“Thanks,” she shouted, but the word sounded unintelligible to her ears. She faced the soldier who had rescued her. He had a baby face and bright blue eyes. “Thank you. You saved my life.”
The soaking wet soldier smiled and looked at an officer.
Rachel’s senses warned her she had leapt into another difficult situation. “Where do you think you guys can drop me off?”
“Do you have any ID, ma’am?” the officer said.
Uh-oh. “It’s in my car.”
The officer gestured at her hips. “You’ve got a man’s wallet in your back pocket. I can see it.”
Damn. Rachel removed the wallet from her wet pocket and made a show of dropping it. The wallet fell through the hatchway in the floor and disappeared. “Oops.”
The officer glared at her. “You’re going back to base with us so we can find out who you are and what your story is.” He turned to another soldier. “Handcuff her.”
The soldier circled the hatch in the floor, which another soldier closed, diminishing the roar of the helicopter’s rotor blades. “Turn around and cross your wrists behind your back.”
Rachel obeyed, and a moment later the soldier secured her wrists with plastic binds.
Like a garbage bag, she thought.
The helicopter followed the Columbia River to the Tongue Point Naval Air Station in Astoria, Oregon. As the helicopter descended to the tarmac of the former naval base, Rachel looked out the window at the complex of buildings on the peninsula. In addition to an abundance of military vehicles, she saw what could have been a thousand people milling about behind a chain-link fence topped with coiled razor wire. Several guard towers stood on the outside of the fence, which enclosed barracks and large tents.
Rachel’s body shook as the helicopter settled on the ground. The half dozen soldiers who sat around her unbuckled their seat belts and rose. All of them carried M4 machine guns. The young soldier who had rescued her unbuckled her seat belt and helped her stand. He pulled a green poncho with a hood over her head and tucked the back portion between her bound wrists.
A hatch in the side of the helicopter opened, flooding the interior with sunlight, and the officer and three other soldiers disembarked, followed by Rachel and her escort. The final soldier brought up the rear. Rachel stared at the population behind the fence two hundred yards away.
An uncovered truck pulled over, and when the soldiers boarded it two of them helped her up. They positioned her on the bench, opposite the officer, and sat on each side of her. The truck surged forward and cut across the tarmac at an angle, passing within one hundred yards of the fence.
Possessed people of all ages locked their ruby-red eyes on the passing vehicle, their expressions rigid.
They’re staring at me, Rachel thought.
“Rachel Konigsberg!” a tall, bald fiend with dark skin said, drawing out each syllable.
Rachel’s heart skipped a beat.
“Rachel Konigsberg!” a thousand voices shouted in unison.
The officer rapped on the back window of the truck’s cabin and motioned for the driver to stop.
“What are you doing?” Rachel said as the truck slowed to a stop.
“I want to hear what they’re saying.”
“Rachel Konigsberg! Rachel Konigsberg! Rachel Konigsberg!”
The fiends’ faces twisted with fervor, a mixture of anger and delight.
“Rachel Konigsberg! Rachel Konigsberg! Rachel Konigsberg!”
The officer turned back to Rachel, a look of wonder in his eyes. “Aren’t you special?”
She ignored him.
Still chanting, scores of fiends scaled the fence and shook it, stopping just short of the razor wire. Rachel feared they would tear it down.
Machine-gun fire erupted from the guard towers, and the crowd scattered, retreating to the barracks and tents for cover. Men, women, and children with red eyes screamed. A dozen or so remained clinging to the fence until the gunfire drove them to the ground, where they writhed in pain.
“They’re just rubber bullets—today.” The officer rapped on the back window again. “Let’s go.”
Two wide motorized doors separated, admitting the truck into a hangar occupied by a fleet of olive-green assault vehicles. The soldiers escorted Rachel through a door into a processing center that reminded her of every precinct house she had ever been in.
“She’s got no ID,” the officer said to a soldier behind the counter. “Run a complete check on her.”
“What did she do?”
“She took the scenic tour at a hundred miles an hour and totaled three other vehicles, causing an undetermined number of casualties. Then we had to fish her out of the river.”
“There were six of them,” Rachel said. “All of them were possessed. You can’t hold me. It was self-defense.”
“You say they were possessed. We need to confirm their identities too. As for holding you, take a look around. Do you see any blues or public defenders? You’re on a military base. You don’t even get a phone call.” The officer looked at the soldier. “Start with the name Rachel Konigsberg.”
Forty-five minutes later, with the fingertips of her right hand covered in black ink, Rachel sat in the office of Lieutenant Stenner, identified by the name plaque on his desk. The hair on the back of her neck felt dry, but her clothes remained damp.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened?” Stenner sat at his desk with his hands clasped before him, bright light shining through the window behind him.
Rachel wondered if she could escape out that window even though her hands were cuffed behind her back. “Two Regan MacNeils in a truck tried to run me off the road outside Cascade Locks, and four more in a Camaro and a Duster tried to do the same along the river.”
“What makes you think they were all possessed?”
“The light of their red moons told me so.”
“How did you stop them?”
“With a .22 and a Glock.”
“From a vehicle moving at high speed? You’ve got skills.”
Rachel stayed quiet.
A hint of a smile appeared on Stenner’s face. “Why did they want you?”
“I’m popular with all the boys. Some of them pull my hair; others try to kill me.”
The door behind her opened, and the soldier who had fingerprinted her entered. “We have a confirmation on her identity. The prisoners were right: Rachel Konigsberg, formerly a New York City police officer. Her name and prints raised a red flag right away. She’s a February 29 survivor.”
Stenner looked at Rachel. “A cop and a survivor? No wonder they wanted to kill you. But why the hell are you on the loose to begin with?”
Rachel held his stare. “I don’t like the idea of being caged.”
Stenner returned his attention to the soldier. “What do they want us to do with her?”
“They want her transported back to New York ASAP. Her name isn’t to appear on any paperwork. As far as we’re concerned, she doesn’t exist.”
Rachel slept for most of the direct flight across the country. Darkness had fallen by the time the military plane landed at Fort Drum, and as she stepped onto the tarmac, she looked at the mountains beyond the installation—not the landscape she had expected.
Her escorts led her into a building with tinted windows. Because the guards stationed inside permitted them to enter, Rachel assumed they had been prepped on her arrival.
At the long paneled counter, a pair of Military Police waited. “What do we have here?” one MP said.
The lead soldier handed him a clipboard. “I don’t know, and I couldn’t say even if I did.”
The MP looked Rachel up and down. “She must be a lot tougher than she looks. But most of ’em are—women, kids, old people. They arrive special delivery and never leave.” He checked the form on the clipboard and signed it. “Miscellaneous cargo.”
That’s me, Rachel thought.
“You guys flying back tonight?” the MP said.
“Nah, in the morn
ing. We’re going to stay here at the Ritz tonight.”
“We got a card game going on after midnight. You guys are welcome to join if you want.”
“Thanks. Maybe we will.”
The MPs walked Rachel through a pair of double doors and down a long hall with white walls and a polished floor. They turned left, and one of them used a key card to open a single door. They walked down another long hall, this one lined with other MPs, and stopped at a closed door that the lead MP opened.
Rachel entered a windowless room with a bathroom, a twin bed with a metal frame, a single metal chair, and a kitchenette with a small refrigerator. The cell reminded her of a college dormitory room, minus the roommate.
“Help yourself to any food you find.” The MP left and closed the door.
Rachel knew he had locked the door even before she tried the knob. She opened the refrigerator and found only bottled water. The kitchenette drawers were empty, the ceiling solid. She sat on the edge of the bed, like a bird perched on a swing.
Thirty-three
April 13
Rachel opened her eyes at the sound of the door unlocking, and she sat up and blinked as a man in a black suit entered. She felt disoriented for a moment and had to wonder if she was dreaming.
“Hello, Rachel,” President Rhodes said.
Speechless, she rose.
The president stepped forward and offered her his hand. “It’s an honor to finally meet you.”
Rachel raised her arms, showing him that her wrists remained bound.
“Of course.” President Rhodes turned to the broad-shouldered Secret Service man who stood at the door. “Free her hands, please. She’s no criminal.”
Rachel understood the president was playing good cop and wondered who would play the bad cop.
The Secret Service man removed a pair of scissors from his breast pocket and cut the plastic bands. He deposited them in a wastebasket and resumed his station at the door.
Rachel massaged her wrists.
Rhodes smiled and offered his hand again. His smile seemed warm and genuine.
Rachel shook his hand. “The honor’s mine.”
Rhodes looked at the chair. “May I?”
“This is your house, not mine.”
Without rebutting her, Rhodes pulled the chair closer to the bed, sat, crossed one leg, and gestured for her to sit as well. “Please.”
Rachel sat on the bed with her hands supporting her. “Aren’t you afraid to be in here with just one Secret Service agent watching your back? I hear I’m dangerous.”
“Carmudy can handle anything that comes up, and we can speak freely in front of him.”
Rachel gave Carmudy a second glance. “I’m listening.”
“I’m glad you’re okay. I was worried about you.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“But even you can only take care of yourself up to a point. We did have to rescue you.”
She fidgeted on the bed. “What time is it?”
“A little after midnight.”
“It’s been a long twenty-four hours for me.”
“So I can imagine.”
“But the days keep going faster.”
“Most of us are running out of time. There’s still hope for you.”
“Living underground like a mole? No, thanks.”
“What do you have against surviving?”
“Nothing. I just want to do it on my own terms wherever I choose to live.”
“We’re almost one-third of the way to doomsday. What one possessed person knows, all of them know. That means one and a half billion of them know you’re running around unprotected, and every one of those things wants to kill you.”
Rachel went to the rear wall, where she stood as if there was a window there. She closed her eyes. “I just want to be left alone.”
Rhodes stood behind her and set one hand on her shoulder. “Every person on the planet wants the same thing. It just isn’t possible for any of us. We all have to think about the greater good.”
Rachel bowed her head. “I’m so tired . . .”
“I know. You can rest here as long as you like. But I want you to come in. You’ve had your run; it’s over. There’s nowhere on earth for you to hide anymore, except for the sanctuary I’m offering you.”
She turned and faced him. “What are you offering?”
“I can’t tell you that until you commit to joining the other February 29 survivors.”
“A friend of mine skipped detention. These freaks knew about me because she turned yesterday. How can you guarantee the safety of seventy thousand people when the whole group mind knows where everyone’s hiding because of just one possessed person?”
“I understand your concerns, and I can tell you that Vice President O’Rourke and I took every possible precaution to maintain a veil of secrecy.”
“What about Lopez?”
“I’ve kept her in the dark.”
“Why?”
“Because she’ll still be here when I’m gone, and I prefer my secrets to die with me.”
“When you’re possessed in detention—”
“I have no intention of being possessed.”
“O’Rourke killed himself.”
“It was his duty, just as it will be mine.”
“But there must be so many people who know.”
“I’ve had as many February 29 survivors as possible put into positions of responsibility regarding this effort. Out of some seventy thousand individuals, nearly two thousand were tasked with managing the project.”
Four hundred per state, Rachel calculated. “Still, there must have been many more people involved in isolating these people.”
Rhodes nodded. “As president, I’ve had to make many difficult decisions. Eliminating any possible leaks for the good of mankind was one of them. I have blood on my hands, and for that I’m prepared to face the judgment of our maker.”
“What about all the babies? Nobody under the age one has been possessed. Will they be moved into these sanctuaries for the rest to care for?”
“Regrettably, no. I can’t take the chance that they won’t turn when they celebrate their first birthday. We’ll make the best provisions we can for them here.”
Rachel swallowed. She didn’t know how this man had made such cold, calculated choices. She knew she could not have made them.
“Then it really will be just seventy thousand of us.”
“In the United States, yes.”
“How many survived in other countries?”
Rhodes drew in a deep breath. “We don’t know.”
Tears filled Rachel’s eyes. “I don’t want to be one of the only people left.”
Rhodes clasped both of her shoulders. “You and the other February 29 survivors were chosen. Like it or not, you have a responsibility—a duty—to do everything you can to ensure that our species survives. Now if you absolutely refuse to cooperate, I’m not going to hold you here against your will. But you know as well as I do that with two billion possessed people hot for your blood, you’ll be lucky to see another sunset. That little car chase in Oregon will seem like child’s play compared to what will come your way.”
Rachel sniffled. She knew he was right. There was no place left to go. “My father reports for detention in ten days. Is there any way I can see him first?”
“I’m sorry but no. You need to decide and leave right now. I’m taking an enormous risk giving you another chance as it is. Do you understand?”
Biting her lip, she nodded. “I understand.” Her voice cracked. “I’m ready.”
“I’m glad to hear it, and I’m glad we got to meet in person. We won’t see each other again. I’m flying back to DC as soon as Air Force One is refueled. I have a present for you, though. Hold out your hand.”
Rachel held out one palm.
Rhodes reached into his jacket pocket and set a small plastic lens case in her hand. “Contact lenses equipped with night vision. Our armed forces hav
e had them for a while, and we’re providing them to first responders underground. You never know . . .”
She closed her fingers over the container. “Thank you.”
“Good luck.”
“You too.”
Rhodes turned on one heel, passed Carmudy, and exited.
Rachel looked at Carmudy. “Aren’t you supposed to follow him?”
“I’m not with the Secret Service. I’m here to take you to safety.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“Right now all the Secret Service agents and MPs are following the president. Once they’re gone, this wing will be deserted again. The MPs who saw you earlier won’t think twice when they don’t see you leave because this wing is reserved for executions.” He looked out the doorway. “Okay, let’s go.”
Rachel followed Carmudy into the corridor. Sure enough, the MPs and Secret Service men who had accompanied the president had already vacated the premises. Carmudy broke into a jog and so did she.
Carmudy ducked into an open doorway near the end of the corridor, not far from an emergency exit with a panic bar. Rachel entered the space, which was dominated by a large vending machine and an ice machine. Carmudy fed two dollar bills into the vending machine.
“Isn’t it kind of late for a junk food fix?” Rachel said.
Without so much as a smile, Carmudy raised one finger to his lips. Then he selected C-6: PayDay candy bars. A handwritten note over the selection said Out of Order, but Rachel heard a metallic click. Turning, Carmudy set both hands on the ice machine next to the vending machine and swung it aside like an empty cardboard box.
It’s hinged, she thought.
Carmudy kneeled at the cement square where the ice machine had been and pushed it down and slid it sideways under the floor, revealing another cement square, this one with a keypad set into it. Carmudy entered a nine-digit number into the keypad, and when that clicked, he slid it aside under the floor. A metal ladder descended into darkness.
“Go on,” he said.
With her hands on her knees, Rachel peered inside. “How far down does it go?”
“Just twenty feet.”
The Julian Year Page 24
