The Suicide Society

by William Brennan Knight

  “I’m feeling some panic here, Munoz.”

  “So am I. Look, I know this is going to sound odd to a cop, but I have a couple friends that are involved in this as well. One is a psychic or something. I don’t understand it, but he seems to have some insight into what’s going on. I need to contact him. Let’s plan on talking again. How about twenty one hundred hours Pacific Time?”

  “Roger that. Three hours from now. I’ll tell the captain about our discussion. He’ll probably want to talk to you himself.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant. And I don’t need to tell you that you have to find that bomb.”

  “I know, Detective. Lord, I know.”

  Munoz leaned back against the seat of his car and rubbed his eyes. He was so weary he could hardly think straight. He scrolled through the contact list on his personal phone until he found the number he was looking for. He weighed the risks for a moment and then hit the call button on the prepaid cell. It was time to talk to Zach.

  ***

  The ringing of the cell phone broke the silence, startling all three of the occupants in the car. They collectively stiffened, and a small whimper escaped from Sarah Johansen’s lips.

  Zach almost forgot about the phone Munoz had given him back in Seattle and showed it to his companions before answering. “It’s Detective Munoz, he’s a friend of ours.”

  “This is Zach,” he said in a low voice.

  “Zach, it’s Jose Munoz. There’s been a development. Are you still in the safe house?”

  “… No, we had to leave.”

  “Goddamn it Zach, I told you to stay at the house. What the hell are you doing?”

  “I had another—vision, and I had to follow it. We found a girl that is tied into this guy—No, not a guy, a thing. He’s at the root of all of this. I can sense it. We’ve got to track him down. It’s where it all started, and it’s the only place it can end.”

  “Look, Zach, I have to tell you something. Those FBI agents that I shot were involved in a conspiracy of some kind, and it’s big. I have the names of thousands of people who are connected to it, and I suspect that number only scratches the surface.”

  “What kind of conspiracy?”

  “I don’t know exactly. There are literally thousands of missions logged. Crimes of every sort. These people could be responsible for a nuclear explosion in Turkey. I was so involved in the investigation that I didn’t even know it happened. What’s worse, I think they have another bomb set to explode in Chicago.”

  “My God, Sarah was right. She saw the devastation from the bomb in her mind. And now Chicago?”

  “The police know about it, but they haven’t been able to locate it. We can only pray.”

  “There has to be something—what can we do?”

  “I was thinking about how we met. I was investigating a suicide when I remembered another one from many years ago. They both involved a guy named Harold Moss, who was a prominent banker in Seattle.

  “He's on this list of names. Your visions of suicides in progress may be a key to unraveling the entire organization. I’m going to send you a new list. I need you to look it over and see if any of the names mean anything to you. If they do, I want you to call me back immediately.”

  “All right, Jose. Send it through and I’ll look at it.”

  Munoz grabbed the tablet he took from Herman Walker and tethered it to the secure phone from the safe house. He simultaneously transmitted the files to both Zach and Kevin O’Malley at Chicago PD. With the transfer complete, he called Zach back. “I just sent you the file, did you get it? It should come through any sec—”

  Munoz’ last words were cut off as a bullet ripped through the window on the passenger side of the vehicle and whizzed past his ear. He ducked instinctively as glass sprayed everywhere. Whoever was behind this must have found Herman Walker, and two unmarked sedans were bearing down on him.

  Zach heard the explosion just prior to the phone gong dead. “Jose!” he screamed, but there was no reply. He hit the resend button and listened as the cell rang five times before automatically disconnecting.

  “Damn it. I think I heard a gunshot or an explosion.”

  “Zach,” said Anston while glancing into the rear view mirror, “we have our own problems.”

  Zach swung his head around in time to see that a rapidly accelerating dark sedan had moved within a foot of their own vehicle. “Go faster Jarad, it’s him again. We have to get away.”

  “How could he find us? How did he...” The thud of the two bumpers colliding shook the rental car. Sarah Johansen screamed and Zach grabbed for the armrest. Anston’s face went white as he slammed the accelerator down.

  The car lurched forward and bought them a few brief moments as the two vehicles separated, but seconds later the trailing car began closing the gap, clearly superior in acceleration.

  Wham! The bumpers smashed again, this time with more force and velocity. The rental car swerved radically, and Anston grunted as he fought with the wheel while turning into the skid. The car careened to one side and briefly tipped on two wheels before slamming back down on the pavement.

  “Jesus, Zach, he’s trying to kill us.”

  Zach’s stomach clenched as he heard the sound of the revving engine growing closer. As frightened as he was about this maniac with harmful intent, he was preoccupied with the continuing presence of someone else inside their own vehicle.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Alan Ziminski sat at the Dallas-Ft. Worth airport and stared at the flashing lights of the departure screen. The Istanbul nuclear explosion brought air travel to a virtual standstill, and only emergency flights were cleared for takeoff. The rumble of afterburners shook the terminal as the sky displayed vapor trails from streaking F-16 fighters that patrolled the Dallas air space.

  Alan fumed at the delay. Like all the top lieutenants in his father’s global network, he was instructed to return to Arizona prior to the second bomb explosion. It was a fortuitous coincidence since he was planning an unscheduled trip there anyway. With less than three hours until the next detonation, the Kingdom of the Benefactor was truly at hand.

  Alan remained in contact with the store clerk, Hassan Abdula, who was escorting the stricken Abernathy back to Desolation. He relayed the license plate number from Zach’s rental car, and it was all Alan needed to pinpoint the vehicle’s exact location. Hassan was also instructed to kill Sarah Johansen and her companions if he encountered them along the way. Any reluctance Abdula had in carrying out the mission vanished when Alan arranged a conference call with the terrified clerk’s oldest child, who was held at gunpoint by several local Network agents.

  He thought that using Abdula to kill the bitch was a stroke of genius. It saved him the trouble of tapping into his law enforcement connections, which could be messy at times. If Abdula failed, Alan had other operatives standing by just in case.

  He focused on a small notebook computer cradled in his lap, linked to the Cray mainframe located somewhere in Montana. In the event of national emergencies, the Pentagon superseded the FAA in determining the prioritization of domestic flights. Alan typed furiously and sent a number of hacked passwords and subroutines deep into the Pentagon’s servers.

  He looked down at his ticket—Flight 255 from Dallas to Phoenix. He finished typing and watched the screen for a moment as the instructions flashed through the system. A sly smile came to his face as he glanced sideways at the departure screen. One flight lit up while the others kept blinking. Alan’s plane was unexpectedly given priority and would be boarding in 10 minutes.

  He grabbed his travel bag and made his way to the body scan machine. As he walked, he scrolled through his cell phone for a moment and then punched the resend button.

  “Hello?”

  “Abdula, it’s Ziminski. Have you found them?”

  “Yes for God’s sake, I am chasing them now. My children, are they all right?”

  “They’ll be fine as long as you kill the girl. Remember, one screw up
and everyone dies.” Alan chuckled as he put the phone back in his pocket.

  ***

  Anston continued to run the car at full throttle as the engine shuddered and whined in protest. The dark sedan approached menacingly, swinging into the left lane. As it pulled even with the rental car, Zach looked over into the maniacal eyes of the driver, who gestured wildly as though he was insane. A semi-comatose man sat in the passenger’s seat, and after looking at him for several seconds, Zach recognized him as the one Sarah called, “Abernathy” from the convenience store.

  With unsettling suddenness, the driver swerved radically and the front bumper slammed directly into the rental car, hitting just behind driver's side fender. For a seeming eternity, the shriek of metal grinding on metal pierced the interior cab. Sarah fell off the backseat and clutched her ears, her face a contorted picture of terror. Anston fought the steering wheel and cursed under his breath. Spittle flew from his lips, and his eyes were wide with rage and fear.

  From the moment they left the convenience store, Zach projected a shield of protective energy around the vehicle and its occupants. His ability to manipulate the realm of telekinetic thought was growing, and although he wasn’t sure exactly where the source of this power came from, he could sense it was becoming stronger. Zach knew that someone or something was looking for Sarah, and he pledged to keep her safe at all costs. The nebulous presence continued to float in and out at close proximity. However, the imminent danger they faced took precedence and required immediate action.

  The sedan pulled away and prepared for another attack. Both vehicles approached an overpass constructed of massive concrete pylons that spanned the length of the bridge on either side. Abdula swung his car out wider to gain momentum and gauged the next hit so Anston would be forced into one of the supports.

  As Zach glanced at the bridge structure, he understood the attacker's plan. Instantaneously, Zach dropped the shield that had been protecting the vehicle and plowed into Abdula’s mind with a violent projectile of pure thought, which was white, hot and crackling with energy.

  Hassan let go of the wheel, grabbed the sides of his head, and squealed in pain and horror. Sarah heard the piercing sound of his screams through the road noise and the glass windows that separated the vehicles. Abdula’s car swerved in their direction, and Anston reacted by over steering and jamming on the anti-lock brakes.

  The two cars ran parallel for a brief moment, just long enough for Zach to see the agony on the face of Hassan Abdula. The man’s skin had a hue of deep purple with burning red patches that scorched his cheeks and forehead. His eyes bulged against their sockets and then shriveled like crisping bacon, wisps of oily smoke escaped through his ear, nasal and mouth orifices. Next to him in the passenger’s seat, Thomas Abernathy stared straight ahead, oblivious to the rapid decomposition of the man sitting beside him.

  Abdula looked at Zach for a moment, blood streaming from his eye sockets, and then he veered radically to the left and purposely ran the sedan directly into the cement bridge support. The impact was so severe that the car instantly exploded into a ball of fire, disintegrating in a slow motion cascade of glass and metal fragments that pelted the rental car like mortar shrapnel.

  Fortunately, Anston powered through the debris field and continued at high speed down the freeway. The cars and trucks that followed weren’t as lucky. The large parts, tires and the frame itself hurtled into oncoming traffic and slammed into the first wave of unsuspecting motorists. Several windshields blew out from the impact, and multiple drivers were impaled by the wreckage. Later, when the highway patrol finally unraveled the catastrophe, 11 deaths would be attributed to the accident.

  Anston’s hands remained tight on the wheel as he tried to put distance between his car and the crash. They traveled in terrified silence as the mile markers passed, frequently checking the road for any sign of law enforcement.

  After nearly an hour, Zach sensed they had survived the immediate threat of apprehension. He knew they needed gas, and fresh air and refreshment would be welcome. Seeing a mini market in the distance, he turned toward Anston, but as he opened his mouth to speak, the familiar gray fog began closing in. A vision was coming upon him, and he sensed it would include the dark presence that had been hitchhiking with them since they had picked up Sarah.

  Zach stepped inside the apparition and tentatively looked around to see if he could make out anything familiar. The odor was repulsive, growing more foul as he came closer to the source. It smelled like a mixture of livestock entrails, feces, and decaying human bodies. He wanted to retch but realized he was no longer in corporeal form.

  Through the swirling mists, he made out a figure standing against a solid gray wall in the distance. His ghastly white skin stood in stark contrast to the gray and black tones that surrounded him. The thick fog was pierced by the gleam of a sickly smile. Zach stopped and regarded the entity. It was the same presence he encountered in the barn with Sarah in an earlier vision. The Dark One had returned.

  The other began to communicate through the power of pure thought. The exchange happened so rapidly that virtually no linear time elapsed.

  The Dark One asked, You are a rogue?

  I… Can you explain all of this to me? Zach struggled to comprehend his surroundings.

  You… are a rogue.”

  What are you? What are you doing, and why did you bring me here?

  Mr. Cox tilted his head slightly. He looked puzzled, perhaps even confused. You have intruded into a place reserved only for me. From where do you come? How did you receive your gift?

  I—I don’t have answers. I search for them. And yet, you continue to try and kill the girl. Why?

  Cox’ smile disappeared and was replaced by a scowl as his black eyes blazed. The girl belongs to me. You have intruded. You are a rogue. It is my purpose, and I shall fulfill it. I have no comprehension of you. Where do you stand?

  I am… alone. I only wish to learn why this has happened to me and what you are. Did you… Zach projected images of a nuclear explosion. Cox absorbed the energy and the smile returned.

  Purification, beautiful.

  Zach recoiled in horror as his mind filled with images Cox collected from the explosion and subsequent fallout. Grotesque, hideous impressions of maimed children and the burned vestiges of people ripping at their own charred radioactive skin. He looked at Cox with contempt and considered an attack but thought better of it. Cox’ eyes were wide open, inviting a battle, supremely confident. Zach shuddered and remembered Sarah’s words. In a war of wills, he doubted he would prevail.

  Do you exist—physically—in Arizona?

  Yes, you shall come. I will wait for you there. The voice and image evaporated over a seeming eternity.

  Zach bolted upright in the seat, and Anston grabbed him with a free hand. There was a distinct cackling voice in the distance and a final message: I will allow your free passage to Desolation… But do not try my patience.

  “Zach, Zach, can you hear me?”

  “I’m ok, Jarad. I’m ok. It was another vision, but there was no suicide. I confronted the Dark One directly.”

  “What happened? What did he say?”

  Zach whipped his head around to look at Sarah. She was sitting upright and staring straight ahead, a vacant look in her dark brown eyes. There were only three of them in the car, but he still felt the presence of another.

  “No one will follow us anymore. Just keep the car headed for Arizona. We’ll find the answers we need when we get there.”

  Sarah Johansen giggled a bit. “Yes, we’ll find the answers. We’ll also die there.”

  ***

  The second thermonuclear bomb detonated at midnight Eastern Standard Time in Mumbai, India, exactly 12 hours after the Istanbul disaster. Governments and the world community collectively froze as the dismal reality began to spread through the international media. The slim hope that the explosion in Turkey had been the work of deranged Bulgarians was shattered.

  The q
uestion of who planned and executed the horrific acts of terrorism became the obsession of political leaders everywhere. The number of dead hardly conveyed the horrendous tragedy–75,000 died in the initial explosion, and 2 million more would die within weeks from exposure, dehydration, starvation and radioactive fallout.

  The Red Cross and other relief organizations were overwhelmed as refugees streamed into nearby Pune and Nashik. Across India, the advanced infrastructure collapsed as unaffected areas struggled with the influx of expatriates fleeing the devastation in Mumbai.

  Strained world financial markets collapsed further under the suffocating investor panic and fear. The Dow Jones Industrial average fell to 973 before rebounding to close the day at 1031. The Nikkei dropped to a stunning 63, and the Hang Seng disintegrated as misguided protesters stormed the exchange, ripping out computer terminals and beating the traders with hammers and baseball bats.

  The world’s major militaries went to the highest state of alert, and the United Nations met in a raucous session that ended with the Moroccan Ambassador slamming the head of the Polish Ambassador into the gold unmasked peace dove statuette that stood watch over the entry to the General Assembly Hall. Panic rippled through the streets of major cities as residents began to flee in anticipation of the next detonation.

  Murders, rapes, theft and the other horrors associated with the disintegration of civilization spread outward like ripples in a pond as buried ancient conflicts erupted and belched forth their venomous bile. The scabs over the oldest animosities ripped open first, and the Israelis launched a preemptive strike against Iran, convinced the ayatollahs were using their recently acquired nuclear weapons to bring death to their enemies.

  The Iranians protested vociferously and declared war against the Zionist regime while launching an aggressive counter attack. The world teetered on the brink, but so far, every nuclear capable country had resisted the temptation to use their weapons.