by David Meyer
With Beverly’s help, Graham climbed halfway up the boulder. Reaching up, he grabbed my fingers. Steeling myself, I pulled him upward.
Stevens grabbed Graham’s right arm. Working together, we hauled him onto the cliff.
Quickly, Beverly scaled the rocks. As she climbed onto the boulder, I turned skyward.
The chemtrails continued to glide downward, streaking with great speed. Powerful wind currents caught hold of them, nudging them slightly to the northeast. It wasn’t much.
But it was enough.
“What …?” Stevens hunched over, gasping for air. “What was that?”
“A chemical shower,” I said between deep breaths. “Simona’s people were covering their bases in case we survived the crash.”
He shook his head. “What the hell did you get me into?”
I exchanged glances with Beverly. “It’s a long story.”
“Nice moves out there.” Exhaling loudly, Graham clapped me on the back. “Reminded me of your dad.”
I frowned.
“You’ve got his instincts, his quickness. Did you know he used to accompany me on expeditions?”
I blinked a few times. Graham’s revelation was a stark reminder of how I’d hardly known my father. “But—”
Before I could finish my sentence, the strange hissing noise rang out again. It came from the west and quickly increased in volume, penetrating every inch of my head. I clutched my ears. Gritted my teeth. But I couldn’t block it out.
The sound reversed course. It diminished in volume before disappearing entirely. Releasing my ears, I twisted toward its origin point. Through the foliage, I caught a glimpse of the volcano’s edge.
“What was that?” Stevens winced. “It sounded … I don’t even know how to describe it.”
“I don’t know.” I stared hard at a distant shadow. Abruptly, it shifted positions, merging with other shadows. “And I don’t think we want to find out.”
Chapter 36
“Follow me.” Adopting a crouching position, Beverly glided through a string of boulders to a lower level. Stopping inside a rock-enclosed space, she rose to her full height. “Okay, this will do for now. What’s our supply situation?”
“I’ve got my pistol and some ammunition. My machete, too.” I shrugged off my satchel. “But no food or water.”
“I’ve got my gun,” Graham said. “And that’s it.”
Stevens stared forlornly at the ocean. “I’ve got nothing.”
A pang of guilt hit my gut. If we hadn’t hired him, Stevens would still be in Saipan, drinking beers and swapping tall tales with other pilots. Instead, he was fighting to survive while mourning the loss of his helicopter.
“I’ve got my gun. Plus, some money. Not that it’ll do us much good out here.” Beverly exhaled. “We need to find shelter. Then we’ll look for fresh water.”
I arched an eyebrow. “We didn’t come here for a campout.”
“We’re stranded with no supplies. The only people within reach tried to kill us. If we hope to survive—”
“Then we need to get off this rock as quickly as possible,” I said, finishing her thought with my own. “We need to stick to the plan. We infiltrate the hangar and figure out why Simona wanted the reliquary. Then we grab it and get the hell out of here.”
Stevens sighed. “How are we supposed to leave? In case you haven’t noticed, my helicopter is lying on the bottom of the ocean.”
“You saw Pagan Bay. Eco-Trek has boats, large ones.” Swatting away some pesky flies, I gave the volcano another glimpse. It rose above the dead tree trunks. Deep gullies and ridges lined its steep slopes. “Right now, they think we’re dead. Their guard will be down. With a little luck, we can steal the reliquary and be on our way to Saipan by daybreak.”
Graham shook his head. “That thing is heavy. We’ll have to—”
The air hissed. The sound reached right into my head and stabbed at my brain, pounding away at it until I could barely think.
I grew dizzy. My knees started to wobble.
Dead leaves crunched in the distance. Branches snapped.
I spun to the west. But all I saw was darkness. “Something’s out there,” I whispered. “Something big.”
“This place is nothing but dirt and rocks,” Beverly replied. “It couldn’t support anything larger than a snake.”
More leaves crunched. Heavy footsteps struck the dry soil. “Come on,” I whispered. “Let’s get out of here.”
Heading east, I forged a path through leafless bushes and crowded tree groves. Then I passed through a deep gully and hiked up the far hill. Upon reaching the top, I prepared to enter another gully.
Then I froze.
A disheveled kid stood on the opposite side of the gully. His dark skin, cloaked in ragged clothes, shone in the dim light. He sported an emaciated figure and a thick head of messy locks. Streaks of dirt covered his jaw and cheeks.
He lifted a finger to his lips. Then he waved his arms frantically, urging us to join him.
Beverly started forward.
I grabbed her hand. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
“How do you know we can trust him?”
“He hasn’t tried to kill us yet.”
Good point.
I glanced at the kid. He’d moved to the edge of a small clearing. His neck swiveled rapidly, shifting from side to side. He was clearly looking for something.
But what?
I flinched as the hissing gained intensity. Spinning around, I saw something in the gully behind us. Its body was impossibly tall and almost perfectly symmetrical. Its coat looked sleek and shiny. For a moment, it stood still.
Then it charged forward.
The creature smashed through bushes in a blur of motion. It moved so fast my eyes couldn’t keep up with it.
A loud grunt rang out. Flesh smacked the ground. Terrified screams filled the darkness as a cloud of dirt shot into the air.
What the hell?
Dust and darkness cloaked everything. I felt the presence of Beverly behind me. Graham was perched a little lower on the hill.
Oh no …
“It’s Milt.” I started down the hill. “That thing’s got him.”
Graham grabbed my arm. I tried to shake him off, but he held on with an iron grip.
Grabbing my pistol, I aimed it into the gully. But the dust cloud was too thick to see anything.
The hissing turned deafening. A loud buzzing noise rang out. Electricity filled the air.
The screams turned into gurgles. The dust cloud exploded, kicking more particles skyward.
Something struck my cheek. It felt warm and sticky. I swiped it with my finger and lifted it to my face. It was red and smelled like copper.
Blood.
My gaze shot back to the gully. The activity had died down. Although dust still choked the air, I could see Stevens’ body lying on the soil. His torso had been cleaved open with surgical precision. His tattered organs, along with tons of blood, had spilt to the ground.
Beverly’s jaw dropped.
Graham’s eyes bulged.
He’s dead.
Sweat ran down my arms and trickled onto my fingers. I stood still, my eyes locked on Stevens’ body. Through the flying dust cloak, I caught a momentary glimpse of his visage. It was frozen with horror and pain.
More dust settled to the ground. I saw a distinct shadowy form. It stood next to Stevens. The buzzing and hissing noises continued without fail.
I couldn’t see details, but I didn’t care. Quickly, I took aim at the shadow. My pistol recoiled as I fired a couple of shots.
Soft pings, like metal striking an extremely hard surface, filled the air.
Take that, you bastard.
The creature lowered its head to the ground. I waited for it to fall, to collapse into a heap of quivering, dying flesh.
The buzzing softened. Abruptly, Stevens’ face vanished. Blood and gore flew outward, splattering across the
gully.
Horrified, I took a step backward.
The creature didn’t bother to feed on the remains. Instead, it lifted its blood-splattered shiny head.
And twisted toward me.
I was too far away to see everything. But a vague detail caught my attention. It horrified me, almost as much as Stevens’ death. The creature was nature’s perfect killing machine. And yet, it was also an affront to nature, a horrifying accident of evolution.
Or of something else.
“Run,” Beverly shouted.
Beverly and Graham took off running. I sprinted into the next gully, a few steps behind them.
Looking ahead, I saw the strange boy. He stood at the edge of the clearing, waving frantically at us. Then he turned around and sprinted into the forest.
The hissing rose to an even louder pitch as I reached the bottom of the gully and ran up the opposite side. It egged me on, giving me strength to run even faster. I tried to focus on our next move, on how to survive. But I couldn’t get the image of the creature out of my brain.
Two sets of teeth? One on either side? But that means two heads. What kind of animal has two heads?
Chapter 37
As Ed Hooper pulled into the familiar driveway, he saw a virtual museum of environmentally friendly cars parked around the property. The vehicles, ranging from a 1917 Dual Power Model 44 Coupe to a 1972 Buick Skylark, exuded status, environmental commitment, and overwhelming smugness. A grin creased his visage. His car stuck out.
And not in a good way.
“Yes, I know it sounds crazy,” Hooper said into his wireless headset. “But I think we’re dealing with a conspiracy.”
“Ridiculous.” President Walters’ strained voice filled Hooper’s ear. “My cabinet wouldn’t betray me.”
“It’s not your entire cabinet.”
“Okay, half my cabinet.” The president exhaled. “I still don’t believe it.”
“You know Patricia Samuels? Barney’s wife?”
“Of course. She runs Fizzter Computers. She’s a genius.”
“And a former hacker. I studied the personnel files of everyone who had access to the Columbus Project’s systems. She’s the only one with the knowledge and skill set to engineer a theft of this type.”
“She’s a generous woman. Donates to over a dozen environmental organizations. She’d never do anything to hurt the Columbus Project.”
“It’s not just her. Have you heard of the Separative?”
“It doesn’t ring a bell.”
“It came together years ago,” Hooper said. “Basically, it was a social group. Besides Patricia, nine other people belonged to it. Five of those people—Barney, Kate, George, Janet, and Bert—are in your cabinet.”
“So what?”
“Did you know they were lifelong friends before you brought them aboard?”
“Not exactly.”
“Did you pick them by yourself? Or did you have help?”
“Well, Barney said …” The president trailed off.
“That’s what I thought.”
“It doesn’t mean anything. I hate to say it, but that’s how government works. Positions aren’t based on merit. It’s all about who you know.”
“And they’ve known each other for years.”
“I think you’re wasting your time.”
“We’ll know soon enough. I’ll call later.”
Hooper touched his earpiece, cutting the connection. Then he continued up the steep driveway. He braked, halting his vehicle behind a gleaming 1906 Baker Landolet. Turning his air conditioner to full blast, he sat back and waited for a valet to approach him.
Outside, men in tuxedos and women in evening gowns milled about the front lawn. It was unusual attire for nine o’clock in the morning. But then again, Barney and Patricia Samuels were unusual people.
Hooper observed the guests. They were predominantly white and middle-aged. Minorities were scarce and no kids were present. They were obviously well-heeled and displayed impeccable manners. Yet, the general disdain with which they regarded the hired staff spoke volumes about their true characters.
In Hooper’s experience, most people fit into rather narrow socioeconomic categories. People rarely socialized outside those categories. If one wanted to infiltrate a group, it was a simple matter of adapting the appropriate personality dynamics. If one wanted to earn that group’s scorn, the opposite approach was required.
A man emerged from the Landolet. His jaw dropped as he caught sight of Hooper’s vehicle. Quickly, he got the attention of his spouse, a forty-year old woman dripping in elegant pearls. The woman, in turn, gave Hooper a disdainful look. Then she walked away, nose held high.
Hooper watched the guests for another minute. As expected, they were easy to read. Fabulously rich, yet hopelessly screwed up with all sorts of so-called first-world problems. They loved possessing wealth, but hated themselves for it. So, they sought to assuage their guilt by dressing up, going to fancy parties, and throwing money—always publicly—at the latest problem du jour.
They were soulless creatures in search of pity. But their vapid existence made such pity impossible. They were the type of people who raised money for faraway causes, but wouldn’t lift a hand to help out at a local soup kitchen.
A valet hopped into the Landolet and drove away. Hooper pulled up to a small parking booth. A bald man stood behind it. He sported rippling muscles beneath his tuxedo.
“Hey there.” Hooper grinned. “Is this the line for the car wash?”
The man gave Hooper a withering look. “Name?”
A small crowd of guests began to gather around Hooper’s vehicle. “Ed Hooper.”
The man consulted his list. “Do you have an invitation, Mr. Hooper?”
“Can’t say that I do.”
“This is a private party. You and that … vehicle … aren’t welcome here.”
Hooper studied the man’s nametag. “I have business with your boss, Jim. Be a pal and call him for me.”
“What sort of business?”
“That’s between us.”
“Mr. Samuels is a busy man. He doesn’t take guests without an appointment.”
“A busy bureaucrat?” Hooper laughed. “No such thing.”
Jim leaned in the car window. “Please exit the premises immediately.”
“Or what?”
Jim’s fist lunged out. Hooper caught it and yanked the man’s wrist backward. Jim howled in pain.
Hooper opened the door and released Jim. The man crumpled to the ground, clutching his hand. Hooper paused to look at the guests. “Does anyone know where I can find Barney or Patricia Samuels?”
A woman screamed. The crowd, acting as one, backed up a few feet.
“I’m Barney.” The voice was weak and nasally. “And you’d better have a good explanation for this.”
Secretary of Energy Barney Samuels strode through the crowd. He stood an inch or two shy of six feet. His eyes were deep set and spread wide across his face. His nose was too big. His mouth was even more out of proportion. His leathery skin was tanned and seemed to shine in the sun. His body, soft and plump, was that of a lifelong desk jockey.
As expected, Samuels carried no weapons. However, the same couldn’t be said for the two bodyguards who flanked him.
“I’m Ed Hooper,” Hooper replied. “We have business to discuss.”
Samuels glanced at Jim, then back at Hooper. “No one’s gotten the best of him before.”
“There’s a first time for everything.”
Samuels turned his attention to the gigantic orange vehicle in the driveway. “Interesting choice.”
Hooper gave him a wicked smile. He’d twisted arms until he’d gotten his hands on a 2003 Hummer H2. It was the most fuel-inefficient car he could find on such short notice. “I had to borrow it. You know, I wish they still made these babies. They don’t get good mileage but nothing beats them when it comes to pure testosterone.”
“A real man doesn�
�t spoil the environment just to make a point.”
Hooper shrugged. “Agree to disagree.”
“Is that why you’re here? Is this some kind of political statement?”
“Actually, I’m here to talk.”
“About what?”
“The Columbus Project.”
“You’re looking for funds?” Samuels arched an eyebrow. “Well, I’m afraid you’re out of luck. That particular well is tapped out.”
“I suppose that’s what happens when thirty-two billion dollars goes missing.”
Samuels twisted around. “Thank you ladies and gentlemen. I can take it from here. Please head to the far lawn for refreshments and drinks.”
Bodyguards gently guided people away from the Hummer. As the crowd dispersed, Samuels stepped closer to Hooper. “Who are you?”
“I’m a special agent with the U.S. Secret Service.” Hooper flashed his badge. “Specifically, I investigate financial crimes.”
“I don’t know what you think you know, but—”
“I think I know everything. I know about the Separative. I know how your wife used your access to the Columbus Project’s computer systems. I know how she added fraudulent paperwork to the mix. Where is Patricia anyway?”
“Entertaining guests.” Samuels mopped his brow. “And your accusations are ludicrous. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“You’re a hypocrite.” Hooper rose to his full height. “You claim to care about the environment but really, you’re just lining your own pockets at taxpayers’ expense.”
Samuels paused in mid-step. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no one is getting rich off the Columbus Project. That money is being used for exactly what the president intended, namely technology to improve the environment.”
Hooper arched an eyebrow.
“Look, the Columbus Project was based on the inherent flaws of capitalism.” Samuels exhaled. “Capitalism is a wonderful tool. It’s brought millions of people out of poverty. But it has serious downsides. The relentless focus on profits leads companies to damage the environment. That’s where government can play a role. We can redirect resources away from profits and toward more worthy causes, in this case the environment itself. That was—and still is—the purpose of the Columbus Project.”
