“I know,” he said. The plane they had arrived on had crashed upon landing, so it was very likely that the only way they’d be able to get off the island was on that ship. He turned to Kessler. “Do you know where the icebreaker is?”
Another tired nod. “Southeast. Straight out.”
“Then unless you want to die here, we need to keep moving.”
Kessler nodded wearily. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Good.”
“Hold on a second.” Kessler staggered over to the remains of the camp. “There should be a GPS tracker here if it hasn’t blown away. We’ll need that.”
After a minute of rooting around, he came up with the device. He turned it on and studied the screen.
“Okay, that way,” he said, pointing into the storm.
“No,” Ash said. He nodded to his left. “This way first. We have a stop to make.”
RED CHECKED ON the pilot again. Gagnon was still out, his temperature warm, but not too hot. The fever had to be from an infection caused by one of the wounds the pilot had received when their plane crashed on the ice just off Yanok Island. In addition to the cut on Gagnon’s head, the man had at least two broken ribs and a deep gouge on his leg. Red had done what he could, keeping the pilot’s ribs wrapped, changing the bandages as often as necessary, but his biggest concern was that Gagnon had suffered internal damage. If that was the case, there was absolutely nothing Red could do.
What the man needed was a doctor, but Red was beginning to think they were both going to die right there in the makeshift shelter the Resistance advance scouts had used when they’d first discovered Bluebird’s location.
It had been over eight hours since Ash and Chloe left them there. That in itself might not have been cause for concern, but just over two hours earlier, the ground had shaken violently several times. Not earthquakes, Red thought. Explosions. He only hoped that if Ash was the one who set them off, he’d been able to do it in time to stop the monsters from Project Eden.
Gagnon groaned, turning his head first one way, then the other.
Red grabbed the pot of warm water he’d heated earlier, poured some onto a piece of cloth, and pressed it lightly against Gagnon’s lips. Squeezing, he let some of the water drip into the man’s mouth. This seemed to calm him.
Outside the wind howled past the shelter. Red glanced over at the doorway, making sure nothing had blown away, and nearly jumped when the cover moved to the side and someone stepped in.
Ash. Chloe entered right after him, then a man Red didn’t recognize.
“I wasn’t sure if you guys made it,” Red said as he hopped to his feet.
“We weren’t sure ourselves there for a little while,” Ash said.
“Did you find it?”
“Bluebird? Yeah, we found it.” There was hesitation in Ash’s voice.
“I felt explosions. Tell me you were able to—”
“It didn’t go as planned.”
“You mean—”
“They set it off.”
Red closed his eyes and rolled his head back. “Holy shit.”
“We can worry about it later,” Ash said. “Right now we need to get out of here.”
“In the storm?”
“If we don’t, the only way we have of getting off this island will be gone.”
“What about Gagnon?”
Ash looked past him at the pilot. “We’ll have to take turns carrying him.”
“That might kill him.”
“Staying here will kill him. At least this way we’ll all have a chance.”
IT TOOK THEM forty minutes to reach the small bay where they’d come ashore after the plane crashed. It was the only path Ash knew that had easy access to the frozen ocean. Kessler said that his people had come up another way, but he wasn’t completely sure where it was, so this was better than wasting time hunting around.
Chloe took charge of the GPS tracker once they were on the ice, while Ash and Red traded off carrying Gagnon every ten minutes. Unfortunately, the only way to effectively to do this and not lose time was to put the pilot over their shoulder in a fireman hold. Not exactly the ideal position for someone with broken ribs.
The frozen surface of the ocean, as they’d learned when they landed the plane, was not smooth and level. To make it worse, the new snow hid many of the contours and ridges, resulting in each of them falling or nearly doing so more than once. Luckily it never happened with whoever was carrying Gagnon, but it did slow their progress, making the one mile seem like ten.
An hour and twenty minutes passed before Chloe yelled out, “We should almost be there! Maybe another hundred yards.”
Without saying anything, they all picked up their pace.
“I think I see something,” she said a few minutes later.
As if to answer her, there was a sudden loud crack.
“No!” Kessler yelled, then raced ahead.
“Come on!” Ash said to the others. “They’re leaving!” With Gagnon over his shoulder, Ash could only get up to a slow jog, but he urged the others to keep going. “Get their attention!”
He didn’t see the ship until he almost reached it, its black metal hull suddenly rising up from the ice.
It was moving. Very slowly, but definitely moving.
“Hey!” Kessler yelled from several feet away.
The others joined in, but there was no reaction.
“Red! Come here!” Ash called out.
Red rushed over.
“Take him,” Ash said, handing over Gagnon.
Free of the pilot, Ash backtracked several yards until he could see the dim outline of the deck. His gaze moved back and forth, searching for signs of movement.
There!
It was the shape of a man moving quickly toward a door that led inside. He probably wouldn’t hear Ash yelling, so Ash pulled his gun from his jacket, aimed at a spot near the door, and pulled the trigger.
The shape jerked to a stop.
Ash couldn’t be sure, but it looked like the man turned toward the side, so Ash jumped up and down and waved his arms. The others, seeing what he was doing, started to mimick him and scream at the top of their lungs.
At first, nothing happened. Then the cracking of the ice began to recede as the ship came to a halt.
Ten
LAS CRUCES, NEW MEXICO
2:21 PM MOUNTAIN STANDARD TIME
THE VIDEO CONFERENCE call Perez wanted set up within the hour took four to organize. There were several factors involved in the delay. Number one—and the most time consuming—was determining who the other four highest-ranking Project members were, and where they were located.
The only one on the list higher than Perez was Dr. Henry Lassiter. Dr. Lassiter’s purview was the health of Project members. Working under him was a team of physicians—general practitioners, surgeons, and specialists—who responded to all medical issues not related to the KV-27a virus. In effect, he was a hospital administrator whose employees were scattered all over the globe. The doctor himself was at NB772 in the south of France near the Spanish border.
The other three on the list in descending order were: Erik Halversen, Regional Director of Technologies for the Northern Hemisphere, located at NB405 outside Hamburg, Germany; Patricia Nakamura, Regional Director of Supplies for North America, located at NB89 near Seattle, Washington; and Dominick Tolliver, Regional Director of Supplies for East Asia, located at NB294 in the outskirts of Osaka, Japan.
“Are we ready?” Perez asked Claudia.
“Just waiting for Nakamura to come online.” There was a pause, then she nodded. “All right. She’s live. I can connect you all now.”
“Do it.”
Perez was pleased with how Claudia had jumped right in and helped without any hesitation. She’d proved herself very useful over the last few hours, something he couldn’t say about Kane. The facility director just didn’t seem to understand he was no longer in charge. Finally, Perez had had him taken to one of the holding cells. T
hat solved the problem, at least in the short term.
Claudia tapped away at her keyboard. “All right. Here we go.”
She hit one more key, and the large screen on the conference room wall came to life. The image was divided into four equal sections: Dr. Lassiter in the upper left, Halversen upper right, Nakamura lower left, and Tolliver lower right.
“Can you all hear me?” Perez asked.
They each responded yes.
“Then we should begin. First, when was the last time any of you was in contact with Bluebird?”
“Hold on a moment,” Nakamura said, her eyes narrowing slightly. “There’s something I think we need to clear up first. What exactly is your position with the Project?”
The question was not a surprise. The four on the screen were all managers with fancy titles. Perez was a wild card, the type of Project operative probably none of them had come in contact with before. But while they might have been confused by his inclusion, the Project directorate had known his worth, and had purposely ranked him as high as they did in case something like this happened. He was someone who could make sure things stayed on track and didn’t get tripped up by narrow-minded middle managers.
“I’m Special Operations,” he said.
“And that is what, exactly?” This time the question came from Tolliver.
“Use your imagination.”
Silence.
“We think there might be a mistake with the information we received,” Nakamura said. She raised a piece of paper a few inches off her desk. “According to this, you’re number two?”
“Yes. And?”
A small laugh escaped her lips. “And I guess we don’t understand how that’s possible. You’re not even a director.”
“You mean regional director. You’re right. That’s not a title I hold. I don’t have a specific title, nor do I operate in a specific region. I work everywhere.”
“Then I guess I have to go back to the earlier question. Doing what?”
He stared into the camera. “We’re wasting time. We have a situation which needs to be dealt with, and you want to get into a pissing match over why the directorate saw fit to give me my rank?”
“It’s just that—”
“Ms. Nakamura,” Lassiter said, “Mr. Perez is correct. We need to address more pressing matters. If the directorate thinks so highly of him, then they must have a reason. It is not our position to challenge it.”
Nakamura looked momentarily confused.
Her reaction pretty much confirmed what Perez had already thought, that she’d had an earlier conversation with Lassiter, and someone, perhaps the doctor himself, had come up with a strategy to figure out who Perez was. Chances were, conversations had occurred between all four of his new colleagues.
Time wasters. Space wasters. The Project was in the first few hours of implementation, and here they were—the supposed leaders if Bluebird remained out of contact—not able to pull their heads out of their own asses.
These people were even more of a problem than he thought they would be.
“Thank you, Dr. Lassiter,” he said. “Perhaps we can get back to my question. Unless you’d like to be the one to keep things moving along.”
“No,” the doctor said after a second’s hesitation. “You’re doing fine. Please continue.”
“All right. So, last time anyone heard from Bluebird?”
Like Perez, the last message they had all received was the one saying that activation had been completed. In the twenty-four hours prior to that, there had only been routine communications with no signs of trouble.
“I don’t know if any of you have checked the weather or not,” Tolliver said, “but it appears that a large storm has moved in over Bluebird. It’s possible that could be affecting communications.”
“Actually, not possible at all,” Halversen said. “The systems that have been put in place work no matter what the weather.”
“Well, something happened,” Nakamura said.
“Yes,” Perez agreed. “And there’s no way we can know at this point what that is, so speculating about it is useless.” Nakamura started to open her mouth, but Perez went on. “We’ve all read the document from box A002. The instructions are clear. In the event of a loss of communication from Bluebird, this committee is to be formed with the purpose of focusing on the continuation of the Project’s goals. What we need to do now is make sure everything is proceeding as planned, and make any adjustments that might be necessary. After that, we can turn to the next steps.”
“Hopefully the directorate will be back online by then,” Nakamura said.
The others nodded in agreement.
“Of course,” Perez said. “We all hope that.”
Claudia slipped a piece of paper in front of him. He glanced down at it.
A man named Sims says he needs to talk to you right away.
Perez knew Sims. He was part of Special Operations, too, and commanded one of the Project’s tactical strike teams.
“Mr. Perez?” Lassiter said. “Something the matter?”
“No. Sorry.” Until he knew what Sims wanted, best to keep this to himself. “Now, about monitoring activation.”
“I have an idea about that,” the doctor said. “I’m willing to bet that your background makes you best suited to assess where we are. You could be in charge of that task, and report back to us. What do you think?”
Report back to us? Perez thought. All right. That’s it.
These people had no business being anywhere near the decisions that would have to be made. He was going to have to take full control himself. It would be best, though, if they didn’t see it coming.
He almost smiled. “Of course. I would be happy to do that. Why don’t we reconvene in four hours and I can fill you in then?”
Once they’d all agreed, the call was ended, and Claudia put Sims through to the phone on the table.
“Sims? Perez. What’s going on?”
“Actually, I was going to ask you the same thing. I’ve been trying to get through to Bluebird, but no joy. Have you talked to anyone there?”
“No one has. The activation signal went out, but after that, nothing.”
A pause. “I was afraid of that. Anyone trying to find out what’s going on?”
“Apparently there’s a big storm up there, so nothing we can do at the moment. Our focus is on making sure everything else goes as planned.”
“Well, that’s kind of why I’m calling you.”
“Okay. What is it?”
“Who’s in charge of security now? That’s really who I should be talking to. Called you because the depot I contacted gave me your number, and said you were organizing some kind of leadership meeting.”
“You called the right place. I’m the one you’re looking for.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. My team and I were sent on a special mission today, with instructions to call in a report thirty minutes ago. Like I said, I’ve been trying.”
“What’s the mission?”
Sims briefed him about the raid on the Resistance’s headquarters.
“So the buildings are destroyed, but you haven’t found them yet?”
“Oh, we’ve found them. We just haven’t been able to get to them. They’re in an underground shelter. Once we locate the door, we’ll have them.”
Perez was a practical man. It’s what made him so good at his job. While an attack on Resistance headquarters was interesting, he instantly knew it was a needless act of revenge. Whoever was in that shelter would die of the coming plague anyway. Using Sims’s team to kill them before that happened was risking the squad members’ lives unnecessarily to satisfy the ego of one of the directors, no doubt. A director who was quite possibly dead.
“Sims, I’ve got some new instructions for you.”
Eleven
MONTANA
2:31 PM MOUNTAIN STANDARD TIME
BRANDON LEANED AGAINST the tree, panting. Once more he could hear the helicopte
r heading in his direction. He slid around so the trunk was between him and the aircraft, hoping it would mask him from any heat-seeking scanner they might have.
He’d been doing the same thing for what seemed like hours now, running when the helicopter was far away, then using the trees as a barrier when it came near. So far it had worked.
When he’d left Hayes’s body, he’d been hoping he wouldn’t see any of the helicopters again, but the empty skies hadn’t lasted long, and soon the one he was now hiding from had begun its slow methodical search over the forest.
This time it was flying just above the trees on a line that would take it over his position. Once it reached the point directly above him, the only things between it and his heat-radiating body would be a less-than-solid layer of branches. Would they be enough to hide him?
He thought about running to the side out of the helicopter’s path, but he worried that he’d already waited too long, and would be seen the moment he took his first step.
Go? Stay?
Stay, he decided.
The treetops began swaying from the wind generated by the helicopter’s approach. Another few seconds and it would be right above him. He squeezed his eyes shut as if doing so would make him invisible, and pressed as tightly as he could against the tree.
Fifty feet away now, the rotors so loud he could no longer hear anything else.
He angled his feet so that he could shimmy around the trunk as the helicopter passed above, and hoped that would be enough to keep him from being discovered.
Twenty feet. His mind screamed at him to move around the tree now.
Wait. Wait.
He held his position.
Suddenly the sound of the engine changed as the helicopter stopped in midair.
He shoved his eyelids even tighter together, sure that he’d been seen, and those soldiers he’d been worried about earlier were descending to the ground.
The helicopter hung in the air above him. Why? What were they doing?
Reluctantly, he opened his right eye, then his left. Very slowly, he tilted his head up. Through a small gap in the tree cover, he could see a portion of the helicopter’s tail section. Knowing he was taking a big chance, he leaned a few inches further around until he could see the main cabin.
The Project Eden Thrillers Box Set 1: Books 1 - 3 (Sick, Exit 9, & Pale Horse) Page 58
