Four down.
“WILLIAMS?” JUDSON SAID.
No response.
“Williams, what the hell’s going on?”
Still nothing.
What the fuck?
He glanced at McGrath and Torres. Both men looked concerned.
“Let’s get everyone together,” he ordered.
But before any of them could take a step, a shot rang out. McGrath fell to the ground, and Torres stumbled a few feet before joining him. Several of the kids screamed.
Not one shot, Judson realized. Two. He slipped behind a tree just as another bullet hit its trunk.
“Everyone get down!” Brandon Ash said. “Lie on the ground!”
Judson searched around, desperate. The girl who’d had to go to the bathroom was two feet away. He grabbed her and pulled her to his chest.
“Leave me alone!” she screamed, and started to wail.
“Let her go!” Brandon yelled.
Judson ignored him as the girl struggled in his arms. “Stop it or I’ll break your arm.”
Though her whimpering didn’t stop, her thrashing ceased.
“Please,” Brandon said again. “Let her go. You…you can take me instead.”
Judson looked at the girl and then at Brandon. The boy was a lot bigger than she was, and would be much better as a shield.
“Fine. Get over here,” he said.
“Let her go first.”
“No way.”
The boy hesitated a moment, then crawled over. Judson grabbed his arm and dropped the girl.
“Go to Miss Collins,” Brandon told her.
The girl stood there like she didn’t want to leave.
“Go on,” Brandon said.
Tears streaming down her face, she nodded, and disappeared around the tree.
Judson yanked Brandon in front of him, and held him against his chest with his left arm.
“Come on out,” a female voice called. “We know you’re back there.”
Who the hell is that?
His gaze darted all over the place. There had to be an escape somewhere, a way out of this mess.
There were enough trees that if he ran straight back, maybe they wouldn’t be able to get a shot at him.
“You’re wasting time,” the woman said. “You’re not getting away, so come on out.”
Judson adjusted his hold on the boy, and whispered, “Follow my lead.” He took a step forward.
The roar of the gun wasn’t as surprising as the sensation of the bullet passing by only a few feet in front of him.
“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” a man said, his voice coming from the side.
Judson turned, putting Brandon between him and the shooter. The guy was about forty feet away, leaning out from behind a tree.
“Let the boy go,” the man said.
Judson placed the muzzle of his gun against Brandon’s head. “You let me out of here first, then he can go.”
“What’s going on?” the woman asked. She was closer now.
“He’s got Brandon,” the man replied. “Says if we let him get away, he’ll let Brandon go.”
Worried that she was going to sneak up behind him, Judson twisted around the tree, keeping Brandon in front of him. He was now out of sight of the man, but could see the woman. She was less than thirty feet away, her gun aimed at him. If she pulled the trigger, though, there was a very good chance she’d hit the kid first.
“Back off and let me go,” he said.
“Brandon!” the little girl yelled.
“Get them out of here,” the woman with the gun said to the one Brandon had called Miss Collins.
Fear in her eyes, Miss Collins began ushering the kids away.
“Put your gun down,” the woman said to Judson.
He pushed the barrel hard against Brandon’s ear. “You put yours down. Both you and your friend. When I’ve put enough room between us, I’ll let the kid go.”
“And why should I trust you?”
“Because you have no choice.”
She paused, looked toward where the other man had been standing, then back at Judson. “All right.” She started to lower her gun to the ground.
Boom!
JOSIE WAS SURE she’d gone the wrong way.
When she found the house empty, she’d gone out the back, thinking it was the only direction everyone could have taken. She found trample marks on a bed of pine needles leading to the right, and assumed that was the way the others had gone. But since then, she had found no one.
She was about to turn back when she heard the gunshots. They were about a hundred yards ahead and to the left. She ran as fast as she could, then ducked into the cover of the woods at the first sign of movement. Peering around a tree, she saw Chloe, her gun raised in front of her. Scattered around her were several kids.
“Back off and let me go.”
Josie’s view of the speaker was blocked, but before she could even adjust her position, a little voice hollered, “Brandon!”
Brandon? Had he been hurt?
“Get them out of here,” Chloe said.
Josie moved to her left for a better view. She froze. One of the soldiers had an arm around Brandon and was holding a gun against her brother’s head.
“Put your gun down,” Chloe said.
“You put yours down,” he replied. “Both you and your friend. When I’ve put enough room between us, I’ll let the kid go.”
Josie didn’t believe that for a second. He was going to kill Brandon.
She lifted her newly acquired rifle to her shoulder, almost without thinking.
Breathe.
Hold.
Let a little out.
Squeeze.
CHLOE WHIRLED AROUND as the crack of a rifle filled the air. She aimed her gun toward the source of the shot. When she didn’t see anything right away, she glanced back at Brandon and the soldier.
They were both lying on the ground.
No! She rushed over, heedless of the other shooter. As she dropped to her knees, she realized Brandon was trying to get out from under the man’s arm. She pulled the limb to the side and Brandon rolled free.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Yeah. Yeah, I think so,” he said.
The soldier was not, however. The shot had caught him squarely in the eye.
“Brandon?”
Chloe and Brandon turned. Josie stepped out between the trees, a rifle in her hand.
“Did…did you…was that…” Brandon said.
Josie dropped the gun as she ran to him. She wrapped her arms around him, and he wrapped his around hers.
“You’re okay,” she said. “You’re okay.”
“I’m okay. I’m fine.”
Chloe climbed to her feet and scanned the forest. Though all seven men from the Project Eden team were dead, she couldn’t help feeling like another would somehow show up any second.
Finally, she locked eyes with Miller and they both breathed a sigh of relief.
When the Ash kids finally broke their hug, Chloe narrowed her eyes and said to Josie, “Thought I told you to stay back by the truck.”
“And I told you I knew how to shoot.”
A half laugh. “That, you did.”
Chloe threw her arms around both of them. Though it was a gross understatement, she said, “Good to see you, Brandon.”
“Good to see you, too.”
EVEN THOUGH THE majority of their group was now children, there were too many of them to all fit on the Resistance’s jet. But Chloe had an idea for how to deal with that. Before going back to the house, she and Miller stripped the fatigues off the soldiers, and used the transport truck to haul everyone down the mountain to Colorado Springs.
Instead of pulling up to their jet, they stopped next to the one belonging to Project Eden. Dressed in the fatigues, Miller entered the aircraft, and returned a couple minutes later with the two crew members who had been waiting on board. They locked the men inside a closet in the cont
rol tower complex. Given enough time, they’d be able to knock the door down. Chloe had wondered if she should kill them, too, but there had been enough death that day.
Finally, with Barry at the controls of the appropriated plane, and Harlan flying their original jet, they headed home, where they would increase the Resistance’s numbers by ten newly inoculated children, one newly inoculated adult, and the return of Brandon Ash.
Thirty-One
LAS CRUCES, NEW MEXICO
4:59 PM MST
THERE HAD BEEN no report for hours from the team that had been sent to Colorado. Even the crew of the plane had not responded.
It was troubling, yes, but in the grand scheme of things, not something Perez could worry about. Others could figure out what happened and make the appropriate decision about what to do next. He needed to concentrate on the bigger picture, especially now that the time for the official cleanup phase had arrived.
“Are we ready?” he asked Claudia.
“Everything’s set.”
He watched the final seconds before the top of the hour click off on his computer’s clock. When only two seconds remained, he said, “Begin.”
Thirty-Two
AS THEY WALK through the offices of K-Ridge, Martina can’t help but feel some of the luster of the radio world fall away. The place is a dump, and not the magical land of music she’d pictured when she was younger.
With her are Noreen, Riley, and Craig, the group now responsible for getting the station working. She can see they are equally unimpressed.
A flip of a light switch reveals that the building at least still has power.
The studio itself is a little better, though more cramped than she imagined. They turn some dials and push some buttons. A few light up, while others don’t. At one point, feedback blares from a set of headphones lying next to the control board. Craig yanks down the control switch he just slid up.
“Sorry,” he says.
On the wall, a digital clock reads 03:59:37 PM. This, Martina thinks, is the master clock the DJs used when they announced the time. How many times has this clock affected her life? More than once.
“Maybe there’s an instruction manual somewhere?” Noreen says.
Martina thinks it would be more likely manuals plural, not singular, and probably written so only an engineer could understand them. But it’s not a bad idea, and she’s about to say so when they hear a voice from the other room.
They look at each other for a moment, and rush through the door.
The voice is coming out of a radio that must have been on when the station had stopped broadcasting.
“Did we do that?” Martina asks, wondering if they triggered a prerecorded show.
“Maybe,” Craig says.
But as they listen, they realize it’s nothing they did. The voice is coming from somewhere else, and what it says takes them all by surprise.
SANJAY AND KUSUM are sound asleep when someone knocks on the door of the dorm room they have claimed.
“Sanjay! Sanjay, wake up!”
Jeeval stirs from where she’s been sleeping on the floor.
Ap. Ap.
The barks are halfhearted, but jarring nonetheless.
Sanjay opens his eyes, wanting nothing more than to sleep for another hour. He checks his watch—6:36 a.m.
“Sanjay!”
Now that he’s more awake than asleep, he recognizes Naresh’s voice. “What is it?”
“You have to come hear this.”
“Hear what?”
“It is on the radio. Hurry. In the headmaster’s house.”
Both confused and curious, Sanjay gets up and starts to dress.
“Tell me if it’s important,” Kusum says from the bed. She rolls over and pulls his now unused pillow over her head.
When he gets to the house, he finds in addition to Naresh that Ritu and one of the children are there, too. Out of the speakers of the headmaster’s stereo a voice is talking in Hindi.
“Is this a CD?” Sanjay asks.
“It’s the radio,” Naresh tells him.
“I woke early,” Ritu says. “I wanted to hear some music. So I was trying to see if I could find a station that might still be playing some.”
“And you found this?” Sanjay asks.
“No. Well, I mean, yes. This popped on. It’s…it’s on all the channels. Here.” She turns the dial and sure enough, the same voice is speaking on other stations. “It is also in English. This is the third time through.”
Sanjay listens to the voice, then looks at the others.
The astonishment in their faces mirrors his own.
I TRIED CALLING all the numbers in my contact list again. No one answered. I decided to go through the phone book, but after a few pages I just stopped because I was getting the same response, or rather, no response at all. Funny, I used to tell everyone that I was totally fine on my own and actually enjoy it. I’ve always considered that a strength, especially since I was planning on being a writer. I mean, what is a writer but someone who spends most of her time alone. I may have been premature in that pronouncement, though. It would really, really (really) be nice if there was someone here to talk to. We could even have—
Belinda stops typing mid-sentence and frowns. She’s thinking too much.
“Poor lonely you,” she says. “At least you’re still breathing.”
As she stretches, she realizes what she really needs is something to eat, so she goes down to the lounge. Tonight she decides to treat herself to a double dose of spicy shrimp Top Ramen. As the noodles and water heat up in the microwave, she wanders over to the window and looks outside, hoping to spot someone walking around. It’s something she does every mealtime now.
And while, predictably, there is no one around, a flicker grabs her attention.
Her building is L-shaped, allowing her to see into the windows on the other extension. In the lounge across the way and one floor down, the TV has been left on. She’s noticed it before, but since the networks went off air, it has displayed nothing but black.
Now, though, she can see a person facing the camera, like a news reporter. Is the epidemic on the wane? Is life starting to come back to normal?
She walks quickly over to her lounge’s TV and turns it on. She hovers her finger over the remote, thinking she’ll have to hunt around to find the broadcast she saw, but it’s unnecessary. The image of the man is on her screen.
Behind her, the microwave beeps to let her know her noodles are ready, but she doesn’t hear it. All her attention is on the monitor.
ROBERT’S PLAN HAS not gone exactly as he’d hoped. While he has been sufficiently buzzed for the last several hours, he has yet to achieve the oblivion he wants the alcohol to bring on.
He isn’t the only one who has been drinking. Many of the other resort staff members have been downing their fair share since news of Dominic’s sacrifice spread. Many of the former guests of the resort, especially those who were thinking about returning to the mainland, sit around the bar stunned. Some have drinks in front of them, but most are sober.
Everyone knows if it wasn’t for Dominic’s selfless act, they would have all probably died. There is no talk of going back to the US now. They all realize that setting foot off Isabella Island means death. If Robert’s mind were a little clearer, he would note that Dominic’s actions not only saved everyone, but also brought the survivors closer together.
On the television above the bar, the classic movie channel they have been watching is still going strong. It’s playing the old David Niven film, Around the World in Eighty Days. Phileas Fogg and Passepartout are on a train in the Wild West of the United States.
Robert barely registers it. The sound of the train, the dialogue, the music are all background noise. The sudden cessation of this noise, though, causes him to look up.
The train is gone. The West is gone. Phileas and Passepartout are gone.
In their place is a man in an image that most definitely was not shot in th
e 1950s. He is perhaps in his late forties, and stands in front of a gray wall. Hung on the wall is a flag—a field of blue with the white outlined globe of Earth in the center.
The flag of the United Nations.
Several others in the bar seem to notice, too. They move in behind Robert, their gaze fixed on the television.
For several seconds, the man simply stares straight out of the screen. Then he opens his mouth to speak.
THE FIRST QUESTION Brandon and Josie have as they reenter the Bunker is about their father. When Matt tells them he’s awake, they break into a run, not stopping until they reach Captain Ash’s room.
He is propped up in bed, his arm raised so that Dr. Gardiner can check the progress of his recovery. The second he sees his kids, he tries to swing his legs off the bed. His strength still leaves something to be desired, though, so it isn’t difficult for the doctor to stop him.
It doesn’t matter. The kids are at his side, hugging him. When he asks where they’ve been, they start to tell him, but their words collide with each other in a rush, so he asks them to slow down.
Chloe enters the room with Matt and says, “Well, look who’s up.”
Ash’s smile broadens. He holds out his hand to her. “Chloe.”
She takes it, gives it a squeeze, and lets go.
When he looks back at his kids, he says, “Why do I have a feeling I’m not going to like this story?”
“What story?” Matt asks.
“Where we’ve been,” Brandon says.
“Doesn’t matter where they’ve been,” Chloe says. “They’re here now. So at least you know the story has a happy ending.”
The smirk on Ash’s face is skeptical. “If that was supposed to make me feel better, it didn’t.”
A phone rings in the outer area beyond Ash’s room. Lily Franklin picks up the call, listens for a moment, then yells, “Turn on the television!”
Chloe grabs the remote from the nightstand and flips on the TV.
As they listen to the man speak while standing in front of the UN flag, the tension in the room spikes. They know he’s lying. They know he’s not who he says he is. They know what his message really means.
The Project Eden Thrillers Box Set 2: Books 4 - 6 (Ashes, Eden Rising, & Dream Sky) Page 25
