by Jon S. Lewis
“A couple of days,” Jonas said. “Is my dad around?”
“As a matter of fact, I just saw him,” the guard said. “He mentioned something about a meeting, but I’m not sure who it was with. Would you like me to call his assistant?”
“I bet he’s in one of the conference rooms on the second floor,” Jonas said, hoping that the guard wouldn’t notice that his hands were shaking.
“Go on up,” the guard said. “And when you see him, tell him I haven’t forgotten about those Redskins tickets that he promised. They play my Steelers next week.”
“I will.” Jonas walked to the elevator on the far side of the lobby and placed his hand on the biometric scanner. Green circles lit around his thumb and fingertips and the door opened, but he had no intention of going to the second floor. He pressed the button for the third floor, where they kept the server room.
His heart pounded in his chest as he walked past security guards and surveillance cameras, but nobody stopped him. The server room was at the end of a winding hall, and just as he reached into his pocket to pull out the USB drive with the virus, someone called his name.
“Jonas?”
He turned around to see his dad standing there, a confused look on his face.
“What are you doing here?”
“I . . . um . . .” Jonas had an IQ that was off the charts, but he had never been quick on his feet and he wasn’t very good at lying. “I came to see you.”
Dr. Hickman frowned. “My office is on the first floor.”
“I know,” Jonas said, fumbling over his words. “Mike. You know, the security guard? Anyway, he told me you might be up here, and he was right.”
“This is a restricted area, son.”
“Restricted? I’ve been here hundreds of times.”
“Things have changed, and not for the better.” Dr. Hickman was nervous as he looked up and down the hallway. “Stay close,” he said as he walked toward a set of double doors. “And if anyone stops us, you let me do the talking. Understood?”
They ended up back on the first floor in Dr. Hickman’s office. He pulled out a device and scanned to make sure there weren’t any recording devices in the room.
“Dad—”
Dr. Hickman raised an index finger to his lips as he ran the scanner over a framed photograph of the Hickman family that hung on the wall next to his desk. He scanned his desk drawers, the bottom of his chair, and even the contents of his trash can before he finally sat down.
“Is someone bugging your office?” Jonas asked.
“Not anymore,” Dr. Hickman said. “At least not that I can tell.”
“Why would someone want to bug you?”
“Because they think I’m a traitor,” Dr. Hickman said.
“A traitor?”
“We don’t have much time, so I’m going to give you the abbreviated version,” Dr. Hickman said. “The day you left for the academy, one of Koenig’s agents paid Mayor Cross a visit. His message was fairly clear. Either the people of Sanctuary renounce Earth and take up arms against humanity, or after the invasion we’ll all be tortured and then executed.”
“What did Mayor Cross do?”
“What any politician in his place would do,” Dr. Hickman said. “He promised to spread the word and report any resistance.”
“Like you.”
“Like me.”
“What about Sheriff Sutherland?”
“Near as I can tell he’s on our side,” Dr. Hickman said. “But it’s hard to be sure.”
“Aren’t you scared?” Jonas asked.
“I probably should be, but mostly I’m concerned about what’s going to happen to you and your mother.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to stick around here and make things as difficult for Koenig and his Defense Corps as I can.” Dr. Hickman smiled. “Your turn,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
Jonas explained his theory about the randoms and how he had used the theory to pinpoint the exact location where he thought that the Thule would open up their gateway. He took the USB drive out of his pocket and slid it across the desk. “It’s the same virus they used to shut the portal down at the Trident Biotech facility.”
“I’m impressed,” Dr. Hickman said. “But I’m afraid it won’t work.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve already tried. Over the last three months the portal has nearly doubled in size—and that’s after I cut the power supply.”
“How can that be?”
“They’re powering it from the other side.”
: :
CHAPTER 37 : :
It was almost six o’clock.
Mrs. Hickman had made them a dinner of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, homemade dinner rolls, and something called Snickers Salad, but Colt wasn’t hungry. He couldn’t stop thinking about what they were going to do if the town voted against shutting down their hydroelectric power plant. Violence would be unavoidable.
Now he followed Mayor Cross, Dr. Hickman, and Sheriff Sutherland onto the stage of the Sanctuary High School auditorium. The mayor was all smiles as he walked over to the rickety podium, but thanks to Jonas, Colt knew it was just an act. He was half surprised to see an American flag hanging from a brass pole next to the state flag of West Virginia instead of the red flag with Koenig’s black Defense Corps symbol against a white circle.
The other members of Phantom Squad were sitting up front as requested—supposedly as guests of the town, even though it was obvious they were sitting there so the mayor and his cronies could keep them in full view. Their armor had been confiscated along with their weapons, but Jonas, with his father’s assistance, had equipped them with small earpieces that had microphones so they could remain in contact.
The residents of Sanctuary filed in until every seat from the front row to the top of the balcony was filled. The custodians even set up folding chairs along the back wall and down the aisles, but there still weren’t enough seats.
According to Dr. Hickman, the town was split down the middle. One faction wanted to join Koenig’s Defense Corps, and the other wanted to side with humanity and fight them. The only problem was figuring out how to tell them apart. Colt scanned the audience, but they looked like average people, not warmongering aliens.
The mayor stood there waiting for everyone to quiet down. He didn’t clear his throat or even tap on the microphone. He just leaned against the podium like a farmer watching his crops grow.
Soon people nudged their neighbors and pointed to the stage, and in a few minutes it was quiet enough that Colt could hear the hum of the radiators blowing warm air into the freezing auditorium.
“That’s better,” Mayor Cross said as he adjusted the microphone stand that was fixed to the top of the podium. “Now, I don’t need to tell you why we’re here tonight.”
“We’re here because the federal government turned its back on us, just like I always said it would!”
“Is that you, Earl Drummond?” the mayor asked as dozens of others echoed their agreement.
“You know good and well that it is.” An older man with the beginnings of a beard stood up and removed his John Deere cap. He wore blue jeans and a flannel shirt, and even though he had a bit of a paunch that hung over his belt buckle, his shoulders were wide and his chest was broad.
“What if these kids are telling the truth?” the mayor said. “Would you be able to sleep at night knowing that we could have saved millions of human lives? Or perhaps the better question is, should those lives even matter?”
A woman with blond hair pulled back in a twist stood up in the front row of the balcony. “I suppose you want us to grovel before Koenig and his thugs, is that it? Do we beg for mercy, or have you forgotten why we defected from Gathmara to begin with?”
“I merely ask the question,” the mayor said, his voice pleasant and a smile on his face.
There was a commotion as a group of men pushed their way to the stage, ea
ch of them wearing a red armband with Koenig’s Defense Corps symbol. “Enough talk,” one said. “It’s time to declare our loyalty to our people!”
“Easy now.” The sheriff walked toward them with his arms held wide. “Whatever it is you boys are planning to do, you’d best think—”
The first man with the armband bounded up the stairs on the side of the stage, lowered his shoulder, and caught the sheriff in the midsection. The sheriff slid across the floor and into the podium, which fell with a bang. Feedback screeched through the speakers as the man turned and rushed at Colt. Bones cracked and skin morphed into scales as the man shape-shifted into a Thule.
Jaws wide and claws raised, it attacked. Colt caught two of its hands and fell back, bending his knees and planting his feet in the Thule’s stomach. He kicked with all his strength as he rolled into a backward somersault, and the Thule flew through the air and into the orchestra pit.
As Colt rolled to his feet, a heavyset man in faded blue jeans and a thermal undershirt raised a shotgun to his shoulder and took aim at him, but Jonas jumped onto the stage and stepped between Colt and the gunman.
“We’re not like them, Mr. Tasker!” Jonas said. “We’re not monsters, and we don’t have to resort to violence. You taught me that in seventh-grade history.”
“Maybe I was wrong,” the man said.
“No, you weren’t.” Jonas took a careful step toward him, then another. “Please, Mr. Tasker. If you do this, then everything we sacrificed for all these years will be for nothing. We can show everyone that we really are different—that when humanity needed us most, we were right there standing beside them.”
“I’m sorry.” Mr. Tasker’s hands were shaking, and there were tears in his eyes as he pulled the trigger.
“No!” Dr. Hickman stepped in front of his son, and as buckshot that glowed blue hit him, his arms flew up and his back arched. He fell, and a bloom of green liquid spread across his crisp white shirt.
“Dad! Please, you have to get up. Please.” Jonas was crying as he knelt beside his father, shaking his shoulders as he pleaded with him. “Don’t do this. Don’t leave me!”
Dr. Hickman pulled his hand away from the wound, and it was covered in blood. He closed his eyes and took a series of shallow breaths, but when he tried to get up he only had the strength to lift his head before he fell back to the floor. “I’m . . .” He grimaced as he started to cough. “I know it looks . . .”
“You’re going to be okay,” Jonas said, brushing away his tears with the back of his sleeve.
“Find . . . your mom,” Dr. Hickman said, the coughing fits staining his lips with green blood. “Get . . . her . . .” He closed his eyes. “Out . . .” His head fell to the side.
Jonas was crying openly, and when he looked up he saw the barrel of the mayor’s pistol pointed at his head.
“I’m sorry, son,” the mayor said. “But I’m afraid you’re next.”
The shriek of a whistle cut through the air, distant at first but growing louder with each passing moment. The mayor’s eyes grew wide and he lowered his gun just a little.
Colt took advantage of the distraction. He lashed out, hitting the mayor in the wrist, and the gun flew from his hand and skittered across the floor. The mayor’s eyes flashed red, and as he snarled he revealed a set of wicked teeth meant for rending flesh from bone. For a split second Colt thought the mayor was going to morph into his native Thule form, but a missile struck and the auditorium shook.
Colt was knocked to his feet as chunks of plaster fell from the ceiling. Dust and debris clung to the air like fog. The room was a cacophony of screaming, coughing, and crying as people ran for the exits. Another missile struck, this time punching a hole in the ceiling. His ears ringing and vision blurred, Colt looked for the mayor but couldn’t find him.
“Colt!” Oz grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. His eyes were crazed, and his face and hair were caked in dust.
“What’s going on?” Colt demanded. “Who’s firing missiles?”
“There’re at least three Trackers outside,” Oz said.
“Trackers? Did they come through the portal?”
“Heck if I know.”
: :
CHAPTER 38 : :
Colt slipped into the foyer, hoping to find the rest of Phantom Squad. There was more screaming as the bulbs flickered overhead like a series of cameras flashing. Sparks flared, ceiling tiles fell, and the lights went out.
It didn’t take long for his eyes to adjust, but Colt didn’t see anyone he recognized. “Testing,” he said. “Testing 1, 2, 3. Can anybody hear me?”
There was a long string of static followed by a disjointed message that popped in and out. “Some kind of . . . I don’t know . . . maybe a science lab.”
“That’s Danielle,” Colt said as he grabbed a kid wearing a letterman’s jacket. “Which way to the science labs?”
“Over there.” The kid pointed back over his shoulder before he broke free and ran off.
Colt took off, with Oz close behind. It was almost seven o’clock and the sun was long gone. So was the electricity. The only source of light came from the red glow of an Exit sign that hung near a set of double doors. As they pushed ahead, Colt realized that he had never felt more alive. He felt as though his senses had been unleashed to their full capacity for the first time. He could smell the residue from gunpowder, sense Oz’s anticipation, and suddenly he could see through the darkness as though it were fully lit.
“Which way?” Oz asked when they came to a juncture of hallways.
Colt strained to both listen and smell. He could hear a low growl emanating from the darkness up ahead, and then he saw something large moving through the shadows. Claws raked against the brick walls, sending sparks. The creature stopped to sniff the air, then cocked its head and reached for a doorknob. When the door didn’t open, the creature pounded on it and it quickly shattered.
“Hurry!” Danielle shouted.
Colt and Oz raced down the hall and into the room in time to see the Thule standing over Danielle, who cowered in the corner.
Oz rushed past Colt, and the Thule lashed out with its tail and caught him in the head. He crumpled and it attacked again, this time catching him across the chest.
The faint sound of explosions played in the background. The Thule growled and moved toward Colt, battering desks before it grabbed him by the jaw. A massive scar ran over its brow ridge, across a milky cataract, and down its muzzle. Its breath was rancid, like roadkill that had been left to decay in the sun.
Its eyes narrowed as it sniffed the air. “Yes,” it said. “You are the one Koenig has been searching for. You are the Betrayer.”
Colt’s chest heaved as adrenaline washed over him. Euphoria. Power. The crucial need to protect the people around him. He struck the Thule in its injured eye, and it staggered but didn’t fall. Its tail pounded the ground, breaking the floorboards.
The Thule picked up four chairs and hurled them at Colt, who covered his face with his arms. Wood shattered upon impact, and when it was over Colt stood there, dumbfounded. He should have felt pain. He should have been knocked over. It didn’t make sense.
A grotesque smile spread across the alien’s lips. “My name will be praised after I kill you.”
Faster than Colt could react, it reached out and took his throat with one hand while two others wrapped around his shoulders. Another tried to rake across his face, but Colt grabbed it by the wrist and twisted. There was a pop, and the Thule howled as its hand went limp.