One voice penetrated the din. “Hold your fire! Hold your fire,” Minou shouted from the opposite end of the room.
The shooting ceased, leaving only the moans and cries of the wounded. Pascal assessed the situation from his point of cover, then stood. “We’ve got you surrounded,” he said, striding forward so the enemy could see who was in charge. “You’re outmanned and outgunned. Do as I say and no one else has to die today.”
In addition to the two dead in the lobby, two more of the enemy lay still and silent, and another two were down, bloody and out of the fight. The rest—seven of them, all men—had been disarmed and subdued by his Travelers.
Wait . . . he had heard women screaming during the fight, and one of his soldiers had heard a baby cry earlier. There were others in the building.
“Where are the women and children?” Pascal demanded.
“I have them back here, Chancellor,” a voice called.
“Bring them out,” Pascal replied.
After a moment, a woman appeared from the shadows of a hallway. She clutched a baby to her chest. Behind her came two more strangers—a tall man bleeding from a gash on his cheek, and another woman. A Traveler with an M4 herded them toward Minou.
As they approached, Minou glanced over at Pascal. In that split second, the tall man lurched, grabbing Minou and putting a knife to her throat.
“Put down your guns,” the man said, “or I’ll—”
Pascal squeezed the trigger on his M4, spraying bullets in the general direction of the man with the knife. The man fell. Minou fell. The woman and the infant fell.
The Traveler who’d been ushering them stood frozen with his weapon half raised. The remaining woman shrieked hysterically. Pascal shot her.
He went to Minou, hoping she wasn’t dead, but he knew she was. He stepped over the dead baby and picked up the stranger’s knife.
“You didn’t check for weapons?” Pascal asked the Traveler, holding out the knife.
“No sir, I—”
“You cost me my best man.” Pascal thrust the knife into the soldier’s gut and twisted.
The Traveler dropped his gun, his eyes wide, mouth agape. Pascal withdrew the knife and the man went down, blood pouring between the fingers he pressed to his belly.
Pascal looked at the rapt strangers. “He was one of my own, so he died quickly. Imagine what I’ll do if you displease me.”
He walked toward the lobby as he let that sink in. Even the wounded were silent now. He stopped at the double doors and turned, assessing the resources that remained. Seven prisoners. That should be plenty.
“You.” Pascal pointed at one of the older prisoners. “Who else is here? How many?”
“I . . . none. No one else,” the man stammered.
Pascal shot him. The remaining men gasped as the body fell.
“I didn’t believe him,” Pascal said. “Now you,” he said, pointing with the muzzle of his gun. “You tell me, how many others in the building?”
“I, I, please, I don’t know of any. Please,” the man whined.
“I want to believe you,” Pascal said.
“It’s the truth!”
“We’ll see.” Pascal opened one of the double doors. “Carter, Watson, report.”
“All quiet here, sir.”
“Carter, keep watch,” Pascal said. “Watson, take two other Travelers and check the rest of the building. Kill anyone you find.”
Watson nodded and double-timed it out of the lobby.
“Search the prisoners again for weapons,” Pascal ordered to his men at large. “Then sit them in the front row. Someone go out back and check on the watch. Do it!”
Pascal went to Minou and stripped her body of weapons. It was a shame, such good help gone to waste. But someone else would rise in her place before long.
He climbed the stairs to the stage and placed his Ruger on the lectern. The prisoners were situated in the front row as he’d instructed, with armed Travelers positioned strategically behind them. Pascal’s gaze landed on the last prisoner he’d questioned. He glared at him until the man squirmed, then paced behind the lectern until Watson reappeared.
“All clear, sir,” Watson said.
Pascal picked up his Ruger and went to the squirming prisoner. “You told the truth.”
“Yes sir,” the man said.
“Thus you are still alive. Do you wish to continue breathing?”
The man nodded.
“Then continue telling the truth,” Pascal said. “All I want is the location of your home.”
The man looked down.
“Well?” Pascal asked.
The man shook his head without looking up.
“I will not ask you again.”
The man kept his head bowed, his shoulders jerking with silent sobs.
Good. Pascal would have been disappointed if he’d talked. It was better he serve as a lesson to the others. He put the muzzle of the gun to the man’s temple and squeezed the trigger.
The man on the opposite side was sprayed with blood, bone, and brain. He wailed as he tried to wipe the gore from his face. Pascal turned from him and faced the prisoner on the other side of the body.
“You,” Pascal said. “You’re next.”
“Go ahead and kill me, because I’m not going to tell you anything.” The young man’s eyes blazed with defiance.
“You’re ready to die?” Pascal asked.
“A thousand times to keep my people safe from you.”
“Then it’s a shame I’m not going to kill you.” Pascal slowly and deliberately pulled the knife from the sheath on his belt.
“Fine, torture me,” the man said. “Give it your best. I won’t break.”
Pascal leaned close and spoke into his ear. “Good. It’s not you I’m breaking.” He looked over at the man whimpering and quivering in his seat, the man who still had bits of human flesh in his hair.
One Hundred Forty-Two
Highway 4, north of Oakdale, California
They’d been heading east for hours on a pocked and pitted highway that reminded Reid of the road outside Cheyenne Mountain. He let his mind drift to the day he and Kayla left the Mountain. It was such a short time ago, but so much had happened. He wondered what Kayla was doing now, if she was sick, if she was still pregnant. If she missed him. Thinking about her kept him going when his feet hurt so bad he thought he couldn’t take another step. He watched the ground, careful not to get so lost in thought he’d trip again. Every so often, he glanced ahead to where the road disappeared into the mountains.
Finally they turned south. The road was equally marred, but the horizon was flat. After several minutes of walking, Reid’s thoughts started to drift back to Kayla when he realized something looked different.
He squinted his eyes, staring into the distance. “What do you make of that?” He pointed at a blob far ahead on the road. “Was that there a minute ago?”
Brandt shielded his eyes and looked. “Move!” He dove off the road onto his belly.
Reid hit the ground and slid down the dirt embankment. “What is it?”
“Whatever it is, it’s coming toward us,” Brandt said. “We need to hide.”
Reid lifted his head and looked around. “There’s nowhere to go.”
“This way,” Brandt said, low-crawling back the way they’d come. “I saw a drainage pipe. It’s not far. Stay low. And hurry.”
They scrambled toward a pile of bramble and garbage that had collected in the depression where a pipe went under the road. “You first,” Brandt said.
Reid pushed prickly tumbleweeds aside. “It’s too full of dirt. No way we can fit.”
“We have to. I’ll hide the packs under the trash, but we need to get inside.”
Reid clawed at the dirt.
“Hurry,” Brandt urged. “It’s coming fast. I can hear it.”
Reid pulled out two more armloads of dirt, then crawled in, wedging himself nose to knees as far inside the pipe as he could go. “Brandt,
get in.”
Brandt backed into the opening, somehow curling his body into the impossibly small space between Reid and the outside world, filling the opening and blocking the light.
Reid felt like he was going to suffocate, like the earth was swallowing him. He fought to quell the panic, focusing on the gap of light between Brandt and the wall of the tunnel. His arms quivered and his breathing grew rapid, every cell in his body screaming for that outside air. He didn’t trust himself not to shove Brandt out of the way, so he closed his eyes, blocking out the light to remove the temptation.
He imagined he was home in the Mountain and the power had gone out. It happened so often, it was routine. All he had to do was be still and wait. His breathing slowed and he heard the mechanical whir of things restarting in the Mountain. No, it wasn’t his imagination. The sound was real. Coming from the road.
It grew louder. Buzzing, whirring. It sounded like something back home, but he couldn’t place it. Almost like the sound of the units restarting . . . but not quite. He could discern a low-pitched hum beneath the other sounds, also familiar.
The whirring slowed, then stopped, leaving just the hum. It reminded him of . . .
“What is it, Chancellor?” a voice called.
“I thought I saw something,” another voice answered. A pause, then, “It was probably nothing. A shadow or a trick of the eye. Let’s move out.”
The hum changed tone slightly and Reid realized what it was. Tinker’s car. The hum faded and was replaced by crunching gravel, creaking, voices, grunting. Reid’s heart felt like it was going to pound out of his chest. It seemed like an eternity before the noises receded.
“Brandt,” Reid whispered. “That was—”
“Pascal.”
“The car. Wait, that was Pascal’s voice?”
“I’d know it anywhere,” Brandt said. “Those other sounds were the car?”
“Do you think it’s safe to look yet?”
“I’ll give it a shot.”
After a moment of rustling, Reid could see light again.
“You were right,” Brandt said. “It’s definitely the car. And . . . something else.”
Reid scrambled out of the tunnel and crouched beside Brandt. The Humvee was quite a ways down the road but clearly recognizable amidst a pack of bikes, probably the source of the hum he’d heard.
“Those are bicycles,” Reid said. “We use stationary ones back at the Mountain to supplement the hydro-electric power when battery reserves run low. You’re sure it was Pascal?”
“Dead sure,” Brandt said.
“How did he start the car? He couldn’t have known the code, unless—”
“Unless Justine told him,” Brandt said. “Justine’s alive.”
“Justine must have told him,” Reid said. “But don’t get your hopes up. It doesn’t mean she’s still alive.”
“She is. I feel it. I’m going after them.”
“What about the meeting place?”
“It’s still miles in the opposite direction. Besides, Pascal probably came from there. If so, there’s no one left alive.”
“We’ll never keep up.”
“I know where they’re going.” Brandt held out his hand. “This is where we say goodbye, Reid. Don’t bother waiting. I doubt I’m coming back.”
“I’m going with you.”
“Don’t be an idiot. If you come with me, you’re not going home. If Pascal wins, you’re dead. If Justine’s people win, they won’t ever let you leave.”
“We can figure that out later. Right now you need my help, and I’m not leaving you.”
“Reid, there’s no guarantee—”
“Are there ever any guarantees? Besides, that jackass stole my car, and I want it back.”
One Hundred Forty-Three
Outside Copperopolis, California
The man covered in brain matter was named Jacob, and he was beginning to smell bad.
“How much farther?” Pascal asked.
“I, I’m not sure,” Jacob said. “It’s hard to tell when I’m not walking.”
“Would you rather walk?” Pascal was tempted to allow it, if only to get his sniveling, stinking ass out of the car.
“There! There!” Jacob was manic, almost gleeful. “I recognize that building.” Jacob pointed with the hand that wasn’t taped down.
“Good,” Pascal said from between clenched teeth. “And that means . . . ?”
“We’re almost there. Almost to the gate. Almost home.”
Pascal hoped so. Jacob’s mental state was deteriorating to the point where he’d no longer be useful. He stopped the car and turned to Justine who sat in the back seat, seething.
“Do you recognize the area?” he asked her.
She glared at him, then gave a nod.
“Talk to me, Justine. The more I know, the higher the odds we’ll survive.”
Justine stared, eyes narrowed, her hatred palpable. But he could see she wanted to live.
“This is the last town before we get to the fence that surrounds the compound,” she said. “If we stay on this road, we’ll come to a gate. There will be armed men. Guard dogs. If we make it past them, the road curves around out of sight. In a couple of miles, we’ll start seeing crops and orchards. Then the compound isn’t far.”
Pascal motioned out the window for Carter, who was leading the Travelers since Minou’s demise. After relaying the plan to Carter, he leaned back in the driver’s seat and took a deep breath. He could almost smell the freshly harvested food, and he imagined it would taste sublime served alongside his revenge.
A short time later, the compound was his. It was almost too easy.
The idiots had gotten complacent and the gate had only the dogs protecting it. He’d taken care of two problems at once by slicing Jacob’s throat, then sprinkling the bloody corpse with sedative and feeding it to the dogs. Not a single shot had been fired, preserving the element of surprise.
They’d driven up the road around a bend, as Justine had described. After a distance Pascal had seen green, and it was as if he were seeing the color for the first time. Green like seaweed only . . . fresher. More vibrant. More alive. Tree after tree, field after field, different shades and shapes of green. He breathed deeply of cool air thick with the smell of living, growing things.
As they’d neared what Justine referred to as “the compound,” there were pens of animals. Finally, something besides rats and fish! He recognized the sheep by their wool and the pigs by their snouts. But the cows and horses, they were bigger and more muscular with eyes more intelligent than he could have dreamed. It seemed utterly foolish now to think his scientists could have created such animals working from rats and degraded DNA in a lab. But none of that mattered. Here they were, flesh and blood, and his for the taking.
Amidst all the life, oddly, there wasn’t a human soul in sight. Justine directed them to the largest of the buildings, a low white structure that she said was their church.
All the people were inside, singing hymns, every last one of them. Not a single guard at the door. No one on watch. Not a weapon in sight.
There were more people than he had expected. But even if they hadn’t been corralled into one building, his Travelers would have taken them easily. Granted, it would have been bloodier. As it was, he simply walked into the church and wiped out the leadership, who’d thoughtfully clustered themselves at the front of the church. They even conveniently fell face up, making the next order of business that much easier.
“Bring her in,” he told Heinz.
The sound of children crying grated on his nerves. These people had an abundance of snot-nosed brats. Each woman had four or more clinging to her, smearing mucus and tears on her fancy church clothes. For the number of women and children, there were few adult men, and none of them was Brandt.
Pascal walked up and down the center aisle, looking over all the faces again, hoping he’d missed him the first time, but Brandt wasn’t there. He strode to the podium. �
�Shut those children up, or I’ll do it for you.”
“Let the children go.”
Pascal turned toward the voice. A woman in the front row. He pointed his gun at her. “What did you say?”
“The children are no threat,” she said in a steady voice. “Send them to their Sunday school classrooms. Then you can tell us what you want without all this distraction.”
Pascal hesitated, noting the hopefulness in the faces of the other adults. This woman had authority. People listened to her.
“Come here.” He motioned her up to the podium with his Ruger.
As she approached, he saw concern lining her brow, but not terror. She had some moxie. She might prove useful, for a time.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Sister Odekirk.”
“Sergeant Carter,” Pascal called out. “Sister Odekirk is going to show you the largest classroom. Assess it for security and report back.”
“Yes, sir.” Carter pointed his weapon and followed the woman out a side door.
“You see, I can be reasonable,” Pascal announced. “So don’t be stupid. Cooperate and perhaps I’ll spare your children.”
“Sir?” Heinz appeared in the main doorway with Justine.
“Bring her here.” Pascal watched the audience, noting murmurings as Justine was led in.
“What have you done?” Justine wailed as she saw the bodies of the twelve men at the front of the church. “Why? You didn’t have to do this!”
“Which one is your father? This one?” He pointed at the oldest man with his Ruger.
“None of them,” Justine said. “I lied. I never knew my father.”
“What’s she doing here?” Sister Odekirk exclaimed as she returned through the side door.
“You know this woman?” Pascal asked Sister Odekirk, pointing at Justine.
“Know her? She’s the adulteress who ran away with my husband.”
The pieces shifted and fell into place. “You lying bitch,” he said to Justine. “What else did you lie about? Brandt?”
“Hell yes, I lied.” Justine thrust out her chin. “Brandt doesn’t know about this place. He’s not coming. I lied about all of it.”
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