Exit 9 pe-2

by Brett Battles

  Ross removed the dot and pushed in again, focusing on an area near the center. Suddenly, several things came into view at once. There were roads, though none appeared paved. The more interesting item, though, was the large building right in the middle of where the dot had been.

  The magnification increased one more level.

  Large was not right, the DOP realized. Huge was more accurate. This was no mountain mansion. This would have been a big building in any city in the state. And yet, the only way to get there was by dirt road.

  “Look at this,” Ross said.

  He was pointing at a spot that had to be a mile or two from the building. At first, the DOP didn’t see anything important about it, but when Ross moved his finger back and forth in a line, it became clear.

  A runway. Either covered with grass or painted to look that way.

  Was this really it? Had they found it?

  If so, he and the other Directors were going to be very, very happy.

  It was, he knew, not a discovery that was necessary for their success. The people who lived there would all die just as quickly as those on the rest of the planet once KV-27a was released. If he could help it, though, that wasn’t the kind of death he wanted for them. He wanted a more direct hand in what they would suffer. He wanted them to scream in pain, then beg and plead for their lives. These were the gnats who had been dogging Project Eden for years, never enough to throw things off, but causing annoyances just the same.

  Definitely unnecessary, but wholly satisfying.

  “Excellent work,” he said. “Come up with a plan on how we might best deal with them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  7

  I.D. MINUS 13 DAYS

  ALGONA, IOWA

  The ball flew past the boy’s glove, hit the ground, and rolled across the sidewalk into the grass-lined drainage ditch that ran along the road.

  “Should have dived for it,” his father said.

  The boy retrieved it, and threw it back. It hit his dad’s glove with a wet slap. Muddy water sprayed out from the impact, hitting his father on the cheek.

  “Sorry, Dad,” the son said, laughing.

  “I’ll bet you are.”

  Across the street, their neighbor Charlie Newcomb had just come out of his house. “Your boy’s got quite a spitball, Adam.”

  “He does, doesn’t he?” the boy’s father replied as he tossed the ball back to his son.

  “Hear we might be getting some snow this weekend,” Charlie called out. “You guys need anything, you just let us know.”

  “Thanks.”

  Charlie gave him a wave, then got into his car.

  “Snow. That’ll be cool,” the boy said.

  His dad smiled knowingly. “Tell me what you think in a couple months.”

  They had moved to Algona, Iowa, just before the school year began. The man had taken a job teaching math and P.E. at Algona High School. In addition to his son, he also had a daughter, currently inside the house and, no doubt, lost in a book. She’d become quite a reader in the last several months, exhibiting a growing interest in vampires and ghosts and worlds that existed beyond the one she lived in. He wasn’t sure if that was good or not. He knew a lot of other girls liked the same thing, but most of them hadn’t lost their mother recently or had their lives completely upended. His fear was that the books were keeping her from facing reality and accepting it, but he couldn’t bring himself to question her on it. Maybe escaping reality for a thirteen-year-old wasn’t a bad thing.

  As far as the people in town knew, Adam Cooper was a widower who’d moved with his family to Algona from Florida. “Too many memories back there,” he’d say when asked, though he seldom was. The people of Algona were too polite to push the issue.

  The boy, known to his classmates as Scott, had made the adjustment quickly. He was doing well in school and had lots of friends. Mary, as the man’s daughter was called, was not faring as well. Her grades were fine, but she was withdrawn socially. There were a few girls she’d hang out with now and then, but for the most part, when she wasn’t in school, she was in her room reading.

  At some point, he would have to do something about it. Just…not yet.

  After they threw the ball around for a bit more, the father said, “Getting a little too cold for me, buddy. How about some lunch?”

  The boy nodded. “Grilled cheese?”

  “If that’s what you want. Last one in has to cook.”

  They raced to the front door, the boy getting there a split second before his dad did.

  “You’re it,” the boy declared.

  “Two out of three?”

  “No way.”

  They removed their shoes in the mudroom, and entered the toasty confines of their small house.

  “Sweetie,” the man said, raising his voice so his daughter could hear him. “I’m making grilled cheese. You want one?”

  No answer.

  “Honey, grilled cheese?”

  Still nothing.

  He looked at his son. “Go see if your sister wants one.”

  The boy rolled his eyes. “She’s just going to yell at me.”

  “She’s not.”

  “She is.”

  “Just go ask her.”

  The man walked into the kitchen, washed his hands, and pulled out the fixings for lunch. As the cast-iron skillet warmed on the grill, he began buttering the bread. He was only halfway through the second slice when the doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it!” his son called out.

  By the time the man had wiped his hands on a kitchen towel and walked into the living room, his son had the door open.

  “Is your dad home?” a male voice asked from the porch.

  “Just a second.” The boy turned toward the kitchen, then stopped when he saw his father approaching. “He wants to talk to you, Dad.”

  “Thanks, buddy.”

  As he reached the door, he gave his son’s hair a tousle and looked outside.

  There were two men on the porch. He had never seen one of them before, but the other he had-once, on the night he’d escaped certain death from a cell in the Mojave Desert.

  His one-time rescuer nodded in mutual recognition. “Afternoon, Captain Ash.”

  Daniel Ash, alias Adam Cooper, let the men wait in his living room while he finished making lunch for his children.

  Once the sandwiches were ready, he gave one to his son, Brandon, and poured him a glass of milk. “Treat today. You can eat it in my room and watch TV.”

  “You just don’t want me to hear what you’re going to talk about,” Brandon said.

  “Smart boy. Now go, or I won’t even let you turn the TV on.”

  He carried the other sandwich into Josie’s room, and set them on her nightstand.

  Without looking up from her book, she said, “Thanks, Dad.”

  “No crumbs in the bed, okay?”

  “Ugh. Disgusting.”

  He wasn’t sure if she was referring to what she was reading or the idea of crumbs in her bed. “You want something to drink?”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  “I’ll come get your plate in a bit.”

  Back in the living room, he motioned for the two men to follow him into the kitchen. It was farthest from the bedrooms, and provided the most privacy.

  “We’re sorry to bother you like this, Captain,” the one he knew said. “Pax sent us.”

  “You can call me Ash. I’m not in the army anymore.” Technically, that might not be true. If the army knew he was still alive, and not, as they believed, dead from an intentional car crash and subsequent fire in Nevada not long after the Sage Flu outbreak had passed, then he would probably still be considered part of the service. Long enough, at least, to be court-martialed and sentenced to death for what they erroneously believed to be his part in the spreading of the disease. “I don’t know your names, though.”

  The first man said, “I’m Tom. Tom Browne. I hope you understand why I couldn’t tell you tha
t before.”

  Ash did, but said nothing.

  “Pat Solomon,” the other man told him.

  “All right, gentlemen, what is it you want?”

  Browne cleared his throat. “Matt and Pax would like you to come to the Ranch for a meeting.”

  “A meeting.”

  “Yes.”

  Ash looked from one man to the other. “What kind of meeting?”

  “I don’t know all the details. I just know it’s important.”

  “You don’t have any details? Nothing to convince me to come?”

  Browne hesitated, then said, “Pax said to tell you the depots have been filled.”

  The words hung in the air.

  The depots. These were buildings spread all around the world so that the Project would thrive while civilization collapsed around it. Ash had seen one of the facilities in person that previous summer, had been inside its then-empty storerooms.

  Probably a good thing it’s not full yet, Chloe White had said to him at the time. Humanity’s got a little more time until the plug gets pulled, I guess.

  If Browne wasn’t lying, time was about to run out.

  “Can I get either of you something to drink?” Ash asked. “Water, milk, a beer?”

  “We’re fine,” Browne said.

  “Suit yourself.”

  Ash walked over to the refrigerator and opened the door.

  He had been dreading this moment, knowing someday it would come. It wasn’t so much that he realized because of the help he’d been given to save his children, he would eventually be asked to return the favor. What he dreaded was what it actually meant-that the Project was really going to try and restart humanity by culling it down to all but the necessary numbers needed to begin again. It was a potential reality he couldn’t justify no matter how many ways he thought about it. And it certainly wasn’t a reality he ever wanted his children to see. Brandon and Josie had inherited Ash’s immunity to KV-27a. The flu would never kill them, only all their friends and neighbors. His kids had already lost their mother. He knew he would do whatever he could so that his children wouldn’t lose everyone else, too.

  As much as he wanted to grab one of the beers, he picked up a bottle of water instead and cracked it open.

  “When do they want me?”

  “Now.”

  There was a noise behind them. A footstep.

  “When do they want you where?” Josie asked. She stood into the kitchen doorway, staring at her father.

  Ash opened his mouth, intending to tell her to go back to her room, but he caught himself at the last second. “They want me to go back to the Ranch for a meeting.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “About what?”

  “I don’t know the specifics.”

  “But you have an idea, right?”

  “I can guess, but it would only be that.”

  “What about Brandon and me?”

  “If I go to the Ranch, you’re coming with me.” He didn’t look at the two men to see what their reaction might be. It was a nonnegotiable point.

  “Just a meeting and then we come back?”

  His first instinct was to just say, “Yes,” but Josie wasn’t a child anymore. Neither, for that matter, was Brandon. Not after what they had been through. So he told the truth. “I don’t know.”

  A hint of worry entered her eyes. “This is about what you told us might happen, isn’t it? About the flu? And the other people?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  She fell silent.

  “Should we go?” Ash asked her.

  She chewed on her lower lip for a moment. “Do we have a choice?”

  “There’s always a choice.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  Calls were made and explanations were given. An ill father in New York. An unexpected trip so that Adam Cooper’s children could see their grandfather for the last time. He’d call when he had a better idea of their return, and was told there was no rush. Family always came first.

  Two hours later, the Ash family was eighty miles away at a small regional airport. There, they boarded the Ranch’s private jet for the flight west.

  As they lifted off, Ash glanced out the window and couldn’t help but think that he and his kids would never be back there again.

  8

  The first sign of trouble was what appeared to be a faulty sensor along the southern portion of the security fence. The fence was a quarter of a mile away from the house simply known as the Bluff, the affected area reachable only by foot.

  A squad of three men was dispatched to make sure it wasn’t something more serious, and to fix the problem if possible.

  The Bluff was on the western side of the Sierra Nevada Mountains in California, surrounded by pine trees and magnificent vistas. There were times during the summer when the nearby road was almost bumper-to-bumper with people from the lowlands out for an afternoon of communing with nature. Now, with the official start of winter quickly approaching, there were days when fewer than a dozen cars would drive by.

  For that reason alone, it should have been surprising that a car had stopped at the Bluff’s front gate. Only this wasn’t the first time this particular car had done so. Lancer, the watch officer manning the security monitors, had witnessed the two previous stops himself.

  As with the other trips, the same young couple climbed out of the car. Grabbing the woman’s hand, the man kissed her as he pulled her over to the gate. Then, as if reading off the same script they had played out nearly half a dozen times before, they looked beyond the metal pipe-framed gate and down the dirt road on the other side before climbing over.

  Lancer selected the call button for his boss. “Adam and Eve are back, Mr. Briley.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Briley said. “Send someone out again. Have whoever it is tell them next time we call the sheriff.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  For the past few visits, the Bluff had sent out the resident team to scare off the couple. The hope was that it might make them find some other place to fulfill their craving for a little outdoor sex.

  The watch officer selected a different button. “Resident team, you’re up. Adam and Eve are back, and they’re waiting just for you.”

  There was a chuckle in the reply. “Sullivan and Rawlings on the way.”

  Sullivan and Rawlings would be dressed in civilian clothes as if they were out for a walk. They’d have Boomer with them, a beautiful black lab that could be friendly and playful one second, deadly the next.

  Lancer watched the intruding couple as they came down the road for about thirty feet, then, as they’d done each time before, turn into the woods. He smiled. With any luck, Sullivan and Rawlings might get a little show.

  “What’s going on?” Murphy asked. He was working containment surveillance at a terminal two stations down.

  “Our exhibitionists are back,” Lancer said.

  Murphy stood and walked over. “I’ve heard about them, but haven’t seen them yet.”

  “Well, you can’t see them now. They’re off the road.”

  “Damn. Seriously?”

  “Yep. Went off right there.” The watch officer pointed between two trees on the right side of the screen.

  “Couldn’t you just pan the inside gate camera over?”

  The inside camera was mounted in a tree forty feet down the road from the entrance. “I’m not supposed to move it off the gate.”

  “Come on. Just for a moment.”

  “I can’t, and you know it.”

  “Fine,” Murphy huffed, then brightened. “Maybe they’ll make a run for it before they can get dressed.”

  “Fifty bucks says they don’t.”

  “How about twenty?”

  Lancer laughed. “Okay. Twenty.”

  Together, the two men watched the monitor. After a minute, Sullivan and Rawlings appeared at the far end of the road.

  “Talk us in,” Sullivan said over the radio.

  “Forward anot
her sixty feet, then go left,” Lancer instructed.

  Sullivan and Rawlings did exactly as told. They, too, disappeared off screen.

  “Come on,” Murphy said under his breath. “Come on.”

  “Not going to happen,” Lancer told him.

  “Don’t be a downer, man.”

  The road remained empty, reinforcing the watch officer’s belief that they weren’t going to witness any streaking. He was about to tell Murphy to get his cash ready when Sullivan staggered into the frame and collapsed onto the road.

  “What the hell?” Lancer said.

  He started to reach forward to call in backup when something pricked his neck and Murphy said softly in his ear, “Sorry.”

  With a suddenness that was almost more shocking than the condition itself, the watch officer realized he was paralyzed, unable to move even a finger.

  He could hear the others in the communications room going about their business. On the screen in front of him, he could see the young couple dragging Sullivan back off the road. He wanted to yell. He wanted to reach out to his keyboard and type in the three-character combination that would raise the alarm. More than anything, he wanted to slam his fist into the side of Murphy’s head.

  “It will all be over soon.” Murphy patted him on the cheek, then removed the watch officer’s headset. Into the mic, he said, “Resident team’s having a hard time locating our visitors. Suggest dispatching second team to help in the search.” A pause. “It’s Murphy. Lancer’s on a bathroom break…okay, great, thanks.” He put the headset down in front of the computer. As soon as two more men appeared on the monitor, heading out to assist Sullivan and Rawlings, he walked back toward his own station.

  Lancer concentrated on his hands, willing them to move, but they remained frozen in place. How long was this going to last? At some point the paralysis had to wear off, right? For God’s sake, someone please notice that there’s something wrong! Look! At! Me!