“What the hell are you doing?” Clare shrieked in alarm.
Terrick remained silent, manoeuvring the car through the trees until he hit a wooden fence head-on. He grimaced as he did so.
Clare threw her arms around her head, expecting a collision but not finding one. The car turned left and slowed.
“That'll do it,” Terrick decided.
Clare opened her eyes. They were on a road but not the same one.
“Holt Road,” Terrick provided. “This should buy us enough time to get out of here.”
“You don't think the Feds will notice a gaping hole in a fence?”
“That was back from the road. They'll not see a thing before it's too late. Now onto the missin' vehicle; we're lookin' for a 2004 Chevy Colorado truck, painted in brown and green camouflage.”
“Well that shouldn't be too hard in a state full of hunters.”
Clare's sarcasm didn't go unnoticed, Terrick grinning in response. “State police're monitorin' all major roads. There's an APB out on the truck but they're mostly focussin' on lookin inward to keep the escapees contained. No connection at this point to what's happened behind us. We'll be lucky if they spot it before the Feds cotton on, but at least we'll have a lead.”
Terrick's phone rang after a couple of minutes. They had made it to the corner of Holt and Main. He pulled into the parking outside the Black Cat Quilt company. “You're on speaker,” Terrick said after activating the phone.
“Why?”
“I have another agent with me,” was Terrick's evasive reply. “Please go on.”
“The Chevy was spotted running a red light as it got on the I-90. Camera snapped it.”
“Heading what direction?”
“South.”
“That's it,” Clare said. “They're going into Worcester for the last one.”
“We don't know that.”
In the background at the other end of the line there was a commotion. Sounds of a scuffle erupted, followed by glass shattering.
Clare stared at Terrick without comment, waiting for Deputy White to say something. After about a minute the creak and taps of a phone being retrieved from a place of concealment showed someone had it.
“Sheriff, are you still there?”
“Yes, deputy; what was that?”
“It was the Feds, sir. They were still here. They had us at gunpoint. Is that her with you, sir? Is that Clare Rosser?”
“Yes it is,” Clare said before Terrick could answer.
“Ma'am, they're really hurtin' to get hold of you. They didn't say what but seems you know some stuff they aren't happy with you knowin'. They made a grab for the phone but we stopped 'em. Think they wanted to trace you and race you at the same time.”
“Did they flash any badges when they came in?” Terrick's voice was suddenly suspicious.
“No, but they were dressed like Feds, all suited. They had a black Fed car, asked Fed questions.”
Terrick moaned. “Marcus since when did you ever speak to the FBI before? Kid this ain't no episode of Supernatural. They could be God-damned mercenaries for all we know.”
“Well they sure knew how to find you, boss. You'd better be far away on your fishin' trip as they're headed right for you. They said it was your badge for this.”
“Boy if I live to see you again, you're on traffic duty forever.” Terrick's growl would have been funny but for the imminent threat. He cut off the apologising deputy, throwing his phone to the foot well of the car. “So we've got a diabetic-munchin' vampire on the loose, possibly fake cops huntin' for us and we are going where exactly?”
“You need to head to the Charter TV3 studio in Worcester. We have to try, Terrick. We've got to do this for the kids who've died already. It's all for nothing if we fail to act.”
They passed Alden labs, the reception building flashing by in a blur of red brick and trees. Clare wondered if she would ever see her brother again. She would get healthy for his sake. She smiled as she considered those words. As healthy as somebody with a life-threatening condition could be.
The grand entrance to Mountview Middle School appeared to their left, the building set back from the road and connected by a half-mile linden-lined avenue. Clare had always imagined her kids would one day attend the establishment, back when she was young and the harsh realities of life hadn't set in. Alcoholic parents and a lifelong quest to get answers had seen to that dream. Clare had no idea how she would cope if the chance came along.
She was still imagining what could have been and what might yet be when from below them, on the interstate, a cacophony of sirens began to blare. Terrick slowed to a stop.
“That's no coincidence,” he said as five black-and-whites in convoy charged south toward Worcester.
Clare was perplexed. “Why are we watching them?”
“They can't reach us. The nearest exit is a couple of miles down and they can't jump concrete K-rails.”
“What about those guys back in Holden? If those uniforms are after our car, doesn't it stand to reason that the fake Feds have access to the same information?”
Terrick moved off without a word. After a couple of minutes of silence he said, “If it was us they spotted. Girl, I don't know whose chasin' who right now. Are they Tina Svinsky's cops? Harley's cops? Are they huntin' us? Protectin' us? That lot were already en route to somewhere. Stop seein' ghosts in every shadow.”
“Best not take the chance. Let's just get where we're going and worry about whose behind us…” Clare's voice trailed off as she realized Jeff knew nothing about what was going on.
She dialed and as the phone rang, she whispered, “Pick up… pick up.”
“Yeah?”
“Jeff?”
There was a pause. “It depends whose asking.”
“It's your sister.”
There was a loud sigh of relief. “Clare. Where the hell are you?”
She put the phone on speaker. “I'm around. Is everything ok? How's Steve.”
“If cats could pout, your tom-cat would be sulking like a hero. He misses you. When're you coming back?”
There was an element of desperation in his voice that indicated everything was not as it should be. “Jeff what is it?”
“I've been in and out of this place as work allowed. You know your Wi-Fi is really shoddy.”
“Bad wiring; Jeff get to the point.”
“I came back yesterday and these guys in an unmarked black sedan were peering round the house, in the windows, checking the doors. I challenged them and they said they were Feds. No IDs though. They started asking questions about you: Where you'd gone, who with, conversations you and I might have had.”
“You tell them anything?”
“Not a word. They threatened to arrest me but never followed through. Clare they're outside now.”
While it was her brother, it didn't sound like him. The confidence, the brash and cynical approach to life didn't resonate through like it always had. Something had happened since they had last been together. “What else, Jeff?”
There was a silent pause.
“Jeff? What's happened?”
“I tried to go out a few hours back. They started shooting. Or rather they allowed some guy with a sniper rifle to take pot shots at me. He damn near took my head off!”
“Sniper rifle eh? Sounds familiar,” Terrick said as he concentrated on the road. “Looks like they got their marks selected carefully. And so close by.”
“What's that mean?” Jeff asked.
“We just had a run in of our own with the shooter, only a couple of streets away from my house.” Clare said, her voice sounding weary in her own ears. She grabbed a bottle of water and took a swig. “There's someone… something on the loose out here, killing kids who are ill with a certain condition.”
“What's that got to do with you, Clare? Why go running off like you did? You work in a lab.”
“You know the hospital was trying to contact me?”
“Yeah.”
“Why you?”
Clare stared out the window. A black-fronted store with the words 'Joey's Limousine Service' plastered on a sign passed by. “Because there isn't time for anybody else to do what must be done. Look, I…”
The wing mirror outside her window exploded in a cloud of plastic and glass, shattered by a bullet. Down the road in front of them, about two hundred metres off, a squad car blazed into life. Clare turned. A black sedan trailed them, closing on them fast. A guy in the passenger seat leaned out and took aim. It was Ashby all over again. They were trapped.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Down there! Turn!”
Terrick wrenched the wheel to the right. Where Clare's Impala would have resisted with stubborn tenacity, the Chrysler's power steering took the abuse with good grace. The back of the car began to slide out and Clare held on to the inside of her door, trusting the seatbelt to do its job.
Behind them the police were the first to make it to the junction. Unless they were lucky this chase would be very brief. Then the squad car did something unexpected. It skidded to a halt, blocking the road with its length. The two officers opened their doors, using them as cover while they began to shoot at the car that had been following. Sparks came off the vehicle as shots were fired from up the road; the battle had been joined.
“Looks like those two guys are movin' quicker than you expected,” said Terrick, his eyes on the road, the pursuit forgotten for the moment. Nevertheless he looked like a man expecting to be arrested at any second.
“The ARC people?” Clare looked at her phone. There was nothing on the screen. No missed calls.
“They don't strike me as the type of people that'll call you an' tell you every little detail; need to know and all that. Just take advantage of that incident back there. No cops, no Feds. Believe me, they'll be swarmin' all over us when you tell them exactly where you wanna be sendin' everybody.”
“Let's just get there as quickly as we can,” Clare said, feeling strained. The sensations of discomfort were coming back at an accelerating rate. A dull headache had spread through the back of her skull. Already one of the spare bottles of water had been emptied; Clare didn't even remember drinking it and yet she still thirsted. It would all be for nothing if Viruñas already had a target marked.
After a couple of turns in the road took them from the edge of woodland to the sculpted landscape of a large business-park, a sign appeared on their right bearing the name 'Charter Communications'. Rows of cars were parked around what looked to be a large gray warehouse.
“This is it,” Clare decided.
“How you wanna play it?”
“Straight. We go in, say exactly who we are and hope they listen to reason.”
“And if they don't?”
“Well you always have your gun,” Clare said with a wry tang in her voice.
Terrick didn't appear amused.
“We could threaten them a bit… if necessary. This is important. It's not like its ABC World News. We are trying to save people here.”
“Let's leave that as a last resort, eh?”
Terrick pulled into a visitor's spot near the front door and waited for Clare to get out before switching the engine off.
She found relief in the fact that they were so close to the entrance. It would make for a great getaway, though where they went from here depended on their next meeting.
Terrick opened the door to a reception glowing from every angle with bright neon lights. A series of free-standing boards proclaimed the various shows. Jordan Levy, Mayor's Forum, Worcester News Network; all were unfamiliar to Clare. Large plasma screens broadcast news from other channels all round an extensive lobby and proceeded to heat the room to a near-uncomfortable level. Clare felt somewhat oppressed, sweat beading on her brow. A circle of squat red leather seats had been placed in the centre of the room so that no matter where one sat, several of the screens intruded upon the senses. Above them, running around the wall like a giant electronic border was a red lettered feed with yet more news and what Clare presumed to be stock prices. A reception desk stood empty in front of them. Clare checked the monitors on the desktop. “Switched off, not locked. I guess it's because it's Saturday. Maybe they don't all work on the weekend.”
“Thought you said this was a local station?” Terrick commented as he stood staring at the screens, not having taken more than a couple of steps into the lobby. “Looks more like Times Square.”
“Can't criticise them for having a little ambition, I suppose. Hey!” Clare began to protest as Terrick hauled her across the lobby to stand in front of one of the screens. The ABC World News logo, gold and spherical, rotated in one corner. Jeanette Wingrove, the famous anchor of the program with her business-like attitude and striking bleached-blonde hair, was talking about a prison break.
“…and linked to the prison break there appears to be more information regarding the fugitive.” Clare's stomach clenched upon hearing that word and seeing a picture that looked strikingly familiar. “Dr Eva Ross is wanted by police in connection with ongoing events across the State of Massachusetts.”
“That's not me,” Clare accused Terrick. “That's not funny.”
“Watch,” the sheriff said.
“Chimney Crest Manor, a mock-Tudor hotel in Bristol, Connecticut which dates back to the nineteenth century has been ablaze for the past two hours. Despite the damp conditions, and the presence of seven fire crews, the fire is still raging out of control. Police have not yet ascertained the cause, though several victims have been pulled from the fire. Be advised that some of these pictures may not be suitable for younger children.”
The camera switched to a handheld, shaking as the cameraman jostled through paramedics. Peeking through a screen, the cameraman revealed several men in bandages.
“It's funny, your comment about the civil war,” Terrick said. “Look at what they are wearing. That's army uniform.”
“Looks like Civil War period costume,” observed Clare. “What's going on there? Something is happening to one of them.”
The view was partially blocked, but crystals were forming on the screen around another of the patients. Through the opaque material, something writhed before becoming still. At that moment, the cameraman was bundled out of the medical area, but not before a paramedic pulled back the screen to reveal an empty bed.
“As you can see, this hotel has been host to some very unusual events,” the reporter continued. “Police arrived very quickly, and efforts are being made even at this early stage to ascertain the identity of those responsible.”
The camera panned round to reveal several police, and amongst them, Mike Caruso stood with Andrew Harley, a lean-looking guy and an aging musclebound character who looked like a doorman gone flabby. The camera flicked to an impromptu press conference Caruso was leading.
“We believe this event to be linked to a number of such occurrences across the northeast, through Connecticut and up into Massachusetts. It is important that you contact us should you or anybody you know suffer episodes of sudden amnesia. We believe the couple responsible for these events are using drugs to render people uncontrollable while they commit these atrocities.”
“Those two look very smug about something,” Clare noted as she pointed to a couple of strangers on the screen behind Caruso. “I swear I know that doctor they're after. She looks very familiar.”
“Try looking in the mirror sometime,” Terrick said. “You two could be sisters.”
Clare snorted. “Jeff's my only family. So Harley and Caruso are out of town. Good. That means two less of them directing the search for me and maybe a bit more confusion in the city. It could work to our advantage.”
“They're gone but not forgotten,” Terrick cautioned her. “Once this stunt of yours gets out they could be back in a matter of hours. There's nothing to say
the report being shown there is live. The footage could've been filmed hours ago and they could already be on their way. I'm hopin' this gives us a fightin' chance is all. What do you need?”
“Let's find a studio that's operating,” Clare said. “We need to tell people what to look for and where to go. With any luck Viruñas might get wind, or at least catch a scent. Let's get on air.”
“Hi,” said a voice from a doorway to their right. A petite blonde in a black blouse and jeans stood in the light of what must have been a restroom or kitchen holding a mug of coffee. “Can I help you?”
“You work here?” Terrick asked.
The blonde gave an exasperated look. “No, I come here for the free coffee, especially on weekends.”
Clare laughed in response, bringing a smile from the blonde and a scowl from Terrick. “Hi, we're cops,” she said, flashing her badge and encouraging Terrick to do the same.
“Oh. Is someone in trouble?”
“Maybe; I was wondering if you could point us in the direction of the broadcasting studio.”
The blonde gasped. “Dwight?” She bit her bottom lip as if imagining indiscretions. “Well it's about damned time. He's been cheating on his poor wife with any woman that'd open her legs to him. He tried it on with me once or twice. I wouldn't give it up for that creepy old dude if he was the last guy on earth.”
“Well let's see what we can do to put a dent in Dwight's perfect day then,” Clare said, warming to the woman. “What's your name?”
“I'm Hollie. Hollie Turner. Come with me but stay quiet. If the production team sees me it'll probably mean my ass, not that one could call a dead-end reception job desirable.”
Hollie put her coffee down with a bang on the reception desk, the strong smell and splash of liquid causing Clare to lean involuntarily toward the source of hydration. She yearned for it.
“We don't have long,” she warned Terrick. “It's really wearing off.”
Hollie looked at the pair of them in confusion before turning to lead them away from the lobby and down a hallway that was just as much an assault on the senses as the entrance had been.
The Eyes Have No Soul Page 21