Brain Jack

by Brian Falkner

  “There!” A shout came from behind them.

  Tyler tried to delay them as they climbed the steep bank, but Dodge grabbed his wrists and lifted, twisting Tyler’s arms up so that he gave a small cry of pain and had to keep stumbling forward to take off the pressure.

  “Freeze!” voices called from behind them, but Sam ignored them, hauling on the long damp strands of tussock to help himself to the top of the bank.

  A small van, a black Volkswagen Transporter, was pulled up to the fence, its engine idling, its lights off. The side door was open, and Dodge jerked Tyler roughly over the fence and threw him through the opening, where he landed facedown on the carpet.

  “Freeze! Armed federal agents. Do not move or we will fire upon you!”

  “Get in,” Dodge yelled. “They won’t shoot, not while we have Tyler.”

  Sam threw himself in the open door on top of Tyler and felt Dodge climb in beside him. Dark figures appeared at the fence behind them, and he rolled over and grabbed the handle of the door, slamming it shut.

  No sooner had he done that than it opened again, and a black-suited figure was reaching into the van.

  Sam kicked the man as hard as he could in the chest, and the man staggered backward as the tires spun in the wet, then gripped the road. The van took off at high speed, the soldier falling away into the darkness behind them.

  They saw the helicopter before it saw them, the huge “night sun” floodlight washing away the darkness from the roadway in front of them and filling the air below it with a heavy curtain of rain. Vienna spun the van off the road as the massive circle of light approached and hid beneath the canopy of a group of trees in front of a used-car lot.

  The helicopter passed by without seeing them. “Time to change cars,” Vienna said, the van crawling down the long rows of the car lot.

  She stopped alongside a black Ford crew-cab pickup with raised suspension and outsized, off-road wheels. It towered over the other cars in the dark of the lot.

  “This’ll do,” she said.

  40 | THE VALLEY OF DEATH

  The darkness was overwhelming. Without streetlights, the streets and buildings were black against the black of the sky, an enveloping night punctuated only by the lights of vehicles and the flashing red-and-blues of police cruisers.

  Into this darkness drifted ever-present freezing rain, lighter than before and invisible, except where it caught the police lights.

  The intersection of Parkway and South Main Street was blocked with cars, at least six of them jammed together in a multicar pileup, no doubt caused by the sudden loss of street and traffic lights. The drivers were standing around yelling at each other in the darkness. Vienna swung the wheel sharply, the pickup lifting and tilting as she cut left across the center line, aiming straight at a pair of ornate wrought-iron gates in a wall surrounding an apartment building.

  “Hold on!” she yelled, but it wasn’t necessary. The blunt knife that was the front bumper of the pickup sliced through the gates as if they were made of cardboard, twisted metal spinning away to the sides.

  They raced through a construction site, with timber stacked in tidy piles, over some scrubby ground, and through another fence, this one just a plastic orange safety fence.

  Then they were out on South Abel Street, and Vienna pressed her foot down, disregarding the people who had to jump out of the way.

  An overturned car, on fire, blocked the road ahead. Clearly visible in the flickering yellow flames, the dazed occupants sat on the curb. This time Vienna didn’t stop, didn’t change course; she just veered slightly, aiming for the trunk of the car. There was a jarring crunch, and then they were past. Sam looked back to see the car spinning and burning like a giant Roman candle.

  Sirens on police cars wailed as they circled around aimlessly, helpless in the omnipresent darkness.

  Sounds of smashing glass came from both sides, and the sound of shredding tires somewhere nearby was followed by the sickening thud of an accident.

  A police car pulled out of a side street and raced up behind them, lights flashing. Before Sam could even warn the others, however, a four-wheel-drive slid out of a side street, sideswiping the police car, which screeched to a halt and fell away behind them.

  They took Calaveras Boulevard out to the Sinclair Freeway interchange, then went north on I-680.

  The rain eased, then stopped as they rolled out into the desert. Sam sank back into the upholstery and said nothing, exhausted by the day’s events.

  Tyler glared at him from the rear seat, handcuffed to the door handle.

  “We don’t have time to get to Cheyenne,” Vienna said. “Even if we drive through the night. Someone will have reported this car stolen before then. We’ll have to hide the pickup and change cars again.”

  “What do you think, Dodge?” Sam asked.

  Dodge looked blank.

  “We need to do something,” Vienna said harshly, “or Tactical will be all over us when Ursula comes back online.”

  Sam looked back at Dodge. He looked tired and confused.

  “I have an idea,” Sam said. “I know somewhere we could go.”

  “Where?” Dodge asked.

  Sam shook his head. “The less Tyler knows, the better.”

  They stopped in Livermore, where the streets were dark but deserted, and Sam and Vienna went shopping with the aid of a tire iron from the rear of the pickup.

  They stopped at a grocery store, a hardware store, and an electronics store, in that order. Sam helped Vienna load cartons of food into the back of the pickup, along with bolt cutters and other tools that he thought they might need. The hardware store had a good supply of hazmat suits, and he took four.

  The electronics store yielded a laptop computer and a sensor device in a black leather carrying case. Sam stowed the device in the back of the pickup, being careful not to let Tyler see it.

  At the end of the short shopping spree, Vienna climbed behind the wheel and took them back onto the interstate.

  It was dark and hilly, but the lights of the pickup reached out in front of them, clawing back the night, and they made good time, veering around to the southeast and merging onto I-5 toward Los Angeles.

  The pickup had a GPS navigation unit, but it was offline. The whole world was currently off-line, Sam thought. There was a map book in the glove compartment, though, and he flicked the reading light on to help him study it.

  “Stay on the interstate until we get to exit 278,” he said. “Take Highway 46 toward Wasco.”

  Vienna’s eyes narrowed for a moment, then opened in understanding. “Through to Bakersfield, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  Dark farmland stretched out to their left, and even darker mountains to their right, illuminated only by starlight.

  Sam yawned and wondered how Vienna was managing to stay awake. Hours passed and the landscape outside his window started to blur into a kaleidoscope image of heavy black and brown shapes.

  “You won’t get away with this,” Tyler said abruptly, yanking Sam back to full consciousness. “It was bad enough before, but kidnapping a federal agent is going to add years to your jail time.”

  “What did they do?” Vienna asked, her hands tensing on the steering wheel. “I wasn’t there, remember? You tell me. What did they do that was so bad?”

  “You could get off lightly,” Tyler said by way of reply. “You weren’t involved at the start, and you could say you were duped or pressured by these two into being an accessory. I’d support you.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate that,” Vienna said. “So what exactly did these two mugs do that had a whole troop of Tactical chasing them out of the CDD building?”

  “They attacked Swamp Witch,” Tyler said. “We still don’t know how, but they used some kind of technology to induce a neurological event. Same thing happened in Chicago, and guess who was on the spot that time as well? Dodge and Sam. I think that Swamp Witch found out what they were up to and tried to stop them.”

  “We
never attacked Swamp Witch,” Sam said. “That was—”

  Vienna cut him off. “How do you know it was them? For sure.”

  “I saw the security footage,” Tyler replied. “I saw the two of them coming out of the swamp, and then Swamp Witch started screaming.”

  “We never—” Sam began, but Vienna held up a hand to silence him.

  “Shut up, Sam. I want to hear Tyler’s version,” she said. “So you can clearly remember Sam and Dodge coming out before Swamp Witch screamed?”

  “As clear as you’re sitting in front of me now.”

  “What if you never saw that at all?” Vienna asked.

  “I saw it,” Tyler said firmly.

  “I know, but what if it was a false memory that had been implanted in your brain? How would you know the difference?”

  “I saw it,” Tyler said again.

  “You remember seeing it. What if that memory was false? How would you know?”

  “You’re the bright one—you tell me,” Tyler said.

  “You wouldn’t know,” Sam said. “Not if you thought it was a genuine memory.”

  “We are our memories,” Dodge said. “That’s all we are. That’s what makes us the person we are. The sum of all our memories from the day we were born. If you took a person and replaced his set of memories with another set, he’d be a different person. He’d think, act, and feel things differently.”

  “I know what I remember,” Tyler said.

  “You’re missing the point,” Vienna said. “If it was possible to implant a false memory of something that never happened, then to you that memory would be as real as if it really did happen.”

  “How is that even possible?” Tyler scoffed.

  “Through a neuro-headset,” Vienna said simply, and Sam could see Tyler considering that.

  “Why would anyone do that?” Tyler said. “What motivation would these people have to frame Dodge and Sam, even if it were possible?”

  “Because ‘these people’ were the real culprits,” Vienna said. “They were the ones who attacked Swamp Witch. Dodge and Sam figured out who they were, so to cover themselves, they implanted memories to blame Dodge and Sam.”

  “I had orders from Jaggard,” Tyler protested.

  “You think he doesn’t have a neuro-headset?” Sam asked. “They got at him too.”

  “Even if it’s true,” Tyler said, “give yourselves up now before things get any worse. Let me take you in, and I promise that neither you nor I will go within ten feet of a neuro-headset until the end of your trial.”

  “It’s too late for that,” Sam said, an image of Kiwi coming into his head, his finger pointed accusingly. “Too many people have already been affected.”

  Tyler lapsed into silence and stared out the window at nothing.

  Sam said, “How do any of us know that anything is real?”

  “We don’t,” Dodge said.

  “Everything I know is a memory,” Sam continued. “Every person I ever met, everything I have ever done. It could all be false. Implanted.”

  It was a staggering thought. What if nothing that had gone before had ever really happened? Was the person he remembered as his mother even real? Had Fargas existed only in his mind?

  “I think you’d know,” Vienna said. “I don’t know why, but somehow, I think you’d know.”

  Sam slept for a while and only woke when the pickup truck slowed down to the side of the road and stopped. It was already light, and he wondered where they were. An image of a road sign stuck in his mind, something they must have passed somewhere along the way: DEATH VALLEY ROAD.

  Where was Death Valley? His waking mind struggled to put it into context. Then it came to him.

  “Time to get geared up,” he said. “There are some protective suits in the back, and we all need to wear them.”

  Outside, the early-morning light glinted coldly off the barbs of a high barricade fence that straddled the highway directly in front of them.

  Signs mounted on the fence said DANGER and NO ADMITTANCE. A large triangular sign had a skull in one corner, a running man in another, and a radiation symbol in the third.

  Farther down the highway, about twenty yards beyond the barricades, the grimy, dust-covered remains of a sign were embedded upside down in the dirt.

  WELCOME TO FABULOUS LAS VEGAS, NEVADA.

  41 | SIN CITY

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” Tyler was the one who said it, but Sam could see it on Dodge’s face also.

  Even Vienna, who had already guessed their destination, seemed unsure now that they were faced with the high barricade fence that prevented entry to the contamination zone.

  At Jean, the last inhabitable town before the zone, they had turned off the highway and continued north toward Vegas on the old Boulevard until they had reached the fence.

  “You scared of a little fallout?” Sam asked, keeping his voice deliberately light. In truth, he, too, was starting to wonder if this was a good idea after all.

  “It’s a radioactive wasteland,” Tyler said. “A couple of hours in there and you’ll start glowing in the dark.”

  “Just put your suit on,” Sam said.

  “No way,” Tyler said.

  “Okay.” Sam smiled at him. “If you want to go into the zone without a hazmat suit, that’s up to you.”

  Tyler stared at him for a moment before taking the proffered suit and mask.

  “Masks too?” Vienna asked.

  “I think we’re okay for now,” Sam said. “As long as all the vents are shut.”

  He got out and walked to the back of the pickup truck, unhooking the tarpaulin that covered the bed, reaching inside and pulling out the electronic sensor device in the leather carrying case.

  “A Geiger counter,” he said to their raised eyebrows. “We’ll monitor the radiation levels and avoid any areas that seem unsafe.” He turned the device on, which made an occasional clicking sound, and handed it to Dodge. “There’s a manual in the side pocket.”

  “Who needs manuals?” Dodge replied with a grin.

  “Just read it,” Sam said.

  They got past the barrier simply by outflanking it. The fence extended into the distance in both directions, but Sam knew the authorities couldn’t cordon off the entire desert, and the pickup’s large tires had rolled effortlessly over the scrubland eastward.

  Signs along the fence, every hundred yards, told of the contamination that lay beyond. They eventually reached the end of the fence and turned north until they connected up again with the old Boulevard.

  The Mojave Desert surrounded them with nature’s own desolation: brown, hard-packed sand, corrugated with twisted patterns and decorated with nothing but the occasional clump of brown tussock. In the distance, dark mountains brooded in the early glow of the morning.

  A sense of foreboding grew as they drew closer to the scene of the worst disaster in American history.

  “Are you absolutely sure this is safe?” Vienna asked nervously at one point. Out of the window to their left, they could see a freight train lying on its side in a tangle of carriages.

  “The biggest problem here is the dust,” Sam replied. “The fallout from the explosion dropped thousands of tons of radioactive dust over the city. You don’t want that in your lungs or on your skin, but we should be safe in the truck with the vents shut. When we leave the truck, we can use the masks and respirators. The hazmat suits will keep the dust off our skin.”

  “Are you sure that Ursula won’t be able to find us here?” Dodge asked.

  “I am,” Sam said. “I did a school project on Las Vegas last year. The EMP—electromagnetic pulse—of the blast destroyed all electronic equipment. There are no computers, no cameras, no radios, nothing. In here, Ursula is blind.”

  “What about satellites?” Vienna asked.

  “Look up.”

  The dirty haze above the desert was intensifying even further as they neared the city.

  “Oil fires and underground garbage dumps have
been burning for years. Las Vegas is in the middle of a big desert bowl, surrounded by mountains. That keeps the smog in one place. Depending on the wind direction, most days there is no satellite coverage at all. We’re in a big electronic, digital hole here, and Ursula won’t be able to find us.”

  Ahead of them, Sam could already see the ravaged buildings of southern Las Vegas. The Geiger counter seemed to be clicking a little faster, or was that just his imagination? A shudder ran up his spine, prickling the hair on the back of his neck.

  “This is mad,” Tyler said. “You’re risking all our lives.”

  Nobody listened.

  The freeway and the Boulevard ran adjacent to one another as they approached Las Vegas, and at some point Vienna just let the wheels wander across the intervening scrubland to the smoother, faster surface of the freeway.

  “Head north,” Sam said as they entered the outskirts of the city.

  “Why north?” Vienna asked.

  “The fallout from the explosion was blown southward. On the northern side of the city, we might find something.”

  “Find what?” Dodge asked.

  “Somewhere safe to stay,” Sam replied.

  They passed communities of houses, expensive brick dwellings, abandoned and grimy with the dust of the desert. Few windows, if any, had survived.

  Cars were scattered like toys across the freeway, on their sides, on their roofs, many burned out and blackened. A construction crane had toppled over, the crisscrossed metal tower crumpled across the freeway, completely blocking all the lanes. Vehicles were piled up against it in a mound of vehicular garbage. They had to reverse back down the freeway and cross over to the other side to continue.

  A huge hotel-casino loomed up to their right, showing no evidence of damage. Strange, Sam thought, for such a large building to have survived the conflagration unscathed.

  As they passed it, Vienna looked back and gasped.

  Sam turned as well. The southern facade might have been intact, but the northern side was a bomb site, a blackened mess of broken glass and shattered concrete. Torn fabric, perhaps curtains or bedsheets, hung raggedly from the devastated rooms. Smashed and charred furniture littered the ground around the hotel.