by Karen Hayes
Indeed, as we walk, I keep hearing muted noises and the sounds of voices from behind the wall to our left.
"Where's this place?" I ask.
"This is Mojave Park. I-15 is only a mile away. Over here," Cox taps in a code, unlocking a heavy steel door to our right.
The room behind it is dark. Not even a room: a dugout. It looks like it's still being built, probably to make another prison cell like the one they kept me in. Stacks of floor tiles are lined up on the uneven concrete floor next to some buckets. The ceiling is supported by wooden struts.
An even darker opening gapes in the room's opposite wall. Cox locks the door behind himself and heads over there, switching on a flashlight as he walks.
I stare at a long tunnel sloping upwards, its floor fashioned into a row of earthen steps. A cable in steel mountings runs along the wall, with unlit light bulbs attached to it every thirty feet or so.
"Don't they have cameras here?" I whisper. "Surely they can see us?"
"Not here," Cox replies in a louder voice. "They're installed but not yet connected, apart from the ones by the front door. This is our new base. Lots of things to do still. Good, eh?"
I follow him in silence toward the next door which is so low that Cox has to bend his massive frame to walk through it.
The tunnel fills with a weak light. We walk out into what appears to be the bottom of a deep rocky canyon. We follow its curve - and walk into daylight.
We stand at the foot of a bulging sandstone cliff. Desert stretches all around, studded with occasional sickly-looking bushes. The shallow hills resemble earth dunes. The sky is gray. I can't tell whether it's morning or early evening. It's cold and completely deserted.
Having said that, not quite. A camo-colored SUV sits nearby with its engine idling. The driver's door is open. A man is sitting on the footboard. Seeing us, he stands up and nods to Cox.
"So that's 'your man' in the Agency?" I ask him, looking from him to Cox and back. "I thought that Buffalo and the General had you wrapped around their little fingers."
"I thought I told you," Cox said. "I was in the surveillance team the day when-"
"That's right. I remember. You did tell me that the General posted you as father's bodyguard. You two were together for how long, several years? Is that when you became friends?"
"Make no mistake," Cox says. "The General knows what he's doing. Still, he's not right a hundred percent of the time. Your father is smart. If you listened to him, you might have been safe now."
"Cox, can I have a moment with my son?" father asks.
Cox nods to both of us, gives me a friendly shove on the shoulder and walks back into the cliff.
"The keys are in the ignition," father says. "The road is just behind those hills. Use the satnav and keep to the west. Go."
"I'm not going anywhere without Sarah."
With a quiet sigh, he steps toward me. "We can't get her out now. They guard her closely. A serum overdose works similar to a lobotomy. Even if you agree to work for them, she'll be no more good to you than one of these tumbleweeds. We can't rescue her now. The best you can do is leave on your own and try to think of something."
He frowns, concentrating. "Don't try to contact me. The General will suspect me of helping you. I might be under surveillance, so don't try to look for me. You might get Sarah out before they kill her. Then again, you might not. But if you try to go back and rescue her, they'll kill you both - but only after you tell them Cox's and my names."
I don't reply. I need time to think over what he's just said.
He lays his hand on my shoulder.
Last time he touched me was years ago. The gesture is so out of character for him that I shrink back.
"Chris, I'm very sorry," he says in all seriousness. "I should have told you everything a long time ago. That way, we could have avoided all this..." he falters and falls silent.
He gives my shoulder a light squeeze, nods and walks back into the cliff after Cox, disappearing from sight.
I linger in front of the car. Finally, I force myself to climb in. In the glove compartment, I discover my wallet, driving license and a fat wad of hundred-dollar bills. A tan holster with a spare clip lies on the back seat next to a large travel bag.
I check the satnav. The coast is only a few hours' drive away.
I throw the car into gear and drive off.
I can't stop thinking about Sarah and everything that has happened to us. The duals, the Agency... I think of everything that's already happened and everything that will happen soon.
I still have no idea what to do about it.
Epilogue
Chris
POPULATION, 2,412.
Actually, it's a bit more than that.
Area, 5.564 square miles.
A bit less, in fact.
Elevation-
Who cares? I certainly don't.
The town of Lost Hills definitely lives up to its name. It only has one motel, and only one of its rooms is occupied - by me. Other travelers arrive, receive their keys from the bored landlady, spend the night and leave. I'm the only one actually staying here.
I've been in Lost Hills for over a week now. It's been two weeks since I escaped from the Agency's Mojave base.
At first, I felt enthusiastic. Energetic, even. I searched the Internet, devouring all the news of McAllister's murder. The scandal kept growing. The country was in turmoil. There were vague rumors of the Hermetis Corporation and its head Adam Vector apparently being involved. The goings-on in the Minnesota exclusion zone were even more obscure.
I kept reading and watching, taking all of that in. I was making preparations - mentally at least. I had to work out how to penetrate the base without getting myself killed and how to actually rescue Sarah. I just didn't know. I couldn't think of a solution.
Should I go to the police? Or contact the media? Should I tell them the truth about McAllister's death as well as the role played by Vector and the Agency in his murder?
No one will believe me. I can only get myself arrested. Their investigation might take ages. I just couldn't see how it could help Sarah. If anything, it could only hurt her chances. The General was bound to find out. In which case he'd simply kill her, end of story.
For now, at least, she was alive. I could feel it. The gossamer line still connected the two of us. This time I didn't have any visions nor could I read her mind. Still, I could feel her presence. She was still there, locked up. They were doing something to her.
All I could sense was her fear. Her desperation. There was no way I could get away from them.
Which finally drove me to the bottle.
It takes a lot of booze for a guardian to get drunk. But once you succeed, you drop into a black void, empty and silent.
The next day I was lying motionless in bed, staring vacantly at the withered lawn in the window. That's when I realized that while I'd been drunk, I didn't sense Sarah. I'd been deaf to her pain and fear.
That day I slept till the evening, then got up, climbed into the car and drove to the local market where I bought a large bag of popcorn and five bottles of whiskey. That should last me a few days, and then...
Then what? I've no idea.
It's getting dark. Both the motel and the surrounding streets are silent. My SUV and the owner's Toyota are the only cars in the parking lot.
I walk out onto the veranda and help myself to a rocking chair. I bring it to my room and place it in front of the TV. The popcorn and the bottle are already on the table. I pour the popcorn into a large plastic bowl, open the bottle and click the remote.
A presenter's monotonous voice fills the room. I start zapping through channels until I chance on CBS. I put the sound up.
Same old, same old. Minnesota... The new date of the elections has been set... The debates are in three weeks' time. Security is on full alert. Even after what's just happened in Vegas, the show has to go on...
I pour myself my first shot, shovel a handful of popcorn into m
y mouth and raise the plastic cup.
Then I freeze.
The drink is calling my name. It would be so good to unplug my brain and dive into this murky, dense void free from emotion. Free from Sarah's feelings still stirring within me.
But... if I stop sensing her, doesn't that mean that she stops sensing me too?
I'm pretty sure she does. In which case, I'm denying her support, aren't I?
That's not the right thing to do.
No.
I need to grin and bear it, no matter how much it hurts. I need to suffer her pain and try to come up with a way to rescue her.
What was it Diana and the General used to say about duals? That they're always trouble? That they've caused all the catastrophes in the world? That what precious little good they can offer humanity pales into insignificance compared to the harm they inevitably end up causing?
They're wrong. Being a dual is all about love. I'd say it's the highest form of unity that can exist between two human beings. Feelings like those can't hurt anyone.
Sarah and I are about to prove it. We will change the power balance. We'll unite all duals in one large community, a bit like Adam Vector tried to do, but with a totally different goal. Our community will be dedicated to servitude.
Before my lips can touch the cup, I put it back down.
Someone knocks on the door.
This is a very strange knock. Normally, people don't knock on the door like that. Just a single tap, strong and sharp.
The cup jumps in my hand, splashing the drink. I hurry to place it back onto the table and glance out the window. I can make out the corner of an empty pool in the weak glow of the single streetlight. No cars, nothing.
The knock doesn't repeat. And still I can sense a presence behind the door. The presence of someone I can't describe. Someone weird to the point of alien.
Quietly I get up, trying to make as little noise as possible. I step toward the bed, pull father's holstered gun from under the pillow, then step toward the door. I remove the holster, flick the safety off and listen intently.
They knock again. Same single knock, loud and insistent. I'm waiting on this side of the door while someone else is doing the same on the other side. They're waiting for me to open.
Asking who it is sounds a bit lame. They either won't reply at all or say something dumb like "It's me". Whoever that might mean.
Noiselessly I step to the door, point the gun at the ceiling, click the lock open and hurriedly step aside, pushing the door open and pointing the gun at whoever's behind it.
The gun barrel almost touches the chest of the man behind the door. For a split second, his outline surges with smudges of color as if being touched by an invisible brush. I make out the outlines of human shapes, strange graphs and even landscapes. Then they disappear as fast as they came.
I blink. Of course. I should have guessed.
The man in front of me has unnaturally white skin. His fair hair seems silver in the light of the streetlamp behind him. Pale watery eyes stare at me unblinkingly from a gaunt face.
The man looks down at the gun, then back into my face. "I shall not hurt you."
I can sense something in him. Some kind of force. It makes my fingertips tingle, even though this feeling is completely different from the one I experience when Sarah was with me. This feels... alien. Unpleasant.
"The albino man," I mutter, lowering the gun.
"We call ourselves esperados."
I wouldn't say the sound of his voice is unusual but it's definitely not normal. It rings with emotion; the problem is, this emotion isn't entirely human. It's just a hunch, nothing to put my finger on, but still.
"You do not know me," the weird man says, standing in the doorway and staring at me with those colorless fish eyes. "I do know you. My name is Gustav. I was controlled by the man you seem to call Adam Vector. We know that you need to get inside the Agency. And so do we."
"Who are 'we'?" I ask.
"We is a group of people I represent."
I look out into the yard. There's no one around. The parking lot is empty. Did he walk here?
"A group of people," I flick the safety catch back on and slide the gun down my belt without taking my hand off it. "Does it have a name, by any chance?"
"No. We offer you the opportunity to unite our efforts. This can be advantageous for both sides. Very soon our planet will enter a new stage. Nobody can prevent this. It is unavoidable. Adam Vector's actions were simply an attempt to hasten the natural course of events. We believe that you and your-" he falters, his face betraying an odd mixture of emotions, "your carrier can stop this. You might actually be the only people capable of doing it. I have something to tell you. It is in your interests to listen to what I have to say. Can I come in?"
I cast another glance at the empty yard behind his back. It looks like I might not get the chance to get drunk tonight. Or whenever.
I step aside, letting him in. "Can't see why not."
End of Book One
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