The Omega Point

by Whitley Strieber

He was eager to get to his room and let General Wylie know she was here. He needed orders and support personnel. There must be no mistakes, and if there was resistance from the security guards when he took her—as he had to believe there would be—he had to be certain that they would not succeed in stopping him.

  “Don’t,” she said.

  Was she speaking to him? Surely not. He was thirty feet away, hardly looking at her.

  She turned toward him and challenged him with a stare. “You. Don’t.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Go away.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s your painting. The life in it—”

  “I don’t think looking at pictures makes men drool like dogs, Mr. Dog.”

  Why did she care so much? Why was she so concerned about a picture?

  He was so maddeningly in the dark.

  “Hello? Are you deaf?”

  “I’m terribly sorry.”

  He got up from the chair and moved out into the larger recreation area. He strolled up to Sam.

  “I guess that didn’t work,” he said, trying to sound affable.

  “Not her type, Mack.”

  “Yeah, I was halfway across the room.”

  “You were staring pretty hard.”

  “Look, I’m going to take a little siesta. Wash her outa my hair.”

  Sam nodded.

  “Um, would you do me a huge favor and not turn on my room.” He tugged at his crotch.

  “I hear you. I’ll hang out in the hall. Monitor off.”

  They went together up the stairs to the living area. “You used to only be with me when I was outside. I feel kind of oppressed.”

  “Glen’s orders. Supertight security from now on. Thank whoever did Dr. Ullman.”

  “Townies. Nothing to do with us nice, sweet patients.”

  “But you were out that night. Unfortunately for you.”

  He went into his room and closed the door. He couldn’t lock it, of course. That could only be done from the outside.

  Immediately, he went to his drawer and got out the radio. Using the keypad on the modified TV remote that controlled it, he tapped out a few words: first, “Caroline Light has come. Need immediate action.”

  He waited for the faint tone that would indicate that his message had been received. The set on the other end was monitored twenty-four hours a day. For security reasons, they had no set transmission times. He looked at his watch. The sixty-second window came and went. Still no acknowledgment. Following protocol, he transmitted a second time, then once again waited.

  This had to work, it was too important not to. But the sun was awful today, maybe even the single sideband system they used was gone.

  Again he transmitted, and again there was no response.

  Okay, he was panicking now, feeling that same sense of being trapped that regularly woke this claustrophobe up nights. Angrily, he shut down his equipment. He told himself that it was a lot harder for his simple system to detect their signals than vice versa. So maybe they’d gotten the message. Maddening. But he had to take risks now, and one of them was to find a way out of this room after lockdown. It was urgent that he gain the freedom of this place as soon as possible.

  Sure, he could enter the ductwork, but he needed that blueprint, which meant another excursion into town and a search of the building department’s records.

  Once he could get out of this room, cover would also require confusion, and he thought he knew how to cause it. The townies lusted after this place. They stayed away because of the guards. He understood the system, though, and he could provide them with a plan. If they were desperate enough, they would come. There would be a battle, and he would use it as a cover to capture Light and wring the truth out of her. Maybe Ford, too. He’d been appointed supervisor of this place, so he had to be high up in the leadership, also.

  He stepped out into the hall. Sam sat half asleep in a tipped-back chair in the nurse’s station. Good, he would leave him behind right here and now.

  “Hi, there,” Sam said.

  Shit! “Well, I think I’m looking at a walk.”

  “You want to go out in that? Have you seen the sky?”

  “I’m crazy, remember.”

  Sam was not happy about it, but he stuck to his orders. Don’t control the patient, follow the patient.

  They reached the bottom of the stairs and crossed the art room.

  “Jesus,” Sam said.

  Mack also looked toward Caroline Light at her easel, and this time was even more awed. It looked more like she was opening a window into a beautiful forest glade, a real one—but not in the here and now, because her sky was normal.

  Although he needed to discover what, if anything, this strange talent of hers might mean, he didn’t pause long. He wanted no more trouble from her, and he had his plan, and he would find out everything.

  At the end of the room, there were broad glass doors that led into the side garden. Glass, but thick as steel. Sam unlocked them with his fingerprint reader, and he and Mack stepped into the white glare of the sun.

  “We don’t want to be out here, Mack, I’m telling you.”

  “It’s incredible.”

  “Don’t look at the sun.”

  “I’m careful, Sam.” Mack held up his hand, observing through two cracked fingers. The damn thing was devoured with sunspots, a great, jagged, flaring mess.

  Sam was doing the same thing. “Come on, let’s go back in, Mack.”

  “Just to the apple tree. Five minutes.” He had to get Sam out of sight, just for a moment. He went down to the formal garden, where there were some tall laurel bushes, just trying to bloom. Their slick, dark green leaves were thick, and the path between them was concealing.

  People sense things, and in particular, they sense danger. You need absolute control over your body language, your breathing, everything, if somebody who is guarding you at close range isn’t going to become wary as you attack them.

  “I just want to stretch my legs,” he said. “I just do not get why you’re on me at all, let alone inside.”

  “Personally, I like you. I think guarding you like this is bullshit. But hey, I got a paycheck to be concerned about.”

  They were in the formal garden, Sam just behind him. Ten steps later, they were at the most concealing point, surrounded on both sides by large tea rosebushes in fitful bloom. From here, Mack could see only the top edge of the guardhouse at the corner of the south and west walls.

  He took a quick step aside, then one back.

  “Mack?”

  He wasn’t called Mack the Cat for nothing, and before Sam could turn around, he’d enclosed his neck from behind, lifted him in his iron-strong hands, and made a quick spinal adjustment that would paralyze him for about two hours. This was an “in and out” technique he’d learned in the Black Magic program, an offshoot of the MK-Ultra mind control experiments and Nazi medical discoveries. MK-Ultra had been plastered all over the media back in the 1970s and decisively shut down, but not Black Magic.

  Sam dropped like a bag of ashes. Mack lifted him and arranged him on a bench. Maybe the mouth tried to open. The eyes stared into his, pleading. Mack said nothing. Sam couldn’t move, but he was still conscious.

  “You’ll be fine, buddy,” he said. Except, not with your boss, not so fine there.

  Now he would work his way to the low area in the wall near the service gate that led out onto Route 16. Sam had been a piece of cake, but this next maneuver was going to be seriously dangerous. The guards were a bunch of nervous kids, and nervous kids were hair-triggers.

  The old gate he was headed for hadn’t been opened in a long time, and it was on the opposite side of the property from the town. So it had one, maybe two guys on it. He could do two, no problem.

  He moved through the garden, strolling casually. Let them think that Sam was sitting on a bench sipping his usual cup of coffee.

  When he came to the end of the garden, he stopped. Ahead and to the right was a hydroponic gree
nhouse. To the left, the disused road to the service gate crossed a clear field of grass, nothing to shelter him at all.

  So, okay, speed would shelter him. He strode out of the concealing garden and onto the road, heading for the gate. A moment later, the guard came out of his little station. He wasn’t dressed like the ones near the house, in discreet blazers. This guy was in full battle dress, helmet and all. He carried an automatic rifle on his shoulder . . . and a paperback in his hand, a finger holding his place open.

  Mack pushed away the thought that it would be easy. You take that approach, you are dead.

  As he drew closer, he smiled. “Hi, there!”

  “You need to stay away from the wall, Sir.”

  “I’m just getting some exercise.”

  “Stay away from the wall.”

  Mack moved closer to him. “Sure. No problem.” He kept going closer.

  “You need to return to the garden, Sir.”

  “Sure.” He started to turn. Then froze. Looked more closely at the guard. “Man, that can’t be an M14A SOPMOD.”

  The kid shuffled. “Yeah, it is.”

  “Jeez, can I just come close enough to get a look?”

  “You’re Mack Graham. You have a minder.”

  “Oh, come on, take it easy. He’s got a sore foot and he’s over there sitting down. Don’t make him get up, he won’t like me anymore.”

  The guy smiled slightly, then ported the rifle. Mack took three quick steps toward him. The kid was trained, but not so well that he recognized Mack’s movements as an assault setup.

  A quick rap to a point just between and above his eyes and he went down. As he doubled over, Mack grabbed the rifle out of his hands and set it down back in the guardhouse. Then he pulled the kid in. He’d be unconscious for only five minutes tops, but there was a difference: this maneuver blew out the short-term memory. The kid would not recall that Mack had even been here. He’d assume that he’d fallen asleep and try to cover that with his superiors. Mack would have done the same thing with Sam, but if he woke up in five minutes and found his charge gone, he’d raise hell. He needed the time he’d get out of Sam to put distance between himself and the clinic.

  He reached up to the roofline of the guardhouse and pulled himself up. No question but that he could be seen from here, so he had to keep moving. Not a problem, though. The guardhouse was only two feet higher than the roof, so he was sliding through the razor wire in a couple of seconds.

  For a moment, he teetered on the narrow edge that topped the wall, then dropped down onto the far side.

  Still not out of danger, though. He had to move fast now, to get into the cover of the woods that spread across the wild portion of the Acton land. A hundred-foot perimeter had been created between the wall and the trees, and so recently that the stumps were still bleeding.

  Only one thing to do, now: cross it and trust to luck that nobody would see him from the two other towers that watched over this particular spot. In fifteen seconds, he was in the shade of the trees. He waited. No alarm. So he headed deeper.

  The storms of earlier had gone, and the air was clean, faintly tanged with smoke. One thing solar electrical energy this intense did was to cause spontaneous fires in wiring of every kind. There were houses and buildings burning all over Raleigh County, no doubt.

  He moved off deeper into the forest, taking a long, curving path among the trees, one that he would use later to guide townspeople to this vulnerable spot. He would bring them back, a great number of them, and they would come to kill, and while they did, he would do things to Caroline that would definitely bring the information he needed. Black Magic had many tricks up its sleeve, many tricks, and some of them caused amazing discomfort and amazing confusion, and some of them could hypnotize your adversary into becoming your slave.

  He wondered who would break first, Caroline or dear little David. His money was on David. That Caroline was beautiful on the outside, but the interior was tough. David was nervous, rule bound, and insecure. Start pulling his skin off, he’d tell you every damn thing he knew.

  He found Route 16 and sped up his progress by jogging. It was no trouble for him. In his condition, he could jog for hours.

  Not until he came to the outskirts of Raleigh did he slow down. In that time, he had not seen a single car or a single person. The town was quiet, too. Very damn quiet.

  He moved on, dropping back to a walk as he passed Raleigh Mortuary Services and the Dairy Queen. There would be a mayor. Some leader. He would find him. They would talk. And mayhem would come to the Acton Clinic.

  11

  THE NIGHT WALKER

  David and Katie sat together in the living room of his suite attempting to get some kind of idea what was happening in the outside world. The Internet was still down, and, in any case, when it had been up, the Spaceweather.com website had been too swamped to be accessed. Toward one in the afternoon, the television signal had failed, both on cable and satellite. Prior to that, though, the stations had not had much information except endless repeats of the FAA statement that all aircraft were grounded and Homeland Security’s warning to remain indoors.

  Katie turned on the radio, trying to find a station. Voices drifted in and out, sounding as if they might be emanating from a land of dreams. But most of them were probably from Baltimore, fifty miles away.

  Security was working frantically on the surveillance system, which was blowing circuits left and right due to massive atmospheric electrical overloading.

  Katie picked up the small radio, raised it above her head, then slumped. She put it down.

  “Just when you need them, they’re not there.”

  “People are looking to their own lives.”

  “David, how bad is it? You know, don’t you? You understand these things.”

  “It’s certainly the most intense solar storm since 1859. Sunspots, a huge solar flare, and an intensely energetic coronal mass ejection. So it’s inevitable that the satellites would be gone, but many of them are programmed to shut down during incidents like this, so they could come back. On the other hand, even well-insulated power grids are going to be collapsing all over the world. Even here in the U.S., if it keeps up.”

  “But it’s not what people are saying, surely? It’s not the end of the world?”

  Before he came here, he would have brushed off the claim as having no scientific basis. But even though he now knew the truth, how do you tell another person a thing like that?

  “We need to be prepared for anything,” he said finally.

  She looked doubtful, turning away, then glancing back at him.

  “I think it’s the last thing they would admit. The panic would be incredible. People would claw their way into every hole in the world. Anyway, how can they tell us?” She gestured toward the radio.

  “Let’s keep focused on the clinic. That’s our responsibility.”

  “Okay, fine. Nothing was delivered today, David. And I can’t reach Sysco, I can’t reach UPS, FedEx, Maryland Medical, anybody.”

  Outside, the auroras were dancing.

  “I do think we need to close all blinds and curtains.”

  “That won’t keep out radiation, will it?”

  “Actually, it’ll help. Gamma rays aren’t very penetrating and the walls are thick. The roof is made of tons of slate. The weak point is the windows. And I think we need to minimize guard patrolling. Keep the men in sheltered areas.”

  “I think this place is going to collapse. In fact, I think the whole world is going to collapse.”

  At first, she had seemed welcoming, but no longer. She was totally focused on the welfare of the institution and its people, and he thought at once two things: she’s right to be afraid; but then, can I rely on this woman? Her file was equivocal. It was hard to know exactly what her relationship with Dr. Ullman had been, and there were a number of years in her timeline that were not accounted for. If they were going to go through a crisis, he would like to know about those missing years. In fact,
he’d like to know more about the entire staff, especially the security personnel. He needed to know who the class could rely on and who not.

  The intercom clicked. “We have a code blue in Room 303.”

  He hit the reply button. “Is the cardiac team in motion?”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  “I’m on my way.” As he left, he called back to Katie, “Do you know which patient that is?”

  She was right behind him. “I’m not certain.”

  As he ran across the flyover to the patient area, he could hear voices ahead. The nurses had just wheeled the shock wagon into one of the rooms. David saw that they were working on Linda Fairbrother. Her skin was cyanotic. David’s initial impression was that the woman was dead.

  The nurses performed efficiently, but not like code blue teams he’d seen in operation at Manhattan Central, where they did a cardiac arrest every few days. Then he saw that one of the defibrillation paddles was on the wrong side of the woman’s chest.

  “Hold it,” he snapped. He could hear the whine of the defibrillator loading.

  “It’s gonna fire!”

  He grabbed the paddle and placed it correctly. Just as he pulled his hand away, the system fired off and the patient convulsed. A moment later the computer said, “No response. Reload. Ten seconds.”

  He would let it go through two more cycles, then pull it off. He saw that he’d have to inform the Fairbrother family that their patient had expired. But how, given the state of communications?

  The third round came, the body convulsed again . . . and the heart started. “Stable rhythm,” the computer said. “Defibrillation complete.”

  The staff wasted no time moving her to the facility’s small infirmary. David wondered what this was—a natural event or the result of some sort of attack?

  “We need to get this woman into cardiac intensive care,” he said.

  “Raleigh County EMS isn’t responding,” one of the nurses said.

  “Did you call the hospital’s main number?”

  “Doctor, I called all five hospitals in the area. No response.”

  Katie said, “I told you, David, it’s all coming apart.”

  Anger put a bitter snap into his voice. “Maybe it is, but we’re here now and we have a heart attack to deal with.” He felt the full weight of this place and all these people on his shoulders just now. “I’m sorry,” he said. She did not deserve his spitting words, it wasn’t her fault.