Silent and sullen, Paul yawned conspicuously as they tramped up the street. Ramirez ignored the posturing. Regardless of Jeremy’s admonishments or Paul’s petulance, he would do this his way. The success of the mission depended on assessing the strengths and weaknesses of the other teams before they began reconnaissance.
By the time they arrived at the designated location, both men were sweating under the weight of their packs. They scouted around for a hiding place that would also afford a clear view of the intersecting streets. The bed of an abandoned pickup truck met their criteria. Settling in, Ramirez took a long pull from his water bottle and wiped his face with the back of his arm.
“What do you think our chances are?” Paul asked.
“I don’t know. It’s been a week. That’s a long time. Still, the other cell – the one who saw the van – hasn’t seen it since, so maybe luck’s on our side.” They sat in silence, watching the slow arc of the sun as it ascended toward its peak. Then Ramirez stood and scanned the buildings around him.
“Paul, do you smell something?”
“What?”
“Smoke. I smell smoke.” Ramirez licked his finger and held it up to determine the direction of the wind.
Suddenly, Paul pointed. Ramirez followed his gaze, catching sight of a thin, brown line rising into the sky. It grew quickly, becoming a thick, black plume that menaced the bright, blue morning.
“That’s in our neighborhood!” Paul shouted, leaping to his feet. As he hauled his pack onto his shoulders, Ramirez grabbed him.
“No. We don’t go back. It’ll take too long to get there and we’d just be in the way. If it is close to the basement, Jeremy will handle it. We stay here and wait.”
“Fuck you, man! I’m going back!” Paul shoved Ramirez’s hand away. Hoisting his pack, he took off in a sprint. Ramirez cursed the man’s stupidity, but was unwilling to go after him. He had a job to do and the other teams would be along soon.
The wind picked up and the smell of smoke grew stronger. As minutes ticked by, the plume in the distance billowed and swelled, along with Ramirez’s concern. The other teams had still not arrived. When the sun was well past its meridian, he stood, searching the surrounding streets for any sign of movement. All was still. Cursing loudly, he made a decision. He would go it alone. He swung his pack over one shoulder and climbed out of the rusty pickup truck. Then he jogged up the street to his left, making careful note of his surroundings.
In the slums, loose concrete, razor wire fencing, and bullet ridden cars were everywhere. Shattered glass lay in the corners of doorways where rain and snow had failed to wash them away. All around him, time and neglect wreaked their havoc.
Without the gangsters and their bling, the dealers on the street corners, and the faded women hanging wash out the windows, it resembled the aftermath of a holocaust – abandoned and exhausted. Ramirez couldn’t believe any organized cell would choose this part of the city for its home.
He walked in the center of the street, whistling to draw attention to himself. A toothless old man with crazed eyes made a brief appearance before shuffling back inside the building from which he had emerged. Ramirez chased after him, but the man had vanished.
Changing direction, he turned onto a side street. The tall buildings were close together and obscured most of the sky. He stopped to rest, leaning against the bland, brown brick of a dilapidated apartment complex and readjusted his gun, just in case. Setting his pack down, he took another drink from his water bottle and assessed his position. The street dead ended at a rundown complex of cinderblock buildings. Before turning around, he knelt to retie a loose shoelace. In the gutter, a peculiar object caught his eye. He grabbed it and pulled it close before flinging it away. Covered with tiny black ants, the gristly bone was eerily human.
Ramirez quickly zipped his pack and hoisted it. He had inadvertently stumbled into what might be the bone people’s lair. They were known for leaving bones in their wake and finding one this close to where he suspected the van had gone was no coincidence. He pulled his pistol free and removed the safety. Holding it against his leg, he crept toward the enclave.
Near the end of the block, Ramirez heard the rumble of trucks moving in his direction. Thinking quickly, he sprinted across the sidewalk and shoved his weight against a door, forcing it open. He located a staircase, bolted to the roof, and ran across soft, black tar to the parapet. The noise of the engines was fainter from this height, but still audible. Dropping to his knees, he scanned the street below. A line of vehicles crawled toward him – a black SUV followed two transport trucks and an armored car painted in camouflage.
For a few minutes, their progress paralyzed him. Then Ramirez crawled back from the parapet. Once out of sight, he dashed across the rooftops, hopping from one building to the next. He did not stop until he reached the last in line. From there, he had a clear view of both the cinderblock cluster and the street below.
The buildings facing him were painted a faded, peeling yellow. Crudely drawn skeletons and skulls covered the walkways and walls. The armored car and transport trucks stopped in the middle of the paved turnaround in front of the enclave. Behind them, the SUV hovered in the street with its engine idling like an impatient parent.
Several men, clad in military uniforms and armed with riot guns, piled out of the vehicles. They jogged into formation and aimed the weapons at the center building. On a signal, the soldiers fired. The loud report echoed off the concrete blocks as glass shattered and people screamed. Smoke trailed out open windows and the building’s occupants poured through the front door, covering their faces and coughing. They came face to face with the soldiers, who pointed rifles at them and barked orders. “Put your hands up. Stand still or you will be shot.”
Most of the people cowered and obeyed, but one skinny man bolted away. Ramirez recoiled as a rifle cracked and the man fell to the ground. The soldiers stepped forward, arranging the group in a line. When they knelt with their hands behind their backs, a well dressed man exited the SUV and approached. Pacing in front of them, he yelled, “He’s not here. Find him!”
Two of the soldiers broke rank, pulled gas masks over their faces, and hurried into the building. When they returned, they dragged a man between them. The bright sun reflected off his fire-red hair as he struggled without effect. When the well dressed man stepped up and slapped him across the face, the redhead slumped to his knees, protesting loudly. A tall man, dressed in black, climbed out of the SUV. When he got close, he pulled a pistol from the holster on his hip, took aim, and shot the redhead point blank. Ramirez gasped as the two men calmly returned to their vehicle. The soldiers herded the rest of the terrified people into the transport trucks. Ramirez thought they would leave, but instead a few men guarded the trucks while the others marched down the street. They were going to search the buildings.
Shedding his weapon, pocket knife, and borrowed clothes, Ramirez donned his dirty uniform and ran back across the rooftops, putting distance between him and the riot guns. When he deemed it safe, he emerged onto the street, raised his hands, and cried, “Help. I’m from the Watch Tower. I’m a detective. I’m one of you!”
CHAPTER 30
Jeremy’s face twitched and his muscles ached. Staggering on unsteady legs, he tried to comprehend what Ashley was saying, but the monstrous sight she presented made concentration difficult. Believing he was delirious, he struggled against her, willing the apparition away. Finally Mariah interceded and Ashley released him.
“Breathe, girl. Take a minute and breathe,” Mariah said as Ashley stopped fighting and crumpled against her. “Jeremy, this kid’s in bad shape. Can you get to the library? We’ll meet you there.”
Still dazed, Jeremy threw on a robe and wobbled out of his room. In the library, he dropped into his chair, shivering violently. A pounding headache sent needles through the backs of his eyes, making it hard to sit upright.
While Mariah bathed Ashley’s bleeding feet, the girl recounted her story of abduction a
nd escape. As if Jeremy were underwater, Ashley’s words sounded garbled and far away. Her voice intensified as she described the rumble of approaching trucks.
“Honey, they won’t find us. That’s why this place is so special. There’s no way they’ll figure out its even here,” Mariah soothed.
Jeremy leaned forward, appalled by Ashley’s appearance. He gripped the sides of his head to help him concentrate. Like a dandelion puff, Ashley’s blond stubble caught the light above her mud-streaked scalp. The jagged cut on her nose was caked with blood and oozing slightly. She wore a tattered shirt that barely covered her body and her pale legs were cut and raw. Mustering his strength, Jeremy met her eyes.
“Mariah’s right, Ashley. We’re safe as long as we don’t go out.”
At first Ashley protested, but eventually she responded to their quiet conviction. In dire need of a shower and rest, she allowed herself to be led away. Before they left, Mariah tossed a blanket over Jeremy. He pulled it close, grateful for its warmth.
On her return, Mariah asked, “What do you think?”
“Could be serious. I don’t think they’ll find the Gate, but we need to find out what’s happening. Who’s on the roof?”
“Ben.” Mariah rolled her eyes.
“Shit,” Jeremy murmured before another spasm wracked him. When it passed, he massaged his jaw and sank back against the soft leather.
“Yeah, but we’ll handle this. You need to get back to bed,” Mariah said.
“No can do. Do me a favor and get everyone in here. We need to tell them what’s happening and make sure nobody leaves.”
When the cell members crowded the library, Jeremy relayed what he had learned. Fear spread through the group and their nervous titters rose like birds in the park until Jeremy held up his hand.
“We’ve had a run of bad luck, but this isn’t part of it. The basement’s the safest place to be. They won’t find us here. Soon as everybody’s back, we’ll seal the Gate. Then, there’s no way in. We’ve got enough food put aside to last awhile. If we don’t panic, we’ll weather the storm.”
“What about the men who are already outside?” one of the women asked. Worry masked her face, contorting her features. She and Paul had been an item for some time.
“We’ll wait for them. If something’s really going down, we’ll know soon enough and so will they. They’ll book it back here in no time. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to lie down for a bit,” Jeremy said.
Scattering reluctantly, the people clustered in small groups to talk among themselves. They trusted Jeremy more than he trusted himself and the knowledge was disconcerting. As he shuffled back to his room, he hoped he was right.
Michael and Mariah remained in the library. Straining to maintain a calm demeanor for the other cell members, they spoke in hushed voices, examining their predicament. Each of the previous purges had been violent, vicious, and for a specific reason. Since the last one, the cell had been overly cautious and there had been serious dissention regarding the calls they made in the park.
Some members thought the calling needlessly incited the NSO against them. They wanted to stay out of sight all together. Others, including Jeremy and Michael, believed the leers served a valuable purpose. They kept the rest of the Fallen at a safe distance and protected the cell’s basement home. Until now, their efforts had been successful
In a low whisper, Mariah brought Michael current on everything Ashley had related. Michael picked a scab on his arm while he thought through what he had learned.
“The thing that’s sticking in my mind is what Ashley said about not needing the shot anymore. What do you think Lewis meant?” he asked.
“I don’t know Michael. I haven’t been able to figure it out either, but something’s up and it doesn’t feel right.”
“Okay, so let’s say everything Vanessa said is true and they’ve been mutating kids’ DNA to make them subservient. Assumin’ she’s right, then they’ve been cullin’ people they don’t need and replacin’ them with the mutants as they come of age. Seems to me there’s a pretty big gap between having enough workers and enough replacements. What if they’ve found a way to infect everyone with this thing?”
“Then the shot would be a vaccination to prevent some people from getting it and the infection would ensure everyone else meets the new criteria. Oh my god! Michael, do you think that’s possible?”
“It’s the only thing makin’ sense right now. How’s it work, Mariah? I mean, sayin’ it’s true, how could they do it?”
“Viruses are strange. Some are only passed through blood. Some can be passed through any bodily fluid. Some are airborne and often extremely contagious. Michael, they’ve had years to perfect their research. It’s possible they’ve derived an airborne version of the mutating virus and the shots are the only things that prevent someone from succumbing to infection. It’s the only thing I can think of.”
“So, if you’re right – and I hope to god you’re not – then it doesn’t matter how protected the basement is, does it?”
Mariah shook her head and her eyes glittered with unshed tears. “No, but Michael, it’s only a guess. I have no idea if it’s true. It’s just one possibility. We have to do the best we can with what we know for certain.”
“That’s not good enough, damn it!”
“You know, I never got along with my mom. She was always one of those super religious types quoting scripture left and right. But one thing she said has always stuck with me. She said, ’God’s got a plan and there’s nothing for us but to put one foot in front of the other.’ That’s what we’ve got to do now, Michael. It’s worked so far, hasn’t it?”
“Jesus, Mariah, you’re starting to sound like them. That’s their bullshit. You and I both know it ain’t that easy. Somebody’s got a plan, but it ain’t God. He doesn’t give a shit!
Michael rose and was hobbling toward the kitchen when the door opened. Ben burst into the living room, red-faced and gasping for breath. “There are trucks out there! And soldiers! I saw them from the roof!” he cried.
Mariah rushed toward him. Michael followed as fast as he could. Together, they quieted the boy and steered him to Jeremy’s room, trying to avoid further agitation within the cell. Rousing Jeremy from his light sleep, Mariah apologized for waking him and turned on the lamp.
He rolled over, his pasty face wet with sweat. Ben shared his story again and Michael questioned him, trying to glean more information. The boy was too excited to do more than repeat what he had already said.
“Okay. This part’s important, Ben. I need you to think. Did the soldiers see you?” Michael asked.
“I don’t think so. I came down the fire escape, and that’s behind in the alley, so they couldn’t have seen me. Really. I promise.”
“What aren’t you telling us, Ben?” Michael pressed.
“Nothing. I swear!”
“Come on, honey. It’s okay. We just need to know. You’re not going to get into any trouble,” Mariah coaxed.
“They didn’t see me!”
“I know, but something happened, didn’t it?” she asked. The boy hung his head. When he looked up, his eyes shifted between the three adults.
“I tripped coming off the ladder and fell onto the dumpster. It was pretty loud. They might have heard me, but I don’t think so. And even if they did, they wouldn’t have known where I went, right?”
“Yeah. Sure. They wouldn’t know. You did a good job, Ben. Everyone’s going to stay inside for awhile, okay?” Jeremy said.
Ben smiled. “Can I get breakfast now?” Mariah nodded. When he was gone, Michael pounded his fist on his good leg.
“Fuck!” he hissed.
“It’s alright, Michael. As long as they didn’t see him, we’re okay. Who’s still out?” Jeremy asked.
“Paul and Ramirez left pretty early and won’t be back until tomorrow, at the earliest. Sarah and Jon are checking the traps. They’ll lay low until the trucks are gone. I’m sorry, Jeremy, but we h
ave to lock the Gate,” Michael replied.
The idea of trapping cell members outside was reprehensible, but they didn’t have a choice. They couldn’t risk anyone discovering the basement. In addition, if his suspicions were correct, it wouldn’t matter where anyone was in the end. Locking the Gate would only buy them time.
Mariah nudged him, her eyes begging him to keep quiet about their hypothesis. He gave her a reassuring nod. Worrying Jeremy about a new, airborne virus wouldn’t do any good. Right now, he needed to focus on getting well. Michael patted his arm.
“Get some rest, man. We’ll let you know if anything changes.”
“I’m trying,” Jeremy smiled weakly.
“Sorry, Bro. We won’t wake you again. Get some sleep.” Michael turned to follow Mariah and Ben to the kitchen where breakfast preparations were underway. The cell would go on rations soon, but for now it needed to tend its frazzled nerves.
After eating, Michael invited Vanessa to join him in the library. He wanted to question her more about the genetic modification, but refrained. Instead, he pointed to a boxed chess set on a low table and asked if she wanted to play. Focusing on a game would relieve his gnawing worry.
“One foot in front of the other, my ass,” he mumbled as he arranged his pawns.
“What did you say, Michael?”
“Nothin’, girl. I didn’t say nothin’.”
When they first smelled smoke, they thought something was burning in the kitchen, but a quick glance in that direction revealed their misconception. They abandoned the game and moved to the center of the living room, searching for a cause. Looking up, Michael clutched Vanessa’s hand. Curls of gray smoke filtered through the ceiling ducts, darkening the air above their heads. A woman screamed, “The building’s on fire!” and the cell panicked, scattering in search of children and precious objects. Jeremy appeared beside them, fully dressed.
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