Vapor

by David Meyer

  “Not if you want to keep breathing.”

  My boots pounded against the dirt as I ran to the double doors. Lowering his binoculars, Graham stepped away from a tiny peephole. I took his place and peered into it. The dust storm still raged, but with less intensity.

  I donned my goggles. My right hand turned a tiny dial. The lens turned telescopic.

  In the distance, I saw a teeming mass. It gobbled up the arid soil, devouring all routes of escape. “It’s a mob,” I said softly. “A gigantic one.”

  Chapter 6

  My breath quickened as the mob drew closer. It stretched the length of a four-lane road. As for depth, I counted at least five rows of heads. Its members walked slowly, carefully. Their bloodshot eyes flitted back and forth. Their sunken cheeks expanded and contracted. Their clothes—a hodgepodge of faded fatigues—were ripped and soiled.

  I adjusted the dial. I could see their firm, tense jaws. The long rifles clutched in their hands. The splatters of blood on their clothes.

  “Let me see,” Lila said.

  I stepped out of the way and she took my place. Using Graham’s binoculars, she peered into the distance. “God’s Judges,” she replied tightly. “I’d recognize them anywhere.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “You sound almost relieved.”

  “It could be worse.” She exhaled. “Still, those people are dangerous.”

  “We’ve dealt with looters before,” Beverly said.

  “They’re not just looters. God’s Judges are suspected in over a dozen unsolved murder cases.”

  “Looters? Riots? Roaming militias?” Graham shook his head. “What the hell happened here?”

  “The drought happened.” Lila leaned against the barn doors. Tipping her chin upward, she stared at the ceiling. “We’re used to droughts here. Our farmers know how to manage arid lands, to grow crops with groundwater flow systems. Our water recycling and desalination systems are the best in the world. But we’re in the middle of a full-blown catastrophe and artificial water supplies are no longer enough.”

  I returned to the peephole. Looking ahead, I saw a man in his late thirties. A scarf shielded his nose and mouth. A pair of desert camouflage pants and a bulletproof vest covered his gaunt form. A rifle hung from his shoulder. He walked with a limp, but still managed to move with purpose and determination.

  To the man’s left, I noticed a woman of similar age. Her skin was weathered and she looked frightfully skinny. Like the man, she wore desert camouflage pants and a bulletproof vest. A scarf kept her hair, long and blonde, from whipping furiously with the wind.

  Looking closely, I saw dried blood on her clothes. She carried a pistol in her right hand. A second pistol was holstered at her side.

  Lovers?

  It was hard to imagine love in a ruthless militia. But little gestures—quick looks and the occasional brush of hands—indicated they were more than just fellow soldiers.

  What had caused them to join God’s Judges? Was it a temporary thing in order to get through the drought? Or had they lost all hope in modern civilization?

  “We need to blow up the reliquary,” Lila said. “Then we need to get out of here.”

  I slid my goggles away from my eyes. I carried a pistol and machete at all times. Beverly and Graham carried pistols as well. But without help, we wouldn’t last long against the militia. “We’re not destroying anything.”

  “But—”

  I held up a hand, shushing her.

  “So, we run?” Beverly frowned. What if they chase us?”

  “I’d like to see them try.” Graham grinned. “In case you haven’t noticed, they’re on foot.”

  “And our truck is weighed down by heavy cargo. Plus, we’ll be slogging through soft dirt.”

  I recalled our drive from the excavation pit to the barn. I’d chalked up our slow speed to Beverly being extra cautious. But now I realized that couldn’t have been the case.

  Beverly wasn’t the cautious type.

  “We don’t have a choice. One way or another, we need to leave here in three minutes.” I glanced at Lila. “We’re taking the reliquary. You can come with us or you can drive your own truck.”

  “You’re making a mistake,” she said.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, we’re going to have a little chat when this is over. No more lies, no more crap. I want the truth.” I glared at her. “All of it.”

  Chapter 7

  Beverly lined up in front of a barn door. I stood in front of the other one. Together, we shoved the doors open. Brutal winds accosted us. Looking up, I saw long trails of swirling particles. They filled the sky, blotting out the sun.

  I spun toward Graham. “Search this place for supplies. Food, bottled water, anything. Whatever you find, put it in the truck.” My gaze shifted to Beverly. “Grab the cords and cables. I’ll rig up the covering.”

  As Graham hustled deeper into the barn, Beverly hurried to the pile of packing materials. She pulled out several bundles of metal cords and cables. Meanwhile, I extracted a couple of flexible, plastic-like sheets from the pile and carried them back to the truck.

  Beverly clambered onto the flatbed. She selected a few metal cords from the bundles and connected them to the flatbed’s left side.

  I tossed the plastic sheets onto the flatbed and climbed up after them. Quickly, I spread the sheets over the reliquary and taped them down. Then I grabbed some cables and began helping Beverly.

  Graham returned to the cab, his hands stuffed with bottles of water and canned goods. He tossed the items into the open door. Then he reached for the ignition and turned the key. The engine sputtered.

  And died.

  “What’s wrong?” I called out.

  He popped the hood and hurried to it. “Looks like a clogged fuel filter.”

  “Can you fix it?”

  His head bobbed. “Yeah, but it’ll take a few minutes.”

  I helped Beverly secure the reliquary with additional cords and cables. Then I glanced in Graham’s direction. I couldn’t see him from my vantage point, but I could hear the sound of rattling metal. “We’re ready on our end.”

  Tools clanked in reply.

  I hopped off of the flatbed and followed Beverly to the doors. Looking outside, I watched the militia pour over a tall dune.

  Whoa.

  I turned my attention to the excavation site. The gantry crane and other machines remained in place, having withstood the winds. Numerous rocks lay a short distance away. We’d dug them out during the excavation. But because of their size and weight, we’d left them near the pit. Individually, the rocks weren’t impressive. The largest one was the size of a coffee table. But as a whole, they took up a decent amount of space.

  And that was it. Other than the pit, the dust storm had swept away all other evidence of our work.

  The engine revved behind me. But it failed to catch and the barn fell silent again. “How are we doing, Dutch?” I called out.

  “I need more time,” he shouted.

  Sunlight peeked through the flying dust. A few rays reflected off the gantry’s silver metal, casting a sharp glow in all directions.

  “I know how to slow them down,” Lila said softly.

  I glanced at her. “I’m listening.”

  “You’ve got a gun, right? So, use it.”

  I frowned.

  “We need time. And a couple of dead bodies will buy us time.”

  “Unless it whips them into a frenzy,” Beverly said. “They’re not exactly unarmed, you know.”

  “I know. But—”

  I held up a hand. “We’re not killing anyone.”

  Lila frowned. “We can’t let them have the reliquary.”

  “We won’t.”

  She exhaled a frustrated sigh. In a weird way, I knew how she felt. I was pretty sure I wanted to save the reliquary just as badly as she wanted to destroy it. But that didn’t mean I was about to start killing people.

  “Then fire into the air,” Lila suggested. “Aim a
few rounds over their heads.”

  “With this storm, I doubt they’d even notice,” I replied. “Anyway we need to conserve ammunition.”

  “I’ve got an idea.” A sparkle appeared in Beverly’s eyes. “How much C-4 is in that case?”

  Chapter 8

  “I needed those explosives.” Lila shot me a dirty look.

  “They’re being put to good use,” I replied.

  “Are you sure about that?”

  Admittedly, Beverly’s plan was a long shot. Plus, I didn’t like the idea of destroying the rocks. Although they’d been subjected to the storm, there was a decent chance they still possessed some archaeological significance. “It’ll give them pause. And if we’re really lucky, they’ll focus on the debris rather than on us.”

  I squinted, catching a glimpse of Beverly. Metal case in hand, she ran to the rocks. Then she knelt in the soil.

  I glanced over my shoulder. The reliquary was now covered with several layers of plastic sheets as well as dozens of cords and cables. There was no way the militia could miss it. But hopefully, they wouldn’t pay it much attention.

  “I’m ready.” Beverly rushed into the barn. “Just say when.”

  The engine revved again. But it refused to catch.

  The engine revved yet again.

  I looked into the distance. Even without my goggles, I could see the growing mass of militia members on the dark horizon.

  And that meant they could see us too.

  Abruptly, the engine burst to life. The truck began to vibrate. “We’re good,” Graham shouted.

  I studied the militia for another few seconds. “Do, it,” I told Beverly.

  She produced a small handheld device.

  Her finger stabbed a large button.

  Then everything exploded.

  Chapter 9

  “Good morning, Mr. Briggs.” A raven-haired beauty of youthful age and tall stature stepped forward, her heels clicking against the epoxy concrete floor coating. “It’s great to finally meet you in person.”

  “Yes, yes.” Alan Briggs yawned as he climbed out of the small business jet. He avoided the helping hands of several crewmembers and instead, jumped to the ground. He landed awkwardly and flayed about for a moment, trying to regain his balance.

  Tessie Perkins reached out a dainty hand and managed to steady Briggs before he could fall on his face. “How was your flight?”

  “Adequate, I suppose.” Shrugging her off, he lowered his briefcase to the ground. He took a few moments to straighten out his dark slacks, non-pressed shirt, and threadbare sport coat. After adjusting the slightly off-center Windsor knot on his gaudy tie, he picked up the briefcase again. “Where’s Simona?”

  “Still sleeping.” Tessie smiled. “It’s early morning here.”

  “That’s unacceptable.”

  “I see.” Tessie swallowed. “She, uh, said to get you settled and she’d meet with you when she woke up.”

  Briggs hid a sly smile. He could see that he terrified Tessie. He liked that, liked knowing he could make her whimper. Girls like Tessie, beautiful goddesses, needed a little scare every now and then. They needed to be reminded the world didn’t revolve around their pretty little heads.

  “When can I see the model?” he asked.

  “We have a private room waiting for you. It’s equipped with a computer terminal. Simona told me to remind you that—”

  “Yes, yes. The data is constantly fluctuating, meaning the model is constantly fluctuating as well. Christ, Tessie. I’ve been briefed, you know.”

  Tessie stood absolutely still, a look of profound fear etched across her pretty face.

  “Well, what are we waiting for?” Briggs said in a dismissive tone. “Take me to my room.”

  She twisted around. Heels clacking more loudly now, she strode across the large hangar. Briggs followed her at a reasonable distance, listening to the hissing pipes, the clanking gears, and the whirring mechanical tools. He did his best not to gawk at the bizarre machines surrounding him. But it was impossible.

  They were unlike anything he’d ever seen in his life.

  Tessie opened a door and led him into the facility. They walked through several corridors, freshly painted. After ascending a staircase, they arrived at a metal door. It was marked Conference Room G.

  Tessie opened the door and flicked the light switch. Annoyingly soft light from overhead eco-friendly fixtures filled the space. “Here we are.” Her voice gained a little strength. “The terminal is connected to the model. You just need to turn it on. Can I get you anything, Mr. Briggs?”

  Briggs peered at the room through thick spectacles. “That depends. Where’s the fridge?”

  “Over there.” She pointed to the corner. A small fridge was tucked behind a locked filing cabinet. “Stocked with cans of Crisp Cola and plenty of ice cubes, as per your request.”

  “Then I have all I need.”

  Tessie stared at him.

  “In other words, go away.”

  She didn’t linger, heading straight for the hallway. The door closed behind her.

  Briggs set his briefcase on a long table. Pulling out a chair, he sat down in front of the terminal. Without fanfare, he booted it up.

  A dendroclimatologist by profession, Briggs had spent most of his thirties studying tree ring data. Once upon a time, the field was fairly simple. Wider tree rings indicated a period of favorable growing conditions. Narrower rings meant the exact opposite. But much had changed over the last few decades and scientists like Briggs were now able to tease out far more specific information from ancient tree rings, including temperature, moisture, cloudiness, and the presence of catastrophic events.

  His extensive work in the field had enabled him to build models showing regional and global climate conditions for hundreds of thousands of years. In the process, he’d become something of a modeling expert. So, when an old friend had needed someone to vet Simona Wolcott’s model, Briggs was an easy choice for the job.

  The screen grew bright and he found himself staring at a blue background entitled, Eco-Trek PKGCM: Version 4.5. Folding his hands backward, he cracked his fingers. Then he lowered them to a wireless keyboard.

  He pressed a few keys. The screen changed abruptly. There were no images or frills. Just endless amounts of data.

  From what he’d been told, Simona’s model received a constant flow of data from thousands of sources. The information was added to a massive database.

  Relaxing his fingers, Briggs stared at the screen. The image shifted constantly as numbers and words poured down the monitor, an endless waterfall of information.

  His eyes blurred, but he didn’t blink. Immediately, he knew there was far too much data for his mind—for any mind—to process. But Simona’s incredible system handled it with ease.

  Having seen enough of the data stream, his fingers flew across the keyboard. The data vanished. A fast-paced feed of complex calculations took its place.

  Utilizing the data inputs, the model proposed and ran endless amounts of unique equations. The results were fed into still other equations and compared to previously calculated results as well as raw data inputs. In short, the model, the very heart of Eco-Trek’s ambitious project, was a phenomenon of self-organizing predictive knowledge-mining.

  More information swept across the screen as the system instantaneously evaluated its own results. It didn’t require oversight from Simona or anyone else. That was what made it so amazing. It observed its own work in real-time, made adjustments to its inner mechanisms, and marched forward. While competing models assumed a stagnant world of constants, Simona’s Eco-Trek PKGCM: Version 4.5 was built for a vibrant world of ever-changing realities.

  But while Briggs felt a degree of reverence for the model, he didn’t let that influence his work. He continued to peck away at the keyboard, diving deeper into the model’s extremely complicated inner mechanisms. His employer required one simple piece of information, namely whether the model was flawed in any w
ay.

  If not, nothing would happen. Briggs would return to his comfortable Florida home, a much richer man. But if it was flawed, the ramifications would go well beyond the tiny South Pacific island on which Eco-Trek conducted operations.

  They would extend across Earth itself.

  Chapter 10

  Dirt shot into the air. Smoke stretched outward. Flames appeared and shot across the parched earth, streaking like bolts of lightning.

  A giant fireball rose out of the excavation pit, nearly blinding me. The gantry exploded. Metal and chunks of rock flew in all directions, smashing into the barn, the farmhouse, and everything else within reach.

  Beverly dropped to the ground, pulling me with her. I shifted my goggles into place. The smoke was thick. But I managed to catch a glimpse of the gaunt man. He was lying on top of the woman who’d walked next to him, evidently shielding her from the blast.

  God’s Judges were murderers. But the man’s act of self-sacrifice indicated they weren’t beyond redemption. There was still hope. Maybe not now, but in the future.

  Unfortunately, we couldn’t wait that long.

  Heavy winds swept dust over the excavation site, extinguishing the flames. Evidence of the massive explosion—a large hole, smoldering metal, chunks of rock, and endless smoke—was everywhere.

  Beverly frowned. “I should’ve used more C-4.”

  “If you had, we’d be dead.” I stood up. A hot breeze, completely lacking in moisture, swept past me.

  “Hey.” She held up a hand. “Do you hear that?”

  My ears perked. A high-pitched screeching noise sounded out from the east. It grew louder and louder, like a train bearing down on us. Only it wasn’t a train.

  What the …?

  Peering upward, I saw a plane. It was heading straight for us at an altitude of several hundred feet. Two long columns of smoke trailed the plane. They looked like contrails, or artificial clouds of vapor created by engine exhaust. However, the grayish smoke dissipated at an incredibly rapid rate.

  “Oh, my God.” Lila appeared at my side. Her face was taut. Her eyes looked hollow. “She knows I’m here.”