I didn’t particularly want to look at all the dead men, but I felt that I should check to see if Gibbon’s inside guard—his name was Taylor—had been killed. All of the MCP ‘Justified’ had name tags, and none of them said ‘Taylor’ on them.
“What were you doing?” asked Emily.
“Looking to see if Gibbon’s Justified guard had been killed. His name is Taylor. But there’s no one with that name among the dead. So, we’ve potentially still got a guard on the inside.”
“I doubt that,” she said.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“If this Hannaford is really going to break into Burke’s office tonight, the MCP is going to torture him. And they’ll get any information he has—no one is immune to that. Eventually, he’ll give up the guard who provided him with a cell phone. And then the MCP will kill him, too.”
“Wow. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Well, maybe if we can get word to the FBI, they can raid the MCP compound before it comes to that.” We talked some more and decided that it might be better if Emily took Gibbon’s phone. After all, she was a deputy, and had official business carrying the phone of a dead FBI agent, whereas I did not. So, she memorized the passcode for the phone and took it from me. And it wasn’t long before Hannaford called her.
We had all climbed into the MCP pickup truck when the phone started ringing. Cody was driving and Emily rode shotgun. The call was coming from the cell number of the undercover FBI agent.
“This is Deputy Emily Holland with the Hawk Claw Sheriff’s Department,” she said as she answered the phone, “Don’t hang up. Agent Gibbons has given his phone to me, I’ve been expecting your call Agent Hannaford.’”
“Put Gibbons on.”
“I can’t. I’m sorry. He’s dead.”
“What? He’s dead? How?”
“The MCP shot him. They attacked the Hawk Claw Sheriff’s Department tonight. They burned it to the ground.”
He swore several times and then said, “OK, listen up, Deputy. I’m sending you two pictures. I found them in Burke’s office. I broke in and it won’t be long before the Justified come for me. You have to get these pictures to the FBI headquarters in Denver, talk to Assistant Director Lockhart and tell him I need immediate extraction. You have to speak to Lockhart and you have to tell him to get me out now. Show him the pictures I’m sending you. This is a national security emergency; Burke is going to nuke DC. I have to go.” He hung up.
Emily just stared at me because I happened to be standing next to her. Her mouth was open, and she was obviously in shock from whatever Hannaford had just said. We all sat in the truck and waited for her to talk.
“What?” Cody asked, revving the engine slightly, “What did he say?”
“He said that Burke was going to set off a nuclear bomb in Washington, DC.”
No one seemed to know how to respond to that. Cody swore under his breath and put the vehicle in gear. We started slowly rolling away from the burning building. Then the phone in Emily’s hand beeped twice indicating it had received two texts. Emily opened them.
The first text was a picture of a schematic. It was recognizable, even to the uninitiated—there were labels with words like ‘primary explosive charge’ and ‘sub-critical fission material’. I hadn’t studied physics in a long time but even I could tell what I was looking at. It was the basic design of a nuclear bomb. The second text was also immediately recognizable. It was a map of Washington, DC, with several concentric circles drawn on it in a few different colors. I wasn’t sure what they signified at first but before long I decided it was the blast radius and the different amounts of destruction that would occur depending on how far away one was from ground zero.
Emily showed us these pictures and we were all silent. The Chevy’s engine growled and the structure fire crackled in the background. I remember thinking that it just wasn’t possible—not after everything we had already been through that night. The MCP had murdered at least five people that night—Agent Gibbons, Sheriff Edwards, Reverend Santos, Deputy McCann and a Hawk Claw dispatcher named Andy Henriksen. And now they were trying to set off a nuclear bomb? It seemed impossible.
“What now?” asked Cody.
“We have to get to Denver,” said Emily, “But we need to make a quick stop first. It’s close by. Let’s go.” Cody revved the truck and we peeled out on the hardscrabble.
I recognized the driveway and knew that we were going to Emily’s parent’s house. Later on, she explained that she was worried that the MCP would send someone there. It seemed like a longshot, but on the other hand, the MCP was targeting law enforcement in Hawk Claw, and since they had just burned down the Sheriff’s department, it didn’t seem too far-fetched. Plus, she had brought me to her parent’s house earlier, and we might have been tracked. So, she had started worrying that her parents might be in danger and she thought they would be safer with us. Which seemed reasonable at the time. We had no way of knowing we were actually putting them in more danger.
She asked us to wait while she ran inside. It was nearly ten minutes later when she finally came back out with her parents and a small backpack. We all looked at one another—Cody and Moira and me—all silently wondering if this was such a good idea. Then I climbed into the pickup bed while Emily’s father and mother got into the back seat with Moira. Emily made introductions as we sped off.
I was in the back with four assault rifles while the truck bounced over the dirt roads headed back toward Hawk Claw. “What’s the plan?” I shouted through the rear window.
“We’ll head to Denver and I’ll try to get the FBI on the phone.”
“We’re gonna take a short cut,” said Cody. We were on the main road leading out of Hawk Claw. Suddenly he slowed and turned right into a tree. At least, that’s what it seemed like—but in reality, we only hit a little resistance from the jumble of branches and then the truck broke through to the other side and we were on a dirt road that went straight up a mountain. It was all jagged rocks and impossible angles and as I looked at it, I thought, He made a wrong turn. Now he’ll realize his mistake, and he’ll go back.
Little did I know that Cody was just getting started. He shifted into four-wheel drive and told everyone to buckle up. I was in the bed of the truck with a cache of weaponry and no seatbelt, so I tried to wedge myself into a corner and prayed that all the safeties were on. As we approached the brutally steep ravine, Emily’s mother just said “Oh, my,” in a low voice.
The initial climb wasn’t too bad as we bounced over rocks that scraped the undercarriage and I thought, I’m sure he’s done this before. Then the angle increased precipitously, and I was sure we were about to go vertical. We seemed to go over a large mound and got to a much more reasonable grade and we had a view behind us—much of the area surrounding Hawk Claw could be seen from the ridge we were on. Which was how I spotted the grey MCP pickup truck following us.
“Hey!” I shouted up to the front. “We’re being followed!”
“I doubt that—” Cody began to say, but he stopped driving and looked back. I pointed to the small grey dot that was coming up the trail behind us. It was clearly an MCP vehicle. None of us believed what we were seeing. And then the second dot appeared as it came through the trees, and then a third. All three advanced slowly toward us.
No one spoke at first. Emily’s father was the only one who was blissfully unaware. Cody swore. “How is that possible?” he asked. “They must have seen us as we hit the ridgeline. That’s unbelievably bad luck.”
“We’re so stupid,” said Emily shaking her head.
“Why?” said Cody.
“We’re in an MCP pickup,” she said. “They’ve got trackers implanted in their people. So, of course they’ve got them on their vehicles, too.”
Chapter 15
The Archangel woke up slowly from his doze. The rhythm of the subway car was still rocking him gently. He liked riding the Metro. He liked watching the people and feeling like he was a pa
rt of something, like he had a family somehow in these hundreds of strangers that swirled around him. He always had a warm feeling as he rode from place to place, never really getting anywhere. The only problem, as he saw it, was the box. He had to remember about the amplifier and his promise to the Messiah.
He had forgotten all about Snake and Denver after his nap, and he felt much better now. He had been spending hours every day riding the Metro over the last month or so. He couldn’t remember how long it had been, but it felt like years. That was OK. He liked repetition.
He smiled and looked down at the large metal lined box, big enough to pack a small person into. He was wheeling it around on a dolly. It was heavy. He had to take it off and on the train. That was difficult. The box was big.
The Archangel had jeans and a T-shirt. This was not how he normally dressed. He usually wore the clothes provided to him by the MCP. He was given this outfit for a special reason. He remembered the reason—when he wore these clothes, like today, he was a roadie. His name was Johnny Page. He remembered that. He was part of a band. He wasn’t sure which instrument a roadie played, but it didn’t matter. He like music, and his favorite music was called Ska. He had put stickers all over the box. The Messiah had bought them for him. They were his favorites. The Mad Caddies. Reel Big Fish. The Mighty Might Bosstones. And his all-time favorite, Less Than Jake. He smiled. Some of the songs touched off feelings and memories in his mind that would suddenly make him cry. Sometimes they made him want to scream with joy. He knew he would be lost without his music. He was listening to his favorite playlist now, and he had closed his eyes to concentrate on the rhythms. He was lost in the refrain, singing along to himself, as happy as could be. Which was why he didn’t notice the police officer.
The man was wearing a blue uniform. The Archangel should have been looking out for him, but he had forgotten. Suddenly the officer was poking him in the shoulder. The Archangel was startled. His music kept playing but he couldn’t enjoy it now. His mind was racing. The Messiah had told him about this. There was something he was supposed to remember. He began to go into a panic. There was a policeman asking him questions. He knew this was bad. He took his earbuds out and blinked at the impossibly huge man in the uniform. The Archangel stared at the gun on his hip.
“What’s in the box?” the officer asked. He pointed to the large black cube with the stickers all over it.
The Archangel didn’t know what to do. His mouth went dry. This was the situation he had been warned about again and again. The Messiah had told him—watch out for policeman. They might try to stop you. You can’t let them stop you. There’s something you should do if they try to stop you.
But he couldn’t remember what it was. Whenever he got scared like this his mind went blank. What had The Messiah said? If your mind goes blank, call me.
That’s what he would do. He would call The Messiah. The iPhone had the number stored in his favorites but for some reason it wasn’t connecting. He tapped at the screen, trying to get it to work. The police officer was looking at him and squinting.
“Do you speak English?” he asked, and the Archangel said nothing. He was too flustered to speak. He tapped at the screen of his iPhone repeatedly, hoping it would do something. In his frantic flailing, the Archangel accidentally unplugged his earbuds from his iPhone. It was now on speaker. The call was broadcast loudly to the entire subway car. The police officer continued to stare at him. He would hear everything.
“Hello, Archangel,” The Messiah said in his soothing voice, “It’s much too early, is something wrong? Tell me why you are calling.”
No one spoke as the three grey MCP trucks slowly drove up the mountain towards us. For a brief moment, I could clearly see the insanity of the situation we were in. Emily was waiting on hold for the FBI so she could tell them about a plot to nuke DC, and we were being chased by a religious cult that was responsible for a dozen murders and maybe millions more if we didn’t hurry. Then Cody said, “I’m gonna show them how we do things in Hawk Claw,” and I had a second to ponder how cliché and surreal his words were.
Does he think we’re in a B movie? I thought, and then he hit the gas and I went flying backwards.
I slammed back against the rear gate as he gunned the accelerator and we picked up speed, going way too fast. I had seen the collection of loose rocks and boulders he was driving over, and it didn’t seem possible to drive over it at any speed. I was getting jounced up and down, getting airborne each time and landing hard on my tailbone. The rifles were haphazardly flying about and it made me very nervous. I shouted as loud as I could for Cody to stop but he kept going. After a few more minutes like that, we came to rest, and I shouted a few obscenities his way.
“I’ve got to secure these rifles before they blow my head off!” I yelled.
“Sorry ‘bout that, doc,” said Cody. I found some cargo straps and bungee cords in a bag, and I strapped all four rifles down and checked the safeties. Emily’s mother handed me a little backpack.
“These are some of Herman’s diapers,” she said, “They might make a nice cushion for you.”
“Thank you,” I murmured.
“Ready?” asked Cody. We had crested a knoll and I could see that the trail went on for miles. It seemed to stretch up and around the mountain in impossible contortions. My mouth went dry and my stomach dropped out.
“You’ve done this before, right Cody?” I asked.
“Been driving this road since I was twelve!” he yelled back at me, and again we accelerated, and I was getting thrown around like laundry in a dryer. Within seconds the weapons spilled out of the sling I had built for them and once again I was juggling live ammunition assault rifles while trying not to get thrown overboard. Worst carnival ride ever, I thought. It was very unpleasant, but I knew from looking at the road ahead that Cody couldn’t just stop any place he wanted. It wasn’t easy for him to keep going, and if we lost momentum, we could get stuck. So, I bit the proverbial bullet—and tried not to bite a real one—at least managing to keep the barrels of the weapons pointed towards the rear of the vehicle.
We bounced along like that for another ten minutes before we passed through a tiny, wooded area with low, windblown trees. Then we were on the far side and I knew we had crossed above the tree line. Everything was wide open here, and you could see for miles. As usual, it was a clear blue sky, like it always seems to be in Colorado, even when you are hoping for some fog to obscure your escape from a murderous cult.
We came to a dirt road that wound sideways along a ridge. It made for a much smoother ride but also enabled Cody to hit forty miles an hour which may not sound like much, but believe me, on that terrain, it’s positively suicidal. Then we hit another hill and started climbing again and we were back to the bouncing and jolting that I had not missed at all.
We lost sight of the other trucks as they went through the wooded area that marked the tree line. We had increased the distance that separated us, which made me feel better until I realized that if we had a tracker on our vehicle, what was the point? They were going to find us no matter where we went. We would never get rid of the tracking device—it would be tiny. To find it, we would need hours to take the pickup apart, and we didn’t have hours.
We kept going like that and I thought it would never end—I was getting badly bruised and starting to have serious pains in my legs and back. Finally, we slowed down and stopped. I managed to sit up and asked Cody what was going on.
“We’re on the peak,” Cody said, “This is the top of Mount Mariposa, it’s all downhill from here on, until it connects with route 7 down by Spruce Creek. We’ve got a good view from here—they have nowhere to hide.” He shut off the truck. We were on a small plateau that dropped off on all sides. We all protested—we needed to be getting away as fast as possible! “Trust me,” Cody said.
He jumped out and ran around to the back of the vehicle. He opened the rear gate and I fell out, my legs barely working after bracing against the sides for so lo
ng. Cody took out an AR-15 and ran over to the edge of the plateau. He lay down on his stomach and stacked up a few rocks to use as a tripod. He sighted down the barrel and began firing. We couldn’t see what he was shooting at, but I pictured the three grey pickups getting riddled with bullets and I hoped that this was the final chapter in our struggle to escape.
Emily got out and said, “He’s right, this may be our only chance.” She grabbed the other AR-15 and a few clips. She ran over to the edge of the plateau and lay down beside Cody. For a minute, they both fired repeatedly, and I assumed that this was the end of our journey. No one could survive the hail of bullets they were delivering.
Then Cody screamed, “I got one of the trucks! But here they come! Get going! Now!” I didn’t know what he was talking about—the pickups were too far away, and it simply wasn’t possible that they had already covered the distance. So, I was confused when Emily started yelling, too.
“He’s right!” Emily yelled to us, “Stephen! Get us ready to go! We can’t get them all! We’ll have to run for it!”
I had no idea what she was talking about—all I could think was, They can’t have gotten here so fast—they’d have to be faster drivers than Cody, and that’s impossible. Then Emily stopped shooting and jumped up, bringing the rifle with her. Cody continued to fire. The pop of the machine gun was steady and nearly continuous. I couldn’t figure out why he was still shooting—there were only two trucks chasing us now, and they were getting closer and closer, so they should have been easy targets. I didn’t understand why Emily was tugging on Cody’s shoulder, trying to get him to retreat. He stopped firing for long enough to yell, “YOU GO!” and then she gave up and came running back toward the truck.
I stood there like an idiot, not understanding. Why should Emily be retreating? Yet, as she ran towards me, I saw the look on her face, and I knew it was time to go. I yelled for Cody to come with us. He didn’t respond—he just kept firing.
The Armageddon Prophecy Page 16