“Won’t that hole just allow the smoke to vent first?” Jill asked.
“It ought to allow just enough air in to stoke the fire and create a buildup of smoke to be forced out through the tubes.”
“I still don’t think the smoke will be hot enough,” Darren said.
“It only has to be warm enough to keep the ice from forming and raise the ambient water temperature into the low fifties.”
“Like I said—”
“Shh!” Evelyn shushed him. Maybe he was right, but they were so close now. So close. And until she saw it fail with her own eyes, she wasn’t about to entertain the notion.
Flames licked the rocky surface of the coal, taking root with a radiating warmth that they all felt sigh from the mouth of the well.
“Okay,” Evelyn said, her heart beating so fast that she could hardly breathe. “Here we go.”
She lowered the wooden flap forward until the others could reach it from the other side to help her seat it in place atop the lip. A rush of smoke billowed from beneath the closing lid before being shunted. A thin column of smoke plumed from the hole in the cover, diffusing onto the wind. They all turned and stared toward the lake, slowly walking down the beach to the shoreline. Evelyn bit her lip in anticipation as the others nervously looked out across the water to where the four two-inch wide columns stood erect from the deceptively placid surface.
“Maybe the wind’s blowing the smoke away,” Jill whispered.
“We’d still be able to see it,” Mare said.
“It’s just taking a while to get through the tubing,” Evelyn said.
“If it is at all,” Darren said, turning back to the cave where the others had gathered to watch with great interest before starting their shifts.
“It’ll come,” Evelyn said.
“What if it doesn’t?”
“It will.”
“All I’m saying is we should have some idea of what to try next if…”
His words trailed off as the first finger of smoke bloomed from the pipe on the far right, followed in short measure by the two to the left, and finally by the lone remaining.
“It’s working,” Evelyn whispered, her long-trapped breath escaping her in a sigh of relief. It still remained to be seen if the smoke would be hot enough to heat the water by osmosis, but they could always throw on more coal. The point was that her theory was sound. It had passed the first test, and if it worked, they could manufacture these pits up and down the coast to culture acres of kelp.
“You did it,” Adam said, smiling. He placed his hand on her shoulder. “What a brilliant idea. If it works like it’s supposed to, then we’ll all—”
Evelyn squealed with excitement and clapped her hands. Whirling to face Adam, she grabbed him by either side of the face with her dirty, frozen hands and kissed him right on the lips. She spun again to watch the smoke rise triumphantly, only realizing what she’d just done at that precise moment. Her face ran the gamut of reds and she clapped a hand over her mouth. Did she really just kiss him?
She turned again, slowly, her mind racing to come up with any plausible excuse. It had been the excitement. She would have kissed whoever was standing there. She was coming down with a fever, maybe even delirious.
But when she finally faced him, he walked directly up to her and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her to him. She barely had time to lower her hand before his lips met hers.
“It’s a serious burden always being right,” Lindsay said, but Evelyn ignored her, rejoicing at the spark that was now a flame burning inside of her.
II
Salt Lake City
HE SHOULD HAVE GONE WITH RICHARD. HE HAD SWORN TO PROTECT HIM after all, maybe not aloud and to his face, but it was a vow he had made to himself and he took such matters very seriously. Richard had entrusted Garrett with so much more though, and he knew it. He was now responsible for close to ninety lives, and on top of that, he had been delegated the paramount task of making sure that the hotel would be ready not only for Richard’s return, but for the coming battle. Having seen what these creatures could do, he needed to ensure their fortress was impenetrable, that it could withstand even the most violent attack. Their best shot would be if they were able to hold the enemy back beyond the perimeter where they would be able to snipe them from the roof with rifles, but if their outer fortifications were breached, they wouldn’t stand a chance.
“You down there!” Garrett shouted from the roof. Three men looked up from where they leaned against the front of the building, preparing to take a nicotine break. “Those windows aren’t going to board themselves up!”
“…take a stupid break…” one of them grumbled in a tone meant to elude his ears.
“You can take a break when you’re dead! Now get back to work!”
“We’re exhausted!” the man shouted back up at him. “We’ve been working non-stop since—”
Garrett pointed his rifle at the man, inching the sight to the side just enough to miss his head, but close enough to make sure he heard the bullet passing right beside it.
Bang!
“Jesus Christ!” the man shouted, dabbing at his bloody ear. The bullet had grazed it just enough to tear away the outer conch. “You…you shot me!”
“Get back to boarding up those windows or I guarantee those monsters will do so much worse!”
The other men flung their cigarettes into the snow and went right back to task without looking up. Still cupping his tattered ear, the third man leaned against the sheet of plywood to hold it in place so the others could board up the glass.
Gotta break some eggs if you want to make an omelet, his father had always said. Of course, he had worked in collections, and by eggs he had meant legs, but Garrett still subscribed to the principle. In his football days, he had intentionally gone for the defensive linemen’s knees, and in the scrum for a fumble had done many things that should have drawn a flag. Gouging his thumb into an opponent’s eye. Giving a groin a solid squeeze and a twist. Bending fingers backwards, clawing skin. A man had to be willing to do whatever it took in any given situation to come out on top. It had brought him collegiate acclaim as an All-American, at least until he’d blown out his knee at the scouting combine, but more importantly, it had prepared him for life. Without football, he’d been as ordinary as the next guy, only a heck of a lot stronger and more intimidating, which had served him well in stints as a bodyguard and a bouncer.
His father had been right…for the most part. When it came right down to it, success wasn’t about breaking eggs, but simply the willingness to do so without a second thought. He’d found that by making an example of someone, others would learn what kind of consequences they faced. That’s where he and Richard were so similar. Killing the woman had been regrettable, as had shooting Peckham, but it wasn’t about either of them as individuals. It was all about the others who needed to know that someone had taken charge to guarantee their safety. Lying about the events had made him uncomfortable, though. He had no problem with taking responsibility for his actions for the sake of the greater good, but he understood Richard’s motives. No one wanted to see the chef cracking the eggs or milking the cow or butchering the pig, they just wanted to sit down with a steaming omelet and not have to think about anything other than the marvelous taste.
So be it. They would all survive and prosper thanks to a pair of broken eggs.
Garrett stepped over the smoldering gold casing melting through the snow and walked across the roof to look down upon the rear courtyard. The workers down there must have stopped when they heard the gunfire, but quickly resumed when he appeared, pretending as though they hadn’t seen him.
They’d completed the circuit of barbed wire atop the fence and were coiling more into the gaps with the remainder. As they were on the front side, they were boarding up the windows on the lower level and would soon appear on the balconies of the second story to do the same. A tractor trailer cruised slowly through the back lot, allowing the group of p
eople trailing it to unload every scrap of wood they could fit on board from the open rear, tossing them into haphazard piles against the base of the fence. Another pickup followed behind, the two men standing in the bed dropping full plastic containers of gasoline into the snow.
When the man with the telescopic sight atop the parapet to Garrett’s left saw the first sign of advancing forces, they would douse the wood with gas and set the piles to burning. Let those monsters peel their skin from their bones climbing the fence and wriggling through the razor wire, only to drop into a wall of flames that would consume their remains. If by some miracle they were lucky enough to make it that far, they’d be easy pickings through the sight of a rifle. Richard was going to be so proud of—
Light flooded out onto the balconies attached to the rooms below, his instincts bringing the butt of the rifle to his shoulder.
A cheer arose from all around him at once. Everyone stopped what they were doing to look up at the artificial illumination. Garrett had no choice but to allow them to enjoy this small victory. It was an accomplishment to be shared by all. A sign of hope and the undying human spirit. It espoused the belief that they would not only make it through the coming trials, but would soon be able to begin reclaiming their former lives. It was the first baby step that would eventually lead to home-cooked meals and hot showers, central heat and air conditioning, and maybe even one day radio and television. They would be able to electrify their fences and install sophisticated defense systems. The opportunities were limitless.
Garrett turned back to the roof and headed for the doorway leading down into the building, the formerly dark stairwell now well lit. For a moment he even thought he felt air flowing out of the ductwork. He rounded the corner and opened the door onto the third floor.
“You shot me,” a level voice said from behind him as he entered the hallway.
Garrett whirled to face the man.
“Consider it a warning,” he said.
The man peeled his hand away from his crusty ear. It looked like something had taken a bite out of it and ripped the flesh along the side of his head away with it, closely cropped hair and all.
“This doesn’t feel like a warning. Does it look like a warning?” The man’s eyes were wild and unblinking, the tendons taut in his neck, stretching the tattoo of a snake.
“We either get the work done or we die. Do you understand that?”
Lips curling angrily, the man extended his index finger and jabbed Garrett in the chest.
“Or maybe it’s just you who’s gonna—”
Garrett grabbed the finger and bent it sharply in the opposite direction. With a loud crack, the jaggedly fractured phalanx ripped through the skin.
The man howled, dropping to his knees and cradling his hand against his chest.
Garrett took him by either side of the face, squeezing so hard on his cheekbones that the man’s eyes started to bulge, and then squeezing even harder. Releasing the man’s now bloody face, he closed his fists around either ear and jerked the man’s head forward at the same time as he raised his knee.
With one final crack of snapping bone, the man toppled to his back on the floor.
“Eggs,” Garrett said, taking the man by the collar of his jacket and dragging him down the hallway into his room.
III
The Eastern Banks of the Great Salt Lake
RICHARD THROTTLED THE SPEEDER AND GAVE IT SOME GAS, SENDING IT rocketing forward as soon as the ground leveled off. He should have known better than to expect the state-of-the-art snowmobiles to work. The other men had hauled them down from the racks, but hadn’t even been able to get the engines to turn over. Useless computer chips. Fortunately, they’d been able to find some older models in reasonable shape at the back of the lot, clunky old junkers that barely resembled their streamlined successors. They reminded him more of tanks than anything else with the way the rider was forced to sit erect to accommodate the battery-powered engine and none of the fancy bells and whistles, but they would get them from here to there, and that was all that really mattered.
The remainder of the fluorescent orange discounted price tag he had scraped off marred his vision through the windshield, but to nowhere near the extent of the blizzard that choked his headlight nearly back to the lens. All he could do was balance his speed against the visibility and dodge whatever he could before slamming into it. Lowering his head even further to try to prevent the wind from cracking open the chafed skin around his eyes, he tried not to think about the pain in his toes or the prospect of them turning black before they reached their final destination.
A glance at the side mirror confirmed that the others were lagging. As they were traveling in a single-file line, he could only see the headlight immediately behind him, but barely, as it faded in and out through the snow. He tapped his toe on the brake repeatedly to make the red taillight flash, trying to get their attention to urge them on, but it had quite the opposite effect. The light behind him vanished into the storm. He stopped and waited for the others to catch up, but when it became apparent that they weren’t going to, he turned the snowmobile around and followed his tracks back to them. When the headlight finally reappeared, he could see their silhouettes standing in front of it.
“What the hell are you doing?” Richard shouted, hopping off his sled and stomping straight over to them.
“You wanted to stop,” one of the men said, his frozen breath gusting through the hole in his ski mask.
“I wanted you to speed up. You were falling behind.”
“We’ve been driving for hours without a single break. Probably time we took one, don’t you think?” another said, sloshing a fifth of vodka before taking a swig and passing it to Richard, who knocked it back and coughed out the fumes. He was prepared to verbally lash them for wasting precious time, but he needed something special from these men, something that they wouldn’t do simply because he told them to.
He was going to need them to kill for him.
“You’re right,” he finally said. “I have been pushing you kind of hard.”
“Kind of?” one of them men said, causing them all to laugh.
Richard bit his tongue hard enough to fill his mouth with warmth.
“I just keep thinking about Jake,” he said, readjusting the shotgun strap across his chest. “Lord only knows what they’re doing to that poor child this very moment or if…he’s even still alive.”
That sobered them up, their laughter a distant memory.
“If they’ve so much as bruised him, they’re dead,” the man behind the others said from where he stood outside the range of the headlights. Richard recognized the voice as that of the man who had rallied them to his crusade at the hotel. “I promise you that.”
“You’re a good man…”
“Bruce,” the man said.
“You’re a good man, Bruce.”
“Good has nothing to do with it. The kid reminds me of my boy. Looks like him anyway. When my old lady left me, she took him with her. The guy she split with beat her, beat them both. Only he beat my boy just a little too hard.”
They all fell silent.
“I’m sorry,” Richard said, trying to read the man’s eyes, but they were hidden in shadow.
“You and me both. I didn’t get a chance to pay a visit to the bastard before…this.” He held his hands out to either side to gesture at everything in general before clenching them into fists and dropping them again to his sides. “I think this is fate’s way of giving me a second shot at retribution.”
Richard nodded and turned to look back in the direction in which they had been headed. A dozen paces away, there was a line bisecting his tracks. He walked toward it, watching the line widen to a full-fledged crack, but it wasn’t until he was directly above it that he understood. He tapped his toe on the line, listening to the splash of water and the crack of breaking ice. Their path hadn’t flattened onto a meadow or salt flat buried by snow. He’d driven right across the beach and onto the f
rozen lake.
“Well… What do you know?” he said, looking again toward the horizon. His plan had been to follow the shoreline around the periphery of the lake, using it as a guide until they were able to sneak up on the others in their precious cave, but it now appeared as though they had stumbled upon a shortcut that could potentially save them hours in transit.
He walked gingerly forward, listening for the sound of ice disintegrating beneath his weight, knowing that if he fell through into the freezing water that the resultant death would be agonizingly slow, but there wasn’t a sound or the slightest bit of give underfoot. After another couple of steps, he started to stomp. Two more steps and he stomped again.
“What are you doing?” one of the men asked. There were now three of them out on the ice and it was as solid as ever. He’d driven the snowmobile out onto it already and it had supported the weight just fine, but his speed could have contributed to luck in that regard.
“This is the lake,” Richard said. He stomped again to illustrate his point. “See? Frozen solid.”
Both men jumped back as though they’d been standing in a nest of serpents, one of them sprinting back to join the others.
“Jesus,” the remaining man whispered. “How did it freeze so fast?”
“I’ve learned never to question opportunity when it presents itself. You just have to seize it.”
“You’re crazy if you think I’m going to drive out onto this,” the man said, still retreating.
“Then I suppose you’ll have to take the long way.”
“That’s cold.”
“No. Cold is spending needless hours on the back of a snowmobile in a blizzard while the rest of us have already reached our destination and are sitting around a warm fire hashing out the details of our plan.”
“I hear drowning’s the most peaceful way to die,” the man said, stomping gingerly on the ice before finding the confidence to jump up and down. “And I do like the idea of that fire.”
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