“Really?” he said, quickly adding. “That doesn’t sound like him.”
“A small group managed to slip past the sensors on the northern side. Mr. Pope spotted them first and opened fire.”
“How did they get rid of the abby?” said Pilcher.
“They shot the thing a few dozen times inside the Humvee. I guess they had pieces of brain on the roof and blood everywhere. We had to run some cleaning supplies out so they could see through the windows,” said Upshaw.
“Thank you for the colorful description during my lunch,” said Pilcher.
“Sorry, sir. I just wanted to make you aware of the situation. Marcus says Mr. Pope prevented a serious disaster. They were still loading up the construction team when the abbies hit.”
“Then we’ll have to congratulate Pope on a job well done when he returns today,” said Pilcher, pausing. “And, Ted, can you make sure that Pope is assigned to a different vehicle. I had planned to spend a few hours in the field tomorrow, and Pope will be my escort. I’d rather not spend the day in a hastily cleaned charnel house.”
“Sir, I suggest you postpone any field visits until they work the bugs out of the security arrangement. They’ve had several close calls.”
Pilcher considered his warning. How an abby managed to get inside one of the vehicles stretched the limit of his imagination. Only sheer negligence made sense, unless Pope had been right about the turret hatches. He really hoped that wasn’t the case. Seeing Pope’s smug I told you so face would be intolerable.
“I promised the construction crew I would be there when they reached the halfway point. I intend to keep my promise.”
A long pause developed on the line.
“I suspect they won’t reach the halfway point tomorrow, sir. They haven’t reached the quarter-mile point. Black’s last report stated eleven hundred and sixty feet.”
“What? I thought they passed the thirteen-hundred-foot marker earlier this morning,” said Pilcher, squeezing his steak knife.
“Marcus’s team placed sensors out to thirteen hundred feet. He was a few minutes from deploying the next string of sensors,” said Upshaw.
“And now?”
“Marcus announced a one-hour delay while they let the area cool off. Pope agreed.”
“I guess I’m not part of the decision-making process anymore. Very well. I’ll be down in a few moments to speak with Pope,” he said, hanging up the phone.
He placed the handset on the table and looked at Pam.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but the sheriff of Wayward Pines lives.”
Her grin faded slightly.
“Sir, shall I put the final touches on dessert?” interrupted Chef Tim, appearing in the kitchen doorway.
“I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite,” said Pilcher.
“Anything for you, Pam?”
She shook her head. Of course not.
Chapter 54
Marcus sat quietly behind Pope in the Humvee, listening to him regale Mr. Pilcher with tales of bravery and quick decision-making—more like cowardice and hesitation. He’d coaxed the real story out of the driver. Granted, Pope’s first foray out of the vehicle had been fortuitous. Letting his compulsive drive for self-preservation momentarily override his fear, Pope put himself in a position to prevent a morale-crushing event: the slaughter of one or more members of the fence-construction crew.
Call it luck. Pretend it was bravery. Marcus didn’t care. The attack appeared to have a “come to Jesus” effect on Pope, tempering his support for Pilcher’s ruthless timeline. With some of the downward pressure relieved, the entire construction proceeded at a safe and efficient pace. The occasional attacks continued, but they hadn’t experienced a close call in more than thirteen hours of construction—an all-time record.
The Humvee approached a tall, metal pole protruding from the middle of the woodchip-covered road.
“Up ahead you can see the post Marcus’s team added to the sensor array after the attack. We think the abbies used the road to approach the construction site. Our array used to start east of the road. Now it goes all the way to the cliff wall,” said Pope, pointing toward the looming rock wall to their right.
“Excellent. It looks like the reports indicate a reduction in serious attacks.”
Serious attacks? Spoken like a true pencil pusher. Marcus hoped he didn’t use those words in his speech today.
“We’ve seen a complete elimination of opportunistic attacks, like the one two days ago,” said Marcus, careful not to take it any further.
Marcus wasn’t convinced the abbies had randomly stumbled onto the only breach in their sensor array. The abbies didn’t strike him as the type of predator to move in the open, especially against capable prey. It might make sense if they were dealing with a “human naïve” pack or herd, but the creatures north of the construction line had chosen to ignore the diversionary explosives, suggesting a familiarity with human tactics.
He couldn’t prove his theory, but the abbies attacking from the north demonstrated signs of organized problem solving. Twice, the northern sensor array lit up like a Christmas tree, indicating multiple points of intrusion—only to yield a small attack. The sensors counted the same number retreating, minus the creatures killed, but something didn’t sit right with Marcus. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the abbies were somehow leaving a few behind while probing their defenses. They’d done it before, on a smaller scale, around the hatch. Covering the access road with motion sensors improved morale, but Marcus remained skeptical.
“Well, we must have plugged a gap they were…stumbling across,” said Pilcher, clearly avoiding a word that might imply purposeful scheming.
“The security team continues to take every precaution possible to ensure the safety of Mr. Black’s construction team,” said Marcus. “We won’t let our guard down until the fence is energized and every square inch of Wayward Pines has been searched.”
“Once the fence is energized, we’re going to have a crispy-critter festival,” said Pope. “Might put you out of a job, Marcus.”
His cocky remark referred to the plan to detonate the remaining diversionary explosives and lure any abbies north of the fence to their deaths. The idea was sure to draw some of the creatures into the fence, but not all of them.
“I don’t foresee a threat to Marcus’s job security any time soon,” said Pilcher. “Is everyone assembled?”
“Yes, sir. Mr. Black is offloading the crews as we speak,” said Pope. “We’re almost at the fence. It’s about a two-minute drive from there.”
Through the rear passenger-side window, Marcus caught a glimpse of the clearing ahead, and the twenty-foot-tall, rectangular-paneled fence. The sun glinted off the razor wire coiled along the top. The barrier looked formidable, but represented little challenge for an abby. The sooner they got this thing humming, the better. Combined with the motion sensors, the fence would provide a sanctuary for the last vestiges of humanity—after his team swept the enclosed ground for predators. The Humvee turned, driving parallel to the fence.
“Marcus, what are your thoughts about the durability of the fence? Specifically against a large-scale attack?”
“Like a herd?” said Marcus.
“Precisely.”
“I think we need to do everything in our power to keep a herd out of the valley. On a day-to-day, month-to-month basis, this fence will keep them out, as long as they don’t get creative and try to climb the rocks. I’m worried about a few of the smaller canyons leading out of the boulder fields on each side of the valley. We’ll need to survey those for entry points. We don’t want to give them a back door into our home,” said Marcus.
“Once the fence is established, we’ll work on sealing up the cracks,” said Pilcher, leaning his head between the headrests. “Where is everyone?”
“We arranged the security vehicles in a tight perimeter around the crew. They’re waiting for us.”
“That won’t do,” muttered Pilcher, leaning back a
gainst his seat.
“Sir?” said Marcus.
“I want to address the group in the open, with the vehicles arranged exactly how they are arranged during the workday. These people have spent the past eight days working under the constant threat of attack. I don’t expect any special privileges during my brief visit.”
“Actually, sir, we did this to discourage an attack. We never assemble this many people in the open. The heavy machinery operators are delivered to their equipment in an armored vehicle. We have ten construction personnel working unprotected at any given moment, along with security escorts and our perimeter team,” said Marcus.
“Stop right here,” said Pilcher, patting the driver on the shoulder.
They parked next to the last section of completed fence. Twenty-five feet in front of them, a red, open-seat tractor, equipped with a spiral post-hole digger, sat poised next to a yellow “X” spray painted onto the bed of wood chips. A hundred feet behind them, a massive, wheeled tractor sat attached to a flatbed platform supporting several sections of fencing and a crane. Behind that, a cement truck waited to lock each post into place. He’d watched the fence-building procedure enough times to lead the operation himself.
The maximum point of exposure occurred when the team lifted the fence post into place and the foreman took measurements. This sometimes took several minutes as the team manually adjusted the post before the concrete could be poured. Then the team tethered it in place and the foreman confirmed the measurements. They repeated the process for three posts before the sections were tractored forward and lifted into place by the crane. The fence was attached while the concrete dried; a practice cautioned against by Black, but insisted upon by Pilcher.
To build the fence to specifications would double or triple the amount of time required to reach the far side of the valley, and in Pilcher’s defense, they didn’t have that kind of time. They needed an effective barrier in place immediately. Once the fence was in place, they could take the time to build another one—possibly create a no-man’s-land in between. Black said they had enough fencing to do it.
Pilcher opened his door without warning and stepped outside.
“Security units, be advised. Pilcher is on the ground, headed toward the assembly,” he said, opening his door—and shutting it firmly behind him.
Pope jumped out, pausing to close Pilcher’s door.
“Upshaw, how are we looking?” said Marcus, jogging after Pope.
“Good from up here. No movement detected except for your vehicle.”
“Copy. All perimeter teams push fifty feet into the forest. I don’t think Mr. Pilcher intends on staying caged up all morning.”
He caught up to Pope and Pilcher, following them between two tightly parked tactical vehicles.
“Good morning, everybody!” yelled Pilcher. “Let’s give ourselves a little more room. Mr. Pope assures me the perimeter is secure. Join me for a walk.”
Pilcher stopped about twenty feet away from the vehicles and urged them to form a circle around him.
“Doesn’t it feel good to be out in the fresh air?” he said, receiving a few nods and confused mumbles from the crew.
“I know. I’m a bit preoccupied with the distance to the armored vehicles myself,” he said, garnering a few laughs.
“Seriously, though. Take a deep breath,” he said, waiting to hear exhales. “A few more days on this project, and you’ll have earned fresh air for everyone—without fear of those abominations. Everyone in there, awake or in suspension, is counting on you.”
“We haven’t lost a single man or woman on this crew. Heaven knows we’ve come close. Mr. Pope can attest to that. He had an uninvited guest in his Humvee yesterday.”
More laughter followed. The crowd was warming up, which impressed Marcus. He had been pretty worried about this public appearance.
“I’m told we have three, possibly four days of work left—”
“Four to five, sir,” added Black.
Pilcher immediately smiled and shook his head playfully. Was this scripted?
“All right, Mr. Bad News. I mean, Mr. Black,” he said. “I’ve been a tiny bit preoccupied with the schedule. I’m sure nobody has noticed.”
More laughter. Marcus couldn’t believe the transformation. Pilcher had them laughing in the open, on ground they wouldn’t have voluntarily occupied five minutes ago. He had to give Pilcher credit. The man had an innate ability to—inspire? His gut told him that wasn’t the right word. Neither was deceive. The truth lay somewhere in the middle of the two. He’d seen enough to be sure of that.
“So, give me four, maybe five days,” he said, pausing to accommodate the muffled chuckling. “And we’ll celebrate with a little champagne…and a well-deserved rest!”
Before they started the two-year town project—which was scheduled to begin five days from now.
Chapter 55
Waves of fatigue washed over Hassler as the last aura of blue sky disappeared over the western bluffs. He hadn’t eaten since the move, having exhausted his supply of charred squirrel and half-eaten MRE pouches in the rocky hollow several miles away. Once he climbed into rocks north of the projected fence path, Hassler knew he’d spend the next two to three days lying on his back or stomach, with the thermal blanket pulled over him. His position overlooking the eastern end of the fence sat uncomfortably exposed to Mustin’s snipers. Hunting wasn’t an option.
He took a sip of water to momentarily curb the relentless hunger pangs. Even his water was approaching critically low levels. If Pilcher’s crew didn’t finish the fence tomorrow, he might have to consider a different plan. He could go another day or two without food, but water was non-negotiable. Even under optimal conditions, his reflexes and concentration were barely enough to keep him alive in abby-occupied territory. A single day without water would render him combat-ineffective against the threat.
Inching up the crease between two rocks, he peeked into the valley. His eyes registered the wide swath of razed forest beneath him, which easily stood out against a sea of dark pines. The monochromatic, dark blue image revealed little detail about the fence itself, only the general dimensions of the project. At least forty feet of forest had been removed on each side of the fence, giving the construction crews room to maneuver and preventing the abbies from climbing trees to breach Wayward Pines.
He lowered his night vision goggles and studied the green image. Several pieces of heavy machinery sat next to the fence, parked on the northern side of the barrier. The fence itself appeared underwhelming. When viewed from a distance, against the backdrop of the greater valley, the fence withered to an insignificant, almost comical obstacle—incapable of protecting Wayward Pines from the threat of extinction.
Hassler slid down the rock and rested his forehead on the hard, cool surface. Was he kidding himself about Wayward Pines? Could the town survive with nothing more than a twenty-foot fence shielding it from annihilation? What happened in the winter, when eight feet of snow was dumped in the valley? A twelve-foot fence didn’t sound as impressive. Maybe he was better off letting go and leaving the valley.
He pressed his head against the rock, wanting to scream. Theresa waited for him inside the superstructure. All that stood between him and the woman he loved was Pilcher—and a few hundred of his devotees. Fucking Pilcher. The lying, murderous speck of a man had condemned him to death, but remained his only hope of seeing Theresa again. Hassler couldn’t let go. Wouldn’t. He’d climbed into his suspension pod knowing damn well that Pilcher might unplug his machine on the other end. Theresa had been worth that risk.
“She’s still worth the risk,” he whispered, grabbing the coil of rope on the rock next to him and hurling it over the edge.
The rappelling device attached to his climbing harness jolted as the rope pulled taut over the rock. He could climb down unassisted during the day, but preferred not to press his luck at night. One twisted ankle on the way down and he may as well put a bullet in his head. Hassler reached be
low and grabbed his rucksack, pulling it next to him. He’d reloaded the pack with the bare essentials required to execute his final plan. Explosives, transceivers, wire—dangerous stuff in the wrong hands.
Under the thermal blanket, he slipped the backpack over his shoulders and clipped his rifle into the tactical vest. Once everything was in place, he leaned over the edge, scanning the rocks and boulder-strewn forest for abbies. Clear for a rapid descent, Hassler gripped the rope and stood on the edge.
“Fucking insane,” he mumbled, walking backward down the rock.
Chapter 56
Ted Upshaw rubbed his eyes and considered calling it an evening. He’d spent the past week sleeping on the floor in Operations, leery of returning to his quarters. The quality of sleep had been miserable, but it beat the alternative. Pam insisted on paying him a late night visit, no doubt to buy his silence after Hassler’s assassination. A quick whisper in his ear had saved what little remained of his humanity. He’d spent every night in Operations since then, trying to delay the inevitable. How bad could it be? He was on the verge of calling one of the off-duty operations specialists when one of the motion sensors registered movement.
“What do we have here?” he said, hooking the icon and running an analysis.
Heading south—out of the sensor zone. Damn it. Another abby materializing inside of Marcus’s supposed safe zone. At least it was leaving. One less surprise for tomorrow’s ceremony. He leaned back and studied the projections. Slow, steady movement. Interesting. An abby stalking a deer? The target stopped for five minutes and thirty-three seconds before turning right and moving slowly northwest. The computer calculated a path parallel to the fence. Very interesting.
Ninety-three feet after making the turn, the target stopped again, remaining in place for roughly the same amount of time. When it followed a direct path toward the fence, Upshaw was pretty sure they weren’t dealing with an abby. A thought surfaced, but he dismissed it just as quickly. Impossible. He wished they had installed cameras with the sensors. They had the equipment, but Pilcher didn’t see the point. Anything triggering the motion detectors would be treated as a threat when the construction crew was present.
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