Dream Sky

by Brett Battles

  Putting it out of his mind, he refocused on the bleachers. “Let’s take another count of the guards to make sure we haven’t missed anyone.”

  31

  TWELVE THOUSAND FEET ABOVE EASTERN NEW YORK

  11:17 PM EST

  ASH LOOKED OUT the Gulfstream’s window at the world below. During the flight, he had seen lights on the ground in a few places, small pockets of false hope where the electricity had yet to fail. But as they descended toward Albany, New York, all lights were off.

  Behind him, Ash could hear the others stirring in their seats, everyone awake and nervous about the unknown barreling toward them.

  As the plane continued downward, Ash tried to get a sense of how much farther they had to go, but the darkness made it nearly impossible to judge. An exclamation of triumph from one of the pilots drew his attention to the cockpit. He leaned into the aisle to get a better look, and smiled when he saw what all the excitement was about. Out the front window were two rows of dim lights marking the runway.

  Ash looked out the side window as the wheels touched down, and noted the landing lights weren’t the ones affixed to the runway, but portable lamps with wires running between them.

  The plane slowed and then taxied toward a hangar, where someone was waving more lights. When the G550 pulled to a stop, three people jogged toward it from a large helicopter parked nearby.

  Ash unbuckled his belt and stood up. “Everyone hang where you are for a moment. I’ll be right back.”

  He motioned for Chloe to follow him, and headed over and opened the door. By the time he hopped off the steps, the three people were there.

  A big man with a wide smile stepped forward. “Are you Captain Ash?”

  “Ash is fine.”

  He held out his hand and the man took it.

  “Edward Powell,” the guy said. “Philadelphia team.”

  He turned to his two companions. “This is Omar Gamin, also Philadelphia.”

  “Omar,” Ash said, shaking.

  “And this is Tamara Costello.”

  As Ash shook her hand, he said, “We all enjoy your work.”

  “Thank you,” she said, looking a bit embarrassed. “Really, all I do is stand there and talk. It’s my partner Bobby who does the real work.”

  “The cameraman.”

  “Among other things.”

  Ash looked past them toward the helicopter. “Is he here?”

  Powell shook his head. “He’s on the recon team.”

  It had been Ash’s idea to send an advance team to the coordinates so it could report back if something was there or not. He didn’t know why Bobby was on it, though. The cameraman and Tamara had been brought into the mission so they could get some footage that, if there was a chance to broadcast it, would show people what was really going on.

  Tamara apparently sensed his confusion. “Trust me, you’ll be glad he went. Let me show you.”

  They walked quickly to the helicopter, where Tamara grabbed a laptop sitting inside and woke up the screen. She worked the keyboard and cursor for a moment, then said, “Bobby?”

  A whisper came back. “Here.”

  “Captain Ash has arrived. Can you show him?”

  “Hold on. Repositioning.”

  Tamara turned the computer around so they could all see the screen. Filling it was a green-tinted moving image. When it settled a few seconds later, Ash could make out three men crouching behind some trees. Beyond them was a black void.

  The image zoomed into the darkness. As it passed the last of the trees, the area beyond began to take shape. It was a shallow valley with several buildings sitting squarely in the middle, lit only by moonlight.

  A dead town.

  “Everton, Vermont,” Tamara told Ash.

  “Changing lenses,” Bobby whispered.

  The picture went blurry for a moment before sharpening again and focusing on a brick building, large for the area, probably three stories high.

  “On the roof,” Bobby said. “Give it a second.”

  Scattered across the roof were several exhaust vents and a small, hut-like structure that Ash figured provided access to the inside of the building. Nothing unusual.

  For several seconds the scene remained unchanged, and then, in a flash of brighter green, something moved out from behind the hut. Not something. Someone.

  The person was carrying an M16A4 rifle, and decked out in the same military-style winter gear Ash had seen Project Eden soldiers wear that night in Las Cruces. He watched as the guard moved deliberately along the retaining wall at the edge of the roof.

  No question. He was a lookout.

  “Are there more?” he asked.

  “We’ve ID’d two more guards so far, but the guys with me figure there’s probably more.”

  “What about ones not obviously on watch?”

  “No. Town’s quiet otherwise.”

  “Do you know what they’re guarding?”

  “Haven’t found it yet. But we haven’t completed our loop. There has to be something.”

  Powell said, “I told them to do a full circuit of the town without getting too close.”

  Ash nodded, then said to Bobby, “When you finish, return to whatever you deem the best spot for observation and hold there.”

  “Will do.”

  “And try not to get caught.”

  A low, nervous laugh from the other end, then, “Yeah, that’s pretty high on my priority list.”

  As Tamara ended the communication, Ash glanced at Chloe. “You saw it, didn’t you?”

  “The uniform.”

  He nodded and turned to Powell. “How long will it take to get there?”

  “I can fit your whole team in the helicopter. We can go as far as Rutland. Made the trip already when we dropped the others off. That’s about twenty miles from Everton. Flight time just over thirty minutes.”

  “All right. Let’s move.”

  As the team transferred to the helicopter, Ash called Ward Mountain.

  “This is Leon.”

  “I need to talk to Rachel,” Ash said.

  “Hold on.”

  The delay was brief.

  “Captain?” she said.

  “There’s definitely something there,” he said.

  A beat. “So we’re on.”

  “Yes. Expect the go from me in the next few hours.”

  __________

  BOBBY LION AND the team from Philadelphia walked as silently as possible through the woods and around to the east side of the village. All this activity was a huge change over Bobby’s past few days of lounging around the NSA facility.

  First he and Tamara had raced up the highway from DC to right outside Philly, where they hooked up with Powell and his men at a private airfield. From there, they had flown north to Rutland in a surprisingly luxurious Sikorsky S-92 helicopter. The initial intention had been for only Powell’s people to head up to Everton, but during the flight, Bobby had opened his big, fat mouth and mentioned the specialized gear he had in his bag, and how it might be a good idea if he went with them.

  He didn’t regret suggesting it, but there had been moments since they arrived on scene when he questioned his sanity. So far, though, the worst part was the cold.

  They were walking across the side of the hills surrounding the valley, right around the midway point to the summit. For the most part, the walking was easy, but occasionally a slope forced them to lean to the side so they wouldn’t lose balance.

  After several more minutes, Marcos, the head of the team, motioned ahead at an opening in the dense forest, and made the signal Bobby had learned meant it was time to take another look around.

  They stopped just inside the tree line at the top edge of the clearing and took a preliminary look at the town. Bobby was surprised by how close they were now. One of the homes on the outskirts of the village was maybe a hundred yards away, at the base of the hill. He had a sudden urge to turn and run but he held it together.

  Marcos caught his ey
e and nodded, indicating Bobby was up.

  With the help of one of the other men, Bobby removed his pack and pulled out the camera. As before, he started off with the small zoom lens and did a sweep of the valley. The man on top of the three-story building was still doing his slow rounds of the roof. One of the others Bobby had spotted earlier was also still in position, standing on a lower roof to the south.

  He turned the lens to the north, and stopped. There was a third man, but not the one he’d seen earlier. That man was out of sight on the other side of town.

  “Another one,” he whispered.

  “Where?” Marcos asked.

  Bobby handed him the camera. “Two blocks this side from center. On the roof of the gas station.”

  Marcos searched for a moment, then nodded. “That’s four.”

  He handed the camera back to Bobby, who continued his check. He spotted no more men, only a few additional buildings he hadn’t been able to see before, and a nearly empty field just north of Everton, with what looked like a small pump house or storage hut in the middle.

  He switched to the bulkier lens, once more needing assistance to hold the camera steady. He hit RECORD and repeated his sweep, spending a few extra seconds on the newly discovered guard before continuing north and ending when he reached the field.

  He clicked the camera off and lowered it. “All set.”

  Less than a minute later, they were on the move again.

  __________

  WICKS BARELY HAD time to drop to the ground before the patrol in the woods came into view. He froze, hoping they weren’t wearing night-vision goggles. If they were, he was dead for sure.

  Where the hell had they come from? He’d been watching Dream Sky for over an hour, and not once had there been any patrols this far out of town. Had he tripped some sort of sensor? There had been no mention of any in the information he’d culled about the place over the past few years.

  He tilted his chin up enough so he could watch the patrol as it snaked through the trees and passed by less than thirty feet away. Five people in all—three men and two women, though he could have been wrong about that. Four of them were carrying rifles, while the fifth—definitely a man—carried a large pack on his back, but no obvious weapon.

  That was strange enough, but what was even odder was that none of them were dressed in the typical Project Eden security outfits. The guard Wicks had seen in town was properly dressed, so why wasn’t this patrol?

  Once they passed out of sight, he rose to his knees and looked out at the field and the utility hut that was not a utility hut, then back in the direction the patrol had gone.

  “Dammit,” he whispered.

  He climbed to his feet and headed after them.

  32

  LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

  9:02 PM PST

  PAX DECIDED HE and Nyla would execute his little ruse, while Gabriel remained with the others to take charge if something went wrong.

  “You ready?” Pax asked her.

  With a wicked smile, she said, “You bet I am.”

  He clicked the radio. “Everyone stand by. We’re moving.”

  As he put his arm over Nyla’s shoulder, she threw hers around his back.

  “Lean into me,” she said.

  He did. “How’s that?”

  “Fine.”

  They moved along the edge of the stadium parking lot, Pax practicing his limp.

  When he felt like he had it, he said, “Let’s do this.”

  They turned onto the asphalt and headed straight for the stadium. The lot was largely dark, only the lights nearest the ballpark were on, so it wasn’t until they’d stepped into the illuminated area that they earned the reaction they’d wanted.

  “Car,” Nyla whispered.

  The sedan appeared around the corner to the right, coming fast. Pax and Nyla kept walking toward the stadium as if they hadn’t seen it.

  “Here we go,” she said a few seconds later.

  The car slowed to a stop directly in their path. Pax and Nyla halted, looking appropriately dazed. The two people inside climbed out and clicked on flashlights, shining them in Pax’s and Nyla’s faces.

  Pax raised his free arm in front of his eyes and said in a weak voice, “Can you lower that, please?”

  The beam tilted downward.

  “Thank you.”

  “Evening,” the driver said. “You two look like you’ve been through hell.”

  “Have you been out there?” Nyla said, a tremble in her voice. “It is hell.”

  “Of course,” the other man said, his voice more soothing than his partner’s. “But you’ve made it, and you’re going to be fine now.”

  “So, this is the survival station?” Pax asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Thank God.”

  “I do need to ask,” the nice one said, “are either of you sick?”

  “No,” Nyla said.

  “You, sir?”

  “I don’t feel great,” Pax said. “But it’s because of my ankle. Think it might be busted.”

  The man smiled. “Not to worry. Our doctors can take care of that. Hop into the car. We’ll give you a lift the rest of the way.”

  “That would be great,” Nyla said.

  With a nudge from his friend, the driver helped Nyla guide Pax to the vehicle.

  “Best if we put your backpacks in the trunk,” the nicer man said. “It’ll be a tight squeeze otherwise.”

  “Oh, um, sure.” Nyla peeled off her pack. “Here, Mr. Paxton, let me help you with yours.”

  After the bags were loaded up and Nyla and Pax were sitting in the backseat, the two men climbed in.

  “You two know each other from before?” the nicer man asked as the driver started the car.

  He never received his answer. Before the driver could drop the car in gear, Pax and Nyla placed guns—previously strapped to their legs—against the backs of the two chairs and pulled the triggers. They had chosen smaller-caliber pistols so the sound would be minimal. The choice also meant the Project Eden men had a higher chance of survival, but with the guns pressed against their backs, neither had a chance.

  As soon as Pax and Nyla were sure the men were out of commission, they reached up front and hauled the driver into the back. Nyla slipped behind the wheel, while Pax ran his hand across the top of the backseat until he found the latch that allowed him access to the trunk.

  Seat lowered, he pulled their bags through, dug out his radio, and clicked the talk button.

  “Go!”

  __________

  BEN TIPTOED THROUGH the building, checking the other bunks. On his last pass, two of the others had been awake, but now they too had drifted off. When he reached the girls and Preston, he nodded, put a finger to his lips, and headed over to the door.

  As soon as they’d joined him, he pointed at each of them in the order they would follow him, starting with Jilly. He slipped out the door and along the building to the shadow by the fence. He was already on his way toward the gate when he heard the faint sound of the door opening again as Jilly came out, followed immediately by Preston.

  At the gate, he crawled into the short ditch and began scraping away at the dirt on the other side, temporarily leaving the grass above it. He only had to clear away enough so they could scoot under and up, maybe two feet out at most.

  Every third or fourth time he pulled the dirt under the gate, he glanced up to check on the others. Like they had discussed earlier, they were lining up in the shadow along the fence, waiting until the hole was done.

  The farther he went, the more the layer of grass drooped. Once he felt he’d gone far enough, he moved back inside the enclosure and whispered, “Get ready.”

  Going under the gate on his back this time, he worked his fingers up through the grass and began pulling it down until the playing field tore loose at the edges. He ripped most of it out in a single large section and cleared away the rest, then pushed all the grass under the gate, knocking it out of the
hole with a flick of his feet.

  He stared up at the night sky. Things had gone well so far, but from this point forward everything would be improvisation. He lifted his head above the level of the grass and looked both ways. No one in sight.

  He could feel his heart thumping, knowing the next step would put his life in serious danger.

  It’s better than staying here, he told himself. You stay and you will die.

  He counted to three and pulled himself the rest of the way under the gate and out of the hole. He got up into a crouch and took another look around. No sign of any movement.

  Something scraped below him, then the chain link on the gate rattled momentarily. He shot a look down. Ruby was part of the way through, her hand holding the gate in an attempt to stop it from moving.

  “Quiet,” he mouthed.

  Her eyes were wide and scared, but she nodded. Slowly she let go of the fence, and relaxed when there was no more rattle.

  Ben held out his hand, telling her to wait in the hole. He crept over to the outfield wall, which was covered by large blue sections of padding. Between the two mats at the very center was a crack through which he could see beyond the wall. He’d been right. It did open.

  The problem was, how?

  He ran his finger along the crack but found no release. He would have to go over, which meant he’d be in sight of every guard in the place. Maybe if he went quickly, he could—

  A double pop.

  He dropped to the ground.

  The sound hadn’t been loud, but it had been unusual. He looked back toward the stands and realized he had just enough of an angle to see part of one guard. The man was leaning against a pole as if nothing had happened.

  Had he not heard the noise? Or was it a normal sound around here that Ben hadn’t noticed before?

  “What’s going on?” Jilly whispered, her voice barely drifting out of the hole.

  He crawled over. “Did you hear that noise?”

  “I heard something. Thought you made it.”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “What was it?”

  “Don’t know.”

  He looked back at the fence.

  “Are we going to go or not?” she asked.