by Rob Horner
Unable to reach his weapon, Travers did the next best thing. Balling his fists together, the agent brought them smashing down as hard as he could on Officer Habet’s back, eliciting another unintelligible grunt of pain. Raising his arms again, Travers struck a second time. With no pause between strikes, he pumped his arms, raining blow after blow on the security guard’s back.
Buck’s world shrank to a pinpoint focus: he had to get his feet under him. He needed to stand up.
The fat bastard began moving his arms up Travers’ torso, climbing him like a utility worker shimmying up a telephone pole. Probably wants to try to choke me, the agent thought.
He managed one last strike, but without any leverage. Just as Habet’s arms were about to encircle Buck’s chest, the man’s grip suddenly loosened. Grunting, heaving mightily, Travers twisted and shoved, finally succeeding in rolling the officer off and to the side.
Lunging forward as he regained his feet, feeling blood running down the side of his face and a ball of pain in his lower spine, Travers heard again the wailing siren, momentarily forgotten during the desperate struggle.
“Bastard!” he yelled, twisting back to the fat officer, only now rising to his knees. Reaching his right hand to his left side, Buck groped for his pistol. It must have fallen out during the struggle, he thought, but it didn’t matter. He could see Habet’s pistol two feet away on the floor.
Delivering a vicious kick to the side of the officer’s head as he moved past him, dropping him back to the floor, Travers bent down to retrieve the plain pistol, a Ruger LCP or maybe a Bersa .380.
Grabbing it, feeling control of the situation return as if the weapon gave him power, Agent Travers turned back to the prone form of the security chief.
I could shoot him right now, he thought, just put one in the back of his fat piggy head, and no one would ever question the action.
But no! He wanted to see that face, those eyes, as he killed him.
He wanted answers. Why had the security guard tried to kill him? Who the hell was he working for?
Taking a step forward, Travers reached out with his left hand and grabbed the officer’s right shoulder. With a heave that sent a fresh wave of pain through his back, Travers pushed at the overweight form.
As the officer rolled over, Travers saw the sleek black and chrome pistol in Habet’s hands, pulled in close to the midsection, pointed right at him.
The bastard had his gun! He must have pulled it out of his shoulder holster while he was scrambling on top of him!
Screaming, Travers pulled the trigger on the .380.
The report from the gun was as deafening as the first time; maybe even more so, and something pushed Travers back and away, but not before he saw the fat face, eyes strangely calm and peaceful, explode into a spray of red and gray.
He couldn’t seem to stop himself as he staggered backward, and it was with a shock of complete surprise that Travers realized he’d been shot.
The report had been louder because both guns had gone off at once.
He struck the back wall separating the monitoring room from the server farm, then slid down to the floor. A burst of fiery pain roared to life in his chest, burning, sending him crashing into blackness.
Sunday
Evening
Chapter 28
Assault
1
Debbie and Billy were adamantly against the idea of allowing Travis and Sherry to enter the facility. They feared the worst, that the two would be captured again and subjected to another round of brainwashing. Even Victoria argued with Sherry, asking her if it wasn’t enough that she’d escaped once. They had a chance to move on, to hide, to establish a new life away from all this attention.
Travis’s reply was one with which no one could argue.
How could they live normally, knowing there were others who had been, and would continue to be, subjected to the same cruelties they’d suffered? They’d developed some amazing abilities, thanks to the government’s meddling, and they owed it to themselves and all the other unfortunates to use those abilities to stop the tragedies.
Brian agreed with his son, though his heart ached at the thought of losing him again. But he was proud—damn proud—of the man Travis had become. The boy had been raised to use his strengths to defend those weaker than himself, and he’d taken those lessons to heart.
“This is what you’ve been working for from the start, isn’t it?” Travis asked Billy and Debbie. “Ever since you first figured out what they were going to do, when you ran away and set up this operation, it’s all been about this, right?”
“Yes, but—” Billy began.
“It’s not supposed to be you,” Debbie finished for him. “This is our problem. It’s my problem. I helped develop everything; I led the research.”
“Then let’s go stop it,” Travis said. “Once and for all. We can shut this thing down.”
“I’m in,” Lieutenant Barnes said.
“You, too?” Billy asked. “Seriously, all due respect and all that, but you don’t need to go, Robert.”
“Yes, he does,” Sherry said, reading the lieutenant’s expression.
“Thanks, Sherry, but I can answer for myself. The captain gave me this order. The man who threatened you, Victoria, who threatened your daughter and who shot Brian’s son…that man is in there.”
“He killed my wife,” Brian added.
“I need to be there,” Robert continued, “to see this finished. I need to see him finished.”
The argument died as soon as it became apparent that Sherry, Travis, and Lieutenant Barnes would go whether anyone else agreed to or not. Brian mentioned this, adding it was the best solution to the problem he’d heard yet. Not wanting to be left out, Billy and Debbie reluctantly agreed. Only Victoria would stay behind. She begged Sherry to reconsider, but Sherry needed to be with Travis for them to have a chance at success. Brian contented himself with the thought that Vicki, at least, would be safe.
An hour later, with Billy in the van at the Visitor’s Center, the other five pulled up to the gate that led onto the facility’s private grounds. Billy would do his computer thing, staying in constant contact with both Debbie and Brian. Travis carried the Walther PPQ M2 he’d bought at Rick’s Armory, while Sherry wielded the Mossberg. They hoped desperately not to have to use the weapons, preferring to rely on their talents, but they weren’t going into the enemy’s lair unarmed.
Brian was amazed at his son’s foresight and ability to procure weapons and wasn’t about to question their right to protect themselves. His weapon was a Glock 9mm with a seventeen-round capacity. Debbie carried a smaller pistol, a Beretta Px4 Storm 9mm, a gift from Brian when he’d begun teaching them marksmanship. Billy loaned his matching Storm to the lieutenant.
There was an additional guard at the gate, which surprised both Debbie and Brian. Sherry, Travis, and Lieutenant Barnes were concealed under the tarp in the back, invisible to the guards, who waved them through with only a cursory glance at their identification tags.
It was only as they approached the multi-storied building that the alarm sounded, a braying klaxon loud enough that it must be audible to the recruits on the base. Neither Debbie nor Brian knew what made the guards ring the alarm after letting them through. Maybe one of them remembered the truck from the night before and was just playing it safe. Regardless, there was no going back.
2
“Let’s go!” Brian shouted into the bed of the pick-up, jumping out of the passenger’s seat as Debbie brought the vehicle to a halt in front of the building.
Travis pushed the tarp off himself and climbed out of the truck. Sherry and the lieutenant hurried to follow. Travis and Sherry linked hands while Debbie headed for the building, pistol in hand.
“Follow me,” she said, moving at a slow jog toward the glass doors.
Look up there, Travis said, pointing with his pistol at the camera mounted over the doors.
Sherry saw the lines of power feeding the device.
Pushing, she sent a surge through the camera. An instant later it emitted a single flash of fire and smoke. The lens exploded, showering the sidewalk with fragments of plastic and glass.
As the couple hurried to keep up, they saw a sign mounted on the stone wall of the building, just to the left of the door. “Great Lakes Medical Research Facility.”
“So that’s the name of this place,” Travis muttered, following Debbie and his father into the building.
“Doors?” Debbie asked softly.
“We’ll get them,” Travis offered.
“Don’t worry,” Billy replied. “They’re already open.”
“Never mind,” Debbie said to the young couple as the glass doors slid open.
“It’s like we’re not even needed,” Sherry said softly, drawing a wry smile from Travis.
The foyer was covered with a plush, maroon carpet which complimented the mahogany reception desk. No one manned the desk at this hour of the day; maybe Agent Travers had the building cleared in expectation of his visitors.
A small explosion heralded the death of a second security camera set above the desk.
“I would’ve gotten that!” Billy said petulantly, his words echoing in Debbie and Brian’s ears.
“Billy says ‘Thanks,’” Debbie said.
“The hell I did!” Billy muttered.
As the troop neared the reception desk, they were faced with three choices. There was an elevator and a stairwell, both leading to the upper floors. Instinctively, Travis and Sherry headed for the stairwell.
“Not that way,” Debbie said.
“It’s not upstairs?” Brian asked.
Shaking her head, she started toward the far end of the building, passing the reception desk and the vending machines, aiming for a perpendicular corridor at the other side. “This building is used for a lot of legitimate research as well as housing patients of the project. The upper levels are devoted to both those ends.”
“So where—” Travis began.
“Back here,” she replied, turning the corner into a long hallway.
“Hold it right there!” a male voice shouted as Debbie made the turn.
It was a young man coming around the corner in front of them. He hadn’t drawn his gun yet, but his hand was on the butt.
He never had a chance.
Moving faster than Travis had ever seen, Brian lunged for the guard, one hand down to catch the man’s right wrist and prevent him from drawing his weapon, the other up high, fingers curved into a claw, securing a hold on the man’s throat. Travis stared, shocked and impressed, as his father drove the hapless guard back against the wall of the corridor. Once pinned, he started pulling and pushing, slamming the guard’s head into the wall until the man slumped bonelessly to the floor.
A shot rang out, the bullet embedding itself in the wall near Debbie’s head. Ducking and pivoting in one motion, Brian yanked the downed guard’s pistol free of its holster, turned, and shot the guard coming out of the stairwell behind them.
“Well, that was exciting,” Debbie commented softly, turning back into the corridor.
“Jesus!” Sherry muttered.
“You guys go on,” Brian said. “I’m going to cuff this one so he can’t follow us.”
Shaken, still holding hands, Travis and Sherry followed Debbie into the cross corridor. Lieutenant Barnes brought up the rear.
“Now this looks like a hospital,” Travis said.
“This corridor leads all the way to the back of the building,” Debbie explained. “There are a couple of doors that open off it—restrooms, janitor’s closets—and a crossing hallway that leads back behind the old Emergency Department.”
“Then why are we back here?” Sherry asked.
“Because at the end there’s a private elevator,” Debbie said. “It goes down approximately twenty feet to the basement, where all the real work was done on the project.”
“Is that where—” Sherry started to ask.
“It’s where we’ll find the labs, the mainframe, all the stored data and whatever samples are left in the storage room.”
“It needs a whole room?” Brian asked, jogging to catch up.
“Originally, there was over two hundred discrete samples of the stuff,” Billy informed him. “Plus, there are other kinds of specimens, specialty viruses and bacteria, all locked inside.”
“Viruses and bacteria?” Brian asked worriedly, earning a concerned look from Travis, Sherry, and Robert.
“Nothing like that,” Debbie said with a chuckle. “We weren’t weaponizing smallpox or trying to create the T-virus.”
Travis snorted.
“You use custom viruses and bacteria in gene-splicing to affect change; that’s the sort of thing stored down there. Now, if you’re quite done scaring everyone, Honey, are you going to be able to take control of the elevator?”
“I’ve never tried before,” Billy said.
“If he can’t,” Travis said.
“We can,” Sherry finished for him.
“You two have got to stop doing that,” Brian muttered.
“Come on, then,” Debbie said, rushing ahead down the corridor.
3
“Oh, dear sweet Jesus sonuvabitch!” Agent Travers swore. Well, it’s what he tried to say.
What came out of his mouth was a gout of bright red blood and a hiss of air that might have been words. A band of red-hot pain constricted his chest, and the blood caused a coughing spasm which brought him to full consciousness.
Forcing himself to his hands and knees, Buck shook in pain as the coughs tore through him, forcing more blood into his throat, which he allowed to dribble out onto the floor as he began crawling forward, inching closer to the dead Officer Habet.
The pain continued after the spasm eased, making each breath an ordeal. He turned his head to the left and saw the pistol—his pistol—lying near the officer’s hand.
The pistol swam in and out of focus as Buck’s eyesight threatened to fail. There was an unnatural gurgling in his lungs whenever he inhaled, like he was blowing through a straw into a cup of milk, but he couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him. Something to do with that gun, he was sure.
The gun! He’d been shot! That slimly, fat-ass, cock-sucking, rent-a-cop bitch had shot him!
“Bitch!” Agent Travers spat, letting another globule of blood fall from his lips.
Reaching for the gun, he closed his hand around it, then forced himself to his feet.
His legs wobbled, threatening to spill him back to the floor. Pain like nothing he’d ever experienced racked his body, causing him to gasp. The gasp tore through his devastated right lung, forcing another coughing spasm that almost knocked the agent back to his knees.
Clutching the pistol in his left hand, Agent Travers leaned heavily against the desk on his right, feeling his life pouring out his back while his insides burned in the fires of hell.
Raising the pistol, he pointed it at the body of Officer Habet. The first shot filled the room with sound. The bullet entered Habet’s chest, punching through his sternum like it was toilet paper, not stopping until it lodged in his spine.
“Tried to kill me, you bastard!” Agent Travers spat, firing again.
“But now look who’s dead! Hah!” He shot again, destroying the officer’s throat.
Again, this time into the man’s stomach.
“Couldn’t even kill me right, could ya!”
Again and again, pulling the trigger as fast as possible, he continued until the last round had been fired and the slide racked back over his hand. Each shot was accompanied by another shouted curse, which brought with it a mouthful of blood.
Finally, as Buck let the gun fall back to the floor, the realization of his own condition sank in.
Dying…he was dying.
Bastard’s bullet hit a lung, must have, and now…blood with every breath…insidious tickle that brings…pain…coughing.
“Won’t go alone, by God,” he muttered, using the desk
to support his weakening legs.
Slowly, purposefully, he maneuvered himself back to the computer terminal.
Some inane screen saver, a throwback to the nineties, filled the primary monitor, little monsters eating bits of the desktop. The munching monsters stopped playing as soon as the agent’s hand brushed the mouse. An instant later, the desktop came up, asking for a log-in.
The gray square box confused him for a moment until a fresh bolt of pain cleared his mind.
Sitting in the middle of the desk was another one of those damned hand-scanner things.
Struggling to stay conscious, Agent Travers reached for the bag he’d set on the desk when he entered the room an eternity ago.
4
A shot rang out as Debbie rushed past the crossing corridor, an unseen slug burying itself in the wall to their left, no telling how close it came to hitting her. The tall brunette stopped on the far side of the opening, while the others hugged the wall on the near side.
“Watch behind us,” Debbie said to Brian, who pivoted and knelt, aiming his Glock back the way they’d come.
“May I borrow that?” Lieutenant Barnes asked, reaching for Sherry’s shotgun.
Why not? Travis said. Sherry handed the weapon to Robert.
The Lieutenant pumped the Mossberg, readying a shell. “Cover me high,” he said to Debbie, who nodded.
Easing around Sherry and Travis, he stepped forward, squatting down, rump almost touching the floor. While Debbie leaned out and fired a shot blindly down the hall, Barnes pivoted and filled the corridor with a spread pattern of death. An answering shot pinged off the corridor wall as the advancing guard was caught in the shotgun blast.
From behind them came two more shots as Brian took down another guard who’d thought to sneak up on them.
Lieutenant Barnes pumped the shotgun again, ejecting the spent shell.
“Aren’t you supposed to be keeping track of the guards for us?” Debbie asked.
“Having a hard time right now,” Billy replied. “There’s someone in the monitoring room playing games with me.”
