by James Somers
Yet, Garth feels something building, a kinetic energy in the area close by. A casual observer might notice nothing at all amiss. However, Garth felt this same thing before an incident he’ll never forget. It is like a thunderstorm churning overhead, charging the atmosphere, something animals might sense with foreboding, seeking comfort and security in the warmth of deep burrows.
Just as it happened before, the energy is building. Garth remembers watching the last time. Dr. Albert instructed him to remain away from the test site for his own safety. Cassie was not in the program at Sector Four quite three months when the occurrence happened.
However, Garth did not follow Dr. Albert’s instructions. Trying to restrict him, or confine him to a space was like attempting to bind Houdini. It just didn’t work out.
Garth stole out of his room, curious about the test Dr. Albert and his colleagues planned to conduct on the new young girl in their program. Cassie was only twelve years old at the time. Garth was fourteen and lithe. He used the Sector Four ventilation ducts as a veritable highway to get around anywhere he wanted to go without being seen. It took Dr. Albert and their security team years to realize what the boy was doing and install video cameras at junctures in the air ducts.
Still, he made his way on the evening when Cassie was set inside a room and asked to concentrate upon objects there. She had taken such a test on numerous occasions with minimal results. Only this time, one of Dr. Albert’s colleagues, a Dr. McGraff, had the bright idea to induce an altered state in the girl using psychotropic drugs.
They hoped this might push Cassie into unleashing her special abilities. Dr. McGraff created a state of panic and fear in the young girl. This and states of rage had reportedly produced results in Cassie’s home. Not because her parents were trying to induce such a response—quite the opposite. Her parents couldn’t take what was happening to their daughter. Cassie’s mother experienced a nervous breakdown because of the episodes.
Yet, Dr. McGraff was convinced this was the only way they could induce the girl to show her power. Dr. Albert remained reluctant. Yet, with time he grew frustrated by a lack of results. Ultimately, he gave in to his partner in the program. When all was said and done, seven people died during the experiment.
Dr. McGraff was one of them.
The wildly driven Honda is covered in flailing bodies dressed in filthy, torn garments. Only Holly’s G-force inducing maneuvers keep the gnashing teeth at bay. Centrifugal force and inertia play their roles, throwing bodies away even as others leap upon the vehicle. Zombies find hand holds on the back edge of the hood near the windshield. Others grip the roof pillars, trying to pull their way into the car where those forces will have little effect at preventing their attack.
Garth catches up to the car, running along the closely spaced roof tops, leaping at disjointed intervals to cross gaps as much as twenty feet across. His sword remains in its scabbard, ready should he need it. However, there are no zombies up here; a fact Garth doesn’t miss.
The breakaway of infected who are attempting to follow him, lose track of the lithe young man. They cannot see him in the dark, nor does he appear close to the edge of the roofs. Instead, these attempt to catch up with their fellows chasing the car.
Still, the churning power is gathering around the Honda. It has absolutely nothing to do with electricity, nothing to do with a gasoline hybrid engine revving away under the hood of Holly’s car. Cassie draws energy to her, like a vortex, a swirling flux, invisible yet tangible to those sensitive enough to recognize its presence.
“Take hold of Holly!” Garth shouts from the roof of a haberdashery, still running to keep up.
He hopes the girl hears him, but doesn’t have much confidence. He’s too far away. Cassie doesn’t have the kind of keen ears he possesses. The energy continues to gather about her, just as it did when Dr. McGraff’s experiment went horribly wrong.
Both Dr. Albert and Dr. McGraff were in the room with Cassie when it happened. McGraff controlled the sensory input, Albert the drug dosage. A staff of nearly a dozen others worked various computer terminals, monitoring the girl’s vitals and progression toward peak power. Dr. Albert became alarmed by the girl’s state and attempted to calm her, taking hold of her arms as he gazed into her wide and dilated eyes. This tactile contact saved his life.
Garth leaps away from the haberdashery, folding his body as he lands upon the top of a transfer truck left sitting half on the sidewalk. He rolls across the trailer roof as a ball, unfurling as he reaches the edge to grab hold and swing himself down to the street again. All this done in the dark, the zombies accosting the car don’t take much notice of his arrival.
Pulling his katana immediately, Garth launches himself into the throng. He doesn’t have time to hack at them. It wouldn’t work anyway. He would only alert the masses and set them upon himself. Instead, he climbs them, dancing across backs and shoulders, bounding from the occasional head, making steady progress toward the covered car still trying to plow through.
Gauging the trajectory of Holly’s car, Garth leaps away, landing on the hood. He swipes his katana across the shoulders of two zombies attempting to pull themselves through the shattered windshield opening. Their heads roll away, and their bodies slough off a moment later. Garth grips the lip of the roof and swings his feet and legs down through the opening.
Cassie’s eyes remain tightly shut to the scene around her. Zombie hands grip her wetsuit, worn out of the Tombs because there was no time to change. Groping, spider-like fingers pull at her hair, as bloody fierce faces struggle to draw near her flesh. Her screams fill the space in the car, drowning out almost everything except the high revving engine.
Garth feels the power welling to the breaking point. He is out of time. In a desperate last-ditch effort to save their lives, he reaches down from his seated position on the dashboard through the shattered and missing windshield to take hold of Holly and Cassie at the same time.
The pent up energy suddenly breaks through Cassie’s ability to hold it. Garth closes his eyes to blinding white light expanding outward from Cassie’s body like a bubble. His grip tightens as the burning begins. Pressure forces out all sound momentarily, then bursts in a shockwave of fire destroying everything it touches.
Rise and Shine
Vladimir wakes to complete darkness. His eyes are open, though it makes no difference. He believes he is not dead. At least, he hopes he is not dead. Then again, as an atheist raised in a predominantly atheist country, complete darkness might be the best he could hope for. He took it for granted he would know nothing in oblivion. Maybe this belief is incorrect.
However, the pain shooting through his limbs and pounding in his head argue for life, in this case. He raises a hand to his face. His hand exists. Reaching to his face and head, Vladimir’s fingers brush his skin, questing for causes to his aches and pains.
He feels a crusty substance on his face and matting his hair in places. His finger comes to his nose. A metallic scent informs him of blood. A sizeable knot on the side of his head left him unconscious. How long he’s been here, wherever here is, remains to be seen.
The very last thing he recalls is driving with the boy in the stolen Porsche. Something or someone struck their windshield at the last moment. He lost control, hitting another vehicle in the road. The world spun around them. He remembers nothing more.
Raising his weary body, Vladimir begins to pick out details about his environment. He is no longer sitting in the Porsche, and Jonathan Parks is nowhere to be found. He is now leaning against a cabinet. He stands up, his arms and legs tingling with the return of proper blood flow.
Immediately, he feels for his Sig Sauers. They remain in his shoulder harness. He pulls one of them out, just in case. If he is inside a store with no one about, then he is probably still inside London and not far from where he crashed the car. The only questions are: where am I, and where is the boy?
Vladimir recognizes what appears to be a small store. The cabinet is actua
lly a counter. He bends down, eyeing the large letters stenciled there. UPS. He remembers the freight company using the name. He’s shipped packages with them before.
He looks around; feeling his way in the dark toward what he perceives must be the front façade of the store. He trips and stumbles only a bit, making his way past a rack of packaging envelopes and foldout shipping boxes. He doesn’t find the boy laid out anywhere on the floor.
Vladimir realizes someone had to put his unconscious body in this place away from the infected running through the streets. It is already night, though he is unsure if it is the same night. However, there are no street lights on. He tries the panel on the wall near the windows, barely able to make out the switches. Nothing. There is no light from any other businesses, or homes in the near vicinity.
He feels the glass panes before him, walking the length until coming to the front door. Locked. So, someone brought him unconscious from the smashed car to this place, locked the front door, and left him here with his weapons still on his person. The boy is also gone.
Is it possible the boy took him from the car? He would have to be quite strong to pull off such a rescue, not to mention the fact the boy was also in the car accident and shot in the leg just prior to the wreck. It seems quite impossible, when he considers it.
Still, it might explain why he is alive, and the boy is gone. Jonathan argued with him about leaving Holly Tavers and the two teens with her. In his obstinacy, the boy may have left him safely alone in order to trek back along their route and find his friends.
Vladimir feels his pockets, searching for his cell phone. It is missing; could have been lost in the car accident. Any number of things might have happened while he was out cold.
He stands before the window, putting his face near the glass in a vain attempt at visualizing the street beyond. There are no street lamps working, no lights from homes or businesses, and a waning moon. He can’t really see anything.
Even the air inside this business is stale and humid due to the central heat and air being down with the apparent power outage. Has the state of London become so bad so quickly? Are power plants no longer functioning?
Vladimir presses closer. He sees the dim glow of city lights far away. Someone still has power. Perhaps, this problem is only here in Central London. Still, this darkness is not going to help him find the boy any sooner.
Almost as if in response to Vladimir’s problem, bulbs in the store flicker and come on again. Air begins to channel through the ventilation system once more. Machinery in the store comes to life: several industrial size copy machines and the cash register on the counter.
Beyond the glass façade of the UPS Store, street lamps come back on, illuminating the road before the store. No less than thirty zombies stand in the street in front of the UPS Store. Dozens of pairs of bloodshot eyes immediately find and fix upon him standing behind the glass.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding,” he whispers, pulling his Sig Sauers in anticipation of what will come next.
Without hesitation, the creatures growl fiercely and run toward the front of the store. Vladimir notices the security gate to his left and rushes to grab it. He pulls it across the front of the store on its track as fast as he can.
A mob of zombies breaks upon the storefront like a wave against a seawall. Glass explodes inward against the security gate, even before Vladimir can secure it to its lock on the other side. The force of so many bodies ramming through into the barrier threatens to tear the reinforced steel lattice work from his hands.
Vladimir pulls furiously until he fits the gate into its lock. The tumblers fall into position, and the gate is set. He has no idea where the key might be, but he doesn’t care. At least, these creatures can’t get through to him. Or can they?
Bodies leap at the storefront relentlessly. Heads and shoulders, backs and chests, smash into the steel lattice gate. Glass shards from the window threaten to cut the gruesome creatures to pieces. Blood splashes across the floor as the infected lacerate their own flesh, trying desperately to get to him. The gate is forced back into the store, pulling on both the hinges to the left and the lock at the right. The gate might not fail, but its attachments within the wall may give way.
Vladimir considers shooting the zombies crashing against the gate, but realizes it will do nothing to help. He wants to preserve his ammunition as long as possible. More of them gather behind the others, creating an even greater strain on the barrier. They’ll come through it any moment.
He backs away from the front of the store, heading into the back, looking for a way of escape. Space is limited back here. There’s a storeroom, a small bathroom, and a break room for employees. Vladimir finds the back door unlocked.
Front door locked and the back door unlocked. Vladimir wonders if the boy might have gone through back here to get away. “He saves me and then runs away?” Vladimir reasons to himself. “Typical kid. He definitely went back to find Holly and the others.”
He finds no sign of his bag, or his submachine gun. It’s either lost in the wreckage outside, or the boy took it with him. Vladimir finds the office of the store manager. The address is on the man’s business cards on his desk. The UPS Store is located on the same road where he wrecked the car. He’s not too far from MI6 Headquarters.
The boy will go back to the last place we saw Holly, he thinks. So, that’s where I have to go.
Vladimir hears the gate at the front of the store crash in. He opens the back door and closes it again. If he’s correct, the zombies won’t be able to open it. When they don’t find him in the store, they won’t even try the door. Their rampage should be diffused for lack of a target.
He doesn’t wait for them to come to the back. It’s time for the assassin to be on his way. There is no time to waste. He must find the boy and complete his mission.
The rear alley seems clear; at least, until Vladimir finds one of the infected. The creature has its back to him, feasting upon a victim it not only bit, but kept on biting. This poor soul was eaten alive, and there doesn’t appear to be much left.
He finds a gruesome scene, giving him pause. However, Vladimir won’t be bothered with useless emotionalism. He comes upon the creature from behind.
“Hey,” he says to it, just loud enough to be heard.
The zombie whirls on him, still crouching on all fours. Blood and gore encrust its face and hands. The foul odor of excrement covers it like a cloud. Flesh falls from its teeth when it hisses at him, coming to its feet to attack.
Vladimir holds a Sig Sauer on the creature until it charges. He pulls the trigger, firing a single shot. The bullet takes it in the forehead. He steps aside as the infected woman’s momentum carries her body stumbling past him to crash into the side of a nearby dumpster.
He doesn’t look back at her, nor does he examine the remains of her unfortunate meal. The assassin has seen enough. If Ivanovich is correct, this will all come to Russia in time, as it spreads from country to country. He loves his homeland. This cannot happen there. He won’t allow it.
Vladimir makes his way, taking alleys, keeping to places where the light of streetlamps doesn’t intrude. He is a master assassin. Stealth belongs to him. The boy will not be allowed to escape him.
Alive in the Tombs
4 Days Ago
The power eventually comes back on in the Tombs Laboratory located deep in the bowels of the SIS Building, home to Britain’s illustrious MI6. Scott Bishop works tirelessly in concert with the techs at the War Room inside the Government Communications Headquarters, also known fondly as the Doughnut, located in Cheltenham, Gloucestershire. With their joint efforts, auxiliary power is restored within three hours, bypassing a nefarious set of subroutines implanted into the system by none other than Vladimir Nesky.
Since then, Bishop busies himself, utilizing his deeper access to the system, provided on approval of Director Sayers, in order to find out how the Tombs was breached in the first place. Vladimir Nesky came bearing the identity o
f one Charles Smith, an agent with MI6, as well as the access coding for Holly Tavers. However, according Director Sayers, this information would be nearly impossible to steal. Yet, it could easily be transferred by the one with the access, meaning Holly might be working with the Russians.
“Circumstantial evidence at best,” Scott tells himself. “Not Holly. I’ll just have to prove your innocence.”
He spends the next six hours, while waiting for his imminent rescue, probing the system even more. Holly’s background check, her family, bank accounts, etc…all with the hope of clearing her name. She’s been a good friend to everyone here and now she may be in danger. He can’t just sit on his hands doing nothing. If it’s one thing he has, at the moment, it’s time.
“And what have you determined?” Angela Sayers asks.
Fortunately, Sayers was willing to open up MI6’s extensive database at least partially to him. This is like a hacker’s dream come true for Bishop. However, the deeper he probes into files relating information about Holly and Vladimir Nesky, the more he realizes he might be wrong.
“Admittedly, Ms. Tavers remained under the radar,” Sayers continues without waiting for Bishop’s reply. “All in all, a good plant for them. A clean record. Only her funds for school look remotely suspicious. Her mother’s care is a bit above her pay grade also, but not overtly so.”
Bishop remains silent, listening.
“Only the fact Nesky has her pass code data really makes this undeniable, in my opinion,” Sayers continues.
“What will happen to her?” Bishop finally asks. He has an uneasy feeling he already knows the answer to his own question. She might be executed for treason.