Chain Reaction Power Failure Book I

by Andrew Draper

  “My God!” she gasped aloud, the sound echoing off the walls. “That makes this place over two-hundred years old.”

  “Two-hundred and twenty-nine, to be exact.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  “That’s New England; one big historic landmark.”

  “I saw the barn out back, mind if I go out and look around?”

  “You really should stay inside. It’s freezing out there.”

  “I need to take a walk, to clear my head. Please?”

  He scratched his chin for a moment before answering. “I think we’re safe enough for now,” he said. “Just don’t go too far from the house.”

  Hands now on her hips, she jutted her chin in the stubborn petulance of an annoyed teenager. “Yes, Papa.” She said, chuckling.

  He went to haul more firewood in as the sun began to peak, and she saw him checking on her.

  The cold air refreshed her and after nearly an hour, she tromped back to the house, stamping the snow off her shoes on a mat at the back door.

  He was tending the fire and she could visibly see his energy level dwindling. The blood loss from his wounds and the alcohol were taking their toll.

  Retrieving an arm-load of logs from the log basket next to the hearth, he stumbled, knocking a floor lamp onto a red velvet settee.

  She reached out, grabbing his arm and preventing him from toppling over. “You need to lie down for a minute.”

  “I’m fine,” he said, waving her off with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

  “Just for a few minutes?” She implored. “You’re exhausted.”

  “Okay, maybe just for a minute.” Stretching out on the worn leather couch, he acquiesced. “You might want to get some rest too, while we can. You’re still recovering from your stay at Casa De Criminal.”

  He emitted a long painful groan as he reclined on the couch. He closed his eyes, trying to shut off the images flitting across his uneasy mind. He fell into a deep sleep despite the cold in the room.

  Wandering through the thick white mist, he follows the beckoning sound of the siren’s call. Pushing aside the diaphanous curtain, he sets his eyes upon her.

  “Look at me,” she says, the blood covering half her face, the jagged ends of broken ribs protruding from her chest, “Look at what you did.”

  “Oh, God! Heather, I’m so sorry.” He wails, tears streaming down his face.

  “Why did you let this happen? I trusted you. I loved you.”

  “I didn’t know you went with Beth,” he protests, reaching for the blood-soaked woman before him. “You were supposed to be at work.”

  She slaps his hand away. “You said you loved me.” She points an accusing finger at him. “Liar!”

  “I love you more than life! You’ve got to believe me!”

  Her eyes burning in reproach, she answers, the wail an unsympathetic condemnation. “Then why didn’t you save me?”

  He falls to his knees before the apparition’s withering stare. “I couldn’t. I wasn’t there.”

  Her once-beautiful countenance melts before his eyes, reforming into a hideous mask of forbidding malice.

  Extending a hand now nothing but bleached bones, she touches his shoulder, sending waves of incendiary pain charging through every nerve in his tortured body.

  “Then suffer!” The apparition wails, the demonic screech searing his ears.

  Dropping to the damp ground of the cemetery, he writhes in agony at the foot of her grave as the very atoms of his flesh are ripped apart one by one.

  Jenny gently touched the violently shaking man at his shoulder, trying to rouse him.

  She moved closer to the couch, pulling on the thick blanket, trying to untangle it from his flailing limbs. He continued to twist and thrash, mumbling incoherently.

  “Aaron…Aaron wake up,” she said, shaking him again, this time more firmly.

  In his agitation, he unconsciously swung out his left arm in a sharp arch. Her breath exploded from her lips when his elbow collided with her chest, knocking the wind out of her. Momentarily stunned, she stumbled backward, falling into a chair next to the couch.

  Wow! This man is really strong, she thought as she sucked in a strained breath. She gasped for several seconds, finally getting some oxygen into her burning lungs. Standing on shaky legs, she once again moved to his side, this time keeping a safe distance from his still-undulating arms.

  “Aaron!” she said, her firm voice breaking the quiet of the spacious hall.

  This time she got the response she was looking for as his eyes fluttered open, quickly searching the room. He instantly pulled the automatic from under the couch cushion beneath his head.

  He spoke, his voice just above a whisper. “What’s wrong? Is someone here?”

  “Everything is fine. You were having some kind of nightmare,” she said, fixing her eyes on him.

  Swinging his legs off the couch, he sat up and scrubbed his face in his hands, finally raising his gaze to meet hers. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, but you pack a mean elbow.” She said, rubbing her sore ribs.

  “Oh, my God!” he gasped, his face suddenly ashen. “Did I hurt you?”

  “It’s okay. You didn’t hurt me,” she said. “Next time I’ll know enough not to get so close.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I have these nightmares from time to time.”

  She picked up the blanket, neatly folding it and placing it on the cushion next to him. “Who’s Heather?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “You called out to her in your sleep.” she said.

  “Oh, shit!” he said, his face aghast, the gray pallor now replaced by a bright red flush of embarrassment.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be nosey,” she said, face coloring a pale pink. “You didn’t sound too happy.”

  “It’s a long story,” he said.

  “We appear to have plenty of time.”

  He picked up the half-empty bottle of scotch from the floor and threw back a sizable belt, the burning liquor cutting the tar in his throat.

  He offered the bottle to her. She declined with a wave of her hand.

  “She was my Fianceé.”

  “Was? Where is she now?”

  “She was killed by a drunk driver a year and a half ago.”

  The blood drained from Jenny’s face. “Oh, my God, Aaron, I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry.”

  “Oh, it gets better. My sister was with her when it happened. She survived the accident, but now she’s blind.”

  She faced him, unblinking, as his devastating revelation, and the depth of his grief, reached her psyche. “I think I will have that drink after all.”

  She reached for the bottle and took a belt worthy of a sailor on leave, the backdraft’s hot fumes sending a shiver from nose to toes.

  His eyes went wide as she wiped her mouth on her sleeve. She raised her eyebrow at his expression of surprise. “What? You think I can’t do shots? I did go to college you know.”

  He smiled, and she basked in the warmth of his gaze. “Somehow you don’t strike me as the party-girl type.” He said.

  She answered with a side-ways grin. “I didn’t say I was a party girl, but I wasn’t a nun either.”

  “I see.” He rose and retrieved a plastic glass from the bags on the counter. He poured three inches of the amber liquid into the glass, handing it to her as she settled on the couch. “A refined lady never drinks from the bottle.”

  “You always drink like this?” she asked.

  “Like what?”

  “Knocking back an extraordinary single-malt scotch like its store-brand swill,” she said. “That’s the sign of a man out to get ripped…out to make thinking optional.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Ed said the same thing. He said I was hiding…from life.”

  “Is he right?”

  “Can we please change the subject?”

  “Is he right?” she repeated, more firmly.

  “You want
the truth, I don’t know.”

  They sipped for a moment in silence.

  “What are we going to do?” she asked. “We obviously can’t stay here forever.”

  He stared into the glass for several seconds before answering. “We have to finish this. They’ll never leave you alone if we don’t.

  “We can’t give them what they want. You know what that would mean.”

  “True.”

  When she didn’t respond for several seconds, he continued. “We have to destroy your research. It’s the only way to keep you safe.”

  She swallowed hard before speaking, the fear evident in her pinched and pale face. “That project is my life. I can’t destroy it. It could literally change the world.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “You could change the world…if you lived long enough…and right now, I’d put our chances at less than even money.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I’ve dealt with these kind of people before, they’re trained killers,” he said. “They’re mission-oriented and ruthless. If they catch us off-guard, we’re dead.”

  “We have to get some help, go to the police,” she said. “Or, maybe that FBI agent Ed told you about.”

  “They can’t protect you, this goes too high,” he said. “We’re talking about the Military, the FBI, hired thugs… There are too many players…with too much clout. We don’t even know who all’s involved yet.”

  “Then I’ll disappear. Go someplace where they’ll never find me.”

  He shook his head. “That won’t work either. If they can’t find you, they’ll threaten your family or your friends to get to you.”

  Her hand flew to cover her mouth, stifling her gasp. “I never thought of that.”

  “Either way, eventually you give in to protect the people you care about. The bastards count on it.”

  “My God, there’s no way to fight them then…is there?”

  “I didn’t say that. There may be one alternative,” he shook his head in apprehension. “It wouldn’t be my first choice. It’s dangerous as hell, but we’re running out of options.”

  “What do you propose?”

  “It’s a big gamble. How much do you trust me?”

  She eyed him intently. “Answer one question for me first.”

  “Always with the questions,” he smiled at her mischievously. “Okay, go ahead.”

  “Who are you…really?” she asked. “And don’t give me that ‘I’m just a simple construction worker’ bull. I don’t buy it.”

  He searched her eyes for long seconds and took another swig of scotch. He exhaled in a long, forced breath. “In another life, I used to be in the Navy.”

  “That’s where you met Ed, right?” she asked, her gentle words urging him to continue.

  “No. Ed and I grew up together. We’ve been friends since the first grade. The Navy came later. Ed convinced me to join up with him after high school.”

  Her brow knitted in concentration for several seconds before her eyes flashed in understanding. “Oh, my God, I didn’t put it together when Ed first said it. I thought he was talking about the beer. He was talking about BUDS…Basic Underwater Demolition School. Wasn’t he?” she gasped, eyes expanding in both shock and unconcealed admiration. “You’re a Navy SEAL.”

  A small crooked grin appeared on his face and he tipped his glass in salute. “Guilty as charged.”

  “What happened? Why did you leave the Navy?” she took a quick nip of her drink before continuing. “I thought SEALs were in for life.”

  “My dad died and I came home to take care of my family. They needed me.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Me too. I miss him.”

  She fixed a searching gaze on him, letting it linger for a tantalizing moment on his handsome, troubled face.

  “You were never really going to give them my project back at the warehouse, were you?” she asked.

  His face became a hard mask of stoic determination. She would have been frightened, if not for the warmth of his eyes, now locked on the fireplace, watching the flames dance in reckless abandon. “Not a chance in hell.”

  “Not even to save our lives?”

  His eyes met hers, the hard stare a hint of the formidable man beneath. “We both know this technology is more important than any two lives. You were right back there…at the warehouse. It must be protected,” He took another sip, using the interval to gather his thoughts, then continued. “It’s already cost two lives and it’s bound to cost more.”

  The fire had died down and Aaron noticed the chill returning. She watched him poke at the remains, deep in thought, before he once again stood upright.

  “We need some more wood, be right back.”

  She jumped up. “I’ll get it. I need a second to process all this.”

  Walking out the back door, she saw the woodpile. The long wall of tightly-stacked logs lay against an outbuilding, covered with tarps to protect it from the weather.

  Walking through the snow, she replayed his words in her head as the events of the past few days rushed in on her, pressing her down, crushing her with their weight.

  My God, Jack’s dead…Aaron’s been shot…and he had to kill that woman! This is a nightmare that won’t end!

  She shook her head, driving the demons of fear from her mind as she collected several large logs for the fire, grunting with the effort. The morose thoughts stayed with her, despite her best efforts to overcome them.

  It has to end…no matter what. I’ve got to do whatever it takes to make this stop.

  She turned back toward the house, and though the distance was short, the cold trek through the deep snow seemed to take much longer than she remembered.

  Returning to the relative warmth of the Great room, she placed the logs in a holder and faced Aaron, her cheeks flushed pink with cold.

  She held his iron-hard gaze for a long moment, seeing the truth of his earlier words reflected in his ice-blue eyes.

  “You asked if I trusted you. The answer is yes, I trust you. What did you have in mind?”

  After a long, deliberate, sigh he reached around the arm of the couch and picked up the rucksack containing the weapons cache. “I have something to show you, but first a little history lesson.” he said. “You said Avalon was an idyllic kingdom. Well, you were half right. It was an island of incredible beauty and powerful magic. King Arthur was taken there to recover from wounds he suffered fighting his arch-enemy, Mordred.”

  She gave him a small smile. “Well, we’re recovering here too.”

  “Yes, the irony was not lost on me either.”

  He fished inside the bag, digging among the boxes of ammunition, pulling out several items before he came to a small silver case. “Avalon was also the place where Excalibur was forged. The sword was more than just a piece of steel. It was the King’s weapon, a symbol of justice and protection. Arthur wielded that sword in service to others.”

  She moved next to him and he opened the lid, showing her the contents. Her mouth hung open in disbelief as she ran her fingertips along the polished surface of the data drive. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “It is.”

  “Holy shit!” she swore aloud, the profane words out of her mouth before she could control them.

  He took another swig of the scotch. “You can say that again. I probably should have told you sooner, but I wanted to have an ‘ace in the hole’ as it were. I’m sorry I kept it from you.”

  “But how…” She lost her words in an avalanche of shock and relief of seeing her project safely in his hands.

  He returned the case to the traveling armory and zipped the bag. “The ‘how’ isn’t important. What we do next is.”

  “And what’s that?” she asked.

  “I don’t know about you, but I don’t like being drugged and taken places against my will.”

  “Amen to that.” She said, the anger evident in the biting sarcasm filling her voice.

  Thumbing the ca
tch, Aaron dropped the pistol slide with an audible snap. “It’s time to go on the offensive, and you’re right, we’re going to need some help.”

  Her eyebrows jumped up in surprise. “But you said…you said this goes too high.”

  “I have an idea.” He raised the antenna on the satellite telephone he’d borrowed from Ed. Unlike a common cellular telephone, the high-tech device communicated by beaming a signal directly to a satellite network in space. The geosynchronous orbit assured a lock virtually anywhere on the planet. He punched in a number on the keypad and waited for an answer.

  Sitting next to him, she leaned in closer, now able to hear the ringing.

  “Hello?” the woman’s voice came through, the tone surprisingly clear and strong, considering the remote location.

  “Bravo-One to Echo-One. Do you copy?” he said, the clipped, military timbre sending spikes of fear racing across her mind.

  The disembodied voice responded instantly. “Echo-One copies. Go ahead, Bravo-One.”

  “Echo-One, We have condition Charlie-Foxtrot…repeat, condition Charlie-Foxtrot.”

  She heard a small gasp on the other end of the line before the voice continued. “Echo-One acknowledges condition Charlie-Foxtrot. Echo-One standing by.”

  Aaron took a deep breath, expelling it slowly, then continued. “Bravo-One requests activation of Kilroy squad.”

  “Rodger, activation of Kilroy squad…understood.” The voice went on. “Bravo-One, stand by this frequency for confirmation at 23:00 hours.”

  “Echo-One, confirmation at 23:00 hours, Rodger and out.”

  She stood as he ended the call. “What’s that all about? What’s Kilroy Squad?”

  “Calling out the cavalry.” He said. “These are what military people call ‘assets of last resort’.”

  “Oh.” She thought for a moment. “I thought you said we couldn’t trust anyone. This goes too high, you said.”

  “Things have changed.” He stood, refilling his glass before continuing. “There’s something else I haven’t told you.”

  “Do I even want to know?” she asked grimly.

  “While you were outside, I got a call.”