by Joseph Souza
“Sure, I remember him. A bit full of himself but one of the most brilliant scientists I’ve ever worked with. Very quirky and eccentric. Died while piloting his plane over the Atlantic six or seven years ago.”
“Seven years ago. Do you know that they never recovered his body, only pieces and fragments of his plane?”
“It was one of those experimental planes that he built himself. Took him years, if I recall.”
“He’d performed many biological weapons inspections in the past, both in Russia and Iraq. Supposedly made a lot of connections with these international scientists, many of whom were connected to Muslim terrorist groups. The Russians, as you are well familiar, were extremely secretive about their bioweapons operations.”
“And still are,” Tag added. “What are you getting at, Bishop? I’m running out of battery.”
“We track every terrorist group working in the United States, and even those formed outside the States, intending to commit terrorist acts in this country. We believe from recent photographs that Gilfoyle is still alive and involved with a highly influential organization that has a cult-like following in parts of Europe and even in this country. They preach some fuzzy concept of evolution and self-determination, as well as a scientific-based philosophy that preaches an eccentric form of freedom. We believe that he and his group have been dealing in and developing biological weapons and selling them throughout the world to fund their bizarre world view. The Futurists, in short.”
“So why would he set me up?”
“A major component of their philosophy is the belief that all life forms are on equal footing with the human race. According to them, once we realize that our own species is no greater than any other one species, and begin to realize that the notion of god is a myth, the world will become a better and saner place to live. Oh, that and microorganisms are a natural form of population control.”
“A left-wing animal rights group?” he asked, playing along.
“Politically, they’re all over the place. Left-leaning on some matters, right of Attila the Hun on others. I assume he took issue with the treatment of the primates in your care.”
“If he did, he never said anything about it to me.”
“It took us a while to identify him. We used the most sophisticated face imaging software on the market, and even then it’s not definitive whether it’s Gilfoyle or not. He must have had some reconstructive surgery because we’ve received information that he’s traveled under numerous disguises and aliases.”
“He performed extremely well at the Institute, and everyone seemed to like him.”
“Leaving the Institute proved to be a very good career move, especially if you’re a terrorist with specific knowledge about how to engineer a biological weapon. Since then he’s become quite wealthy dealing in the former Soviet republics. Some estimate that he’s worth a fortune, though with all the various corporations and fake political fronts set up, we don’t really have a good handle on how much he’s worth. What we do know is that he’s reached the highest order in the organization. He may even be the head, but we don’t really know, the organization is so hazy. We do know that many of the group’s adherents are young, highly educated and tired of politics as usual. What’s unusual is that they use the current hate organizations to achieve their goals: Islamic terrorists, fundamental Christians, National Socialists, IRA. They are under the umbrella group called the Futurists.”
“What does that name imply?”
“Not really sure.” She paused to catch her breath. “For all I know, Doctor, you could be a member of this organization as well. Of course, you’d never admit to it.”
“I can honestly say that I’ve never heard of this group. Nor did I ever hear Remington talk of such matters the few times I worked with him in the lab.”
“He changed his name before he matriculated at Yale. Must have felt that Ernest Drinkwater just wouldn’t cut it with the Ivy League ladies. Majored in drama and biology. Worked one year on Broadway as a costume designer before attending med school at John Hopki—”
The phone went dead, and the green line disappeared. All contact with the outside world had been cut off, and Tag and Fez were now on their own. He tossed the phone inside his backpack.
“You understand any of that conversation, kid?”
“Wasn’t listening.”
“Don’t matter much at this stage anyway.”
“Didn’t think so,” Fez said, looking around. “Just trying to stay alive is all I want to do now. And find my family.”
“Same here. Let’s go find these other two clowns before they do more harm.”
They started down the hill and back toward the water. Every minute or so he could hear the pop of a gun in the distance. The other two men were slaughtering poxers the next street over. He wondered if there were any more healthy people on this island besides these two men. It didn’t matter. He had until sundown to find his family. Once darkness fell, not only would all the poxers come out of hiding and attack again, but the team of Navy Seals would be arriving onshore to round them all up. If that happened, the likelihood of seeing Monica and Taylor alive again was quite low.
Once they reached the bottom of the hill, Fez started running full sprint. Tag tried to jog a few steps to keep up with him, but the pain in his ear was so intense it felt like someone had stabbed him in the head. Fortunately, the aspirin was taking effect, and he could feel the throbbing ease. Fez knelt down on one knee about twenty yards away, studying something on the street. By the time he caught up to the kid, Tag could plainly see the second two-headed liger street painting.
“It’s another one, Tag. Whoever spray-painted it definitely wants you to travel in this direction.”
“And we will, right after we take care of these other two threats.”
Chapter 21
Tag walked over to the bottom of the next street and saw the two shooters walking toward the top of the hill. Nodding his head for Fez to follow, he sprinted up the hill. Moving between parked cars, he took deep breaths in order to alleviate the pain in his ear, making sure to run on his toes in order to keep from making any noise. Once he got within fifty yards of the men, he slipped behind the hood of a parked Mercedes and aimed the rifle at the two men.
“Stop, you two, or I shoot!”
The two men stopped in their tracks, looking to see where this directive was coming from.
“Toss your weapons down, and get on your knees!” Tag shouted.
“Who the hell are you?” Reverend Roberts said, the breeze rustling through his perfectly coifed blond hair.
“All you need to know, Roberts, is that I’m the guy with the rifle pointed at your head.”
“Do we know each other, friend?”
“First of all, I’m not your friend. Second, I don’t think God would take kindly to you slaughtering these sick people.”
“Peter, line 5, verse 8 says, ‘Be self-controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.’ That’s what these people have become, partner. Flesh-eating devils that need to be smitten from the face of the earth.”
“How do you know they won’t one day get well and repent?”
“Repent? Once you become the devil, partner, there’s no turning back from Hell.”
“Shut your big fat mouth, Roberts!” Fez shouted from across the street. “That coulda been my mother or father up there in one of them houses.”
“God must be smiling upon you, young man,” Roberts said, lifting the white face mask off his head until it sat suspended on his thick head of hair. “Only the righteous will be spared from Satan’s temptation. So no way am I throwing down my sacred weapon. I use it in the name of Jesus Christ. Hallelujah and praise the Lord!”
“Don’t be a moron, Roberts,” Tag countered. “This is the work of a terrorist, not the devil, and I highly doubt that Jesus would advocate you going around shooting people.”
“He would if it were th
e devil’s army. My friends and I are doing this in His name.”
“Whoever engineered this virus and released it on the island is a human, and not a particularly nice one. It’s hardly the work of God or Satan.”
“Just like God, Satan works in mysterious ways and through various people. Maybe whoever dropped this pestilence is doing the devil’s work. Maybe God is using this island as an example to the rest of the nation, to either change their hedonistic ways or end up like the lepers in the Bible.”
“These people are not lepers, Roberts; they’re victims of smallpox. Jesus would have walked among them without fear and by the grace of God.”
“At least the lepers in the Bible weren’t trying to eat us,” Roberts said, raising his arms skyward. “And God said, ‘Let there be light’ and there was light. Look around you, partner. The beasts have all gone into hiding. Only those under the employ of Satan would fear the light of the good Lord’s day.”
Frustrated, Tag aimed the rifle at Roberts. Roberts did not seem in any rush to surrender, and he knew that time was running out for him to find Monica and Taylor. He wondered if he had the balls to shoot Roberts, especially in front of Fez. The actor, Lee Stain, stood frozen in fright, glancing nervously between himself and Roberts.
“I’m giving you one last chance to surrender!” Tag yelled.
“Or what?” Roberts said, laughing. “You going to shoot me in broad daylight, partner? Just because I’m killing off a bunch of cannibals?”
Fez nodded at him to do it, but he knew that to shoot Roberts in cold blood would send a terrible message. He tried to think of an alternative plan. Maybe if he applied some pressure to the actor, he could convince him to switch sides, and that, in turn, would change Roberts’ mind.
“Lee, hear me out. You’re jeopardizing your career by hanging out with this murderer. You ever want to work in Hollywood again, then I suggest you throw down your weapon and walk away from this preacher.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Stain replied in a slightly southern drawl.
“When word gets out that you’re out here slaughtering innocent people just like the Nazis, you won’t even be able to shine shoes in Hollywood.”
“You don’t understand, man. These freaks have been attacking us left and right. We don’t band together and attack them first, then we’ll all be dead come nightfall.”
“You’re right. It is going to get much worse. The government is sending a team of Navy Seals to the island to round up everyone and put them in quarantine. When they discover that you’ve been slaughtering these innocent people, you’ll be labeled a mass murderer and put away for good, maybe even get the death penalty.”
“He’s lying, Lee,” Roberts said to Stain. “You’ve seen what these devils have done. They’ll give us all medals of honor for cleaning this island up. And besides, it’s in self-defense.”
“I don’t know, Reverend. I’ve got my career to think about. And I’m not too fond of killing these poor people anyways, even if they are crazy-ass cannibals.”
“So what’s it going to be, Lee?” Tag asked. “As you probably already know, there are cameras all over this island recording your every action. Maybe if you stop now, no one will see you killing these people and your career can be salvaged.”
Lee turned to Roberts. “Sorry, Reverend, but I got to do what’s best for my career.”
“What career, Lee? After God’s plague runs its course, only a select few will be left standing. Then you can forget about your godless films and all those Jew bastards running Hollywood.”
Lee shook his head at Roberts’ racist reply. “And what if you’re wrong?”
“I’m not wrong. This is what God wants and expects us to do. It’s a test, Lee. Rid the earth of Satan’s influences. So are you going to stand strong and be a man? Are you going to do the courageous thing and fight for Jesus?”
“Don’t listen to him, Lee,” Tag said. “Once those Navy Seals arrive on this island, life will go back to normal on the mainland, and all the atrocities you’ve committed will come to light for generations to see. Forget acting, man, you’ll be doing hard time. I promise not to say a word if you walk away from this right now.”
“Sorry, man,” Lee said to Roberts as he started down the hill.
“Stop right there, mister big-shot actor,” Roberts said, pointing his rifle at the actor.
“You’re not really going to shoot me, are you?” Lee asked, hands in the air.
“I most certainly will if you go against God. Come on, Lee. God is demanding that we clean up this island and claim it in His name. Now you turn around, boy, and get your sorry ass back here.”
The actor looked hurt, as if a best friend had just betrayed him. Tag watched the conflict taking place, his rifle still aimed at Roberts. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill the man if he had to, but he wanted to see how it played out before he decided on a course of action. Roberts pulled a Ruger out of his pocket and walked up behind the actor. He placed the gun in the small of Stain’s back and proceeded to pull him backwards, one arm wrapped around his throat.
Tag tried to get a bead on Roberts but couldn’t get a clear shot now that Roberts was using Stain as a shield. Allowing him to walk away was not a viable option. Continuing to search for his family would be treacherous knowing that Roberts was out there armed and dangerous. Stain looked horrified at the turn of events, nothing like the sinister villain he played in the movies. Tag debated for a moment doing what would most insure his survival, and that was killing both men with one bullet. Something inside him balked at the idea of killing an innocent man, especially after he’d laid down his arms.
Stain started to cry as Roberts pulled him up the street. A shot rang out, startling Tag. He saw that Roberts’ gun had fallen to the street. The reverend looked stunned. He held his bleeding hand up in shock. For a brief moment Tag wondered where the shot had come from, until he saw Fez staring over the barrel of the rifle. He couldn’t believe the kid had pulled off such a remarkable shot. By the time he turned around, Roberts had taken off, disappearing around the corner. Stain fell to his knees, sobbing, hands over his pockmarked face.
“You want me to go after him?” Fez asked.
“No, it might be too dangerous. Besides, we don’t know what else is out there. Best you stay with me and keep an eye out in case he returns.”
“Cool.”
“You’re a helluva shot, kid,” Tag said appreciatively.
“My dad taught me. We used to set up cans on the far end of the island and then shoot them for hours on end. That and Urban Combat made me a good shot.”
“That was some real nice shooting.”
“Thanks, Tag. Knew playing all those video games would someday come in handy.”
The actor was sitting on the street, bawling into his hands. Tag couldn’t believe this Hollywood tough guy was such a weakling in real life. Keeping his eyes trained ahead in case Roberts returned, he walked over to the actor and ordered him to stand up. Stain pushed himself off the ground and stood, sobbing, unable to control his emotions. The actor tried to say something, but it came out whiny and incoherent. The last thing Tag wanted was another person to babysit. At least the kid had proved useful in a crisis.
“I’m sorry, man, but I only stayed with the reverend to keep from getting killed. I barely knew the man,” Stain said between sobs. “Just met him yesterday.”
“Get a grip on yourself, fella. I thought you were such a badass?” Tag said, pushing the actor back down on his knees.
“No, no. I only play that guy in the movies.”
Tag patted him down to make sure he had no more weapons on him. Certain the man was clean, he gripped him by the collar, forced him to stand, and then pushed him down the street with the butt of his rifle.
“I ought to tie you up somewhere and let those poxers have at you.”
“Please don’t leave me here by myself. The reverend was far out there, man, with those crazy religious beliefs
of his.”
“You go against me, and I’ll leave you behind.”
“Swear to God. Thank you so much,” Stain said.
“Where’s Roberts headed?” Fez asked.
“Don’t know. We had four other guys working with us as well. He wanted to take back the island one street at a time. Once we did that, we were supposed to meet up on the southern end of Cooke’s and go through all the big homes near the water.”
“One of those homes is mine,” Tag said. “You’re lucky you didn’t enter my house or you wouldn’t be here today.”
“Why’s that? No one’s living in them.”
“Most of these houses have live virus particles still circulating throughout the air ducts and ventilation systems. It would only be a matter of time before you came down with the pox, assuming you weren’t shot before then.”
Tag pushed the actor down the street. Stain stumbled and fell to the ground.
“You don’t have to be so rough, man.”
“You haven’t even seen me be rough yet!” Tag said, standing over the actor. “Someone kidnapped my wife and my daughter, and I have until nightfall to find them. So don’t piss me off.”
“It was Roberts’ idea, and he did most of the shooting. Said these people weren’t going to get better anyway, so we might as well kill them before they kill us.”
“Let’s go, Lee. Up and walking.”
They marched back down the street until they came to Atlantic View Road. The sun moved higher in the sky, and the temperature seemed to be rising with each moment. They made their way over to the image of the liger on the road and studied it. Stain said he’d never seen it before and had no knowledge of it. Tag directed them to follow the arrow’s direction, and they continued moving, walking for another quarter mile along Atlantic View Road until they came to another spray-painted image. This one appeared slightly angled toward the next street running perpendicular, and seemed to point them in that direction. Tag recognized it as the same street that Versa lived on.