by Jeff Olah
“Dr. Eugene Lockwood.” Goodwin took a drink of water and cleared his throat. “He’s the chemist that created what we now call Project Ares, back before it even had a name. He left after a small disagreement and never returned. There were reports of his death and also reports that he just went into hiding.”
“And?”
“And,” Goodwin said, “we have information that says he may still be alive. If that’s even a remote possibility, we have to take it seriously. We have to follow this to where it ends. Lockwood is the key to turning this thing around. We find him, and we own the entire world.”
“How?”
“He’ll put together a vaccine. He did it once, in the early stages of Ares, and he’ll do it again. We get that vaccine and we’ll own all of humanity.”
“And you’re sure this guy’s actually still around?”
“Not specifically; however, I am willing to do whatever it takes to find out.”
This was a discussion he’d had more times than he cared to think about. Dalton had spent countless hours sitting across from Goodwin, listening to one theory after another. One week, there was definitive proof that Dr. Eugene Lockwood was still alive and all that was missing was an exact location. A few days later, Dalton would be summoned to the main conference room where Goodwin would once again deny his own hypothesis.
With the amount of time Goodwin wasted debating himself on the whereabouts of Dr. Lockwood, he could have had his current team build a new and more stable version of the injectable. Although Dalton knew this was less about what was in the best interest of Project Ares, and more about Goodwin’s insatiable desire to have complete control over things that were simply out of his reach.
As Anton continued to question Goodwin, Dalton had grown bored of the conversation. He turned back to the window and watched as Los Angeles came into view. They’d be back on the ground within minutes and he just prayed that things here would be much smoother than either Colorado or Vegas.
Sliding toward the small square table to his left, Dalton attempted to put the former day’s events out of his mind. However, glancing down at his bare, bloodied feet, the images came rushing back. From the fruitless trip to Colorado, the failed landing in Vegas, and finally Goodwin’s act of indescribable violence against one of his own.
Reaching for the tablet Goodwin had tossed to him, similar to the one he’d left on the destroyed G280, Dalton powered it on and waited as the home screen came to life. Hovering over the icon for the home office of BXF Technologies, he rolled his neck from one side to the other and said under his breath, “I almost hope this doesn’t work.”
Pausing his conversation with Anton, Goodwin held up his hand, and motioned toward Dalton. “Yes?”
“It’s nothing. I just—”
“Mr. Dalton, was there something you needed to share with the rest of us?”
Dalton shook his head and feigned interest in the device he stared at. “Just running through the afterhours protocols for the building. It looks like the others have arrived. They’ve already secured the lobby and the street outside the parking garage.”
“Good, are you also able to get back the video feed from Burbank?”
“Yes, it looks like the airport is still mostly clear; no worse than it was two days ago anyway. We should have a pretty uneventful trip back to the office.”
“Okay, with regards to Blackmore, what have you been able to find out?”
“Nothing as of yet. Attempting to back into the system may set off a few warning signals, that is, if they know what to look for. And, I would assume now that everyone in that facility is on high alert, we may need to wait until we’re on top of them to root into the system.”
“What’s our exposure if we wait?”
“Not a single thing. I can have the doors open and take control of every building at that facility within ten seconds.” And turning to face Anton, he said, “If you guys get to the doors before I have them open, then you can have my job.”
Anton laughed. “Don’t want your job, it’s just not—”
The intercom above sent a short burst of static before Nicholas’s voice came through. The lone pilot sounded defeated and spoke without a single hint of confidence. “Three minutes to touch down. No traffic on the runway and it looks like we have a straight shot to the hangar. I’ll have the door open and the stairs down.”
As the overhead speaker went silent, Goodwin leaned forward in his chair and looked around the cabin. “We should reach the offices sometime after midnight. So get cleaned up and get some rest. The next four or five days aren’t going to be fun… or easy.”
32
Frank had moved back into the café and stayed hidden under the cover of darkness for the last several minutes. He stood in the entrance to the kitchen and continued to focus on the glass double doors at the rear of the building. Gripped tight to the weapon in his right hand, he debated going back to the lobby and waking Ethan. He’d be leaving the rear unattended, although at this point the bearded man could be anywhere.
With his left shoulder against the café wall, Frank made his way past the kitchen and strode quickly into the opposite hall. Continuing to focus on the doors, he walked slowly backward toward the lobby. As his view of the patio faded and without a single sign that the mystery man had returned, he jogged back to the last mattress on the right.
“Ethan… hey, I need you to wake up.”
Ethan moved onto his right side and pulled the down comforter up around his neck.
Frank increased the volume in his voice and placed his mouth only a few inches from his friend’s face. “Ethan, wake up.”
Breathing out hard, Ethan snorted.
Gripping the edge of the comforter, Frank pulled it away and laid his hand on Ethan’s left shoulder. Kneeling, he shook his friend and again called out. “Ethan, wake up. There’s someone outside.”
Whether his words had finally gotten through, or the jostling had spurred his friend awake, Frank wasn’t sure. But either way, Ethan shot up and fumbled in the dark for his weapon. “Frank, what time is it?”
“I don’t know. Two, maybe three in the morning?”
Ethan sat up, rubbed his eyes, and slipped the comforter off his legs. “What did you see?”
“A man. Six feet, maybe a bit shorter. He had a beard and carried a rifle.”
“What else. Where’d you see him, out in the street?”
“No, he was out on the patio, came right up to the back doors. Didn’t seem to care until I pointed my weapon.”
“Where is he now?”
“Out back, I think. He has a flashlight, but turned it off and backed away. He didn’t look like he was here to do any harm. Had a look on his face like he was curious. Like he didn’t understand why I was in here.”
“Okay, we’ll have to go find him. I’ll wake Griff and Shannon. You head to the back and see if you can spot him out there, but be careful and don’t open the door.”
“You want to go out there?” Frank asked. “It’s pitch black—you’re not going to be able to see a damn thing.”
“We can’t just stay here. We have no idea who that man is and what he’s doing. We need to find him before he comes back to us. And you said he has a rifle, so if we do find him, we need to treat him like a threat.”
“I don’t know Ethan, he didn’t look—”
“I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, but I’m going to wake Griff and get out there. You can stay inside with Shannon, but promise me you’ll do what you have to do to keep our friends safe.”
Standing on opposite sides of the door, their backs against the wall, Ethan and Griffin watched the patio and rear yard. Nothing had moved in the last sixty seconds and as the others began to wake, Ethan knew now was the time.
With his mother emerging from the darkened shadows of the lobby, Ethan unlocked the rear door, and followed Griffin out onto the patio. And then before swinging it shut, he turned to Frank. “If he come
s back, you make damn sure he doesn’t get in.”
Ethan didn’t wait for Frank to agree. He turned and walked along the edge of the patio with Griffin over his right shoulder. “What do you think, same guy you saw back at City Hall?”
“I not sure what I saw earlier today. Part of me figured it was just a lack of sleep and my mind wanting to see something that wasn’t there, but now I’m not so sure.”
Following the outline of the building, Ethan swept his weapon over the yard. Nothing but green grass and desert landscape. Without speaking, he turned to Griffin and pointed toward the parking lot.
Griffin gave a thumbs-up and took one last scan of the patio and rear yard before following Ethan around the south side of the building.
A six-foot-tall shrub sat facing the street and was the last source of cover they’d have before moving out into the front lot. “Okay,” Ethan said, “let’s just make sure the perimeter is clear and then head back. Frank was right—I can’t see a damn thing out here. If the guy comes back, we’ll deal with him then. But for now, it’s probably safe to just secure the exits and wait till morning.”
“Ethan,” Griffin said, “what the hell is that?”
Leaning away from the shrub, Ethan followed Griffin’s line of sight out into the street. Fifty feet from the entrance to the hotel’s parking lot and against the opposite curb sat a newer model white sedan. The window was down and from where they stood, the man sitting in the driver’s seat looked an awful lot like who Frank had described as the bearded man with the rifle.
“So?” Griffin said. “Now what?”
Before Ethan could answer, he sensed that the man in the vehicle was also watching them. His bearded face was pointed toward them and his eyes were focused on the shrub they’d taken as cover.
“Come on out.”
The man’s voice was throaty and authoritative. Reminded Ethan of every sheriff in every single western he’d ever seen. The kind that you could trust to do the right thing in every situation, but for now Ethan felt a bit more comfortable having their first conversation from a distance.
Shouting from behind the shrub, Ethan said, “Who are you?”
The man laughed. “Who am I… who the hell are you? This is my town, not yours. I’ve been watching you since you pulled in earlier today, acting like you owned the place.”
“Listen, we don’t want any trouble. We didn’t know that there was anyone left here. We’ll be on our way—”
“No one left here?” The bearded man laughed yet again, this time it stayed with him a bit longer than was comfortable. When he finally quieted, he continued, “I’ll tell you what, you all head back in there and get a good night’s rest, what’s left of it anyway, and I’ll come back sometime around noon. Maybe we get off on the right foot, forget about you comin’ into my town and treating it like it was your own. Whatta you say?”
Ethan didn’t respond and the bearded man in the white sedan didn’t wait for an answer. He started the vehicle, shifted into drive, and sped off into the night.
33
Rolling into the underground parking, Dalton sat in the passenger seat, not wanting to converse. He’d made it the entire trip from the hangar to the offices of BXF Technologies without having to utter a single syllable. What he did have to endure for the previous ninety minutes was the graphic stories from Anton, Travis, and Red as they fought for Goodwin’s attention.
The exaggerated tales of survival had begun before Nicholas even pulled the black Humvee out of the hangar. Anton had labeled the last three days as the Seventh Level of Hell. He talked of marching toward the Las Vegas headquarters and how he and five others had battled no less than four hundred Feeders.
The story grew as Anton talked of reaching the doors to the building and having to fight through twenty-foot flames, only to be knocked back when they realized the entry was teeming with corpses that carried the ravenous flames to other parts of the building. He spoke about his group attempting to retreat back to McCarran, only to be forced back in the other direction again by the sheer number of Feeders moving through the south side of town.
When Anton paused to take a breath, Travis took the opportunity to add to the obviously overstated account of their time in the desert city. He spoke with the excited tone of a schoolboy coming downstairs on Christmas morning and finding the bike he’d wanted sitting beside the tree.
Unable to control his restlessness, Travis talked about how they’d run from the gates at the beleaguered airport, and about how they set about finding a safe house. He also gave an account of the wall of bodies they’d run across and the graphic nature of which the broken corpses were set to rest.
And as they pulled up to the building and waited for the automatic door to fully ascend, Red finally joined the conversation. He hung his head and told of the battle to get to the tiny wedding chapel and how they’d lost three of their own barricading themselves inside. He talked about losing one of his best friends and how he and the others wouldn’t still be here if it wasn’t for those men and their sacrifice.
Pulling into Goodwin’s marked parking stall, Nicholas turned off the engine and waited. He was running on autopilot and had stopped making any decisions on his own just after putting the G280 down in Burbank. He’d let the man in charge dictate every move the group made from here forward. He had to watch as Goodwin made his friend a martyr, and figured that sooner or later, he’d leave this world in much the same manner.
From the rear seat, Goodwin reached for the door handle, but before pushing the door open, he leaned forward in his seat. “Dalton, did you check the cameras?”
“Yes, we’re secure.”
“Are you sure, all the way up?”
“Yes,” Dalton repeated. “The building has been on lockdown since day one. I’ve checked every video feed multiple times.”
Goodwin pushed his door open and stepped out. Starting toward the elevators, he stopped and turned, his focus now on Nicholas as the pilot slid out from behind the driver’s seat and locked the door. “Forty-eight hours…”
“Yes?”
“I’m going home,” Goodwin said. “I’ll need you to have the chopper ready and on stand-by. There are a few things I’ll need from the house before heading to Blackmore.”
“I’ll be sure to have everything ready to go.”
“Good.”
The five men strode the short distance to the bank of elevators and waited as Dalton called the car from his handheld device. Anton, Red, and Travis stood just behind Goodwin and faced out away from the doors, as if preparing for another attack. They’d been running for the last several days and finally having the ability to relax seemed foreign to them.
Nicholas was the last to enter the corridor leading to the elevators and stood at the rear of the group. With his hands in his pockets, he looked down at his feet, kicking the toe of his right shoe against the polished concrete floor.
Dalton stood at the edge of the group, positioned at the center of the four elevators. He stared at his tablet, avoiding eye contact with Goodwin as well as the conversation he figured was coming. At this point, he simply wanted to be left alone. Head up to his suite, burn what remained of his clothes, and take a much needed shower.
Watching the green icon of elevator car number four descend past the lobby, Dalton briefly looked up. “Okay, it’s here.” A half second later, the speaker above car number four—Goodwin’s private elevator—sounded.
The men piled in one after another, with Dalton squeezing in last and punching in the four separate destinations. The twenty-first floor saw Anton, Travis, and Red depart. They marched out into the hall and moved in separate directions, each using a former office as their new home.
Next, Nicholas stepped off at the thirty-seventh floor. Before he was out of sight, Dalton reached out and held the door back with his left hand. “Grab some sleep and then come on up when you have a minute. There are a few things we need to go over before you head out again.” Nicholas only offere
d a half smile and then walked toward his suite at the end of the hall.
Pulling his arm away, Dalton allowed the doors to close as he took a deep breath. Just he and Goodwin remained. Glancing down at his tablet, he just prayed the next twenty seconds would pass without incident. That Goodwin was as exhausted as he was, and that the discussion that was bound to happen would at least be shelved for another twenty-four hours.
As the awkwardness of the moment intensified, Dalton broke first. He felt the need to jump first and not give Goodwin the chance to drag him into the conversation he was determined to avoid. “Mr. Goodwin.”
“Yes?”
“The power to the lower floors and the parking garage?”
“Yes, you’re right. Let’s take everything below where Anton and the boys are down to three percent. And any other unoccupied floors down to two percent.”
“Okay, and do you foresee the need to head back to Burbank? Any other travel besides your home and then Blackmore?”
“No,” Goodwin said. “I have a few other things that need tending to over the next three days. When we hit Blackmore, I’ll need every single one of you on your game, so go get some rest.”
Back to his device, Dalton watched as the green icon slowed just below the fifty-fourth floor. The numbers flashed across the screen and then the doors opened with a burst of cool air. Confirming the next destination—Goodwin’s penthouse on the sixtieth floor—Dalton stepped back and waited as the doors began to close.
Goodwin paused for a moment and then placed his foot over the path of the closing door. The two sides quickly came to a stop and then pushed back into the walls. He held up his index finger as if he’d forgotten something. The billionaire with an ego bigger than the building they fought to return to never forgot. He never forgot anything.
“Say, Dalton…”
“Yes Mr. Goodwin.”
“You’ve powered down most every other non-essential part of the building?”
