Lost Hope (The Bridge Sequence Book Three)

by Nathan Hystad

  Saul smiled as he surveyed the lot. “We’re making the right allies.”

  “I’d say.” For the first time, Bill was grateful that Saul had arrived at his cabin. If he’d left Saul alone, he would never have been able to see this. He guessed there were close to five hundred of the Freedom Earthers in a square mile. Dozens of big military-style tents were erected, and row upon row of black Jeeps, varying in age and condition, were lined near the exit. Some had the tops up, some down.

  Saul parked, and they exited the truck. This time, Saul took the keys with him.

  “Bill, glad you could make it.” This man must have been Roger. His voice was even deeper, and his handshake was like wresting a bear. The guy stood well over six and a half feet tall, with shoulders the size of a hundred-year-old oak tree. He was clean-shaven, and had the bushiest eyebrows Bill had ever seen. His dark hair was pulled into a ponytail.

  “I’m sorry about this. I brought an ally, someone I thought you’d want to meet. Don’t take this as some form of subterfuge or anything.” Bill used his friendliest tone, the one he often utilized on air with troublesome callers. It tended to relax them, and he found it easier to pull them onto his side.

  “You have a presence about you,” Roger told Saul as he stuck his hand out. “I’d prefer if you weren’t armed. At least until I know if Bill’s read you properly.”

  Bill had no clue that Saul was wearing a piece. The older man reached behind him and handed the gun to Roger.

  “Come into my office. Both of you.” Roger led them to the biggest tent. A rail-thin woman sat at a desk with papers strewn across it, and she was arguing with a kid who didn’t look old enough to vote. They went quiet as soon as they saw there was company.

  “Olivia. Barnett. Would you mind giving us some privacy?” Roger asked cordially.

  “Yes, sir. We’ll finish this later,” Olivia hissed at Barnett and swept up her papers.

  Roger pointed to the table and the black plastic folding chairs around it. “Have a seat.”

  “Mind if I smoke?” Bill asked.

  “Feel free.” Roger pulled over a reinforced chair. Bill didn’t think these cheap ones would hold his girth. “Now, what is this all about?”

  Saul rested his hands on the table, as if showing he was harmless. “Let me cut to the chase. You’re trying to get Alan Black, right?”

  Roger glanced at Bill, who puffed away and shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “You want the head of the snake, and the Vice President would do just fine if he was the top dog.” Saul crossed his arms and leaned back.

  “He’s not the Sovereign?” Roger laughed, like it was the funniest thing he could have heard.

  “Jessica Carver. I didn’t even know this until we were near Boulder a month ago,” Saul admitted.

  Roger lost his smile. Bill watched the silent conversation the pair of men had with interest. “You were there?”

  “You heard about it?” Saul casually asked.

  “It was all over our radar. Too late, unfortunately. By the time our local sector arrived, the place had been swept clean,” Roger said. “How was it you were there?”

  “In a minute. You want Black. I want something in his possession,” Saul said.

  “And you think you can help me get the Vice? Maybe this… Jessica?”

  “I know I can.” Saul reached into his jacket, and Bill heard the cocking of a gun’s hammer. He glanced under the table and saw Roger was pointing a gun at Saul.

  “Careful there, cowboy,” Roger muttered.

  Saul slowly removed his hand and laid a badge on the table. It showed his face, no smile, the picture overexposed. But it was Saul, nonetheless. “This is my ID.”

  Roger picked it up and rotated it in his fingers. “Security?”

  “That’s my day job. A corporation owned by the cult. It gives me cover. A reason to be moving around between cities. Multinational company, after all,” Saul said.

  “What’s this supposed to prove?” Roger asked.

  “These higher-ups. They have guards with scanners. One sign of this badge, and they’ll grant me access to Black.”

  Bill lit another smoke and set his lighter down quietly.

  “If you can do this, why do you need us?” Roger asked.

  “I used to have a pack, but now I’m a lone wolf. And I want revenge. You want Black. It seems like a fair trade.” Saul’s eyes turned dark.

  “What does he have that you want so badly?” Bill’s voice croaked when he spoke, and they both looked at him, as if surprised he was even in the tent with them.

  “A book. I want a book.”

  Roger set the gun aside and stood up, sticking his hand out. “It’s a deal.”

  Bill noticed the sound of rain pitter-pattering against canopy of the tent as the door opened.

  “You’re just in time,” Roger told the newcomer.

  The man had a straitlaced look about him, and instead of camouflage, he wore a boring gray suit, complete with a dark tie. The guy glanced at Bill’s pack of smokes and reached for them. “Mind if I…?”

  “Go ahead. I’m Bill,” he said.

  “Where are my manners?” Roger dramatically waved his arm like he was announcing royalty. “This is Special Agent Evan Young.”

  Saul cleared his throat, and Young choked on his cigarette. “You. You’re alive.”

  “Good to see you again, Evan.”

  Bill couldn’t help but feel like he was missing something important. Roger smiled.

  8

  Gren threw his gun to the ground and let out a string of angry words that could only be curses.

  “Calm yourself, Gren,” I said. “We can still kill the queen.”

  Gren rushed at me and shoved his arm against my throat, pinning me to the barn. “You… if you hadn’t come, none of this would have ever happened.”

  Veronica was on him, tugging at his shoulders. He almost struck her with an elbow, but I saw him hold back at the last second. He let me go and walked away.

  “Don’t blame us, Gren. Your people left the clues; all we did was follow them. Plus, you were the ones playing God. Scattering your precious DNA, waiting to see what stuck.” I stared at the remaining Rodax. Three of the soldiers were building a funeral pyre inside the barn for their fallen. They’d brought out the one that had been killed in Thailand as well, and the four bodies were in a row, lying on top of a series of wooden crates.

  “They asked for our help, and we offered it. We have no love for the Zalt, and now you see why,” Lewen interjected. “We thought we were prepared. It has been too long.”

  “What do we do?” Tripp barked. He sat on the ground, his shoulder wrapped with swatches from a spare jumpsuit. Blood soaked the dark fabric, staining it brown.

  “I don’t know,” Gren mumbled.

  Baska’s body was inside the barn. It was obvious they were close friends, and his loss hit Gren deeply.

  “I do,” I said. “We rest for a while, and track the queen wherever it’s going. Stop the damned Umir from accomplishing their goal.”

  “It won’t work. We do not have enough soldiers. Nor firepower.” Gren turned to face the soldiers emerging from the barn. One of them gave the pilot a nod, probably indicating they’d completed the preparation.

  “Give us time,” Lewen told me. “We have a rite to perform.”

  To my surprise, none of the locals had arrived to check out the situation. That didn’t bode well for their condition. They must have heard us.

  Veronica grabbed my arm and dragged me to Tripp. We watched the Rodax hum, then sing a song for their lost soldiers, and Gren lit a fuse. We witnessed the final rite as the barn burned, old wood crackling in the mid-morning sunlight. When they were finished, Lewen brought us onto the ship we’d flown overseas on.

  “Gren is not well.” She tapped her head. “Veronica, would you consider flying a ship?”

  Veronica nodded. “Of course.”

  “Can you help Tripp?” I asked.

&
nbsp; Lewen looked at the injury and grimaced. “I can.”

  “Let’s stay for a couple of hours. Get some sleep. Everyone is exhausted. It won’t do us any good flying around chasing the hub anyway. We’ll wait to see where it goes, and then follow. Make sense?” I didn’t have to wait long for a response. Lewen agreed instantly.

  “Rex, I think I saw a truck on the next lot. Let’s go into town. Secure some supplies,” Veronica said.

  I realized we didn’t have much in the way of rations, and wondered when any of us had last eaten. “You bet.”

  “Take a gun,” Tripp reminded us. I accepted his 9MM and we set off on foot after assuring Tripp we’d be okay. He asked us to find a pineapple, maybe some pork.

  Our seventeen-person team had dropped to thirteen. Against an army of robots. I didn’t like our odds.

  “We need help,” Veronica said when we were out of earshot.

  “How do we contact anyone?” I’d sweated through my jumpsuit by the time we climbed across the dilapidated fence to the next plot of land.

  “We’ll figure something out. The Freedom Earthers would be an ideal place to start.” Veronica was limping slightly.

  “You hurt?”

  “Just landed wrong. It’ll be okay.” The house was intact, and I knocked on the door. The porch boards groaned under our weight, and a dog barked in the distance.

  “Hello!” I called, with no reply. The blinds were bed sheets across the windows, but they blocked my view of the inside. I tested the handle, and it turned with ease. “Shall we?”

  The place was dusty, and I saw the back door was propped open. When I crossed through the living room, I noticed what was holding it wide.

  A body.

  “Rex, what do you think happened?” Veronica crouched by the woman and checked for a pulse. When she shook her head, I helped roll the lady over. She was old, with deep lines wrinkling her forehead. Her eyes were blood red, the vessels burst.

  “I’ll give you one guess.”

  “The Zalt,” she whispered.

  I went down the hallway and found a man, presumably her husband, on the floor, his pants around his ankles. His eyes were the same.

  I stopped when I reached the end of the hall, and I heard a voice speaking inside. My Spanish was okay, and I translated the words in my head. It was a song, or a schoolyard rhyme.

  I opened the door. “Are you okay?”

  The girl was maybe ten, and she glanced at me, stopping her singing. “Quién eres?” Who are you?

  “My name’s Rex. Are you feeling okay?” I asked in Spanish.

  She nodded and smiled. She spoke again, and laughed. I translated the words at a whisper. Prepare for arrival.

  I slammed the door shut and held it tightly. “Find a rope. Anything.”

  Veronica was white as a ghost, and she scrambled to find something to tie the door handle closed. She returned a few minutes later with a spool of electrical wire, complete with snippers. I measured from the handle across the hall and cut the spool, wrapping it around the adjacent bedroom knob.

  The girl with a Zalt inside her tested the door. She started to bang on it, shouting in Spanish. Then she kept saying prepare for arrival, repeatedly, until it was all I could think. When I was happy with how secure the doors were, we went in search of the truck keys.

  I scoured the living room, Veronica the kitchen, but nothing. Then I remembered the guy in the bathroom. “I think I know where they are.” I returned to him, pulling my nose under my jumpsuit collar. I reached into his pockets and yanked out the keys.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Veronica didn’t have to be told twice. She was gone before me, running for the truck.

  Despite its rough appearance, it started with a quick prime of the gas pedal, and we were off. In the rear-view mirror, I saw the girl burst from the house, and pointed it out to Veronica.

  “This is sick.”

  It was the first time we’d seen a normal person affected by the Zalt, but I doubted it would be the last.

  The roads were quiet as I drove us toward town. When we were closer, we started to find vehicles parked on the street. Some of them were crashed into one another; others were upside down in ditches. I slowed as we rumbled past a car marked Policia, and cringed at the dried blood around the uniformed officer’s eyes.

  “It’s gone,” Veronica said softly.

  I was so busy staring at the dead people, I didn’t see the giant hole in the earth until she shouted for me to hit the brakes. I did, skidding to a halt. The entire town was destroyed, and a massive crater sat in its stead.

  “The Umir hub must have been carrying extra protection. This is a disaster.”

  “We shouldn’t linger. If some of the people are carrying Zalt, we might be in danger revealing ourselves like this.” She rolled her window up, and I hit reverse.

  “I saw a few stores on the outskirts,” I said.

  “Okay. Let’s hurry.” Veronica held her gun in her lap, a finger nervously rubbing the grip.

  I drove around the stalled-out vehicles, heading into a market. It looked like it had been built in the seventies and never updated, but it would have food. We climbed out, and I took the keys, not trusting to leave them in the ignition.

  The hub would have hit a few days ago, during the meteor shower, and some of the food was already looking ripe. There was no power, no fans, no cooler, no air conditioning. I doubted the latter had ever existed, by the looks of things. A few dead people lay in the aisles, and we hurried around them, grabbing supplies and filling hand-held plastic carts.

  I saw a section with clothing, and snatched a few black t-shirts, and a couple of pairs of shorts and sweatpants. If we were flying to the States, it might do us good to look less conspicuous. When I had a bag full of options, we ran from the store.

  “Wait, what about medicine for Tripp?” Veronica asked.

  Someone called after us, a tattooed man holding a meat cleaver. He shouted again, and we took off. I saw the bottles of tequila near the door, and grabbed one, rushing back to the truck. We peeled out of the parking lot.

  When we arrived at the ships, Tripp was sleeping, and his wound was wrapped in a white bandage. “Lewen.” I set the bags aside. “Will he be okay?”

  She smiled. It gave me hope. “He’s fine. It will be as good as new in a day or two.”

  We informed the others of what we’d discovered. It was sobering news, and Gren seemed to have regained a semblance of his former self. “I apologize for my earlier outburst,” he said. “Baska was my… brother.”

  Veronica gasped. “I’m so sorry, Gren.” She embraced him, and he shook free after a moment.

  “Thank you. He was a great man, and a better brother.”

  Eventually, we sorted the supplies and ate in silence. Tripp finally woke and devoured something, telling us he was already feeling better. He poked at the bandage and said it hardly hurt.

  “Is that tequila?” he asked, pointing at the last full bag.

  “Do you have a seventh sense we should know about?” I joked, and unscrewed the cap. We didn’t have glasses, so I passed it over, and he took a swig, then another, handing it to Lewen. She glanced at Veronica, who nodded her approval. The Rodax woman coughed, but grinned as she gave it to Gren.

  He took the drink with ease, licking his lips as it was handed to the next in line. I got the last round, while Veronica tried to explain how the cheap stuff was better with lime and salt. I capped it without taking a drink and lay on the bench.

  I didn’t remember falling asleep, but dreams found me. I thought about Jessica, wondering what she was up to. Had this event been duplicated someplace else? Were we fighting a losing battle?

  I blinked in my dream and saw out an SUV window. My head turned, and there was Marcus. His lips moved, but I couldn’t hear what he said.

  ____________

  “Why are we exiting here?” Marcus asked.

  Jessica’s responses had been brief and dismissive so far, but he co
uld sense the shift in her mood since yesterday, and he didn’t think it was only due to his escape attempt. He tried to adjust in his seat, but the leg bindings made it difficult. As soon as they’d hauled him into the SUV, the big guys in suits had zip-tied his ankles. At least they hadn’t fastened them tight enough to cut off the circulation.

  “Can you…” he started to ask again.

  “Shut up, kid,” Jessica hissed. “Why is it moving?” This was said in a whisper. She stared at a tablet, consternation furrowing her brow.

  “The robot is on the prowl?” he risked.

  “Yes. It was near a village in the northern corner of Mexico, but it’s directed to Texas. And from the look of things, it has guards. Protectors.” Jessica bit her bottom lip.

  “Maybe someone scared it off,” Marcus said offhandedly.

  “There are some powerful cartels in the area. I remember watching a documentary on the massacres in that region in the early nineties.” She tapped a long shellacked nail on the tablet.

  Marcus had said his last comment off the cuff, but the more he considered it, the more he assumed Rex was involved. But if the hub had escaped, that meant Rex had failed, or it had nothing to do with his friend. He had no clue if they’d made it home from Rimia or entered the second Bridge with the seventh Token. Jessica had practically admitted she’d talked with Rex, but he wasn’t sure he could trust her on that. He rubbed his head and stared out the window. More cars were on the streets. The sun hid behind a blanket of dark, miserable clouds, placed to match his mood.

  “Roadblock ahead,” the driver said gruffly.

  Jessica craned her neck between the front seats and let out a string of swears worthy of a village handyman. “Drive around.”

  “There’s nowhere to go.”

  Marcus watched the row of red taillights, and the red and blue flashing lights about a half-mile down on the interstate. Cars lined the road, and a man in a truck blinked his brights from behind, honking his horn.

  “Want me to deal with him?” Barry in the passenger seat asked.

  The honking persisted. Marcus turned to stare past the spherical Umir and through the tinted rear windshield. The man had his window open. Marcus heard his muffled shouts as he waved his left arm around like he was leading an orchestra.