by Mark Gardner
“In due course. He’ll stumble into the net one way or another.”
The helicopter silently pulled up, and a flock of birds flew out of a nearby tree, away from the bladeless machine. With all the noise and rising smoke, they seemed to fly back and forth over the clearing; perhaps unsure what way was safe.
“You have two choices, Anne,” Globe pointed the radio at her and held a single digit aloft. “You can rejoin my organization...”
“I’ll never work for you again!” she snapped.
“Maybe.” Globe looked past Anne. “Bree, honey, come here.”
Bree ran past Anne into the arms of Globe, who sunk to one knee and beckoned.
“Bree,” Globe stage whispered and pointed to the flock of birds attempting to escape, “those birds eat kitties.”
Bree’s brow furrowed. “Bad birds,” she replied. She looked up to the escaping flock, and the birds started falling two and three at a time.
Anne gasped at the sight. It was evident what Globe wanted her to understand. One of the birds fell at her feet. It looked like a raven of some sort. The bird’s wings were outstretched as if in mid-flight. The eyes were gone, and she couldn’t tell for sure against the dark plumage, but there appeared to be sticky blood crusting over where the eyes had been.
Globe hugged a crying Bree, patting her on the back. “Option two,” he mouthed as Bree broke free from the hug.
Bree looked at Anne. “Does she like kitties?” she asked, not looking away from Anne.
“Let’s ask her,” Globe replied. “Do you like kitties, Anne?”
Anne looked around. Soldiers were injecting Peter and Kristof with a syringe. They rolled the unconscious bodies into canvas sheets and attached them to zip lines dangling from the helicopter. Anne stood mute.
“I think Anne likes kitties,” Globe told Bree. “Come on, princess, let’s go home.”
Globe and Bree walked hand in hand toward a second helicopter that had landed silently. Globe looked over his shoulder, “Come along now, Anne. We’ve got work to do.”
Reluctantly, Anne followed.
Epilogue
Anne stared through a window. It was two planes of glass with diagonal wiring crossing over itself inserted between them. She hadn’t seen Bree in three weeks. Ever since the events at the cabin, she thought. She had ridden in silence in the helicopter, staring at the little girl she once cared for; once respected, and now feared.
She had thought briefly of refusing Globe, but during the entire flight, Globe made sure Bree was the closest to Anne. If Anne were to die, she would likely be reborn at the expense of the little girl. Maybe that’s for the best. The fleeting though occurred to her. Anne rejected the thought, remembering Kristof’s rant. There was a better way.
Globe had let Anne wander the halls of the underground facility. He acted as if she were unimportant to him. She was barred from every location save the commissary, her quarters and this room with the glass window.
She placed her hand on the panes and peered through. Peter and the son he never saw grow into a man lay strapped to gurneys, respirators forcing them to breathe. Dialysis machines strummed steadily as their blood was pumped out into an unknown machine and returned to their veins. An array of batteries lined one wall, poised to provide power to the machines forcing the two men to stay alive. They both lived, unable to affect their surroundings. Every day she wished they would die, not knowing what tests Globe, and his army of doctors were doing to them. Not knowing what was to be her fate. It was the not knowing that grated on Anne’s nerves. She had never felt more powerless and in her dreams the days in the Jade Palace had become a happy memory, a heaven she retreated to. Simpler times, she thought.
A reflection on the glass drew her attention away from the clinical sight beyond the glass.
“There you are, Anne.”
Anne ignored Globe, so he continued. “These machines will keep the two of them alive indefinitely.” He crossed his arms and stared into the room. “The chemicals we pour into them keep them unconscious.” Globe grinned – a man pleased with himself. “They can’t die.”
Anne scoffed as her reply.
“Neither alive nor dead. These two will provide enough research to keep us busy for years to come.” His phone chirped, and he looked at the display. “It looks as if Denisha has a job for you to do.”
Anne ignored him.
Globe reached up and grabbed the back of Anne’s head. He pushed it against the glass, torqueing her head to the side, so she was forced to see a third empty gurney.
“You can join your friends anytime you feel as if you’re unable to continue,” he whispered into her ear. “I would so enjoy examining the leader of the Jade Council, up close and personal.”
Globe released her and strode out of the room, his chest puffed out and shoulders squared. She watched him leave, fighting back tears. Is there anyone who can stop this madman? she thought as she turned to follow Globe.
In the distance, he could hear the low rumble of passing vehicles. Joaquin staggered out of the trees and flagged down the first car he saw driving slowly on the service road. The car stopped, and Joaquin ran to the driver side window, thanking God or whoever was listening.
“I need your help, yo!” he called out to the driver. As the window recessed into the doorframe, Joaquin recognized the driver.
“You?” he stammered.
Detective Frank Massey scratched his too-long sideburns, adjusted his yellow jacket, and leaned over and lifted the door lock on the passenger side. He pulled on the handle and pushed the passenger door open. He turned back to Joaquin still standing dumbfounded.
“I’ve been looking for you, Joaquin.”
“No way man!” Joaquin staggered back, eyes darting all directions of possible escape. This couldn’t be happening, he thought, I’m too scared, too tired to run.
Massey chuckled at him, but his eyes held not mirth, or palace, but a purpose. A purpose Joaquin recognized in himself.
“Get in Joaquin, You’ve got a debt to society to repay.”
Joaquin circled the car, and stood gripping the open door. “What’re we gonna do?” he asked.
Massey smiled, his eyes aglow with new purpose. “Whatever we have to do to stop this menace.”
Author’s Note
Thank you for reading Sixteen Sunsets. I hope you enjoyed it!
Please take a few moments to leave a brief review of this story on the website of your favorite retailer to let other readers know what you thought of this story. Writers live and die by reviews, and it’s not just the number of stars awarded. Please leave a review regardless of any star rating. A review the length of a tweet is great, and longer reviews are even more appreciated.
I look forward to reading your thoughts, and thank you again for taking the time to read my story. If you wish to see what else is going on in my world, social media and website links are in the ‘About the Author’ section.
About the Author
Mark Gardner is a US Navy veteran, author and broadcast professional living in Prescott, Arizona. His grandfather introduced him to the alternate history writings of Harry Turtledove at a young age. That started a life-long love affair with speculative fiction. in 2011, he began to write his own stories. His books are favorites among fans of Sin City, The Martian, The Punisher, and Firefly. His work is a fast paced, no-nonsense, thrill ride into many genres, including science fiction, superhero, dystopian, murder mystery, and historical fiction. His works are available in six languages.
Twitter: Article_94
www.article94.com
[email protected]
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