Andeal rubbed the back of his neck. Whenever he moved too fast, it sent a sharp pain through his nerves. “I jumped a hundred feet into a river barely deep enough. By all rights, I should be dead.”
“I’m glad you’re not. Being alone with the president is scary and I have nothing to eat with me.”
Andeal burst out laughing—a series of painful hiccups—and held his side with one hand while he bent to ease the pain. Would anyone but Henry complain about a lack of instant noodles while the Union President admitted on a clandestine national broadcast that he’d protected the killer of thousands for his personal gain? Henry gave him an insulted, don’t-mock-me glare, then turned away from him.
“Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no!”
His fright killed Andeal’s mirth and he straightened as his friend dashed for the door connecting to the recording room. Inside, President Kurtmann had drawn a pistol as he spoke and shoved it under his chin. Andeal froze, clasped the control panel in front of him. The president’s voice drifted through the speakers above him, thick with emotion.
“I hope you’ll remember that in the end, I did the right thing.”
Kurtmann met his gaze a brief moment, spun on his heels and pulled the trigger. Red chunks thumped against the window. Blood and brains. Slowly sliding down, right before him. Andeal ripped the sound cable out of its input, panting. Henry had flung the door open and rushed inside. He crouched next to the crumpled body, barely visible behind the screen of blood.
Everyone would’ve heard that. Every single person in this country. And now they had only silence left.
Andeal plugged the sound input into the disc reader. His hands were so shaky he couldn’t aim right and had to try twice. Dazed, he put Lenz’s recording in and pressed the play button. Galen’s smooth voice floated through the room, filling the unbearable silence.
What now? Andeal tried to get his brain to function again, to find a way to segue out of this. What was he supposed to say when he next took the microphone? ‘Hello listeners, sorry the president decided to shoot himself live! No need to panic, nothing’s wrong here.’ That’d work, for sure! Andeal rubbed his temples, desperate for a way out of this mess. And it was all going so well five seconds ago.
A loud crash covered the recording as the door behind him burst open.
“On the ground! On the ground!” a soldier shouted as Andeal spun around. He tried to step back, felt the machines against his back. Men rushed into the recording room, weapons raised. Hands grabbed him, turned him back around and slammed him face-first into the disc reader. The brusque movement sent intense pain into his side and neck, his knees gave in and he found himself on the ground, as ordered, held by soldiers. He never had time to say a word.
“Turn that shit off,” said a calm voice—the exact same that was playing even now for the whole Union to hear.
Mounting dread clutched Andeal’s throat as the recording stopped. He tried to twist, to glimpse and confirm, but the sharp pain kept him still. He didn’t need the confirmation, though. He’d recognize Galen Clarin among hundreds of thousands. How often had he supervised an experiment, commenting on his state like you would on a broken toy? How many more times would he now?
Andeal struggled against the soldier’s hold, fought through the pain to try to squirm out. Strong hands squeezed his arm and a knee pushed him back down to the ground, crushing his broken rib further. He gasped and tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Stop it, you’re pathetic,” Galen said.
Did it matter? If keeping his dignity landed him in Galen’s clutches, he wanted none of it. He stretched his hand to reach the cables, hoping to pull himself. The soldier slapped it away, grabbed a handful of hair and smashed his head against the floor. Blood spurted out of Andeal’s nose and large swaths of darkness obscured his sight. Every inch of his face throbbed. He lay still an instant, dazed, then the urge to escape returned. With his remaining strength, Andeal gathered his arms under him and pushed up hard.
A surprised cry from the soldier rewarded his effort. The man reacted by smashing his knee down hard into Andeal’s back, slightly on the wounded side. Waves of nauseating pain spread out from his wound and he collapsed with a scream, shaking.
“Next time just knock him out,” Galen ordered. “I wanted a little chat with my friend but if he keeps wailing while I make my public announcement, I’ll be forced to go in that disgusting recording room.”
Andeal froze. Henry hid in there. If Galen entered they’d find him. It’d be over, for both of them. But how much would Galen trade to know the source of all his problems was one door away? Henry didn’t have a wife to return to. He hadn’t suffered through this before. Wouldn’t it be more fair for Andeal to walk away, instead of him? It didn’t matter what price he had to pay. Andeal could not return to the labs.
“I can help you.”
He regretted the words as soon as they escaped his lips. He couldn’t trust Galen, could he? His voice was only a broken whisper, but the scientist heard. He must’ve given a silent order because the soldier removed his knee from Andeal’s back and heaved him to his feet, turning him so he could face Galen. The man’s pale brown hair had grayed in the last six years but his blue eyes hadn’t lost any of their cold mockery. His classy dark blue waistcoat, white shirt and clean pants seemed bizarre to Andeal; he’d never seen him in anything but a lab coat.
“Was there some wisdom you wished to share?”
Andeal swallowed hard. He shouldn’t have said anything. Too late now. “Will it save me from the labs?”
“Nothing will.” Galen walked to him, his hands resting in his pockets. He leaned forward just enough to bring his lips to Andeal’s ear. “You have no idea how much I’m looking forward to it.”
A gaping pit opened in Andeal’s stomach and swallowed what little fight he had left in him. He’d struggled so hard a minute ago but now the thought of raising a finger to defend himself pained him. There was no use. How could he have thought to sell Henry out for his freedom? Perhaps he deserved to go back there and die of some horrible experimental mishap. He turned his head away from Galen. There was one last thing for him to do: keep Clarin out of the recording room.
“Move the red cable from the disc reader into the third hole from the left on the main control panel.”
The scientist withdrew and glanced at the mess of cables, lights, and buttons behind him.
“Why tell me?”
“A man shot himself in front of my eyes and his brains are still displayed on the window behind you. Are you that surprised I want to get out of here?”
He couldn’t care less about Jacob Kurtmann at this point, but he put as much conviction as he could into his answer. Galen considered his words for a moment then shrugged.
“You never did have much of a stomach for blood.” He turned to another soldier and motioned for him to leave. “Get out and tell me if it works in the corridor.”
He unplugged the red cable and placed it back where Andeal had indicated. His movements were relaxed, his shoulders at ease. Galen Clarin did not indicate he had any worries about today, or how it’d end. He tapped the microphone with his finger, waited for confirmation from his man, then yanked the cable out again. Andeal’s heart thumped against his chest. Why didn’t he just give his stupid message and be done with it?
The scientist made his deliberate way back to Andeal and put a hand on his shoulder. Andeal tried to squirm out of it, provoked another spasm of pain from his side. He reached for it, understood right away his reflex was a mistake. Galen took note, smiled, squeezed his wounded side. Stars burst in front of Andeal’s eyes and he gasped as his knees buckled. The soldier held him up.
“Interesting.” Galen picked up his chin. “I want you to stay and watch. If you make a single sound, however, I’ll have your tongue cut out. You don’t really need it. After all, tube-feeding you wouldn’t be that much of a bother.”
Still struggling to breathe, Andeal only managed a weak nod. He clung
to the idea they would at least get away from Henry and give him a chance to escape. One of them would be safe. One of them would not have tubes forced down his throat, unknown substances injected into his veins, painful tests performed on him. Andeal choked on a sob as Galen gave him a satisfied pat on the head and returned to the mic. The scientist rolled up his sleeves, cleared his throat, and plugged the cable back in.
“Union citizens, ladies and gentlemen, this illegal broadcast is over. I am Galen Clarin and I have grave news. Today…today is a sad day for the Union. Settle down. Let me tell you what I know. I was awakened last night by my brother, Chief of Security, with very bad news. He told me the president had vanished. He was worried, almost panicked. Omar never is and it scared me in turn. We did our best to find him, put all our manpower on the operation, but…We were too late.”
Galen took a dramatic pause, a devious smile creeping up his face. He winked at Andeal, then continued his lies.
“My good citizens, you all heard what followed. The White Renegade’s rebels coerced our beloved president into a ludicrous confession and shot him down. Do you believe a word of it? Jacob Kurtmann is—was—the kindest and most courageous soul of this land. He would not have betrayed his people this way. Neither would I. Though I have erred before in my desire to help this country, the ruthless infection of tens of thousands as a bid of power is…” He stopped, groaned. “Even speaking of it makes me nauseated.”
His tone turned sad, with a hint of anger. No one could see his smirk. They would hear guilt, desolation, resolution. Not mockery and mirth. Was that it? Did they lose everything they’d built to one fell swoop from Galen Clarin? How could their story crumble so fast?
“I implore you, fellow citizens,” Galen went on, “do not let the rebels’ tale poison your view of our nation. We have united diverging countries, drawing on the strengths of each to create a force to be reckoned with. We are beautiful. Never forget: in our greatest challenges, we stay united!”
Galen brought a hand to the mic to muffle sounds, leaned toward Andeal, and whispered.
“That’s one speech for the history-makers, isn’t it?”
Anger burned in Andeal’s stomach. He repressed it before it pushed him to fight back. Galen wanted him to, but what would be the point? Nothing he could do would make a difference, in his life or others’. He wouldn’t give the bastard the satisfaction of a reaction. Galen’s smile vanished as he returned to his message.
“I am proud to announce we have captured the men responsible for this and charged them with treason, as we did their partner last week. Peace may soon return to our nation. To the men and women assembled in Reverence, marching in its streets: return home, to your loving families. You are now part of an illegal assembly. Farewell.”
Galen yanked the cable out with a soft laugh and returned his attention to his prisoner. “Good show, don’t you think? I do hope every one of these fools has the same horrified expression you do. It’s delicious.”
He pulled his sleeves back down and smoothened them before glancing to the blood in the window. The seriousness in his eyes betrayed his easy smile. Perhaps he hadn’t worked out how to deal with the president’s death or what to do next. Galen clasped his hands behind his back, made little thinking sounds, then shrugged.
“We’re done here. Knock him out, soldier.”
The order was barely finished when a pistol’s cross smashed against Andeal’s temple.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Henry threw himself into the recording room as Kurtmann pressed the pistol to his chin, slamming the soundproof door against the wall. He wanted to yell don’t you dare pull that trigger but horror clenched his throat. He managed one stride before a loud bang pierced his ears. Warm specks covered his face and left a coppery taste in his mouth. Blood, his mind registered. The president’s body crumpled as Henry stumbled to it, nauseous.
“You didn’t have to do that, damn it!”
His shaky hands reached for the president’s. He wanted to place them right, to give Jacob Kurtmann’s corpse some dignity—as much as his blown skull allowed, anyway.
A powerful crack interrupted his movement and he spun about in time to see soldiers rushing into the booth, pointing weapons at Andeal. His room’s soundproof door slid back in place and closed with a click, blocking all noises as suddenly as they’d appeared. Henry grabbed Kurtmann’s gun and scrambled to the bloodied window, huddling against the wall and hiding out of sight.
He curled up, clutching the weapon to his heart. What was going on? He couldn’t hear anything, could only feel the occasional vibration through the wall. Terror locked him down. Kurtmann’s still-warm blood mixed with his cold sweat and drenched his shirt. They’d be coming for him. Any moment now they’d come through the door, find him, kill him.
His recording stopped playing—when had Andeal put that on anyway? What else had he missed? Henry wiped the blood off his face and forced himself to swallow. A part of him wanted to stand up and free his friend, but what could he do? He’d be shot down in a blink. Pushing guilt-ridden presidents to suicide was all he was good for.
The speakers gave a soft whirring noise, then someone cleared his throat.
“Union citizens, ladies and gentlemen, this illegal broadcast is over. I am Galen Clarin and I have grave news.”
Henry barely breathed through the speech. Doubts began to gnaw at his determination. How could their mismatched story—assembled from a network of clues and conjectures, held together by a single recording and Kurtmann’s confirmation, presented in bribes at irregular hours with a crappy transmission—how could it hope to compete with the benevolent and educated voice that had just explained it all away? Galen Clarin had pieced a defense together without batting an eye. How much easier was it to accept his version, to ignore these upstart rebels and believe that all was well? Henry had done so for years.
It couldn’t end like this, not after all they’d done. Henry refused. If the smooth scientist’s voice were the more credible of the two, then he’d let him do the talking. If only Henry could hear what was happening behind him! Galen’s voice no longer drifted out of the speakers. How long had he cowered here, clinging to Kurtmann’s bloodied firearm, while they held Andeal? Was his friend still alive? Henry hadn’t heard gunshots. He would’ve, even through the glass. Andeal had to be okay.
Henry took a deep breath, tried to straighten his nerves. He had to move, do something. Act. He shifted to his knees, began a slow crawl toward Kurtmann. Blood seeped into his sleeves and pants. It dripped down as he reached into the president’s pockets and withdrew the copy of the recording. Henry averted his eyes from the blown skull and retreated back to the window, sticking himself against the wall. Had they seen him? Were they still there? His trembling hands almost dropped the disc.
First step completed, he congratulated himself, clinging to the recording. He could finish this. He had to.
He raised his head slowly, to peek out the window. Thick blood obscured almost everything, but he spotted no human shapes. Henry wiped the screen with his already-dirty sleeve. No one. A weight lifted from his lungs and he took a deep breath. They’d left. He could move around.
Henry jumped to his feet and hurried out of the recording room, slamming the soundproof door behind him. No more blood everywhere. No more dead presidential body. He swallowed hard, tried to calm his heart. No use. Instead he moved in front of the console. The red cable just hung there, waiting. He could do this.
Before he lost his courage, he grabbed the cable and connected the microphone.
“People!” He’d said something! No turning back. “Hum…hello there. We’re back.” He had to gather his thoughts, do this quick. Galen Clarin would send someone after him. “This is Henry Schmitt talking, again. Son of Lenz Schmitt. My father is the old friend President Kurtmann mentioned. I’m going to play his recording again. That’s what you heard earlier. The beginning of my father’s recording. The start of the truth.” This was getting e
asier. He’d never found a good rhythm in the last month, but since last night the words seemed to come on their own. “I hope it will have time to play to the end, but I make no guarantee. I’ll do my best. Oh, and one last thing: Doctor Clarin, I’m coming for you.”
He had no idea why he’d issued that threat, but it’d spilled right out of his mouth with surprising intensity. He almost sounded dangerous! Almost. Henry switched the cables about, put his disc in the reader, and started the audio once again. Broken pieces of the other copy lay at his feet. How fast would the soldiers get here and inflict the same fate to this one? Then they’d come after him…
Time to move. He strode through the broken door, glanced to each side, then started down the corridor. He kept looking over his shoulder, unable to shake his fear they’d appear behind him. His eyes caught something weird in the rug. Did it seem…wet? Henry squinted until he saw his own bloodied footprints, going from the recording room to him. Great. He left a blood trail on the floor. Henry bit his lower lip and hurried into the first door on his right. He found a classy office with a huge desk and an important-looking leather chair, with diplomas and prestigious certificates lining the wall. Whoever worked here mattered. Henry removed his shoes and threw them on the chair, where they’d be hidden from the doorway. The men would come here looking for him, following his tracks. He might be able to slip away.
Henry crept toward the stairs when he heard voices coming up from it. And if he used the elevator, they would see the lit number indicating the floor he was on.
He was trapped upstairs.
His heart pumping, Henry headed into a tiny conference room in front of the office, leaving the door opened a crack. A dozen chairs circled a smooth wooden table and a white board was nailed to the wall on one end. A large window connected the room to the corridor but dull white curtains blocked most of the view. Henry moved closer to them. He could take the soldiers by surprise while they checked the other room. His grip tightened on Kurtmann’s pistol. He could still hear the recording from the corridor’s speakers.
Viral Airwaves Page 32
