Pipe Dreams

by Destiny Allison

  “You’re from the mainland, aren’t you?” he asked. His question hung in the musty air like a drop of water on the edge of a faucet. Then it fell. He heaved a sigh and sagged forward. “I’ve been waiting for you for a very long time. I’ll tell you everything I can. I expect you’ll kill me and I wouldn’t blame you, but I’d like to see my family again before I die. If that’s in your power, I beg you for that one small favor. After that, I don’t really care what happens to me.”

  The commander signaled to his men. One of them pulled an electric lantern from his pack and turned it on, casting a circle of light on the muddy floor of the pipe. They turned off their flashlights, but kept the muzzles aimed at Mac.

  “Okay, Mac, let’s start with who you are and why you’re here,” CoCo said. Swallowing, Mac told them about his abduction from a small college on the outskirts of Boston. He had been completing research for his doctoral thesis on synthetic narcotics. As a child, he had witnessed first hand the effects of drug addiction. A new strain of an old recipe had taken the lives of both his parents when he was six years old.

  In college, he had met a woman, fallen in love, and married her. She had majored in criminal forensics and hoped to have a career in law enforcement. Together, they had focused their energy on the rapidly growing use of synthetics. His wife’s ambitions had been cut short when she was diagnosed with cancer shortly after the birth of their second child. The aggressive leukemia had killed her quickly.

  The medical bills were staggering and he was the sole support of his young children. He had accepted a position with an obscure bio-tech firm. The job had paid ridiculously well and the company’s stated objective was in line with his ethics. So, in spite of instinctive misgivings, he had signed a contract with them to help develop a hybrid synthetic which would provide effective, long term relief to patients without many of the negative side effects of traditional, morphine based sedatives. What he had achieved had been nothing short of spectacular. Unfortunately, the drug was intensely addictive.

  Shortly after the company had supposedly killed the project, he was invited to view a new lab in Edenton, New York. The company had extended a tenuous offer for him to become director of the new facility. He had made the trip, enticed by the salary that would come with the job. That had been a little over six years ago. Since then, he had been held hostage. His prison was the plant. His jailers were the private mercenaries who guarded it, and the warden was his former boss at the bio-tech company. Mac had been brought to the plant to oversee the manufacture of the drug he had helped to invent. Its street name was Triple X and it was distributed worldwide.

  Mac finished his story and scoffed. “Ironic isn’t it? My whole life was about doing something to stop the distribution and use of illegal drugs and I end up being the primary manufacturer of a drug so addictive, and so financially lucrative, it makes heroin look like aspirin.”

  CoCo had not interrupted to ask questions. He couldn’t refrain any longer. “How are the drugs getting off the island?”

  “I don’t know. That area is off limits to me and heavily guarded. These guys shoot first. I guess I’m kind of a coward, but I have no desire to die here if I can help it. I want to see my kids again, though I’m sure they think I’m already dead,” he replied.

  “Is drug manufacturing the sole focus of the plant?”

  “No. They’re doing other research here as well. It’s some kind of medical research, but I’m not involved with that. They keep the two labs isolated from each other. As my workers get too ill to continue, they bring me fresh recruits. I’ve begged them for better protective gear, but they don’t listen. I get the impression they don’t want to keep people alive for too long. The only reason they’ve kept me is because no one else is capable of supervising the production. The chemicals are volatile. The cooking is more of an art than a science. I make sure the mix is consistent and the techs don’t blow anything up.”

  “Where are the labs? Can you diagram the building for us?” CoCo asked.

  “Are you going to let me see my kids?”

  “I don’t have the authority to promise that. The best I can do is try to keep you alive and hope to get you off the island.”

  Mac pondered this for a minute and then nodded. “That’ll have to be good enough. Hell, maybe if I’m gone the lab will blow. Wouldn’t that be something?” Bending over, he used his finger to draw in the damp dirt. He sketched the outline of the plant and looked up again.

  “Why are you here? Is it for the drugs?” he asked.

  CoCo grunted. “I wish. Rumor has it they’ve developed an airborne virus that’s got the capacity to genetically alter the DNA coding of every living person on the planet. Imagine zombies, without aggressive tendencies, who can reproduce. This thing gets out, we’re all walking dead. There’s supposed to be a vaccine to protect the people at the top. We’re here to find it.”

  “Jesus. Really? What for? I mean why would anyone want to do that?” Mac asked.

  “If you had an infinite number of slaves who posed no threat and would do anything you wanted without complaint, you’d own the world. Right?”

  “My god. That’s insane.”

  “Yep. So you going to show us what we need to know?” CoCo pointed at Mac’s crude rendering.

  “Yeah. Yeah, okay. The plant has two wings. This one, the one we just came out of, is the warehouse and loading area. This middle section here is where the other lab is located. It’s on one of the upper floors, but I don’t know which. I’m not allowed in the elevator.”

  “Then how do you know it’s there?” CoCo asked.

  “I’ve been living in this place for six years. Guards talk,” Mac replied.

  “Yeah, so if you’re so friendly with the guards, why should I trust you?”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t, but it doesn’t look like you’ve got a choice.”

  CoCo grimaced. He was edgy, hot, and impatient and they were wasting valuable time. He bit his tongue and pointed to the floor. “Touché. Go on,” he said.

  “This wing houses the drug lab, processing room, and shipping department. The skilled techs and I eat and sleep here.” Mac indicated the area where they had found him. “There aren’t many of us. The rest of the workers are housed in this section.” He drew three lines on the west side of the wing.

  “Where’s the shipping area?”

  “On the north side, facing the lake.” Mac marked it on his map.

  “How about the guards? Where are they stationed? How many are there?”

  Mac filled them in on what he knew. Based on the account, CoCo reasoned the team had a fifty-fifty chance of infiltrating the lab without getting killed. As he formulated a plan, Bill radioed the team. The coms officer relayed the message, bringing CoCo up to speed on the new orders.

  “Shit. How’s that for perfect timing?” CoCo said. Malone caught CoCo’s eye.

  “What’s up?” he asked. CoCo explained what was happening and Malone winced.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  CoCo thought about that. Without Malone and his equipment, the team would be handicapped. Still, the colonel was adamant. It would take too long for all of them to reconvene with Bill, Don, and Ashley. Mac also posed a problem. They couldn’t leave him in the pipe and they couldn’t take him back into the building. After a minute he made his decision.

  “Go. Take Mac with you. Mike and Trevor will keep you company. I’ll stay here with the rest of the team. We’ll do some recon, see if we can find a way into the lab, and then lay low until everyone can get back. Move it, man. There’s no time to waste.”

  CHAPTER 51

  Ashley could not hear both sides of the conversation. She had not even been allowed to look at the slips of paper Bill had extracted from the carved case. Unappreciated and in the way, she pouted next to the dead man’s bed. The sculpted, wood frame was beautiful. A rose duvet, embroidered with delicate flowers, laid across the king sized mattress. Pillows, covered in complimentary fab
rics, adorned the head.

  Ashley wanted to bury herself in the tasteful luxury, pull silky sheets over her body, and sink into softness. Instead, she studied herself in the heavy, full-length mirror that stood by itself next to a rich bureau on the opposite side of the room.

  In her dark clothes and knit cap, she was trim, shapely, and dangerous. The black hat hid her mostly bald head, the tight turtleneck and close fitting jeans revealed every bit of her body, and the bruises and cuts on her face accentuated the paleness of her skin and the deep blue of her big eyes.

  Usually, she camouflaged her curves with loose fitting garments to dissuade the men who occasionally flirted with her on the streets or in the cell. She had no interest in them and did her best not to invite their attention. Though she would not admit it, she was in love with Jeremy. That he was gone was heart wrenching, but he wouldn’t have wanted her to cry or be weak. He would have told her to take the grief and turn it into something useful. Jeremy had valued strength. He had valued courage. Above all, he had valued reason. Emotions got in the way. Ashley had seen that for herself. As she stared into the mirror, she promised Jeremy she would not let him down.

  When Bill finished speaking into his radio, Ashley turned to him. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “We’ve been ordered back to the rabbi’s house. There might be another one of these there,” he replied, indicating the mezuzah. “If we find it, and it’s the same, this whole thing could be over.”

  “What do you mean? What about the virus?”

  “It won’t matter. The only thing that’s stopped us from fire balling this whole fucking place is the threat of the Blue Flu. If that’s no longer a concern, then there’s no reason to keep the island intact. The Pentagon will destroy everything here. We won’t need a vaccine because there won’t be any virus,” Bill said.

  “They would do that? What about all the people?”

  “That’s above my pay grade. We’ve got to go. Like the man said, there’s no time to waste.”

  Bill and Don shouldered their packs. Ashley followed them down the stairs and into the backyard. They hugged the ornamental bushes that bordered a short, wrought iron fence and then cut across an adjacent property

  It didn’t take long to reach the manhole cover and drop into the sewer. The stench was overpowering. Don offered Ashley his mentholated rub. She accepted it and smeared a thick wad of the jelly on her upper lip. They donned their protective outerwear and ran through the muck, heedless of the sucking sound their boots made in the sludge. Time was of the essence.

  As they neared the more populated section of the Zone, they slowed, breathing heavily. Ashley welcomed the respite, though the new pace prolonged their stay in the vile pipes. Stepping carefully to avoid slipping, they trudged beneath the city. Then they surfaced in an area Ashley knew well. She took the lead, guiding the men through alleys and dark streets to the back door of the rabbi’s small Brownstone.

  Climbing the stairs, she heard footsteps below her. She froze. If people were still in the neighborhood, they would be angry and possibly violent. Worse, there could be soldiers going door to door the way they had a few years before.

  Her heart pounding, she tried to control her panic. The SEALs had pushed past her on their arrival and were already out of sight on the second floor. She wanted to call out to Bill and Don, yet she didn’t want to attract any attention to herself. If discovered, she would be defenseless. The footsteps continued. A loose floorboard creaked. Ashley crouched down, trying to become invisible. She had no weapons. Unlike the SEALs, she didn’t have night-vision or even a flashlight. In the deep dark of the stairwell, she couldn’t see anything. The footsteps came closer. Ashley bolted up the stairs. As she reached the landing, Don stepped out in front of her.

  “What’s up?” he whispered.

  “Somebody’s down there,” she replied.

  “I hope so. Malone said his team was right behind us.”

  In the little light that spilled in through the windows in Isaac’s living room, Ashley could only make out a tall, dark shape. While his face wasn’t visible, his posture was relaxed. All of a sudden Ashley was embarrassed. Of course Don would know they were coming. He had a radio receiver in his ear.

  “You could have told me,” she said.

  He chuckled. “Sorry about that. Didn’t occur to me. I’m not using to having company on missions.”

  A minute later the other SEALs and a tall stranger joined them. Mac introduced himself to Ashley while the team drew the shades and pulled the curtains in the small room. They needed light to look for the mezuzah and didn’t want their actions observed. Bill passed the papers he had found at Harry Rose’s house to Malone. The intelligence officer spread them open on a low coffee table, snapped several pictures with a tiny, digital camera, and uploaded them through a secure satellite connection. Don was busy examining the doorframe.

  “Got it,” he called. Sitting in a low-back leather chair, he pried the mezuzah open and eased the contents out of the narrow tube. The two small slips of paper were almost identical to those discovered at Harry Rose’s house. Malone recorded and uploaded them. Then he radioed the base and informed the coms officer that they would return to the plant and meet up with the rest of the team.

  Ashley was tired, hungry, and desperately in need of a shower. The idea of going back into the pipes was revolting. The trek across the city would be tedious. She hadn’t eaten anything since they had first entered the sewer system and the water bottle she carried was empty. Though in good shape, her legs shook from adrenaline and exertion. Finally she broke down to complain.

  “Can we just stop for a few minutes? Please. Can we take a break?” she asked. The question was addressed to the group and all the men stopped to look at her. Malone let his pack slip from his shoulders. He set it next to him on the floor and gestured to the others to follow suit.

  “Yeah. Sure kid. Ten minutes, okay.” Malone sat on a sofa and rummaged in the pack. Then he pulled a package from its interior and handed her an energy bar. “This’ll help,” he said.

  He pulled out another one, gave it to Mac, and took one for himself. Ashley opened the foil wrapping and took a bite. The chocolate flavored bar was so sweet she couldn’t swallow it at first. It had been years since she tasted sugar. Candy was a distant memory. Then she devoured it, reveling in its richness. Grinning, she asked for another. Bill tossed her one, cautioning her to go easy and save it for later. She ignored him. Ripping off the wrapper, she shoved the second bar into her mouth. Then, craving movement, she stood. The men remained sitting so she left the room to relieve herself and refill her water bottle from the tap in the bathroom. Upon her return, the men were ready to go.

  The night air was cool and fresh as they emerged from the musty Brownstone. Stars filled the sky and an owl hooted somewhere in the park. Though they hurried, Ashley’s senses were heightened. The world hummed at a pitch just beyond her ability to hear it. The vibration warmed her blood. For the brief period they traveled above ground, every tree, bush, and living thing sang. The pant of the team’s breath, the heavy scent of their sweat, even the slightly foul odor that drifted back to her as one of the party passed gas were beautiful to her. Unfortunately, the sensations didn’t last.

  By the time they descended into the sewer, Ashley was ill from the sugar rush. Fumes assaulted her and it took all her willpower to refrain from complaining. Her stomach squished and sloshed like their boots in the muck. Hot, sweating, and nauseous, she wished the men would turn off their lights. She didn’t want to see the lumpy slime or slick rats. Her pace slowed when she tried to walk with her eyes closed. Bill nudged her forward. The light tap of his hand on her shoulder startled her and she slipped. He grabbed her raincoat, preventing her from falling into the muck. “Steady now,” he said.

  By the time they reached the ladder out of the sewer, Ashley was feeling better. Her body had processed most of the sugar, though a thick slime coated her mouth. She sprinted with t
he team into the alley and across the street on the other side. They zigzagged, avoiding lighted areas, until they arrived at the manhole cover that blocked their next descent. While Bill struggled to lift the heavy iron circle, the rest of the team clung to the shadows. Ashley opened her water bottle and took a swig. Next to her, one of the men tensed. A watcher was crossing the street diagonally, heading straight for Bill. Bent over and intent on his task, Bill didn’t see the watcher approaching. Don whispered something into the transmitter on his lapel. Bill straightened, but did not turn around.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” the watcher called, reaching down to unclasp the safety strap on his hip holster. Bill said nothing. “Turn around and let me see your face,” the watcher said. Ashley’s mouth went dry. Her heart jumped as the watcher drew his gun. Then there was a soft pop and the watcher fell to the ground. Two of the team darted into the street. Bill pulled the manhole cover all the way open and stepped aside. The men grabbed the watcher by his feet and dragged him over to Bill. Together, the three of them picked him up and dropped him into the hole.

  From her hiding place, Ashley heard the splash and thud of his body impacting with the floor of the pipe. Someone grabbed her arm and jerked her forward. She ran with the rest of the team and clambered down the rusty ladder. When everyone was in the pipe, Bill pulled the cover closed, and they flicked on their flashlights.

  Ashley stared at the dead man. The wet sewage darkened his charcoal uniform. A neat, round hole graced the center of his forehead and his eyes were open in surprise. When a rat scrabbled over his face, she doubled over and vomited. Malone pulled her upright. “Go,” he commanded. She stared at him mutely until he took her shoulders, spun her around, and shoved her. She stumbled, regained her balance, and fell in line, jogging with the men through the muck.