I stood in the middle of the hall where as many people could see me as possible through their doorways, and I took off my helmet and sling-armed my rifle over my shoulder. Waving to them, I called out, “Get out. Everyone, get out, now. You have to leave quickly!”
They didn’t move, but only stared at me, appearing as frightened as before.
“Come on, let’s go!” I insisted again. Then I ran down the hallway to the other doors and repeated my urgings.
Still, no one moved. “My God, what’s wrong with you people?”
Then, a small Oriental man stepped forward from the first doorway. He wore white and red striped pajamas and red slippers as did all of the others. He bowed his head briefly.
“Few of us speak English,” he said. “I do, but I cannot ask my people to do as you say. They would be killed.”
“They’ll die if they don’t leave. There’s no one to stop you now. Xiang and the others — they’ve all left.”
“You do not deceive us?”
“No. It’s the truth. But you must leave immediately. There’s a bomb set to go off in less than two hours. It’s a very big bomb that will kill everyone within miles of this place.”
“It is the truth. I see it in your eyes. But where will we go?”
“Do you know of the tunnel?”
“Yes, we were brought into this place through a tunnel. I know where it is.”
“Good.” I recalled remote viewing the back side of the mountain. “At the end of the tunnel, a small foot trail leads between two small mountains. If you can make it on the other side of one of the mountains, put it between you and this place, you should be okay. But don’t stop there. Don’t stop until you’ve found help, the highway, a way to get very far away. There’ll be radioactive fallout, poison in the air that will kill you slowly if you don’t get away from it.” I was reminded of my tactical delaying measures. “Oh, and when you go down the stairwell stay to the outside — go single file all the way to the basement. You’ll see what I’m talking about and understand.” I hoped. “Whatever you do, stay on the stairway until you reach the basement — don’t go through the doors to the first floor.”
He bowed to me again and turned to the nearest doorway. He held his arms out and called to the people in the room in a language I didn’t recognize, but I guessed was one of the many dialects of Chinese. He then scurried to the next room and did the same thing again. Soon the occupants stirred and their voices rose, confused and scared. They began rushing from their rooms, and in a few seconds, hundreds filled the corridor.
Someone familiar ran past me, and I could not control the emotions constricting my throat and damming up in my eyes. It was my son, William.
* * *
Xiang had become impatient waiting for Colonel Wu and Chief Dailey. He stood with Dr. Yumi outside his limousine near the entrance of the tunnel that led to the airstrip, after sending a detail of five guards back to the morgue. Their orders were to dispose of Subject 374 and the woman intruder’s bodies. To be sure, all of the corpses in the morgue were to be incinerated. Then, they were to bring all of the programmed subjects with them in formation and march them down to the waiting planes. Finally, they would report back to Xiang when both jobs were accomplished. Xiang hadn’t been pleased with the detail’s hesitance with his orders. They knew of the time constraint, and he could sense their fear that they would be left behind to be killed with the others. But they obeyed, sprinting to the stairwell en route to the morgue.
* * *
The detail that was headed for the morgue hit the stairwell all out. They feared for their lives, knowing Dr. Xiang would have them killed if they did not follow his every order, yet knowing if they took too long to accomplish their task, they would be left behind and die.
After making the stairway landing between floors, they found a huge mess before them — trash and garbage completely covering the steps up. Frightened of the consequences of pausing for very long, they did not slow down, but plowed ahead regardless of the clutter.
In a fraction of a second, the five-man detail knew this was no ordinary litter.
In the time it takes a falling body to travel six feet, all five men were prone in the refuse on the steps. They attempted to climb up, slipping back, having to use their hands, finding shredded paper and orange peels stuck to their combat boots and body armor, their weapons covered, their hands now in the gooey mess, pulling up printer paper, used tissues, coffee filters, paper towels, and scraps of cardboard food containers — and thumb tacks — some idiot had scattered thumb tacks! Each man frowned at the muddle they had entered, still pressing farther, progressing slowly, slipping back a step, sometimes two or more, the discarded material sticking to their clothing. Finally, panting and nearly exhausted from battling the quagmire behind them, they made the next floor.
They took a moment to pull some of the garbage and shredded paper from each other’s uniforms and equipment — and thumb tacks from their gloved hands — and they saw only more of the same litter on the stairs above. Luckily, the morgue was on the floor they were on now.
But after bursting through the stairwell doorway, they found a different sort of trouble — all slipping face first into a slick pool suddenly before them, too late to notice it was there.
It smelled and looked like liquid dish soap — and they were not surprised to find more thumb tacks. At first, it was just more bother. Then, the smell changed, and they realized that when rushing through the door, a tripwire — a string — had been pulled, and from each side of the doorway, a container had spilled out onto the floor in front of the dish soap. The smell that came to their noses was only irritating at first — then overwhelming, burning their sinuses.
Sprawled onto the tile, the detail’s leader grimaced as he struggled tediously with another tack, slick with soap, and finally pulled it from his cheekbone. He glanced back at the plastic containers emptying themselves onto the floor. Drain cleaner and bleach. Their spills ran together in the middle of the doorway creating overpowering fumes.
His eyes widened as he realized the noxious odor was deadly chlorine gas.
* * *
As they prepared to leave for the airfield in Dr. Xiang’s limo, Dr. Yumi had slipped away, explaining to Xiang that she had forgotten her journal — an essential logbook because it was there that she recorded her daily findings and notes on the progress of the Brainstorm project. She told him she would catch up — ride with Chief Dailey and Colonel Wu when the limo returned for them, and she hustled away before Xiang could comment — lucky to have left then.
After the limo drove away into the tunnel with Dr. Xiang aboard, Chief Dailey and a groggy Colonel Wu arrived at sub floor two in the elevator. Yumi ducked behind a large support column without Wu seeing her. She waited for an opportunity to dash to the stairwell twenty feet away.
Wu’s voice was loud, agitated that Subject 374 and the woman intruder had still been alive even though the injections Dr. Yumi had administered to them were supposedly lethal. He was skeptical even with Chief Dailey’s story that, this time, they were both dead.
When Wu turned toward the tunnel, Yumi rushed to the stairwell and quietly climbed the steps out of sight. Just past the landing midway to the floor above, she found a strange mess completely covering the steps up — trash and garbage. She used care in transcending, stepping on the few larger pieces of trash she could find. Soon, she found the going much easier along the outside six inches of each step. She remembered the detail running off before she left and then understood that the quagmire had been created for them. The upturned and gooey litter made it obvious they had passed, very arduously, this way.
In a large, open office space used by the research scientists on the third floor, Yumi found Rajiv Shekhar sitting behind a computer desk. He was the only one there when Dr. Yumi came in. All of the others who were supposed to be working at that time had heard rumors of a “bomb threat” and evacuated. It had been Yumi who put out the word — thinkin
g at least those who ran would have a slim chance. Without knowing the size or type of the explosive, some sought the apparent safety of their homes in Gold Rush — at least they would die with their loved ones — while those more likely to survive went to gather their families and flee the area. She hoped they would somehow get past Xiang’s guards. None of them knew of the second bomb below the water tower — few would have believed such an incredible story.
Yumi told Rajiv to meet Robert and Sunny at the morgue quickly, that a clean-up team of guards had been assigned the grisly task of burning their bodies, double insurance that no sign of them ever being there would be found. Rajiv’s job seemed impossible, even to Yumi — to somehow stop the guards, get them away from Robert and Sunny long enough for his companions to escape. Then, he was to take them to the ambulance parked in the emergency room ambulance garage on the basement level. But if Robert wasn’t there, he was to take Sunny to the ambulance and wait there for him.
Rajiv obeyed, but reminded Yumi of the need to get his family out with him. She assured him Chief Dailey was working on the evacuation of the town and there was nothing more Rajiv could do that wouldn’t cause delays. The last thing she told him was to avoid the stairwell and take the elevator.
* * *
Rajiv arrived at the morgue to find the detail of five very untidy guards. He understood why they would be covered in garbage and why they all seemed teary eyed. He’d found the elevator not working and had to take the stairway — and slid down the last flight of steps through an incredible amount of sticky trash. After cleaning himself thoroughly, picking off all the messy garbage, he then encountered a terrible odor as he stepped into the hallway — and proceeded to fall on his butt three times on some kind of a slick spill before making it to the morgue. The janitors must have gone on strike.
Two of the guards were at the incinerator, the furnace door open, loading it one by one with the cadavers. An occasional flame licked from the opening causing them to yield to it, stepping back. Two of the other three guards were pushing the emptied tables away and pulling new occupied ones closer to the fiery finale. The last guard, who Rajiv guessed was the leader since he seemed to be doing none of the work, watched from the door.
He gazed at the men, fragments of garbage clinging to their uniforms. “You have not heard?” he asked them.
The guard turned, his rifle pointed at the floor, not seeming threatened by Rajiv. “We have our orders. Dr. Xiang has promised he’d get us out before the bomb goes off. Now, get out of the way.” The other four guards continued their task.
“Bomb?” Rajiv asked. “Kindly tell me what bomb, please?”
The guards glanced at each other. “Just get out of here.”
“But Dr. Xiang has instructed me to . . . ,” Rajiv scanned the tables, looking for his companions, unsure of what he would tell the guards. He feared he was too late, as they seemed nearly finished with their job. He blurted out, “I need a brain.”
Again, they glanced at each other. The leader frowned at Rajiv.
“Dr. Xiang has instructed me to come and get two brains for experimentation.”
“Only one left,” the leader said and pointed to the covered table next to Rajiv. “We’re fresh out.”
“That is obvious,” Rajiv said scanning the guards.
The leader glared at him.
“Come on, Top,” one of the other guards told the leader. “Let him have his brain. Let’s get out of here. We still have another assignment to do.”
“I’m for that — everything and everybody here will soon be vaporized, anyway,” the guy called Top said, and the others nodded.
They hustled by Rajiv and out the door.
Rajiv waved at their backs as they sprinted toward the stairwell. They slowed coming up on the liquid detergent on the floor, one slipping as he stepped on an old footprint of the stuff. They moved cautiously to the stair doorway while cupping one hand over their noses and mouths, opened the door and paused, looking up.
The leader said, “It’s going to be easier the second time — knowing what we’re up against.” And they hesitantly went in.
Rajiv searched about the room one more time, his eyes wide and mouth open. Only one table had been left with a body.
“My friend, Robert Weller,” he whispered, gaping at the covering. “I hope this is you.”
He pulled back the sheet to find Sunny unconscious.
“Oh my,” he complained. “It is not my friend.” He shook his head. “Lady,” he said softly, “Sunny, you must wake up, please.” He pushed on her shoulder but nothing happened. He shook her and spoke louder. “Sunny, it is me, the geek. Kindly wake up now, please!” Still, she did not respond.
Rajiv went to the sink and drew half of a small paper cup of water. He returned to Sunny’s side. “I am sorry, but you have left me with no other choice,” he said.
As Sunny’s eyes fluttered open, and she looked to Rajiv, he seemed unable to stop the forward motion of his arm. The water splashed in Sunny’s face.
They looked at each other, both shocked.
Sunny blew water from her lips. “What the — ”
“I am not your knight in luminous steel, like you may believe,” Rajiv said. “I am known to you as the geek Raja. Do you remember?”
“Oh, yeah,” Sunny said, her eyes narrowed as she shook her head, “I remember.”
“That is good. It is also good you are not cremated.”
“At first thought, yeah, that sounds good, too.”
“Well, now that the niceties are over, we must run for our lives to the ambulance parked down the hall.”
“Where is he?”
Rajiv blinked at her. “If you mean our friend Robert, he is not here. I am hoping he stepped out on important business and did not become ashes. Dr. Yumi said if he was not here, we should wait for him at the ambulance.”
“I’ve done enough waiting,” Sunny said and slipped from the table. She stretched her shoulders and arms while holding on to the side. “I need to find Dan.” She released the table and found her legs and her balance.
“Please,” Rajiv said, “my plan first. Then we can discuss this missing husband of yours.”
They went to the door and Rajiv opened it cautiously before passing through with Sunny behind him. “This way,” he said and trotted about fifty feet to a set of windowed doors that said Emergency Room/Ambulance Parking on it.
After pushing through the wide doors, he looked back.
Sunny was gone.
Chapter 32
“William,” I called out to the running boy. “Will, I’m here. It’s your dad, son.” The emotions brimmed my soul and spilled out from my eyes in hot tears. I became overwhelmed with the joy of seeing William not only on his feet, not only walking, but running. “My God, Will! You can walk again!”
Several yards away, Will found a young Oriental woman and latched onto her arm with both hands. I moved toward him, but the crowd swelled and got in the way. I tried to be respectful to these slight, malnourished people, but it was difficult knowing I need only push through fifteen feet in order to hold my son. They all had lied about William. They all had deceived me, and this was a whole other matter, now. Why would they, my supposed friends and rescuers, trick me in such a way?
By the time I reached William and the woman, we were already through the doors of Residence A. Those leading the crowd of at least five hundred people were now sprinting through the vacant children’s ward and to the stairwell midway in the main hall.
I dropped my helmet and grabbed William around his middle as he fled. After pulling him loose from the woman, I lifted him into my arms. He returned a look of horror and panic and began screaming.
“Will, it’s me, your daddy,” I pled with him. “Buddy, it’s me.” I looked at his legs and arms flailing about him as he cried. “My God,” I said. “Look at you. You can walk and run. My God. It’s a miracle.” The tears streamed from my cheeks. I didn’t understand Will’s behavior, but
the shock of seeing him as a whole child again, one that could run and play games, ice skate, snow ski, and play baseball, was overpowering.
The next thing I knew, people were slapping and striking me, and tugging at William. I glanced back at them through the tears in my eyes. The Oriental woman William had clung to was one of my assailants, as was an older Oriental woman and man. They were all speaking gibberish to my ears. I was glad when the man who understood English came to my rescue.
“What is happening here?” he asked me. “What do you want with this boy?”
“He’s my son,” I said. “I’m taking him with me.” I pulled him away, which caused the old woman to fall, and I began pushing through the crowd, even though William and the others protested violently in an Far Eastern tongue.
“You are making a terrible mistake,” the English speaking man yelled out. “He is not your son.”
The old man who had been with the two women stepped in my way, and I glared at him, the pressure building in the back of my head.
“It’s you who’re making the terrible mistake if you don’t get out of my way.”
He didn’t budge. My temples ached but no shooting pain came, and I watched as this slight man whom I could easily throw against a wall, or strike with such force as to kill him where he stood, remained in my path. He grabbed his chest as the pressure in my head increased. He fell to his knees in agony and gasped for breath.
“Please, you must not hurt these people,” the English speaker shouted and made his way through the crowd to grasp my arm.
The pressure in my temple reduced. The old man before me was able to catch his breath.
The English speaker said, “Why do you take this boy, Li, from his mother?”
“His name’s William, and I told you. He’s my son.”
“That is impossible. I saw Li on the day he was born. I know Li’s parents. His mother is there,” he said and pointed to the woman William had held onto. “And his father was an Australian man named Jason Godfrey. He is dead, now. Dr. Xiang and his men killed him before Li was a month old. You are not the boy’s father.”
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