Apocalyptic Visions Super Boxset

by James Hunt

  Cooper stepped inside. The house was even more humid and stuffy than the air outside. “Mrs. Harth, I can’t get into the specifics of what Dylan did or did not do at this time, but I was wondering if you’ve spoken to him lately? Or maybe even seen him?”

  Evelyn turned and marched away without a word. Cooper followed, although not knowing if her leaving was an invitation or not.

  The kitchen was dirtied with opened cans of food, liquor bottles, and beer cans. Evelyn reached for one of the half-empty vodka bottles and a cup then filled it. “I spoke to him a few days ago.” She took a sip, winced, then made her way to the couch.

  Cooper took a minute to stop and listen, but she heard no other voices inside the house. “Mrs. Harth, where are your husband and daughter?”

  “Peter took Mary to the second home in upstate New York. He figured it would be safer up there.” She curled herself onto the couch and sipped the vodka that seemed to soak through both her and the house. The stale stench of old liquor and beer left a nasty sting in Cooper’s nostrils.

  “Why didn’t you go with them?” Cooper asked.

  “My son’s still here.” Evelyn turned her head sharply, and her face twisted as if the words had caused her pain. “And he’s still alive, and when he comes back, I’ll be here waiting for him.”

  Cooper joined Evelyn on the couch. “Evelyn, Dylan is in trouble. Did something happen after the two of you spoke a few days ago? Was there anything said that may have put him on edge, or did he seem out of character?”

  Evelyn swirled the vodka in her cup, watching the liquid splash around. “He’s used to being out of character. He was for a long time.” She took another sip then set the cup down in her lap. “You read his file, right?”

  Cooper nodded.

  “Hmph, of course you did. I don’t know how he managed to live with that for as long as he has. But you know what isn’t in that police report that you read? That it was my idea that Zack go out with him that day.” Evelyn’s eyes started to wet and redden. “Sean was two, and Mary was just a baby then, and I was just so tired and overwhelmed. I thought that just having to watch the two of them would make it easier, so Zack went with his father.”

  “The death of your son, that’s what started the drinking?” Cooper asked.

  Evelyn nodded. “I tried talking to Dylan about it, tried telling him that it wasn’t his fault, but it was like trying to teach a fish to breathe on land. It just didn’t make any sense. He was a good man. I held on for as long as I could, but he was just spinning out of control. And when… when…” She broke down, burying her face in her hands, the booze and memories overpowering whatever self-control she had left.

  Cooper rested her hand on Evelyn’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “Losing a child is something that is unfathomable to those who haven’t experienced it. The grief, the loss, the sadness, nothing else comes close to that type of pain.”

  Evelyn wiped her nose and eyes, the cup of vodka shaking slightly in her hand. “That night, on the police report, the one where my father was there.” She sniffled, clearing her nose, her hand steadying. “Dylan was just so angry, so drunk, he didn’t realize what he was doing. My father, he… said things that no one should have uttered out loud. He blamed Dylan, said that no father would let his son die like that, no father would give up.” Regaining some of her nerve, Evelyn sipped the drink again. “I tried getting Dylan off of him, but he just knocked me down and kept hitting my dad. Blood stained the tile, both of their clothes... By the time the police came, Dylan was blacked out, and my dad was barely breathing. He spent six days in the hospital, and his face was beaten to a pulp.”

  Cooper had seen domestic cases before, but whenever she read the file, she always reminded herself that she would never truly understand the situation, what happened in that moment. All she was reading were recorded facts on a page, told with no emotion or favor. It was rare she actually saw the aftereffects, those moments of pain and anger.

  “My father made a deal with me when he woke up in the hospital bed,” Evelyn said. “He told me that if I divorced Dylan and filed for sole custody of the kids, he wouldn’t press charges. So I did. For a long time, I told myself that was the reason I divorced him, because of my father, but the truth was that was just an excuse. I’d wanted to end it for a while but didn’t have it in me to lay the axe down myself.” She finally turned to look at Cooper, her eyes dry but still red. “He’s been alone for a long time, Agent Cooper. Whatever the radio says he’s done I know is to help Sean. So if you’re here to try and get me to tell you something to help you stop him”—she wiped her nose again—“you can go fuck yourself.”

  A loud crack sounded at the front door, and Evelyn flinched. Cooper drew her pistol and jumped from the couch. Evelyn followed but was two steps slow. The cracks crew louder and were soon followed by the crash of glass. Cooper grabbed Evelyn by the arm and pulled her to the back of the house, the drink spilling from her hand and onto the floor.

  Cooper hid them in a back room and shut the door. What few windows it had were boarded up. Cooper had to pull Evelyn from standing at the door and ducked her behind the desk. “Stay down, and stay quiet.”

  Evelyn nodded, and Cooper kept her footsteps light. The voices on the other side of the door were muffled, but she could hear the hurried tone and the shuffle of boots running through the house.

  Cooper cracked the door open, keeping low. The voices were louder now, clearer. She crouched and waded into the living room, gun aimed for any oncoming perps. She crept around the kitchen behind the marbled island, being mindful of the broken glass of beer bottles around her. The toe of her boot accidently crunched one of the pieces, and she froze, cursing herself silently as she prayed that no one heard it.

  The rest of the house went silent, and Cooper heard the goons whispering back and forth in another language. It sounded like Perry had sent in his own unit to collect another body to trade with Dylan. Cooper poked her head around the kitchen’s island and saw a cluster of legs. She quickly darted back behind the counter and gripped the pistol with both hands, slowly backtracking toward the door. Too many. She couldn’t take them all by herself.

  The back of Cooper’s right heel hit one of the side tables in the living room, and the lamp on top of it wavered back and forth then crashed to the floor. The moment the lamp shattered into pieces, Cooper sprinted toward the office with a trail of bullets hot on her tail. She slammed the door shut behind her and pulled the couch on the adjacent wall over to barricade the entrance.

  Evelyn was still behind the desk, covering her head as bullets thudded against the hardwood paneling of the barricaded office door. Cooper immediately went to the boarded windows, gripping her hands over the angled edges, and pulled down with every ounce of strength she had. The nails in the wall slowly started to retract and finally gave way.

  Cooper flung the board to the floor then reached for the second one. She looked to Evelyn. “Help me!” Evelyn, still staying in a crouched position, rushed over to Cooper and helped yank down the rest of the boards. Cooper opened the window, and the first crack in the door splintered open. “Go!” Cooper pushed Evelyn through the window and quickly followed. She half pulled, half dragged Evelyn through the backyard as some of the terrorists spotted them and gave chase.

  Cooper had her hand on Evelyn’s wrist when she felt nails dig into her flesh. “AH!”

  Evelyn ripped her hand free and pushed Cooper away. “Go! Help Dylan!” Evelyn turned around as the first terrorist opened the back door.

  Cooper aimed the pistol and fired three bullets that hit the doorframe and sent the terrorist back inside for cover. She went to reach for Evelyn one more time and again received the same push back. “They’ll kill you!”

  “No, they need me, but they’ll kill you. Now, go!” Evelyn didn’t give Cooper a choice as she stumbled forward, picking up speed and almost sprinting to the terrorists.

  Cooper watched Evelyn be pulled back into the house, an
d once she was inside, the terrorists volleyed a barrage of gunfire toward her, and Cooper leapt over the fence. She sprinted to the front of the neighborhood then dashed across the road into the surrounding woods. She ran until her legs gave out and fire filled her lungs. She bent over, resting her hands on her knees, to catch her breath.

  Cooper didn’t know what Evelyn was thinking, but the fact of the matter was she no longer had any leverage with Perry or with Dylan. She could try getting in contact with Diaz or Moringer, but she knew reaching out to them now would just put them in more danger. Any way she sliced it, she was screwed.

  ***

  Perry had been working in the federal government for almost twenty years, and in all that time, he’d never been called to his boss’s office after a mission. That’s because he never screwed up, he never let anything happen outside what was planned, and it was a fact that had shot him up through the ranks in the Department of Homeland Security.

  And the fact that Perry had to wait for the past hour just outside his boss’s office, forcing him and the receptionist to exchange awkward smiles, only furthered his assumption that the moment he walked through that door, his reputation, along with his file, would be tainted. And with everything that Perry was trying to accomplish, having a mark on him right now was the worst thing that could happen.

  The door opened, and the directors of the CIA and the FBI both walked out, not even giving Perry a glance. The secretary nodded that he could enter, and he made sure to close the door behind him when he did. The director said nothing upon Perry’s entrance. His attention was focused on a stack of papers on his desk. Perry took a seat in front of the director’s desk and folded his hands, patiently waiting.

  “I know you know why you’re here, Perry.” The director scribbled something down, keeping his eyes off Perry as he spoke.

  “Yes, sir. I was made aware of the security breach, but I’m wondering why I wasn’t informed of the DEA team that was stationed west of the facility.”

  That got the director to look up. If Perry was going to make it out of this without any further setbacks, then he was going to have to face it head on, charge the offensive. It was something he’d avoided for most of his career. The art of intelligence was just as much of what you knew as how you presented it. And for the most part, being subtle was most effective.

  “That was confidential,” the director said, dropping his pen. “No one knew about that setup outside of me and the director of the DEA.”

  “And everyone who is on your email listing for top clearance, which would include me, as I was added nearly two years ago.”

  “I didn’t authorize that.”

  “No, but your predecessor did.” Perry unfolded his hands, and for the first time since he’d joined Homeland, rolled up his sleeves willingly. If it was going to be a day of firsts, he might as well go all in. The sight of his scars made people uncomfortable, a weapon he’d used during his younger days and a tactic that was still effective even on grown men.

  Once Perry’s sleeves were up to his elbows, he examined his arms, rotating them around so the light exposed every blemish and mark across his skin. “My father was a cruel man. These are some of the more notable lashes he left on me. But the ones that did the most damage, the ones that truly hurt, cut deeper than any of these.”

  “What’s your point, Perry?”

  Perry rolled his sleeves back down, buttoned the cuffs, and folded his hands back in place, neatly finishing off his posture. “My father beat me when I fucked up. And while his methods were cruel and twisted, they forged someone who has a commitment to excellence in everything that he does. No matter what. So I find it odd that during the decoy mission, which I suggested, there were details of the mission left out to me.” Perry leaned forward. “I need all the variables to ensure success, not half truths!” He sat back then followed up his loud volume with a curt, “sir.”

  The director waited a moment before he answered, chewing his lower lip. “The DEA was there because they believe there is a mole within our organization, and judging by how easily the terrorist group infiltrated the facility, I would say I believe them.”

  “What was stolen?”

  “Nuclear computer chips capable of directing ballistic missiles.”

  “Anything else?”

  The director leaned forward hesitantly, almost weighing to see if he should even tell Perry. “Yes. A prototype, newly developed. A piece of hardware that is very important to both the Air Force and the Navy. We’re not sure if it was taken on purpose.”

  “This prototype, what does it do?”

  “That’s above your pay grade, Deputy Director. All you need to know is it’s bad and that it’s not something we want in the hands of a bunch of lunatics. I need you to find it, Perry. This isn’t something we can drop the ball on.”

  “I understand, sir.” Perry buttoned his jacket and shook the director’s hand. “I’ll start a task force immediately.” Out of all the emotions that humans experienced, Perry enjoyed playing off of pride the most. It was man’s most egotistical nature to believe that he was above everything, that somehow, among the millions of organisms on the planet, they were individually special. And that individuality of entitlement granted Perry access to whatever he wanted. All he had to do was stoke the fire.

  The phone in Perry’s pocket buzzed with a message, and when he flipped it open, he smiled. Perry now had both Dylan’s son and his wife. Simple math. I have two things you want, yet you only have one thing that I want. Your move, Captain.

  Chapter 9

  Dylan took a deep breath, the salt air filling his senses. It felt like it was his first trip out to sea. He closed his eyes, not realizing the last time that he’d actually been able to smell the ocean. He’d been so preoccupied on the runs with the terrorists that he hadn’t taken the time to feel like he was back out on the water.

  With his eyes closed, he listened to the rolling of the waves, climbing to a crest then crashing into the ocean below. The waves lapped against the side of the boat, and the wind rushed past his ears. The sun warmed his face, and he picked the stitches that Mark had applied to sew up the bullet hole that went straight through his trapezius muscle, then rubbed his hands, feeling the grit of the salt air on his skin.

  But then when Dylan opened his eyes, all he could see was his son and the scar across his chest from where Perry had cut him. It didn’t seem there was a place on earth that Dylan could find peace that Perry could not take it from him.

  Radio static blew from the cabin as Dylan made his way below deck, where Mark was propped up on a stack of pillows, doing his best to make himself comfortable and locate any news of Dylan’s antics on land. He watched Mark sitting there, with his stomach wrapped, fidgeting awkwardly, and Dylan had never seen him so miserable on a boat.

  “Damn thing keeps losing its signal,” Mark said, giving the radio a light lump with his fist.

  “Have you heard anything at all?”

  “You made the news. More bombs went off in California, and the attacks have started happening in the Midwest. St. Louis was bombed early this morning.”

  The plague was spreading, and Dylan had helped cultivate it. His stomach churned at the very thought. He walked over to the computer chips that he’d stolen from the facility and flipped them over in his hand. They were no bigger than his palm and were decorated with hundreds of silver lines, bumps. Almost like a piece of braille. Dylan set it down and then picked up the bag with the second item, the one Perry himself had ordered him to grab. “I still don’t see how this could even help them.” The other piece was nearly three times the size of the computer chips and came in a three-dimensional block, which felt heavier than the others combined.

  Mark set the radio down and checked his bandages, peeling the white adhesive to examine his stitches. “Well, I imagine it will just give them another leg up, a bargaining chip, and this time they’ll have something the government wants. They’re nothing more than bullies looking for
leverage, Dylan. That’s all any of this is. They can say it’s for their religion, or revenge, but at the end of the day, they just want something we have, something that they’ve never been able to have.” Mark grimaced at the sight of his wounds. “Not that I wouldn’t mind putting every last one of those bastards on an island and then blowing it to bits, but that’s just me.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Dylan flashed a grin and placed the stolen gear back in the bag. He looked around the cabin. It was worn, had seen a lot of days at sea, but everything in it was solid. The wood was still thick and hearty and had been well taken care of. “We were in a boat just like this when it happened.”

  Mark stopped picking at the bandages around his stomach then looked up. “With Zack?”

  Dylan nodded. “It was an overnight trip. His first. He’d gone out with me before but been too little to be able to make it longer than an afternoon. He was so excited.” Dylan gave a whispered laugh, remembering the smile on Zack’s face when he found out he was going. “Mary had just been born a few months before, and with all the attention Evelyn and I were giving the baby, I think he was looking forward to some father–son time. He had this shirt he liked to wear whenever we went out. It was a marlin, jumping from the water, with a boat in the distance and a man trying to reel him in. It’d been washed so many times, holes were forming in it, but Zack wouldn’t let Evelyn throw it out.”

  Dylan rested his head back against the hard composite of the cabin wall. “The weather was fine when we left, and there wasn’t anything on the radar. No alerts, no warnings, not a cloud in the sky.” He shook his head. “I never was able to figure out what happened, if the power had gone out or the battery was just drained. Maybe I left one of the lights on and that did it, I don’t know.” He waved it off, the creases on his forehead scrunched in a concentrated effort of forcing himself through the memories. “It was the wind that I noticed first. It was so loud, so fast. It was like the storm just materialized out of nowhere, just on us, just on that spot in the ocean where we were anchored.”