but he knows he should be ready for anything.
Anxiety radiates off of Peyton. Her eyes dance.
He can almost see the thoughts firing off inside her head. She scans the area too, but in a much different way. She is searching for a way to survive. Hoping for a peaceful end.
Murphy is looking for violence.
Seeking it out. A fist looking to connect.
There’s a part of Murphy that can relate to what she’s feeling. Noah feels the same. None of this is easy for Mr. Nice Guy. Murphy ignores the drama. Dismisses the flare of sensitivity and focuses solely on the here and now of it. The death and the life of it.
Murphy isn’t sure what outcome is best.
He hasn’t given it a lot of thought. He’s letting Noah handle the wants and needs of this thing. The rational side of the ledger belongs to him. Mr. Nice Guy can balance the emotions. Murphy only wants to keep the two of them—and Peyton—breathing. He’s the warrior. An instrument of chaos, and make no mistake, chaos is coming.
Is Kate still in there?
Is Peyton wrong, can she be saved?
Only one way to find out—one hell of a gamble left to try.
He’d kill everyone in this park to have her back. Execute the entire city to have his family return to normal. There’s nothing more in the world that he wants right now. The desire to get back to where he was, to get back what they lost. It is crushing. Go back to before the twisted metal of the car wreck. Before the breaking of their brains. He wants his damn life back.
That’s all.
Is that such a ridiculous request?
His family. His wife and his girls. He wants to get back to good.
He looks to Peyton. She’s terrified, but she’s here.
“You made it,” Lady Brubaker says.
Murphy and Peyton spin around facing her. She stands with the two men from the plane on either side of her like the good soldiers they are. They moved up on Murphy and Peyton without warning. Murphy isn’t used to someone, anyone, getting the drop on him. She probably knew this. Wanted to carve out a spot of uncertainty inside his head.
A little troubling place for Brubaker to set up camp.
