Despite the constant popping from the gunfire surrounding her, Liz spoke calmly into the satellite phone as she casually strolled to the jet.
"Ms. Baron, you need to move quicker! We didn't anticipate this many threats!" exclaimed Brennamen. The Special Air Serviceman turned soldier of fortune in South Africa, pulled himself on top of the Ford’s bumper and fired half a magazine.
The dead residents of Dobbins County had been following the caravan for the last mile. Upon arriving at the airfield, Brennamen had set up a perimeter and used the airport’s seven foot tall fencing to deter the first of the infected. However, the gate was quickly breached and the twenty other Guardsmen under Kurt’s command were forced to engage in closer-than-desired combat.
"Ms. Baron, you need to move faster," Brennamen declared again, watching one of his men be taken down by a rabid woman. Kurt ejected the magazine from his rifle and inserted another one.
Liz ignored the request as she continued walking casually to the jet. "What else have you heard?" she asked to the unnamed person on the other end of the phone call.
"Simmons bought your explanation. So did the other cabinet members here. They are distraught about the President's death and plan to send out a Marine detachment to investigate. Would you like me to delay them?"
"No, that won't be necessary. The scene is secure. They will only find charred bodies and a bunker that looks like it was destroyed by infected and defensive gunfire."
"What else did our new President say?"
"He just went on and on about how grateful it was that you survived and are still moving forward with the vaccine distribution."
Liz’s ego inflated with her respiration. "Very good.”
"My orders now?"
"As I'm sure you guessed, plans have changed slightly. Your priority mission has been bumped up. I will be sending over materials soon. Remember, it must be clean."
"Of course.”
"Any questions?"
"Negative."
"Good. Now remember, keep an eye out over there and inform me ofanythingrelevant. I don't care how small it may seem.Anything. Am I clear?"
"Crystal."
"E-ow," Liz groaned, as the next step snapped her thin heel. Her ankle twisted but not enough to cause any damage, just temporary discomfort.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Hold on."
Liz cursed the heels and the uneven land that broke them as she hobbled on one foot. She tossed the one-thousand dollar footwear aside without a second's thought.
"Ms. Baron!" came another shout from Brennamen. This time the words caught her ear. "We've already lost Hayes and Carlson! We have to leave now! Ms. Baron?"
"What is it, Brennamen?"
The British Army special operator pointed at the gates behind him, specifically at the now eighteen men who were busy popping off rounds and engaging in close quarters combat with the countless infected.
"You cannot linger! You have to get on your plane now!" He would have said more, but when Liz removed her sunglasses, he saw the cold glare that everyone feared. Despite his own history of terrible acts, the look chilled him.
“Mr. Brennamen, I pay you to protect me, do I not?"
The question, especially in the midst of chaotic circumstances, caught Kurt off guard. "Yes, Ms. Baron, you do, but the infected-"
"What about them? You have guns, they have teeth. It shouldn't be that difficult. Besides, you and your men were administered Ambrosia, were you not?"
"We were, but those things, they are like animals!"
"Are you saying you cannot protect me?”
Kurt shifted nervously. “No, I mean yes, Ms. Baron, I can protect you, but I don't think you fully understand the gravity of the situation-”
"Sidearm. Give it to me, now," she said nonchalantly, hand extended.
It was not a request, and Brennamen knew better than to disobey. He removed his battle-tested Springfield 1911 pistol and handed it over.
Liz inspected the craftsmanship. "Very nice piece," she said, noting the dents and scrapes undoubtedly from years of tough wear and tear. "I wonder how many lives it has taken?"
Then, in a fluid motion, she pointed the barrel at Kurt’s head.
"Ms. Baron?"
"Shut up!”
Kurt gaped into the barrel at the .45 caliber round that was waiting indiscriminately for him.
"At this angle, if I pull the trigger, the bullet would enter your brain, damaging your frontal lobe and motor area. It wouldn't kill you. On the contrary, it would lead to a permanent vegetative state, and permanent being a tricky word there, because in reality, it would only be moments until the infected got to you and ripped you apart."
"M-Ms. Baron?"
"So, Kurt, I will ask you again, and I want you to think hard about your answer. Are you able, or unable to protect me?”
"I-I can," he stuttered at first. Then, almost instantaneously, Kurt regained his nerve and resolve. "You pay me for my ability to protect you and I haven't failed you yet. I apologize for my insubordination; it's just that we needed to get moving-"
Liz pulled the trigger, but the round did not strike Brennamen. In fact, it blasted through the eye of a fair-skinned infected boy in dirty jeans and a bloodied sweatshirt.
Kurt opened his eyes to find himself very much alive and unhurt. He felt around for an injury, but discovered none. He turned around and saw the boy and a gaping hole where his left eye used to be.
"Next time, I won't miss," she said, tossing the gun in the air.
Slack-jawed and awestruck, Brennamen fumbled for the weapon, catching it low to the ground.
As she walked barefoot to the jet, Liz paused and turned back. "And remember,younever tellmewhat to do. Understood?"
"Y-yes, ma'am."
After seeing Liz onto the plane, Kurt latched up the stairs and pounded the side with his fist, shouting, "Clear, clear!"
Onboard, Liz watched Brennamen order the rest of his men to fall back to the second plane for exfiltration. The remaining eighteen abandoned the two deceased Guardsmen and moved in a synchronous motion to the second jet.
Liz brought the phone back to her ear and finished the conversation. "Now, are you absolutely sure of the plan? Completely positive what your role is and what you are doing?"
"I am."
“I don't think I have to tell you what will happen if you fail me,” she said, ending the conversation without a goodbye or what the price of failure would be. “Jenna? Jenna where are you?”
Jenna Morgan, Liz’s personal secretary, approached from the back. “Coming, Ms. Baron,” replied the sandy-blond-haired country girl from Kentucky. She handed over a leather-bound folder an inch thick. "Here are the files you asked for.”
"Good," Liz snapped, still exasperated from the never-ending stress of the day.
Jenna had worked for Liz for close to three years. By Liz's side every day, Jenna knew her boss’s personality and the emotional tells, and more importantly, how to react to them. She sensed the tension and said, "I will save the daily reports until later. And so you are aware, Norman has made contact via backchannels. He requested time with you, but I informed him you will be in touch when you wanted to be."
"Good," Liz replied, this time the one word response hinted at above-satisfactory approval. "Come get me when we are over Chicago. That will give us plenty of time. Until then, do as you'd like."
"Thank you, Ms. Baron," Jenna said, turning toward the secondary seating area in the back.
This particular jet was custom built for comfort. The lavish design comprised a half dozen, decadent first-class inspired seats, which had the option of reclining into full beds for the longer journeys. Liz’s personal leather chair was unquestionably more grandiose than the others were, and was accompanied by a stone fountain that dribbled peaceful notes of water into a marble reservoir with polished themes of angelic gardens.
An assortment of tuna, shrimp, salmon, and albacore was laid out alongside an alterna
tive meal of steak seared rare with a side of garlic whipped mashed potatoes. A tall glass of ice water and a small martini shaker with frost clinging to its stainless steel frame were centered behind the mixed cuisine.
Two servants dressed in long black cotton shirts and matching pants oversaw the elaborate spread. More slaves than servants, their only purpose was to fulfill Liz's request and the only words they were allowed to say were "yes, ma'am."
"Take everything away,” Liz ordered, collapsing into her cushiony chair. "I'm not hungry."
"Yes ma'am," came a simultaneous reply from both men.
"In fifteen minutes, one of you will return to clean and massage my feet. The other will scrub the dirt from the carpet. Until then, I want to be alone."
"Yes ma'am."
The servants struggled against the force of the moving jet, but they managed to remove all food and beverages without spilling or breaking anything.
"Ms. Baron, we are ready for takeoff," the pilot called, before throttling. The turbines screamed and the wheels rolled forward and seconds later, the jet was airborne.
As the plane rose, Liz rested her head against the pillow, closed her eyes and massaged her temples. She was looking forward to fifteen minutes of peace and quiet, but the rattle of ice cubes in a martini shaker from the bar behind her swept away the calm she had just found.
"Damn, you fools! What part of fifteen minutes did you not understand? Unless you want to be strapped to the wings, I suggest you cease and remove yourselves from this cabin at once!"
The martini shaker continued shaking despite the threat. Then came a subtle, yet very distinct, feminine chuckle.
Liz's eyes popped open. "I know that laugh.”
“I've never known you to turn down a pre-takeoff cocktail,” said a sexy, slender-figured woman dressed in tight jeans and a jacket buttoned-up only to her cleavage.
"Lizzy, is it really you?" Liz said, spinning around in her chair. The moment she identified the woman, the stress of the day vanished. Her uncontrollably large smile accentuated shallow wrinkles.
"Surprise, mother. Your favorite daughter is here," Lizzy replied, perfect white teeth exposed behind luscious lips.
"My only daughter."
"Then favorite child?"
"You know where you stand."
"Oh, mother," Lizzy grinned. The smile wasn't as full as Liz's but was of the same deep love.
"I am beyond ecstatic," Liz exclaimed, as a burst of energy sprung her to her feet. "I can't believe you're here! Come over here and give me a hug."
Lizzy strolled over with the elegance of a supermodel but the attitude of a strong businesswoman. She wore her hair in a loose knot, allowing some strands to cross in front of her transfixing green eyes. Her face was lightly touched with make-up, but only enough to highlight her blemish-free skin. "One of these days I'll get you to admit I am the favorite.”
In one hand, Lizzy carried a pair of martini glasses, and in the other, the shaker. Interior lighting bounced off the custom-cut, heart-shaped diamond ring that took over the whole of her middle finger.
"You look stunning as always," Liz said, using her finger to pull a lock of dangling hair behind Lizzy’s left ear.
"I get my looks from you."
Indeed, Lizzy Baron was a near replica of what Liz had looked like twenty-five years ago; the family photo albums proved the yearly progression.
"Oh stop the flattering.” Though Liz’s scarlet cheeks and body language suggested otherwise.
A sudden pocket of turbulence caused both women to stumble. Liz caught herself on the chair, while Lizzy nearly broke both glasses as she crashed into her mother.
"We should probably sit," Liz said, ushering Lizzy to the chair next to hers. Both women pushed the buttons on the sides of the chairs until the seats spun inward, facing one another.
Lizzy poured a half glass of chilled vodka and handed it to Liz. "How are you, mother? You look like you could use ten of these."
"That estimate isn't far off," she said, gulping the chilled contents.
Lizzy replenished her mother’s empty glass with her share, and then whistled. "Jeeves," she declared, not knowing or caring to know the names of the servants.
Both men popped their heads around the corner. “Yes, ma’am?”
"Make us another batch."
Liz put her hand on Lizzy’s knee. "Don't get me wrong, I am overjoyed that you are here, butwhat are you doing here?"
"I know I told you yesterday that I wouldn't be meeting until after phase two, but-"
"But what? Is something wrong with construction?"
Lizzy crossed her legs and chuckled. For the last eight years, Lizzy had been groomed for leadership. Her self-confidence and ferocious appetite for business dominance bordered on stark arrogance. She was ruthless, though it was widely accepted that the only person feared more than Lizzy, was the one who birthed her.
As the executive in charge of International Affairs and Development, Lizzy was responsible for running all LIFE's business outside of the United States. Before the outbreak, that broad title encompassed general executive oversight, and maintaining and managing the relationships for all LIFE's legitimate businesses. Now, her role shifted slightly as she became the point of contact for the company’s criminal cohorts. Furthermore, she was directly in charge of phase three's most critical component, a project known as the Towers of LIFE.
"Nothing bad, mother, don't worry," Lizzy replied. She held out her glass for the servants to fill. "Phase three is going as planned and construction should be completed on time. I was growing bored of the French Riviera, and there was nothing more to do at this moment, so I wanted to come surprise you."
Liz cheered her daughter’s glass. "Well surprise me, you did."
"And I wanted to be here for the end of phase two. Tell me, how is everything going?"
Liz snorted. "There have been a few setbacks, but nothing of grave detriment."
Lizzy arched a concerned eyebrow. "What happened?"
"The President is dead and Blue Springs is destroyed."
"What? Why was I not informed? It was Albert who persuaded you not to tell me wasn't it?" Lizzy asked. It was unclear by her tone if the question was based in paranoia or past experience.
"It just happened earlier today. I planned to call you on the way home. And no, Albert had no part in when I was going to tell you."
"How does this affect our plan?"
"In the grand scheme, it doesn't really. Actually, we found that it opened up avenues, but as far as Ambrosia is concerned, Albert will be calling later to give an update on departure times for the trucks. The main concern is Craig West."
"Who?"
"Sergeant Major Craig West. He was one of our 'terrorists.'"
Lizzy shook her head from side to side. "What about him? Weren't they all supposed to be taken care of?"
"Yes, they all were. Well, everyone except West. Your dear brother, Daytona, failed, despite telling us otherwise."
Lizzy nearly spilled her drink. "Let me make sure I am understanding this clearly. Not only did Daytona fail to kill West, but he also lied to you? To us?"
"It would appear so."
"I cannot believe him! I have always told you Daytona was a risk. Ever since the beginning! He's too cocky and too sloppy. His ego is bigger than mine, but at least I back it up. What are you going to do about it? About him?"
Liz sighed. "West doesn't have any proof about anything. He only has his word, but it doesn't matter, because he is still a 'terrorist' in the eyes of the US government and world for that matter. After phase two, I will organize a team to search out and kill him."
"I meant Daytona, but good. Very good."
"Oh, well, as for your brother, I am still undecided as to what I am going to do."
"You and I both know if he was anyone else, he would be dying very slowly and very painfully."
"Yes, I know."
"At the very least you should send him overseas to work for
me. He would hate that."
Liz snorted with laughter. "I threatened him with the same thing!"
"So what are you doing to do?"
"I don't know. Between his failure and the change of plans, I am too tired to think. You and I will go over everything later. Now, I want to hear how everything is going with the Towers."
Lizzy leaned back and sipped the vodka. "Like I said, construction should be completed on time. Geneva was finished yesterday and the engineers are on their way to St. Petersburg-"
"So Europe is done?"
Lizzy grinned. "Yes. Well, St. Petersburg will link up and fill in the remaining gaps. The engineers had trouble at first, understanding the complexity and purpose of Albert's designs, but I told them that their concern was only to build and not to ask questions. Even ANT knows better than to ask questions like that. By the way, Antoinne sends his regards, and says after he’s done with the international sites, he’ll send you a total bill...cheeky bastard.”
“Indeed he is, but the man has no equal. Back to the engineers, do we have a time frame until completion?”
“Based on their work-rate, it shouldn't be long until we are fully operational and able to test. I don’t have an exact date, but should in a few days. Excuse me, Mother. Jeeves, was that sushi back there? Bring it out."
The servants hurried back with the spread of seafood.
Using chopsticks, Lizzy picked out a chunk of Bluefin Toro and dipped it in a pool of soy sauce. Ladylike, she dabbed her lips with a silk napkin and waited until the food was swallowed.
"On a more distressing note, many of the other leaders are getting antsy. To quote them, they are 'tired of living underground like animals,’" she said, going in for another bite, this time choosing salmon.
"It would seem that they are longing for the lavish lifestyle they once had. Impatient bastards. Is that all? Is that the distressing note?"
"No. Some voiced opinions that we are, quote, 'full of shit', and that we ‘can't come through with what we promised.' A few, namely Presidents Mulakhai and Ishmael, have expressed desire to back out-"
"They said what?" Liz growled, face reddening and grip tightening so hard that the stem of her glass snapped. "They are trying to back out?"
The Longest Road (Book 3): The Other Side Page 6