However, that wasn’t the only pain in her chest at the moment. She’d skipped her cardio workouts recently, a fact that was all too evident as she stopped to catch her breath. She continued on, taking two more rights once she reached level one.
The shortest of the two guards stationed at the entrance pulled at the interior blast door, swinging it open on its massive steel hinges.
The other man moved forward and stepped into the connecting corridor, then opened the matching outer door, letting her continue her trek without stopping.
Neither man said a word as she passed, a fact she appreciated more than they knew. Her mind was elsewhere at the moment, trying to summon the proper words she’d need when Krista and her convoy arrived.
Liz could have traveled slower to buy herself more time, but for some reason, she felt compelled to push her legs up the stairs. Maybe it was guilt. Or remorse, given that she’d kept Morse’s secret for much too long.
She wasn’t sure which emotion it was, even though they were her own feelings. Feelings she knew all too well. Granted, it wasn’t her decision to keep mum, but she was culpable regardless.
Liz had known a handful of physicians who were never able to get over the agony of delivering bad news to a patient. Of course, that was before The Event, long before she became the sole healer in this underground society.
Now the notification duties were all hers, whether she wanted the job or not. There would be no relief shift to rescue her at the last minute, nor would another doc step up and volunteer to take her place.
Liz had pushed herself early in her career to become desensitized to the process and its related anxiety during the long walks she’d have to make to meet with an unsuspecting patient’s family. No medical professional wanted that job, but someone had to do it.
If she stopped to think about it, she was sure she’d remember each and every pair of eyes that had ever waited for her in one of those freezing consultation rooms. Hospitals kept the temperature low for a reason, and it wasn’t always related to a medical reason.
She often thought the frigid air was pumped in on purpose, to act as a distraction, refocusing the family’s attention on something other than the butchery masquerading as surgery in a sterile room not far away.
A moment later, her mind went into flash mode, showing her a slew of those waiting eyes from her past. One after another they came to her, taking her mind off the chore that awaited her on the surface.
Some of the flashes showed young eyes; others featured old, all of them studying every nuance of her body language as she approached, hoping and praying her prognosis was good. Even the slightest facial twitch, unplanned body motion, or a subtle change in breathing patterns can give the news away.
It’s a learned skill that every physician is asked to master. Otherwise, remaining detached while meeting with a family to deliver news would fail. More so when you know the words you’re about to speak will stick a dagger into their collective hearts.
One mistake and you amplify their grief. That’s something they can never teach you in medical school. You just have to push through it and keep it as brief as possible, then offer hugs to whomever needed them.
She thought she had conquered this task long ago. Unfortunately, those previous efforts weren’t helping her today. She knew the next few minutes would be the most difficult of her career.
CHAPTER 4
“What’s taking so long?” Summer asked from the covered bed of the truck, kneeling to see through the access window behind the driver. The dog’s breathing had changed, becoming more labored than before. Time was not something they needed to be wasting.
Krista was forward in the driver’s seat and leaning, with her arms draped over the top of the steering wheel as she peered through the windshield. Her gaze held firm, aimed across the narrow entrance to the valley ahead. “Just give it a minute.”
Summer squinted to sharpen her vision, keeping a close watch on the massive wooden barn in the distance. “Come on, already.”
Krista pointed at the structure. “There it is.”
Summer saw it, too: the signal—a series of light flashes—two long and one short—coming from deep inside the access door on the second floor. The observation scout in the hay loft had just scanned the area around the barn and given his go-ahead to approach. “It’s about time. This is frickin’ ridiculous. I could’ve told you nobody followed us.”
Krista released the brake pedal and stomped on the gas, taking the transport ahead on a direct path to the barn. “We have to be sure, Summer. It’s too important.”
“Yeah, I get that. But there has to be a faster way. Especially today.”
Krista didn’t answer, her eyes focused on the dirt road ahead.
Summer latched her hands onto the bottom edge of the window frame as the uneven terrain slammed into the undercarriage of the truck. The road—if you could actually call it a road—was more than rough, the treads on the tires smashing into rocks and ruts across the surface.
Summer couldn’t help but think Edison had designed the approach on purpose to slow visitors down—a fact that was working against them at the moment. Sure, their emergency had to do with prisoners and an injured dog—not an indispensable Seeker or security guard—but it didn’t change the need to arrive sooner.
The truck dipped through a sharp depression, then jerked up, sending her airborne. Her head hit the steel framework holding the canopy above her, then gravity took over and sent her back down in a plop.
Summer rubbed her head, then turned to check on the dog.
Barkley looked okay, but she couldn’t say the same for the others in the back. The same airborne whiplash effect had sent the blindfolded prisoners into a tumble, their hands still bound behind their backs with paracord. They were now leaning over on their sides and struggling to right themselves.
Horton craned his neck and used the crown of his head to push against Lipton’s butt, pushing himself into a sitting position.
Scab Girl was able to accomplish the same feat without any external leverage, probably due to her abdomen being in better shape than the men’s. It was obvious—Helena had skills, just not a nose. Or a comb.
Doc Lipton, on the other hand, looked helpless. Or hopeless, the two terms being interchangeable at the moment. It was comical to watch him struggle, his old man’s body useless.
Summer thought about helping the man sit up, but decided against it. He didn’t deserve assistance, not after pulling a gun and threatening to shoot everyone.
Whether Lipton would have pulled the trigger or not didn’t change the fact he was a threat, no matter what the other two had said in his defense after they were in custody.
There was something about the man she despised, even though she barely knew him. Some people just rub you the wrong way, and it wasn’t only because of him pulling a gun.
He had an aura that made her skin crawl. It felt black. Malicious. Like some kind of oozing darkness, as if he were hiding a terrible secret. Probably more than one, if she chose to listen to what her gut was telling her. It was a strange sensation, one that made the hairs on her neck stand on end every time she looked at him.
She shook off the feeling, then rubbed the dog’s matted fur, appreciating the perfectly timed chomp that Sergeant Barkley had applied to Lipton’s wrist.
“Good boy,” she said before laughing at Lipton, who was still tussling with himself to sit up.
* * *
Dice turned the steering wheel to the right and drove the four-wheel-drive truck up the slight incline, feathering the accelerator to control the vehicle’s slow crawl forward.
He stopped the truck within inches of the front gate protecting Frost’s compound. The fortified steel barrier was in the process of opening, its mechanical retraction system grinding away on the chain-driven gears built by the one and only Doc Lipton.
The armed guards on watch seemed unaware that one member of their command team was missing—Simon Frost.
Yet what was the most troubling was the fact that they hadn’t noticed the rest of the convoy was missing, too—both men and machine. It was a simple calculation, even for the dumbest of Frost’s recruits. Far more flesh and steel had departed than what was returning now.
Dice swung his head to the right, checking to see if Fletcher was concerned. It didn’t appear so, his eyes tracking the gate’s progress with an otherwise blank expression on his face.
“Everything okay, boss?” Dice asked, just to be sure.
“Lipton better be back from wherever the hell he disappeared to. First order of business for him will be to double the speed of this gate. We’re sitting ducks out here.”
“I’ll get him right on it, sir.”
“Before that, I want the men assembled in the garage. Word will spread quickly about the missing troops.”
“Have you thought about what you’re going to say?”
“Working on it. Just sifting through the words at the moment. They need to be right.”
“I have every confidence.”
“Thanks, Dice. That makes one of us, at least.”
“Trust me sir, the men respect you. Hands down. It’s not even a question.”
“I appreciate the support. But I’m more worried about the few stragglers who are still loyal to Frost. I had them all assigned to cover the monthly meet, but as usual, Simon overruled me and made last-minute deployment changes. Kept a few back for some reason.”
“Obviously he didn’t suspect anything.”
“No. Otherwise, we’d be having a very different conversation right about now.”
“The men may want to hold a vigil. You know, raise a glass type thing.”
“That’s fine, just make sure it doesn’t get out of hand like last night. As soon as it’s over, I want Lipton’s still dismantled. No more moonshine. We’re going to tighten up the ranks around here. Especially for Phase Two.”
“Yes, sir.”
CHAPTER 5
Krista drove the transport through the entrance of the barn, easing the vehicle past the dual doors that served as both a prop and as a sentry to protect access to the oversized structure.
The command vehicle’s assigned parking spot was far to one side, leaving room for the rest of the convoy to park next to it, much like a platoon lining up for morning PT.
However, the other trucks wouldn’t be making an appearance today. Neither would the rest of her men, a fact that brought a wave of pain to her heart.
The simple task of parking the transport allowed her time to focus on the events of the day. Or take inventory, if you will, of her actions and reactions, even though, as a soldier, she knew better than to dwell on the past, unless you’re being debriefed or filing an after-action report with your superiors.
A brigade of shadows stood inside Edison’s makeshift command post, waiting with ravenous eyes. Eyes that were backed by something far more powerful than time or space.
Whether it was fate or destiny, she couldn’t be sure. But it was real. It was there. She could sense it. Something was judging her every move as she maneuvered the tires across the existing tracks in the dirt, angling to the side as she went.
When a cascade of darkness landed on the windshield, a tingling sensation came with it. It washed over her skin, wafting a cold dampness across her hands.
The chill traveled up her arms and into her neck, as if it was being guided to its target by an unseen adversary. She’d felt the same sensation long ago, back when she was deployed in an active combat zone.
Even watercraft operators experience casualties, usually after the bullets have flown and the boat is tasked to retrieve the wounded.
Many of the troops survive, but some don’t, leaving the pilot and her crew to deal with the aftermath. An aftermath involving scrubbing blood off the deck, as well as confronting the ghosts of the dead.
Let’s face it, once you’ve become intimately acquainted with the reaper, you have no choice but to challenge its malignancy head-on—for your sanity, if nothing else.
First you stand your ground to repel its attack. Then, after it pulls back to regroup, you sweep the area, targeting all vectors. Vectors that come in the form of intentions—malevolent intentions—lingering high above, waiting to deliver grief with the precision of a tactical drone.
It’s never easy dealing with the savagery of death, but once you’re sure the initial threat is over, you can finally turn your back and ignore the possibility of another breech. For a while, at least, because the threat is always there—waiting for a chance to re-engage.
At this point in the process, Krista was sure there was no chance of those malicious feelings gaining a foothold. Not mentally or emotionally. And certainly not until the job was done. A job that was infinitely harder now, with Summer running the silo.
The mere thought of that girl making command decisions for everyone was difficult to justify, despite it being Edison’s dying wish.
The staff would soon raise concerns, no matter how Krista chose to spin the news of their newly-appointed leader. Some might decide to balk or threaten to leave.
Not that she would blame them. She’d already had those same thoughts. What concerned her most was the possibility of an eventual mutiny. Or an overthrow, depending on where the majority of Nirvana’s population stood at the time.
Krista pulled the transport into its narrow parking spot, making sure the front bumper didn’t run into the wooden slats along the wall in front. The last thing she needed was to create a drive-through lane where none was required.
Most of the time, the wooden barn sat alone and appeared to be abandoned. Just some old relic that belonged to a nearby dairy farm with thousands of cows back in the day.
Edison had the barn moved a short distance to this very spot to fool an unaware observer. To them, it would appear to be nothing more than a massive storehouse in the middle of a nowhere. The key word being nowhere.
In reality, that term meant a remote field that was now in the process of thawing like everything else. The Event had changed every nuance of life on the planet. Not just with the weather, but each survivor’s emotions and goals, plus everything in between.
When Krista heard the rumble of the barn doors closing behind her, she let out the mythical breath she’d been holding in secret, ever since her arrival at the monthly Trading Post meet. It had been a long day, one filled with plenty of blood.
At least everyone was safe, sealed inside the wooden façade built to conceal the silo’s entrance, all of it designed with the critical eye of a world-renowned genius. Unfortunately, that same genius was now rotting in the rear of the truck.
Krista fought back the urge to weep for her former boss, a man she didn’t always agree with, but a man she respected for his willingness to take a stand, no matter how right or wrong he was at the time. Usually wrong, if anyone dared to keep a tally, his ideals posing a constant threat to security.
Regardless, Edison had thought of almost everything to help sell the backstory of the wayward barn, including constructing stretches of broken-down split rail fencing that gave the appearance of a pasture, one enclosed long ago.
He’d even constructed a dry water well and a few dilapidated stalls, complete with cow pies thrown about, each resembling an ancient fossil, rather than a fresh dropping.
She never understood why there wasn’t a main house on the property. She had planned to ask Edison that very question, but never got around to it. Now the answer would forever remain unknown, adding to the mystery of his intellect.
“Concealment Team ready to deploy!” a male’s voice called out, snapping Krista out of her reflective state. It was coming from
the left, somewhere beyond her view.
The spotter in the loft answered the hail. “All clear. Proceed.”
A crack of light erupted along the left side of the building, the sunlight beaming in through the driver’s window from an access door.
Krista watched the team leader stand aside as the rest of the squad broke through the exit and trotted outside. Each member carried a custom-made rake, designed with a wide set of tree-like branches made of aluminum. Edison’s fabrication teams had made them to his exact specifications, allowing the tire tracks to be erased after each mission.
It normally took about twenty minutes to cover all the signs, smoothing the dirt with sweeping passes. It was a rehearsed production, stretching from the barn’s door to the outskirts of the clearing and up the approach hill.
Krista hoped they’d work faster today, not because she was in a hurry, but more because of the knot nagging at her stomach. It wasn’t shrinking as it should have been now that they were inside a closed, secure structure.
Something was keeping the pain stoked and alive. Whether it was the universe or something else, she didn’t know. The feeling was there, nonetheless.
After the side door closed, Krista put the shifter into park, then turned the engine off and hopped out of the truck. She put her fingers into the corners of her mouth and sent a sharp whistle at the guards stationed near a pair of yellow handrails bordering a staircase that led below ground.
She waved her hand, signaling for the men to join her at the driver’s door. They began a jog to her position, the clatter of gear and weapons making a comforting sound. She was home once again, with troops of like minds and similar goals.
Krista whistled at another team of men, only they weren’t soldiers. All three wore hardhats and tool belts. They stood bent over, huddled around one of the massive slide rails that supported the blast doors covering the silo’s missile bay. The men straightened up and shot a look at Krista.
“A little help, please,” she said.
The men stopped their work and began a casual trek to her position.
Hope's Return Page 3
