“Close. Only a mile or so from the University,” Tom said.
“We should find a place to crash for the night,” Dex suggested. “You said it's difficult to see, and you’re exhausted. We could use some rest and make the final part of the mission in the daylight.”
“No. We’re going now.” Tom didn’t meet his gaze, telling Dex exactly what he needed to know. The old man didn’t trust him.
“Listen, I’m in this with you. I’m not going to screw you over.” Dex slammed his hand on the dash, causing Tom to jump beside him.
“I completely agree. Because I’m going to ensure you don’t. We’re going there this instant. End of story,” Tom ordered, and Dex leaned into his seat. This man wasn’t going to listen to him no matter what he said, so better to not say anything at all.
“Where is this building?” Tom asked.
“The Science Centre. There’s a parking lot on the north edge of the campus,” Dex told Tom.
The man shook his head. “I think we’ll come in from the south, then.”
Tom probably expected an ambush, so Dex didn’t bother assuring him no one had been told about this locker but himself and the handful of Reclaimers. They drove in the darkness, the cloud cover thick tonight, reducing visibility. There were more and more cars parked near the edge of the road, and Tom eased his way around them.
He stopped, squinting out the front window. “I’ll enter by the dorms over here.”
The buildings were three-story dorm apartments, much nicer than most residences Dex had ever seen. Not that he’d spent a lot of time in post-secondary facilities. They drove over the sidewalk, hopping the curb to land on the narrow road leading to the main campus.
Tom threw the vehicle in park. Dex didn’t have a hard time noticing the gun in Tom’s hand was directed at him. His bullet wound tightened at the sight.
“We’re in, then out. Understood? Whatever’s in that locker goes directly into my hands,” Tom said.
“Gotcha,” Dex said, aware he didn’t have a choice. Whatever was in there had been worth Trent James’ life; at least the logistics guru had thought so. He wasn’t going to waste it.
The cement was cracked, persistent plants grew through any openings, and Dex stepped over a row of them, making for the sidewalk.
“Dex,” Tom said, causing him to turn toward the older man. Tom pulled a gun from a holster under his dark jacket and spun it around, reaching it toward Dex, handle first. “Take this. We might need to fight.”
“I don’t think we’re going to have to worry about anything…” Dex began to say, but stopped as soon as he heard the voices.
Tom motioned them forward, to the edge of the dormitory apartments.
Alec stayed close to Tom’s side, and Dex kept his ears perked. He wished they’d waited until daylight, because it was going to be a lot more difficult to have a gun fight in the dark.
They waited, their backs pressed to the brick façade. Footsteps thudded down the sidewalk, stopped, then began to grow quieter.
Dex raised a finger, indicating there was only one of them. He peered around the corner, seeing the man. He was hardly more than a shadow in the dim moonlit night. The man said something again, this time into a radio strapped to his shoulder. He was too far away to hear.
Dex raised his gun, running for the next block of dwellings. It was the last before a parking lot that would take them to the science building. What the hell were humans doing here? Had the information Trent James passed on been leaked somehow? Dex hadn’t told anyone but… Tom. And the Reclaimers. Maybe there was a mole in his organization. If there was, wouldn’t the Overseers have smashed Cripple Creek into rubble by now?
Tom was right behind him, and Alec beside. The kid had was also armed, but he appeared nervous and uncomfortable holding the weapon.
Tom tapped Dex on the shoulder and raised two fingers. He’d spotted the other one. Dex had an idea.
He leaned into Tom, speaking very slowly and quietly. “You two move closer, behind that van in the parking lot.” Even in the darkness, they could all see the old corroded white cube van, its tires probably deflated long ago, and it sat at an odd angle.
“What are you going to do?” Tom asked.
“Stick my neck out… again.” Dex started away, shoving his gun into his leather jacket’s pocket. He whistled a tune, something from when he was a kid. His dad used to whistle it while cutting the grass all those years ago, and he’d never forgotten the melodic tune.
The two men were facing each other, chatting a block away from the Science Centre, and one of them spun toward him as he approached.
“Gents. Good to see someone’s doing their jobs properly. What’s the skinny?” Dex asked.
“The skinny?” the front man asked. He had a narrow jaw, his nose thin and upturned.
“Who the hell are you?” the other man asked. He was rounder, pudgy in the jowls, and a gun was in his hand a second later. Faster than Dex would have guessed the man could have moved.
“I’m your best friend,” Dex said.
“Meaning?” the first man asked.
“I’m here to relieve you. HQ wanted me to tell you what a wonderful job you two have done. We couldn’t have done this without the dedication you’ve shown, and it's been noticed. From the highest ranks. There are some surprises waiting for you at the shop. Big ones.” Dex smiled, using his hands to speak.
“I told you they liked us. Jesus, it’s about time. Did they tell you why we’re here?” the second man asked, stuffing his gun away.
“Not really. Something about wayward Roamers,” Dex made up.
“If you ask me, it’s a bunch of bullshit. There’s nothing here but weeds and broken dreams,” the first man said.
“That’s profound, Mitch,” the round one said, pretending to wipe a tear from his eyes.
“Shut up, Carl. Let’s get a move on.” Mitch started to walk, and Dex let them pass him. “I wonder if it's girls.”
“It’s not girls. But maybe some whiskey,” Carl said. “That would be a decent prize for this boring detail.”
Dex waited until they were about ten feet from him, and he called after them. “Fellas. Do you mind gathering the rest of the troops and sending them home before you leave?”
“Other troops? It’s just us…” Carl stopped as the bullet entered his chest. Dex aimed at Mitch, firing an errant shot as the skinnier man ducked and dove to the sidewalk.
“Crap…” Dex ran for him, firing one into Carl’s head for good measure. Mitch was scrambling away, trying to reach for his radio, which had popped loose. “Mitchy, you don’t want to do that.”
A gunshot erupted from the walkway, and Mitch fell to the ground, the left side of his face a bloody mess. Only then did Dex see the gun in the dead man’s hand.
Tom arrived, scanning the area with his gun raised. “Any more?”
Dex shook his head. “Just these two.” He tried to tell himself that killing them was the only way, but seeing their bodies splayed out on the concrete made his stomach churn.
“Let’s clean these up.” Tom clicked the radios off, tossing them to Alec. He searched their bodies while Dex jogged to a maintenance building on the way to their destination. The door was unlocked, and Dex opened it wide, the smell of old oil and water damage filling his nostrils.
“In here!” he called, and Tom and Alec dragged the heavier man across the grass and into the maintenance room. Dex took Mitch by the feet and pulled, tugging him the twenty or so yards through the doorway. He let the legs drop to the ground beside Carl, and without looking back, shut the door, closing them in.
“Good work, Dex,” Tom said with a curt nod. Maybe the guy was finally starting to trust him.
“Almost done,” Dex muttered to himself.
The entry to the Science Centre was glass, peaked into an A-frame, and there was a bank of see-through doors, four wide. They were locked.
“Should we try another side?” Alec asked, but Tom was already p
ulling a device from his bag. It was a glass cutter. Dex had never seen one before, at least not in action, and Tom suctioned it near the handle before swiveling it around, the sharp diamond cutter whittling the glass away in a perfect circle. The whole process took a couple minutes, and soon Tom was pressing the doors open from the inside.
“Handy trick,” Dex told Tom as he walked through the doorway past him.
“Helps being prepared. So where are the lockers?” Tom asked.
Alec walked ahead, peering around the facility with interest. Dex assumed the young man had never dreamed of attending school, or perhaps hadn’t even known what college was all about. There was a surprising innocence to the twenty-five-year-old that Dex appreciated. Being on work detail would have also given him a lot of darkness in his young life. It was a strange balance.
Tom held up his flashlight. The foyer was a mess, with paper strewn about and chairs overturned. Dex assumed the school had been open the day of the invasion. Perhaps some of the students had hidden out in here over the first few days, maybe even weeks. Dex found it foolish they’d ever believed the Overseers might leave eventually.
They walked past a couple of offices, likely administration, followed by some professor offices. Dex glanced at a bulletin board with something dated from the year 2020. It was so long ago.
“There’s some lockers here,” Alec said, pointing down the hallway. At least the kid knew what a locker was.
Dex checked them, moving out of the way so Tom could illuminate the numbers with his light.
“These are one through twelve. Must be farther down,” Dex said. He picked up the pace, his legs as anxious as his mind to obtain the contents of the locker and be done with this mission. His next phase was going to be nearly as difficult, but necessary for the master plan.
Thirteen to twenty-four were next, and they circled around a cafeteria to the last bank on this level. There it was, in the middle. Locker Thirty-One A. B was below it, and his hand settled on the combination lock built into the door.
He started to turn it, the lock sticking. “I don’t suppose you have some lube in that bag of yours?” Dex asked, grinning at Tom despite the pain in his gut. He couldn’t remember the combination. He stood there, staring blankly at the locker for what felt like eternity.
“What is it? Open the damned locker,” Tom said. Dex thought he could hear the man’s hand finding the handle of his gun.
“I can’t…” Dex pictured Trent’s grimacing face as he passed the details on to the Hunter. He’d memorized them. The numbers were in his brain; he just had to remember them.
“Dexter… open the locker.” Tom’s voice changed, his pitch lowering.
Then it hit him. Locker Three One Alpha. 01-09-27. He had it! Dex’s fingers moved deftly as he turned the lock, the initial stickiness disappearing with each turn.
One. He spun it counter-clockwise. Nine. Another spin forward. Twenty-Seven.
The locker clicked and popped open. Dex’s heart was in his throat as he reached inside. Tom was over his shoulder, shining the flashlight into the space. It was empty.
“Shit!” Dex shouted, kicking the locker below it. He kicked it again and again, until the thin-walled steel locker door crumpled in.
He walked away, running his hands through his hair.
“Are you sure this was the locker?” Tom asked, his voice oddly calm.
“What do you think? I had the correct combination for a different locker?” Dex paced the hallway.
“Guys.” Alec’s voice was shaky. “I see something here. You must have jarred it loose when you kicked the locker.” Dex ran to the young man’s side, watching as his thin fingers reached to the top of the locker. He pulled his hand out and opened his palm with a smile. Inside it sat a flash drive.
Tom smiled.
Chapter 12
Cole
The third day of their journey made Cole finally admit how much he hated travelling by any means other than his own two feet. Groaning, he lifted his stiff legs off the quad bike and stood, clutching at his groin with a moan. Soares chuckled softly to himself, as though it was normal to see humor in the suffering of other people.
“I take it you ain’t fixing to trap us another nice, juicy rabbit for breakfast?”
“Supper,” Cole answered petulantly, “and my balls might be numb, but my stomach is still working.”
He hobbled away, letting his body get used to being upright without a constant vibration between his legs, and every bump on a trail littered with rocks the size of his fist being translated into an impact he felt in the most uncomfortable way.
He set his usual trio of snares, relying on the presence of animal tracks and nature to dictate how and where he set them. When he returned to the small cluster of buildings, some of which remained mostly intact, he found that Soares had already seen to their mounts and had the beginnings of a fire starting to smolder. Cole dropped his pack next to a short wall and groaned again as he lowered himself to slump against it.
“How did you end up in all this?” Cole asked. “And why aren’t you in as much pain as me, seeing as you’re… old.” He reckoned their shared experiences over the last couple of days had earned him the right to pry, and Soares surprised him by not resisting at all.
“I didn’t end up in all this,” he explained, sounding a little hurt as he leaned forward to blow gently on the embers of the fire. “I was in this from the very beginning. Ground zero on day one. And I may be old, but I’ll still kick your ass.”
“With Tom? When you were a cop?” Cole asked, ignoring the mild threat.
“I… I was with Tom’s brother, Travis,” Soares said, his tone lowering along with his mood by the expression on his face. “And after Travis was… killed… I stayed with Tom.” He settled on the ground to watch the flames grow, not taking his eyes off them even to locate and open his canteen and take a drink.
“The Colonel, as he was back then anyways, well, he just… saw it, you know? Like, he knew that this was going to happen. Maybe not the specifics; hell, definitely not some of the specifics, but in general? Yeah, he called it how it was. I knew him by reputation in the Marines, and I’d even served under him, even if we hadn’t been shoulder to shoulder on the line, but he had no problem getting people to follow him. It must’ve been a family thing, like good genetics or something, because his little brother also had a way with people that made them instantly like him. He was born for politics.”
Cole didn’t have a clue what politics were, but stayed silent because he’d never heard the man talk so much.
“Yeah, their parents must’ve been some real special people, or else they were real pushy, but I kinda doubt that, given how kind Travis was and how…” He trailed off, glancing up at Cole in the growing light shining through the grimy windows. “Anyway, that was then,” he said, shutting it down like he’d inadvertently given something away.
“And now?” Cole prompted him, hoping to keep the gates open and see what else flowed out of the man’s mind.
“Now?” He let out a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a scoff. “Now we face about thirty percent losses of all our field agents. Embedded agents have about a fifty-fifty chance of survival. Loads of our people listed as missing are sure as shit dead, but we like to stay optimistic. There’s a couple guys we’ve heard of, like senior Hunters, who specialize in extracting information from any of us the bastards catch.”
Cole swallowed, imagining what tortures he’d face if taken alive when his whole life had been spent expecting them to kill him when they found him.
“There’s one guy who calls himself the Colonel,” he went on. “That’s one of the reasons Tom won’t go by his rank any longer—hasn’t for years.”
“They have colonels? The aliens?”
“Not them; this guy’s one of us. A Hunter, they say. The top of the human food chain.”
“Who says?”
“The Hunters we’ve caught.”
“And tortured f
or information?” Cole asked. Soares shot him a glare but said nothing for a few moments.
“So yeah,” Soares told him. “Things ain’t great.” He groaned as he struggled to his feet to unravel a rolled-up wire, which he attached to the tablet. He placed the other end of it outside the open door in the sunlight, where he plugged it into a folded out panel.
“Things have never been great,” Cole said. “All my life, I’ve been on the run, always watching for the drones, for others like me who’d see me as weaker than them… if there’s a chance, we have to take it, because I sure as hell would rather die trying than keep scratching around like a rat in the dirt.”
Soares stared at him, a half smile creeping up his face as though he was proud of the young man.
Cole said nothing, only closed his eyes and leaned his head back to let sleep take him.
They pulled off the track, parking their quads under the shade of the dense trees in case anything flew overhead and took them by surprise. Soares checked the tablet again, using it as a guide map as well as an early warning system for any drones in the area.
“What do you reckon,” he asked as his fingers swiped across the map, “the hearing range on a Tracker is?” He glanced up, giving Cole the impression he was actually being asked for his opinion and not for a guess so he could be told he was wrong. He shrugged.
“I guess two, maybe three miles depending on the noise and the terrain.”
Soares stared at him, chewing the inside of his cheek as he thought. “Yeah,” he said, “that’s what I thought. Shit.” Cole leaned in to see one of the green dots on the screen unnervingly close to their position heading from left to right. His sharp intake of breath said it all.
“Exactly,” Soares said, already lowering his voice even though the thing was a good two miles ahead of them through dense forest. “We wait here until it’s at least five miles away.” Cole didn’t want to argue against that and set about tearing strips of roasted squirrel meat with his teeth.
His traps had yielded only one kill during the day, and much to Soares’ disgust, it wasn’t a rabbit but a scrawny squirrel, which he set about stripping and cooking for their journey.
Salvation (Rise Book 2) Page 8
