“It’s him,” he gasped.
“Who?”
“Jarrod Hawkins.” Lukas took a step back and turned a pale face toward her. “The monster. The assassin. The…The Nightmare.”
Silence descended on the room. The woman and the other three soldiers on duty exchanged nervous glances.
“Is he hurt?” A man with a thick beard asked. “Why is he in a chair?”
Lukas ignored the question and grabbed the woman by her shoulders. “The lift—is it the only way in? Is there any other way they can get in here?”
“No. I mean—there shouldn’t be.”
Lukas’s voice cracked as he shouted, “What do you mean?”
One of the male soldiers stepped forward to offer an explanation. He pointed at a pair of wide ventilation ducts. “The air ducts, sir.”
Lukas let go of the woman and closed his eyes as reality sank in. He had helped design the machine that would dispense the bio-weapon into the air above Manhattan. It worked by diverting air from the building’s HVAC systems into the laboratory. When the weapon was primed and ready, the airflow would be channeled into the glass dome, then up a chimney and into the open air above the city. The design was meant to spread the phages over a wide geographic area in a relatively short time, but it had also provided a back door for potential intruders.
The leader of Katharos shook his head. “We need to buy more time. You three—” he pointed at the bearded man and two other men. “Get upstairs and hold them off. Kill them, if you can.”
The men nodded and disappeared into the hallway.
“And you,” Lukas said, eyeing his last remaining soldier. “Guard those vents with your life.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lukas faced the holographic display and raised an eyebrow. Jarrod Hawkins was pointing at a line of conduit along the ceiling. A man Lukas didn’t recognize raised his gun and pointed it at the conduit. There was a flash of light, and the camera feed went black.
Lukas swallowed then said, “With your life.”
Smitty winced as sparks flew from the broken conduit. “I guess you can add vandalizing private property to my criminal record.”
“Don’t worry,” Eugene replied. “Things are going to get much worse. By the time we’re finished, no one will give a damn about vandalism.” He glanced at Jarrod. “Any lead on this secret laboratory?”
Jarrod was leaning away from the wheelchair and taking gulps of water from a drinking fountain. He held up a finger, signaling for Eugene to wait, and continued drinking for nearly a minute.
Eugene shot a nervous look over his shoulder. “Sometime today, Boogeyman.”
Jarrod took one last gulp and leaned back in his chair. Steam rose from his shoulders and head as he cranked the wheels to pivot toward Eugene. He took several deep breaths, paused, and cocked his head. “I can’t pinpoint the lab, but I do recognize the scent of a Katharos agent I’ve been hunting for a very long time.”
“Who?”
Jarrod pushed against the wheels, propelling himself forward. “Dedrick.”
Eugene’s eyes widened, and he looked at Smitty. “That’s Lukas Woodfall’s code name.” Glancing back at Jarrod, he added, “Which way did he go?”
“Hold up,” Smitty said. “He can smell him? Like a hound dog?”
Jarrod ignored the question and nodded at the stairwell entrance.
Eugene hurried forward. He pulled the door open, and his shoulders slumped. “Just our luck. Do you think you’ve healed enough to walk?”
Jarrod was tilting his head again. “Three people are coming up the stairs, and they’re moving fast.”
Smitty frowned. “I don’t hear anything.”
“Are they hostiles?” Eugene asked.
Jarrod hesitated a moment then nodded.
Eugene surveyed the hallway and cursed softly. There wasn’t a shred of cover in sight. “We’ll have to fall back.”
“No,” Jarrod said, locking the brakes on the wheelchair. “There is no time.” With tremendous effort, he pushed himself to the edge of the chair and stood. “Get out of sight. I’ll draw their fire, and you can take them down while they reload.”
Smitty shook his head. “Are you kidding? They’ll kill you.”
The glossy metamaterial crept up from beneath Jarrod’s shirt and wrapped around his head. “Go. They cannot hurt me.”
Smitty jumped back and raised his pistol, aiming it at Jarrod. “You’re—you’re the assassin.” He shot a fiery look at Eugene. “What the hell is going on here?”
“I’ll explain later,” Eugene said. He grabbed Smitty by the arm and dragged him through the bathroom door.
The stairwell door burst open, and three men carrying submachine guns rushed into the hallway. They swept the area with their rifles, quickly bringing them to bear on Jarrod.
“Holy shit,” a bearded man said, taking a half-step back. “It really is him.”
The other two men cowered as well, and one of them shouted, “Stay where you are!”
Jarrod could feel the cellular matrixes in his legs being rebuilt by millions upon millions of tiny machines. But he wasn’t confident that he could walk without staggering or showing other signs of weakness. And he needed them to believe he was a threat. “You think you frighten me? You think your weapons will save you, will stop me from cutting you open and feeding you each other’s intestines?” He manipulated the metamaterial around his fingers to form exaggerated, twelve-inch claws. “Nothing can stop me. And no one can save you. Get ready to die.”
A shot rang out, then another. Panic overcame the men, and they pounded their triggers over and over.
The tungsten-core rounds slammed into Jarrod but failed to penetrate his armor. He shook from the impacts, barely managing to remain on his feet. Luckily, most of the rounds sailed past him. Fear was tightening its grip on his attackers, and they struggled to aim effectively, even at short range.
Five grueling seconds passed, and the bolts in the submachine guns locked back, their rounds spent. As the men fumbled to reload, Jarrod let out a thundering, inhuman laugh. The sound torched his attackers’ nerves, and they began to retreat, backpedaling as they struggled to seat fresh magazines into their weapons.
A loud pop echoed from further down the hallway. One of the men pitched backward, a cloud of pink mist erupting from his face.
In the confusion, the bearded man dropped his magazine. He knelt to pick it up, and a round tore into his shoulder.
The third man realized the source of the gunfire, slammed the bolt in his submachine gun forward, and took aim. But before he could level his sights, a bullet struck him in the chest, splintering his ribs and puncturing his left lung. He dropped his weapon and fell to the floor.
“Clear!” Eugene shouted. He kept his FNS-9 aimed at the men as he limped forward. He kicked their weapons aside and put a bullet into the brain of the man he had hit in the chest.
“I said, clear!” Eugene snapped. “Smitty, get your ass over here and help me.”
Smitty hugged the edge of the hallway, keeping his back against the wall and his pistol trained on Jarrod’s head. “I had my doubts about you DARPA freaks. But I never imagined you would be working with an enemy of the U.S. Government.”
Eugene turned his weapon on Smitty. “He’s not an enemy of the U.S. Government, he’s a product of the U.S. Government.”
Smitty cast a sideways glance at Eugene.
“And the Senator he killed was a cultist who raped and trafficked kids. Now, put the damn gun down and help me.”
After several long moments, Smitty blew out his cheeks and holstered his pistol. “This is so screwed up. How do I know I’m even on the right side, here?”
Eugene took a step away from the bearded gunman, reached beneath his button-up shirt, and withdrew a pair of zip ties. “You know who Lukas Woodfall is, and you know he’s here. We have Intel that he’s getting ready to deploy a weapon that can sterilize half the human race. I’m not saying you have to
trust us, but you need to realize who we’re up against. After this is over, you can file an IG complaint, or turn us in to the FBI or whoever you want, but right now I need you to cuff this prick.”
Smitty shook his head and murmured a complaint under his breath, but he accepted the zip ties and used them to bind the Katharos agent’s hands and feet.
“Much appreciated.” Eugene knelt and pressed the barrel of his FNS against the man’s cheek. “Let’s talk.”
The man winced and tried to pull away, glaring at his captor.
“You have ten seconds to tell me how to find your little hideout,” Eugene growled, increasing the pressure on the tip of the barrel, “before I do to you what I did to your friends.”
The bearded man turned his head far enough to spit in Eugene’s face. “Go to hell.”
Eugene wiped the spittle from his face then drew the pistol back and slammed the trigger guard into the man’s teeth. “Ten…” he said, just below a shout. “Nine…”
Smitty grunted in frustration and turned away. “You’ll never get him to talk by threatening to kill him.”
Eugene stopped counting and lowered the pistol. “You’re probably right.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Boogeyman, you’re up. You can start by giving the prisoner a lobotomy. After that, start removing parts.” Eugene grasped the man’s belt buckle and gave it a shake. “Preferably below the waist.”
Jarrod took slow, even steps as he walked toward the bearded man, betraying no pain, even though his body screamed at him to stop. He dropped to both knees beside the prisoner and grasped the man’s face. Dark, probing tongues of metamaterial slid from his fingers into the man’s nose and eyes, filling his sinuses and pouring back out through his mouth.
The man began to gurgle and thrash like a drowning animal. “Alright,” he managed to say, “I’ll talk!”
“Make sure he can breathe,” Eugene said, “but don’t stop.” He reached out and tugged sharply on the man’s beard. “How do we reach the laboratory?”
The man took short, desperate breaths, and his face contorted with pain. “You can’t—not through the main door. It’s a hidden elevator with a retinal scanner, hand-print scanner, the works. And you won’t be able to break through—the elevator is topped with six inches of steel.”
Eugene rolled his eyes. “Boogeyman, tear his balls off.”
“No, wait! There’s another way in!”
Eugene held up a hand to signal for Jarrod to wait. “Go on.”
“It’s like a back door.” The man worked his jaw for a moment. “Please, I can’t think straight with this stuff in my head.”
“You want it out? Then talk.”
He hesitated, seeming to gather his thoughts. “There’s a hole in our security. A big one. It’s the air intake leading into the lab. It can’t be locked down while the…the weapon is preheating.”
“You mean it’s preheating now?” Eugene asked.
“Yes.”
“How do we get into the vents?”
“Through the main fan, in the basement. Take the stairs to the bottom, then go straight through the yellow door. You’ll end up in a hallway. Look for the utility room.” He winced and gagged for several seconds. “You…can’t miss it.”
Eugene glanced at Jarrod. “Is he telling the truth?”
“Yes.”
Eugene grabbed the man’s shirt and gave him a shake. “How much time before the weapon is ready?”
“I don’t know. Maybe ten minutes?”
“We have to go,” Eugene said, rising to his feet. “Smitty, you’re with me. Boogeyman, guard the prisoner. We’ll be back as soon as we secure and deactivate the weapon.”
Jarrod nodded and kept his hands on the Katharos agent as Eugene and Smitty disappeared into the stairwell.
As he shuffled down the steps ahead of Eugene, Smitty said, “I don’t like this. We won’t have room to maneuver in the ventilation system. We’ll be sitting ducks.”
“How are you going to feel if you walk away from this mission without a scratch and the weapon sterilizes half the human race?” Eugene asked. “Stay behind if you want to. I’m going in there, and I’m either going to stop them or die trying.”
36
The sharp, metallic thumping grew louder, echoing through the open vent.
Lukas glanced at the holographic display, watching the seconds tick down. He wrung his hands together. Two minutes remained until the weapon was ready to deploy, until the plague that was humanity would finally begin tumbling toward extinction. Compared to the decades he had spent pursuing his ultimate purpose, it was like the blink of an eye. But with the intruders getting closer by the second, two minutes felt like an eternity.
“Where are they?” Lukas barked. “Which vent?” Two ventilation shafts led into the room. The first piped directly into the phage distributor and the second fed air into the lab.
The woman with the tight braids held the rifle against her shoulder and clenched her jaw. “Will you shut up and let me do my job?”
Lukas wiped his face with his hands. “We’re less than two minutes away from achieving everything Katharos has fought for. I need your assurance that we won’t be interrupted.”
She cast a scalding look at him. “Shut. The hell. Up.” Moving forward with her rifle at the ready, she peered through the grate and into the ventilation shaft on the right. The thumping continued, though slower and more meticulous. They were getting close.
Lukas leaned away from the phage distributor and watched her for a moment then took cover behind the glass dome. The word “Launch” was highlighted in gray just below the countdown. He stared at it, willing it to turn green so he could activate the weapon. Meanwhile, the countdown taunted and teased. 1:34. 1:33.
The room shook with a deafening roar. Lukas ducked, hiding behind the bio-weapon. “What’s going on?” he shouted.
The woman didn’t answer. Bright light flashed from the end of her rifle, and the roar of gunfire reverberating off the walls and ceiling. Lukas plugged his ears as he peeked out from behind his cover.
The woman was shooting into the vent, then ducking out of the way as someone inside returned fire. Bullets tore through the grate and buried themselves in the far wall.
“Just…a little bit longer,” Lukas called out, trying to sound reassuring. His heart pounded in his chest, and his breathing came so fast, he wondered if he would hyperventilate. He closed his eyes, steeled his nerves, then gripped the edge of the glass dome and stole a glance at the display. It was ticking down in double digits now, but each second dragged by. 47…46…45.
Then, as abruptly as it started, the shooting stopped. Lukas hesitated for a moment then said, “Did you stop them? Are they dead?”
There was no response. Lukas’s hands shook. He wanted to watch the final seconds tick down, but he was terrified that maybe, just maybe, the intruders had defeated his guard. He searched blindly for a blunt object, and his hand closed around a small fire extinguisher.
He gripped it and stepped away from the glass dome. The woman stood with the rifle in her hands, still facing the ventilation shaft. Drops of blood seeped from the base of the grate and splashed onto the floor.
The computer chimed, announcing that the phage distributor was ready. Lukas’s face widened with a grin, and he set the extinguisher aside. “You’ve done well. Come, join me for this auspicious moment.”
Instead of moving toward him, the woman dropped to her knees and slumped onto her back. Her head lolled on a limp neck, bringing her face into view. Or rather, what was left of her face. The skin had been torn away, and the lower jaw was missing. Instead of a nose, there was a large, circular hole that leaked blood and brain matter into her hair.
Lukas felt bile creeping into his throat. He couldn’t fathom how a gunshot wound had inflicted such horrifying damage, and he feared that one or more of the intruders might still be alive.
He reached for the holographic display, knowing that, with a swipe of his finge
rs, his life’s work would come to fruition. But his arm refused to move. He frowned and glanced down. Nothing—the sensation of resistance was psychosomatic. He tried to move his other arm. But it, too, was frozen in place.
“What…is…happening to me?” he whispered to himself.
The pain arrived, racing up his arms and into his shoulders. Then the room began to spin; he felt butterflies in his stomach and wind in his ears.
Lukas slammed against the floor, and his vision erupted into stars. He blinked and shook his head. What happened? Had he activated the phage distributor? Was he hallucinating?
When the room came back into focus, he glanced at the display. The activation panel was highlighted in green, ready for launch but waiting for his authorization.
The air between him and the display began to shimmer. A gray cloud appeared, gradually darkening and taking shape until it solidified as an inky black figure.
“You!” Lukas gasped, rising up on his elbows and dragging himself away. “How—how did you get in here?”
The monster pointed at a dark corner, several feet from Lukas’s head. Bloodstained clothes lay in a pile against the wall. A lidless eye and a severed hand rested on top.
“The man you sent to kill me was kind enough to lend me his keys,” the monster said, taking a stiff, awkward step toward him.
Lukas backed up until he reached the far wall. “I had nothing to do with those men. I—I’m a scientist, not a soldier.”
The gleaming ebony creature closed the distance between them and knelt, supporting part of its weight with one hand. “I know exactly who you are. Dedrick.”
Lukas sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, and his stomach twisted into knots. Images of The Nightmare’s tortured victims flashed through his mind. And Lukas—though harmless in appearance—had almost certainly committed more heinous atrocities than anyone else who had died at the monster’s hands.
“Please,” Lukas begged, covering his eyes with the backs of his hands, “do it quickly. Don’t make me suffer.”
The creature reached out and caressed his chin with a needle-tipped claw. “There’s a voice in my head, giving me very precise instructions. It’s telling me to do things to you—to torture you for days, extracting every useful scrap of information I can. Then, when you have nothing left to give, I am supposed to cut your arms and legs off, sealing the wounds to keep the lifeblood flowing through your veins. I am to gouge out your eyes and your tongue then scrape your skin away until you are nothing but a pink, rotting sack of meat.”
Heir to the Nightmare Page 20
