Wayward Pines- Genesis Collection

by Steven Konkoly

  Chapter 16

  The temperature continued to plummet as Diaz finished his work. Once he transmitted the final measurements and broke down his equipment, they would move back along the rock wall to a more defensible location near the first cliff site. The boulders and trees formed a tight, natural perimeter against the mountain, leaving ample space for the tents. With the cliff wall behind them, they only had to defend a 180-degree arc. Of course, it literally put their back up against a wall, which could become a problem if they had to retreat. He didn’t need to weigh the pros and cons in this case. Anything was better than crossing between two predators in the middle the valley. If two was the final tally. He suspected it wasn’t.

  “Hassler, this is Pope.”

  “Great to hear your voice again,” he said, winking at Nguyen.

  “I saw that,” he said.

  “You were supposed to.”

  A few seconds elapsed before Pope spoke again.

  “Here’s the deal. Mr. Pilcher, your boss, wants you in place to finish the survey at first light. Move the team across the valley to the western fence site.”

  “We’ll leave this site an hour and half before sunrise tomorrow morning. That will give us plenty of time to cross the valley and arrive at the site before first light.”

  More silence as Pope’s brain tried to process the irrefutable logic.

  “Mr. Pilcher would feel more comfortable if you arrived on location tonight.”

  “I’d feel more comfortable with a different jacket, but I’m not going to ask someone to cross the valley to deliver it.”

  “You’ll move the team if I give you a new jacket?” he said.

  “Only if you and Pam deliver it.”

  “Fuck you, Hassler.”

  “Mr. Hassler?” said Pilcher.

  “I was wondering how long it might take you to intervene. You need someone a little more qualified in Pope’s position.”

  “Pope follows orders, which is more than I can say for you. Will you move the group?”

  “I can move everyone in the morning and still meet your deadline.”

  “Everybody listen very carefully, as I will not repeat myself. Each of you agreed, verbally and in writing, to abide by my decisions upon exiting suspension. This has never been a democracy. That was part of the deal, and you all understood that going in,” said Pilcher, pausing.

  “Effective immediately, Adam Hassler no longer has authority over the team. Anyone who does not arrive at the next assigned point within three hours will be returned to suspension for an indefinite period of time. I may or may not decide to bring you out again. Is that understood?”

  Everyone responded, except for Hassler.

  “Good. I look forward to seeing everyone in the morning. Three hours.”

  The team’s silence was broken by Kris Stewart.

  “We’re going,” she said, pulling on her husband’s jacket sleeve.

  Dean didn’t look convinced. He turned to Hassler. “You know more than you’re telling us.”

  Hassler pointed at the camera attached to his head mount. “They can hear and see everything. You have to trust me on this. It’s a bad idea.”

  “I have to take the chance. For us,” said Dean, pulling his wife close. “I don’t expect you or anyone else to understand that.”

  He understood completely. He’d stepped into Pilcher’s nightmare for the woman he loved.

  “Pilcher, you still listening?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “I need your word.”

  “My word?”

  “About Theresa.”

  “What about her?”

  “If I follow your orders, I get her back.”

  “You never lost her.”

  “That’s an interesting way of interpreting the situation.”

  “It’s the only way of interpreting the situation. Complete the survey and return to the superstructure. Nothing has changed.”

  “Fair enough,” said Hassler. “We’ll arrive at the anchor site within the hour.”

  “Thank you, Adam. I look forward to opening that bottle of scotch.”

  I bet you do.

  “You sure about this, boss?” said King.

  Hassler ran the scenarios. Best case, they crossed the valley without making contact. The thought of Pilcher pounding a table like a baby made him grin. Worst case, they faced a pack of lethal, catlike creatures. Multiple KIAs in the group. Possibly a clean sweep of his team. Most likely case based on known data? They faced two predators working together. Result? One KIA, most likely the first or last in formation. He could live with that.

  “No, but I don’t see any other way. Gather up while Diaz packs up. We need to make a few modifications before the trip.”

  He had an idea that should increase their odds of survival.

  Chapter 17

  “What the hell is he doing now?”

  Pope shook his head, annoyed. Pilcher was watching the same screens in his lavish office suite. What does it look like Hassler is doing?

  “He’s lining them up for some kind of equipment modification. They’ll probably break out the night vision and some of the cold weather stuff.”

  He watched Hassler’s camera feed and listened. It looked like he was conducting a uniform inspection, stopping in front of each team member long enough to say, “Trust me,” before moving down the line. Pilcher had been right. This Hassler character was a cold son of a bitch. He was leading them into a slaughter.

  “We have a problem here,” said one of the technicians.

  “What?” he said, examining the screens. “Holy shit.”

  One by one, the team’s camera feeds disappeared.

  “What the fuck is happening down there!” boomed Pilcher through his headset.

  “I don’t know. We’re losing camera feeds,” said Pope.

  “I’m not talking to you!”

  “We’re working on it. I don’t have an answer,” said the lead technician.

  Hassler’s feed settled on the last person in the line, King, who smiled. A spoon appeared in front of the greenish image, followed by a hand that reached out and yanked King’s camera off his head mount, killing the signal.

  “They know about the other team. He’s removing the cameras,” said Pope.

  “What? No! Patch me through to him immediately!”

  This should be interesting.

  “You’re live, sir.”

  “Hassler! What the fuck do you think you’re doing with my equipment?”

  “Just setting up a little insurance policy.”

  “Reinstall the cameras immediately,” ordered Pilcher.

  “I’ll reinstall them in the morning.”

  “You’ll do it now!”

  “Negative. The way I see it, you now have a vested interest in seeing that we get across safely.”

  “Don’t play games with me, Adam. I will—”

  “You’ll what? I’m keeping my word. Let me know when you’re ready.”

  “Ready for what?”

  “Ready for us to move out. There’s a lot riding on this crossing. You better hope it’s manageable.”

  Pope waited for Pilcher’s response. Part of him hoped he gave the order to open fire on the team. He’d love to watch the thermal playbacks of the slaughter. Pam would probably enjoy it too. It could be a bonding moment. Maybe even worth a hand job from the useless whore.

  “We’ve swept the valley for infrared signatures. If something is out there, it’s not showing up. Audio analysis indicates the sounds came from two locations, one north and one south of your position,” said Pilcher.

  So much for the hand job.

  “Nothing? That doesn’t make sense,” said Hassler.

  “It could be a cold-blooded adaptation,” said Dean. “Cold-blooded creatures assume the temperature of their surroundings.”

  “I don’t think we’re talking about a reptile,” said Pilcher.

  “It could be some kind of adaptation.�
��

  “The environment is the same. A mountain lion wouldn’t need to adapt,” said Pilcher.

  “What if this isn’t an adaptation of a predatory cat? What if this is something altogether different.”

  Pope was ready to tune this out. Just get on with the trek already.

  “Adam, I really need to see what we’re up against. The future of Wayward Pines may very well depend on it.”

  “I’ll give you the details in person. Five minutes until we step off,” he said, and the last camera feed went dead.

  “Proceed directly to the hatch. Out,” said Pilcher.

  “Arnold?”

  “Yes, sir?” He’d keep it formal until Pilcher cooled off.

  “Contact Alan. I want him to assemble the primary assault team in the armory immediately. Full body armor and weapon load-outs. I’ll be down to brief the team in twenty minutes.”

  Chapter 18

  Hassler tightened the chinstrap to Diaz’s head mount and tested the stability of the night vision goggles suspended above his forehead. Tight enough. Larsen and King were repeating this same process with the others.

  “Did Pilcher’s training include any night firing with NVGs?”

  “No. This is the first time I’ve ever seen a pair of these outside of the movies.”

  “All right. You just pull the unit down over your eyes when you want to see in the dark.”

  “How do I turn them on?”

  “They activate and deactivate automatically depending on their position. Try it,” said Hassler.

  Diaz flipped the goggles over his eyes. “Awesome. Just like daylight,” he said, scanning the forest.

  “You remember how to use your pistol?”

  “Yeah. I’m pretty good with it.”

  “Stick to your pistol.”

  “What about the rifle?” said Diaz.

  “Probably not a good idea,” said Hassler, turning to address the group. “Let me grab everyone really quick.”

  The group huddled around Hassler, who stood with his back to a large boulder.

  “This is how it’s going to work. Court, Nguyen, Diaz and the Stewarts will form the nucleus of the group. Stay tight, but don’t knock each other over. We won’t be on a convenient walking path. I’ll walk several feet in front of the group, scanning the sides. Keep pace with me. Seth will take point. Erik will trail. The pace will be brisk, which won’t be easy in the dark—even with the goggles. Focus on the person in front of you and keep moving.”

  “Can someone show me how to work this rifle again?” said Diaz.

  “Rifles will not be deployed by the main group unless specifically directed by me.”

  “Wait a minute. If my wife’s in danger, I’m using the rifle,” said Dean Stewart.

  “Close-quarters combat with NVGs can get really messy, really quick. One spin and you’re almost guaranteed to pin the tail on the wrong donkey. We can’t afford any blue on blue casualties. Use your pistols for immediate self-defense.”

  “Adam, if I see something coming at the group—toward my wife, I’m unloading my rifle at it.”

  “Do me a favor, Dean. Position yourself at the very back of the group. You’ll have better situational awareness. The rest of you stick to pistols. Any questions?”

  “What was the spoon for?” said Kris.

  “King found it at the school site. We’re not the first team to leave the superstructure.”

  “You had no right to hide that from us,” said Dean.

  “Keep your voice down, please,” said Larsen.

  Dean walked up to Hassler and hissed, “I would have put an end to this expedition right then and there. You put us all at risk.”

  “And you can thank me for that later.”

  “Thank you?” he said incredulously.

  “You were as good as dead when you stepped out of your suspension capsule. We all were. We just didn’t know it. You think Pilcher would have let you resign from the team and walk back to that hatch with your wife? All good? We’re out here for one purpose and one purpose only. To help him figure out what killed the first expedition. I gave each of you a golden ticket to get back inside the mountain. All you have to do is survive long enough to cash it in. Let’s get this over with.”

  King checked his compass and stepped off at a brisk pace, scanning the forest with his rifle. Hassler followed, urging the group forward. Seven minutes into the crossing, they heard a single screech from the southwest. Closer this time. He flipped his night vision goggles down and examined the image, immediately returning them to the standby position on his forehead. They had at least thirty minutes before reaching the “break even” point, when using night vision beat relying on the naked eye. He considered stopping here and waiting for the creature to pass. Maybe Pilcher could help them out a little.

  “Operations. Can you plot the course of the southern hostile?”

  “Stand by.”

  They continued for a full minute before operations responded.

  “Rough estimate, northeast trajectory.”

  King glanced back at him and shook his head. Rough estimate, my dick.

  “Will our paths intersect?”

  “Stand by.”

  Of course. He had to run this through Pilcher’s filter. A second scream pierced the trees to the north. He shifted the rifle to a left-hand grip and crouched, staring past the optics.

  “Switch to night vision and IR laser at first sign of contact,” he reminded King and Larsen.

  A screech to the south brought the group to a halt.

  “We should go back,” said Nguyen.

  “This is our only way out of the valley,” responded Hassler. “Keep moving.”

  “No fucking way,” replied Nguyen.

  “This is suicide,” added Kris Stewart.

  “Stay off the net, unless you have something to report. What are we looking at, Pilcher?”

  No response.

  “Pilcher, you can’t even begin to comprehend the measures I’m willing to take to ensure none of this information gets to you,” he said, softly flipping his selector switch to semi-automatic.

  “I’m with you, boss,” said King.

  “Same here,” said Larsen.

  Fuck, I should just do it now and get it over with. They stood a better chance of surviving without the civilians. Pilcher might even sanction the decision.

  “The southern hostile has altered course. It’s heading directly for you. Fifteen hundred meters bearing one-nine-seven. Good luck.”

  “King, Larsen, Graves, Dean and Kris. Form a skirmish line oriented one-niner-seven. Use the trees. Rifles condition one. Victor and Raymond stack up behind the skirmish line, facing the opposite direction.”

  As the group scrambled to form a hasty defensive position, he grabbed Raymond and Victor.

  “Give me your rifles.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t fuck with me, Victor. Your rifle!”

  He readied their rifles and handed them back.

  “These are ready to fire on semi-automatic. Safeties are off. Place the red dot on your target and press the trigger. One press equals one bullet. You have twenty.”

  “What if I run out?” said Diaz.

  “Then you switch to your pistol. I don’t have time to teach you the rest,” he said, pulling them toward the battle line.

  He arranged them behind Dean and Kris, near the middle, facing northeast.

  “My best guess is one hostile from the north. I’ll take care of it. If I’m right, and that’s all we’re dealing with from this direction, the two of you will guard the rear. You call out anything you see. Understand?”

  “Yes,” they said in unison.

  Hassler studied the line King and Larsen had established. It was the best they could do. Larsen anchored the left flank, using a thick pine trunk for cover. Several feet to his right, Graves shared a tree with Kris Stewart. They were opposite handed, which worked out perfectly. Dean kneeled in the open next to his wife, ho
lding her hand. King secured the right side of the line, staggered slightly forward of the group to make best use of the trees. He settled in next to Dean, fully exposed to the threat in each direction. The zoologist started to lower his NVGs.

  “You’re better off without them.”

  “What do you think we’re up against?” said Dean.

  “Whatever it is, I’m hoping it’s just a pair hunting together. Maybe a small group of cooperative predators. We can handle that.”

  “The last group couldn’t.”

  “We have a distinct advantage. We know they’re coming.”

  “I have a bad feeling about this,” he said.

  “Honey, stop that. We’ll be fine.”

  “No. This is our final judgment. I knew Pilcher’s offer was too good to be true. We made a deal with the devil.”

  “That’s enough,” hissed his wife.

  “Contact. One o’clock. Three hundred meters. Moving fast. Switching to NVGs,” said King.

  “Weapons free.”

  Eighteen hundred meters, my ass.

  Chapter 19

  Hassler strained against the temptation to look over his shoulder as the first rounds left the line. Hot brass from one of the Stewarts’ rifles struck the side of his face. Movement. Shit! He shifted his rifle right, rapidly lining up the green infrared laser with the fast-moving target. The rifle bucked twice, and the creature tumbled, kicking up snow all the way to Larsen’s tree. It came at them from an oblique angle. Not good. He scanned the green image for more threats. The shooting intensified.

  “All guns forward,” yelled King.

  He spun to face their primary threat axis, expecting to see several creatures two hundred meters out.

  “Holy shit,” he muttered.

  He engaged the lead creatures fifty meters away, methodically firing two rounds at each target before shifting the green laser to the next. They fell in droves as three lasers worked back and forth, guiding a lethal wall of .308 projectiles downrange. By the time Hassler expended his second magazine, he knew they couldn’t hold the line. Gunfire erupted behind him, followed by a human scream. He whirled in time to see one of the creatures barrel into Diaz, pinning him against the tree. The oddly humanoid beast slashed wildly at the surveyor’s stomach while biting his face. A single .308 bullet removed the top of the frantic creature’s head. Diaz slid down the tree, clutching his throat—oblivious to the fact that he had just sat in a pile of his own intestines.