Time Clock Hero

by Donovan, Spikes

  “Bunch of cars here,” Phoenix said, counting them. Phoenix hurried through the parking lot of the building and stepped up to the double glass doors and peered inside. His breath and the heat from his face fogged the glass as he pulled out his combat knife and used the handle to knock.

  The building was as large as a small warehouse and, just past the two front doors, he saw a small lobby. Through the lobby, not fifteen feet away, he saw another set of double doors. Beyond that, a receptionist’s desk and, not far behind it, a small space filled with cubicles. Two jackets hung on a coat tree to the right. People must be here.

  Phoenix knocked again. This time, he kept up a steady rhythm, tapping loudly with the metal end of his knife. In the dim after-hours lighting, Phoenix saw shadows moving against a wall on the left of the cubicles. First he saw two shadows, then more – maybe three more and, within seconds, he saw bodies of infected. He pulled out his flashlight and clicked it on. The infected came for the light like moths drawn to a candle.

  Phoenix unslung his pack and handed it to Alaia. He opened it, reached inside, and found a pair of Vice Grips. He adjusted the bright, chrome pliers and fit them onto the round lock cylinder on the door and squeezed as hard as he could. The Vice Grips locked into place.

  “I don’t have the energy for this,” Alaia said. “Why can’t we find someplace else?”

  Phoenix shook his head. “Six cars and five infected – that’s why. And, in case you haven’t noticed, there’s a brand new Jeep sitting in the lot.”

  “Whatever you say,” Alaia said. She readied her weapon, yawned, and drew back a step or two.

  “And, Detective Jenkins – in case you haven’t noticed, there’s another set of doors just past this first set,” Phoenix said. “Nobody ever locks those. So, once we’re inside, we can lock them down and we’re safe.”

  Alaia looked at Phoenix with tired, defeated eyes. “What? Like we’re on the last name basis now?”

  Just as Phoenix turned towards the door and started to unscrew the lock cylinder, Nashville Electric seemed to have come to the conclusion that it’s residents could no longer pay their light bills. All at once, every light in the bookstore, every street light, and even the glow of downtown Nashville, went out as easily as two fingers snuffing out a candle. All that was left was the flashlight.

  “Doesn’t change a thing,” Phoenix said, and he cranked the Vice Grips. The cylinder turned counterclockwise, he heard the set screw snap, and he removed the cylinder with ease. He handed the flashlight to Dr. Carson and told everyone to get ready. He took his combat knife, inserted its tip into the hole in the door, and tripped the lock mechanism. The bolt fell with a Ker plunk.

  The infected came through the inside double doors, tangling themselves into a small and convenient mess, just as Phoenix pulled the door open.

  Alaia raised her AK and, with aimed single shots, took out all five of the attackers, placing a bullet into the center of each of their skulls.

  Phoenix and Dr. Carson slid the bodies out onto the sidewalk as quickly as they could and, when they had finished, they locked themselves inside the building.

  The smell of books – the paper, the fresh ink – filled the place. It reminded Phoenix of when he was a boy at school and how he’d take a new text book, crack it, and bury his face into it. But this was a Bible book store, and that was okay. He’d been here before when he’d come looking for a new Bible. His father had paid for it.

  To the left of the receptionist’s desk, and just passed a wall dividing the employee section from the sales floor, Phoenix saw row after row of shelves filled with books.

  The only thing missing – something absolutely necessary at the moment – was heat. The lights had just gone out; but it seemed as if the heat had not been running for some time.

  Phoenix kept his eyes wide open, fighting against the sleep trying to close them down, and entered the hall past the cubicles. Alaia and Dr. Carson followed him through another set of doors and they came out onto a cold, concrete floor. They’d found the warehouse. Phoenix stopped everyone and listened. Then he took his knife and banged on a metal shelf, hoping to draw any infected. He stopped and listened. Nothing. He walked to the right along a cinderblock wall, came to a left turn, and found a large trash compactor that passed through the wall to the outside. Just to the right of it was an emergency exit.

  Three large barrels and a few smaller waste baskets filled with paper and broken up cardboard were lined up, ready to be dumped. Phoenix smiled.

  Dr. Carson looked at Phoenix. “No use just standing here.” He picked up one of the smaller baskets and dumped it into the compactor. “This is as good a time as any to celebrate global warming.”

  Alaia and Phoenix, weary beyond hope and cold, followed Dr. Carson’s example. Ten minutes later, they had a fire burning in the metal compactor. Most of the light-colored smoke was carried along through the wall by a draft, discharging safely into the cold, rainy, night air. The sides of the metal compactor heated up quickly. Alaia and Phoenix went back to the office and found two plush couches. They hauled them out of the office and into the warehouse, setting them up within a few feet of the warm compactor. Then Phoenix disappeared.

  “That paper isn’t going to burn all night,” Alaia said to Dr. Carson, and she got up off the couch and walked over to a row of shelves. She came back with her arms full of Bibles.

  Phoenix, who had just returned from having robbed the snack machine, saw her. “Wait a minute, Alaia,” he said. “You know, maybe I’m not the best guy in the world or anything – but let’s not burn these.”

  “What are you talking a---”

  “You don’t burn the Bible.” Phoenix took the Bibles from her and carried them over to a nearby table and carefully set them down. “And I know what you’re thinking.”

  Alaia looked at Phoenix and asked him, “What am I thinking?”

  “That I’m placing more emphasis on the physical book than what’s in the book. That if the Bible really meant anything to me, I’d be living it out.”

  “You worry too much, Phoenix.”

  Phoenix put his hands on Alaia’s shoulders. “The world is coming to an end and you’re not worried?”

  “I’m too tired and dead to worry about your confessions,” Alaia said. “But I know I need to worry – about you and me.”

  “Are you saved?”

  “I go to church – went to church.”

  “There’s a big difference between the two.”

  “You think I don’t know that?”

  Alaia turned and walked back towards the book shelves with Phoenix behind her. Together, they walked past the Bibles.

  Phoenix stopped. “Ah, this is what we need.” He raised his flashlight and used it like a pen, circling the words he saw written on a piece of white cardboard stuck to the shelf. “Commentaries,” he said with a smile. “The theologians can’t agree on anything, so let’s burn these. Here, hold the light.”

  Alaia held the flashlight while Phoenix picked up a stack of hardback commentaries. One by one, every single Bible commentary, from A to Z, ended up in the trash compactor. The blue metal sides of the compactor glowed red and the couches were pulled away.

  Dr. Carson slept soundly on his couch. Alaia and Phoenix, after warming up close to the makeshift furnace, removed most of their clothes and shared a couch together, using curtains taken from one of the offices as blankets.

  They passed the night in peace, falling asleep to the crackling sound of burning books and the gentle moan of the night wind and rain as it passed into the north east.

  Chapter 33

  Phoenix took the back way to Franklin, heading south towards Murfreesboro, just as Phillip Mercer had told him to do. But instead of taking I-440, he opted instead to take Highway 96. From there, he took Dr. Carson’s advice and followed a poorly-paved, seldom-used, tarred and chipped road that roared continually beneath the wheels of the Jeep’s knobby, off-road tires. The road, a car-and-a-half wide la
ne running through dense forests and thickets, seemed to lead anywhere except in the direction they needed to go. But Dr. Carson, riding shotgun, assured Phoenix he knew where he was taking them.

  “We don’t have much time,” Dr. Carson said. “But we have enough time.”

  Phoenix glanced at him and then back at the winding road. “And that means …”

  “Once the generators run out of fuel, the power will go down, and that will be that – we’ll be doomed.”

  “How long?”

  “Twenty-four hours, give or take.”

  “And you’re waiting now to tell us?” Alaia said.

  “We’ve got time,” Dr. Carson said, looking at his watch.

  “Not when we’re talking about my son,” Alaia said, with edge in her voice. “And you’re looking at your watch? Why? To make sure you’re right?”

  “And how do we keep the power from going down?” Phoenix asked. “Drive a tanker up and refuel it? Like that’s going to happen.”

  Dr. Carson rubbed his hand over his face. “Once we are inside the lab, we merely throw a switch and we’ll have all the power we need for however long we need it – which will be for a long time.”

  “Nuclear?” Alaia asked.

  “But we have to make the switch to nuclear while we still have generator power,” Dr. Carson said.

  Alaia started crying. “Why are we doing this – my boy, my boy – I ain’t never gonna see him again.”

  Phoenix looked over again at Dr. Carson. “Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that we have twenty-four hours, or about that, before the generators stop generating. And Phillip Mercer told me a day ago that this mess is supposed to go airborne in two days’ time.”

  “Yes,” Dr. Carson said.

  “Now, I want to know, once and for all – who’s behind this whole … this whole Psyke Virus thing.” Phoenix asked. “I know my knowing isn’t going to change a thing here, and I suspect you’re the one behind this. But you’re saving people – odd if you’re the man who’s killing everyone. I also think, in some twisted and not-very-profound way, that you’re the man who can stop this. Would you care to enlighten us?”

  “Not really,” Dr. Carson said, staring straight ahead. “But I’m amused that you suspect me in all of this, as if I am responsible for the death of untold millions of people. Please.”

  “Millions?”

  “What are you talking about?” Alaia asked.

  Dr. Carson pointed towards the front of the car. “Just get us to the lab.”

  Phoenix, guided by Dr. Carson, came off the winding, narrow roads onto a deserted four lane highway just south of Franklin, Tennessee. His phone rang just as he approached the on ramp. He pulled off onto the gravelly shoulder, not because of traffic, but out of habit.

  “I’m here,” Phoenix said. “I mean we are here … just a few miles south of---” Phoenix nodded. “We’re driving as fast as we can … Midnight? Why---? … You’re kidding, right? … Are you sure?” Phoenix sat there with the engine running and nodded for the next two minutes. “What does she have to do with this? … Okay, okay, okay …” Phoenix handed the phone back to Alaia and he rolled his eyes. He craned his neck backwards, looking put out, and looked at Alaia. “Mr. Mercer, if that’s who it is, wants to talk with you.”

  Alaia, in an uncertain tone that smacked of defeat, said, “Why me?” She nodded her head slightly, paused a second, and took the phone. “What do you want?” She listened for a few seconds, threatening to end the call, but she held on. “No … I don’t – I don’t want you playing with me, do you hear me?” Alaia screamed into the phone; and then she began to cry and stutter, shaking her head from side to side. “No … no … please don’t do this.” She kept the phone up against her ear, looking like she wanted to keep it there. Then she began acting like she was ready to smash it into teeny, tiny, itsy, bitsy pieces. “I’m … I’m gonna hang up, I’m going to---”

  Phoenix turned around in his seat.

  Alaia’s slender and perfect face hinted at a brief, fleeting smile that went suddenly frown, and she closed her eyes. She sobbed gently, shaking her head as if to say no, but she kept the phone pressed against her head. With her left hand, she gently rubbed her chest in small, slow circles.

  A minute later, Alaia pulled the phone away from her ear and ended the call. She handed the phone back to Phoenix, then she unlocked her seat belt and slid up in between the two front seats and hugged Dr. Carson. “Thank you,” she said, her voice barely audible. She leaned over and kissed Phoenix on the cheek and sat back in her seat.

  “What did he---?”

  Alaia waved Phoenix’s question away with a gesture of her hand. “That’s not for me to say.” She wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her camouflage.

  “Phillip Mercer is everywhere,” Dr. Carson said. “What did he tell you, Detective Malone?”

  Phoenix took a deep, lungful of air and released it. “We have until midnight. Not only do we have to clear out your lab, but we have to get into it first.”

  “The CDC, right?” Dr. Carson asked.

  “They’re expecting you. And I would guess that that is a bad thing.”

  “Well, be thankful they can’t get into the lab.”

  Phoenix tilted his head back and looked up at the ceiling of the Jeep. “Okay – question time.”

  “We’re wasting time, Phoenix,” Alaia said. “We need to move, and I mean now.”

  Phoenix pulled onto the onramp to I-65 North, towards Franklin, and picked up speed. “If it’s a cure we’re looking for, why not just cooperate with these guys? I mean, how hard can that be?”

  “Because, Detective Malone, I’ve completed what I set out to do,” Dr. Carson said. “I’ve done everything that can be done.”

  “So there’s no cure?” Phoenix said, a bit of impatience ringing in his voice.

  “Yes, Phoenix,” Alaia said. “There is a … a way we can defeat this thing.”

  Phoenix could tell by the sound of Alaia’s voice she was holding a pair of aces in her hand. No doubt a hand of cards Phillip Mercer must have just dealt her. They must have been good ones because he could see a smile, a small one, a fragile one, spreading across Alaia’s face. That was good enough, maybe, for him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his inhaler. “Oblivium – it’ll take the edge off things.”

  “The CDC believes only what they want to believe, Detective Malone,” Dr. Carson said. “They are convinced this Psyke Virus, as you call it, is only transmitted from person to person via contact. But they also know that water is a vehicle through which it can be contracted. And, of course, everyone knows Psyke was fed into the public utilities system.”

  “But you can stop the virus, right?” Phoenix asked.

  “There is no question about that – I designed the virus, I have the cure,” Dr. Carson said. “But the cure isn’t answer.”

  Phoenix glanced over at the doctor. He wanted to understand something about the crap he’d been hearing for the last few days and hoped Dr. Carson would spoon him a half dose of intellectual Pepto Bismol to solidify the mess that was running through him like a freight train. “You have the cure, but the cure won’t cure anybody? That’s … that’s just freaking brilliant, Dr. Carson.” Phoenix slammed his hands on the steering wheel. “So why are we wasting our time driving you to the research lab?”

  “Phoenix,” Alaia said, and she leaned forward. She handed him back his Oblivium. “Darkeem---”

  Dr. Carson turned around, shook his head, and Alaia returned to her seat.

  “All in due time, Detective Malone,” Dr. Carson said. “Phillip Mercer is running this show now and we’re on his time table, I’m afraid. All I can tell you is that, since you have retrieved me from the CDC, there is still a chance. That is all I can say.”

  “We need to get through the CDC guys, clear the lab, and then do whatever else it is you’re supposed to do,” Phoenix said. “I don’t get it. But I can’t think of anything remotely as logic
al as what we’re doing now – which isn’t saying much.”

  “How many CDC are there?” Dr. Carson asked.

  “All of them,” Phoenix said. “Phillip Mercer said the CDC has fifty armed personnel with them and a couple of vehicles.”

  “Well, I suggest we drive into the parking lot, talk to whoever is in charge, and walk into the lab.”

  “Isn’t that what you should have done a few days ago?”

  “They’ll take over the lab and, when they do, they’ll inadvertently destroy all of my work.”

  “And that means?” Phoenix asked, rolling his right hand forward over and over again.

  “Well, for one, they will lock down the nuclear reactor and prevent me from turning it on and---”

  “They won’t even ask you about---?”

  “And when they do, the game is over,” Dr. Carson said with calmness in his voice. “We might as well inject ourselves with the virus – that would make the end easier for us.”

  “And if we can get into the lab – I mean, just you, me, and Alaia – then everything will be like it’s supposed to be?”

  Dr. Carson nodded.

  “And how do plan on getting us past the CDC and into the lab?”

  “That’s for you to figure out, Detective Malone.”

  Chapter 34

  “There’s got to be a civilized way of getting into my lab other than by doing this,” Dr. Carson said. “And besides, Phillip Mercer will probably be calling us to threaten you for even thinking about it.”

  “Then Phillip Mercer – may he rot in hell – can call me and offer his suggestions,” Phoenix said, putting the Jeep into park. “Sure, he can talk all he wants, and he does talk a lot, but he sure doesn’t know how to get his hands dirty.”

  Dr. Carson raised his eyebrows.

  “The idea’s sound,” Alaia said. “Stupid, but sound.”

  Phoenix had to agree with the general consensus, two votes against one. Driving a side-paneled, flatbed trailer into the parking lot of the Cool Springs shopping mall and using himself as bait to fill it up with hundreds of infected was anything but civilized. He’d spotted the truck on an off ramp just before Cools Springs, came up with the idea in a pulsing, flash of inspiration, and pulled off as quickly as he’d seen the truck. The trucker wasn’t around or, if he was, he was wandering around aimlessly. The driver’s side door was open.