The Project Eden Thrillers Box Set 1: Books 1 - 3 (Sick, Exit 9, & Pale Horse)

by Brett Battles

  Unfortunately for Christophe, that day would never come.

  BALTIMORE, MARYLAND

  12:15 PM EASTERN STANDARD TIME

  IT HAD BEEN two weeks since Mary Jackson had first called City Hall to file a complaint. The person who had answered listened for a moment, then transferred her to the Department of Public Works. The man she talked to there had seemed pleasant and helpful, and had told her he’d make sure someone came out to check.

  But after four days, no one had shown up. Mary knew this because she could see from her living room window the big metal box in the empty lot next to the convenience store. Sure, her neighborhood wasn’t the most beautiful in the world, but she’d lived there for over forty years. No way was she going to let it get any worse. And to her, someone dumping a corrugated eyesore right in her view was definitely pushing things in the wrong direction.

  So she called again, this time talking to a bored woman who couldn’t even get her name right, and again the following day, getting someone completely new who acted like it wasn’t the responsibility of his department.

  For the next week, she did nothing but stew and watch the box. If she’d been younger, maybe she would have walked over to see if there was a phone number on it anywhere. But at her age, she rarely even set foot on her porch anymore.

  She had made up her mind that she would give it one more day then call again, only this time she’d bypass Public Works and go directly to the mayor’s office. But her plan changed when the top of the box opened, and it started to hum.

  She reached for the phone.

  “Office of Public Works. May I help you?”

  She recognized the voice as belonging to the man she’d talked to the first time she called, the one who’d seemed so helpful.

  “Yes, this is Mrs. Jackson. You’ve got to do something.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am?”

  “About the box. I talked to you two weeks ago about it.”

  “The box?” He paused. “Oh. Oh! The metal box across the street from you.”

  “You said you’d send somebody out, but they never came. And now the thing has opened up and is making a weird noise.”

  “Opened up?”

  “Yes. Opened up. Did you not just hear me?”

  “Are you sure?”

  Her lips squeezed together. She was not in the mood to be doubted. “Never mind. I’ll call the mayor. I’m sure he’ll do something about it.”

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry no one has come out yet. There was obviously a mix-up somewhere.”

  Yeah. With you, she almost said but held her tongue.

  “As soon as I hang up, I’ll make a call and have someone come out right away.”

  “Well, okay. But if I don’t see them in the next hour, I’m going to call the mayor.”

  “I completely understand. Now, could you give me the address again?”

  Once she had given him the information and hung up, she sat in her chair and kept an eye on the box. Even through her closed windows she could easily hear the noise. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who noticed the strange sound. Not long after she’d sat back down, a couple of teenagers wandered over to the box.

  She watched as one of them boosted the smaller of the two up so he could get a look inside. Something very strange happened then. As the small kid leaned over the opening, the collar of his jacket started to flap like it was caught in the wind. He was only there for a second before he wiped his hand across his face, and jumped off his friend’s hands to the ground. He dropped to his knees and covered his eyes.

  Mary leaned forward, muttering to herself, “I told them there was something wrong with that. I told them!”

  The taller kid hunched over his friend. After several seconds, the smaller one rubbed his eyes and stood up. His friend asked him a question, and the short one shrugged and smiled. The tall one punched him in the arm, and soon they were both laughing. But as they walked away, the short one glanced back at the box, giving it a wary look.

  He seems okay, Mary thought. But she still didn’t like it.

  Twenty minutes later, a Public Works truck turned onto the street, slowed, and pulled into the lot where the box was.

  How about that? I guess I should threaten to call the mayor every time.

  The man who got out looked at the box with disinterest, walked around it, stopped back where he’d begun, and stared at it again. Finally he pulled out a phone and made a call. As he talked, he gestured toward the box several times, so Mary assumed he was talking to his boss. Finally, with a visible sigh, he put the phone back in his pocket, and pulled a ladder off his truck.

  Setting it next to the box, he climbed up high enough so he could look inside. Unlike the kid earlier, he didn’t lean all the way over the edge. Still, his hair fluttered from the moving air coming from inside. At one point, he touched his cheek and rubbed it for a moment. When he moved his fingers away, he looked at them as if there was something on them.

  When he climbed back down, the disinterest he showed earlier was no longer on his face. He whipped out his phone, his conversation considerably more animated than it had been the last time.

  Within ten minutes, two more Public Works trucks and a city-owned sedan arrived. Five minutes after that, the fire department was on the scene.

  Mary smiled. They should have listened to her earlier. At least now she’d get the damn thing out of there.

  Unfortunately, she was mistaken. The only thing that would be moving was Mary, when she was taken to an evacuation center halfway across town, where, in a few short days, she would take her last breath.

  OCEANSIDE, CALIFORNIA

  9:16 AM PACIFIC STANDARD TIME

  BECKER WAS GETTING impatient. He’d been sitting in his car for over an hour now, parked at the side of the road. What he shouldn’t have done was down the entire cup of Starbucks coffee as fast as he had. Now he had to piss. Bad.

  He looked at his watch. Maybe something was wrong. His eyes moved back to the shipping container on the back of the parked truck just down the street. If things had gone according to plan, the Implementation Delivery Module—or IDM—should have opened by now. Was there some sort of delay? Had the directors decided to reschedule?

  If that were the case, somebody would have called him by now, right?

  He picked up his phone. He had a good signal, but there were no missed calls.

  Then what the hell is taking so long?

  He bounced his legs up and down, attempting to ease some of the pressure on his bladder.

  “Come on, come on, come on,” he whispered.

  Then, as if magically obeying his command, the top of the IDM began to rise.

  With a sense of relief, he smiled. It was really happening. The new world they’d been working toward was about to arrive.

  He shifted his gaze past the truck, to the buildings about two miles away—Marine Corps base Camp Pendleton, directly downwind from the module.

  He picked up his phone and hit the preset number. “It’s me,” he said. “It just opened.”

  Six

  LAS CRUCES, NEW MEXICO

  10:20 AM MOUNTAIN STANDARD TIME

  THE DECADES IT had taken Project Eden to move from an idea for a better world to the actual Implementation Day had been wisely spent in preparation. With a goal as large as theirs, it was vitally important that every detail was well thought out.

  One of the priorities on the list was the creation of storage facilities to ensure that those chosen to restart humanity would have the supplies they needed to guarantee their survival through the transition. The depots were spread across the world, and were designed to serve the dual purpose of storing the supplies, and acting as a shelter for Project members during the unfortunate but necessary step of killing off over ninety-nine percent of mankind.

  It wasn’t that the members needed the facility to avoid contracting the KV-27a virus—all had been vaccinated—but after the release of the disease, there would likely be a period o
f chaos until the pandemic burned itself out. It was believed this would not last for more than a month, meaning those taking refuge in the depots would barely make a dent in the storage supply.

  Depot NB219 was located just north of Las Cruces, New Mexico. By all appearances, it was just another farm along the Rio Grande. If the local population had been given a tour of the facility, they would have been shocked to find out how much of the place was actually underground.

  Due to its remote location, on Implementation Day NB219 was one of the least populated facilities, with only forty-three Project members using the living quarters. One of those present was the Project’s primary fixer, a man named Perez. His status as the Project Eden directors’ golden boy made him not only the highest-ranking member at the depot, but the second highest of all members not currently at Bluebird. So while he didn’t immediately insist on taking over for NB219’s facility director, he did make sure he was involved in every decision.

  When the hour of implementation approached, he joined Director Kane and his assistant Claudia Lindgren in the main conference room to monitor the events.

  There were some tense moments when the hour came and went without any reports that activation had occurred. Then, nearly five minutes late, a message appeared on the television screen:

  ACTIVATION COMPLETE

  Soon after that, news started to trickle in from spotters scattered around the globe that the IDMs were going live.

  Kane smiled broadly. “I think we should break out the champagne.”

  Claudia rose from her chair and pulled a bottle of Dom Perignon out of the small refrigerator along the wall. She grabbed three glasses from a nearby cabinet, and returned to the table.

  As she popped the cork and started to pour, Perez said, “None for me.”

  Kane’s smile slipped a little. “Are you sure? It’s a special occasion.”

  “I’m sure.”

  The director looked like he didn’t know what to do.

  “I’ll have one with you,” Claudia said. She held a glass out to the director.

  With a weak smile in Perez’s direction, Kane raised it in the air. “To the new beginning.”

  “The new beginning,” Claudia repeated.

  They both took a drink.

  Perez’s refusal to join them had not been any kind of anti-alcohol stand, nor was it based on the fact it was still morning. As someone who had routinely killed people for the Project, he clearly understood the sacrifice the rest of the world was about to make. To him, celebrating that was beyond inappropriate. But he said nothing.

  As it approached ten thirty, he watched the monitor for the expected follow-up message from Bluebird. When it didn’t come on time, he thought perhaps it would be delayed the same amount of time as the activation message.

  But five minutes passed with nothing. Then six. Then seven.

  “Are we still online?” he asked.

  Kane, red-cheeked from the two glasses of champagne he’d already downed, leaned toward the monitor. “I, uh, think so. Yes, I believe we are. Is something wrong?”

  If Kane couldn’t figure it out, Perez wasn’t going to tell him. “I need someone to open the vault.”

  “What?” Kane said, confused.

  “The vault. I need someone to open it.” Perez narrowed his eyes, staring at the director. “Not you.”

  “Now, hold on. There’s no reason for you to take that tone with me. I’m in charge here.”

  “You were in charge. Things have just changed.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Claudia glanced at her watch, then looked at the monitor, the blood draining from her face.

  Immediately she put her glass down and stood up. “I’ll take you.”

  Kane gaped at her. “Claudia, what do you think you’re doing?”

  Instead of answering, she led Perez out the door.

  The conference room was located on the third basement level, while the vault was on level four, the bottom level.

  As they rode the elevator down, Claudia said, “It could be just a communication glitch.”

  Perez said nothing.

  The amount of redundancies the Project had built into their communications system meant the chances of that being the case were extremely low. The second message, the one confirming everything was happening as planned, should have arrived no more than thirty minutes after activation. That was a step built into the Project’s plan years ago. The fact it hadn’t happened meant something was wrong, most likely at Bluebird itself.

  But, as it had done for many possibilities, the Project had prepared for just such a circumstance.

  Once out of the elevator, they made their way to the vault where Claudia punched in the code, opening the outer door. Inside was the real vault door. This took not only another code but a retinal and hand scan of an authorized individual. Claudia wasted no time releasing the locks, and within seconds they were standing inside.

  One wall was covered with small, numbered doors that looked no different than a wall of safety deposit boxes in a bank. The only difference was that the ones in the Project’s vaults were opened with codes instead of keys. Each box contained instructions or information that would be used in different scenarios. Perez went immediately to box A002.

  “Code,” he said.

  “Two-slash-thirty-eight-slash-seven.”

  He input the characters and the door popped open.

  Inside was a single sheet of paper. He read it carefully then handed it to her. “I’m officially taking over this facility.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, her eyes scanning the page.

  “Retrieve the communication codes for the other depots, and have your people start making contact. I want a video conference in one hour with the top four ranking members.”

  Something had gone wrong at Bluebird after the activation code was sent. Which meant, until someone from the Project directorate showed up, Perez and the others he would soon contact had to take charge.

  Seven

  MONTANA

  10:48 AM MOUNTAIN STANDARD TIME

  BRANDON FOCUSED ALL his energy on trying to hear anything from the other side of the metal plate that covered his hiding spot. But there was no helicopter, no feet, no anything. Just his own heartbeat thudding in his ears.

  Every few minutes he would use the flashlight that had been in the backpack to check his watch. Hayes had been gone over half an hour. Brandon was sure he should have been back by now. He’d only heard the helicopter for a few minutes right after he was buried in the hole, so he thought it had probably flown off somewhere.

  How long do I wait?

  An image flashed in his mind. Hayes somewhere in the forest injured and needing help. Brandon was the only one around, the only one who could do anything.

  Ten more minutes, then go look for him.

  He sat on the pile of empty plastic bags, his head cocked to the side so that his ear rested against the metal.

  Still silence from above.

  When he checked his watch again, he saw that he was already two minutes past his deadline.

  All right. All right, I’m going.

  But for a moment he didn’t move, wondering if he was making the right decision.

  “Go,” he whispered to himself.

  He placed his palms against the metal plate and pushed. It moved half an inch, and came back down. He’d forgotten how heavy it was, plus now it had an added layer of dirt on top of it.

  Could he even move it? Would he be stuck in the tube until someone found him? Would anyone find him?

  The thought of never getting out of the hole was more than enough to motivate him to try again. This time, instead of just pushing up, he pushed up and to the side, hoping that would be easier, and was able to move it several inches before he had to set it back down again.

  He gave himself half a minute, then tried once more. After three attempts, he’d moved the plate enough that a wedge of light appeared at one end. All he h
ad to do was get it halfway across the hole and he was sure he’d be able to squeeze out.

  He raised his hands to push again, but froze. A soft crunch, not far away, like someone stepping on fallen pine needles.

  Hayes? Or someone else?

  Brandon held his position. Another crunch, this one farther away, then several more. They sounded too light to be footsteps. What then? Something falling from the trees?

  When several minutes passed with no more noise, he pushed on the plate again. The pause had given him the energy he needed, and he was able to move the cover an inch beyond the midpoint.

  He rested for a moment, then raised himself so his head cleared the opening.

  There was a loud rustle to his left. He whipped around just in time to see several deer hop away. The noise hadn’t been Hayes, nor one of the others.

  He worked himself all the way out, then leaned over the tube and extracted the backpack. As he stood up, he looked at the metal plate and considered pushing it back over the hole. But the energy it had taken to move it off had already drained him. Shoving it around again would only make him weaker, and he knew he was going to need all the strength he had left. It would just have to stay the way it was.

  He turned slowly in a full circle, unsure which way he should go in search of Hayes. His eyes settled on the ridge they had come over about an hour before. While it wasn’t completely treeless, the forest was thinner there.

  Leaving his backpack by the open tube, he jogged up the hill. As he reached the top, he could hear the distant thump-thump-thump of one of the helicopters, and spotted it hovering above the Ranch. He searched the rest of the sky for the other helicopters, but only the one was visible.

  He turned his back to the Ranch, and looked down into the valley where he’d been hiding. A carpet of trees stretched out for as far as he could see. To the left the land tapered downward, flattening out to a horizon that looked a thousand miles away. To the right were the mountains that jutted up toward the heavens like a wall marking the end of the world.