Sick pe-1

by Brett Battles

  “What do you think his chances are?” she asked.

  “You know I’m not good at figuring out odds. But if you pushed me I’d probably say not a chance in hell.”

  “We’ve had people beat that before.”

  “Yes, we have.”

  She smiled. “You once said there was no way we would ever be able to defeat them.”

  He took a breath. “I’m still inclined to believe that.”

  “Yet we’re still here. Still fighting.”

  “It’s a war that should have started a lot earlier than it did. All we’re doing is damage control and catch up.”

  They fell silent.

  “Do you think he’ll come back?” she asked.

  “You mean after he beats no chance in hell? Maybe.”

  “We could certainly use him.”

  “We already are,” Matt said.

  Rachel knew he was talking about the vials of Ash’s blood their off-site team was already working with. Their resources and facilities weren’t as impressive as the organization they were up against, but they weren’t working with kids’ chemistry sets either, and their people were both dedicated and motivated.

  “I think he will be back,” she said.

  Silently, they both looked west, in the direction the plane had finally disappeared. For the moment, there was nothing more to say.

  29

  Confirmation came at noon when Tamara’s mother called, wailing, and told her that someone from the California Highway Patrol had just notified her that Gavin was dead. Thirty minutes later, a list of the Tehachapi casualties was handed out to the media at Fort Irwin.

  Tamara knew Gavin’s name would be there, but when she saw it, it was as if the breath had been ripped from her lungs.

  Joe put an arm around her. “I’ll call the network and let them know. You won’t have to do any more reports.”

  “No,” she said. “Don’t call.”

  “You don’t need to be a hero.”

  “I need to do this, okay? I need to have this right now. Understand?” What she didn’t say was that while Joe had been off at a logistics briefing elsewhere on the base, she and Bobby had been working on a piece about her brother’s death that she wanted to work into one of her upcoming reports.

  “Seriously, Tammy. Your brother died. Don’t push yourself.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Bobby said.

  Joe frowned. “I don’t know.”

  “What else is she going to do out here?” Bobby asked, looking around. “It’ll give her something to take her mind of things until she can go home.”

  Joe thought for a moment, then looked at Tamara. “If that’s what you really want.”

  She nodded. “It’s what I want.”

  She allowed herself a quick glance at Bobby while Joe was distracted by a couple of helicopters landing nearby. “Done?” she mouthed.

  He nodded.

  Good.As soon as she could figure out how to work it in, the report would be ready to go.

  “Who are these guys?” Joe asked.

  Tamara turned around. The two arriving helicopters had settled down about fifty yards from where the press was camped out. The only other time helicopters had landed in that area was when they were all evacuated here. Though these were dark green, they had no markings on them, military or otherwise.

  Three men jumped out of each helicopter, then gathered on the tarmac. After about half a minute, two of the men broke off and headed over to a waiting Jeep. The helicopters, though, had not powered down, giving the impression their stay was going to be short.

  “I have no idea,” Tamara said. “National Guard?”

  “Could be, I guess.”

  They were just turning away when Bobby said, “Oh, crap.”

  Tamara looked over. Bobby, always looking for images they could use, had his camera on his shoulder, shooting the helicopters.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  He stepped back into the shade of the canopy and said, “Come here.”

  Tamara walked over, with Joe right on her heels. As soon as she got there, Bobby handed her the camera.

  “The four men,” he said.

  She aimed the lens at the men on the tarmac.

  “The guy on the left.”

  She centered the picture on the guy in question.

  “Here,” Bobby said. “Let me zoom it in for you.”

  He pushed a button on top of the camera, and the image of the man rushed at her.

  “Whoa, whoa,” she said. “Too much.” The picture had pushed past the man, and into the passenger area of the helicopter. There was something yellow clumped on the seat, but she barely registered it. “Let me do it.”

  Bobby showed her where the button was, and she eased the zoom out a little, then adjusted the angle so she could see the man’s face. He was in profile, and though he looked a bit familiar, she couldn’t place him. Maybe one of the guys who’d flown them out during the evacuation?

  She was about to ask Bobby what was so special about the guy when the man turned, suddenly bringing his whole face into view.

  For several seconds she forgot to breathe. Finally, she pulled her eye from the viewfinder and allowed Bobby to take the camera from her.

  “What is it?” Joe asked.

  Bobby gave him the camera.

  “Oh, my God,” Joe exclaimed once he’d gotten a look at the man.

  They had all made the same connection.

  Standing a little over a hundred feet away from them was the man who’d killed Tamara’s brother.

  * * *

  The orderly checked on the children one last time. Their vital signs were stable, and their breathing deep and even. He made sure the IV tubes would not get caught on anything when the beds were moved, then exited the room.

  His colleague had finished packing up the pharmaceutical supplies and their workstation, so the orderly did a final walk-through to make sure they hadn’t forgotten anything. They hadn’t.

  He picked up the radio from their desk and said, “Station K. Ready and awaiting removal.”

  “Roger, Station K. Removal team should be there in two minutes.”

  “Copy that, Control.”

  Together, he and his colleague double-checked all the latches on the containers to make sure everything was secure.

  “I think we’re good,” his colleague said. The orderly was just starting to nod in agreement when the other man blurted out, “Wait.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Did you check the room at the end?”

  The orderly shook his head. As far as he knew, there’d been no reason to go in there.

  “I used the bathroom in there this morning,” the other man said, already starting off down the hall. “I think I might have left a tissue on the sink.”

  “Jesus. Get it. We’re not supposed to leave anything.”

  “I know. I know.”

  His colleague headed quickly down the hall and disappeared into the last room on the right. When he came back out several seconds later, he held up his hand. In it was a couple of unused tissues.

  The orderly was about to read him the riot act for being sloppy, but right then the removal team arrived and he soon forgot.

  * * *

  “What should we do?” Bobby asked.

  Though Tamara barely heard the cameraman speak, the only thought she had was that she was looking at the man who had put a bullet through her brother’s back. Without even realizing it, she started walking toward him.

  “Hey, where are you going?” Joe asked.

  She didn’t answer.

  “Tammy. That’s not a good idea,” Bobby said.

  Still, she didn’t reply.

  Footsteps ran up behind her, Bobby on one side and Joe on the other. Each grabbed one of her arms, stopping her.

  “Snap out of it,” Joe said. “Going over there isn’t going to accomplish anything.”

  She struggled to pull free. “I want to know his name
.”

  The four men on the tarmac seemed to realize something was going on. They glanced in the PCN team’s direction, but then, as one, their gaze swung to the left. The two men who had separated from them earlier were jogging rapidly toward the helicopters. One of them was waving the other men toward the aircraft.

  “No!” Tamara yelled as the man who’d killed her brother disappeared inside the helicopter.

  Bobby grabbed her around the shoulders, holding her back.

  The last man had barely gotten on board when both helicopters rose into the air and shot off toward the North.

  “No!” she repeated.

  “It’s okay,” Bobby said. “You wouldn’t have been able to do anything.”

  “But he shot my brother. I…I don’t even know his name.”

  “I got him on tape. If there’s a name on his uniform, I probably got that, too.”

  “Hey, you guys all right?”

  The three of them turned and saw Peter Chavez stepping out in their direction from under the canopy.

  “We’re fine, Peter,” Joe said.

  “You sure?” Peter asked.

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  As soon as the wire-service reporter returned to the shade, Tamara whisper, “I want to check the video.”

  Bobby nodded.

  As they walked quickly back to where Bobby had set down the camera, she touched his arm, slowing him and putting a little distance between them and Joe.

  “I want you to cut a shot of the guy into the story,” she whispered.

  He pulled back a little. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  “I don’t care if it’s a good idea. Will you do it?”

  He grimaced, but then nodded. “I’ll do it.”

  * * *

  Paul was covered in dust. It had even gotten under his helmet and into his month. He tried spitting out what he could, but he was already parched. What he really would have loved at that moment was a nice long drink of water, but that would have to wait until he found civilization. His bottles had been in his backpack the men from the helicopters had taken.

  So far he’d been able to make pretty good time. The roughest part had been right after he left the canyon. The gentle slope there had been deceiving. Decades of rainwater had carved out gullies that seemed to appear out of nowhere. If he had hit one of those too hard, he would have wrecked and broken his arm or worse.

  But now he was on smooth, level ground so he was able to ramp up the speed. He figured the area was probably the bed of the ancient ocean that used to cover this part of the desert. Sarge would have known for sure.

  He allowed himself a quick look around. Brown for as far as he could see. He glanced at his gas gauge. He had maybe another sixty or seventy miles left. Reluctantly he backed off on the accelerator. If he kept his speed down a bit, he might be able to squeeze out another ten or twenty miles. That could make all the difference in the world.

  He let his eyes settle on the hills in front of him. Another fifteen minutes and he’d be there. If he figured it right, once he reached the top he’d be out of the quarantine zone. The thing he didn’t know was how far he’d still have to go to reach anyone after that. The map his dad had given them was also in the backpack.

  To this point, he’d focused all his thoughts on surviving — going as fast as he dared, keeping the bike upright, looking for holes in the ground. But the thought of the map brought everything back.

  Mom and Sarge. Leaving home after the sun went down. Racing through the dark desert.

  Nick.

  Lisa.

  The girl who meant everything to him and his best friend in the world — both dead.

  The thing he kept coming back to was that he’d sat there and done nothing. He had watched the men raise their rifles. He had watched them fire.

  And he had done nothing.

  Maybe he could have created a distraction. Maybe it would have been enough for Nick and Lisa to get away. Would it have worked? Probably not, but, dammit, he should have given it a try. He should have—

  He didn’t see the rock.

  One moment his eyes were tearing up with anger over his inaction, and the next he was flying over his handlebars, landing hard against the desert floor.

  He lay on his back for a moment, groaning with the pain. The worse of it seemed to be coming from his left knee. He pulled off his helmet then felt his leg, checking if it was broken.

  When his hand reached his knee, he nearly jerked back. It felt wrong. He tried to sit up, but that just made the pain worse, so he only raised his shoulder and tilted his head so he could see what was going on.

  Immediately, he knew what had happened. He’d seen something similar before, during P.E. at school. They’d been playing soccer, and Ryan Young had tried to kick the ball but had stepped awkwardly and fallen to the ground.

  Like Ryan’s had been then, Paul’s kneecap was sticking out like a shelf off the side of his bent leg, dislocated.

  His eyes slammed shut as a new wave of pain washed over him. He took several deep breaths, trying to regain a little control. When it happened to Ryan, the school nurse had come down to the field and slipped it back into place while the rest of them stood around and watched.

  Paul didn’t have anyone to put it back in place for him. He was going to have to do it himself.

  “It’s okay. It’s okay,” he said out loud. “Two seconds and it’s over.”

  He arranged his leg so that the back edge of his shoe’s heel was on the ground. He then put his left hand on his kneecap, and his right on his thigh. Taking several quick, deep breaths, he tried to calm himself. Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he pushed down on his thigh and in on his kneecap. As the leg straightened, the cap moved back into place.

  He yelled out, not so much in new pain, but in memory of the old. Because while his knee was indeed throbbing, the sheer intensity of the pain he’d been feeling had subsided.

  He lay against the desert floor, panting.

  It was several minutes before he finally pushed himself up. His bike was about ten feet away. At first glance, it didn’t look like it had suffered much damage. He took a tentative step toward it, but immediately his left leg howled in pain. There was no way it was going to be able to hold his weight for any length of time, so he hopped as best he could to the bike.

  As he pulled it off the ground, he smelled gas. There was a wet spot on the dirt under where the tank had been. He looked at the bike, checking for a hole, a loose hose, anything.

  It was the cap. It had come loose somehow. He tried to think back to when he’d siphoned the gas from his brother’s bike. Had he not made sure the cap was on tight? There was really no other explanation.

  He took it off now and looked inside. There was still some gas sloshing around in there, but how much had he lost?

  “Dammit!” he yelled.I’m such an idiot.

  He put the top back on, making sure it was secure this time, then wheeled the bike over to where he’d left his helmet.

  Once he was re-outfitted, he got on and started up the bike. His left leg was already starting to stiffen and was going to be a problem. With more than a little pain, he bent it enough to get his foot on the peg.

  He coughed a couple times, and he couldn’t wait until he could drink some water and get the dust out of his system.

  Then he resumed his journey to freedom.

  30

  It wasn’t until they landed that the window shades rose again.

  Ash looked outside. They seemed to be at a small airport. He could see a few planes parked off to the side and a hangar in the distance.

  “Where are we?” he asked.

  Pax glanced out the window. “Well, unless we got lost on the way, this should be Sonoma County, California.”

  Though Ash had been stationed twice in California, he only had a vague idea that Sonoma County was somewhere in the North.

  “This is where my children are?”

 
“As close as we can get.” Pax tilted his head toward the back. “Chloe will take you the rest of the way.”

  Though they were still taxiing, Pax unbuckled himself and got up. He retrieved the metal case from the cabinet, then set it on the floor between his and Ash’s seats. He undid the clasps and lifted off the top. Protective foam lined the box, while another thick sheet covered whatever was inside. Pax pulled this away, revealing a small arsenal.

  “You liked the SIG so much, I got you three,” Pax said as he touched the hilt of one of the three SIG SAUER P229 pistols inside. “You have four boxes of ammo, three extra mags…well, five if you only use one gun. I also packed a pair of binoculars, and something we call little bangs.”

  “Little bangs?”

  Pax moved a few things around, then pulled out a hard plastic rectangular box about an inch thick, and opened the top. The inside was divided into two parts. On one side was a device that looked like a cell phone, complete with a touch-screen display. On the other side were a couple dozen half-inch squares lined up like crackers in a box, the majority of which were gray.

  Pax pulled out one of the squares. In the center was a smaller black box that barely rose above the surface. Running out from it were tiny wires that spread over the gray square.

  “See the number?” Pax asked.

  Ash took a harder look. On the black box a number had been painted in gray. Hard to read, but not impossible. This square was numbered one.

  “I see it.”

  Pax turned the gray square around. “This other side will stick pretty much anywhere. But you’ve gotta remove this first.”

  He flicked his finger across the edge, and Ash could see there was a clear plastic sheet covering the back.

  “Put this wherever you need it. Then you use this thing here.” He pointed at the black cell-phone-looking device. “This is your trigger device. Interface is easy. You input the unit number, then either set it off manually or set up a timer. These things don’t create a lot of damage, but they’re quite the noisemakers. Good for diversions if you need them.”