Final Days

by Jasper T. Scott

  “Everybody out!” a man in military fatigues said, his voice muffled by a spray-painter’s mask. He gestured with the barrel of his rifle. A second guard stepped into view—a woman with razor-short blonde hair, also wearing military fatigues and a mask. She stood off to one side, aiming her rifle at them. People stirred and groaned as they clambered to their feet. Others shouted pointless questions like “Where are we?” and “What do you want?”

  No answers came. Instead, the nearest of the two guards barked an order. “Everyone into the warehouse! Single file! I don’t have all night!”

  Val stood up and shuffled toward the open doors with Ana, Justin, and the professor. She spotted a drone whizzing by in the background, just above a chain-link fence with a curving row of barbed wire at the top. Some kind of government facility? she wondered.

  They reached the open doors at the back of the truck and shuffled through a puddle of urine that had sloshed out of the buckets. They jumped down one after another. The professor tried to do the same, but his knees gave out, and he uttered a sharp cry.

  “You okay, prof?” Justin asked, holding out a hand to help the older man up.

  “I’m fine. Thank you, son,” the professor said as he took Justin’s hand and regained his footing. “My knees aren’t what they used to be, I’m afraid.”

  Val stood on the gravel lot, looking around, trying to gain some sense of where they were. Dark shadows painted jagged shapes against the sky behind the fence. Trees. Cliffs. There were several guard towers along the length of the fence, with more guards up there covering them with rifles. Turning the other way, Val saw warehouses and moonlit ocean peeking between them.

  “Follow the others!” the man standing by the back of the truck snapped. He jerked his head toward the nearest warehouse. Big metal doors stood open, with another pair of armed guards in military fatigues standing there. Everyone from the truck was being herded through single-file.

  Val and Ana hurried to catch up. Justin and the professor stayed close on their heels.

  Ana found Val’s hand and squeezed.

  “Gurl, are you with me?” Ana whispered.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Val whispered back. “There’s too many guards.”

  “Not now,” Ana hissed. “Later. When the time comes.”

  If the time comes. But Val made herself consider it seriously. She suspected that Justin and his professor were right about this being some kind of end-of-days cult, but even if they were right, did she really want to be a part of that? She would probably never see her family again.

  No, Ana was right. They had to escape.

  Val squeezed her hand. “I’m with you,” she whispered.

  “Good,” Ana replied.

  And then they were slipping into a darkened warehouse under the hard, watchful eyes of two burly men with razor-short hair. Val tried to decide if they were in the military. The dog tags dangling from their necks suggested that they were, but unlike the first two, they weren’t wearing fatigues. If this was a government-run operation, it was a black site.

  Val stepped into the warehouse, blinking fast to force her eyes to adjust to the relative darkness inside. The doors slid shut behind them, sealing them into a big, empty space. There weren’t any guards on the ground floor, but plenty were standing on the walkways and catwalks of the upper level. Val’s gaze skipped around, taking in her surroundings. Old rusty pieces of ships littered the concrete floor. Pulleys and hooks dangled from the ceiling. The far end was open, revealing a concrete ramp leading to rippled water that was bright with moonlight. This was a dry dock.

  “There’s more people here than we thought,” Justin whispered.

  Val dragged her eyes away from the water to see that he was right. There had to be at least a few hundred people here, all bumping shoulders, murmuring and muttering, screaming out questions to the guards peering over from the second floor.

  A group of four people came striding across a metal catwalk that crossed the cavernous dry dock like a bridge some four floors up. The procession stopped in the middle, and someone with a deep voice began to speak.

  “I know you must all have a lot of questions. I regret the necessity of bringing you all here like this. The good news is, it’s over now, and it was all for a good cause. The very best. You’re here to ensure the survival of the human race.”

  The speaker paused, and Justin let out a breath. “See?” he said. “What did I tell you?”

  Val scowled. Smug wasn’t a good look on him.

  “I know that man...” the professor added.

  “You do?” Ana asked, squinting up at the dark figure standing above them.

  “That’s the tech billionaire, Lewis Hound.”

  Val blinked in shock. Everyone recognized that name. Lewis Hound was one of the richest men on the planet. “What’s he doing here?”

  Hound went on, “All of you are here because you were chosen, selected personally by me for two important sets of criteria: the first being your exemplary genetics, and the second being your knowledge and skills. Together we are going to survive the final days of humanity, and we will rebuild our great civilization from the ashes of its destruction. Welcome, all of you, to the Eden Project!”

  A few cheers went up from the guards on the second floor, along with a scattering of relieved sighs from the people on the ground, but by far the biggest reaction was confusion: more muttering and hushed whispering, followed by a man shouting a question:

  “And what if we don’t want to be a part of this project? Can we leave?”

  A few others seconded that. Silence answered them. Val held her breath, her gaze skipping between armed guards on the second level. A few of them shifted their footing, their guns rattling ominously. The crowd receded around the man who’d asked the question, as if they were busy worrying about the same thing. You didn’t abduct people at gunpoint just to let them go later without a fight.

  * * *

  Kendra

  Hours. It took hours and hours to maneuver across town to the Tesla house, and when she did, Kendra was sure she saw the taillights of a familiar black truck tearing down the street. Her pulse quickened as she searched the block, looking for any signs of the Tesla from the abduction footage.

  Someone had left in a hurry. Garbage bins were knocked over, pouring their contents out onto the sidewalk. No one was going to pick that up. Judging by the traffic she’d endured today, there wouldn’t be anyone left in San Diego by morning.

  Kendra pulled to the end of the driveway, and threw the car in park.

  Did it even matter what she found inside? In a few days, it wouldn’t. Kendra rubbed her eyes, watching the house first. Really, she was giving herself time to make an excuse and leave. She had a bag of clothing in the trunk, and she could head for Houston along with everyone else: make camp at the FBI office and live to see another day. That’s what she should do.

  People still needed her around. That woman and her children had nearly been killed, but Kendra had helped them. She could do that in Houston. When the world went to hell, she’d be there to pick up the pieces.

  “Carrie, what do I do?” she asked her sister. She used to do this all the time, and her own words startled her. It had been at least five years since she’d said her sister’s name out loud in this manner, and she almost chided herself. Her sister had been the family’s pride and joy. She’d enrolled in college at the tender age of sixteen, with full scholarships. She was almost done with her degree in astrophysics when she was abducted from campus.

  Kendra recalled the news coverage, her parents pleading for their daughter’s life while younger Kendra stood to the side of the podium, awkward and red-eyed. She felt like that little girl now, and she needed her sister’s advice.

  “What do I do?” she asked again, and noticed the door beside the garage was ajar. It wasn’t a sign from her sister, but she thanked her silently for the urging.

  Kendra walked the driveway, her 9MM pressed firmly into
her grip. It had already been discharged today, and she hoped she wouldn’t need to use it again. Her hand shook slightly as she thought back to the body lying on the street, the once-crazy eyes settled into a vacant stare.

  She stepped into the garage, which was empty save for a few tools and a freezer. Not the garage of someone here for a long time.

  “FBI! Come out with your hands up!” Kendra shouted as she stepped into the mud room. She listened for any noises within the house, but heard none. She moved now, slowly but effectively. The kitchen had some half-eaten packages of snacks on the counter, and the living room looked like someone had been sleeping on the couch. A cold cup of coffee sat on an expensive coffee table without a coaster. That told her the person wasn’t the homeowner.

  Then she saw the hutch. It sat in the middle of a hall, the floor scratched and scraped. Behind it was a small doorway, the jambs torn apart. A deadbolt lay on the first step, still stuck to part of the wooden door.

  Kendra could already smell the basement, and she knew the scent only too well. It was the smell of captivity. Working for the Missing Persons department, under the Violent Criminals Apprehension program of the FBI, she’d seen every type of scenario, but almost every time, it ended with a dark room, a mattress on the floor, and that smell. She fought a gag reflex she never used to have, and took one creaky step at a time. She reached the bottom of the stairs and scanned the space.

  The far corner held a makeshift bed. There were a few supplies near the area, and the entire sight pushed a profound resentment throughout her body. This was why she worked so hard. This was why she’d become an FBI agent, to stop this from happening. Where was the body?

  “FBI. If you’re down there, I’m here to help,” she said loudly, the sound dying on the unfinished concrete walls.

  The whole space was bereft of light, and she held her cell up, illuminating her surroundings. The man’s head lolled to the side; a splatter painted the gray walls behind him.

  Kendra went to his side, but didn’t need to check his pulse. There was no point. He was dead, shot point-blank by something with some kick to it. He wore an expensive suit, his shoes black and shiny. This was David Wilkes, Mr. Tesla himself.

  This was the last thing she’d expected to come across in the house. If he was dead, the answers she’d been searching for were gone with him. How was she ever going to find the abducted people now?

  She stepped away from the body, and knew there was only one person who seemed to be one step ahead of her: the man in the Silverado, the man with the pain in his eyes, and the claim that his daughter was taken. How could a civilian have found Wilkes before her?

  He had to be in on it. Maybe he was the muscle hired to tie up the loose ends, or he could be the nondescript leader behind it, making sure no one talked. Offing Wilkes would make sense then. Was he the one who’d been chained to the bed? It didn’t add up. She guessed this Wilkes guy had kept someone detained in the basement. It looked like a dozen other crime scenes she’d borne witness to over the years.

  Kendra left the basement with more questions than answers. She needed a lead, and was determined to find something in the house. She doubted the guy who’d left the body in the basement would have spent too much time investigating the home, so that’s what she was going to do.

  She started upstairs, noticing a dent in the wall. She placed her fist in the hole, and assumed someone had punched the drywall in anger. Did Wilkes have a bad temper? She moved to the master bedroom. The drawers in the nightstands were open, their meager contents tossed onto the floor. So the house had been searched.

  She found nothing inside, but continued looking, hoping to find a cell phone or a laptop. The other two guest rooms were sparsely furnished, and resulted in nothing of use. Frustration grew in Kendra’s mind, but she pressed on, checking through the entire main level. She spent two hours rummaging for hidden compartments, for anything that might be of use. She took pictures of the kitchen, the calendar on the wall, but none of the notes made any sense.

  She slumped to the couch in exhaustion, and wondered if she’d be able to stand up again. Today had been a long day, mentally and physically tiring, but the memory of the body in the basement and the one she’d left on the street was enough to motivate her after a few minutes’ break.

  The fireplace beckoned to her, and she noticed the chip on one of the tiles. She rose from the cushions, her muscles protesting the move, and ran a hand along it. The one-by-three gray slate tile was loose, and she used her nails to pry it off.

  “Bingo,” she said, grateful for any sort of win today. A folder sat in a roughly dug-out hole, butting up against the flue of the fireplace. She took it and flipped it open.

  “It’s them,” she whispered to herself, seeing the familiar names. They were all on there: Professor James Hughes, Commander Tess Anderson… she scanned the list, wondering after one name in particular, and saw it near the bottom: Valeria Miller. “Son of a bitch.” It was the girl the man in the Silverado had mentioned was his daughter. She wasn’t sure if she could buy it or not, but it was a start. There was only one lead, and it was with Valeria Miller’s father.

  Kendra left the house, turning the lights off for no other reason than habit, and for the second time in one day, she didn’t call anyone to tell them of a dead body. No one was listening anyway.

  She drove home, the roads much quieter now. Sirens echoed through greater San Diego, like a constant reminder that the world was ending. People blew through intersections, and she was careful to watch for errant drivers as she wound her way toward her condo unit. The parking lot was empty when she arrived, and she hoped that all of them had made it somewhere safe. The odds weren’t in anyone’s favor.

  Kendra took the newly-found folder, but left her luggage in the trunk. She couldn’t predict when she’d need to make a quick getaway. Once inside, she locked the door and took a deep breath. This was her safe zone, but there’d be no sleeping without her gun tonight.

  Her navy-blue blazer fell to the couch, and she kicked off her shoes, her feet instantly thanking her. She moved to the fridge, and tried to push the events of the last week out of her mind. Empty. She found a bottle of red wine in the cupboard and uncorked it before pulling a glass from inside her cabinet.

  She was going to miss this place, her little sanctuary. Soon it would be swallowed by the angry Earth. It might not be lavish, and she could hear the droning of her neighbor’s TV when he had friends over to watch football games, but she’d grown accustomed to all of its nuances. It was the first place she’d ever felt at home, at least since her sister had been with her at their parents’ house.

  She’d left too early, too young, leaving Kendra at the mercy of their strict and structured mother. Kendra sat at the island, unbuttoning her shirt. The wine was tart, and she swirled it around her mouth, acclimating her taste buds to the flavor. An old boyfriend had taught her that move. She laughed to herself at the casual use of the word boyfriend. The truth was, they’d gone on a couple of dates, but the moment she'd let herself become vulnerable with Devon, he’d said she was too cold, too distant.

  She saw him at her favorite restaurant a few days later with a younger woman, probably a college student from the looks of her. That had been two years ago.

  “None of that matters now,” she said out loud, sipping her wine.

  Her shower called to her, and she cranked the heat up, the mirror already steamed by the time she stepped into the water. It scalded her, but it was what Kendra needed at the moment. She washed off the blood of the man she’d killed today, atoning for her sins with a burning sensation. She wondered if this was what hell felt like.

  Kendra shut the water off, the faucet dripping to the shower’s tile floor, and she slid down the wall, unable to hold in the tears any longer. They flowed like rain, and she rocked herself, trying to calm her fried nerves. Eventually she peeled herself from the shower, and straightened her posture as she looked in the mirror.

  The
puckered scar where a bullet had torn through her left shoulder six years ago stood pronounced and angry after the hot shower, and she ran a finger over the old injury. Even though she didn’t think of it much after all this time, she was still self-conscious of its appearance, especially after Devon had told her it was a turn-off to hear she’d been shot.

  Kendra found her reflection was smiling back at her, and she was startled by it. She felt renewed by the entire experience, reborn. With a new resolve to solve this case, she folded a towel around her hair and threw a bathrobe on. She would find the Silverado in the morning. If Miller was still in town, she was going to find him and get her answers. This might be her last case, but she was going to solve it.

  She stared at the list of names, running her finger alongside each person, as if memorizing the missing’s names would make them more real, more tangible.

  Sixteen

  Andrew

  4 Days Left…

  Andrew raced away from David Wilkes’ home, driving aimlessly to distance himself from the body he’d left behind. He couldn’t afford to get arrested, not until he found Val.

  He glanced at the passenger seat, where David’s laptop and phone sat. Both of them were password-locked, but that wouldn’t stop a computer hacker. He just had to find one.

  Streetlights flashed by in golden streaks to either side. Crashed and looted cars littered the street, especially at intersections where people had run the lights. Somehow, while he’d been in Wilkes’ place, the world had gone to hell. The city was truly deserted now. Scraps of garbage went blasting by in a gale-force wind.

  San Diego had probably officially evacuated at this point. The windows of stores and cafes lining the streets were all shattered. Entire plazas were ruined, the parking lots littered with garbage—even a few gleaming specks that he suspected might be shell casings. Andrew drove by a supermarket with a guy doing doughnuts in the parking lot with his truck. The guy in the passenger seat was screaming like a madman and firing a semi-automatic rifle in the air. Not far from that, some kids jumped out in front of him, laughing and throwing empty beer bottles at his Silverado. Andrew cursed and swerved. They narrowly escaped being run over.