One of her neighbors opened his door as Deirdre ran past, spotted her odd costume, and shook his head. “I knew they’d get the exterminator in here to check that outbreak in the Lowell apartment eventually.” He shut the door.
Deirdre reached the elevator and began pounding on the down call button, slamming the down arrow repeatedly in the foolish belief it would expedite the arrival of the car. She paused, moved her hand, and stared. The light hadn’t come on. She’d either smashed the call button, or the elevator had already lost power. She gently pressed the up call button. No light. Damn, the elevators were already out. She leaned her helmeted head in toward the doors, listening, wondering if the car had already dropped and doomed any occupants to instant death.
She heard nothing. But she envied anyone who died quickly in the hours and days to come.
She started to stand back up to head for the stairwell when a heavy weight hit her and knocked her to the ground.
four
Micah Jamison
After setting a calmed Sheila Clarke on the ground, Micah Jamison entered the parking garage stairwell and sprinted up the steps. She’d confused him. He’d expected that, after the years spent building her trust, she’d accept what he’d say and do as he ordered. She’d done nothing of the sort, going so far as to sprint right back toward the greatest source of danger. He’d known that eventually they’d arm and fire the bomb containing the Ravagers, of course. He’d just not been privy to how they’d do so. He’d even coordinated everything to ensure she could see the Ravagers in action.
She wouldn’t have believed him if he told her what they could do. He knew she would have to see it to believe it.
They’d gotten out with a bit less time to spare than he’d hoped. He’d done the calculations overnight. Given the size of the “gift box” and the level of replication he’d learned they’d achieved, they needed to get away far faster than they were.
And she’d run back toward them. Why?
Carrying her was an act of desperation on his part, but he’d realized that trying to explain things to her would take too long. He’d have to risk drawing attention to their quite-public escape efforts.
He reached the top of the steps and entered the parking level, then sprinted to the far end. The two vehicles—one for each of them—were precisely where he’d parked them six months ago. He’d checked them as recently as two days earlier, making sure tires weren’t slashed and parking spots weren’t obstructed. The latter wouldn’t really matter at a time like this, but any delay could be costly.
Jamison slid his hand over the door and heard the audible click as it unlocked and cracked open. He hopped inside and pulled the door closed, sealing the interior cabin with a deep, resounding thud. He put his hands on the two dashboard panels and pushed, surging forward out of the parking spot and toward the stairwell door. Good, she was already there. She’d at least understood the need for rapid movement. Perhaps the sight of the Ravagers bursting from the Bunker stairwell and caving in the nearby street had done the trick. He screeched to a halt next to her and popped the side door open. “Get in, Sheila.”
She didn’t move.
Jamison’s mental clock screeched in alarm. The replication rate of the Ravagers meant it wouldn’t take long before all available paths to permanent escape would vanish. Every second they delayed put them at risk of death and destruction, something he’d vowed to avoid. There was no time for subtlety, no time for him to try to understand why she’d gone immobile again, eyes wide, breathing shallow. That form of reaction suggested fear. Had she run all the way up the steps before the horror of what she’d seen seconds earlier registered? He doubted that; Sheila was far more astute than that, and possessed courage he’d rarely seen in the hardiest of ground troops. So why the hesitation now? Was it more angst over his orders to self-destruct the Bunker?
He sprang from the car through the door nearest her. “Move, Sheila!” He hopped out of the car and motioned her inside.
She didn’t move.
He’d only ask twice. He wrapped his arms around her waist and legs and virtually threw her into the vehicle’s cabin. She stared at him in horror, saying nothing, as he expertly affixed the restraining harnesses. He then twisted toward the front dash of the vehicle and swiped his hands across the navigation computer. With the route activated, he turned toward her once more. She’d said and done nothing to stop him. Did it mean she’d realized the danger and had recognized the wisdom in doing what he said until they were safe?
Her face said no. She feared something. The Ravagers? Likely; Sheila was no fool. But as her eyes met his, he knew what she feared more.
Him.
Damn. “What’s wrong?”
Her mouth curled into an ironic smile, but the fear didn’t leave her eyes. “Other than the swarm of death heading for us?”
So she did recognize the threat. The casual mention, though, suggested that wasn’t her issue. As he’d surmised. “That’s not enough?”
“You just tried to run me down with the car.”
He felt his face twist with confusion. “What? I drove the car to you, Sheila, to save time. I wasn’t trying to run you down. You were never in danger.” Well, not from him, at least. Why was she doing this now?
“Oh, of course,” she said, her voice heavy with sarcasm. But the ironic smile vanished. “What was I thinking? The man driving the car right at me just coincidentally happens to be a mass murderer who fired a gun at me not ten minutes ago. But of course, I should understand he’s just fetching my ground car for me to save me the time and effort of running there myself. Of course, I should know that he’s clearly not trying to kill another innocent soul.” Her eyes blazed with an anger he’d never before seen in her. He’d clearly lost her trust.
And he had no time to regain it now. “That’s right. I’m saving an innocent soul. Yours.” He backed fully out of the car and shoved the door closed, sliding his hand along the frame and hearing the locking mechanism engage as the interior cabin fully sealed. “Go,” he said, smacking the top of the car.
The vehicle moved, slowly at first as it gathered location information and assessed its surroundings using the slew of sensors he’d built into the frame. As it became more aware, the vehicle accelerated, gradually gaining speed. He probably should have warned Sheila that the car navigated without assistance. But she was so angry at him right now, so distrustful, that she’d never believe him, not until the car drove off without him, navigating her to the destination.
He hoped he’d see her again and explain everything and regain that trust. That was the only thing that mattered right now.
He turned and sprinted back to the second, larger vehicle he’d stored here months earlier, shouting “Unlock!” at the car as he ran. He heard the locking mechanism disengage as he approached, and he pulled the door open and slid inside. The door closed behind him without assistance. His hands fit into the movable panels on the dash. He tipped both forward and the car exploded from the spot. He eased back on the left panel and the car turned left before he pushed both forward again and raced toward the end of the row of cars on this level. This level. The fourth floor.
In hindsight, parking on the top floor of the garage when a speedy escape was required had been a poor choice.
The panel mechanism was the optimal vehicle control system for him, far better than the foot pedals and steering column popular in ground cars since they’d been invented. The panels gave him full control over the rotation and speed of each of the tires, allowing him to accelerate, brake, and turn by adjusting the speeds of each tire accordingly. To turn left, he had the tires on the right side of the car spin faster than those on the left. Braking occurred by returning both panels flat at the same time, ceasing the spin of all four tires and engaging the brakes.
Jamison took the corner at breakneck speed and raced down the central ramp to the floor below. Somewhere below him, Sheila’s car was navigating the same terrain while she sat inside, trying to m
ake sense of everything she’d seen over the past day, and especially over the past few hours. He supposed it was quite a bit, and it might well look like he was trying to run her over with the car. But he couldn’t understand her logic. Why would he kill her now when he’d had ample opportunity to do so before? Lack of witnesses?
He shook his head. Her emotions had been overwhelmed and she clearly wasn’t thinking with her usual clarity. She’d been pushed before, but had finally hit her breaking point. Given the revelation of the Ravagers, witnessing the damage they’d inflicted on the sub-Bunker tank room, watching as they’d replicated until they’d burst from the ground, he could understand. He wasn’t quite sure, though, how she’d made the jump from Ravagers to him trying to kill her at every turn.
His thoughts turned to his own journey. He’d built the two cars in the event they’d need to separate; ideally, she’d be in this car and he’d be in the process of explaining everything right now as they traveled to the destination. That hadn’t happened, though. And that bit of foresight would save Sheila’s life, at a minimum.
His own journey would require a brief detour. It might kill him, given the loss of time and the accelerating spread of Ravagers. But if he didn’t gather those crucial supplies, his life wouldn’t provide much ongoing benefit.
He had to get to his apartment. He’d not wanted to leave the supplies here due to the increased risk of theft or damage. If time had permitted, he would have slipped home, grabbed the supplies, and dropped them in this car before heading into the office and texting Sheila. But the timing hadn’t worked out.
Those running the Phoenix Project weren’t concerned with inconveniencing him. To them, he didn’t exist.
The plan would have him dead. Sheila as well. But he had plans of his own.
He rounded the corner at top speed and spied Sheila’s car at the far end of the straightaway, just beginning her next turn. He was catching up to her. Should he, though? If he got too close, she’d wonder why he’d detour away a few miles into their journey to the destination. Given her current distrust, it was probably best that he allow some separation.
The ground rumbled beneath him and he tensed.
The Ravagers had made it to the parking garage. Already.
He heard the thunderous rumble above and saw the crack appear in the massive support beam just ahead of him. He accelerated forward, trying to beat the inevitable collapse of the beam and concrete roof above as the destabilization wrought by the Ravagers shook the building.
The crack was deafening, and Jamison realized he wouldn’t make it in time. The falling beam would crush his car.
He closed his eyes, choosing not to watch as the beam fell.
five
Roddy Light
Roddy had always marveled at the feat of engineering that was the aircraft hangar. He knew the forces involved, the pressure, and the heat generated ought to make the elevated takeoff post one destined to collapse under the extreme forces. But the architects and engineers had done their work well. After dozens of takeoffs and landings, the hangar remained intact. Soundproofing and vibration reduction controls meant those working in the building below never noticed the warlike explosive power erupting above them as each journey began and ended.
The engine vibrations thrummed within the craft as Roddy pushed the engines to their limits. The generated thrust wrested the craft free from the floor of the hangar. Inch by agonizing inch, the ship rose in a straight line, moving up through the roof opened to the heavens. As they cleared the building and emerged into the clear blue sky above, he slid his piloting chair around the inside the cockpit, checking each instrument and sensor to ensure that the physical violence of takeoff hadn’t left any portion of the craft damaged. Satisfied that all was well, he sat back to relax as they rose toward their cruising altitude.
His eyes fell upon the massive buildings inside the Lakeplex, seeking out one in particular. Until today, he’d looked upon that building with wistful longing during each takeoff. Now, though, the sight made him sick to his stomach. He’d planted Audrey’s body in the bed and decided he’d at least call Deirdre before leaving, letting her know that he’d be talking to Oswald when they reached their destination and deciding how to handle Audrey’s death. But when he’d gone to make the call, the phone showed that his monitoring equipment had detected movement in the bedroom. Deirdre was there with a man Roddy didn’t recognize, standing in their bedroom, pulling her clothes off to the man’s obvious delight. He’d heard the name—Stephen—and realized that his paranoia, his deep suspicions of his wife’s unfaithfulness, had proved correct.
He’d not trusted himself to call her at that point. She was the daughter of his boss, and anything he said in a moment of anger might cause issues, especially with this particular employer. Oswald Silver wasn’t a man known for the forgiveness of even the slightest transgressions, and Roddy was under no illusion that his marital issues would give him the leeway to tell Deirdre what he thought of her when he’d learned the truth.
As the ship continued its ascent, he wondered if she’d gotten his text message, if she even cared that she’d been caught, and if she and the strange man, Stephen, had completed what they’d obviously started. Unbidden images sprang to mind, and Roddy wished he could apply acid to his memories to erase the stain.
After what seemed hours, the aircraft instrument panel chimed, alerting him that they’d reached cruising altitude. Far above the earth’s surface, the flying craft—which officially didn’t exist and whose powered flight was, to the masses, scientifically impossible—would appear as no more than a speck to any wandering human eyes below. He unstrapped himself from his pilot’s chair, stood, and opened the door to the main cabin of the craft. He clambered down the narrow spiral staircase and emerged into the plush traveling quarters occupied by Oswald Silver.
The tycoon sat at an ornate wooden desk sifting through papers, alternatively smirking and frowning before shifting the majority of the papers into his wastebasket. After several minutes, he pretended to notice Roddy’s presence and glanced up. “Well?”
“We’ve reached cruising altitude, sir. Do you have our destination coordinates?”
Silver was a man consumed by paranoia. He’d told Roddy that he’d never provide guidance on their destination until they reached cruising altitude; divulging the information sooner meant his enemies might locate him during their flight and fire missiles at him. Roddy knew about missiles, but doubted anyone could hit a moving target. It mattered little to Oswald Silver. His paranoia meant the coordinates stayed hidden.
He always ensured that his subordinates knew their place. And thus it was that his pilot had to emerge from the cockpit and ask for the destination coordinates. Silver would never provide the information before Roddy asked. Roddy had figured that one out. If Roddy asked, Silver could decline. It would be pointless, of course, to fly straight up in the air and not move. But Silver wanted to maintain even that tiny semblance of control over every situation.
Roddy spent much of his time in the cockpit rolling his eyes at his employer’s many quirks.
Silver grunted and pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and held it out. Roddy approached and took the paper. Silver maintained his grip on the paper and fixed Roddy with a penetrating gaze. “Notify me when we reach these coordinates, but do not change altitude until I give the word. Understood?”
Roddy shrugged. “Of course, sir.” The demand was… puzzling. He’d never been asked to hover over their landing coordinates before. He wondered what new place they’d visit this time.
Silver released his grip on the slip of paper. “How tired would you say my daughter is, Light?”
Roddy paused. “Sir?”
“I walked by her door earlier but at your request did not go inside. I’d expect to hear snoring or at least heavy breathing, but I heard nothing. She must be exceptionally tired.”
Roddy nodded. “She struggled to sleep last night, sir. Said she was preoccupied wit
h a major project at work, but didn’t elaborate beyond that. I don’t think she’s slept in at least thirty-six hours.” It was true enough, to a point, and it helped Roddy provide the response in a tone of boredom and truth-telling.
Silver watched him for a moment, as if verifying the truth of the pilot’s words. “Very well, Light.” He returned his attention to the papers stacked on his desk. “Remember: maintain altitude when you reach our target coordinates until you notify me we’ve reached our destination and receive further instructions.”
“I’ll do that, sir.”
Silver looked down at his desk, his silence meant to infer Roddy’s dismissal. Roddy moved back toward the cockpit, climbed the steps, and moved back inside his private kingdom inside Silver’s larger one.
He nestled himself back into the pilot’s chair and swiveled around to the navigation computer before punching the coordinates in. Then he frowned. The numbers didn’t look familiar, which wasn’t a surprise. To his knowledge, they’d visited each Western Alliance cityplex and each Diasteel office at least once. The coordinates offered were not only not a match, they weren’t located near any of those sites.
He felt a small trickle of excitement. Would this new destination offer a clue as to what had kept Deirdre so preoccupied at work? It would make sense, and would also explain the unusual inclusion of a third person on their flight.
He wouldn’t know until the got there. He submitted the coordinates and felt the aircraft engines begin thrusting to the side, accelerating them out of their holding pattern in a westerly direction. With little to do, Roddy reclined back in his chair and closed his eyes, getting what little fitful sleep he could steal during the journey. He imagined the confrontation he’d have with Silver once the tycoon learned the identity of the bedroom’s occupant, and in each imagined scenario he fared worse than before.
It was with some degree of relief that the chime sounded, alerting him that they’d reached their destination. He looked at the map, frowning, and stared out the window to the earth below to confirm what the map showed him.
Detonate (The Ravagers - Episode 2) Page 3
