“Yes,” the leader said. “Tonight. The time is right for our re-birth. After all, it is a new year, and there’s no New Year’s show on ABC tonight.”
A small ripple of laughs.
The group split like a mitotic cell; about half staked a westward course, the rest, including the leader, followed a pathway behind the building, back toward the generator field. That must have been where the lab was. Adam had no choice; he had to follow the group en route to the dorm, where many women faced certain slaughter, including, very possibly, the women he loved best in the world.
His hands shook as he checked his weapon; Sarah’s M4 was locked and loaded, and the spare magazines were secure in the inside pocket of his coat. Again, he was dancing on a razor’s edge. His only decent card was the element of surprise. He couldn’t act too soon, lest he blow his chance to find where the women were being held. But the longer he waited, the closer to doom the dial of fate would spin.
Adam emerged from the cover of the shed and followed the dorm-bound killers.
#
He kept a safe distance as they moved north across the compound, his heart beating so fiercely he felt like the main character from the Edgar Allan Poe story. They made no effort to travel silently, and so the sounds of their passage easily swallowed up his own. For the most part. About a quarter mile into the trip, Adam stepped on a large branch hidden under a layer of snow, which snapped with a sharp crack. The man at the back, trailing just behind the main group, paused for a minute, and Adam froze, silently cursing his stupidity, his dumb luck, what he hoped was not his destiny. To come so close to his goal and to die just before the end.
But after a quick glance over his shoulder, the man resumed his trek and jogged to catch up with the others. Adam let out an inaudible sigh, tears of relief welling in his eyes. As he continued the pursuit, his eyes bounced from ground to group, carefully scanning for any wayward tree branches or piles of leaves.
A sense of familiarity began edging its way into him, like a tide just coming in and darkening the hot sands. The hours he’d spent combing the compound had been worth it, he realized. A tree. A curvature of the land. He was becoming familiar with it the way you got to know the city you’d just moved to for that new job. You got out there in it and wandered around and got lost and found your way home again. You found the little Chinese restaurant with the good cashew chicken and the place that did your laundry just right.
Half a mile up the road, the group angled to the northwest, back toward where Adam remembered spotting the lake. They were on a path ringing the lake now, looping around the southwestern edge of the shore. There was a building up ahead, one he hadn’t seen during his previous incursion in the lake’s vicinity. It was as forgettable a structure as he’d ever laid eyes on, very little else besides four walls and a roof. The building was protected by a square of industrial chain-link fencing. A portable spotlight, powered by a buzzing generator, kept the building illuminated. One of the men unlocked the gate and the group streamed inside, leaving the gate open behind them.
“Bring them out here,” one said grimly. It was very quiet on this side of the compound and their voices carried a long way in the darkness. “We’ll do this outside. Less mess to clean up.”
Adam’s stomach churned.
Five of the men went in the building, leaving one behind. Adam weighed his options; if he struck now, he could eliminate one of the threats against him, but if it went bad, then he may hasten the women’s demise. He decided to wait.
He crept closer toward the gate, but held his ground near a row of bushes just beyond the fencing. It was as close as he could get and remain hidden. He was about twenty yards from the entrance of the building. Close, but he’d have to move very quickly to maintain the element of surprise when the time came to strike. He crouched down and kept his eyes fixed on the lone guard, passing the time by imagining what it would feel like to kill the man.
He didn’t have to wait long. Not ten minutes later, the door to the building opened, and women began streaming outside, their hands on their heads. His heart was in overdrive now, as he desperately scanned their faces, looking for the ones he’d begun to fear he’d never see again. Out they came, one after another, some bearing fresh injuries, their eyes hollow with shock and fear.
After another half dozen or so, Sarah.
His breath caught in his throat. In the harsh bone-white luminosity of the spotlight, he could see the swollen cheek, the spot of blood above her right eyebrow.
She was working, he could tell, surveying the scene, eyes sliding from side to side. By now, he supposed, she’d given up hope that he’d be coming for her. As was her wont, she was going to take matters into her own hands. Part of that came from her awareness of her own mortality. And that frightened him. But she looked okay. She didn’t look like she was too badly hurt. Her eyes sat hard in her head, like two bits of steel.
Charlotte came out two behind Sarah, her head down, her gait slow and tentative, and Adam wanted to die for letting her put herself at risk like this. He turned his attention back to the door, waiting for the thing that would have made their risk worth it. After all, he’d asked them to give their lives for her. And Mike already had. For him. True, they’d volunteered, but he could have rejected their offer. Had Rachel’s one life been worth their three?
He thought about this as he waited for Rachel to emerge.
But no one followed Charlotte out.
Maybe a group of stragglers was still on its way.
Thirty seconds passed. Then sixty.
No Rachel.
Dread wormed its way through his insides like a colony of termites chewing their way through hidden floor joists.
Had he been wrong all along?
Was Rachel not here?
Focus, he told himself. Focus. Sarah was here. Charlotte was here.
And if he didn’t do something soon, they’d all be dead.
One of the men barked at the women, and although Adam couldn’t quite make out the words, the meaning was clear enough. His admonition drew whimpers and screams from several of them. The other men grabbed the women by their elbows and shoved them toward the wall of the building.
A captive turned and fled; she made it a few steps before her feet got tangled underneath her, and she tumbled to the ground in a heap. She lay there weeping. A man walked up behind her and fired a single bullet into her head. Then he fired another round into the air.
“Shut the fuck up!”
The remaining women fell silent as they stood at the wall. Some of them had dropped their heads, paralyzed by fear. There were dozens of them, upwards of fifty in all. The men lined them up ten across; it reminded Adam of the old Miss America pageants, fifty young women lined up, bearing satin sashes emblazoned with the name of the state they so proudly represented. But there was no talent show, no swimsuit competition here. One of the men stepped forward and, after some preliminary instructions, called out six names. The six women stepped forward and were led like sheep to the edge of the yard. They huddled together, hugging, whispering, some of them crying. One of the men watched them like a hawk, his machine gun up and twitchy.
Then each of the men took his turn, roaming through the lines, examining each captive before making a selection. Adam found he could barely breathe as he watched this bizarre recruitment unfold. He noticed that the chosen women tended to be younger, fitter, more attractive. As it always had been with men and women.
Three women were selected, including Charlotte, leaving three men to choose. The first was a tall, thin man, his face angular, his hair cropped close to the head. He took his time, studying each one closely before shaking his head and moving on. Adam’s jaw clenched tight when he reached Sarah. He rubbed her face with the back of his hand, a sign of affection that earned him a vicious fist to the chest and a trip to the ground.
The other men laughed, and Adam was certain Sarah had just signed her death warrant. But the man got up and dusted himself off. He too
k Sarah by the elbow and yanked her out of line. He looked over his shoulder and said something to the others, but Adam could not hear what it was.
Sarah joined the other women who’d been selected by the gate. They held hands, forming a chain of women who stood in solidarity with one another. The draft continued, like children selecting kickball teams at recess, until each of the men had selected a captive. But that still left nearly forty women, and Adam had a pretty good idea what was about to happen to them.
He couldn’t wait any longer.
Adam burst from the cover of the bushes and rushed the shooters at an angle. He came in low, which he hoped would buy him a few seconds before they spotted him. He raised the M4 but held his fire until he had a clear shot at the men. It had been a while since Sarah had taught him to use it, and he had to remind himself to account for the recoil. It didn’t help that his hands were shaking badly. Sarah’s handgun was tucked safely into his waistband; he just hoped he’d be able to get it to her so he could even the odds.
A singular, terrible thought zoomed through his mind as he kept his finger on the trigger.
Haphazardly firing this gun was the only chance these women had.
He fired at the two shooters nearest him, who fell as the bullets sliced into their flanks; screams erupted as things began to happen very quickly.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Sarah closed her eyes and prepared to die.
She squeezed Alison Willis’ hand twice, to make sure the woman understood. They looked at each other, and Alison nodded. Alison repeated the signal down the line, and one by one, the women nodded, ever so slightly. They had come to the end, and here, in the dark, in the cold, at the end of the world, they would make their stand. She wasn’t going to let these men slaughter forty innocent women. Not without a fight. She would almost certainly die, but death here was better than what awaited her. And she would finally win her sweet release.
I win, Huntington’s. I win.
She felt sick to her stomach; Adam would never know how close he’d come to finding his daughter. To her great regret, she hadn’t met Rachel. But the other women spoke about her like a beloved friend who’d moved out of the neighborhood. About her strength and courage, about her quiet manner. She’d tended to the sick ones, she’d kept their spirits up when they descended into despair. But all Sarah knew of her whereabouts was that the group’s leader had taken a liking to her, and perhaps had moved her to his quarters. Somewhere deep in the compound.
She’d known all along that this was a suicide mission. She was glad she’d done it, though. It had been a pretty good idea to use them as bait, she had to admit to herself, and she’d been right. But there had been too many unknowns beyond that to believe that this was anything other than a one-way trip.
The other women being held here, they’d really been something. They’d taken her and Charlotte in as one of their own; they were thrilled to learn that Nadia was still alive. And now, they stood here, watching these men finish up their impromptu draft. It had been worth it, though. Just knowing what Rachel had done for these women had made it all worthwhile. She wished desperately there was some way that Adam would know about her work here.
The leader of the group called for the other men to join him and they spread out, lining up in a firing formation, not ten feet from the terrified women. Would they just stand there as the men prepared to fire, she wondered. Would they try to run? Were they so paralyzed by fear that the fight-flight connection had been severed like a power line in a storm?
Now.
It had to be now.
She let out a primal scream, deep from the depths of her soul and together, she and the others launched their suicidal attack on their would-be killers. They were a swarm, a single entity, a whole greater than the sum of its parts. E pluribus unum and all that. She hoped they could take out a couple of them before they were overwhelmed by the guns. As they ran, hand in hand, chewing up the ground between herself and the shooters, she heard the staccato burst of small-arms fire, that familiar rat-tat-tat that clicked in her brain like a key sliding home into its lock. It was an M4A1, and not just any; it was her M4A1.
Adam was here.
Across the way, she saw him running toward the group, the tongue of flame from the M4 bright like a meteor in the night sky. Two of the shooters went down before they realized what was happening; the other four turned their focus toward this unexpected assailant and ignored the doomed women.
“Adam!” she screamed.
He flung something toward her, and she watched it arc, end over end, through the night sky. It glinted in the harsh sodium light illuminating the cold steel. She reached up as it descended toward her, a runaway satellite that might save them all. It hit her hand awkwardly, the buzz of pain shooting up the length of her arm, and toppled to the ground. She dropped down and retrieved the gun.
When she came back up, ready to fire, the scene had dissolved into chaos, reagents swirling together to form some new unknown solution. She found a target, dead ahead, one of the bastards firing indiscriminately at a group of women running for the edge of the building. She fired once; the bullet slammed into the man’s back and he seized up like he’d touched a live wire. His gun clattered to the ground, and his lifeless body followed a moment later.
Sarah scampered for the dead man’s gun, her body buzzing. A chance. That’s all she’d wanted. A chance. No guarantees. No promises. Just a chance. She scooped up the rifle and found cover behind the southwest corner of the building. From there, she fired a burst, dropping another shooter with a shot to the head.
The air was metallic as the surviving killers began exterminating the women, many of whom were pinned near the building. Screams of pain and horror filled the night. From the other side of the building, she heard the M4 firing again, and she was hopeful they had the shooters pinned in.
“Run!” she screamed. “Run, girls, run!”
She paused again to wipe sweat from her eyes. After clearing her vision, she took stock of the scene. One of the shooters remained upright and had retreated away from the building; she cut him down with a burst from the M4. Some of the women began streaming indoors, drawing pursuit from two more surviving shooters.
She hugged the wall and picked her way toward the door.
Movement. Across the way. She looked over and saw Adam approaching the building. His gun was up, but his eyes were focused on the ground, which was littered with bodies. At least a dozen women lay dead, including Alison. She looked at them and reminded herself that these women were doomed from the start. They’d never have been able to save them all.
But there were still more they could save.
Adam nodded toward the building; she responded with her own nod. She wanted to grab him, hold him tightly. He looked exhausted, gaunt, his eyes shiny.
“You OK?” he asked.
“Fine.”
They kissed lightly and continued inside. Two short bursts of gunfire echoed through the building. The barracks were wide open; there would be no place for the women to hide. It would be easy pickings. But then she cleared the short foyer and saw something amazing. Both shooters were on the ground, dead. Pools of blood spread out from their heads. Erin Thompson held one of the guns, the barrel still smoking. The look in her eyes was one of rage. Justice for these women, for all the women that lay dead outside. Another woman, whose name Sarah did not know, held the other gun propped on her shoulder.
Erin looked at Sarah and smiled. But the smile disappeared a moment later, and the gun was now pointed directly at her.
“Whoa, whoa!” she said.
“Behind you,” Erin said, the words like smoking coals.
She glanced up and realized that Adam was just off her shoulder.
“No!” she said. “This is Rachel’s father.”
Erin’s face fell, and a ripple of gasps echoed through the room.
“Her father?”
Adam nodded.
Charlotte broke loose of the p
ack and threw her arms around Adam. She didn’t say anything; she didn’t shed a tear. She simply held him tight for a moment.
“Do you know where she is?” he asked.
Erin burst into tears, and Adam expected to get the news he’d been dreading.
“I don’t,” she said. “They came and took her two days ago. We haven’t seen her since.”
Sarah turned and hugged Adam tightly. He wrapped his arms around her, and for a moment, for just a brief moment, equilibrium had returned to her life. It was fleeting, the way a broken wall clock could give the correct time twice a day, but for that moment, everything felt right.
When they released the embrace, she saw the women had filled in around them in a semi-circle, two and three deep. They murmured their thanks, but they appeared to be in shock from their ordeal, from the long captivity to the sudden spasm of violence that had set them free.
“How many of them are there?” Adam asked.
“We’re not sure,” Erin said. “Somewhere between a hundred and one fifty. My name’s Erin by the way.”
“Adam,” he replied.
“Rachel’s father,” she marveled.
“First let’s check the others,” Adam said. “There may be some wounded out there.”
“What if the others come?”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Adam said, flashing back to the sounds of pain and dying inside the building he’d scouted earlier.
Adam led them back through the foyer and outside, where they found a killing field. Bodies were scattered across the hardscrabble, blood soaking the snow like a cherry snowcone, the work of a sick impressionistic painter. They spread out in twos and threes, looking for signs of life, for anyone that might be within the scope of saving. But the killers’ weapons had been too powerful, too devastating. The heavy-caliber bullets had ground their victims into slabs of meat.
His eyes fixed on one of the dead women. She lay on her back, her eyes open wide but empty of life. She’d caught a burst in the upper chest, the bullets stitching their way along the right side of her neck, shredding her carotid artery and destroying her jaw. If she’d suffered, it hadn’t been for very long. He took her hand in his own and stroked it gently. This brave woman had deserved far better than she’d gotten. All of them had. It hadn’t been enough for them to watch the world disintegrate, to watch their families die horrible deaths in front of them; no, they’d had to end up here.
The Immune Box Set [Books 1-5] Page 49
