The Project Eden Thrillers Box Set 2

by Brett Battles

  He saw someone enter the parking area from the base of the hill, running.

  “Who the hell is that?” he said.

  Nyla followed his gaze. “I’m not sure.”

  “Is it Martina?”

  “Could be.”

  Two armed men ran out from the east side of the stadium, on an intercept course for the person Pax had spotted.

  “Son of a bitch,” Pax said.

  If it was Martina, there was no one around to help her.

  “Come on,” he told Nyla as he headed back out into the parking lot.

  “STEADY,” GABRIEL SAID just loudly enough for the others in his group to hear.

  They were walking at a normal pace, hopefully projecting a sense they were not a threat. Their weapons, though, were all close at hand.

  Ahead, five Project Eden soldiers were approaching. They, of course, were not even attempting to conceal their firepower. Each carried a rifle, the barrels angled at the sky.

  When there were only about fifty feet between the guards and Gabriel’s group, one of the guards shouted, “Please hold right there.”

  “Are we in the wrong place?” Gabriel said. “Isn’t this the survival station?”

  “Yes, sir, it is, but we need you and the others to stop so we can talk with you.”

  “Oh, sure. Everyone, it’s okay.”

  The group came to a staggered halt, while the guards continued forward until they were only a few yards away.

  The guard who’d spoken said something softly into a mic attached to his jacket. When he looked back at Gabriel, he said, “You’re a pretty big group.”

  “Picked up people here and there on the way,” Gabriel said.

  “What about the others?”

  “What others?” Gabriel asked, feigning confusion.

  “Got a couple other groups about the same size as yours coming in on the other side of the stadium.”

  Gabriel made a big show of sighing in relief. “I’m so glad to hear that. I thought we’d lost them.”

  “They’re with you?”

  “Yes. We got separated once we reached the city. I’m glad to hear they’re okay.” Gabriel stuck his hand out and stepped forward. “I’m Gabriel.”

  The move took the man off guard. He hesitated, then removed his hand from the stock of his rifle and shook Gabriel’s.

  Gabriel had the man’s rifle before the guy had a chance to react. The main guard grabbed for his radio, but Gabriel smashed the butt of the gun into his hand, batting it away and breaking bones in the process. He looked over and saw the rest of his team, led by Resistance security members, had disarmed the other guards.

  “Ramon,” he said. “Please take possession of this man’s radio.”

  As Ramon removed the device, the guard said, “What the fuck? This is not the way to get our help.”

  “That’s funny,” Gabriel told him. “I hadn’t realized Project Eden was in the business of helping.”

  The guard stiffened. “Who are you?”

  As tempted as Gabriel was to answer with another thrust of the rifle butt, he motioned to the others that it was time to move. Keeping the guards between them, they hurried the rest of the way to the stadium.

  Gabriel took a quick look around, and then pointed at a metal pipe railing meant to protect the public from a sunken drainage intake. “That should do nicely,” he said.

  They secured the guards to the railing with zip ties.

  “Whatever you’re planning,” the main guard said, “do you really think you’re going to get away with it?”

  Gabriel plucked his own radio off his belt and clicked the SEND button. “Team B?”

  The delay was barely a second. “Team B secure.”

  “Team C?”

  Again, a brief pause. “Team C secure.”

  “Anyone have any problems?”

  “Negative.”

  “None here.”

  “Stand by,” Gabriel said. He looked at the guard. “Actually, I think we’ve already gotten away with it.”

  Hypodermics were produced, and before the guards realized what was going on, they were each injected with enough sedative to knock them out for at least twelve hours.

  Gabriel raised the radio again. “Phase two.”

  Thirty-Three

  CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

  11:07 PM CST

  THE REASSIGNMENT ROOM was back in order—the chairs in straight rows, the body fluids cleaned up, and the smell of sweat and fear filtered from the air.

  Terrell had felt like a robot as he helped Diaz and the others get things ready for the next group. When he and Diaz had hauled the bodies out of town, Terrell had considered slipping away and disappearing forever. But that would have been the cowardly choice, a selfish act no better than if he were pushing the button to activate the gas.

  So he had returned and done what he had done so many times before.

  “Better be the last group today,” Diaz whispered to him as they waited outside the room for the guard detail to return with the next batch of survivors. “By the time we get back from the dump, it’ll be almost three a.m., and if I don’t get some sleep I might start bashing in heads myself.”

  Terrell knew he should respond with some witty comeback—that kind of banter made up most of their communication—but all he could manage was a small nod and barely audible “yeah.”

  Diaz frowned. “What’s wrong with you? You’ve been acting weird all day.”

  “Sorry. Just…tired,” Terrell said, seizing on to Diaz’s own admission.

  “Lightweight,” Diaz said.

  Terrell forced a smile. “Better a lightweight than a dumb shit like you.”

  If Diaz noticed Terrell’s less than smooth delivery, he made no mention of it. Instead, he seemed to take Terrell’s jab as a sign that everything was okay. He grunted a laugh and said nothing more.

  FROM THE JOURNAL OF BELINDA RAMSEY

  I HAVE BEEN trying to sleep for the last two hours, but the buzzing in my head refuses to go away. So I’ve decided to write a bit and hope that getting some of my thoughts down will clear my mind.

  The doctors and their soldiers came a total of three times today, taking more of us with them each time. Our holding area is no longer crowded. No one needs to share a bed anymore. In fact, there are several empties around.

  No one who had been taken away has come back. Not a single person. But the things they arrived here with, the things they’d been allowed to bring with them into the holding area, are all still here. Someone, I’m not sure who, has moved all the missing people’s possessions to the back of the room. Why? I don’t know. I just know that I don’t like it. When the others do come back, they are going to wonder why someone touched their things.

  All right, all right, I know. Maybe the others aren’t coming back. It still doesn’t mean we have the right to displace their things so quickly.

  I think I’m going crazy. I think I’m focusing on things that aren’t important, but what else can I do? Where have the others gone? Why won’t the doctors tell us what’s happening? Why are they—

  I hear the gate opening.

  They’re calling for us to come out again.

  More later.

  TERRELL HEARD THE footsteps long before the procession came into view. As usual, Drs. Harvell, Wilhelm, and Yang were in front, followed by the survivors—twenty-one this go-around—and then the guards.

  The first few groups that had been escorted in had been full of hope and excitement, while those that followed were progressively less so. The new group looked as if nearly everyone’s hope was gone.

  Terrell tried not to glance at any of their faces for more than a second, but then a girl near the middle of the pack locked eyes with him and he could not look away. She was maybe twenty, with an intelligence in her gaze that reminded him of a girl back in high school. Lindsey, two years ahead of him. She had always been kind, even helped him study on occasion.

  The girl being led to her death
continued to stare at him all the way into the room, and for a moment he thought, She knows. She knows what we’re about to do to them. But that was impossible. She was just tired like the others, he told himself, done in by the ordeal of survival and the wait for the promised vaccine.

  “Please, everyone, move all the way to the end of the rows and take a seat,” Dr. Wilhelm said as the survivors entered.

  Terrell and Diaz followed the last of the guards in, stopping next to the door as they’d done at the start of each previous session.

  After everyone was seated, Wilhelm said, “Let me be the first to say congratulations. You have all cleared the quarantine period, and in a few minutes you will be administered the Sage Flu vaccine.”

  There were murmurs of relief and even a few smiles, the dark mood lifting a little.

  “First, though, we will be showing you a video that explains the safe zone you’ll be taken to after you get inoculated. So please relax and we’ll get it started.”

  Several hands shot up.

  Dr. Harvell took a step forward. “We understand that you have a lot of questions. Some of those will be answered by the video. If you still have questions after, we’ll be happy to answer them then.”

  Though Terrell had heard the words before, their true wickedness hit him hard this time. They were for the doctors’ benefit only, so that they wouldn’t have to face any longer than necessary those who were about to die.

  The survivors lowered their hands. As Terrell was about to look away, he saw the girl again. Unlike the others who were watching the doctors, she was looking at him. It was almost as if she were trying to see into him to find the truth.

  He blinked and tore his gaze away as the lights began to dim.

  The doctors and guards made their way out of the room, then Terrell and Diaz grabbed the double doors and began to close them. As he swung his half around, Terrell tried to resist the urge to look back at the girl but failed. She wasn’t looking at him anymore. Her eyes were on the screen, and he could see the faintest bit of hope on her face. His breath caught in his throat.

  Click. The doors sealed shut.

  Click. A switch flicked on inside him.

  Per routine, the doctors headed back to their offices. They would stay there until twenty minutes later, when they would be needed to verify everyone was dead. All but two of the guards also left. The two who remained took up positions in front of the airtight doors while Terrell and Diaz made their way to the control room.

  “Evening, guys,” Harris said as they entered. He was the board operator and had been the one who’d dimmed the lights.

  A wide-screen monitor on the front wall displayed a feed from inside the room. A few of the survivors were fidgeting in their chairs.

  “Showtime,” Harris said as he hit a button that dimmed the lights the rest of the way.

  A second button started the video projector, and on the screen in front of the survivors, the image of Gustavo Di Sarsina appeared. As the man started speaking, Diaz stepped over to the controls that operated the gas. A turn of the key and a tap of the switch would set things in motion.

  Terrell watched as his partner removed the safety guard and reached for the key.

  “Wait,” Terrell said. “Can I?”

  Diaz raised an eyebrow. He’d always been the one who had to perform this task.

  “About fucking time,” Diaz said.

  He stepped away and made a grand motion of ceding control.

  As Terrell stepped into place, Diaz said, “You know what to do?”

  “I know what to do.”

  Terrell placed his hand on the key, feeling the curved top and the hole where a ring would go through. Just turn and push the button and they would all die.

  “Anytime now,” Diaz said, a laugh in his voice.

  Enough.

  The key slipped out of the slot surprisingly easily.

  Diaz was still grinning as Terrell whirled around and jabbed the jagged piece of metal into his neck. Though unintentional, the aim had been perfect. Blood pumped from Diaz’s carotid artery, gushing down on the counter and covering the touch screen.

  “What the fuck?” Harris said, turning at Diaz’s gargling sound.

  Terrell launched himself forward and slammed into Harris, ramming him back against the other counter. There was a loud smack as Harris’s torso connected with the sharp edge. He screamed as his face twisted in pain. Terrell jammed the bloody key into the man’s neck. Unfortunately, he was a little off this time, and had to dig around for a second before ripping open the artery with the uneven edge of the key.

  Harris dropped to his knees, clutching at his wound.

  Terrell leaned against the wall, hyperventilating as the reality of what he’d done hit him. Both men were on the floor, unmoving. Unconscious or dead, he didn’t bother to check.

  Keep moving! he told himself. He was all in now.

  He ran over to the control room door and inched it open. He could see the two guards down the hall in front of the sealed doorway.

  He opened the door a bit more and said, “Excuse me.” The guards looked over. “Could one of you come down here? We’ve got a piece of equipment malfunctioning and need to move it. Could use some help.”

  As soon as the nearest guard was headed his way, Terrell pulled back.

  This was going to be trickier, he knew. A guard wasn’t a defenseless tech, and wasn’t likely to allow a key to be shoved into his neck. Terrell grabbed an unused laptop off the table near the door. It was the only thing near him with any heft to it. He then moved to the other side of the door.

  As soon as the guard entered, Terrell pushed the door closed and brought the edge of the laptop down onto the back of the man’s head.

  The guard buckled but didn’t fall. As the man put a hand over where he’d been hit, Terrell brought the computer down again, and again, and again. Finally, the guard joined the others on the ground.

  Working quickly, Terrell retrieved the guard’s rifle and returned to the entrance. He cracked the door open and peeked outside, expecting the other guard to still be back at his station, but the man was heading toward the control room.

  “Everything all right?” the guard asked.

  Terrell widened the opening. “A bit more trouble than we thought. Sorry.”

  The guard was about a dozen feet away now, his eyes narrowing. “What’s that on your face.”

  Terrell lifted a finger to his cheek and felt a drop of something sticky and wet. Blood, he realized.

  The approaching guard seemed to sense something was up a half second after Terrell realized his ruse had run its course, but he had enough time to raise his rifle and pull the trigger before the other man could do the same.

  As the guard dropped to the ground, the echo of the shot reverberated down the hall. Knowing it wouldn’t be long before someone came to investigate, Terrell raced out of the room, snatched up the other man’s rifle, and ran to the Reassignment Room door.

  The rubber seals sucked loudly as he pulled the doors open.

  When he rushed into the room, several of the survivors screamed, and all jerked back as if he were about to attack them. Which, he quickly realized, was what barreling in there with two rifles probably looked like.

  “It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to get you out. We need to go now!”

  No one moved.

  He searched out the girl and spoke directly to her. “Please. If you stay here, they will kill you.”

  “Who will?” the girl asked.

  He gestured with the rifle back toward the rest of the warehouse. “Everyone!”

  She stared at him, confused.

  “Don’t you understand?” he said. “We didn’t bring you in here to vaccinate you. We were supposed to gas you.”

  Shock and terror rippled through the room.

  “Come on,” he said. “There’s no time!”

  He turned for the door, hoping they would follow.

&
nbsp; The girl was the first to get up. “He’s right. We all knew something was wrong. We need to leave.”

  “What if it’s a trick?” someone argued. “What if he kills us out there?”

  “Here. There. What does it matter?”

  The girl ran toward the door. Before she reached it, the others were up and following.

  Terrell moved into the corridor and checked both ways. No one was there yet. Perhaps the others hadn’t heard it, or maybe had been behind closed doors and hadn’t registered what the noise meant. If so, it was a blessing, but one that would last only until someone noticed the guards weren’t where they were supposed to be.

  He held the extra rifle out to the girl.

  “I don’t know how to shoot.”

  “Point and pull the trigger. Anyone you see who is not in this group will want to kill you.”

  As soon as she took it, he led the group down the hallway toward the loading docks. It wasn’t the closest exit, but he thought it would give them their best chance to get away.

  The girl stayed with him step for step. After a few moments, she said, “You’re not the UN, are you?”

  “No. No one here is.”

  “The others who were locked up with us and taken out earlier?”

  “Don’t ask me that.”

  She was silent for several seconds. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Don’t ask me that, either.”

  Five yards ahead, another hallway branched off to the right. Terrell held up his hand, telling everyone to stop, then proceeded to the intersection alone and took a look around the corner.

  Shit.

  A couple of techs were standing outside a door maybe twenty feet down, drinking coffee and talking. Worse, a dozen feet farther down the hall, a guard was heading toward them on rounds. If it had been only the techs, Terrell and the survivors could have waited a few minutes and hoped the two men went inside the room. The guard, though, would come all the way to the end of his hall, turn the corner, and see them standing there.

  Terrell leaned against the wall, unsure what to do.

  Who’s more important? a voice in his head said. The three people in the hall who work for the organization responsible for more human deaths than ever in the history of the world? Or the innocents behind you?