The Complex (The Omega Protocol Chronicles Book 3)

by Courtney McPhail

  It was a whole other thing to be a predator, out there hunting for vulnerable prey. When they were hunting freaks, she felt justified. She knew with certainty that they were a threat and they needed to be put down.

  It was the hunting of humans that didn’t sit well with her. They might pose just as much a threat as the freaks, but after what had happened with Harold, it no longer sat right with her. She didn’t want to do this but she didn’t have a choice. She had committed to this mission and she had to see it through.

  “There’s a footprint!” Audrey exclaimed, pointing at the path a couple feet in front of her. Sure enough there was a scuff in the dirt, the heel print of a shoe. It wasn’t that deep but it was fresh, made when the path had still been wet from yesterday’s rain.

  “Good eye. Now keep your gun ready, alright?”

  Veronica moved ahead of Audrey, cautious as the path made a right turn through a bunch of tall evergreens. She paused a moment behind one of the trees before peering around it.

  Split log benches were arranged in a semi-circle facing a fire pit ringed with large stones. The path continued around the fire pit and over to a wooden railing along the far edge where the ground dropped into a steep incline to the lake.

  Veronica stepped out from behind the tree and approached the fire pit, only then spotting the seven mounds of overturned dirt behind the benches, each one with a cross planted at the head.

  Oh God no.

  Names and ages were etched into the crosses and, as she got closer to read them, Veronica realized that some of the crosses bore multiple names and ages. Mothers buried with their children. Husbands buried with their wives. There had been twelve of them in total.

  Judging by the settling of the dirt over a couple of graves, they had all died at different times. She could see the signs of the days of rainfall on all the graves but one. The soil was still loose over the grave, not smooth like the others. A keychain with a Winnie the Pooh figurine was hung on the cross.

  Heather, 24, and Chase, 3.

  “What happened to them?” Audrey asked, looking over the graves.

  “I don’t know,” she replied and looked around suspiciously. The newest grave couldn’t be more than twenty four hours old. Someone had been alive to bury them and that someone could still be here. She looked around the clearing and spotted the set of stairs at the far side of the railing.

  The stairs gave an easy path down the rocky incline to a narrow strip of sand that lined the edge of the island. There was a large rock that sat in the centre of the beach and she could see a set of legs peeking out from the side of it.

  “Stay here,” Veronica told Audrey and handed her the walkie. “Keep an eye on the path and if you hear me call out, radio the others, okay?”

  Audrey nodded, her eyes nervous but her hand was steady when she took the walkie.

  Veronica carefully crept down the stairs, her eyes never wavering from the legs. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she spotted the large work boots on the end of the denim clad legs. Most likely a man.

  “We aren’t here to hurt you,” Veronica called out. “We were just taking a look around.”

  She waited, watching for movement but the legs were still and a sick feeling began to build in her stomach. She closed the distance so she could see around the rock and she froze when she spotted the butt of a shotgun between the man’s knees.

  The breeze shifted and the smell of death hit her like a punch to the gut.

  Oh fuck no.

  She walked around the rock to find exactly what she had expected.

  Flies buzzed around what was left of the man’s head, most of it splattered across the rock behind him, courtesy of the shotgun propped between his knees. She imagined it had been pressed beneath his chin before, but he had no chin to speak of now.

  She felt her stomach flip and sweat broke out on her forehead as she tried to fight down the bile clawing up her throat. She looked away from the disaster that was his face, her eyes travelling over the rest of him and she noticed the cell phone near his limp hand.

  She picked it up and touched the screen, surprised when it flashed to life. There was only 3% battery left and she wondered why the man would hold onto something so useless but then she saw the lock screen.

  A man, a woman, and a little boy dressed in a Winnie the Pooh costume stood smiling in front of a house decorated for Halloween. A perfect, happy, little family.

  If she had to bet, she was looking at Heather, Chase and the man who had loved them enough to bury them before he took his own life.

  “Veronica, what’s going on?”

  She looked back up at Audrey who was at the top of the stairs, leaning over to peer down.

  “He’s dead but I want you to stay there. You don’t need to see this,” she called out and headed back up the stairs. “I didn’t need to see it either. Can I have the walkie?”

  Audrey handed it over and Veronica hit the call button. “Everybody that was here is dead. We found their graves and another one dead from suicide. I doubt there’s anyone left.”

  “You alright?” Craig’s voice came back.

  “Yeah,” Veronica told him. “As long as we bury him. See if you can find some shovels.”

  When they’d come here, she had been hoping they wouldn’t find anyone. Now that her wish had come true, she felt guilty.

  She knew rationally that her wishes hadn’t killed these people but she still felt guilt. She should have hoped that they would find good people they could work with to keep this lake safe. That was the right thing to be thinking. She’d been selfish and so focused on protecting their own, she hadn’t thought about others. That was what had pushed her to the point that she could callously take a human life in a fit of rage.

  This man was a reminder of why she had to fight those urges.

  “Come on,” she said to Audrey. “Let’s go get some sheets from the hotel to wrap him up.”

  Subject File #756

  Administrator: What was it like having a full day of appointments? Was it like you were back at the hospital?

  Subject: A bit, at least when I had to do hours at the free clinic. But these people were a lot more paranoid than the ones at the clinic.

  Administrator: They didn’t trust you?

  Subject: No, they just all thought they were dying.

  “Am I going to die, Dr. Alpert?”

  The way the man looked at him, Quinton could see that he was writing his last will and testament in his head. He already had a natural hang dog expression, with big brown eyes and the sagging jowls around his face, but now the man looked totally devastated.

  Quinton did his best to school his expression but he couldn’t keep the exasperation out of his voice.

  “No, Mr. Connor, you aren’t going to die. It’s just a simple skin rash, nothing serious. You said you were out pulling plants to bring back to the garden here, right?”

  Mr. Connor nodded his head vigorously, his eyes flashing with relief as he latched on to the idea. “We’ve been rooting out plants from all over town.”

  “If you put some hydrocortisone cream on it, it’ll clear up,” Quinton advised him, “And wear long sleeves when you’re dealing with plants.”

  Mr. Connor nodded, scratching at the rash on the inside of his elbow.

  “And you have to stop scratching it, that only makes it worse,” Quinton told him and Mr. Connor snatched his hand away, giving him a guilty smile. He rose from the cot he had been sitting on and held out a hand to Quinton.

  “Thank you, Dr. Alpert. I know I was being a bit much but it’s hard not to go to worst case scenario.” The worry filled his sad eyes again. “It seems like everything now is worst case scenario.”

  Quinton drew on his old bedside manner, knowing empathy was what was needed here. “You are quite healthy, Mr. Connor. Great blood pressure and heart rate. When the rash is gone, you’ll be fit as a fiddle.

  “Thank you,” Mr. Connor said. Quinton ushered him out of the
curtained area that was serving as an examination room in the back of the pharmacy.

  The waiting area in the pharmacy-turned-clinic was still half full, the line of chairs that had been set up in the corner occupied with worried men and women. He had already seen the three children that had been waiting for him and had reassured their concerned mothers that it was a simple cold that was being passed between them. That had been followed up by a diagnosis of heartburn from a man who’d been eating nothing but canned chilli for three days, a case of pinkeye, a strained hamstring and some more rashes.

  He knew he should be grateful that there wasn’t anything more serious but it made for a dull day. And he was finding it hard to remember his bedside manner with these paranoid people. It was hard not roll his eyes over the concerns of people like Mr. Connor, losing it over a simple rash. The only thing that kept him in check was reminding himself that this was the reason he was here. He was supposed to reassure these people that they were okay and in exchanges they got chickens.

  Those eggs better taste damn good after all this, he thought.

  “Ready for the next patient, Emily,” he called out and the woman rose from one of the chairs, clipboard in hand.

  Emily was a small woman but far from frail. He’d pegged Emily for late forties when he had been introduced to her, noting the crow’s feet around her hazel eyes and a few grey strands sprouting in what had once been a tasteful chestnut dye job. She had the lean lines of a woman who didn’t let middle age keep her from slowing down. Even in her jeans and a simple black V-neck shirt, she looked put together, as if she was in the mall to shop on a Saturday afternoon instead of running a makeshift clinic.

  She had told him that she had originally been a nurse at the local medical clinic and default had put her in charge of the medial care here. She’d done her best to diagnosis what simple maladies she could but she had confided in him that not everyone here trusted her medical knowledge and wanted a doctor’s opinion.

  “Madison, the doctor will see you now,” Emily said and a young woman stood up, her hands clasped together in front of her as she haltingly walked towards him. She was a pretty woman with long honey coloured hair that complimented her tanned skin. She chewed on her full bottom lip, her dark eyes darting nervously between him and Emily.

  “Would you like me to come with you, honey?” Emily asked and the girl nodded, giving Emily a relieved look.

  Emily led her into the curtained exam room and had Madison sit on the cot as she stood beside her. Quinton took a seat on the stool across from the cot and gave Madison a closer look. She was dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt but he noticed that she wore make-up and had freshly painted nails.

  “What seems to be the problem?” Quinton asked.

  Madison looked up at his nervously and he saw her cheeks redden. “I’ve been having some...well, some problems when it comes to going to the bathroom.”

  “She’s been suffering from recurrent UTIs,” Emily told him, handing him the clipboard that had notes on Madison’s previous visits. “I’ve been giving her Septra for them but they seem to keep coming back.”

  He glanced over Emily’s neat handwriting, reading off the dates and treatments. “Are you currently sexually active?”

  Madison’s face turned red. “Why would you ask that?”

  “Intercourse can cause UTIs,” he told her. “Urinating immediately after intercourse can prevent them though.”

  “I’m living in the old As Seen On TV store with my parents and two other families,” she said. “All we’ve got are curtains to separate our beds.”

  He was about to remind her that a bed wasn’t exactly necessary but then her nose wrinkled up in disgust.

  “Besides, there aren’t any decent boys around here.”

  She might be embarrassed to talk to him about her urinary issues or admit to sex but the look on her face told him there wasn’t anything going on.

  “How many times a day are you urinating?” he asked.

  “Once a day.”

  Quinton frowned. “That’s not enough. You only feel like you need to go once a day?”

  She chewed on her bottom lip and nodded.

  “How much water are you drinking?” he asked. “You should be drinking at least a gallon a day to keep hydrated.”

  “Everyone is given a gallon jug of drinking water each day,” Emily told him before turning to Madison. “Your father comes every day to get your rations. He’s giving it to you, right?”

  “Of course!” Madison quickly assured her. “I get my jug every day, it’s just...I don’t drink all of it.”

  “Why not?” Quinton asked.

  “We only get showers every two days,” she said. “I don’t like to be dirty so I use some of the water to clean up.”

  “You shouldn’t be doing that,” Quinton said. “You need to drink that water to stay hydrated. That’s what is causing the UTIs.”

  “Isn’t there something I can take to help?”

  “We’ll give you some more Septra to clear up the current UTI but you have to think about prevention here. Drink a lot of water and as soon as you feel like you have to urinate, go right to the bathroom and go.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “We have to use Porta-Potties,” Madison hissed. “They are disgusting! They only empty them out once a day and that’s when I go.”

  Quinton looked at Emily and smiled. So there was the culprit. Not that he blamed the girl. They were lucky to have indoor plumbing out on the island, he couldn’t imagine what it would be like if he had to share Porta-Potties with more than a hundred other people.

  “Well, here’s a suggestion,” Quinton said. “If you don’t like the Porta-Potties, you can go the old fashioned way. Find yourself a make shift chamber pot and a private place. You’ll just have to handle disposing of your own waste.”

  The look of disgust on her face didn’t waver.

  “If you keep this up, you’re going to give yourself a kidney infection or worse,” Quinton told her. “This is a serious concern. You’re playing with your life here so you have to make a choice. Porta-potty, a bucket or ending up with kidney failure and dying.”

  The blood drained from Madison’s face and she looked at Emily, who nodded gravely in agreement.

  “Okay, I will,” Madison said in a shaky voice.

  Quinton reached into his pack and pulled out the bottle of Septra and shook out the dosage necessary to clear up the UTI into a Dixie cup. “Take two of these once a day until they’re gone. Drink your full gallon of water every day and you’ll be fine.”

  “Thank you.”

  The girl shot out of the exam room and Emily chuckled. “Madison is a bit...facetious. Though I can’t really blame her, those bathrooms are disgusting but you do what you have to do. Hopefully she’ll listen to you.”

  “Threat of death usually works,” Quinton said, “And this way you won’t be depleting your supply of Septra.”

  “Which I appreciate. I try my best to use the medications we have sparingly. The last thing I need is someone causing sickness on purpose.”

  “You seem to be doing okay,” Quinton said. They had left the rear of the pharmacy intact and when Emily had taken him on a tour of the place he had noted that the shelves behind the long counter had been almost fully stocked.

  “For now,” she replied, “But we’ll run out eventually.”

  He noted the way she worried at the ring on her right hand, twirling it around and around. He understood her worries, they were the same ones that had kept him up at night.

  “You have been very kind to offer your own medicine up,” she said. “I know how much it’s worth.”

  “It’s the trade we made,” Quinton told her.

  “From what Darren told me, the deal was you offering your medical expertise, no mention of medicine.”

  Quinton shrugged his shoulders. “The expertise doesn’t mean much if you can’t also offer up the cure.
”

  “But you could leverage more from us if you wanted,” Emily said and for a moment he felt like this was an interrogation but when he searched her eyes he saw admiration looking back at him. “You are good people.”

  Quinton pulled back his shoulders, his chest puffing out slightly with the praise. His ego had taken a few too many blows the last month and hearing someone call him a good person gave it the punch up it needed. He’d let Janet’s judgements on him cut deep and had punished himself for it. Maybe it was time to remember that he wasn’t a monster. He might have made a mistake but that didn’t erase the good things he had done.

  “We’re just trying to do what is right,” Quinton said. “An alliance between our groups doesn’t just benefit us. It sets an example of what could be. If we make it work, it will make other likeminded groups want to ally themselves with us.”

  Emily stared at him as she considered his words and he noticed that her hazel eyes had more flecks of green than he had first thought. Her pink lips curled into a smile, revealing a glimpse of straight white teeth, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I need to start thinking of the big picture.”

  “I feel like all I’ve been thinking is big picture,” Quinton said with a sigh. “I have a tendency to lose sight of the smaller things.”

  Emily studied him and he suddenly felt exposed. “Are you okay?”

  He let out an embarrassed chuckle that she’d been able to read him so easily.

  “I’m fine. Personal problems that seem petty next to everything else.”

  “I don’t think your personal problems can be considered petty,” Emily said. “If they are affecting you, they can’t be petty.”

  “It’s stupid really,” Quinton admitted. “I should be over it already. I gambled and I lost. I knew it was possible so I should have been ready to accept it. I made my choice knowing what I was risking. I just didn’t know it would be this hard.”

  “Why do I have the feeling you’re talking about a woman?” Emily asked with a smirk.

  Quinton smiled. “Because you’re observant.”