"…but you should still eat your oatmeal before it gets cold. I'll bring Luna to see you later. I reckon the pastor will be paying you a visit before long."
"I can't wait."
It was midday by the time the keys rattled in the metal locks. Sunlight flooded in through the windows of the office next door and Paulie got to her feet to see who was coming. It was Scott Lee in his guise of Pastor Smith, accompanied by Hodges and Fessel. The two deputies opened Tucker's cell and she could hear them telling him he was free to go, on probation, but that he had to hand in his badge.
Tucker had protested, saying that he would only go when the sheriff was released, but Paulie ordered him to leave, because she needed someone she could trust on the outside.
Lee watched and listened from outside her cell. He waited for Fessel to escort Tucker out and then nodded to Hodges, who followed the deputy, leaving Lee and Paulie alone. He turned the key in the lock and swung the door wide open.
"I'm really sorry about this," he said, abandoning his mid-western accent for clipped British tones. "You are, of course, free to go."
"Go where?"
He shrugged, as if surprised by the question. "Anywhere you want. You're welcome to stay in Arbroath."
"Very generous of you," Paulie said.
Lee sat down on the metal stool and rubbed his eyes. "As I said, I'm sorry it worked out like this. You deserve to be welcomed back as a hero and to enjoy a little peace."
"Problem is, I saw you talking to the militia leader. I saw him greet you as if you were a long lost friend. And then, moments later, he's signaling the retreat and leaving two heavy machine guns for you to pick up."
Lee glanced around, as if making sure that there was no one else there, before leaning forward and lowering his voice. "I told you, Melua had been appointed head of security at the Lee building in Seattle. I met him several times, though Annabel tended to cast everyone around her into shadow. I've changed a fair bit over the past months," he said as he rubbed his stubbly brown beard, "but he recognized me when I showed him my Lee Corp ID."
"Are you insane? I thought your 'death' was a secret?"
He sighed. "I told him I'm on a covert mission, which is true enough, and swore him to keep it to himself. But it was a risk I had to take. If I hadn't done it, Arbroath would be a smoking ruin now and its people carted off to Seattle. We saw what becomes of them, after all."
Paulie saw images of prisoners being herded out of the back of the truck, and of the scavengers sent to clear houses of the dead.
"But I can't afford for the people here to know my true identity. They believe I am a man of God, and so they unite around me."
"It's not just about religion," Paulie said, the anger in her voice dissipating. "It's because they see you're a leader."
Lee gave a little chuckle and shook his head. "Me? I don't think so."
"Oh, you're not a rabble rouser. You're no Winston Churchill. You're the eye at the center of the storm. Someone they can anchor themselves to. Good grief, I've been an idiot. I could have ruined everything. And to think, I've lain here cursing you all for disloyalty when it was me who was the true threat."
Lee dragged the stool closer. "Don't beat yourself up. After all, you're right to be suspicious. I've already admitted to adopting a false identity and, to be brutally honest, Arbroath isn't my main concern. I have a much bigger mission."
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and faced him. "What mission?"
"To prevent the second wave: the loss of all that remains."
Paulie pulled the Cherokee out onto the interstate, wiping the tears from her eyes as she went. She patted her chest pocket yet again, feeling the familiar contours of the little box that was the cause of her departure.
After visiting her in the cell, Scott Lee had released Paulie and taken her to the office at the back of the church. He'd unlocked the little safe that had, in happier times, been used to house the collection cash and smaller precious items belonging to the church. He took out the Bible and put it down on the desk.
"Open it."
Inside was the sort of secret compartment Paulie only thought existed in movies, so she hadn't been surprised when Lee told her that's exactly where he'd gotten his inspiration from. A three dimensional rectangle had been cut out of the holy book and, nestling within the cavity this created, was what looked like an ID card encased in shiny black plastic.
On one side was a smiling Scott Lee, looking ten years younger and twenty pounds heavier. Slick hair, designer Van Dyke and a recently acquired tan, all in contrast to the road weary, bearded scruff he'd become. Somehow, however, this only seemed to enhance his gravitas. Where this change would have made the average man look like a vagrant, in Scott Lee, it transformed him into Bear Grylls.
"Now, I'm going to show you something, but once you've seen it, you'll be in too deep to back away. Do you understand?"
She'd looked up at him, a half smile on her face. He had been deadly serious. "I suspect I'm past that point already."
"Turn it over."
To begin with, the underneath looked like nothing more than smooth black plastic but, on closer inspection, she'd noticed a pattern of wires embedded beneath the surface.
"What is it?"
Lee had fetched a bottle of sacramental wine and poured each of them a glass. He told her about the second wave and that the only chance of stopping it was being carried by a stranger on the open road. The ID was the key that unlocked the device—the two had to be brought together, and soon. Lee couldn't go yet because the town had made it obvious he had to stay.
So, she was the one heading east. She'd spent a few hours with Luna, made up somewhat with Jon Graf and had entrusted her daughter to his protection. She'd also had a quiet word with Marvin Tucker who'd agreed to keep an eye on Luna and to act as a second protector if he thought she was in danger. Her only condition on agreeing to the mission had been that he be reinstated as a deputy.
Why had she done it? Couldn't she just have waited at Arbroath and enjoyed some peace with the daughter she'd only just rescued? She could, but she also believed Scott Lee. It was in her power to do something to protect Luna and everyone else, and she couldn't put that to one side and simply wait for the end to come.
She fought to keep her vision from fogging as she headed towards a meeting with a stranger.
Hands dug into Khaled's arms as he was hoisted from the bunk and raised to his feet. Chen stood there, a self-satisfied look on her face. "Come with me—there is something you need to see."
Khaled stumbled as he was half-led, half-dragged along the slick corridors and into the elevator before emerging in one of the auxiliary control rooms near the top of the building.
The hands dumped him into a chair in front of a desk. At a word from Chen, the monitor on the wall blinked into life, showing a view of a city street from ground level.
"I do not know why you continue to resist us, Abdul. Are you that much of a fool that you believe you can stop the second wave? Perhaps you believe there is yet time. There is not. Watch."
The image on the monitor began to move vertically.
"This is simply an aerial camera. Its purpose is to monitor the performance of the prototype."
"Prototype?"
She jabbed a finger at the screen as the view tilted downwards, and he spotted a glossy black disc lying on the sidewalk. It seemed blurry until he realized it had props on each of four corners.
Chen activated the microphone attached to her earpiece. "Release them."
"What are you doing?"
"Watch."
The black drone got larger as it lifted off and, quite suddenly, veered along the street. As the camera swung round, Khaled saw figures moving, running away, the black drone in pursuit.
"Our Enforcer, you see, is very nearly ready. This one is limited, but effective."
The camera dipped until it was following the black drone as it zipped along the deserted street. Now he recognized where they were, this wa
s on the other side of the river, near Broadway.
A half dozen people were running, but the drone was almost upon the nearest. A tiny jet of exhaust gases was the only sign that it had fired until the fugitive fell to the ground in a pool of blood. The drone flew over the body and zeroed in on a man who'd stumbled and fallen. He put up his hands reflexively, but in an instant, his torso was vaporized in a hailstorm of shot.
Again, the view shifted. The drone picked off two more and then closed in on the remaining pair—a man and a woman running, dodging in and out of the stationary cars. They darted sideways, heading for the smashed window of a department store. The drone shuddered twice, and Khaled watched with grim fascination as something thudded into the backs of the two runners.
"Murderer!" he shouted, turning to Chen. "Why did you have to kill them all?"
Chen looked at him impassively. "The weapon must be tested in battle conditions so it is ready for deployment. But you are not entirely correct, my friend."
He glanced back at the monitor as the drone hovered over the bodies of the final two. The woman began to move. She lifted her face from the ground and got onto her knees before turning to look at the camera. Moments later, the man began showing signs of life. Khaled looked closer. There was an entry wound beneath his left shoulder-blade, exactly where the BonesWare implant was inserted.
Chen began speaking and Khaled realized that her voice was being transmitted to the two survivors, who looked up from their knees in terror and pain at the drone hovering above them. "You have been upgraded and are now the property of the Lee Corporation. Obey orders and you will be rewarded. Defy us and you will die."
She pressed down on the control surface in her hand and both collapsed, their hands wrapped around their hearts. After a few seconds, she tapped again, and they went still, their chests rising and falling rapidly. "You have had a taste of the control the Lee Corporation now enjoys. Welcome to the army of the upgraded."
She cut off the video feed and turned to Khaled. "There, you have seen that our enforcer is no longer a matter of theory, but a real thing. They will soon be in production and then we will trigger the second wave."
Chapter 2
Solly leaned forward in the driver's seat and squinted into the night, trying desperately to make out where the edge of the road was. Half an hour ago he'd been looking for somewhere to lay over for the night, but then the snow that had been threatening for the past several hours arrived with a vengeance.
He, Ross, and their new recruit Walter Hammond—who insisted on being called Wally—had made good progress since leaving his gas station and driving west. They'd covered around half the distance to Arbroath in five days, avoiding major towns and cities and only running into trouble once or twice. Ross had become an expert in spotting the tell-tale signs of an approaching roadblock early enough for Solly to get them off the road. They'd come under fire once, when they crossed the Missouri River at Bismarck. Bandits who'd been hiding under the bridge had leaped out and fired pistol and shotgun rounds at the pickup, shattering the passenger window and puncturing one of the diesel jerry cans. Solly and Ross had taped some polythene across the passenger door while Wally had cleaned up the fuel mess, though the pickup had stunk since then. Luckily, the only injury had been a shallow graze to Ross' arm.
They'd seen signs of civic activity along the way and it became common for the roads to suddenly clear as they got near a town, but the dead still inhabited the vast spaces between the settlements. Usually they remained frozen within their metal coffins, but now and again bloated figures would be seen by the side of the road, and some of them had clearly died more recently. Even with their species on its knees, people seemed preoccupied with killing their fellow humans.
It grew colder as they headed northwest and, in any case, there wasn't enough room for all three of them to sleep in the pickup, so they'd been forced to risk breaking into homes and motels to find shelter at night. Mostly, their only company had been the former occupants, but twice they'd disturbed living people and, on one of those occasions, had spent the night with them.
The travelers were moving east and, like the man he'd met at the hotel near Minneapolis, were answering the summons from D.C. They reported rumors of landings on the west coast, though to Solly they sounded like campfire tales since nothing definite had been confirmed. It was enough, however, to make his unease at continuing to move west grow. The sooner he was on the road east and south the better.
They'd been making good progress on 89 and were looking out for a farmhouse on the other side of Livingstone, MT, when the snowstorm hit. The main road became impassable a few miles on as a huge drift of snow had accumulated between the cars and Solly had been forced to turn south, hoping that the pickup would have the grip and weight to push its way through until they found shelter.
Suddenly, the back wheels started spinning and the truck slid sideways towards whatever lay under the edge of the road. Solly cried out, stabbed his foot down on the brake then up again as he realized he was making things worse. The left side of the vehicle dropped and Solly gave it some gas in the hope of propelling up the slight slope, but all that achieved was for the truck's wheels to spin and send it further down.
"What do we do?" Ross said. "Stay in the truck?"
"Maybe, but we'd have to leave the engine running all night and we're already light on fuel," Solly said. "I'm going to get out and take a look."
He pushed open the driver's door, heaving against gravity as it tried to close on him, got one foot out and then slid the rest of his body through the narrow gap. Sure enough, the truck had slid down a slight incline and had turned 180 degrees. There was no way to get it out until the snow stopped.
Solly clambered back onto the road and scanned in both directions. The light was nearly gone and the air full of wet, driving snow, but he could see the unmistakable outline of a roof set against the deep black of the mountains.
He pulled the car door open again and looked inside. "There's a building up ahead; I'll go check it out and come back for you."
"Like heck you will," Wally said from the back seat. "That'd mean coverin' the distance three times instead of just the once. I say we stick together."
"But I can't tell how far it is—it could be half a mile, or it could be three times that."
Wally zipped his coat up and pulled his woolly hat down around his ears. "Then we'd best be gettin' on with it. The sooner we're inside, the sooner we can light a fire. My bones are chillin' and we haven't gone anywhere yet."
"What do we take with us?" Ross asked as he fastened his coat. "Packs?"
Solly nodded. "Yeah, but just one each. I'll take Alison."
He pulled the cylinder from the glove box and tucked it inside his jacket before sealing himself in again. "Are we ready?"
Solly would have been the first to admit he was a southern softie. Brought up in Texas, even the occasional snowfall in New York had come as a shock. Visiting cold places on vacation was one thing, having to live in them quite another. But the numbing cold that was seeping into his limbs as the light began to fail was beyond anything he could have imagined. They shuffled along like Emperor Penguins in a nature documentary, navigating more by hint and gut than by line of sight.
They covered the first half quickly enough, though all three were chilled to the bone. Suddenly, Wally gave a cry and Solly sensed him falling. Ross, who'd been behind the old man, had stuck out his hands, but had been taken down too. Solly could see them as nothing more than dark shapes moving against the slight iridescence of the snow.
"Are you okay?" Ross was saying. He'd gotten onto his knees and was leaning over the old man who was groaning in pain.
"My ankle," he moaned. "Twisted it, I reckon."
Solly cursed, put down his pack, and helped Ross to get Hammond to his feet. It was immediately obvious that he wouldn't be able to walk unaided.
"I'm sorry, boys," Hammond said. "I'm just a stupid old man who doesn't look where he's go
ing."
"It could have happened to any of us," Solly responded. "We'll have to leave our packs here and come back for them once you're inside."
"No, I can manage! Just find me something to use as a stick, will you?"
Solly and Ross grabbed his upper arms and began moving slowly forward again. "We've got no time, we have to get under cover."
His face felt like a solid block of ice and he was convinced they'd become disorientated and headed in the wrong direction when he saw the outline of a roof to their left. "Thank God," he said as he pointed it out to Ross.
They were practically carrying Hammond now. The old man seemed drowsy and incapable of putting one foot in front of the other. Solly's arms ached and he could barely feel his feet now as they trudged towards the hope of somewhere to rest.
The light had totally gone before Ross walked into a closed front gate with a yell.
"Don't tell me you've sprained something too!" Solly snapped.
"I'm fine," Ross responded, opening the gate, his breath hissing through his teeth as he fought the pain.
"We've got to move fast," Solly said. "Wally needs warmth."
Ross picked up the pace. "He's not the only one; I've got no feeling in my hands."
They walked up the long drive, the snow accumulating against the house making every step harder than the last. Solly only knew they'd reached the front door because the darkness there was complete, and he left Wally hanging on to Ross while he used his arms to shovel the snow aside.
He felt for the door handle, but it didn't turn in his hand.
"Can you shoot out the lock?" Ross called.
"I can't see to shoot anything," Solly said. He moved along the wall until he found a window and, with a huge swing of his boots, he smashed it before clearing the debris.
It was utterly black inside and he recoiled from the unmistakable odor of decay that violated the fresh snow-filled air. But it was now a case of put up with the stink or die, so he stepped inside, his boots crunching on broken glass, and pulled the flashlight from his pocket. They were inside a living area that had been built around a brick and stone fireplace that lay dark and dead, but promising warmth. And it was so good to be out of the freezing wind.
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