by LC Champlin
“So?” Her attention went to the sun, the clear sky, and the rolling fields. The mountains rising in the distance completed the beauty.
“I waited until we were outside before speaking because there may be listening or recording devices in our quarters.”
She showed no reaction.
“Did you hear—”
“Yes.” Their gazes met. “I feared the same, but I was also afraid I might be getting paranoid.”
“As the saying goes, being paranoid does not mean they are not watching you.”
Looking back to her daughters, Amanda sighed. The siblings gawked at the horses, which grazed beside the white fence. The scenes that would at other times appear idyllic now jarred with reality, creating a dissonance that brought an ache to Albin’s head and heart. How could one look at the joy and freedom they felt without remembering the suffering of others?
Until a century ago, the world had lived largely in poverty and despair, with everyone occupying roughly equal footing, aside from those select few in the upper echelons: royalty, business owners, and leaders. Equal misery kept anyone from seeking more from themselves, and from helping others.
However, since the close of the First World War, living conditions in certain countries, namely the West, had improved drastically. The rise of the middle class granted people the power to help others as never before. And so they had. But how much did people really think of other countries? Today, in the age of microprocessors, the Internet, and air travel, when people lived twice as long as they had in previous generations, much of the world still existed in poverty and slavery, suffering under the iron grip of dictators, despots, and cults. While the West read books featuring dystopian lands where people sent their children to compete in games for food, the rest of the world lived in a real dystopia where they sold their children into the sex trade simply to buy food for the next few days.
Now cannibals stalked the earth, spreading disease and violence. Their one purpose, to infect others. Shadowy organizations and individuals strove to use the cannibals as pawns. Such powers had always sought to manipulate the stupid, ignorant, and greedy into eating one another and spreading their profane ways. Governments enacted taxes and restrictions to keep freedom in check, for with independence came a weakening of the old institutions’ dominance.
With a grunt of frustration, Albin returned to the present. He stood beside Amanda, watching the girls feed the horses handfuls of grass. He should enjoy the moment. Alas, duty called. “Your daughters can relate what we found. I am going to investigate. Perhaps Marvin and Josephine have found similar discrepancies between the app and the brochure.” If anyone would notice this, Josephine Behrmann would.
Amanda’s attention snapped to him, channeling her role as a Human Resource employee evaluator. “Investigate how, precisely? What if they catch you?”
“A brief exploration should suffice. This is a temporary rest stop, so to speak. When I am able to determine Mr. Serebus’s location, I will proceed there.” Thus far, the track record for locations of presumed safety did not inspire faith. “It will be intriguing to learn what they will do if they confront me.” He offered her a half smile.
Amanda looked at her daughters, then back to him. “I’ll wait for Marvin and Josephine. Be careful.”
“Of course.” He gave her a single nod of thanks before setting off for the lift.
Chapter 58
VIP Access
I’m Born to Run – American Authors
Glancing about as he approached the other garage, Albin produced his key card. The door clicked open as he slid his card through the reader. Security cameras no doubt watched his every move. If his card allowed him to enter and no Employees Only signs warned him away, could they truly claim he trespassed? Thus armed with legal justification, he pushed into the garage. Possessing a firearm would reassure him far more than his argument, but one must improvise. Adapt, advance, achieve.
After stepping into the lift cage and pulling the door closed, he pressed the lowest button on the panel, 4.
Machinery rumbled as the lift descended. Lighting along the concrete shaft provided illumination. Numbers ticked past. The cage halted before steel double doors. Taking a deep breath, Albin slid the cage gate aside. The doors opened.
The grey, concrete hall that stretched ahead resembled those seen in military bunkers. It ended at a T intersection thirty meters away. The width of a two-lane street, the passage must accommodate the bulk packages and heavy equipment needed to keep the underground community functioning. Dome cameras interrupted the ceiling at intervals.
Albin ventured down the passage. No guards charged from around the intersection to apprehend him. When he reached the end of the hall, he leaned out into the next passage. Also empty, it stretched for a score of meters in either direction before angling out of sight. According to the brochure map, he should turn left. It would lead him toward the bunker.
His trek through the grey-shaded area on the map carried him past doors on either side of the tunnel. He halted at a door on the right. The sign over the steel barrier read, Safe Room.
Albin waved his key over the pad beside the door. The steel barrier unlocked. Opening it a crack, he peeked through the gap. The term Safe Room proved misleading. Instead, it resembled a laboratory, with two work benches running its length. Fittings for Bunsen burners protruded from the counters’ central divider. Along the rear of the room watched several monitors. A work area set into the wall on the right, with a hood to vent fumes, occupied the far end, while boxy white machines of indeterminate purpose filled another section.
Albin closed the door and moved down the hall to the next. It bore a plate stating, Caution. Intriguing. The lock released when he applied his card. Beyond the barrier lay a preparation / dressing area, given the HAZMAT suits that hung from a bar along one wall.
At the rear of the antechamber waited another metal door. A plaque on it warned, Quarantine Area. Understandable for a self-contained environment, especially if they expected a global catastrophe. Plague followed war and famine.
From one wall extended a metal arm that held two computer monitors, a mouse, and a keyboard. Each screen divided into four sections bearing the numerals 1 through 4. The left monitor showed images from inside the quarantine area. The cells resembled large hospital rooms or emergency-department triage areas. A gurney occupied each. What did not occupy the rooms was any sign of life. A breath of relief escaped Albin.
Another monitor, however, did show life: two guards in their distinctive flannel, jeans, and revolvers marched down the corridor outside, toward the quarantine sector.
Perhaps they would bypass the location. But as if to spite Albin’s hope, they locked their attention on the door that separated him from them. Blast. Now what?
He turned. Before him stood the door to the isolation area. None of the rooms held patients or prisoners, and the staff likely kept them clean.
The hatch’s light clicked green as he passed the ID over the reader. He pulled the unsealed door open. A metal airlock entry awaited.
On the CCTV screen, the guards paused to open the door. Albin slipped into the airlock. The irrational thought of it harboring contagions made his skin crawl. Surely the staff bleached the facility, assuming they had ever even used the rooms.
A light beside the next hatch’s handle turned green as the pressure reached the appropriate level. He yanked the barrier open and entered the quarantine area proper. Closing the barrier, he pressed his back against the wall beside the entrance. Here he occupied the extreme edge of the camera’s view. Anyone watching the video would hopefully overlook him. If they did come to the door, he could ambush them. The narrow corridor would offer him the advantage of one-on-one combat, as it would force the guards into single file.
“Sir,” a male’s voice announced over the area intercom, “come on out to the main area.”
Albin’s pulse quickened with his breathing. What now?
Surrender to whatever they deemed his incursion warranted, or defend himself against men who possibly meant him no harm?
“We just want to talk to you. You might not be aware, but you’re in a restricted area.”
If he had come to the bunker alone, he would possess a variety of options. But with five companions ignorant of his fate and at the mercy of the bunker’s lords, he had few choices.
He sighed. Steeling himself, he passed back through the airlock. The two guards eyed him, stony-faced, their hands resting on the grips of their pistols.
“Hello, gentlemen.” He smiled, innocent, though his heart rate remained in the hundreds. “Could you perhaps tell me how I may return to my accommodations? I seem to have taken a wrong turn.”
Chapter 59
Huddle House
Thanks to You – All Time Low
June 5, 2016—
Nathan, Sophia, and Birk gathered around a table in the run-down mobile home. The location lay north of Colorado Springs, in an area with few houses yet near the city. Sophia had assured him no one would bother them here, nor would anyone think twice about seeing people with weapons around. It came as less of a comfort and more of a reason to remain wary.
To the west rose the Rockies, while Mt. Herman hulked in the north. If needed, Sophia had said, the trio could flee into the mountains. She neglected to say what would occur after that. Did she expect them to live on acorns and evade capture by jumping from tree to tree like squirrels?
A touch-screen laptop lay before them on the card table, displaying a map of the Broncos Sports Authority Field at Mile High. Images of the facility from different angles queued behind the main window.
Birk brought a photo of the top tier of seats to the fore. “See this catwalk?” He pointed to a steel walkway that circled the stadium where the lights resided. “This is where the sky cam controllers work. They reach this area by the supports. There’s a ladder inside.” Zooming in provided a clearer image of a square support pillar, which canted inward. “Instead of the skycams, LOGOS will be using transceivers. The devices will amplify or alter the satellite signal. Boosting it will improve the ability of the cannibals’ neural nets to pick up the transmission. If they can get this to work large-scale, it will be easy to use cell towers for the transmission. The system’s already in place; they just have to turn it on. That’s what the engineers I overheard said, at least.”
“Hmm.” Nathan folded his arms as he eyed the map. Should they believe Birk, or did he lead them into a trap? “What about areas without cell or data coverage? Is that the point of the satellite transmission?”
“LOGOS hopes the satellite signal will reach them, even if it’s weak. It’s enough to trigger the nanites into building more neural connections and into operating in a basic controller fashion.”
Sophia leaned over the table, elbows locked. “I don’t understand how having a bunch of mindless zombies is going to help them. Military and police forces, even though they’re overworked, still have enough firepower to take these things down. Sure, they’re tougher to kill than the average human, but a headshot still does the job. They’re not immortal. With enough ammo and time, a very small force that’s entrenched could massacre tens of thousands. It just seems like an ineffective and expensive attempt at control.”
Nathan nodded, running his thumb along the edge of his goatee. “Even the black plague didn’t destroy all of humanity, and that was before anyone understood how infectious diseases spread. Even biological warfare agents are only effective if people are exposed to them. Allegedly, LOGOS’s plan did not go as hoped, but I still believe there must be more to their strategy.”
Sighing, Birk shook his head. “My sister . . .” Deep breath. “My sister thought that if we could control everyone, we could have world peace.”
Sophia rocked in a nod. “Makes sense. Buddhism says the source of all pain is desire.”
“Do you believe that?” Nathan eyed her.
“No!” she scoffed. “Desire is part of what makes us human. I don’t want to live as a walking vegetable. I’d rather die fighting.”
“Agreed,” Nathan murmured. “Let me guess, she wanted to control all ‘the little people.’ Meanwhile, those who LOGOS determined to be elite would go about their merry lives as gods of this new society. Everyone would have bowed to their will. People would have no desire except to serve the desires of their overlords.”
Birk rubbed the back of his neck. “Something along those lines. I never thought it would work. But when something like that’s going to happen, whose side do you want to be on?”
“The winning side,” Sophia replied, her tone flat.
“If this fails,” Birk went on, “they’re back to the drawing board.”
“This is perfect.” Nathan grinned. “We need only let the authorities know what’s about to happen, and they can mobilize a task force to investigate. They can take the transceivers and lock down LOGOS. The DHS and FBI, among others, will have the situation resolved in short order.” More importantly, he would earn his freedom. Oh, and save the world, he couldn’t forget that.
“Sure!” Birk crowed, a Joker-esque grin plastered across his face. “No problem. You have such great luck at getting plans to work properly.”
“Your track record is nothing to write home about either.” But Birk’s track record for making valid points today had certainly improved. “However, I agree we should have a contingency plan.” Or two, or three, or twelve.
Chapter 60
Rank Stripped
Ready to Fly – Paul Lewis, Harlin James
“Come on.” One of the bunker guards—black haired and of medium height—jerked his head toward the exit. Flanking Albin, they escorted him into the hall. “How did you get in here?”
“My key card.”
The guards appeared confused. “There must have been some mistake. This is a level-four area. You should only be cleared to level two.”
“I was unaware. Because it unlocked the door, and there were no posted signs demarcating a restricted area, I assumed this sector of the community was open for visitation.”
“Let me see your card.”
Albin turned it over to the guard, who scanned it with his smartphone. It chimed. Incomprehension written on his face, the man shook his head. “It says you have level-four clearance. Well, let’s get you back to the guest dorm. I’ll reset your card for the appropriate level.”
A mistake? Not likely. Did his companions hold similar clearances? Hopefully the guards would not think to check them.
“What is this area?” Albin asked as they set off down the passage.
“It’s a restricted section,” snapped the second guard, who had until now remained silent. A pity he decided to alter that state.
“Do you use the quarantine rooms often?”
The more civil guard received the question. “Sorry, but that’s not level-two information, sir.”
The security forces and their charge continued deeper into the facility. Did they truly intend to return him to his quarters? They passed doors and other corridors. None bore any indication of holding more quarantine facilities.
The trio entered a corridor and followed it to its terminus: a steel door. The escorts opened it and motioned Albin through. Ahead lay the courtyard level of the domestic bunker.
“I changed your clearance,” the black-haired guard reported. “Be careful. Places are sealed off for your safety. You’re a guest here.” A forced smile accompanied the last sentence.
“Thank you,” Albin replied, impassive. “I would not want to place myself in danger, or inconvenience you.”
“I’m glad you understand.” The guard and his colleague retreated toward the lift.
At that moment, Bridges, Behrmann, and Judge emerged from a corridor nearby. The three guests returned to their accommodations.
“Did you find anything interesting?” Behrmann enquired as Albin opened the door and step
ped into the living room.
“We did,” Bridges blurted.
By the reporter’s expression, she had intended to break the news in a more dramatic fashion.
“Is that so?”
The door opened as Amanda and the siblings entered. Upon seeing Albin, the trio brightened. Amanda’s shoulders relaxed in relief. “I’m so glad you’re back.”
Taylor looked over the assembled. “What’s going on? Did something happen?”
“That depends,” Behrmann hedged.
If the room contained listening devices, the news might prove of interest to their hosts. Albin raised his hand to chest level, palm out in a Halt sign. After a meaningful look about the room’s ceiling corners, he tapped his right ear.
The reporter’s eyes lit with understanding. “We need some music.”
“Good thinking.” Bridges grinned as he patted her on the shoulder. “I got us covered.” As he spoke, he pulled his mobile from his pocket. In a moment, Classic Rock began to play.
“We were trying to find out who lives here,” Bridges continued before she could retake the story. “We couldn’t find any real names, but we were able to find a list of ID photos.”
“We don’t know if it’s complete, though.” The reporter could not stand to allow a person to relate an event without interruption. “And none were marked as in residence.”
“Right. But we saw something you might be interested in.”
As the economist finished, Behrmann produced her smartphone. She selected a photo from her gallery. “Look.” She held it up for the others to see: a brunette female in her late thirties or early forties, with an intelligent glint in her eyes and a confident air in her posture.
Albin’s brows climbed. “Lexa Birk?”
