Left?
Right?
Straight ahead?
Back to the Ranch?
No. Hayes wouldn’t have gone back. That would have been heading directly toward those attacking the Resistance.
As Brandon turned back to the valley, a helicopter suddenly rose out of the trees about half a mile away. Without even thinking, he dropped to the ground, his eyes never leaving the aircraft.
It hovered in the sky for a moment, then turned and began heading in his direction.
Scrambling backward on his belly, he moved behind the nearest tree, then closed his eyes and hugged the ground.
Please don’t let them see me. Please don’t.
The thump of the helicopter increased until it roared right over his head. A part of him was sure someone inside was looking down at him, and within seconds the aircraft would descend enough so that the soldiers could drop down on ropes and snatch him from where he lay. But after a moment, the pounding of the rotors began to recede as the helicopter passed over the ridge and headed toward the Ranch.
Brandon wasted no time jumping to his feet. He sprinted down the hill to the thicker cover of the forest near the tube, retrieved his backpack, and headed in the direction of the spot where the helicopter had risen from the trees.
As he drew closer, he slowed his pace and tried to minimize the sound of his steps in case some men had been left behind. What he really wanted to do was call out Mr. Hayes’s name, but that obviously wasn’t an option.
Just ahead, he could see the clearing where the helicopter had landed. In the spring and summer it was probably green with vegetation, but now it was just dirt and rocks and scrub, waiting for the winter snows that, according to those at the Ranch, should have arrived already.
Staying among the trees, he circled around the meadow, looking for movement. It seemed, though, that the helicopter had taken everyone with it.
Just keep going. Get away from here, a voice in his head said.
He turned, planning to do just that, when something odd caught his attention. It was just inside the trees, about a quarter of the way farther around the clearing, a blue shape that looked out of place.
It kind of looked like a tarp or—
No.
Keeping the thought from completely forming, he skirted the edge of the clearing and raced toward the object. But the closer he got, the slower his stride became, as the realization of what it was started to sink in.
The blue was flanked on both sides by offshoots of black.
No, he thought again, taking another step closer.
A blue jacket. Black sleeves.
Another step.
A jacket that had a hole in the middle no wider than one of Brandon’s fingers. A jacket that was still being worn.
Oh, please, no. Please.
“Mr. Hayes?”
He dropped his pack on the ground, knelt down, and put a hand on the man’s shoulder.
“Mr. Hayes? Are you all right?” It was a stupid question. Of course he wasn’t all right. He was lying there unconscious.
Brandon moved his hands under the man’s chest, and carefully turned him onto his back.
For a moment, all he could do was stare, then he twisted to the side and vomited.
Hayes’s eyes were open wide, but there was no life in them. There was a gaping wound in his chest right above where his heart was.
The hole in the back of the jacket, Brandon thought. A bullet hole.
His stomach turned, and he wanted to retch again, but he forced whatever was left inside to stay down.
What am I going to do now?
He stared blankly at the ground just beyond Hayes’s body.
The Ranch?
One look at Mr. Hayes was reason enough not to go that way.
Think. Think! What would Dad do?
Before the Sage Flu, his father had been just like most dads. He played with Brandon, pushed him to do his homework, taught him how to field a grounder. But after the outbreak, after Brandon and Josie’s mother had died and they’d finally been reunited with him, he had started teaching his kids other skills, survival skills they would need if things turned bad. Brandon could tell directions from the stars, knew how to shoot a gun, and even, despite his age, how to drive a car. But he was still a kid. Even he knew that.
As he closed his eyes, his father’s voice echoed in his head. “Never let events overwhelm you.” It was a lesson he’d preached many times. “Relax. Be logical. And survive.”
Brandon repeated the last part silently to himself.
When he felt he was in control once more, he opened his eyes. Hayes was still there, still staring at the sky, his chest ripped open, but the sight no longer repelled Brandon. It was as if he was watching a movie, and Hayes was only an actor on the screen. So he did what he’d seen in films many times—he closed Hayes’s eyes.
Dipping his head, he said, “Lord, please take care of Mr. Hayes. He was trying to help me, and probably saved my life. Thank him for me, okay? Amen.”
It wasn’t the best prayer ever, but it would have to do.
He gritted his teeth, knowing what he had to do next wasn’t going to be pleasant. Hesitating only a second, he started searching through Hayes’s pockets for anything he might need. He found seventy dollars in the man’s wallet first, and in the pockets a folding knife, a book of matches, and eighty-five cents in coins. He’d been hoping to find Mr. Hayes’s cell phone, but he didn’t seem to have it on him.
He stood up and took a look around the area. So where was Mr. Hayes’s backpack? Had the people from the helicopter taken it with them?
No, Brandon realized. Mr. Hayes probably hid it somewhere so he could move faster.
Brandon thought about going in search of it, but who knew how long that might take, or if he’d find it at all? He couldn’t chance on the helicopters flying back over and finding him. He’d just have to get by with what he already had.
Keep moving, his father’s voice said.
“But where?” Brandon whispered.
Not the Ranch, and not toward the mountains.
The only real choice was to follow the gentle slope down toward the wide horizon. Somewhere out there, there had to be a town, someone he could go to for help. At the very least, there would be a highway.
The decision made, he looked down at Hayes again. “I’m sorry you had to die. I wish I could have helped you.” He almost said goodbye, but that seemed too much.
Donning his pack, he turned east and started walking.
Eight
THE RANCH, MONTANA
11:23 AM MOUNTAIN STANDARD TIME
SIMS WAS SITTING in the command helicopter, looking at satellite images of the Montana facility that was burning about one hundred yards from where his aircraft was parked.
He knew from the moment they’d flown in that the fires had been set intentionally, so the people who had been occupying the building—the same people who had been a thorn in the side of the Project for so long—had either left the area completely or were hiding somewhere nearby. Given the surprise nature of his team’s arrival, he found it hard to believe they’d had time to leave. The satellite image revealed there was only one way in and out of the property via the ground, and the portion of his team that had come in on the road had met no one going the other way.
There was, of course, a landing strip not far from the main building. They could have flown out, but he and the others in the helicopters would have seen them for sure.
So where were they?
He studied the photo, looking for any indications of camouflaged buildings or something that might be an entrance to an underground facility. There was the large building and the smaller building, both burning now, and an exercise area that his team had already thoroughly searched. The only other structure was about half a mile away, an old barn that had housed horses. When his men checked it out, they had found no secret doorways or places where people could hide. The only thing they discovered
was that someone had opened the doors, and let all the horses out. That had been a surprise. When they were flying in, one of the other helicopters had done a heat sensor sweep of the barn and determined that there’d been several horses inside. A quick check with the pilot confirmed that the door had been closed at the time.
So there was at least one person around.
Sims had ordered one of his helicopters to go in search of whoever it was, hoping if they found someone, that person might be able to point them to where his friends were.
“Dammit,” he said, tossing the photo down.
He knew they had to be here somewhere. He just knew it.
Outside, he heard a helicopter descending, so he pushed himself up and walked over to the open doorway. The men he’d sent in search of the person who’d opened the barn were back.
As soon as the other helicopter landed, the door flew open and the team jumped out one by one, but they had no prisoner with them. Sims stepped out of his aircraft and strode toward Donaldson, the other team leader.
“I take it you didn’t find anyone,” he said. The mission had been on radio silence since before they flew in.
“Actually, we did.”
Sims looked around. “I don’t see anyone.”
“He’s dead.”
A pause. “He was dead when you found him?”
“No. He was armed. We tried to stop him, but when he shot at us we had no choice but to return fire.”
“I clearly remember telling you to bring anyone you find back alive.”
“I understand that, sir, but I wasn’t going to let my team get shot.”
“No one said you couldn’t shoot him, but you didn’t have to kill him.”
“He moved.”
“What?”
“He was running away. I tried to hit him in the shoulder, but he moved to the side so it went through his chest.”
“You did it?”
“Yes, sir.”
Sims looked away, reining in his anger. Donaldson was one of his top soldiers. If he said the man moved into the bullet, then Sims had to believe him. Dammit. It was still a lost opportunity.
“Was he alone?” he asked.
“We spent some time looking around, but found no signs of anyone else.” Donaldson paused. “There is something that might be helpful, though.”
“What?”
Donaldson reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. “This was on him. According to the call log, he used it a minute or two before we all arrived here.”
THE FIRE AT the dormitory was almost out. Matt studied the camera feed, and was satisfied that the auxiliary Bunker entrance in the building’s basement was now fully inaccessible. And though the Lodge was still burning above them, the fire had passed the point where it could be extinguished in time to find the main Bunker entrance there.
Now all they had to do was wait until the Project Eden assault team left, then inessential personnel could use the emergency tunnel to get away.
Matt would, of course, stay. If Project Eden had indeed triggered Implementation Day, then he needed to be here in the control room where he could do what he could to put a dent, however small, into its plans.
But had they triggered it or not? Given the attack squad aboveground, it seemed pretty damn likely, but he couldn’t afford to make a mistake. The options still open to them would work only once—if that. If he set off the warnings and Implementation had not begun, the Resistance would be like the boy who cried wolf when it really did happen.
One time. One shot. They had to get it right.
For the last hour, Christina and several other communication officers had been trying to contact Resistance members on the outside who were near one of the shipping containers that had already been identified as suspect. They had reached a few people, and sent them to check out the boxes, but no one had reported back yet.
“Matt,” his sister called from across the room. “Your phone.”
“What?”
“Your cell phone. It’s ringing.”
He walked over to where he’d left it on one of the tables. The name on the display read J. HAYES. Why was Jon calling? Protocol in this situation was that all communication should be severed. Had something happened to Brandon?
He punched the ACCEPT button. “Jon?”
There was a pause. “No.”
Matt froze. “Who is this?”
“You can call me Sims. I assume you’re…Matt?”
“Who are you?”
“I just wanted to let you know that you and your friends can only hide for so long, and we’ll still be here when you come out.”
The assault team. They must have found Jon and Brandon.
Matt paled. “What did you do to them?”
Another pause. “I think we’ve talked enough. Call me back when you’re ready to discuss surrender.”
The line went dead.
“What is it?” Rachel asked.
“That was someone from the assault team. He was using Jon’s cell phone.”
“Jon’s?” Her confusion lasted only a second before it morphed into fear. “What about Brandon?”
“He didn’t say anything about either of them, but we probably should assume—”
“No, no. No assumptions,” she said. She grabbed his arm. “We need to send someone out there to get them back.”
“You know we can’t do that. If we do, we’ll expose our location and get everyone killed.”
“Brandon’s just a boy. You promised Ash you’d watch him!”
“What’s going on?” The voice came from across the room.
They both turned to find Josie Ash standing in the doorway.
“I heard you say Brandon’s name. Did you find him? Did something happen?” she asked.
“We don’t know anything at this point,” Matt told her, but it was hard to sound convincing.
Josie stared at him, her eyes wide. “You said he’d be okay. You said Mr. Hayes would take care of him.”
“Get her out of here,” he whispered to Rachel.
Rachel stepped over to Josie.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go talk.”
The two had barely left the room when Christina looked up from her monitor. “Matt. Dale Porter just called in. He drove by one of the containers in San Francisco. It’s open, and it’s humming.”
The entire room went silent.
So this was it.
The end of the world.
Matt said, “I want a second confirmation from somewhere else. Preferably out of the country. As soon as we have that, don’t wait for me to say anything. Initiate WC.”
WC was not some tricky code. Its meaning was simple and clear.
Worst Case.
It would be another three hours before a second confirmation—this one from Copenhagen, Denmark—came in.
SIMS HUNG UP the cell phone and smiled. The man on the other end of the line had said, “What did you do to them?”
He looked over at Donaldson. “You’ve got yourself a second chance. There’s at least one more person out there. Find whoever it is and bring them back.”
“Yes, sir.” Donaldson turned and headed quickly back to his squad.
Sims stepped over to the doorway of his helicopter. “So?” he asked.
Inside was an impressive array of communications gear. Included among the equipment was a device that could track cell phone calls and pinpoint the location of both the originator and the receiver.
The technician manning the console was named DeFassio. He kept his attention focused on one of the monitors for a few seconds longer, then looked over.
“You were correct, sir. They’re right here.”
Nine
YANOK ISLAND
12:51 PM CENTRAL STANDARD TIME
AT TIMES THE snow whirling around them became so thick it seemed as if they were walking through a never-ending wall of white.
Several times Ash was sure they were lost, but then they’
d reach a landmark Olivia’s man, Kessler, had pointed them toward, and head to the next.
“Which way now?” Ash yelled above the wind.
They had just reached the latest landmark, a small hill with an outcropping of rocks that was quickly becoming covered with snow.
“There’s a little gully up ahead. Should be in that direction about a hundred yards.” Kessler motioned ahead and slightly to the right. “The camp will be right on the other side.”
“You need to rest or can we keep going?”
“Keep going,” Kessler said.
They almost missed the gully, their path having veered a little too much to the right, but Chloe spotted their mistake, and guided them back on track.
As soon as they reached the far end, Kessler pointed to the left. “There. See it?”
A canvas drop that had been anchored to the side of the hill was now flapping in the wind, exposing everything that had been underneath it to the storm.
“I thought you said the others were going to be here,” Chloe said.
Kessler looked confused. “They’re supposed to be. That was the plan.”
“Then where the hell are they?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe…”
“Maybe what?” Ash asked.
“They might have made for the boat.”
“Boat? The island’s iced in.”
“Icebreaker,” Kessler said. “About a mile offshore.”
“You hiked in?”
Kessler nodded.
“So you think they went back there?” Chloe asked.
“It’s the only other place they could have gone.”
“What happens when they reach the boat? Will they wait for you?” Ash asked.
Kessler was silent for a second. “They might think I’m dead.”
Since the three of them had been in the tunnel when the explosions started, Ash was willing to bet that’s exactly what the others thought. They probably decided the sooner they got off the island, the better.
Chloe leaned close to Ash. “We’ve got to get there before they leave.”
The Project Eden Thrillers Box Set 1: Books 1 - 3 (Sick, Exit 9, & Pale Horse) Page 57
