by Lou Paduano
The man nodded, accepting the offer. Ruth’s cry diminished, and fell instead to a low moan. Her eyes remained locked on Ben, his stray glance enough to note the white filling the space completely.
“A name,” Ben requested once more.
“Would do you no good,” the man answered in a cold, deep voice. “I am nothing more than a witness to what this world will be. And what it has to be to survive what is coming.”
Ben shook his head. “Gonna have to do better than that. I already met my raving lunatic quota for the day.”
“Sanity is a matter of perspective,” the Witness said with a wide grin. “I, however, am simply observant.”
“Then look at the pain you’re causing,” Ben snapped. He pushed forward and the man eased back, his thumb close to the red light and in full view of the agent. “You can stop this. Tell me how.”
“You surprise me.”
“I surprise you?” Ben exclaimed. “I’m not the one playing God with the lives of seven thousand people.”
“God has nothing to do with this,” the Witness said. His empty hand grazed the thickening bark of a nearby tree. “Though the Garden is an inspiration. Most came peacefully, without pain or struggle. They arrived, ready for the change to come. Not you, though. You continue to stand, continue to fight to the last breath. Unafraid. Why aren’t you afraid?”
“What are you—?” Ben’s question fell short as the Witness depressed the button, locking the mechanism into position before shifting the dial to full. Ruth’s agony joined his own as their screams echoed through Ben’s brain.
Ben fell to his knees, hands covering his ears. His eyes squinted as he tried to maintain a focus on the approaching man. The piercing wail was no longer an external factor; instead it erupted inside his splitting skull. The contents of his stomach emptied in seconds, vomit spewing in deep hurls along the muddied earth. His body convulsed, legs tucked in close. He couldn’t think, couldn’t see straight.
The Witness knocked Ben’s hand away from his ear. “Much better. You need to experience this. You need to feel it. It will make you better. For the future.”
“Is that—” Ben choked, spitting the remnants from his stomach at the Witness’ feet. His cries carried him from the mud, fighting through the pain raging beneath the surface to get to his knees. His chest heaved, his heart pounded, and his eyes wavered, but he refused to surrender. “Is that what this is? Some crap about destiny and the future? Making a name for yourself?”
“This?” the Witness said. “No. Consider this a simple test.”
Ben shook his head. “You call the murder of an entire town a test?”
“Murder? I see no murder. I see… change. A change they have not anticipated, to be sure. One their so-called Wellspring could not conceive thanks to the ingenuity of Howard Clevinger. I planted a seed, and he supplied the garden. This is a change we will all wish for soon enough. I have seen what is coming. Do you know your place in it?”
“What the hell are you—?”
The Witness hovered over Ben. The red light burned in front of the young man’s hazy eyes. “Listen to me and listen to me well. There is a reason you are here. A reason you have been chosen by them, your so-called DSA. You were too close to the truth in your past life. Too close to seeing the mechanism behind our lives. I am not your enemy. When this ends, when all this finally ends, I will be your only hope for survival. Remember that, Benjamin Riley.”
How? How did the Witness know his name? About the DSA, an organization supposedly kept secret from everyone? Ben struggled to ask, struggled to do anything against the roaring red light of the signal device. The agony was too much for him, and he fell to his side. He closed his eyes to the world, wishing for an end, quick and merciful.
How much time passed, he couldn’t say. The pain swelled through him for what felt like days, and then dissipated in an instant, carried away by the swirling wind in the clearing. Peace came with the solemn sound of dripping rain from the trees and the song of the first bird he could recall hearing since his arrival to Bellbrook. The cloud in his head lifted, and his eyes captured the world around him once more. Finding his feet, Ben surveyed the clearing.
The Witness was gone. His final taunts hung in the air—threats of a future unknown to all but him. His knowledge of Ben and the DSA raised the hairs on the back of the agent’s neck.
There was no sign of his escape. No path left in the muddied earth. It was like he’d vanished from the scene.
“Ruth?” Ben called when he realized the silence of the clearing. “Ruth, are you—?”
He spun around to her position, the immediacy of their situation returning. If the pain in his head was gone now then it might have diminished for her as well. That still left the gaping wound along her right leg to handle. She needed treatment before she bled out, and there were miles to go before reaching help.
Ben stopped, his gaze crestfallen. Ruth no longer lay along the earth, hoping to be saved, hoping for something that would never come. In her place was a new addition to the great forest. It rose in the center of the once empty clearing.
“Ruth…”
Ben fell to his knees before the tree. In the thickening bark he noticed her eyes, the terror in her face. Only for an instant before they were gone; enveloped in the growing oak.
Resting in front of the trunk sat his tie. Ben cradled it in his hands. Next to the bloodstain inherited from his father’s tour of duty was another splotch of crimson. Ben nodded, accepting the fact. Then he wrapped the tie around his neck and tightened it.
“From the job,” he muttered. His father’s words suddenly carried more relevance than ever.
A chirping split the silence of the forest. The rain settled in the background, and even the discomfort running along his hands dissipated behind the growing noise emanating from the tree that served as Ruth’s final resting place.
Ben scurried around the trunk and found her radio lying among the roots. He pulled it close and held it to his ear.
“…da… signal… I say… Riley? Hel…? Come in, can you hear me?”
“Lincoln?” Ben asked into the radio. “Where are you? What’s going on?”
“No time for your mouth, Riley. Just listen for a change,” Lincoln said. “I need you two at the road. Morgan is en route. Move it now. Do you copy? There’s…”
It took Ben a moment. The radio almost slipped from his palm as his colleague finished. “What? Lincoln, wait. Did you say air strike?”
Chapter Thirty
Time was not on her side.
Light grew closer in the rearview mirror. The streaks along the clouds approached faster and faster. When they struck, their arrival would be enough to shatter the surrounding shadows and lay waste to anything that might be learned from this tragedy.
That was what it was, a tragedy. Seven thousand people were lost to what amounted to an accident. Science, mankind, where would the blame be laid? Would it fall squarely on the DSA for acting without thought, for rushing in blind for the sake of the mission?
None of this was what she’d signed up for. Death and loss were what she had run from after her fall from grace. Her secret mistake, the one that kept her from sleep, the one that pushed her forward without a thought regarding the footprints trailing behind.
It was that mistake that made the med-kit in the passenger seat a burden instead of bringing her the joy it once had. Her mother had given it to her—so proud of the woman her daughter had become. The whole family shared the sentiment.
Now she was alone.
The rusted-out Malibu sped ahead through the forest. The engine struggled, puttering along, but she kept the pressure up, forcing the neglected sedan to stay on the road. The trees towered on both sides. They looked so natural, yet their presence was anything but. They were designed, tested, and prodded like a great experiment. But for what reason? Why would anyone do this to the innocent? What had they stumbled upon?
&
nbsp; DNA manipulation was cutting-edge science. It was light years ahead of anything being explored in labs throughout the world. At the moment, little more than theories on the subject existed. Even then, those researchers projected decades of study to determine the effects of such work. To cure illnesses and remove defective genes were workable goals: redeemable returns for years of study. But to take that research and use it in such a fashion?
Mankind is capable of anything.
That had been Clevinger’s fear, but more than that—regret? Had he truly found a way to crack the code so easily and force the change on man? Plant and mammal on the surface stood as complete opposites, but studies showed similar traits embedded deep. Exploit those shared traits and what would be the result?
Morgan closed her eyes. The car took a bump in the road hard, causing the Malibu to shudder as it left the ground for a brief second. Too many questions plagued her, too many possibilities—each more impossible than the last. But then again, Clevinger had recognized her doubts, understood them as her training. She was unable to pierce beyond the physical to see his point of view. How could she? She wasn’t wired that way.
Who the hell was?
Morgan opened her eyes and slammed on the brakes. The car reeled, struggling to stop. Brakes screeched, tires squealed, and the Malibu jerked back and forth. The engine fought to stay in place under the hood.
Trees surrounded her—growing, thickening with each passing second. Each one held a story. The entire history of Bellbrook was locked within the oak trunks spreading along the western border of town. So much life had been lost, all from an experiment gone horribly wrong.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed a figure step out of the forest. His tie whipped around his neck. His feet slid along the pavement. Ben looked like garbage, visibly hurt and near collapse from his experience.
Morgan put the car in reverse and turned around. As she sidled next to the fleeing agent she opened the passenger door, then tossed her medical kit to the backseat.
“Riley!”
Blood mixed with rain in streams down his cheeks, running dark from his ears and all along his neck. “You heard?”
She didn’t need the warning. It cracked through the air like thunder, streaks heading right for them across the night sky.
“Ruth?”
His chin fell to his chest and a hand over swollen eyes.
“Right,” she said. She reached over him as he struggled with his seatbelt. After pulling the door shut, Morgan returned to the shifter and slammed it in drive.
The sedan soared back toward Bellbrook with its vacant streets and homes. Where seven thousand lives had ended without so much as a word spoken or a care given. And Ruth Heller. How could they have lost another so soon? How could she face Lincoln with that news?
The two soaring streaks dipped in the sky, dropping their precious cargo over the forest. Ben pointed at the growing lights, now doubled. Where the first continued on their trajectory, the second pair fell rapidly over them. The accelerator dipped to the floor, the engine roaring over the sound of the missiles crashing around them.
The world burned. Incredible explosions rocked the earth. The crashing of trees shattered the peace of the vacant town in Ohio. A wave of broken and burning oak covered the road, heading toward the fleeing vehicle.
“Morgan…”
“Hold on!” she yelled as light snapped in violent oranges and reds, the flames flickering to meet the beauty of the night sky. “Just hold on!”
The sedan screamed. Flames and the debris of the air strike rose to meet them. Their anger was only matched by the cries of the agents, hoping—praying—for one more second, one more inch of safety.
Hoping it would be enough.
The forest fell behind them, and the flames compounded as the jets made a second pass, dropping their payload on those lost to the world. Seven thousand victims met their fate, never to see another sunrise, never to understand the reason behind their transformation.
“Morgan,” Ben called, eyes locked ahead.
“We made it.”
“I wouldn’t say that yet.”
Six transports covered the road and blocked their escape. Twin camouflaged jeeps led the pack. The other four skidded to a halt beside Primrose Elementary.
“The military? Here?”
Morgan slammed on the brakes before meeting the blockade head on. Soldiers surrounded the car, weapons poised and ready.
Chapter Thirty-One
The violent storm had nothing to do with the rolling thunder or the pouring rain. The growling came not from the engine of the borrowed sedan. The heat rising from the burning forest to their back held little more than a candle to that which rose within Morgan’s breast.
And she was about to let it loose.
The car idled in the center of the road. Transports blocked their egress. The burning world at their backside locked them in place. Morgan’s foot hovered over the accelerator, desperate for an opening.
Ben kept his distance. He held tight to the bloodstained tie around his neck, struggling with Ruth’s loss and the story told by the man known only as the Witness. He wanted to share everything with the woman beside him in the hopes that their shared grief might in some way make up for the pain of their first mission together, cementing an artificial bond through some shared trauma.
He needed to feel that. He needed someone with him. Yet her cold stare pulled her further and further away. This wasn’t his world. He didn’t belong here. If there was someone in his stead, someone as heroic and steadfast as his predecessor, things would have been different. Perhaps Ruth might still be alive. Perhaps Bellbrook could have been saved.
Hate certainly would not be seething from Morgan’s clenched jaw. Anger and rage would not be seeping from her bloodshot eyes.
“Morgan…” His call fell silent—unheard.
Behind the wall of soldiers and vehicles blocking their path more personnel departed the transports. They raced around trucks and removed equipment. Words were rarely shared, just efficient steps to resolve the problem at hand. Soldiers scattered to all sides. Four stopped short of the sedan and took aim at the two passengers within.
Morgan’s hand left the wheel for her sidearm. Ben stopped her. “Don’t.”
Her eyes screamed at him, shaking his fingers loose from her arm.
“Morgan, don’t do this.”
“They killed her, Riley. Don’t tell me what I should or shouldn’t do.”
She left the sidearm secured to her side, not even blinking at the weapons poised to end their time in the city of Bellbrook. Behind the armed guard surrounding them, a stocky gentleman exited the front jeep. He wore a brightly decorated uniform with stars along his broad shoulders.
The door to the driver’s side opened before Ben could react. Morgan jumped from her seat for the pelting wind and rain. Ben reached for her too late, his words lost to the door slamming shut.
“Morgan, please.”
By the time he left the sedan Morgan was already beyond the guard. Two of the four escorted her, weapons trained at all times. The other pair kept Ben company as he followed.
“What have you done?” Morgan bellowed. The stout soldier ignored her. Sharp orders sent those around him dashing in all directions. “Hey!”
He turned. His eyes, sharp like razors, hid behind bushy eyebrows of white. “Clear these people from the area!”
Morgan rushed the man, and hands immediately grabbed her from both sides. Ben tried to help, his weary limbs struggling to escape the tight grip of the well-rested soldiers. They raced around the grounds to gain control of the situation. One offered a report to his superior in the pinned stars. The name ADAMS adorned the general’s chest.
“Perimeter secured around the forest, sir,” the soldier saluted. “Checkpoints positioned on all sides.”
“Excellent,” Adams replied. “Send them in.”
Dozens stepped from the co
ver of the caravan blockading the road. They wore full-body suits and masks. Strapped to their backs were large tanks. A thick, insulated cable stretched from the bottom around and down their arm to a waiting trigger. A small flame ignited from the tip of the barrel of the extensive weapon.
Morgan’s eyes flared as their flamethrowers came to life. Each started for the forest, adding to the destruction already wrought by the air strike. They razed the earth of something never before seen, something no one could know about.
“You can’t!” she cried. She pushed and pulled from those locking her in position against the wet pavement. She kicked out, knocking one back. With the extra inch, she pounced up, and her head collided with the other’s chin. Free from the pair she raced for the general.
“Morgan, wait!” Ben shouted, unable to move, unwilling to fight.
She stopped short of Adams. The surrounding soldiers cocked their weapons and aimed at her position. Her hands rose, struggling to tuck back the rage held within them for only a second.
“What are you doing?” she asked. She pointed to the forest. “Do you even know what this is? What you’re doing to it?”
Adams puffed his chest. “Containing a potential threat, young lady.”
He held out his hand and his subordinate approached. A tablet passed between them and he offered it to the waiting woman. She eyed it suspiciously, wiping the rain from its screen. “What’s this?”
“Orders,” Adams said. “Direct from the DOD and the Office of the Secretary of Defense.”
“The Department of Defense?” she muttered. She returned the documents without a second glance. “How?”
“We’re handling it, Agent Dunleavy.” Adams leaned close, a smug grin forming across his lips. “Let us do our job.”
The flamethrowers blazed a clear path through the southeast corner of the forest, moving in multiple paths around the perimeter and through the center. They were methodical—unfeeling.