People huddled there, terrified, disheveled, their faces tear-streaked and some of them bloodied. Among them were many of his co-workers and research assistants: Poe, Jade, Aaron, Melissa. None seemed to recognize him, though. And why not? Covered with dust and blood, dressed in ill-fitting camos and Kevlar vest, and armed to the teeth, he didn’t look much like the Cam Reinhardt any of them had known.
The broad window behind them showed the black, threatening skies of an approaching thunderstorm, and he could hear the chop of a helicopter’s rotors outside, then the roar of a Nephilim. He sprinted for the atrium as lightning flashed and boomed outside.
Though he’ d thought the giants would avoid trying to push their way into a building not made for their kind, he was wrong. They had easily broken through the two-story glass walls of the front lobby, smashed their way into the atrium, then climbed its balconies to the tenth floor. There they’d punched a jagged hole into the atrium’s skylight far above and climbed out into the garden. Huge pieces of translucent acrylic sheeting lay on the ground floor and dangled from the jungle. All six glass elevators had been reduced to piles of rubble at the base of their cables. Thankfully, none appeared to have had passengers when they were brought down.
He hurried out of the atrium and around to the south side, to Swain’s penthouse express elevator. It bore him in seconds to the tenth floor, where he opened the inner penthouse door, intent on gaining the highest position possible.
The rhythmic chop of more than one helicopter echoed loud and close. Glass littered the floor of the penthouse’s cavernous entry and glistened on the massive stone stairway curving leftward to an expansive loft above. He took the stairs two at a time and shortly glimpsed two Black Hawk helicopters through the loft’s surprisingly intact windows. As he watched, one of them came around over the garden from southeast to northwest, raking something in the trees with its machine guns.
As the helicopter pulled up at the end of its run, a narrow beam of red light shot out and hit its tail. Exploding in a fiery ball of orange, the helicopter went down on the northwest portion of the roof, where a secondary explosion sprayed fiery shrapnel across the garden. Flaming metal clanked against the apparently impact-resistant glass of the penthouse’s entryway and fell sizzling into the swimming pool below. Out in the jungle of the west garden, flames churned out a thick, black column of smoke.
He suspected the laser or heat ray, or whatever it was, drained its user, seeing as the second chopper remained aloft. Indeed, as it swooped by, it was assaulted with hurled tables and uprooted trees, which would have been almost as effective as the heat ray, had any of them hit their target. He wondered why the Nephilim didn’t use their ability to broadcast electromagnetic pulses, for that would have brought everything around them right out of the sky. Perhaps they didn’t know what they could do. Or maybe, like their size and strength, and apparently that heat ray, it took time and food to develop.
He continued up the stairway, as out in the garden a renewed wave of gunfire erupted, followed by hoarse, hysterical screams. At the top of the stair, he paused, looking around for the route to the roof and found instead the displayed armor of an ancient warrior not far away, complete with a hefty sword in a wooden scabbard. He ran to it and drew the blade free to be sure it was usable. Just as he’ d expect from Parker Swain, it was oiled, polished, and extremely well honed. Perfect. He stuffed it hilt up, scabbard and all, between his Kevlar vest and his back, and took off.
A door in the southeast corner led up a short two-flight stairway to the roof, where heavy clouds loomed dark and low and the air smelled of rain. A third helicopter, much smaller than the Black Hawks, sat on a raised concrete helipad about sixty feet away, rotors whirling. Swain’s personal aircraft, it was black and gold with a gold ziggurat logo on its side.
A number of people stood about the deck, most of them security, while Swain and Gen engaged in a shouting match not far from where Cam stood. Behind them, lightning flashed from sky to ground, hitting somewhere out past the vault, close enough that again the blast of thunder came almost at once.
The noise interrupting their conversation, Swain’s glance lifted from Gen to Cam. Seeing him, the director stiffened, his mouth falling open, blue eyes widening in disbelief. Viascola turned to see what he was gaping at, even as he gestured at Cam and screamed, “Shoot him! Shoot him now!”
But the wind carried his voice away from the guards, and only Cam heard it. Then down in the garden, the Nephilim roared, commanding everyone’s attention. Quickly Cam stepped to the wall that encircled the roof and swung the duffle off his shoulder to the ground. As he chambered a round into the sniper rifle, he peered over the edge of the chest-high roof wall.
The three remaining Nephilim stood at the near end of the reception plaza, clustered around the white obelisk. Ranged out behind them through the trees were maybe a score of military and security personnel, most of them flat on their bellies and probably terrified. The garden itself, in addition to having small fires here and there, had been chewed to pieces by the heavy artillery of the chopper attacks. He felt an utterly incongruous lament for the loss of what had been a beautiful sanctuary.
Frowning, he turned his attention back to the Nephilim. Only one of them faced him directly, and he thought it was the youngest of them. Which was unfortunate, but nothing he could do about it. All three were almost twice as big as when they had come out of the pods, and not nearly so frenetic. They were all golden-skinned now, their golden crests rippling in the light, reminding him of similar crests he’ d seen on the helms of ancient armor. Oddly, each giant had made himself a loincloth, but other than that, they stood naked, their spectacular musculature on full and intimidating display. Massive, powerful, beautifully formed . . . they were, he thought, consummate warriors. The third eyes were their only flaw, though they would hardly think it so.
Resting the barrel of his rifle on the top of the wall, he took aim at his target, lining up the crosshairs on the third eye glowing in the younger creature’s forehead. He squeezed the trigger, the gun bucked against his shoulder . . . and the Nephilim remained standing. He’ d missed the shot, but between the wind and the remaining Black Hawk coming around for another pass, the report wasn’t heard.
Drawing a deep breath, he chambered another round, adjusted his aim, then squeezed the trigger again. This time the creature fell straight over backward.
He’ d hoped—expected—the remaining two would fall upon him at once and begin feeding, thus ridding Cam of the need to run down and make sure the creature he’ d shot didn’t revive. Instead, they immediately turned to face Cam, and though he ducked behind the wall, he knew they had figured out where the shot had originated. They were starting to think now, instead of just react.
Swain had come up to flank him, watched as he’ d taken his shot, and now swore at him furiously. Turning, he waved two of the guards to come with him and raced for the waiting helicopter. Genevieve ran after him. He leapt into the front passenger seat as the guards piled into the back. Both doors slammed shut just as Gen got there. She banged on the side of the aircraft, screaming at Swain to let her in, but the chopper lifted free of her grasp, leaving her behind, her clothing and hair whipping in the rotor wash.
The helicopter lifted off, heading north just as the first Nephilim climbed over the north wall. The second appeared at the south wall moments later. Both were about the same distance from Cam and focused solely upon him. Dropping the rifle, he pulled the handgun from his belt and brought it up two-handed, aiming at the north target first. Before he could fire, the departing helicopter lowered its nose and raked the Nephilim with a spray of heavy artillery as it flew over him. The massive bullets merely bounced off the creature, ricocheting about the roof and sending everyone diving to the deck. As the aircraft zoomed away, its unfazed target caught it square on the underbelly with a red beam of light, and just like the Black Hawk, it exploded into a fireball and went down.
Gen started screaming, wh
ether in rage or grief or terror, Cam couldn’t tell. In fact, he wasn’t sure that she hadn’t been screaming all along. He’ d already abandoned the north target for the south one, the latter heading rapidly for him.
As he raised the handgun, two-handed, fat raindrops began to pelt him. He ignored them, fired off two quick shots, and the creature went down. Immediately he turned to the north target, and right then the clouds opened up with a tremendous flash of lightning and its attendant crash of thunder. It felt more like being in a waterfall than a rainstorm. The droplets, heavy and hard, slammed into his head and face and even his eyes. He couldn’t see a thing.
Concerned the handgun would fail if it got too wet, he stuffed it into his pants and ran for the downed south target, hardly able to see it until he was on top of it, the deck already shimmering with a half inch of dancing water. He saw the guards clustered under the tower at the southwest corner, Gen among them. Scanning the empty northwest quadrant, he finally felt confident enough to turn his back on the storm—and found the north target, blundering through the rain toward the position Cam had just abandoned, its back to him and the punishing storm.
Knowing he didn’t have a lot of time, Cam drew the heavy sword from out of the scabbard he’ d tucked between his vest and back.
The fallen Nephilim’s third eye was black and oozing where the bullet had entered, but already the ooze was congealing as the tissue prepared to expel the flattened bullet that had penetrated it, impacting the creature’s brain enough to stun it, but no more. He lifted the sword and swung hard, once, twice. The head was off. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed it by the crest and tossed it hard over the wall, watching the wind gusts carry it far out over the garden.
Then he turned his attention to the north target. It had finally turned and spotted him and was now heading toward him, face on in the storm—which right then, of all things, suddenly eased up. Dropping the sword, Cam ripped the handgun out of his waistband, praying it wasn’t too wet to fire. He raised it, and again, two quick shots dropped the giant in its tracks. Only then did he see the third Neph, already revived, coming up over the wall. It was coming fast, and he felt the mental pummeling of its hatred, its supreme confidence and absolute determination to rip him limb from limb.
He blotted all that out, lifted the gun, and fired two more shots.Then a third when those didn’t drop it. It fell almost at his feet and he stared down at it stupidly.
Suddenly he was consumed by the hair-raising, all-over-your-body prickle of an imminent lightning strike. Tossing the gun aside, he hurled himself away from them, crashing onto the raised helicopter pad.
It was like a grenade going off—a flash of white, a deafening roar, then brief blackness and silence. When he regained consciousness, he found that the vest, helmet, and his gray walking shoes had all been blasted off of him. He got to his feet a bit unsteadily and his ears rang, but other than that he seemed fine.
The rain had stopped, the storm had moved on, and the guards had moved out of their shelter to approach him, staring from him to the place where he’d brought the last two giants down. All that remained of them and their headless fellow, who’d fallen not too far from them, were a few shards of blackened bone.
All three had been incinerated by the intense heat of the justice of God.
Chapter Fifty-One
It was over.
As the rain and the clouds moved northward, he saw that the sun hung low over the western horizon, the hills casting long shadows across the land. Almost twenty-four hours had passed since the reception. The rain had put out the fires in the garden, and the second Black Hawk had completely disappeared.
Gen left her position at the corner tower and joined her three security men beside Cam. The men regarded him with expressions that bordered on awe, and even Gen seemed to favor him with an atypical measure of respect.
“Well,” she said, staring up at him where he stood on the raised platform, “I guess you know how to handle yourself in a crisis better than I thought.”
He gave her a nod of acknowledgment.
Then she turned abruptly to one of her guards and said, “I want you to get the surveillance records of everything that happened here and earlier, when the aliens came through the lobby, and destroy them all. Do it discreetly. We’ll chalk it up to electrical problems generated by the earthquake.”
As the three guards hurried off to do her bidding, Cam gaped at her. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
She met his gaze defiantly. “We can contain this. The aliens came in through the front entrance and climbed up the atrium, limiting the number of witnesses. Those who did see them are mostly dead. All the damage to the hanging garden we can attribute to the helicopter crashes, fires, and so forth, and the rest can be blamed on the earthquake.”
“Earthquake? We don’t have earthquakes here!” Cam protested.
“Obviously we do, since we just had one.”
“Gen—”
“What else would you have me do, Cameron?” And now her brown eyes met his boldly. “Confess to our nefarious deeds? All the evidence has been destroyed, and most of the people involved are dead. Not only that, the vast majority of K-J’s employees have no idea what we were doing, yet they’d be stigmatized for life were it all to come out.” She cocked her head, gave him a weirdly strained smile, and stepped around the platform.
“There might still be people alive down there,” Cam said quietly. An image of that slim, dark-haired girl curled up on the mat in the Wives’ Residence flashed through his mind, but he pushed it away. It wasn’t her. Swain had lied, trying to manipulate him. Hadn’t Rudy called to say they’d gotten her away?
Gen turned back to him. “I’m sorry, Cameron. But I really don’t think there are any. Parker placed those explosives long ago, with the intent of doing just what was done should the need arise.”
Nausea swirled in Cam’s belly. “Have you no conscience at all?”
She continued on with a shrug. “Very little. The explosives were my idea.”
He watched her cross the roof, then turned his gaze to the foothills beyond the campus bowl. The lay of the land had changed significantly—a crooked dip in a formerly straight ridgeline, sinkholes and newly formed valleys, and sharp, vertical displacements of earth lay everywhere. Even part of the bowl had collapsed, leaving one of the warehouses slumped to one side. People would believe the earthquake story. Gen would pull it off. And why not? She’ d spent a lifetime learning how to manipulate the truth from a master. Still, it wasn’t right.
Do not be deceived, God is not mocked; for whatever a man sows, this he will also reap.
He snorted softly. Okay, then, I’ll leave it in your hands, Lord. Your retribution will be far more effective than anything I can do. And who knows? She might even believe in you yet. The woman had a boatload of guilt to carry around with her now, and just because she sought to deny it wouldn’t make it any lighter. As Cam knew as well as anyone. . . .
Suddenly bone tired, he picked up the sword, slid it back into the scabbard, then found his shoes and retrieved the sniper rifle and the duffle bag. His phone and the small computer were both inside the bag, carrying numerous pictures of the Enclave as well as the files he’ d downloaded of the floor plans. Evidence. But not enough. Besides, as he knew all too well, digital records could be faked. Without someone to back up his story, who would believe him?
He put the sword back with its armor, then went down to the first floor, where people were already sweeping up the broken glass. The dead and injured had all been carried off to the clinic, and seeing as no one was paying him the least bit of attention, Cam decided that if Gen wanted to cover things up, he’ d oblige her by making sure there were no loose ends.
Descending once more to the red sector lab, he mined it with the C-4 still in his duffle, then brought Rudy’s body back up with him, stripped of its combat gear. As he stepped out of the express elevator, he pressed the wireless detonator. Moments later, the floor trembled beneat
h him. An aftershock, he thought grimly. One that would undoubtedly destroy the garage in which most of the campus vans were parked.
He brought Rudy’s body to the makeshift morgue at the clinic, covered it with a sheet, then called the number he’ d been given to contact the field HQ in the Game and Fish trailers west of the Institute. Brianna answered, and when he told her Rudy was dead and someone needed to retrieve the body, his words were met with a very long silence. When she finally spoke, her voice was choked. “We’ll be right over.”
She came with two of her team, bringing a body bag, a stretcher, and “Mallory’s” dusty blue Volvo, whose keys she handed to Cam. He stayed with them until they left, then went up to his fifth-floor office to revise the date on his resignation letter and print it out. Sealing it in an envelope, he took it with him to his apartment. There he shaved and showered and packed his things, all the while trying desperately not to think about Lacey, a feat that increased in difficulty the longer he went without hearing from her. Still, he clung to the delusion that Rudy had gotten her away, telling himself she’ d been sent on to Phoenix after the rescue, and was just waiting for his call. He’ d make it as soon as he got the number from Brianna.
On some level he knew he was being utterly irrational, but he wouldn’t let himself think about that, either, because thinking in rational terms would lead him to a place he did not want to go.
He was standing over the duffle bag, going through its contents before he returned it to Brianna, and had just finished erasing the memories of both his BlackBerry and the tiny computer and keyboard when the BlackBerry rang. Shocked, he stared at it for a moment, wondering who would be calling him with Rudy dead; then he realized it must be Brianna and answered it.
“Cameron?” asked a familiar voice.
Suddenly his ears roared and his knees wouldn’t hold him up. He sagged onto the bed. “Lacey?”
The Enclave Page 51