Living Proof

by Peter J Thompson

  It came from behind him.

  Ramon held his breath as long as he could. He listened to the sound of approaching footsteps. It was almost time. He stood still as stone, trying not to move, not to breathe, not to even think. Any movement and Cain would be on him. The ledge was too narrow for comfort. It was hard to keep his balance, knowing just a shift backward and he’d be off, plummeting down to the ground below. The footsteps came closer.

  He clutched the glass shard in his hand, down by his side, waiting. The footsteps were louder now. He tensed as Cain stepped into his field of vision, his head tilted slightly forward as he searched the passageway. Ramon had the urge to back up, to move away from the threat, to get outside Cain’s field of vision. He fought the urge and remained still. He couldn’t hold his breath much longer. His chest constricted. He wanted to let go and gasp in the air. He held still. It seemed like the moment lasted forever. Cain stepped past without seeing him.

  He couldn’t hold it any longer. He let out his breath. With the reflexes of an animal, Cain turned. Ramon leapt toward him, the shard of glass in his hand.

  Cain spun around as the rabbit lunged at him.

  How did he get there?

  Cain reacted by instinct. He swung the gun into position, his finger tensing on the trigger. But his attacker hit before he got the shot off. Cain grunted. He was driven back, his breath knocked out of him. A jolt of pain flashed through his arm—the rabbit cut him somehow. He felt his grip on the gun loosen. The attacker seized the advantage and smashed Cain’s arm against the wooden column. Cain tried to grip tight, but couldn’t. The gun slipped out of his fingers, clattered onto the balcony ledge, and bounced over. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it fall out of sight. There was a metallic ping as it hit the tile floor far below.

  He’d underestimated the rabbit before and regretted it. Now he was pressed against the balcony, off balance, the rabbit’s hot breath in his face. He was stronger than Cain had thought. Cain’s right arm stung, and there was a gash where the forearm had been sliced open. His anger bubbled up. These last months, he’d been obsessed with revenge, finishing the job and making it right. He’d lost so much in the hunt.

  And now it was happening again.

  They were in close, pressed body to body, but Cain still had his knife. His arm was locked down by his side. He took a deep breath and brought his knee up sharply. The rabbit anticipated and turned slightly so the knee just grazed his thigh. But it was enough. The rabbit loosened his grip just enough for Cain to break his arm free.

  He thrust with the knife and hit home, sinking into the rabbit’s shoulder. Blood spurted. Shocked, the rabbit released his grip. Cain twisted his body and pushed in, driving the knife further and turning the rabbit’s back hard against the ledge of the balcony. He had the advantage again. It was time to end it all.

  With one hand gripping his opponent’s throat and the other the knife, he leaned in hard. He pushed the rabbit back against the ledge so his head was over the balcony. Cain aimed for the throat. But the rabbit still gripped the wrist of his knife hand, trying to put off the inevitable. Cain pushed down but could bring the blade no closer. His opponent’s arms were locked firm against the pressure.

  Cain’s head pounded. He felt his rage taking control—he wouldn’t be denied. His strength surged. He pushed down hard and felt the rabbit’s elbows bend, breaking the lock. He pushed the knife closer, the resistance slowly breaking down. He forced the tip of the knife down to the rabbit’s neck.

  But the rabbit didn’t give up. He still pushed back, his eyes registering defiance. Cain smiled. This was a tough one, a worthy opponent. He pushed a little harder; the tip broke skin and drew blood. Another second and it would all be over.

  Ramon knew he was going to die again, and it didn’t feel any better than the first time. The knife cut into his skin. Cain’s other hand squeezed his throat, so he couldn’t breathe. He strained with all his strength to keep the blade away. But Cain’s eyes showed triumph. They both knew it was over.

  Ramon’s shoulders were jutting past the ledge now. As Cain pushed harder, he leaned over more, using the full leverage to his advantage. His center of balance was high. He was leaning too far. Ramon strained against him and Cain moved just a little higher to push in the killing thrust. Ramon tasted blood. This was it. He set his feet and kicked up with all his strength, arching his back and thrusting his pelvis out. He waited for the blade to plunge in deeper, but instead, it was quickly pulled back as Cain dropped the knife and waved his arms, trying to regain his balance. Ramon saw it in Cain’s eyes. Surprise—panic. His balance had shifted and he was trying to pull back to safety—but couldn’t.

  They both toppled. Cain went over first, clutching at Ramon’s throat to right himself. It was too late. His fingers couldn’t grasp, and he was falling. Ramon shot out his arms and grabbed at the ledge. He clawed at the wood and clamped on tight, his legs dangling. Without meaning to, he looked down. Cain fell face up, screaming all the way down. Ramon winced at the sound when he hit. There was a commotion below as people ran to the body. The floor was crawling with men in uniform. He didn’t know if they were police or soldiers. It really didn’t matter.

  It was all Ramon could do to just hold on to the railing. His shoulder throbbed with pain, his arms ached with the effort. It hurt to breathe. He knew he was losing blood, from both his shoulder and his nose. He beat Cain by outlasting him, but he couldn’t last much longer. He was bone tired and his fingers would soon lose their grip. He closed his eyes and pictured how it would be if he let go. The air would rush past as if he were flying, his stomach would rise up to his throat like on a roller coaster, then he’d hit, and it would all be over.

  No more thought. No more pain.

  “Ramon, I can help you up, but you’ve got to pull.” It was Lena. She looked so beautiful looking down at him.

  “I can’t,” he said.

  “You’ve got to.” She leaned over the balcony and grabbed on to his arms. “You’ve got to try.”

  Ramon sucked in a deep breath. If he let go, then they would win. He’d come this far, he couldn’t quit now. His fingers gripped on to the ledge and he pulled. He closed his eyes and strained as Lena pulled from above. With effort, he gained a few inches and a new fingerhold. He focused his mind and worked through the pain.

  There was shouting down below. He tuned it out and pulled harder. Life was the other side of the ledge, and death was below. Lena pulled from on top, and all at once, he was there. His chest landed on the ledge. He shimmied forward and over the ledge, collapsing on the floor.

  He lay there for a moment, gasping for breath. Lena picked up the canvas bag. “Come on. We can’t stay here. You’re bleeding bad. We need to get help.”

  Ramon nodded and pulled himself up. They leaned against each other for support and started back down the stairs.

  24

  Rev Tanner felt like a traffic cop as he paced outside the broken door leading to the balcony. He’d kept the position staked out even as the floor swarmed with people. The senate police had come on the scene within minutes of the fire alarm going off. The firemen arrived soon after, and two senators and their aides were still on hand, waiting for the all-clear sign. By now, the media would surely be camping outside. It was a zoo. Under authority of the NSA, his men were still involved in the search. But that wouldn’t last long. Too many people were already asking questions.

  The whole situation was crazy. Cain knew the rabbits would show up eventually. He’d set the bait to make sure they came. The plan was to wait for the phone call, pick up the targets, and quickly leave the area. The plan called for a quick entrance and a quick exit—no one said anything about killing a senator. Now everything was fucked up. The situation had started out bad and quickly deteriorated.

  But the thing that really infuriated him was that they’d done it to him again. All along, he’d been told he was part of the inner circle, in the know. After the test in the desert, he’d had it
out with Major Durmo. Durmo came up with some lame excuse, apologized and assured Tanner they wouldn’t put him in a situation like that again. They promised that they’d tell him everything he needed to know. And now, they blind-sided him with this news. He’d been played for a fool all along.

  Tanner checked his watch. It had been ten minutes since Cain followed the targets up the balcony. He’d be back soon, and then Tanner had a decision to make. Up to now, he hadn’t really considered what he was involved in. He knew they were dealing with an illegal program, there was no denying that. They were carrying out prohibited germ warfare agents, they used humans as subjects for testing the vaccine, and they killed innocent people in the desert while proving the toxin. But in his mind, he’d been able to rationalize it all away. They were working toward a higher cause, and surely the ends justified the means. Besides, the people they used were expendable. Losers. Society was clearly better without them.

  Tanner believed in the colonel. He had faith that the colonel saw the big picture and what they were doing was necessary and, in the end, honorable. But after listening to the senator, he was shaken. This plan was flat out crazy.

  Tanner heard a commotion from down below. Something was going on. He thought about using the walkie-talkie to check but thought better of it. With all the other people involved, it was best to stay out of the way. He glanced back across to end of the hallway to where a group of middle-aged white men were clustered. They all wore suits and ties and spit-shined black wingtips. Before he could look away, one of the men made eye contact and started walking over. The others followed at a distance.

  “Lieutenant. Would you tell me what in hell is going on here?” the man asked.

  Tanner recognized the man’s face but couldn’t place his name. He was a senator from one of the western states. Tanner hesitated before answering.

  “We believe there is an assassin in the complex. The situation is—”

  “An assassin?”

  “Yes, sir—”

  Tanner heard a sound behind him and spun around. It came from the stairway. He raised his gun and waited. He expected Cain to step out, and then what would he do? He didn't know, but he gripped the gun firmly as he waited. A second later, they came through the doorway—the two rabbits. The man was soaked with blood his eyes half closed, his face twisted with pain. The girl leaned against him, staggering as she tried to support his weight.

  Tanner reacted with shock. “Where’s Cain?”

  Lena stared into his eyes. He saw a strength there, a resolve.

  “You heard what they were saying,” she said. “Is that what you want?”

  Tanner motioned with the gun. “Don’t say another word. Step all the way out and show me your hands.”

  She didn’t hesitate.

  “Are you part of this? Can you picture what life will be like? They’ve been planning the end of the world. The end of the world! And if you go along with it, you’re as much to blame as they are.”

  Tanner didn’t move. She was right. They’d played him for a fool and he was part of it. It was all crazy. It had gone too far and he was part of it. He kept the gun on them, but he knew she was right.

  Lena stared at him. She could see the change in his eyes.

  “You know what’s right.” She stepped forward, ignoring the gun. “He’s lost a lot of blood. I need to find a doctor.” Tanner stood rooted to the ground as she stepped past him, heading for the stairs. He dropped the gun to his side and let her pass.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  He’d forgotten the senator was behind him. He turned to respond, “Senator, I need—”

  There was a clatter as someone ran up the stairs. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it was Ortman. Tanner spun toward the stairway to see Ortman raise his gun. Tanner sprang forward.

  “No. Stop!”

  It was too late. Ortman fired, hitting Ramon, who crumpled to the floor. Tanner rushed ahead and slapped the gun out of Ortman’s hand.

  “It’s over. You hear me? It’s over.”

  Ortman stepped back, shaken. Tanner’s shoulders slumped as he turned away.

  Lena bent over Ramon’s body, sobbing. The canvas bag they’d brought in was at her feet. Tanner reached down to pick up the bag. Then he took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. The senators were frantic. He marched over to them, straight and proud.

  “Sirs, there is a conspiracy to commit treason. I am involved and I have first-hand knowledge of the plan.” He handed over the canvas bag. “This tape contains additional proof.”

  It was over.

  Major Durmo crossed his arms to hold in his warmth, but it didn’t help. He’d never felt so cold. The room was cold and dark, as always. But it never bothered him as much before. Today it felt like a morgue. His mind reeled with images of death. Deaths to come and death averted, and ultimately, his own death. This was clearly the end, all their plans were now about to be laid to rest.

  In a small way, he was glad that it was over. He’d never felt comfortable with the plan—it was too drastic. These past weeks, he’d been watching with dread as the plan moved closer to completion. But he’d felt impotent. There was nothing he could have done to stop it. It would have been unbearable to go against the colonel. And besides, he was already in too deep. So in that way, he was relieved that it was at an end, but mostly he felt terrified. Now came the accounting. Now they’d be pointing fingers and laying blame. They’d point at the colonel first, and surely they would point at him next.

  The colonel sat back in the dark. His glasses reflected the images from the monitor behind Durmo’s right shoulder. The colonel calmly watched, not saying a word. Durmo didn’t turn around. He knew what the picture showed. The tanks were rolling. The first wave had already moved inside the Installation’s gates. His men laid down their arms and gave no resistance. Who could blame them? This was unprecedented. The United States had never had to bring force against its own before.

  Durmo cleared his throat again. “You’ve got to tell them, sir. I didn’t do anything wrong. I was just following orders.”

  Pope remained quiet. He hardly moved.

  “Please, sir. You’ve got to tell them. It’s not my fault.” Durmo tried not to whine, but panic was getting the better of him.

  Pope stirred as if wakened from a trance. “I heard you, Major.” He took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. “I heard you clearly. But you are being a nuisance. I need to think.”

  Durmo fidgeted in his chair.

  Pope steepled his fingers together in thought. “There are always options, Major. For a man with resolve, there is always a way to regain the advantage.”

  “Yes, sir.” Durmo was puzzled. The situation looked pretty bleak to him, but he didn’t have the colonel’s vision.

  Pope pulled open the top desk drawer and removed a fresh deck of playing cards. Deep in thought, he pulled off the cellophane and shook the cards out into his large hands. He gave a quick shuffle and set the deck down on the top of the table. “We need to maintain control, Major. A true leader keeps his head, even when those all around him are losing theirs.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The turn of events has been unfortunate.” He picked up the first two cards, turned them on their sides, and leaned them against each other. “But there has to be a way to turn the tide, to regain the advantage.”

  “Please, sir—”

  “If only we had another week. If the colonies were in place, it would make all the difference.”

  He pulled another card from the deck and set it atop the first two, but his touch was too heavy and the cards fell down. He started again, setting the cards against each other, and this time, it worked.

  Durmo shifted uncomfortably. His stomach was in knots. Despite the coolness of the room, he was starting to sweat. Pope pulled two more cards from the deck and tried to place them adjacent to the first structure. But his touch was heavy and it knocked everything down. The colonel’s hands we
re shaking.

  Pope placed his hands heavily on the desk. “There’s only one way, Major. The toxin is in place. We need to release it now.”

  Durmo looked down at his feet. It felt like his stomach had moved up to his throat. “Uh, no, sir. We can’t do that.”

  “It was not a request, Major. That’s an order.”

  “Uh, no, sir.” He looked up. It took all his willpower to meet the colonel’s eyes. “We can’t take this any further, sir.”

  Pope swept his arm across the desk, knocking the cards to the floor. He jumped to his feet and towered over Durmo. Pope wore his full dress uniform; his chest plastered with medals, his holster and side arm on his hip. His face swelled with anger, his breath came heavy. Durmo slunk down in his chair and waited for the explosion. But it didn’t come. After a long moment, the anger passed. Pope’s shoulders fell as the energy drained from his body.

  “That will be all, Major. You’re dismissed.”

  “But, sir—”

  “That is all.” The colonel turned his back to Durmo.

  “Yes, sir.” Durmo said. He rose to his feet and quickly headed out the door, closing it behind him. This was it, he thought. What would they do now? He assumed there would be a court martial. All the details would come out and people would look at him like he was some kind of monster. And after that, it would be life in the brig, or more likely, the firing squad. People would see him and they wouldn’t understand. It wasn’t his fault. He was simply following orders. He surely would have done something if he could. But it just wasn’t his fault.

  Durmo’s heart raced. He felt a wave of panic rise up and flood his body. It wasn’t fair. What they were doing to him was so unjust. He’d walked across the outer room and was almost out the door when it occurred to him. He needed to talk with the colonel again. If he talked with him one more time, he could convince him. The colonel would make sure that everyone knew that it wasn’t his fault. Durmo turned around and paced back to the room.