“You were playing God!” Jake shouted.
“Somebody had to.” Folkstone countered, gasping for air.
“Who did you answer to? Who was responsible?” Paul asked.
“I answered to my handler.”
“And who does he answer to? The President? The Pentagon? who?”
“You’re thinking too small.”
“Who’s more powerful than the President?”
“Bilderberg.”
“Who are they?” Jake said.
“Illuminati, Skull and Bones, the Freemasons. Trilateralists, the Council on Foreign Relations, the World Bank. The players are the same but the names have changed.”
“Why are you telling us this?” Paul asked.
“My final orders after killing you were to report to the Apple-Tree, an underground facility in Utah. I was also told there would not be room for my daughter.”
There was a pause as Jake and Paul absorbed this information.
“I’m sorry for her, Folkstone. But you’ve sentenced billions of people to death. What would your daughter think? Does she know?” Jake asked.
“No she thinks her vaccination was the same as those given out in the mass vaccination program.”
“The placebo?”
“Do we have a deal? My helicopter pilot has to take off. Some people have found their way to his location.”
Jake didn’t look at Paul. He didn’t need anyone else’s vote, not this time. It was his decision to make.
“Call her. Tell her to meet us exactly five miles north of Baker, California in two days. Tell her to bring the doctor, as well.”
Folkstone smiled. Jake knew about the desert. Good. He tried to get his breath. Folkstone was fading, and he needed to finish this.
“My pilot will be landing on this parking tower. He won’t land if he doesn’t see me. I’m coming out.”
“Keep your hands where I can see them, Folkstone,” Jake said. “And throw out your handgun.”
Folkstone stood up. He was less than thirty feet away, and he was soaked in blood.
“I can’t. Help me to the roof.”
“Clean through and through,” Jake chastised.
“Notice you weren’t coming out to check.” Folkstone said, turning his back on Jake.
Jake smiled.
Folkstone took the small win as he leaned hard into Paul, his cough sprayed blood to the ground like a sprinkler.
Paul helped him up the ramp. Paul figured he had at least ten years on him, but Folkstone was strong. He had to be to make it to the roof with a wound like that. Paul was surprised he’d lasted as long as he had. They made it to the top and could hear the hum of a helicopter.
“Put me over there. Then you two get out of sight.”
“What about the pilot?” Jake asked.
“I’ll take care of him,” Folkstone replied.
Jake and Paul crawled into hiding under a torched truck.
“Still don’t trust me Jake? I can’t see that but I can feel it.”
A sly smile crossed Jake’s face. Was that a lucky guess or could he actually feel the gun trained on his back?
The Bell 430 hovered over the parking tower surveying the landing zone. Folkstone was down, holding his stomach.
It looked clear. Tight landing but clear. The pilot leveled out and set the skids down on the rooftop.
Folkstone crawled toward the helicopter. The pilot jumped out to help, wary of the possibility of attack. He bent down to lift Folkstone to his feet, grabbing him up under his left arm. The older man pressed the muzzle of his gun to the pilot’s ribcage hard, paused long enough to look him in the eyes, and pulled the trigger. The pilot’s body bucked, partially restrained by Folkstone, and the men collapsed to the concrete together. He was still conscious but breathing hard, fear, shock, and confusion on his face. Folkstone hit him again, this time between the eyes.
Jake and Paul watched in disbelief.
“Had to be that way, Jake!”
Jake and Paul both knew he was right. There’s always sacrifice.
“You need to go, Jake. Chopper’s going to attract attention.”
Jake looked down at Folkstone. He couldn’t quite believe what he’d just seen. To kill one of his men like that made Jake want to break his vow.
He nodded curtly and turned toward the chopper.
“Jake.”
Jake turned back.
“Can I have Toomb’s Glock?”
“Get in the chopper, Paul,” Jake said, never taking his eyes from Folkstone’s.
Paul did as he was told, and Jake knelt down close to Folkstone.
“One last fight?” Jake asked.
“One last fight.”
“I’ll leave it over there.”
Folkstone nodded. “Jake this is bigger than you could imagine. You believe the outbreak in Panama was accidental? ” Folkstone asked.
Jake showed no emotion. “I’m sorry I can’t hang around to help.”
Folkstone looked into Jake’s eyes, which were now as cold as his own.
Jake stood up and walked to the chopper. Before he climbed in, he stooped down and placed the gun on the pavement.
Jake lifted off and watched as Folkstone crawled over to the gun. He lay beside it, took his phone out and called his daughter.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah honey.”
“Where are you? It’s getting bad here. I thought you’d be here by now?”
“I don’t think I’m going to make it.”
“What’s wrong? Where are you?”
The shadow of the helicopter’s rotor turned on the concrete in a hover position.
“Emily, listen. I don’t know how much time I have. I have a friend. He’s a good man…”
Folkstone continued to talk to his daughter until a group of desperate locals burst onto the top level of the parking garage, drawn by the helicopter.
“Emily. I have to go now. Remember five miles north of Baker California. I love you Emily.”
“Daddy.”
Folkstone disconnected and put the phone on the concrete.
The group of locals looked toward the heavens as the Bell 430 hovered above. A man in the crowd pointed a rifle at Folkstone. “Tell him to land, mister!”
“He won’t land for me.”
Folkstone grabbed the Glock off the concrete and pointed it at the crowd. Feels light. He pulled the trigger but there was only a hollow click.
Folkstone looked up at Jake, who smiled grimly and pulled up on the stick. He was turning away by the time the rifleman on the roof of the parking tower separated the Major’s brains from his head with a single shot.
Paul heard the shot and looked out, but they were already too far away to tell what had happened.
“What the hell was that?” Paul asked.
“Justice.”
“What?”
“The scales of justice never hang in balance. There’s always a tipping point.”
Chapter 34
The drone of the helicopter was absolute, filling the shell of their sanctuary as it set down outside the empty bay door of the unfinished building. The rotor cast an ominous, taunting shadow.
Leslie grabbed the Browning rifle and checked the scope. She concentrated on her breathing. Jake and her father had been good instructors. The sun was behind the helicopter and it was hard to make out the pilot.
She struggled to focus as she peered through the scope. She could see movement, and she set her shoulders for the recoil.
Relax and squeeze the trigger. Just like target practice.
It was definitely two people. She waited for them to enter the building where the light would not flood her field of vision and she could get a clean shot.
Leslie exhaled and fingered the trigger.
Relax and squeeze.
Something about the way one of the dark figures moved looked familiar.
“It’s Paul and Jake!” she screamed and then realized she was still looking at them
through the scope of a high powered rifle.
Leslie dropped her weapon and ran to them.
Cassandra and June followed but were quickly overtaken by Christopher. Fear and worry washed away, replaced by joyful exuberance.
“Dad!” He yelled excitedly passing his mom and jumping into his father’s arms. “I knew you wouldn’t leave me.”
“Not a chance my little man,” his father said holding him tight. Jake leaned over and tousled his hair. “You’re gonna be all right kiddo.”
They were the first words Christopher had spoken since witnessing the brutal murders of the unknown family on the highway, and everyone was relieved. It might take time for the scars to heal but they would heal. Heal or harden. One thing was certain. Innocence lost can never be reclaimed.
June hugged Jake and kissed him surprising them both. It startled him but it felt right. The thought of never seeing her again seemed like a very real possibility a short time ago, and the thought terrified him more than his dreams. They had been gone way too long.
*
They ran west of Los Lunas. Hiding a helicopter on the barren surface of the moon had proven to be a difficult task. Leslie swept its computer. Candlelight Asylum would indeed be very helpful. They dropped into a deep rift off a desolate side road, taking careful note of the coordinates, and then trudged to the cube van that had followed Jake and Leslie to the periphery of the remote Indian reserve.
In the two days it took to reach Baker, California, the military pulled out of the cities. Uniforms didn’t stop the virus.
They established contact with Pat Michaels’ widow. Folkstone had spoken the truth. The NSA had indeed killed Pat but he had the foresight to supply Chief Mederack’s cell number as a backup. He and Corporal Dennis and the growing caravan had clawed their way west. They’d even picked up some strays along the way, mostly women and children who had fallen victim to the spreading violence.
The media pipeline was choked with casualties of the same emotions that had gripped the rest of America: fear and a natural instinct for survival. The internet had become the only source of news.
Bloggers, tweets, and YouTube videos told a thousand similar tales, along with countless web sites, decrying the fall of man and all his evil ways, and they all linked back to Leslie’s original story, which she chose to upload anonymously.
But Jake and his group were not completely anonymous.
*
“Sir. You have to see this.”
The man looked at the bank of computer screens, each with the same story at a different site.
“Can you stop it?” asked the man with the raspy voice and southern drawl.
“We’ve tried, but every time we do it multiplies. Knock one down and two more pop up on another open proxy. We don’t know how they’re doing it.”
“Shut it down!”
The man kept banging away at the keys, but it was useless.
What if three quarters of the world's population vanished? Is it worth a look? Studies by the military, politicians and the world's power elite are curious.
It was all there for the entire world to see. It told of an outbreak of mouse pox in Panama back in 1979. The events were substantiated by detailed journals from a decorated soldier, Major Robert Williams of the 7th Special Forces Group Airbourne who with his men had provided security in the subsequent quarantine of that outbreak. The CIA involvement and details of how they acquired the pathogen then recruited the doctors from Panama to work to develop a vaccination for that pathogen. The list of doctors along with stories of their demise, all from questionable deaths in 2004, the same year as Major Robert Williams death in a hit and run.
It was like connect the dots that eventually showed a clear picture of murder, deception, and betrayal.
When the continental shelf collapsed, the tsunami that followed was devastating. 2.7 million dead and counting. China was at the mercy of the world. It reached out for humanitarian aid and someone saw opportunity. They came under the guise of foreign aid, there to spray the lowlands where trapped water had become a breeding grounds for mosquitoes that might further increase the death toll. Malaria was a real threat. It was a perfect delivery system for the pathogen, and it spread fast.
This was not an act of war by a country, but a class war initiated by elitists from across the globe. Politicians, financiers, media moguls, and industrialists. They dictated world policies, made Presidents and Prime Ministers. A global ruling class that plotted a course to a new world order. A world suggested by Thomas Malthus all those years ago.
Take 100 rabbits and put them in a lush paradise. Their population would grow exponentially, but sooner or later the population will decline. Why? Finite resources.
They become gluttonous creatures. Steroids and growth hormones in the food to keep up with demand. Shitting all over their paradise.
Our planet is sick and is trying to cleanse itself of the infection that has taken her for granted and polluted her body, her air, her space. Modern man is a parasite destroying its own habitat.
Maybe they were right. Maybe this was man’s only chance at a future. A hard choice that could only be made by the truly insensitive, the selfish whose concern was themselves and their power, and not for the good of all mankind. Money and greed were the main cause of climate change. We, the survivors, have been given a unique opportunity. A do over. A global reboot. We didn’t ask for this. It was thrust upon us. Respecting others and doing what’s right not what is profitable is the only the way to keep us from destroying ourselves and the planet we inhabit. We need to realign our moral compass.
We will help all those who come as best we can. No one will be turned away, but everyone will be subject to quarantine. We will share the food, the work, and all our resources. We will rebuild, and we will survive!
Signed
The Compassionate New World Order
Death Valley
Where life begins.
Along with that message, Leslie relayed the contents of Candlestick Asylum. It was a list of underground facilities. Some secret, some not so secret. It gave the coordinates to over one hundred such facilities in the US, Canada, the UK, the Netherlands, and Germany. Mount Weather, Cheyenne Mountain, the Apple-Tree, and Site K. All were exposed and left vulnerable.
*
Jake swerved to avoid a dead dog left to fester in the road as they cut a path through the Devil’s Playground near Kelso. The mountains lay ahead. Rugged, sharp and inhospitable. Everything around them was burnt khaki brown, like God had taken a brush and painted the entire landscape an earthy shade of bland. The sky, though, was a brilliant blue filled with cheery hope. An inspiring carousel of hypnotic wispy clouds that pulled you headlong back to your youth, to a time when your imagination was as fertile as the soil and you were not burdened by the realities of life. A time when innocence allowed all things to be possible.
Jake took June’s hand in his and lifted it to his lips, kissing it firmly. Their eyes met. No words needed to be spoken.
Five miles out from Baker, two men and a woman stood waiting beside a large van. The woman looked to be about twenty-five, heart-achingly beautiful, with milky blue eyes and corn silk blonde hair. She wore a flowing maternity dress.
She had brought a new life with her. A new beginning.
****
About the Author
What can I say? I consider myself a shy, paranoid-schizophrenic with an unhealthy distrust for government. I also possess an over-active imagination that ran wild when the idea for ‘Playing God’ first came to me in a dream. The situations and characters in my novel are fictional but I sincerely hope it doesn’t get me killed, although it would be a great marketing tool. Think of the sales? Hmmm?
Seriously, though.I was born in Leamington, Ontario and graduated from Sir Wilfred Laurier Secondary School in London. I have been lucky in love and my wife Susan and I recently celebrated our 23rd anniversary. We have been blessed with two daughters, Christina and Cassandra, who pop
up in my writing although Christina is not happy with the gender of her character.
My family and I live in Stoney Creek, Ontario, where I am working on my second novel ‘After the Fall’ which is a sequel to ‘Playing God’.
Playing God Page 22
