by S. A. Beck
They were still unconscious, and Corbin worried when he saw no physical change in them. Dr. Jones had reassured him that they would have all the attributes of real Atlanteans but not look any different from before. That was fine by him, because he had to have Meade show his face in public to prove he had recovered from his “unexpected illness” soon, or people would start asking questions, but it still made Corbin wonder how he’d be able to tell they had undergone any transformation.
Dr. Jones had been giving them a series of injections over the past few days, keeping them unconscious while he read their vital signs. Some crackpot hypnotist named Bill Ziegler (who called himself a doctor but who had bought his degree on the Internet) came in every day to give the patients subliminal messages to make them Corbin’s mental slaves.
Dr. Ziegler had been on General Meade’s payroll and had worked on the Atlantean subject codenamed Orion. Corbin had discovered that Meade had been blackmailing Ziegler, who had enough ties to the Mafia to go to jail for the rest of his life. When Corbin had taken over the Poseidon Project, he’d brought the hypnotist in and informed him that Corbin was now in charge and he needed to hypnotize his former boss or else face prison.
The man hadn’t blinked an eye, only asking for a pay raise. Civilians—no sense of loyalty.
So now General Meade and Brett would be Corbin’s mental slaves, just as the Atlantean test case, Orion, was still Meade’s slave. The hypnotist had explained that it would be difficult to recondition the Atlantean to serve another master.
That was a job for another day. Today was for seeing if Dr. Jones’s experiment had worked.
Today was for seeing if he could start building his slave army of superhumans.
“I’m waking them up now, sir,” Dr. Jones said.
“Meade first,” the general replied.
Jones gave Meade another injection. The monitor the patient was attached to started to show an increased heart rate. Corbin leaned over his former colleague, his former adversary.
Meade’s eyes fluttered open. The first thing they saw was General Corbin’s face.
“Who am I?” Corbin asked.
Meade’s face, once so stony and determined, remained slack and passive.
“You’re my master.”
“And what’s your goal?”
“Anything you say.”
“I want you to continue your work here, under my direct command. And I want you to help me fool the nation into thinking that it will be invaded from space.”
“Yes, Master.”
Corbin nodded, satisfied with the blank look he’d gotten from the general. He would have his external threat, and he would soon have his private army. Now all he needed was the third item in order to take over—chaos in the civilian government.
That would come soon enough.
Chapter 4
August 2, 2016, IN THE DESERT NEAR AIN BEN TILI, ON THE BORDER BETWEEN MOROCCO AND MAURITANIA
11:45 A.M.
* * *
Jaxon and Vivian had decided to walk to the nearest road. The attack of the night before was sure to bring more trouble, and so they set out shortly afterward, taking only the most crucial things and ditching the rest. They headed due west, skirting the lowlands, where the last embers of the destroyed convoys still lit up the desert for a mile around, and made their way as best they could toward the road and, hopefully, rescue.
But it was fifty miles to the road, and even if they got there and someone found them, they could end up in more trouble than ever.
They’d left a note stuck on a tent peg. To the end of the peg they’d tied the cereal-bar wrappers, torn open and turned around so their metallic insides would catch the sun. They’d tied them together end to end to make a streamer. They’d also set up Jaxon’s dead tablet facing south so that it would reflect the sun too. Hopefully, Grunt and the others would find it, assuming they were still alive.
Vivian wrote the note in a code from her and Grunt’s days in the Special Forces.
“We don’t want anyone else reading this, honey,” she explained to Jaxon. “There’s no one else sneaking around in this desert we want following us.”
So they set out, walking all night and guiding themselves with a small luminous compass Vivian carried. They each took a couple of sips from their water jug to keep going, ate a couple of the unwrapped cereal bars, which were crumbling and getting sticky in their pockets, and hoped their strength would keep up. Vivian had a 9mm automatic pistol in a holster strapped to her belt and a survival knife strapped to her other hip. They had no other weapons.
Jaxon wondered whether they’d be able to defend themselves even if they did have more. They’d seen the bombing, and Vivian had said that if the Air Force was bringing out its big guns against whoever was in those convoys, they must have been pretty dangerous. Those two convoys probably weren’t the only ones out here, either.
At least they were dressed for the desert. They wore loose, cool clothing, and each had a kaffiyeh on their head, a type of Arabic headscarf that covered the head, neck, and shoulders, while channeling the least breeze to blow around the neck.
They walked in silence, both to conserve their water and because there was nothing to say. The only movement they saw besides themselves was the occasional flicker of a meteor streaking across the sky.
Once, Jaxon stopped and pointed up.
“Is that another plane?”
A faint white dot slowly moved across the sky, indistinguishable from the stars except for its movement.
“No, that’s a satellite,” Vivian said. “See how it curves with the sky? That means it’s in orbit. Also, planes have red and green wing lights that flash. That’s how you can tell the difference.”
Jaxon stared at the satellite for a minute in wonder. She had never known that you could see satellites from the ground. Having lived in cities all her life, she had never been under skies dark enough to see them.
The sky was beautiful, one of the most beautiful sights Jaxon had ever seen in her life.
Too bad I might only live another day or two to enjoy it, she thought.
They resumed their long walk.
Sunrise found them twenty miles along, according to Vivian’s estimation. They walked for another half hour, until the heat rose to an uncomfortable level, and then pitched their tent in the shady side of a steep dune. They’d left most of the tent poles behind as unnecessary weight. Vivian had carried only one of them. This they stuck in one side of the tent in order to make a lean-to.
Now came the long wait. They didn’t have enough water to dare walking during the daytime, so they couldn’t budge from under the tent until after sunset.
The first part of the morning wasn’t so bad, but as the day progressed, the shadow of the dune narrowed until their tent got hit by the full blaze of the Saharan sun. There was not a square inch of shade in sight, so they lay listless under the tent as the temperature rose to 100, then 110, then 120.
And it continued to rise.
Once, in the midafternoon, when Jaxon rose from a sluggish sleep to a dizzy wakefulness, she looked over at Vivian and saw her skin had gone red, with a fine sheen of sweat all over it. They’d both stripped down. There was no need for modesty with the rest of the Atlantis Allegiance having disappeared.
“You okay?” Jaxon croaked.
“I’ll be fine, honey,” Vivian whispered.
“Have some water.”
“Later.”
Jaxon sat up. After a minute, she felt better, and she wondered if her Atlantean abilities really were helping her out. She certainly felt better off than Vivian looked, and Vivian was a trained fighter. She was the most in-shape woman Jaxon had ever met.
She squinted out at the desert, where the brutal African sun blazed off the pale sand. God, how could anyone live here? Otto had been right—it was crazy to try and cross this wasteland in the middle of the summer.
Poor Otto. He hadn’t wanted her to go on this trip because he was worri
ed about her safety, but he might be the one who had paid the biggest price.
He couldn’t really be dead, could he?
Jaxon cringed as the guilt cut her like a knife. Her impulsiveness had gotten Brett killed. He hadn’t wanted to continue with their nighttime hunts after criminals, but she had insisted. She needed the rush, and look where it got him. Stabbed to death and thrown in a dumpster.
And she had to admit to herself, this crazy plan to cross the world’s biggest desert in the middle of the summer while there was a war on had appealed to her for that very reason—because it was crazy. She’d been on a weird buzz ever since she’d discovered her powers. Martial arts practice, sneaking out at night, exploring bad parts of town, walking on her own in North African cities—it had all given her a buzz. She’d become an adrenaline junkie.
But junkies always ended up hurting their friends. Otto, Grunt, Yuhle, Yamazaki—they might all be dead now.
She and Vivian could be next.
She curled up under the meager shelter of the tent and tried not to think. Every hour, Vivian made them each take a sip of water, and every hour, they worried about their diminishing supply. The day stretched on forever.
At last, night fell. They revived themselves with some more water, saw they only had about a cup left, and struck out for the road that still lay miles to the west of them.
“Are we going to make it tonight?” Jaxon asked. Her throat felt raspy, and her voice came out muffled because her tongue had swollen.
“We have to,” Vivian said.
They spoke no more. For half the night, they walked, and for the other half, they stumbled, always heading west. The water was almost gone, and Vivian refused to drink any more.
“Keep it for yourself, honey. I’m fine.”
Jaxon was too weak to argue, but she didn’t drink any of the water either. Her movements became clumsy, arms dangling slackly at her sides and her feet constantly tripping over one another. Her throat felt as if it were on fire, and she had a splitting headache. Even so, she had a feeling that she was better off than Vivian. The mercenary was accustomed to pain and suffering and probably felt more than she showed.
She wondered about the beautiful, deadly blonde stumbling beside her. Jaxon knew the mercenary had sworn to protect her but had never discovered why. Vivian and Grunt had something against this General Meade, some history between them, but if they hated Meade, why not just go after him? Why come halfway across the world to help some teenager they didn’t even know?
Jaxon would have liked to ask, but she sensed that it was too private.
And now she couldn’t ask. Jaxon doubted she could get three words out.
So she turned the question over and over in her mind until it faded, until all thought faded, until her mind was one sharp blank pain and all she could do was put one foot in front of the other and go forward, always forward, up one side of a dune and down the other, and then go up the next dune. On and on toward a road that never appeared.
Dawn found them still walking. They hadn’t made it. They stopped without saying a word to each other and watched the sky brighten to the east. The sun put one fiery finger above the horizon. Jaxon swore she could feel the temperature go up at that very moment.
Vivian croaked something.
Jaxon looked at her, not wanting to speak, and gave her a curious look. Vivian tried again.
“We have to keep going,” Vivian repeated. “We can’t survive another day, not even under the tent. We have to keep going and hope we make it.”
Vivian dropped everything she was carrying—the tent, the pegs, her blanket, even her knife—everything except her compass and gun. Jaxon ditched everything too except for the water jug. Only a little liquid sloshed at the bottom, maybe enough for two mouthfuls.
Jaxon held it out to Vivian. The mercenary shook her head. Instead, she gestured for Jaxon to have it.
Jaxon stared at the water, an almost unbearable temptation fighting with her loyalty to this strange woman who had helped her so much. Her elbow bent as if from its own will, and she started to lift the jug to her mouth. She had to close her eyes and turn away to keep from drinking.
Without a word, she headed out to the west. Vivian followed.
The sun rose to warm their backs. The chill air of night vanished as it became temperate, then hot, then insufferable.
Jaxon kept one eye closed and the other open only to a slit to keep the blinding light from jabbing into her brain. The pain in her head was unbearable, but that and her parched mouth and clenched throat were the only parts of her body she could feel. She only knew she was moving because she saw the little rills and declivities of the desert move past like some out-of-focus film.
She looked back down at the water jug, which she had tied to her wrist with a cord. Otherwise, she probably would have dropped it long ago.
They had to drink this now. It was their last hope. If they didn’t drink now, they’d collapse in less than an hour. One little sip each, and it would be gone, but that one little sip might give them another hour, and in that hour, they might be rescued.
Jaxon slowed down. She didn’t trust herself to stop. She might not get started again. With trembling hands, she brought the jug to her lips and took a sip.
The water felt like a balm to her cracked lips. It washed over her swollen tongue like an ice cube, even though she knew it must be almost boiling hot.
Jaxon swallowed then winced as her raspy throat struggled to make the movement.
It took a supreme force of will not to glug down the second mouthful.
She turned to offer the jug to Vivian.
And found her gone.
Chapter 5
August 2, 2016, IN THE DESERT NEAR AIN BEN TILI, ON THE BORDER BETWEEN MOROCCO AND MAURITANIA
11:45 A.M.
* * *
The morning after the bombing, Otto and Grunt looked out at the ruin left behind. The vehicles were all blackened wrecks, charred bodies lying all around them. Otto winced and took the binoculars away from his eyes.
“I told you not to look,” Grunt said.
“I had to see what my parents’ tax dollars were paying for.”
“The Air Force goes after terrorists, Pyro. Don’t waste your time feeling bad about them.”
“You said the Air Force sometimes makes mistakes.”
Grunt nodded. “That they do, Pyro. That they do.”
“What if this was a mistake?”
“No way to tell from this distance. Want to go for a closer look?”
“No.”
“Neither do I. Let’s move out.”
They walked back to the Land Rovers. They hadn’t dared go back to their vehicles during the night for fear of the bomber coming back, spotting them, and taking them for a target. So they had spent a cold, uncomfortable night huddled in the desert about half a mile away.
Grunt had only gone back once to throw some tan-colored tarps over the Land Rovers as camouflage. They blended with the sand perfectly, and a plane overhead wouldn’t spot them. They also shielded the heat from the engines that, even though they’d been shut off for a couple of hours, still radiated enough warmth to be picked up on a military-grade infrared sensor.
“They’ll probably do a flyover during the night to see if they can pick up any heat traces and then take a peek with a spy satellite or drone in the morning to see how the bombing run turned out,” Grunt explained.
“What if the satellite sees us? It’s strong enough for that, isn’t it?”
Yuhle and Yamazaki nodded, obviously nervous.
“It doesn’t matter,” Grunt said. “A big explosion in the desert often attracts Bedouin or smugglers who come and search the wreckage in hopes of salvaging something. The Air Force doesn’t go after them.”
“Wait, what if some of those guys show up now?”
“That would be a problem, and that’s why we have to get out of here pronto.”
They packed up and sped off in the direction
of their old camp, the one where they had left Vivian and Jaxon.
Grunt turned out to be right and was able to lead them to the camp with little trouble.
Not that Otto would have been able to recognize it. It looked like just another collection of sand dunes to him. Grunt’s sense of direction was only confirmed when they saw something catch the sun on top of one of the dunes.
They parked the Land Rovers at the base of the dune and climbed up.
“That’s Jaxon’s tablet!” Otto cried.
Next to it stood a tent peg and a streamer made of wrappers that were blowing in the wind and glinting in the sunlight. Impaled on the tent peg was a note. Grunt pulled it off.
“What is this?” Otto asked, staring at the note. Instead of writing, there was a series of numbers.
“Code,” Grunt said. “An old one me and Vivian used back in the day. Says they saw the flares and decided to head out last night for the road. They’re walking due west, and they’re short on water.”
Grunt and Otto automatically turned to the west. They could see no sign of anyone. Grunt pulled out his binoculars and checked. Nothing.
“Hey!” Dr. Yamazaki shouted from the base of the dune. “I’ve found their tracks.”
They hurried down to where she and Dr. Yuhle stood and clearly saw two sets of footprints in the sand, heading off toward the western horizon. They came from the direction of the top of the dune but disappeared about halfway up.
“Why can’t we see them at the top of the dune?” Otto asked.
“The wind,” Dr. Yamazaki explained. “In the more exposed areas, the wind has wiped the prints clean. Sheltered as they are here between the dunes, we can still see them.”
“Basic arenological morphology,” Dr. Yuhle said, giving Otto a smile.
“Whatever,” Otto said, rolling his eyes. “Let’s go.”
They headed out, steering the Land Rovers on a weaving path through the dunes and trying to follow the trail. At times, the dunes opened up and the tracks disappeared, and then they’d find them again in the next sheltered area.