by Boyett-Compo
“The gods help us, Helen,” Lutz said. “This may be the end of us all.”
“Did she tell you why they did this?” Dunne snarled.
Lutz looked up, locked gazes with Dunne, and realized for the first time the man he'd worked with most of his adult life was staring at him with a lethality that bordered on the insane.
“The Queen instructed them to bring him to Her,” Lutz said, holding Dunne's heated glower. “She chose him as Her Prime.”
Dunne blinked, his lips parting. “Aye,” he said, realization obviously setting in. “She chose him. We knew that, didn't we?”
Lutz nodded in reply, but remained silent.
“She chose him,” Dunne said, getting to his feet and going to the door of the Room. “She entered him, didn't she? That's where she's gone.”
“Aye,” Lutz said, shuddering as he looked away from Dunne's avid stare. “She devoured the fledgling you inserted in him and has taken residence in his body.”
“We will have a Prime Reaper at last!” Dunne chortled, clapping his hands and hooting with unrestrained glee. “We will have an Assassin's assassin, at last!”
Helen's grip on Lutz's arm tightened. She was trembling from her pain, but also, Lutz realized, most likely trembling with the realization that she may have helped bring something more monstrous than anything the world had ever seen into their lives.
* * * *
Several days passed before the first signs of healing began in Sean Cullen. On the fifth after his death, five days after the Queen invaded his body, the young man's heart began to beat. At 8:53 that morning, he took his first labored breath.
“He is going to survive!” Dunne said, his grin wide. He looked at Brian O'Shea. “And you should thank whatever evil star under which you were born that that is the case.”
Brian's parasite had healed his injuries. He was now as healthy as he had been before the incident. He was also, however, a virtual prisoner of Dunne and treated as an enemy.
“He's thriving?” Brian asked.
Lutz chewed on his lower lip. “Yes, he is.”
Dunne stared at the ravaged flesh. “How long do you think it will take for him to completely heal?”
Lutz shrugged. “No idea.”
“You could be a bit more enthusiastic, Lou,” Dunne complained.
Lutz ran a hand over his face. “I'm hungry and I've got a bitching headache. And I'm tired of being cooped up in here.”
“The quarantine won't last much longer,” Dunne snapped. “Be thankful there was any food at all in the break room on this floor.”
Lutz exchanged a look with Helen Bryan. The physician pursed her lips and picked at the skin on her hands where the tank's liquid had burned her flesh. She was peeling but would likely have no scars.
Dunne put his hands on his hips and drew in a long breath, held it, then exhaled. He flexed his arms. “I'm going for a walk,” he said, heading for the corridor.
“Have fun,” Helen snorted and ignoring his irritated look.
“Watch what you say to him,” Lutz cautioned. “He's a dangerous man.”
“He's crazy.” Helen threw back the covers from her legs and sat on the sofa. “With any luck, She will remember him keeping Her imprisoned in the tank and make mincemeat out of him when Sean awakes.”
Lutz frowned. “If Sean wakes...”
Brian looked at him. “What does that mean?”
“Come here. You, too, Helen. Look at him and tell me what you see happening.”
Helen arched a thick blond brow. “What do you mean?”
“Look at him.”
Brian and Helen turned their attention to the body on the floor.
“What is it I'm supposed to be looking at?” Helen asked.
“His hair,” Lutz answered.
“It's growing back,” she reported.
“Growing back very thick—and very black.”
Brian blinked. “But Sean has blond hair...”
“Let me show you something interesting.” He pointed to Sean's blistered face.
Brian swallowed, the sight unnerving. “He was such a—a handsome young man—”
“With the palest blue eyes, huh?” Lutz hunkered down and slid up Sean's right eyelid.
Brian gasped. The eye peering blankly back at him was a deep brown with amber striations.
“Good lord!” Helen gasped, scrambling to her feet. “What's happening to him?”
Lutz smiled sardonically. “The Queen is healing him.”
“But he's changing!” she protested.
Lutz shook his head. “He's healing exactly as She knew him when he was alive.”
Brian's eyes grew wide. “Oh, my God, no!”
Helen looked from one man to another. “I don't understand.”
Brian staggered to a chair and slumped down. He leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. Tears formed in his eyes. “He's—he's gone.”
“Tell me what's happening!” Helen demanded.
Louis Lutz sighed. “The Queen never knew the taste of Sean Cullen's blood, so therefore She did not have his DNA. There were no generic blueprints from which She could work to refashion his destroyed body. Everything had to be regenerated from memory. Exactly as it was on that—that last day.”
Helen's mouth sagged open. “You mean...” Her eyes bulged with terror.
Brian shuddered and looked at the body on the floor. “She is doing the only thing She could do—bringing back the man who landed in Ireland many centuries before. She is bringing back Viraidan Cree.”
CHAPTER 25
Grinnell, Iowa, August 1995
There was a silver cast to the sky as Bronwyn turned off Highway 6 and onto the road her mother had marked for her on the map. Rolling hills of corn on one side of her car and lush green hay on the other dotted the Iowa landscape. Red-winged blackbirds stood sentinel on rickety old fence posts. Black walnut trees and red maples added their color to the tops of the higher hills. A lone redtail hawk soared on the wind, dipping its wings in greeting as Bronwyn passed.
“I always thought Iowa was flat as a fritter,” she commented to the little dog reclining in the passenger seat.
Brownie raised her golden brown head. The part-poodle, part-schnauzer arched one bushy brow as if to say, “That's what you get for thinking.” Getting to her feet, the “schnoodle,” as Bronwyn called her, looked out the window, then turned back to her mistress and yawned widely.
Bronwyn laughed. “Oh, it's not going to be that bad!”
The dog made a huffing sound, then lay down, rejecting the scenery.
“Elitist,” Bronwyn accused. She twisted around in her seat. “How ‘bout you? What do you think?”
The black cat, lounging on the backseat, blinked at her, then closed its eyes, dismissing the question and the woman who asked it.
“Traitor.”
The road curved sharply to the left around a tall embankment. Bronwyn slowed, making sure she was directly in her own lane. It was a good thing she did, for at the moment she started into the curve, a motorcycle came roaring around the bend, the black machine directly in her path.
“Damn it!” she yelled, jerking the wheels to the right and sending her car onto the shoulder to avoid a head-on collision. She slammed on the brakes to keep from going into a ditch. The tires skidded precariously on the loose gravel as the car ground to a stop within a foot of a leaning telephone pole.
With a curse, she looked in the rearview mirror, watching the motorcyclist continuing on as though nothing had happened. The motorcycle's brake light flashed on for a second as the driver reached the main highway and turned East on Highway 6.
“Crazy bastard,” Bronwyn snapped. Pulling back onto the road, she realized her hands were trembling from the near miss. She took a deep, calming breath.
The road curved back to the right around another tall embankment. When it straightened again, the first thing Bronwyn noticed was the triple layers of high security fence, topped with razor wire a
nd dotted with warning signs to indicate the inner fence was electrified. The fences stretched out from both sides of a small square building that sat in the middle of the road. Two sliding heavy-duty gates, also topped with razor wire, flanked the security kiosk. Above the brick structure were two rows of halogen spotlights, four to each side. On opposite sides of the road stood two tall guard towers, one on the outside of the gate, the other on the inside. As she came closer, Bronwyn saw men patrolling the towers, each carrying rifles.
Two guards stepped out of the security kiosk when she braked to a stop. Both men wore side arms, their gazes hidden behind dark glasses. One wore a dark brown uniform; the other was clad entirely in black. She lowered her window, casting a look at the guard, who walked in front of her car and headed for the passenger side.
“Welcome to Baybridge, Dr. McGregor,” the guard in dark brown said as he walked up to her window.
“How did you...?” She turned to look at the black-clad guard, now peering into the passenger side window.
“We've been expecting you, ma'am,” the first guard responded. “We have your photo, vehicle make, and tag number.” He smiled behind the mirrored surface of his sunglasses and extended his hand. “May I have your paperwork, please?”
Brownie had gotten to her feet when the car stopped and was sniffing at the window. The second guard tapped the knuckle of his right index finger on the glass. “Hey, Cutie.” He glanced in the back and frowned. “I don't like cats.”
“Could you pop the trunk, please?” asked the first guard, whose nametag labeled him Danforth.
Bronwyn reached for the control box on her key chain, twisted it so she could see the lettering, and pressed the trunk button. “Is Dr. Hesar here?” she asked as the trunk opened and the second guard walked to the rear of the car.
Brownie huffed and lay down again.
“Yes, ma'am. He's waiting for you in the Admin building,” Danforth replied. “I'll be right back.” He went into the building and picked up a telephone.
Bronwyn glanced in her side mirror as she heard the second guard moving her luggage in the trunk. “Just a tad paranoid, wouldn't you say, Brown Stuff?” she asked.
Brownie sighed deeply. She scraped her paw over her nose a couple of times before turning onto her back, paws in the air.
“My God, girl, but you are a lazy piece of work!” Bronwyn chuckled.
“I talk to my dog, too.”
Bronwyn jerked around to see the second guard standing by her window. She smiled at him, although a bit nervously, since his black uniform intimidated her and he wasn't smiling in return. He wore the same dark sunglasses as the first guard and it was hard to read his expression.
“What kind of dog do you have?” she inquired to be polite.
He cocked his head to one side. “A Rottwieler. I don't like cats,” he repeated. “My dog doesn't either. Sometimes I...”
“That's enough, Gaines,” Danforth snapped as he rejoined them.
Gaines made no reply as he sauntered back to one of the buildings. Before he entering, he looked back at Bronwyn and gave her a mock salute.
“Is he always that creepy?” she asked.
“Their kind can be a bit intense.”
“Their kind?”
“When you go through the gate, follow the road to the top of the hill. There's a second security kiosk up there and they'll have your badge ready. You must wear it at all times when you're in the facility. Please don't lose it, because the process to get a new one takes about ten days to two weeks. You will not be allowed back in until your new badge is activated.”
“In that case, I'll make every effort not to lose it,” Bronwyn mumbled.
“We would appreciate your diligence, ma'am.” Danforth pointed at a short post capped with a chrome box. “Those are security stanchions and you'll see them located every forty feet along the road to the second security kiosk. As a matter of fact, you'll see similar stanchions throughout the facility. They are tracking devices, and as your car passes each one, your speed is timed and reported to the security console in the main building. Should you stop for any reason between this guard hut and the next, we will be notified immediately and a security vehicle will be dispatched to see why. And please do not leave your car. Remain inside and someone will be along shortly to aid you.”
Bronwyn frowned sharply. “The purpose for that being...?”
“It serves several purposes, ma'am.” Danforth lifted his hand and ticked off the reasons. “Your car could break down and you might need assistance. There might have been a medical emergency. An inmate trying to escape could waylay you. You...”
“Does that happen often?” Bronwyn interrupted.
“It's never happened, ma'am, but there is always the possibility.”
“And that's why you wish for me to remain inside the car.”
“Yes, ma'am. You will be issued a stun gun for your glove compartment. Please be sure you keep it in the car at all times. Also, I must warn you—there are ground sensors buried along the roadways, in the fields, within the ten-foot perimeter of all the buildings. You will see warning signs around the buildings, but not out in the field or along the road. Pressure will activate the sensors, and when it does, a strong current shoots up to incapacitate the intruder.” He shrugged. “Despite our safety precautions, perhaps some accomplices of an inmate might gain entrance to the fenced area and intercept your car. They could hide in the trunk or beneath the undercarriage of a truck. We've tried to research all possible scenarios to see that inmates do not escape nor their accomplices enter. This is one of the most secure super-max prisons in the world and we want to keep it that way.”
Bronwyn looked about her. “I take it the perimeter is patrolled.”
“We have guard towers located every half-mile along the property, Dr. McGregor. We also have guards, with dogs, who patrol on foot and in vehicles. Every hour, one of our helos makes a sweep of the area with heat-seeking equipment. The pilots will tell you they know every squirrel, raccoon, opossum, deer, fox, stray cat and dog by heat signature, and have even given the boogers names.” He smiled. “You will be well protected here. There are two clusters of buildings at Baybridge. The Eastern Complex houses the staff condos, shops, corporate buildings, and maintenance facilities. The Western Complex is where the inmates are housed. That five-hundred-eighty acre facility is entirely underground.”
Bronwyn's eyes widened. “The prison is underground?”
Danforth nodded. “Yes, ma'am. The farthest underground is Five North. That's where the worst offenders are kept.”
“No one mentioned that little tidbit,” Bronwyn said dryly. “Anything else I need to know before I traverse the yellow brick road?”
Danforth's smile faded. He stepped back and thrust his thumbs into the belt of his gun holster. “Just drive carefully.”
Bronwyn thought of her encounter with the speeding motorcycle. “I'll keep that in mind.”
For a moment, Danforth just looked at her, then shrugged lightly and lifted his hand. “Open her up!”
The heavy sliding gate made a loud clanking noise, then began to slide away from the back of the kiosk. Bronwyn put her car in gear.
“Have a nice day, now,” Danforth grunted.
Bronwyn nodded and drove through the open gate, the rear of her car barely clearing the entrance before the heavy structure closed with a thump. She glanced in the rearview mirror to see Danforth and the returned Gaines staring at her.
“No doubt discussing what a bitch I am,” Bronwyn told Brownie.
Brownie opened one eye but remained silent. From the back seat came a soft meow of agreement.
At the top of the hill, the unsmiling black clad guard at the second kiosk handed her a laminated badge that held her photo, thumbprint, and signature. She stared at her photo, stunned to realize it had been taken back at the other building without her being aware. No doubt her thumbprint and signature had been lifted from the paperwork she had given Danforth, then
transmitted here to the second kiosk.
“You people don't leave anything to chance, do you?” she inquired as she clipped the badge to the lapel of her suit jacket.
“We can't afford to, Doctor,” the guard, whose nametag read Cahill, replied. When she looked up at him, he held her gaze behind the polished surface of his dark glasses. “Baybridge is a maximum security facility. In the thirty-five years we've been in existence, we've never had an escape. We've never had anyone successfully breach our security, either. Some of our measures might seem harsh at first, but believe me, you will appreciate them once you've taken the tour of the prison.”
“I'm sure I will,” Bronwyn said quietly.
The guard reached into his pocket and withdrew a second badge. “This is for the dog.” Before Bronwyn could comment, he told her Brownie must have the badge clipped to her collar at all times. “We have a sample of the dog's DNA in case we ever need to identify her.” He glanced in the backseat. “We'll have to draw some blood from the feline, though, so we can get her a badge if you plan on keeping her here.”
“It's a him,” Bronwyn said, “and yes, I do plan on keeping him here.” She shivered. “How did you manage to get a sample of Brownie's blood?”
The guard smiled for the first time, but the gesture seemed awkward and stiff. “You were required to have the dog's records up to date before you could be allowed to bring it into the facility. We simply took what we needed from your veterinarian.” He looked at the cat again. “Didn't know about that one. Did you pick him up on the way here?”
Bronwyn's jaw tightened. “No, he's been with me for more than nine years. Did you get Brownie's blood with or without my vet's permission?”
“Does it matter? It's curious that we knew nothing of the feline, though.”
Anger shifted through Bronwyn as she attached Brownie's badge to her collar. “Apparently the inmates aren't the only crazy people here,” she grated. “I can't believe my dog and cat need a security badge! Does someone think they will aid an inmate to escape?”
“Take that paved road to your left, Doctor,” the guard said as though he hadn't heard her question. “You'll need to turn onto the first road you come to and keep following it until you reach the dead end. Take a right and follow that road to the main facility. Park in Lot A, slot Fourteen. Look for the large red letter A as you pass the statue of Justice; you can't miss it. That is your reserved parking and requires a permit. Don't worry about that—someone will place the sticker on your windshield before you're shown to your quarters this evening.”