by Adrian Smith
“Wait here. I’ll take a closer—”
Kabooooom! Kaboom! Kaboom!
Three giant explosions reverberated around the forest as the cable car exploded into a mess of twisted metal. First, each of the tracks exploded, followed by the stations at each end. Flames as tall as buildings shot out in a bubbling, rolling wash of intense heat.
Ryan ran forward and shoved Hogai, Sofia, and Keiko to the ground. He caught a glimpse of Allie ducking behind a pine tree and flattening herself. The pressure wave and heat washed over him, causing the pain in his head to return. He gritted his teeth and clapped his hands over his ears, trying to block it out as he rolled onto his back and looked up the mountain.
Fire raged where the cable car station had been. The ground beneath him shook and rumbled as more explosions rocked the town above. They sounded as if they came from beneath the ground.
Geysers of heat and light shot up into the night, strobing the sky in rays of destruction. Once the shock and sounds of the explosions subsided, Ryan picked himself up and brushed the pine needles off his pants.
“What the actual f…?” Sofia said.
Cupping his hands over his ears, Ryan tried to get his ears to pop, but they were ringing worse than the aftermath of a Sepultura concert.
Sofia grasped his shoulder and used the hand signals they’d developed years ago. Pointed first at her eyes, then held up four fingers, indicating unknown hostiles. He signaled back for her to get everyone to the train, and that he would watch their backs.
Ryan picked Hogai up and dusted him down. “Keep moving.” To the others, he said, “Get moving. I’ll cover our retreat.”
“I’ll stay,” Allie said. She still held her bō staff, and her handgun was tucked in the back of her jeans.
He wanted to refuse but saw the determination in her eyes. He’d seen that same look in nearly everyone who served. The desire to help others. To protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. To preserve their way of life. Everything that had happened over these past few hours and days was because someone hated that way of life. They hated it enough to invent a way to end it. The virus had to have been planned; its release was too coordinated for it not to be.
He looked at Allie. “Combat retreat spacing.”
“Understood,” she said.
“Don’t engage. We don’t have the firepower to win. Keep their locations under observation.”
“Sneaky like?” she grinned.
“Super sneaky. I think they’re looking for YamTech security again, not us. If we can get on that train, we can get to the airport and out of here.”
He and Allie followed the others down the next set of steps. Ryan kept his eyes trained on his immediate surroundings. They were close to the train station, and now had only a few shops and houses to navigate through. He could see the dark shapes of the death squad members tracking through the forest as they hunted the YamTech security force. They were moving with caution and, so far, hadn’t spotted either him or Allie.
Ryan checked Sofia’s location. She had Hogai and Keiko tucked behind her in the doorway of a cafe, across the road from the train station. The tree line ran nearly to the road. He only had to sprint across one piece of open space. Counting to three, he dashed across and into the doorway opposite the cafe. Allie slid in next to him, puffing slightly.
“What’s the hold up?” she whispered.
“Not sure.”
“Hostiles?”
“It’s too quiet. Feels like a trap.”
“How would they know about us? We’re nobody to them.”
“That’s not the point. The squads are killing everyone.”
Ryan turned his head, looking at Sofia.
Sofia peered around the corner and held up first her fist, then five fingers. Her message was clear. Armed men guarded the station.
Ryan pointed to the end of the platform, toward the front of the train. It was an older style, from the ’60s, with a bulbous nose.
Sofia held up two fingers.
Muffled moans carried down the street. Allie exchanged a worried look with him. In all the time they had fled down the mountain, none of them had thought about the Siphons. It hadn’t occurred to Ryan. Were they here too?
The moans behind him grew in volume as he searched for an escape route. His eyes flicked from one option to the next, weighing each for their flaws. Hell, nothing was perfect.
Cars and vans sat vacant on the side of the road, some with the doors open, while others were pranged into power poles, oil and radiator fluid dripping out of their engine bays. A white Toyota minivan was a meter away. An idea forming, Ryan checked the ignition. A silver keychain hung from it, along with a pile of ash in the driver's seat.
“Wait here,” he murmured and, slipping from one shadow to the next, he made his way to the corner of the concrete building, opposite Sofia. Even in the moonlight, he saw her raise her thick Colombian eyebrow at him. Ryan crouched down to his knees and peered around the brickwork.
A death squad blocked the trains, five men here, two farther down, exactly as Sofia had indicated. It wasn’t that Ryan didn’t trust his teammate. Rather, he was checking the roads that led away from the station. Above him, the YamTech security men dressed in gray were picking their way through the trees toward the station.
He could see it unfolding; the two groups were going to clash in a matter of minutes.
The muffled moans came again, closer this time.
He jogged back to Allie. “I’m going to cause a distraction,” he breathed. “When I draw the commandos away, get everyone else on the train. Get to Osaka airport. My friend Booth is standing by with a plane. Find the private jet hanger.”
“I’ve never driven a train before, and I don’t know the way.”
“Sofia will help. Use Hogai for directions, he’s a local.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll catch up. Tell Sofia to wait until noon. If I haven’t arrived, leave. Tell Zanzi I’m sorry.”
“Your daughter?”
“Yes. She’s all I have left. She’ll understand.”
Allie frowned. She grasped his shoulder. He saw the question in her eyes but, instead of asking it, she turned and sprinted across the street. Ryan waited until she reached Sofia, Keiko, and Hogai.
On his way to Koyasan, Ryan had been staggered by the beauty of the location. The station was nestled next to a river, with maple trees dotting the banks and hillsides, their foliage bright green with new spring growth. The cable car rose, gently at first, before the incline steepened as it climbed the mountain. A covered pedestrian walkway joined the two stations. Smoke and fire raged there now, threatening to engulf the trains. If they were to have any chance of escaping, they needed to move quickly. Ryan spent a few moments gathering his thoughts and breathing steadily.
He tried the door behind him and whispered a prayer of relief when it swung open. It was a clothing store, selling mainly souvenir T-shirts, fleece jackets, woolen hats and gloves. A quick scan revealed exactly what he was looking for: mannequins. As quietly as he could, he transferred the dummies out of the shop and placed them in the minivan.
Sofia shook her head at him from across the road as he slipped behind the wheel. Ryan blew her a kiss and placed his weapons on the center console, in easy reach.
He would have preferred a motorbike or a fast sports car, but to sell the death squad the illusion, it needed to look like they were all in the van.
He glanced up at the clouds that shrouded the moon. Black smoke from the fires poured across the sky, adding to the murk.
Without another thought, Ryan gunned the engine, revving it hard and loud to make sure everyone heard it. Throwing it into drive, he squealed the tires and spun around the tight corner and away from the train station.
As he sped past, he spotted the yellow rider standing inside the main entrance, arms folded, a black-tinted helmet firmly on his head. The commandos opened fire without hesitation, peppering the side of the mi
nivan. Ryan swung hard right, sending one commando flying. He sprawled on the road at an awkward angle, rolling until he rested against the gutter.
In seconds, the rest of the commandos gave chase, just as Ryan hadd hoped. They leapt onto motorbikes and roared after him, the yellow rider tucked in tight, right in the center of the formation.
Ryan grinned and swerved around the winding road.
Come on, then. Come and get me.
Thirty-Two
Osaka, Japan
The back windscreen shattered into a thousand tiny fragments as the chasing motorcycles fired round after round at the minivan. Ryan ducked lower and swerved from side to side, blocking the bikes from flanking him. The narrow road aided his desperate attempts, as well as the vertical granite cliffs on one side and the drop down to the river on the other.
He heard the bike rev a fraction before it zoomed level. The rider had his submachine gun pointed at him.
Ryan wrenched the wheel and slammed the minivan into the rider before he got off a shot, sending the commando into the guardrail and tumbling out of sight. He jerked the wheel the other way just in time. A second bike came up on the driver’s side.
He flinched as his two-ton vehicle collided with the commando. There was an audible crunch as the minivan squeezed the life from him in an instant, smearing blood over the side windows. The minivan jolted as the bike tumbled under its back wheels.
The Toyota screeched around another corner, and a town appeared up ahead. Several fires raged through houses, shops, and office buildings. The overhead powerlines caught in the blaze were sparking bolts of blue electricity, sending sparks showering onto the roads.
A knot of people stood in the middle of the street, waving frantically. Some were feebly throwing buckets of water on the raging fire.
Ryan swerved. Apart from the security guards and the death squads, he hadn’t seen anyone alive since Koya. He wanted to help them, guide them to safety. There had to be a government response effort somewhere. Surely?
Gunfire erupted as the black commandos opened fire on the residents, cutting them down without hesitation or mercy. Ryan gripped the steering wheel tighter, heat and anger rising.
An eighteen-wheeler had crashed off the main highway, leaving a path of destruction scattered in its wake. Cars crushed beneath it were now just wrecks of twisted metal. The truck lay on its side, blocking half the street. Boxes of snacks and pallets of soda leaked onto the tarmac, bleeding out like the remnants of life from a body. Ryan had been foolish to hope that the chaos at Koya had been isolated. With every turn in the road, the true horror revealed its ugly head. Whoever or whatever had done this, they had achieved what so many others had failed to do: flip the world on its head.
Ryan shifted down a gear and skidded around the obstacle. He still had riders on his tail, but they were sitting back, happy to follow him but not engage. For which he was relieved. He took the off ramp and screamed onto the motorway. It headed to Osaka, and north to Tokyo, where this whole crazy situation had started.
Before Booth, Sofia, and Holder had shown up, Ryan, despite his grief, had been content. He had two jobs as a translator, with the rail tourist office and a concert venue. Japan loved live music, especially hard rock and metal bands. Getting to rub shoulders with some of his favorite musicians, and acting as liaison, had been fulfilling.
Of course, in his spare time, he had investigated YamTech and ReinCorp. Anything Offenheim was involved in.
Ryan glanced down at the fuel gauge as he weaved between the stalled vehicles. Half a tank. He’d drive until he ran out; that would give the others time. Most of the cars had drifted, driverless, to the side barriers, crashing into one another as though a giant had shaken the road, then walked away. Some had crashed into vehicles, while others had rolled after hitting the barriers, leaving crumbs of glass, plastic, and metal trailing behind. He’d been right. Taking the roads anywhere was chaos.
The motorway cleared in front of him and Ryan slammed his foot hard on the accelerator. He heard the whine of the motorbikes gathering speed behind him. Suddenly three shot past him like the Shinkansen and disappeared out of sight in seconds. Three remained behind him: the yellow rider, flanked by two riders in black.
They didn’t fire, but kept their distance, as if waiting for him to make a mistake. He tested them. He braked and slowed down, then sped up again. Each time, they adjusted, always following but never acting. Ryan didn’t care, though. This was all so the others could flee. Get stateside and home. Motorcycles had smaller tanks than cars, so required refueling more. Didn’t they?
The road dropped down to skirt the mountains, hugging the coastline instead. He saw the trap seconds before the riders sprang it. He slammed on his brakes and wrenched the wheel, throwing the van into a 180 spin. The minivan skidded backward as he faced the riders. Bullets exploded into the side of the vehicle and he hit something, flipping the minivan on its side. The passenger window shattered. Ryan clenched his jaw tight and braced for the impact.
The minivan made an ear-splitting shriek of tortured metal before coming to a sudden stop.
The human body does strange things when threatened with extreme force or after an accident. Some people lose all sense of direction and stare into the distance as they try to figure out what just happened. For Ryan, time flew by. One second he was upright; the next, he was grinding along the road, sparks flying.
Silence returned to the world. One of the riders strode into his view through the empty windows.
Ryan drilled a bullet right above the knee and, as the biker fell, he shot him again, this time through his helmet.
He groaned and pulled himself out from behind the steering wheel. Where is the other guy?
The yellow rider and two minders had stopped ten meters away. They held their weapons at their sides, watching.
Ryan shook his head, trying to refocus. His body ached all over from the crash—and the last few hours, if he was honest. Where the hell was the missing commando?
He peered out the window, searching, then crawled through the minivan and pulled himself out the escape exit. His muscles tensed as he spotted the missing rider leaning against a white Suzuki Swift, a jagged piece of metal sticking out from his neck. All that protective gear, only to be taken out by a stray piece of metal. How about that for bad luck?
Ryan hated this side of the business. The killing and the guilt were never easy. Ending another’s life always haunted his dreams. When Ryan had first killed someone, he had been in the jungles of the Solomon Islands, sent to broker a peace deal between warring tribes. Instead, his unit had come under intense fire. The head had popped up from behind a log, and he had shot him above the right eye, taking the top of his skull off and painting a rubber tree in gray brain matter.
Like all the others since, the death whispered to him late at night, or during times of reflection.
He turned and peered around the van. The yellow rider stood with arms folded, watching. No visible weapons. His two minders were armed with MP5s, just like all the other death squad commandos.
“It’s just us now. You three dickheads ready?” Ryan shouted. “There’s more of us than you.”
He was answered with guns being loaded, bolts clicking into place.
“Don’t you guys ever talk?” Ryan said, peeking again. Now weapons were trained on his position. He scanned the area. They had chosen their ambush location well. They were high up on an overpass with nothing but a rocky shore below. Waves thundered against the concrete piles.
Ryan strained his ears. Shrieks and moans answered. Siphons. Even here, on the vehicle-choked motorway, people had survived. The unlucky few had succumbed to the virus, mutating into Siphons. Now they only cared for the fluid flowing through Ryan’s spine. He glanced in the direction of the moans. He couldn’t gauge the numbers, only that a group, about two hundred meters out, was advancing on his position.
“You see that!” he shouted. “That’s what you get when you play with Moth
er Nature. It fights back.”
Silence.
Ryan breathed deep and touched the gun to his forehead. His time at the Lodge flooded back. Hitting targets in the pouring rain. Music blaring. Car horns screaming. Gunfire and chaos. Training the operatives to remain focused in all situations. He had been determined to be the best. Proving himself and his doubters wrong. For hours he had practiced at the range until it became fluid and precise. Until he became an expert marksman.
“You guys ready?”
Silence.
“How about a truce, then? I go one way, you go the other.”
Still silence.
Okay. Shoot the armed guys first. Ryan dived out from behind the minivan. He shot the one on the left. The bullet thumped through his neck. He hit the road and adjusted his aim. The remaining commando sprayed bullets above him. He hit the underside of the van, the rounds pinging off the metal.
Ryan shot him in the leg. He staggered and swung his rifle up. Ryan hit him in the arm, and finally in the chest. He slumped into the legs of the yellow rider.
Ryan risked a glance toward the Siphons. One hundred and fifty meters out. The shrieks were louder.
The rider dressed in yellow leathers held up a hand and, using his foot, rolled the body of his dead colleague away.
Ryan hesitated. Was this a trick? As far as he could tell, the rider was unarmed.
As he watched, the rider, using his other hand, unclipped the helmet strap. Slowly, the rider lifted his helmet off, showing his face.
Ryan’s mouth gaped and his gun thumped against his leg. Standing, just a few meters from him, was Cal. Her head was shaved head and there was an ugly scar running above her right ear, but it was her. It was the eyes he recognized first. Blue, brilliant, and observing everything. There was no mistaking her now. He had seen every inch of her. Loved her, kissed her, knew her deepest hopes and desires. Raised a family and saved lives with her. Ate, drank, laughed, and cried with her at life’s roller coasters. He staggered backward, his body shaking.
