The Project Eden Thrillers Box Set 1: Books 1 - 3 (Sick, Exit 9, & Pale Horse)

by Brett Battles

  Ash waited, anticipating that the woman would soon release him. A few moments later he heard the seat cushion being lifted above him, but as he waited for the hidden metal flap to open, nothing happened.

  “Come on, come on,” he said under his breath.

  He’d had enough of the secret compartment. It was small and cramped, and though he wasn’t claustrophobic, he was starting to sympathize with those who were. It didn't help that since they’d stopped moving, the air seemed to be growing stale, too. He wanted out, and he wanted out now.

  He thought about pounding on the lid and screaming, “Open up!” But he had no idea where they were or who might overhear him.

  He twisted, trying to get more comfortable. As he did, his shoulder brushed against the lid. There was a click as the metal roof of his box rose slightly in response to the pressure.

  What the hell?

  He placed his hand on it and pushed upward. A thin seam of light grew along the length of the lid. Though it couldn't have been more than a quarter-of-an-inch wide, it was blinding after hours of pitch darkness. He blinked several times, then squeezed his eyelids together so that only a fraction of the light could penetrate them. Again, he pushed on the lid. The crack of light grew an inch wider, then two, then three.

  He paused, listening for anyone who might be in the car, and letting his eyes adjust to the daylight. Finally, having heard nothing, he pushed the top all the way open and sat up.

  For some reason, he thought he was going to find that they were parked behind one of those giant truck stops, and that the woman had just gone to use the facilities or maybe even grab something to eat. But there was no truck stop. In fact, there were no buildings of any kind, just wilderness, broken only by the distant ribbon of the interstate about two miles away.

  The car appeared to be parked in a small valley. While there were a few trees here and there, most of the vegetation was lower to the ground. It was what his dad used to call high chaparral country.

  A deserted, two-lane road ran out from the highway in his direction, passing the large dirt lot his ride was parked in and heading off into the hills. Apparently the woman had turned off on one of those exits only a handful of locals would use.

  The most surprising thing, though, was that she was nowhere to be seen. Where she’d gone, he had no idea. But unless she was crouching right next to the car, he was entirely alone.

  He pushed himself out of the box, threw open one of the doors and climbed outside. The air was cool, almost brisk. He reached back in and retrieved the jacket his guide had given him. He was tempted to pull on the stocking cap and gloves, but instead he just stomped around a little to warm up. Then, after a moment of unnecessary self-consciousness, he relieved himself behind the car.

  Not knowing what he was supposed to do now, he decided to see if the woman had left the keys. Maybe the idea all along had been for him to take the sedan and get lost. Maybe that’s what this had been all about. They got him away from trouble, and now he was on his own.

  He opened the driver's door and leaned in. The keys weren’t in the ignition, tucked above the sun visor, or lying in the seat. What was in the seat, though, was a white legal-size envelope with MR. THOMPSON typed on the front. It took him a couple seconds before he remembered that Thompson was the name on the false ID he’d been given earlier.

  The flap of the envelope was only tucked in, so he flipped it out and removed a single sheet of paper from inside. Like his faux name on the envelope, the note inside was typed. It was short and to the point.

  Wait here. Once it's dark, someone will come for you. Before then, burn this and your IDs. There is a lighter in the trunk, along with some food if you get hungry.

  Good luck.

  He read it twice. It was just another mysterious piece in his ultra-bizarre day. But the mention of food did remind him that it had been almost twenty-four hours since his last meal.

  He pulled the trunk release, then moved around back and looked inside. In a brown paper bag, he found a couple of apples, a bag of trail mix, a few energy bars, and three bottles of water. Not exactly the juicy hamburger his stomach was hoping for, but it would do.

  There was also one of those long-nosed lighters people used to light campfires and barbecues. But he wasn’t really sure if he wanted to burn his IDs. He’d begun to entertain the idea of taking off on his own. If he did that, the IDs could come in handy. He decided to eat first, then figure it out after.

  Within ten minutes, he’d devoured both apples, two of the energy bars, and a good portion of the trail mix. The remainder he wrapped inside the brown sack and slipped into his messenger bag.

  He moved to the end of the car and stared at the highway for several minutes. At a fast walk, he could get there in no time then hitch a ride to the next town.

  What then, though?

  Go to the police? Back to the Army?

  The man who’d gotten him out of the building had said if he went back to the Army, the people who’d held him would find him again. Ash wasn’t convinced there were “people” yet. It still could have just been the Army doing what they thought was best for the greater good. But he couldn’t deny something very strange was going on. And if he wanted to find out why Ellen and the kids had been killed, his best bet at the moment was to stay free until he had more answers.

  His mind made up, he retrieved his fake IDs and placed them on the ground with the note and envelope from the car. They burned easily, and soon were no more than ash and melted plastic. He mixed what was left into the dirt, then climbed back into the car and waited for the sun to go down.

  Ten

  “HE’S OUT,” PAX said over the phone.

  There was no need for anyone to reply. So far, this was only a one-way conversation.

  “Grabbed his coat…taking a piss.”

  Silence again.

  “A lot of looking around…checking the car now.”

  This should be it, Matt thought.

  “He found the letter.”

  Yes. Good. Now what are you going to do, Captain?

  “He’s read it, and now is checking the trunk. Looks like he’s going to eat something.”

  The silence stretched for nearly ten minutes.

  “Looking at the highway again.”

  Are you walking or are you staying?

  “Still looking…still…wait. He’s going back to the trunk…got the lighter…he’s burning everything. That’s a confirm. He’s moving back inside and….sitting in the car.”

  “Janice, Michael,” Matt said into the phone. “Pickup is a go. Jordan, get ready to disable the satellite.”

  Welcome to the team, Captain Ash.

  Eleven

  THE WATCH ASH’S wife had given him on their fifth anniversary had been taken away the night he was put in the cell, so he wasn’t exactly sure what time it was when he saw a pair of headlights exit the freeway and head in his direction.

  As they neared, he realized they didn’t belong to a car, but an old Winnebago motor home. It slowed to a crawl as it turned off the road, then stopped in front of his sedan.

  After a few seconds the side door opened, and a man and a woman emerged. They looked maybe ten years older than Ash, and smiled as they walked in his direction. When they neared his car, the woman stopped several feet away, but the man came right up to Ash’s window and leaned down.

  As soon as Ash lowered it halfway, the man said, “Sorry we're late.”

  Ash made no reply.

  The man rubbed his arms with his hands. “It's a little chilly out. So if you’re ready to go, I’d love to get back in the 'Bago.”

  Ash hesitated a moment. The thought of going it alone once more passed through his mind. But the conclusions he’d come up with before hadn’t changed, so he grabbed the messenger bag off the other seat and got out. Immediately, he pulled his jacket tight around his neck. Though it had been cold in the car, it was near freezing outside.

  “We've got coffee in the motor ho
me, if you'd like,” the man said, then nodded toward the woman. “Janice just heated up a pot before we turned off. If you're hungry we can cook you up something, too. There’s plenty of leftover chili from lunch. I'm Mike, by the way.”

  He held out his hand. Ash shook it.

  “Coffee sounds good. My name’s—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. I already know who you are. You're Sam Wolverton. I’d recognize you anywhere.”

  Apparently Craig Thompson was out, and Sam Wolverton was in. It was as good a name as any, Ash thought.

  Mike and Janice led him over to the Winnebago, then inside where the temperature was a wonderfully bone-thawing forty degrees warmer. Ash slowly stretched his stiff cold fingers then rolled his shoulders, trying to bring his muscles back to life.

  Janice pointed at a table in the rear. “If you want to have a seat, I'll get that coffee while Mike gets us back on the road.”

  “Thanks,” Ash said.

  He pulled off his jacket and sat down. Between the heat and the feel of movement and the calm exuded by Janice and Mike, some of the tension he’d been holding on to began to ease away.

  It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay.

  The next thing he knew Janice was touching him on the shoulder.

  “You all right?”

  He jerked in surprise, then looked up. “I’m fine. Thanks. Just...trying to warm up.”

  She set a cup of coffee in front of him. “This’ll help.”

  “Thanks again.”

  The coffee mug had a lid on top that allowed a person to drink without the liquid inside sloshing out while traveling. Ash took a sip. It was hot and delicious. In fact, it was the best cup of coffee he’d had in a long time.

  The Winnebago took a turn to the right and began increasing speed. Ash could see they were transitioning back onto the interstate, but he missed the sign so he still had no idea which one they were on.

  He took another, longer sip.

  “Mind if I join you?” Janice asked from over at the stove.

  “Not at all,” he told her.

  She poured herself a cup of coffee then took a seat across the table from him.

  “Do you…do this often?” he asked.

  She cocked her head. “Do what?”

  “Pick up strangers on deserted roads.”

  A half-smile graced her lips. “You're not a stranger, Sam. We've known you for years.” She lifted her cup and took a drink.

  “But we just—”

  “We just what? Pulled off the highway so we could stretch our legs?”

  He studied her face for a moment. “Who are you people?”

  “Mike and Janice Humphrey. Your old friends from college.”

  “I don’t care about any cover story. There’s no one else around. I’d just like to know who you are, and why you're helping me.”

  “You sure want a lot for someone whose life is being saved.”

  “How do you know that? I thought you didn’t know anything about me. How do you know you’re saving my life?”

  “How do I know? I don’t. It was just an educated guess, and by your reaction, a fairly accurate one. And you’re right. We don’t know anything about you. But even if we’re not saving your life, we’re saving you from something. I would think you’d be grateful for that.”

  “I am,” he said quickly. “Very grateful. I’m just…confused. I don’t know what’s going…what’s going…”

  His vision suddenly blurred.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  He opened his eyes as wide as he could, but was unable to focus on anything. As he raised a hand to rub them, vertigo raced through his head like a wave. He no longer knew which way was up and which was down. He reached out for the table to try to steady himself, but he missed and fell sideways, dropping onto the floor. Janice was immediately at his side, her hand moving under his head. But her touch seemed distant and disconnected.

  “Relax.” Her voice was a million miles away. “You're going to be fine. You just need a little sleep.”

  He tried to speak, to tell her he wasn't fine. That nothing was fine. But his lips refused to move.

  A moment later, the unfocused world he’d been seeing turned black.

  Twelve

  IF ELLISON HAD been in a humorous mood, he would have thought it ironic that the car he escaped in belonged to Major Littlefield, but he knew humor would never enter his life again.

  The whole time he was hotwiring it, he was sure the major would come charging out and find him, then drag him back into the facility before initiating Protocol Thirteen. But the engine finally roared to life, and he sped away without seeing the major or anyone else.

  Just before he reached the far end of the valley, the building exploded, lighting up the sky. Even though he’d been expecting it, it still caught him by surprise. He jerked the wheel to the right and nearly ran off the road.

  At least the explosion meant that he was safe for the moment. With the major and the small team at Barker Flats no longer in the picture, anyone the project would send after him was at least a few hundred miles away.

  All he had to do was find a pay phone before that.

  And torch the car.

  And die.

  It was an easy enough plan in theory, but after an hour of driving through the empty desert, he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. He needed to get some rest. He couldn’t afford to crash. Not only would he be unable to deliver the message, but anyone who came to his aid would be in danger of being infected.

  Just a couple of hours—a nap, really—that was all he needed.

  About five minutes later he spotted an old dirt road. He turned onto it and drove far enough that his car wouldn’t be spotted from the highway, then crawled into the back seat.

  When he woke, the sun was high in the sky. Panicked, he pushed himself up but immediately dropped back down. It felt like his brain was trying to push out of his skull. Even his eyes ached.

  More slowly this time, he rose into a sitting position. As he tried to take a deep breath, it caught in his throat and he began to cough.

  Ellison was not the kind of man who would delude himself. Sure, he could have pretended he’d only caught a bad cold or maybe the flu. But the truth was he was infected with the KV-27a virus, and unless he had an immunity that worked like Josie Ash’s had, he was going to die.

  He forced himself to get back behind the wheel. His time was severely limited now. He figured he had no more than two hours to find an isolated pay phone. If he failed to locate one in that time, he would have to forget about the call and concentrate on eliminating his chance of infecting anyone else.

  “Should have stayed in the building,” the disease in his head said. “Should have let the fire take you.”

  He ignored it and used every ounce of concentration to keep the car on the road. Even then, he often found himself veering dangerously close to the opposite lane and then overcompensating by weaving back the other way and onto the shoulder. God forbid he came across a highway patrol car. They’d pull him over for sure.

  He passed a few possibilities, wide spots in the road with two or three restaurants and a gas station, but there were always too many people around. After ninety minutes, he started to think he would have to give up the idea of reporting in. But then he saw a little gas station along an otherwise deserted stretch of the highway.

  Though it looked like it was open, there were no customers out front.

  He slowed, then turned into the large dirt lot next to the building, his eyes scanning left and right, looking for…

  There.

  The pay phone was mounted to a wooden pole a good twenty feet away from the station.

  He pulled to a stop and stumbled out of the car, then cursed himself for not having gotten closer to the phone. When he finally got to the pole, he leaned against it and caught his breath. Closing his eyes, he focused on the number, trying to make sure he remembered it correctly. His headac
he wasn’t helping, but once he repeated the number several times, he knew he had it.

  He fished some coins out of his pocket, then picked up the receiver and dropped several quarters into the slot on top. His strength waning, he punched in the number, making sure he made no mistakes.

  One ring. Two.

  Then a click and a beep.

  “This is Ellison,” he said. “Barker Flats blown. I repeat Barker Flats blown. Littlefield initiated self-destruct. When the power came back on, the virus they were pumping into the target’s cell leaked into the rest of the building. Littlefield and three others eliminated with the facility. Target already freed at that point, but Littlefield discovered the escape and planned to report it to Karp. No confirmation if he was able to do that, but it seems likely.” He paused. “I’m…I’m infected, so this will be my last message.”

  He hung up.

  The phone was going to have to be destroyed, too, but that would be easy enough. He would just need to move the car right up against the pole before he lit everything on fire.

  He went around to the trunk of Major Littlefield’s sedan. Inside he found more than he had hoped for. Not only were there flares that he could use to help get the fire going, but there was also a hard plastic case containing a Colt .45 automatic pistol.

  It was a lot more power than Ellison needed, but then again, it wouldn’t matter when he pulled the trigger. At least he wouldn’t have to crawl out into the desert now.

  He stripped off his shirt, then fed as much of it as he could into the gas tank. Once he had the car in position, his plan was to use a flare to light the shirt on fire. He would then get into the car and throw the flare into the back seat to ignite the interior. As soon as he saw the fire catch, he would put the gun to his head and pull the trigger.

  What he hadn’t counted on were the three sedans that raced off the road and skidded to a stop twenty feet away, before he could get back behind the wheel and move the car into place.