Halfway Heroes

by Dustin Martin

  Chapter 47—City Lockdown

  To say that the city was in a state of disarray was an understatement. Cars were piled up and abandoned on the roads leading into the city. Smoke billowed in the distance, colored by the rays of the morning sun. There was the distinct sound of panicked screaming from a couple of streets away. Finster drove the truck through the mess, trying to maneuver neatly around the river of cars. Not that it helped, as the truck’s berth demanded room. So plenty of vehicles were pushed aside.

  A band of Whyte’s mercenaries stopped the truck as it entered the city limits. Once they recognized the occupants, the leader of the group signaled to allow them to pass through. Mark poked his head out the window. On the rooftops he saw the glint of sniper rifles as they turned their barrels away from the truck.

  Heather was the first out. She stomped over to the lead mercenary, a large brute, second only to Finster, with a pair of sunglasses perched on his head. “Emeryl, shut it down,” she ordered. “Shut everything down. Where’s Rooke?”

  “At the office,” Emeryl said. He scratched his stubbly, nonexistent chin. “What’s up with you?”

  “The SN91 is not what Rooke demonstrated. It doesn’t kill in days. It kills in seconds. He just gassed the factory.” Emeryl glanced at his comrades, who raised their eyebrows and shook their heads. “Don’t believe it? Go see for yourselves. That is, if you want to deal with the cops who were chasing us.”

  One of the mercenaries guffawed. “We’ve got the police covered,” she said, her Italian accent making her speech hard to understand. “Rooke gave us some special, fast-acting SN91 last night. Lock the exits and you’d be amazed how handy it can be. The sheriff’s station was simple. The police station was harder, but a few well-placed grenades and some bullets added to the SN91 took care of that. Maybe they emptied out most of the station earlier to chase you guys down.”

  “Sure felt like it,” Mark said.

  “No one here thought to check the other canisters to see if this fast-acting SN91 was in them?” Heather asked.

  “Why would we?” Emeryl asked. “Whyte was satisfied with the demonstration. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Besides, I don’t get paid enough to be the guinea pig for Rooke’s diseases. Though if you want to get infected, be my guest.” Emeryl stood back. “Go crack open a canister. We’ll be on the other side of the city, far, far away from it and you can tell us which one it is. If it’s fast-acting, then it’s been nice knowing you. As for the cops, darling,” he said, nodding at the mercenary woman and changing to an assuaging tone, “Rachele’s right. All of them are either dead or running around, clueless and trying to help civilians. They aren’t aware the canisters are on a timer. We’ve been picking off the remaining cops easily. They won’t come near us now. We’re pretty dug in here, so the few after you lot will be no problem.”

  “Fine, go then,” Heather said. “But first we shut down the canisters. That fast-acting gas Rooke gave you for police station? That’s in all of them.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Emeryl said. “Not that I’m saying you’re lying, but Whyte sank too much into this for it to go to waste.”

  “His investments are about to be severe if we don’t shut this down. He won’t have loyal subjects, but a mass graveyard,” Heather spat out.

  “So what?” Emeryl shrugged. “We brought some gas masks, so it won’t hurt us.” One of the mercenaries held up a bag stuffed with the masks.

  “Do you want to be the one to tell him that this whole thing went up in smoke, that he lost a lot of money and assets because it wouldn’t hurt you?” Heather asked. “Or because it wasn’t a ‘good idea’ to shut it down?” Emeryl’s pupils dilated. His hardened appearance had been shattered. “Because I guarantee, if this whole ordeal goes south, he will be cross. He will take out payment on you personally.”

  Emeryl unclipped his walkie-talkie, calling for another team guarding the first set of canisters set to release at 11 A.M. Heather stood back, satisfied. Finster was ordering one of the mercenaries to drive the truck away and hide it. Mark gazed around the city. He had never seen the streets so devoid of life. The sun was higher in the sky now, illuminating the frosty windows of tall office buildings. He wondered if everyone was hiding at home, expecting their end, or if they had gathered together to test other escape routes. He assumed that the other two exits out of the city were equally defended. With several well-armed mercenaries like the ones before him on the lookout, he would be surprised if any citizens had escaped the city alive.

  Across the street was an electronics store, its windows broken. The screens of several televisions were shot out, but a few displayed Rooke’s face, close to the camera. He was warning everyone to stay inside, not to retaliate or to try leaving the city. “You will be shot on sight,” he said matter-of-factly. He asked for any police, on-duty or otherwise, as well as armed citizens, to lay down their weapons. He used a calming tone. “Everything is alright,” he said. Then the message looped.

  “You heard me right,” Emeryl said to the other team. “Shut down the canisters. Now.” He waited as they obeyed his orders. Heather grew impatient, searching the horizon. Mark did the same. The police were nowhere to be seen. Maybe they had given up?

  “Uh-oh,” the person on the other line said.

  “ ‘Uh-oh’?” Heather asked.

  “Team three, what is it?” Emeryl asked.

  Static, then the other line said, “It’s not accepting the code.”

  “What?”

  “It’s not accepting the code. Come on, you stupid thing.” A metallic thud, then a series of crashes. “This thing is still counting down!”

  Emeryl licked his lips, eyeing Heather. “It’s not working,” he said, repeating the obvious. “The kill code we set up. It’s not working.”

  “Rooke did build these things. He could’ve reprogrammed them. Is there any other way to shut them down?” she asked. When he didn’t answer, she snatched the walkie-talkie and repeated her question.

  “Not sure,” the person on the other end said. “Any tampering could set them off prematurely.”

  “What about stopping the others that are set to follow?”

  “I could disconnect the first canister from the second set, but there’s a failsafe. If the second set doesn’t get the signal ten minutes from when it should, it goes off. Same for each one after that.”

  “If you disconnected every set, would you have to enter the kill code for each?”

  “Yep.”

  “What about moving them?” Mark suggested.

  “Yeah, it took us weeks to set them up,” Emeryl said. “You expect us to move them all in a couple hours? We could get a few out, but that won’t change much.”

  Heather clenched her teeth and turned to Finster. “Okay,” she said into the walkie-talkie. “Disconnect your set only if it comes down to the wire. It’ll buy us more time.” She tossed the device back to Emeryl. “Their canisters are set to go off first?”

  “Yeah. Over at Hunter Memorial.”

  “Alright. You said Rooke is at his office? We’ll go find him. Be ready to receive the correct code. How long should the code be?” She pulled out her cell phone, holding it up in the air. “Still no bars.”

  “Four numbers. And you won’t get any bars,” Emeryl said. “Rooke had us disable all communication signals in the city except for his own broadcasting.” He pointed to the electronics store. “So no one could call for help.” He detached a spare walkie-talkie and handed it to Heather. Another mercenary handed an extra one to Finster. “I’m on channel three.”

  She nodded and ushered Finster and Mark to an abandoned sports car with the keys still in the ignition, while Emeryl called his people. “Calling all teams. Listen up, we got a situation,” he said, starting to explain the problem. Heather drove, screeching down the deserted streets to Rooke Pharmaceuticals.

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