by David Meyer
Deborah Keifer, a stern bird-like woman and president of the Vallerio Foundation, glared at Morgan. “What do you want?” she asked, her voice dripping with disdain.
Ignoring her, Morgan glided across the room. She stopped next to Charlie Lodge, one of the world’s foremost geneticists and a five-year resident at Hatcher Station. “Watch them closely.”
“But that guy said—”
“That guy is a bureaucrat,” she said, finishing his thought with her own. “In other words, a born liar.”
Lodge’s breaths sped up to the point of hyperventilation.
Morgan looked into his eyes. Saw his fear, his anxiety. “Are you sure you can handle this?”
He tugged at his lab coat. “It’s just that, well, I’ve never shot anyone before.”
“Me neither.” She patted his shoulder. “I’ll send some backup.”
Morgan walked to the door. Pushed it open and entered Hatcher Station’s central core, better known as the Heptagon. The Heptagon, consistent with its moniker, contained seven equidistant walls. Separate doors were mounted in the middle of each wall. One door led outside to several rings of security fences and, farther back, the vast Vallerio Forest. The other six doors led to Hatcher Station’s various sections, including the Galley, the Barracks, Operations, Research, the Warehouse, and of course, the Eye.
“Fei.” Her gaze turned to Fei Nai-Yuan, a brilliant Chinese-American geophysicist. “Charlie needs help.”
Nai-Yuan, equipped with one of the many rifles seized during the coup, gave her a brisk nod. With quick steps, he made his way into the Eye, shutting the door behind him.
Morgan strode across the Heptagon, passing a collection of bound guards along the way. They sat in a circle, backs to the middle. Six people, a mixture of scientists, technicians, and rangers, kept them in check with rifles. The station’s primary physician, Dr. Ankur Adnan, moved silently about the guards, checking their stitches and rebandaging their wounds.
She grasped Research’s doorknob. As she opened the door, a distinct humming noise, the product of computers and machinery, filled her ears. Strong heat reached out, causing a thin layer of sweat to bubble up all over her body.
She paused, giving herself a moment to adjust to the sudden temperature change. Then she strode through the doorframe, paying no attention to the mounted Stop: Restricted Access, Research Only sign.
She walked through the maze of tables and machinery. A metal hatch, roughly three feet on each side, occupied the room’s far right corner. Other than some giant hinges on one side and a handle on the other side, the hatch was perfectly flat with the floor. A small computer screen was embedded into the metal. It showed ever-changing strings of digits and letters, bright green against a black background.
Two women sat at a long table near the hatch. Their gazes were fixed upon laptops. Their fingers swept over the keyboards, pecking keys at a high rate of speed.
Morgan cleared her throat. “Well?”
“Nothing yet,” Bonnie Codd said without looking up.
“You’ve been at this for hours.”
“We’re making progress.”
Morgan rubbed her forehead. Normally, the hatch—which was controlled by computers far beneath them—took mere minutes to open. Unfortunately, this was no normal situation. “How much progress?”
Codd clucked her tongue in disapproval. “If you’re in such a hurry, why don’t you try that back entrance you mentioned?”
“Because it’s just as hard to open from the outside. Now, how much progress have you made?”
“Do you see that thing?” Codd nodded at the hatch. “It’s two-feet thick, made of the latest torch and drill resistant metals. Thermal lances couldn’t touch it. I don’t think even an atomic bomb could crack it.”
“I know. But—”
“The only way into the Lab is to penetrate a whole bunch of mechanical and electronic locking mechanisms. And that’s a lot easier than it sounds.”
“I need you to go faster. It’s only a matter of time before the Foundation figures out something’s wrong here.”
Zlata Issova, who served as Codd’s right-hand woman at Hatcher Station, arched an eyebrow. “Do you think they’ll attack us?”
“Not right away,” Morgan said, trying to hide the doubt in her voice. “Not while we’ve got hostages.”
The two computer experts stared at her with hooded eyes.
“Let me worry about the Foundation.” Morgan nodded at the hatch. “Just get us down there so we can access the communications network.”
Codd and Issova exchanged looks. Then they returned to their keyboards.
As they worked, Morgan gently touched her waist. Pain shot up and down her right side, but she didn’t feel sorry for herself. She deserved the pain. After all, she and the other researchers weren’t entirely blameless in all this. They’d challenged God, challenged His grip on time itself.
And some sins, unfortunately, could never be forgiven.
*****
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About the Author
David Meyer is the international bestselling author of the Cy Reed Adventures and the Apex Predator series.
He is a true ironman, having survived such apocalyptic events as the Jupiter Effect, the Population Bomb, the Y2K Panic, the Nibiru Collision, the Large Hadron Collider’s Big Bang, Comet Elenin, and of course, the Mayan Doomsday Prophecy.
A futurist at heart, he possesses a keen interest in cryonics and other life-extension technologies. After careful consideration, he’s (nearly) positive that humanity has not been digitized nor placed in some kind of simulated universe. Maybe someday, though!
David lives in New Hampshire with his family. For more information about him, his adventures, and his stories, please see the links below.
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Books by David Meyer
Cy Reed Adventure Series
Chaos
Ice Storm
Torrent
Vapor
Fury
Apex Predator Series
Behemoth
Savage
Broken Nature Series
Broken Lands
Broken Ties
Broken People
