by Heskett, Jim
He kept thinking about the last time he had seen Ember, four days ago, at his apartment. The fact that she'd had a burner phone and a roll of money ready for him. Had she acquired those things specifically to give to him, or did she happen to drive around with an extra phone ready at all times?
He couldn’t find the right place to put that image where it made sense. How and why did she have those things?
Who was Ember Clarke, and why could Zach never feel okay with her explanation of what she did for a living? Why couldn’t he force his trust to become absolute?
Those questions didn't matter. Whoever she was, Zach needed her. He knew that much. Hiding out in a motel room in Denver was not within his comfort zone. He wished she was standing there with him, helping him figure out what to do next. Ember had a strangely calming presence with her snarky jokes and alluring grin. She made him feel like everything would be okay, even if the facts suggested otherwise.
He missed the way her lips felt against his. He missed the way she seemed smaller and more vulnerable when nestled against him for a hug. So many things about this maddeningly mysterious woman only made him want her more.
Ember was like the sort of person in a lab-type class when the prof asked everyone to split up into discussion groups of four or five. She would automatically become any small group's de facto leader, without anyone having to nominate her. It would just happen.
Zach wished he had a “leader” right now. He didn’t want to make decisions. He didn’t want to be responsible for choosing the right path, when he had never faced a situation like this before in his life.
Death was a real possible outcome here. Thinking about it too much would cause a panic attack, for sure.
He’d been in a situation before when he’d felt completely helpless, back when his dad had died. But he had been a kid then, just a nine-year-old boy. No one expected a kid to be able to cope well with the brutal and gruesome death of your father, and no one expected a nine-year-old to parse the situation and see it objectively.
Their father had always been that “leader,” for him and for his older brother Harvey. He’d been a north star, a strong, unmoving presence. Zach longed for that right now. He longed for anything remotely like that, but he knew he was alone in this.
Zach had to assume Helmut and Thomas Milligan would find him eventually. They seemed to know everything. How long until they came knocking on this door, and Thomas decreed Zach was not allowed to quit? What would they do then? Put a bullet in the back of his head?
Zach picked up the phone one more time. No messages. No missed calls.
Where was she?
Chapter Twenty-Five
GABE
Gabe faced the server rack, frozen, with both his hands clutching his open backpack. He listened to the settling of boots behind him, the clanging of implements on belts, and the clicking mechanisms of pistols being drawn. He didn’t want to turn around yet until he’d had a deliberate pause to think it through.
"Put your hands above your head," said a voice behind him.
Gabe lifted his left hand high above while his right hand snaked into his backpack. He didn’t want to release it yet. Not until he had completed his mission in this room. It didn’t matter who was pointing a gun at him.
He would not leave this place until he had what he’d come for.
"Both hands!"
He did not comply. There was one more utility in his bag that might help. He'd thrown it in last-minute, knowing it was small and lightweight and wouldn't take up much space. He snatched it and pulled it free.
Gabe now clutched a small firework, the size of an egg. One of the cheap overpriced kinds, with an open spout on one end and a pull string on the other. It wouldn't do much in the way of damage, but he hadn't planned on using it to protect himself.
Instead, he needed the distraction it might provide.
He whirled around and pointed it at them. There were three security guards, two of them with guns drawn. Instead of shooting, their eyes flicked down, all three looking puzzled at the little object in his hand.
A big gamble that they wouldn’t shoot first. He didn’t have any other choice.
Gabe pulled back on the string, and crackling gunpowder ejected from the spout of the firework, igniting as it left the end of the cone. It flew out with a loud popping sound and a satisfying fog of smoke that enveloped the three guards in less than a second.
He didn’t wait for them to react; he was in motion before the smoke began to settle. Cheap fireworks didn’t last long.
Gabe turned back around and snatched all the hard drives within reach and shoved them into his backpack. There was only enough room for four of them, so the fifth he left on the rack. He couldn’t see which ones he was grabbing — whether they were essential backup drives or something completely useless to his cause.
His window to steal the goods was almost closed. In another second, the smoke would clear enough for reasonable visibility, and they would either shoot him or push forward to grab him.
Backpack now stuffed full of clanking metal and half-unzipped, he pulled the bag close to his body to protect it. He dashed toward the security guards, still coughing through the dissipating cloud of smoke. It smelled like rust in here.
Gabe rushed into them headfirst, lining up the tackle like his high school football coach had taught him, knocking one back and allowing him access to the hallway. A hand shot out from his right and tried to latch onto his shoulder, but Gabe shrugged it off and pushed back against another one. In close quarters, he now knew they wouldn’t shoot. Not with all this sensitive gear around.
But once he separated from them, he made himself a target. Gabe had to hurry.
He planted his feet and pushed off toward the right, back along the same route he'd used a couple of days ago during his scouting of this third floor. The break room would be one more right turn. The stairs down to the lobby were past that. He didn't know if this was the fastest way out of the building, but he knew exactly which turns to take here.
A pistol shot rocketed inches over his left shoulder. He could feel the air of the spinning bullet just past his ear.
Holy crap.
He hadn't expected them to start firing immediately — it would be a risky move in a building where a few people might still be around. The late-night cleaning crew, at least.
The guards were now shouting, their boots stomping the floor, but Gabe did not look back. Three more steps to the open door on the right. More scathing bellows from the mob. Another pistol blast rang out and echoed down the hallway, followed by one more in quick succession.
He ducked right, into the break room. He clutched the backpack in front of him like a child in need of a diaper change. If he damaged these hard drives, then it was all for nothing.
Gabe leaped over a couch and then ducked into the kitchen area, setting his sights on the back door. Another blast of a pistol cracked the glass of a soda machine to his right. If they shot up the giant television, it would come out of someone’s salary.
Gabe pushed off the nearby wall and raced for the door. Two more steps to freedom, unless there were more of these guys already in place downstairs, waiting for him. Given how high-tech everything was around here, he was surprised they didn’t have giant metal blast doors in place to slam down and trap him. Maybe those were slated for the next round of building renovations.
Through the door, he entered the dark stairwell. His shaking hands managed to hoist the backpack aloft so he could zip it closed. He threw the bulky mass over his shoulder as he thundered down the steps. He could hear those hard drives bouncing around back there. The platters and casings might already have already broken into pieces, but he couldn’t afford to complete an inventory check with armed guards hauling ass after him.
But, he had to hope they were still okay.
Gabe heard the door open above and behind him when he hit the second-floor landing in the stairwell, so he pushed himself down, one arm bracing the wall to keep him
self from tripping. First floor, he slammed a shoulder into the door. He found himself in the hallway he had inspected the other day. No squad of guards waiting for him, no pretty receptionist smiling at him. Just a quiet, empty building in after-hours mode.
Gabe sprinted out into the hallway to connect him with the main lobby. This late, the room was still lit up, but only with muted running lights along the floor and ceiling. The friendly, automated kiosks were also casting light, begging to be of assistance. By the time he had reached the hallway across the lobby, he had started to think he might actually make it.
Behind him, he heard the door to the stairwell open, but he had a hundred-foot lead on them now.
Five more steps. Dodging a kiosk on the right, then another on the left, like a giant tablet obstacle course. He hated to think of the incriminating things he’d left behind on the roof, but too late to remedy that now.
As he pressed open the front door of the Golden Branch Post Office, he tossed a look back over his shoulder. The three security guards were situated at the far end of the lobby, racing toward him. Guns not drawn. Maybe they didn’t want to shoot up their precious new kiosks.
Gabe exited the building to find himself in what appeared to be the early stages of a full-on blizzard. The heavy snowfall of a few minutes ago had now gone nuclear. Snow whipping around his face, making it hard to see more than five feet in front of him. A gust nearly took him to his knees, and he hugged the backpack tight to keep from dropping it.
It didn't matter what the weather did. No time. The guards were still coming. Probably by now, more of them.
He raced toward his car across the street, checking behind him every few seconds. With all the white chaos in the air, if they had exited by the front door, they wouldn’t have been able to identify him now.
Had they seen his face? Undoubtedly.
But, if Gabe could extract the right data from these hard drives, it wouldn't matter anymore.
Chapter Twenty-Six
EMBER
DAY SIX
Ember woke to the sound of the earth in turmoil. Her only conduit to the outside world came via the milky view she had through the single window in the room, high up on the wall near the bed. Frosted glass allowed a small amount of light in, but she could not see out. She would see shadows there from time to time, such as the spidery lines from a tree close to the window.
Today, when she looked out the window, she saw the lines of that tree thrashing about. Winds whipped around the house, and although Ember couldn’t see it, she had a strong notion the outside world was full of writhing snow. Maybe six or nine or more inches deep by now.
Last winter, a blizzard had assaulted Denver. Ember had been caught out on the highway, and it had taken her four hours to drive ten miles from Lafayette to Boulder. For some reason, this felt like the same scenario—a sheen of white falling from the sky, winds turning the snow into walls in every direction.
When she neared the window, she could feel the cold bleeding through. Hadn’t Veronica said something the day before about a blizzard coming? It was definitely here. These concrete walls couldn’t hide the sound of the elements pelting the structure. Above her head, wooden floorboards creaked.
Ember stood and stretched, which rippled pain up and down the left side of her body. Veronica’s beating had not broken any bones, but these bruises would take a while to dissipate. And while every movement caused an ache in a new direction, Ember still made sure she loosened all of her muscles.
This blizzard was something different. Ember thought of that quote about how a crisis was the intersection of danger and opportunity.
Something dark smacked against the window. Ember jumped. Then, again. Ember focused with all her might to see through the frosty color. A series of rapid-fire whips came against the glass. After a few beats to consider, Ember realized it was tree branches. The blizzard was whipping the tree around, lashing the lower branches against this ground-level window. Sizable branches, too, given the deep and chunky bass in each of those thuds.
Another smack came from a branch, this one the biggest of all, perfectly nailing the center of the window. The glass appeared to quiver for a second. She thought she saw a hairline crack appear in the top corner.
A fraction of an inch long and not very deep, but she could see it.
Another blast of the tree branch made the window shudder, and she got an idea. The hair stood on the back of Ember’s neck. Here was the opportunity hidden inside the crisis.
“This is it,” Ember said.
Not ideal conditions outside, obviously. When she got out there, she might be disoriented, turned around, not able to see more than a couple of feet in any direction. She would need a bit of luck to help her out.
She hopped over to the clothes closet and selected a hoodie and then a thick pair of socks. Since she had no shoes, she added a second pair of socks, the thickest ones she could find in there—no hat or gloves.
It would have to do. Veronica hadn’t gifted her too much in the way of escape clothes for blizzard conditions.
Ember yanked the mattress off her bed, grunting from the pain the exertion caused her. She dragged it over to the wall underneath the window. Had to hurry. There was a good chance Veronica was watching her on a hidden security feed somewhere. Which meant that at any second, she could press that omnipotent button, magnetizing Ember to the floor and rendering all of this effort useless.
Ember placed the mattress against the wall, then she scrambled up to the top of it, even with the window. She held up her right hand and tensed her arm. This needed all her strength, or whatever was left of it.
She had tried to break through the glass on her first day here, but the window had seemed too thick. Maybe now, with this existing fracture on the far side of the window, it might finally give way. The branch must have finally broken because it was no longer pelting the outside.
Ember would have to do the rest herself.
She drove a wrist cuff at the window crack as hard as she could. Then again. And again.
Fifteen whacks later, something crunched.
Splintering lines appeared as tendrils seeping out from the main crack. Still tiny, still not enough to puncture through.
She hit it again. More cracks. Again.
The edges of them were now connecting with each other. She could feel the glass weakening with each blow, pain radiating up and down Ember’s exhausted body.
Another hit. A triangle of glass broke and flew out when two cracks merged at a point. Ember could now see a real outside view for the first time in five days. She had not been a hundred percent sure she’d actually been inside a house until that point.
But there it was—the outside world. Filled with a swirling mass of white snow, but there it was.
A rush of biting wind pushed in her face, massive snowflakes melting on her skin and making her blink against the force of the moisture. Ember bared her teeth and hit the window several more times, knocking out more hunks glass out until she wouldn’t cut herself. Grunting, teeth clenched, she squeezed her body through the tiny space, ignoring the bruised limbs begging her to stop.
With one look back at the stairs, Ember grabbed hold of the frozen earth and dragged her legs through after her. Outside. The real world.
There, all around, Ember saw nothing but white. Slivers of black throughout could have been trees, or faraway mountains, or anything.
Spirals of snow danced in front of her. She assumed this was the backyard of Veronica’s house, but there was no way to be sure. Aside from the broken tree limbs on the ground, she could see no houses or cars or even streets.
A gust of wind attempted to knock Ember off her feet, and she spread her legs to steady them. She pointed her ears for the sounds of cars, but she could hear nothing except for the wind.
Nothing but snow in front of her eyes. Compared to what she had experienced in last year's blizzard, this was pure insanity: a total and complete white-out in every direction.
Then, a rubber mask went over her mouth, forcing some foul-smelling chemical into her lungs. Her hands went to the mask, but her limbs felt heavy, and she couldn't compel her hands to grip.
Her fingers touched the mask, then fell away, falling into soft pillows of white. Ember tried to hold her breath and twist away, but it was too late. She felt herself slowing, growing tired.
The white around her turned to black. Her eyes shut tight, and the world disappeared down the drain.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
GABE
Gabe had driven a mile or two from the Golden Branch Post Office before he had to pull over. Navigating the roads had gone from rough to untenable in no time at all. Luckily, he kept a sleeping bag in the trunk for just such an occasion. One of the few things his father had taught him that Gabe could now feel grateful for: the emergency supply kit in the trunk. The “prepper” mentality completely fit with his love of gadgetry, and though he didn’t fully fit the when-the-shit-hits-the-fan mold of the popular stereotype, he had indulged himself in bolstering his dad’s idea of keeping a small “bug-out” bag in the car.
So, he'd slept in the back seat, huddled in his sleeping bag, as snow coated his car and winds rocked it for most of the night. At least the snow covering would act as camouflage. If the Golden Branch security team were out looking for him, he would be indistinguishable from the half-dozen other cars pulled over on the road for the night.
In the morning, bleary from repeated interruptions to sleep, he sat up in the back. He cracked a window and took a handful of snow to rub over his face to wake him. It reminded him of camping with inadequate equipment: waking every few minutes, tossing and turning, and finding no comfortable position, hoping for dawn.
