by Jeannie Rae
“Where is the rest of the core task force?” James requested.
“Walker is in quarantine. I haven’t heard from Shotgun in almost two hours, he should be bringing in the father and sister anytime now. Other than us, they’re gone sir,” Randy explained.
“I’m sorry to hear about your team,” James stood with a disappointing sigh. He strode to Randy and shook his hand firmly, giving him a firm pat on the shoulder. “Let’s make sure that their sacrifices were not in vain. I’ve just heard some troubling news. It seems that Dr. Brandenburg and our guests have left the premises. They made their escape nearly an hour ago.”
“Sir, that’s impossible. Rhino only left his post, outside the doc’s lab, to come up here…four minutes ago. I have security in force down at the gate. There is no way they made it out. We’re in a perimeter lockdown,” Randy’s voice spiked. He went to the glass wall and looked out. “He’s there. Brody’s down there, in the booth.”
James looked over Randy’s shoulder, and could see the security officer standing in the booth at the gate.
Nodding his head, James said, “Indeed, he is there and has been. I’m not sure how Mara slipped out of her lab, but your man down there confirmed that it was Dr. Brandenburg that led the others out. Our guests pointed a gun in his face. He had no choice but to allow them to leave. His fear led him to keep quiet for the last hour, but his guilt forced him to come forward. Gentlemen, will you kindly give Randy and I a moment?”
“We took their weapons when they arrived. They’re still in the security office.” Randy looked to James with confusion, as Rhino and Junior exited the office.
“I can’t tell you how they got the weapons, but I can tell you that I do believe your gate keeper. He has no reason to let them out. And your men are nothing, if not obedient. The fact remains that they have left. I need them back here. They know entirely too much about the infection and can become quite a thorn in my side—well—our side, if not quieted,” James sat down in his chair and leaned over the desk.
Randy’s facial expression changed suddenly, as if he’d just figured out a trivia question, “Do you want them all to come back to Angora?”
James smiled, Randy was right on track. “I would like Dr. Brandenburg to make it back. And that Harper girl. It has come to my attention that you have taken an interest in this girl. I understand her to have a similar condition to yours with respect to The Phoenix Compound. Would you feel comfortable guiding her through the effects that come along with it?” James inquired.
“Yes, sir, I would,” Randy responded with a confident smirk.
“Very well, then. You will need to come up with a more tactful approach. I heard about the incident on the seventh floor between you two. Remember, you catch more flies with honey. As for the rest, they need not come back here. I trust that you will see to it that they do not speak about the infection.”
“Understood, sir. We’ll make sure that they do not speak to anyone, anymore,” Randy’s lowered his chin, his eyes glaring up at James mischievously.
Although the remaining time to evacuate the building loomed closer, James displayed no sign of panic at the current situation. A puzzle solver at heart, James exuded confidence and poise in the most extreme of predicaments. Over the years, he’d brought on dedicated personnel, that he trusted—personnel that not only had high stakes in Angora, but high stakes of their own in the balance. That had been the key to his success, motivating others to get the job done, no matter how sticky things became.
“Yesterday’s retirement party went off without a hitch. The media outlets are reporting that it was a suicide with no signs of foul play. Well done,” James said with a smirk. “There is no need to be discrete this time. Port Steward will burn tonight, destroying everything. Just make sure you handle it quickly. Our last helicopter will be leaving no later than eleven, make sure you’re back in time with Brandenburg and Harper.”
The black SUV sped from the parking garage, tires screaming on the last turn. As it approached the security booth at the gate, the vehicle screeched to a halt. The passenger door flew open with such fury that it rebounded, slamming closed. Randy’s wrathful body language could be read even from this distance, as he rounded the front of the vehicle entering the booth with the young guard. There appeared to be some sort of scuffle, but the scene was too far away for James to see it clearly. He was certain that Randy must be teaching that kid a lesson for allowing Mara and the others escape.
Angora security guards are all adequately trained and should easily be capable of controlling any encountered scenario. Confident that Randy would take care of this little quandary, James turned back, peering down at the eleven o’clock deadline written in the datebook on his desk. Looking at his watch, he could see it that he only had a couple hours until the deadline. We are cutting this close, he thought reaching for his phone.
“Amy, I need you to brief me on how the evacuation of the staff is progressing,” James inquired, holding down the intercom button on his telephone.
“Um… it is going smoothly,” she squeaked hesitantly.
Disapproving of her vague answer, James hungered for more details. If she’d answered with a definitive statement, it would have put my mind at ease, but this is Amy after all.
“Can you give me figures Amy? I would like to know how many staff members are still in the building and how many have arrived at our headquarters in Blue Falls. Additionally, I need to know the status of the evacuation of the ninth floor and patient zero,” he said sharply.
“Well, sir, ninth floor experiments and staff were fully evacuated first, along with Mr. Walker—I mean patient zero. And well, I...I don’t exactly have all the figures in front of me. May I call you back? I need to check in with the security desk and the helicopter company,” she stammered.
“Amy you have sixty seconds to call me back. This is something that you should be on top of. I would think that you would take a task, such as evacuating the faculty from the building due to the health threat outside our walls, very seriously. Sixty seconds!” he pressed the release button on the intercom, while liberating a robust sigh.
He sat back in his chair viewing Port Steward once more. He thought of Mara. The passion behind her initial reaction hadn’t been anticipated, but it was understandable. It must have been quite a shock to receive so much earth-rattling information all at once. Even now, his trust in Mara didn’t falter. And as always, he had a back-up strategy. This was actually back-up plan number four for the current Phoenix Compound issue. At times, some must be sacrificed on the quest for greatness and power. Not everyone understands that. But this plan may even be better than the original. A sly smile appeared to him, being his reflection in the glass. This plan, like the others before it, and possibly—the ones after, depends on the effectiveness and drive of others. Only time will tell now.
His intercom buzzed in alert. Pressing the speaker phone again, “Go ahead Amy.”
“Yes, um, sir, sixty-five percent of the staff has been evacuated. There are two helicopters en route to Blue Falls and two that are on their way back,” Amy said meekly.
“That’s it? Are you positive about those numbers?” James looked down at his watch again. “We should be at ninety percent by now. We contracted five helicopters, Amy. Where is the other one?”
“It went down, about a mile and a half from here. The dispatch isn’t sure what happened, they radioed that someone on board became erratic. The other passengers were trying to subdue the man, but that was the last they had heard. One of the other pilots confirmed from the air that it went down in the city. That’s why we haven’t been able to evacuate the numbers as expected,” she said.
“Who was on the chopper that went down?” James demanded, pulling up the staff list on his laptop.
“It wasn’t any of our people. They were evacuating the mayor and his family, before landing at Angora. This all happened about ten minutes before the first helicopter landed here,” she explained.
“No sir, they notified me of the helicopter loss, only minutes after it occurred. I was making sure that everything was set on the—”
“See Amy, this is why you should have been all over this from the second I delegated this task to you. I should have been made aware of this, hours ago. We need another helicopter. Make it two, since we are so close to the deadline. I don’t think you understand that there is a time limit that the colonel has given us to adhere to. Meaning, whoever is still here at eleven o’clock, will not be leaving. Please make a note Amy, that you will not be stepping onto a helicopter until everyone has been evacuated.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
It had been nearly an hour since the sun had vanished along the horizon. Long gone were the amethyst and carroty blush upon the evening sky, in their place, a blanket of navy—speckled with winking stars in the cosmos. The night air felt warm and sticky as Roxy kept her eyes focused on the street, below her rooftop perch. Her nostrils felt sore from inhaling the toxic-smelling air. In the distance she could hear commotion. Squeals for help, broken and crackling glass, shuffling feet and the growls and groans—the latter sending chills down her spine. She would catch a glimpse of Dave every now and again, but she knew he couldn’t hear those sounds; they were too far away for his hearing to detect. She had concentrated on Dave a half dozen times since taking her post on the rooftop. She could focus her hearing on him and hear his heartbeat and breathing from across the roof. Trying to pass the time, she’d even attempted to listen for the heartbeats of her friends inside the store, but it proved too difficult. But when she focused on them, she had the ability to differentiate the sounds that each of them made, such as Mattie tapping his boot, or Mara letting her head fall against the glass as she looked out or Lynn taking a deep sigh and lighting another cigarette. She knew where each of them were positioned within the store. Mattie hadn’t budged from his spot, Mara had shifted down to the middle of her wall, and Lynn was now over near Mattie. They’d been whispering about something for the last few minutes. The ladies had long since settled in and made very little sound, most likely sleeping.
“Don't y'all think it's been too long?” Mattie asked, his voice sounding stale over the radio.
“Roxy,” Dave said turning to her. “Maybe we should go looking for them. It has been a while.”
“Which way would we go Dave?” She snapped, throwing her hands up.
She could feel her blood starting to simmer, as she wiped her hands over her clammy face. She didn't want to alienate Dave, after having him on her side every expended step of the way, but now a sudden feeling of hopelessness consumed her. For the first time since this crisis had begun, she felt as if everything was spiraling out of control, wondering if finding her family could even be a reality at this point.
Dave said nothing, just shrugged his shoulders in defeat.
She reached down to the radio in her belt loop, “I don't know Mattie. Listen, I have to stay. I have nowhere else to go. My Dad and Kate are all I have,” she croaked, fighting back the tears.
“And I’ll wait here until the end of time if that's how long it takes,” she released the button, took a deep breath and pressed it in again. “You guys can go. You guys should go. Thank you for everything, but you really should go and get to safety.”
Lowering her head with tears in her eyes, and rubbing her forehead, she waited—but heard no response. She knew that they must be discussing it down there. Her mind was too unsettled for her to focus on whether or not they were whispering again. Feeling Dave's eyes penetrating through the back of her skull, she turned her head, her eyes meeting his. He had a crooked grin on his face that made her smile.
“What?” She asked bashfully.
“Nothing,” he looked away. "You’re a good person Roxy."
“Roxy-” Mattie called.
“Go ahead, Mattie.”
“Um, uh, well…Lynn and I are, uh…we're gonna go,” he paused. “Mara‘s gonna stay behind down here to keep a look out. And don't you forget, she's gotta car. So when your family gets here, y'all will have a ride. It’ll be tight in that itty-bitty car of hers, but it’ll do the job.”
“Okay.” It was all Roxy could get out without bursting into tears.
“Okay, well…good luck. I know your daddy and your sister will be along soon. We'll see ya on the other side. Oh, and there’s this little restaurant, next town up, in Bayberry Hollow. Just a little hole in the wall, called Dizzy’s Café. Let's meet there for lunch tomorrow. Just to make sure we all make it out.”
“Okay, Mattie. Thanks again for everything,” tears rolled down her cheeks, as she tightened her lips in an effort to stop herself from crying.
A few moments later she heard the familiar squeak of Mattie’s door opening and then she heard the sound of something quite different. A faint pulsation rumbled in the distance, Roxy’s mind reeled, before recognizing the sound. Angora’s gate was opening.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
After pulling over behind an ATV repair shop and wasting valuable time, Hank and Joe had bandaged up Shotgun’s leg with a couple of old tee shirts from behind Hank’s seat. It had cost them precious time to find a safe place to park, clean the wound and get the shirts to stay in place, amidst Shotgun’s writhing. But now, just minutes after the entire production, the shirts were soaked in blood. The cost had not only been in time and blood-loss, but daylight as well. The darkness had crept in on them, leaving an opportunity for runners and roamers to lurk in the shadows of obscurity.
Shotgun had been having difficult situating himself in the back of the pickup, to get in a more comfortable position. He had refused Joe’s many offers to assist him, expressing that his tremendous pain felt too great.
“Hank, we got to move. He is losing too much blood. We need to get him to that lab,” Joe turned his attention to Shotgun, “Will they be able to help you there?”
Shotgun nodded, clenching his jaw, allowing puffs of air to escape through flaring nostrils.
“I should have known that they would be in a full quarantine by now,” Shotgun grunted.
The transmission clanked as Hank put the truck in gear and headed toward Angora. Joe looked through the open back window at Kate, who flashed a tense, sideways-grin back at him from the passenger seat. He scanned distance, while the truck barreled down the streets. With his hand on his weapon, he waited for it, the mob. He knew he would see them any time now. They had out-drove the mob quite some time ago, but Joe was certain that they hadn’t disbursed. Street after street and turn after turn, he saw only a few roamers and even fewer normal people. He felt surprised that he hadn’t seen the downed helicopter yet. He looked to the sky, a dreary sight. Thick black smoke slithered through the air between buildings. Helicopters circling overhead lit up the dark evening sky with their red, blue and white lights. He wondered if they were stopping anywhere, picking up survivors and carrying them off to safety beyond the borders of the Port Steward.
“Where are we Hank? Is this the same way we came?” Joe looked around, trying to get his bearings, but from the back of the truck, and now, in the dark, a sense of disorientation swallowed him.
“Nope, this is my route, heading straight downtown. I shaved two blocks off the end, this way, cross your fingers, we might just miss the whole crash scene and hopefully the crowd—if they’re still together—or we could run right into them,” Hank kept tight hands on the wheel, looking back at Joe only for a moment.
Turning up the last street on the block, refuse and tangled vehicles cluttered the road. With Angora in view, only two or three blocks down, the streets were dammed with vehicles, making it impossible for the truck to pass. Besides, they were west of Angora, and the gate stood on another side. On their quick pass of the next street, there were roamers shuffling about. They didn’t seem focused on anything in particular. Joe turned his head the other direction, several blocks down, a familiar sight c
aught his eye. A vast plume of smoke and part of a propeller—illuminated by the long lasting fire from the helicopter crash site had a growing crowd of infected that could rival the mob at the carnival.
“I’m gonna circle around to the other side and see if there is a clear path from the front of the building,” Hank declared.
They sped through the intersection and followed the road about four blocks down and made a left onto I street. Joe could feel the pace of the truck reduce as they passed the streets that led down to the lab. He observantly inspected each, trying to find a way. Passing 12th street, few ordinary people could be spotted looting the small stores, fighting with one another and even attacking what few roamers shuffled about. The looters had electronics and cases of water in hand, running through the street, as if it were a race. A jack-knifed diesel truck blocked 11th street, and four people ran down the street, followed closely by two runners. With not many ordinary people on 10th street, roamers ruled the road, scattered all the way down as far as Joe could see. Each street seemed impenetrable, if not for infected, then looters or abandoned and wrecked vehicles along the way. Hank followed the road down about five blocks past the lab, and then made a U-turn, traveling back toward the lab. Joe stole a glance at Shotgun’s wound, blood leaked from the makeshift dressing into a pool beneath his leg. Urgently, Joe scanned the streets that they had already passed looking for a clear path to the lab. The truck turned on Seventh Street, pulling over on the corner.
Hank turned around, looking at Joe, “The truck isn’t gonna make it any closer than this. We are going to have foot-it from here. I don’t see any infected on this street, but there are too many cars in the way to try to drive,” Hank said, shaking his head with a hasty sigh. “How’s he doing? You think he can he make it? It’s a straight shot from here Joe. The gate’s right down there.”
Joe looked down the street. He could see the gates, they were about eight blocks down he guessed. It may as well be eight miles. Shotgun’s face had drained of all color—the grisly wound on his thigh was taking its toll. He doubted it would support any weight, not to mention the weakened state he must be in, due to blood loss. He’d already lost so much blood, and the prospect of him trying to walk on it, could be a death sentence.
