IN YOUR DREAMS (Mark Appleton #3)

by Patterson, Aaron

  “And why would I want to do that? If you really knew me, you would know how crazy that statement is. My life is to protect this world, the ones who can’t protect themselves. If I am going to destroy the world, I would really like to know how.”

  Kreios nodded and said. “I know, Mark. You are a good man, you have a kind heart, and I know the last thing you would want to do is destroy the world you try so hard to protect. However, you will do just that if you do not stop.”

  “Stop what?” I was getting annoyed; he was talking in circles, dodging the real truth. What was so bad that he would travel all this way from wherever he came from just to tell me this?

  “Dreaming. You have to stop dreaming.”

  CHAPTER 8

  KREIOS THOUGHT OF HOW to tell Mark Appleton about who he was—the right way to break it to the man that he was going to end his own life. He would only tell him what he needed to know, and beyond that, he would just have to come to his own conclusions. He did not want to have to do it like this, but the incident in the WJA’s underground center forced his hand.

  “What do you mean? How do you—?” Mark looked confused; he stared at the table and took a sip of coffee. His hands were shaking slightly.

  “The first thing you must understand is that none of this is your fault. You cannot control your dreams, and for that you are innocent. However, I cannot allow you to keep dreaming, so we must come to some sort of understanding.” Kreios had a few ideas. One was to kill Mark even though he believed he was a good man. The other was to find a way to keep him from entering a dream-like state.

  Kreios preferred the latter but would do whatever was required of him. In order to dream, a person must enter a second level of sleep. Known by different terms, Kreios knew that if he could train Mark to sleep deeply or maybe drug him to put him so far under that no dream could arise could be a solution. Or he would have to sleep so lightly that any dream would wake him, thus cutting off the result.

  “How do I not dream? I take it you know of my ability to see into the future, and just recently, I learned I could see into the past—”

  “The past!” Kreios almost stood up, and as he lurched, the table rattled, and Mark’s coffee spilled, the warm brown liquid running over the edge and onto the floor. Mark jumped back, dodging the coffee. His eyes flashed and he turned just in time to see the waitress hurry over to clean up the mess.

  “Sit down Mark, I got this.” Her gray hair was pulled back into a bun, and she had a long apron with a lobster on it that tied in the back. As she wiped up the spilled coffee, she said, “Happens all the time. Just sit down, and I’ll get you a fresh cup.”

  Mark started to protest, but she was already out of sight. The swinging door leading to the kitchen clicked on its hinges.

  Kreios settled down, but his face was contorted in what looked like pain. Taking a relaxed posture, he nodded to Mark. “Sorry about that, I was…”

  “What is going on? This is ridiculous! You come in our so-called secret building, then I stab you, and you heal. Then you want to take me to coffee and are talking end-of-the-world stuff, and somehow you know all about me and my abilities. I want the truth, no more games. Just be straight up with me.” Mark could hear the edge in his voice, but he was tired and frustrated.

  Kreios shifted in his seat, and he thought about what Mark said. He knew that whatever he told him would be kept a secret; Mark was a man of secrets.

  “I will tell you, but not all at once. It is a lot to take in, so we will start with the important things. First, I am not human, as you might have guessed. I am something else, but what I am is not important. Just know that I am very old, and I will be here long after you are gone. I have abilities as you do. One of them you have seen—I can heal.”

  “What else can you do?” Mark was getting back into the conversation, and the anger had vanished. The new cup of coffee arrived, and Mark took a sip and smiled up at the waitress.

  “I can read minds, and I am very strong.” Kreios let a half-smile cross his face as Mark gasped.

  “Come on, read minds? That, I don’t believe. Strong? Yes, you look it.”

  “Believe what you will. I am just a small part of this story. You, on the other hand, are the main man, as they say.” Kreios folded his hands again and closed his eyes as he searched Mark’s memories. He did not see any recollection of his past and decided to move on.

  “You have the gifts of glimpses and of energy. You can harness energy around you and can use it if you so choose. I sense that you have little or no control of this gift.” Mark nodded.“That’s weird, I call them glimpses, too. How did you know—” Then a light came on in his eyes. “The mind thing?”

  Kreios nodded. “You are a complex man. Even with my ability, I have trouble seeing into your mind because you have different, conflicting memories. This is why I came here, and the reason you and I are here. I know of you, Mark, because you are known to all of my kind. You are taught about, and the story of your life has been told for a thousand years. I know this may be hard to understand, but all I ask is that you trust me. If I tell you one lie, I will leave you and you will never be bothered with me again.”

  Mark pondered this and said. “How can I trust you? You tell me that you are not even human and that you cannot die. If you lie to me, I’ll never know. What if everything you’ve told me is a lie? For all I know, you just did your research.”

  “I cannot lie to you because if I did… well, if I lie to you, I will die. My Creator made it so I am unable to lie and live. He is full of love and truth, and a lie is the worst thing one can do, for it saturates the soul—once started, it can never be stopped.”

  Kreios relaxed his body and held out his hand. He read Mark’s thoughts and saw the fear and worry in his heart. But in spite of this, he reached forward and took Mark’s hand. The instant they touched, a flash of light filled the room, and the two disappeared.

  The man reading the newspaper read on as if he were the only man in the city.

  The old woman in the kitchen did not see the two leave, as she was distracted by handling a book with soft hands. It had come alive the last few days, and the leather cover shimmered as she touched the dark brown skin. She wondered what it was and why nothing was written inside.

  “We will find your home, little one. Kirk and that pretty woman will come looking for you soon, don’t you worry.” She picked it up and put it back in the metal wall safe in the office. After she closed the door and spun the combination, she re-hung the picture and left the office.

  ***

  Kirk walked from the hospital dressed in a yellow CDC suit. As he turned the corner, he ran down the back of an alley two blocks from where the hospital was in lockdown. He was amazed how easy it was to leave because of the stupid suit.

  He hid the suit under a dumpster—he wanted to keep it just in case he needed to get back into the hospital. Isis was dying, and he would give himself one day to find what he needed. After that, he didn’t have a plan. If she died, he didn’t know what he would do.

  Hang in there, kiddo, just hang in there. The alley was empty, and after he was free of the huge suit, Kirk jogged down to the street and waved down a cab. “The Merc building. Step on it.” Taras lived across the street, and Kirk knew that he could get in with his badge. The crime scene was on national news, and the way the terrorist died had the talking heads all in a lather.

  “A bomb blew out the entire residence. Police and the FBI are not sure what caused the explosion, but they confirm that Taras Karjanski is dead.” It was all the same: what caused the explosion and who set off the bomb? The WJA and a mention of Mark or Kirk were absent from the news, and as usual they had the story wrong.

  The city streets had light traffic, and as the threat of terror heightened, Washington sent in troops. In front of the major government buildings, groups of men stood guard, and a tank or two made the scene surreal.

  Who would have thought that we would be guarding our own land with tanks?
Kirk shook his head, and as they came to the Merc building, he could see a row of police cars, CDC vans, and other government vehicles parked all around the building. The street was blocked off.

  “This is as far as I go, mister, unless you want me to take you around the block to the other side.” The cabbie looked over his shoulder. He wore a brown ball cap over dark hair that escaped the cap in thick curls, and he had an unshaven face.

  “This is fine,” Kirk glanced at the meter and gave the driver a twenty.

  “Thanks.”

  The air was quiet, much too quiet for a downtown street in New York City. It was weird to see this huge city and the tall buildings all but empty. Some people still went into work and did their thing, but most of them decided to stay home.

  Kirk closed the door, and the cab took off with a squeal. Walking across the street, he entered the Grove and didn’t bother going by the front desk. He took the elevator to the top floor and found the service elevator. He took it up to the floor that Taras Karjanski had turned into a fortress.

  “Lot of good that did ya.” Kirk muttered. He hated the terrorist and hated even more that he was still killing even after he was dead. What was this world coming to?

  Police tape was strung across the opening that used to have doors, and two guards stood wearing dark sunglasses. The closest one stepped forward and put his hand on his piece when he saw Kirk.

  “Kirk Weston, Detroit Police Department. I’m working with the FBI on this case.” He flashed his badge, and the man took off his glasses and took the identification. He wore a black ball cap, a flak jacket, and combat boots. He did not look like a rent-a-cop; he looked military, maybe ex-military.

  “I have no record of you on the list. What do you want here?” His voice was deep, and he looked to be in his late twenties. Kirk tried not to look annoyed but failed. The second retard took a step forward, and Kirk rolled his eyes.

  “I’m working on the case and wanted to go over the crime scene one more time—alone, I think better that way, you know, maybe we missed something the first time. Do you want another virus going off in this city, or are you good and comfortable dying of some plague you’ve never heard of?”

  Kirk took his badge back. The two looked at each other and waved him through. He ducked under the tape and gasped. The destruction was more then he remembered. The place looked gutted, and there was a black ring of debris encircling the place where Mark had stood. There was no mistaking where the so-called bomb had gone off.

  Looking around, he wondered where Mark was. He had figured he would be here by now, and the empty floor did nothing to calm Kirk’s nerves. Where are you, Mark? The lack of the self-appointed superstar made Kirk angry. He was supposed to be here looking for the antidote.

  I have to do everything myself. Kirk wondered if Mark would let Isis die. He knew he cared for her, but if he did, then why was he not here looking? Had he already found it and gone?

  Charred furniture and broken glass littered the room. Kirk walked through and began searching each room. One by one, he discovered nothing of any use. A wall safe, open and empty. A hidden floor safe, and it, too, was open and empty.

  He cursed and spit, and taking a broken bottle of Vodka, he tipped it back and downed the rest in one gulp. It burned as it went down, and Kirk squinted and grimaced. “Got to give it to the Russians, they sure do make good booze.” Tossing the bottle to the ground, he smiled when it shattered.

  Something that Mark said on the phone reminded Kirk that there was another floor, some sort of command center or computer room. Kirk didn’t find any stairwell or hidden passage, so he left and gave the two guards a nod and a grunt as he passed under the police tape.

  Taking the elevator down one floor, he got off and walked down the hall, noticing the doors on each side of the hallway. They were numbered, most were apartments, and in the middle on the left hand side, Kirk saw one that had no number, and the door was made of metal instead of wood like the others.

  Kirk put his ear to the door and listened. All was quiet on the other side. He pulled out a thin wire-like device he had taken from the WJA weapons room. It was a fiber optic camera, and on the other end was a small screen. Kirk slid the tiny camera under the door and turned his attention to the screen.

  He controlled the camera and saw that this indeed was some kind of computer room. Twinkling lights and flashing green LED lights cut through the dark room. Kirk turned the camera and scanned the left and then the right. The room looked deserted.

  Retracting the cable, he slid the compact device back into his pocket. He tried the door, and it was locked. Stepping back, he flexed his right leg, and with all his force, he kicked the door. The sound of metal grinding filled the empty hall.

  Kirk felt the vibrations run up his leg and to his skull. The door didn’t budge. Taking a second step back, he rushed the door with his shoulder down. The door flexed just a little, and yet remained. Kirk muttered a curse and rubbed his shoulder. It ached. Kirk stared at the forbidding door, and he rubbed his head, which was not as smooth as he liked to keep it

  He could feel his anger rise, and his face felt hot. With hands quivering, he turned, searching for something to hit or kick. He flexed his back and his vision blurred as he ground his teeth and cried out.

  Ten feet away, a fire extinguisher hung in a case imbedded in the wall. The glass door read, “Break in case of emergency.” Kirk close fisted the glass, and it shattered. He grabbed the red fire extinguisher and ran to the door, still hot as ever.

  Taking the butt of the heavy, metal tank, he bashed the doorknob repeatedly. The metal knob bent, and after the fifth or sixth hit, the knob gave away and fell to the floor. This time, the kick to the door had a better result. It flew open and slammed against the wall on the other side.

  Stepping into the darkness, Kirk walked toward the wall of computers. The place hummed with machinery. Kirk felt for the light switch, and as the light came on, he saw that this was not only a computer room, but a storage facility. Tall, walk-in coolers stood against the east wall, and a biohazard symbol marked the doors of each.

  “What do we have here?” Kirks heart skipped a beat. Could it be this easy?

  CHAPTER 9

  TAKING A BOTTLE OF scotch from the bar in the far corner of his office, the president poured the dark liquor into a crystal glass. He tipped it back and winced as it burned its way down his throat. He poured more, took the glass, walked to the couch, and sat down with a sigh.

  The stock market had taken a huge hit, and the tailspin didn’t look like it would pull up any time soon.

  The president rubbed his chin and looked at the reports. The thing of it was that he had no idea how to save the country he loved. The last moron who held his office took them lower than anyone ever thought possible, and he was left to clean up his mess.

  And now this! Oil was in high demand, and even with the oil credits, the people were in an outrage. Riots and looters filled the streets, and the military wanted him to declare martial law, but he wanted to hold off as long as he could. Once that hammer came down, things could grow beyond his grip in a hurry. He did dispatch the military to government buildings and the virus sites in New York, but that was the extent of it.

  Schools were still closed, and as people stayed home from work, the flow of money that kept their economy going all but stopped.

  What am I going to do? We are beyond repair. We can’t drill fast enough to fix the gas shortage. The country, and now the world, is at a standstill because of this Karjanski mess. Now they all are looking to me for the answers. I’ve got none, nothing but the truth. And the truth is—we are about to see the end of the United States of America.

  ***

  “Finish the job! Take this country—no, take the world down and feel the power of God like never before.” Mooch stared at the computer screens in front of him. The voice in his head made his skin crawl.

  Never before had he felt this way—so full, so free. It was like that fee
ling on a rollercoaster just before you drop, the excitement and the fear. He knew that the things he would do to Kirk Weston were only the beginning. He knew he could do so much more, be so much more.

  “Hold on to your so-called free world. We are about to see what happens when you lose everything.” The stock market was online and almost everything was controlled by a computer somewhere. Typing on the keys with cat-like speed, Mooch pulled up the New York Stock Exchange website. Hacking in took over an hour, but soon he was in full control. Before he did what he wanted to do, Mooch linked the site with a timer and set the clock for noon tomorrow.

  After he was done, he logged into the utilities network—gas, power, electric and water. All were controlled by one main government site, and even though most believed that each individual company handles their own utilities, the truth was that the government had the on and off switch to the whole ball of wax.

  With this power at his fingertips, Mooch sat back, took a long swig of Dr Pepper, and threw the empty can over his shoulder. He could now control the flow and the price of everything. Not like it would matter. By noon tomorrow, money would mean nothing.

  Checking his own bank account, he smiled at the amount that showed up on the screen. Not only did he have a few million, but the majority of it was in gold. Taking a piece of paper out of his desk, he wrote a note to himself.

  Buy food and supplies.

  After setting his mom’s house on fire, he left and took the time to set up his new base of operation. Mooch then set up his office and made sure he could survive in his hideout for a year. All he was lacking was the food.

  He picked up his cell phone and dialed a food delivery service. He ordered two truckloads of food, most of it canned and dried. He placed the order for 10 a.m. the following day.