Ghost Hope (The PSS Chronicles book 4)

by Ripley Patton

  “Well, do your best,” I said. “I know I’ve put a lot on your plate. Were you able to get what I asked for from the CAMFer files?”

  “Oh, right.” He reached into his pocket and held out a USB stick. “It wasn’t hard to find,” he paused for a moment, “but I just want to say, the stuff you went through, I don’t even know—”

  “Thank you,” I interrupted, palming the stick and standing up to leave. The last thing I wanted was his pity.

  “I did the edits you asked for,” he added, looking a little sheepish. “But I tweaked them a little. I hope you don’t mind.”

  What the hell? Why had he messed with my stuff? Maybe pretending to be an amateur documentarian had gone to his head. Still, he’d done me a huge favor by even getting it. And here he was, still slaving away over the CAMFer files for me.

  “That’s fine.” I tucked the USB into my pocket. “And thank you again.”

  “No problem.” He smiled. “Consider it an early birthday present.”

  “Oh God,” I groaned, slumping back into my seat. “Did my mom tell everyone?”

  “That you turn eighteen tomorrow? Yes, she blabbed to all eight of us,” he teased. “Why do you think Passion and Samantha raided the CAMFer kitchen for chocolate and cake mix? Oh, and be sure to pretend you don’t smell the baking wafting up from downstairs after dinner. We’re supposed to keep you busy and out of their hair.”

  “They’re throwing me a party in here?” I was stunned. I thought for sure I’d avoided the whole birthday thing when we’d left Portland, but apparently not.

  “Ah, it’s just a little one,” Chase said. “You’ll survive.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” I sighed. “Hey, did you find anything on that information Pete gave you from the labs?”

  “Yeah, we found some matching files. From what we can tell, Fineman was trying to reverse-engineer PSS. Using various samples, he was tracing its evolutionary journey back through each individual’s DNA. Pete thinks he was attempting to find the origin and exact makeup of the PSS gene.”

  “To what end?” I wondered out loud. “What good would that do him?”

  “Well,” Chase said, “we use the same principle in hacking. If you can figure out the origin and makeup of a code, you can usually break it.”

  “Break a gene? Can that even be done?”

  “Hypothetically, yes,” Chase admitted. But Pete says reverse-engineering like that is nearly impossible without access to some portion of the original sample—sort of like cloning a dinosaur without dinosaur DNA. You might be able to figure out where a dinosaur came from, what it looked like, and how it behaved, but you can’t reconstruct one without some element of the stuff it was originally made from. Anyway, there are still some encrypted files we haven’t cracked that might shed more light on it. We should have them by tomorrow sometime, just in time for your birthday.”

  “Stop it,” I said, punching him in the arm.

  He rubbed it and grimaced like I’d really hurt him. Then his face went all serious. “Hey, I have something I need to confess. We weren’t totally honest with you back at the house. Mike wasn’t, and I wasn’t, about who we were.”

  I felt alarm suddenly creep up my spine. What did he mean? Were they fucking CAMFers? Had this all been an elaborate trap to get me back into the compound?

  “It’s nothing to be afraid of,” he said, reading the look on my face. “It’s just that Mike and I are brothers, and I thought you should know.”

  “Mike Palmer is your brother?” I echoed dumbly.

  “Yes,” Chase nodded. “My less-handsome, much-less-talented older brother.”

  “But he’s old enough to be your dad.”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s a long story, but basically, I didn’t find out I had a brother until he showed up on our doorstep when I was thirteen. My parents thought he’d died before I was born, so they never bothered to tell me about him.”

  “Wow, you and I have more in common than I realized,” I marveled.

  “Exactly.” Chase grinned. “We both belong to the Society of Secret Siblings. It’s a small but elite group.”

  “Yes, it is,” I nodded, noticing for the first time what a nice guy Chase was. And cute. And smart. He had a curl in his dark brown hair that hung over his forehead and reminded me of Superman.

  “There’s something else,” Chase pinned me with his fine green eyes, his voice excited. “Mike is here, at the dome right now, out there in the crowd. He messaged me late last night that he’d arrived. And he’s not alone. He has Kaylee, David, and Jason with him.”

  “You’ve been in contact with him?” I stammered. “And they’re all safe?” Until that moment, I hadn’t realized how much I’d been afraid I’d hurt Kaylee or Marcus during the displacement. Sometimes my nightmares were about that very thing. Kaylee displaced underground, buried alive. Marcus with only his arm sticking out of a wall of granite. The relief washed over me in waves. They were safe. They were here. But they might as well have been a million miles away if they were outside the dome.

  Unless.

  “Can we get them inside?” I asked Chase.

  “I think so,” he said. “We could sneak them in one of the side entrances after dark. There’s a big storm coming tonight. It’s been all over the weather feeds. It might be our best opportunity. But I should probably check with Mike first. He may have other plans.”

  “What do you mean other plans?” I glared at him. “I need him in here. I need all of them in here. You tell him we found the fucking fort, now he damn well better get in here and help me hold it down.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Chase said, a smile quirking at the corner of his lips. “I can send the message, but I can’t guarantee how soon he’ll respond. My brother doesn’t always consider communication a priority. He’s more of an action guy.”

  “I know. Just do it. Oh, and let’s keep this between you and me for now. It would kill my mom to know she was this close to Kaylee. If we can’t get them in, she’ll be devastated.” This had to work for so many reasons. For their safety. For my sanity. For my mom and my sister’s long-awaited reunion, and ultimately for my plan to work.

  And, if I was brave enough to admit it, for my reunion with David Marcus Jordan, the boy I loved who had no memory of me.

  25

  JASON

  I wasn’t an idiot. When Palmer sent me to hold the fence open, I knew exactly what he was up to. He could preach all he wanted about herding moths and helping people, but he didn’t fool me. So, I wasn’t surprised when at dusk, after hours of RVs and camper vans streaming through, a large convoy of fancy SUVs with dark-tinted windows showed up.

  At first, the biker guys seemed confused. These weren’t their usual customers and their leader stopped the first vehicle and began questioning the man behind the wheel. My guess was he could smell the money. Or he thought they were undercover cops.

  I was out of earshot, but I saw Biker Guy wave his bat at the line of SUVs. “Too many,” he seemed to be saying. “It’ll cost you.”

  Palmer might have done something, but he’d sent me, and I didn’t feel like risking myself for a bunch of Holders. They had way more firepower than I did anyway. Better to watch and see how it all panned out. But I did step deeper into the shadows of some scrubby bushes growing along the inside of the fence, just in case things got sticky.

  And fuck, was I glad I did.

  The guy in the front car pulled out a gun instead of money. He flashed the piece at Biker Guy and said something, obviously trying to intimidate him.

  Biker Guy backed off a little, pretending to be afraid, but I didn’t miss the quick flick of his hand as he signaled his crew.

  The open fence immediately came crashing down and the bikers scattered into the night, but not before their leader brought his bat down on the windshield of the lead Hold car, shattering it into a hanging web of frosty glass.

  The driver and the guy riding shotgun jumped out, but there was no one to shoot. The bike
rs stationed on the inside of the fence had fled too. I could still hear them buzzing off into the distance behind me, but I seriously doubted they were abandoning their posts forever. This was a huge money-grab for the locals. They wouldn’t give up so easily. My guess was they’d gone for reinforcements.

  More well-armed Holders climbed out of their cars, cautiously looking around, so I hid myself even deeper in the shadows. Several men came over and inspected the fence, banging their fists against it like Neanderthals. I’d seen how the locals had rigged it. The two pulleys that raised the cut portion were inside the fence, and it took a person on each to work it. I couldn’t let The Holders in by myself, even if Palmer wanted me to. Which, of course, he did.

  I was standing there trying to figure out what to do about that when all hell broke loose.

  Several trucks pulled up around the SUVs, screeching to a halt, shrouding the night in dust and flashing headlights.

  Gunfire rang out—numerous shots volleying back and forth between the trucks and The Holders. Men barked orders. Someone cried out for help.

  I realized I was down on the ground, my gun out in front of me, peering between the leaves of the plant I’d been hiding behind, but I couldn’t see much.

  If the guys in the trucks were the backup for the bikers, I was impressed. They’d come fast, furious, and ready to fight.

  Palmer was not going to be happy about this. Obviously, he’d meant for me to get The Holders inside, but how the fuck was I supposed to do that now?

  The SUVs were peeling out and pulling away as more trucks descended upon them. It looked like the locals had routed them out.

  I heard a truck door slam, and the crunch of boots in the dirt as several men approached the fence line, just on the other side from where I lay hidden.

  “Well, that wasn’t so bad,” a voice said, the man unzipping his fly and beginning to piss through the chain link right onto the bush I was hiding under. “Now we just have to figure out how to get this open.”

  “It’s a simple pulley system on the other side,” a second voice said. A voice I knew all too well. “And it’s a good thing for you this fence is no longer electrified,” my old man added, unzipping his fly and adding his stream to the pitter-patter soaking into the sand near my head. “Have Barry and Clint use some rope to climb over. We’ll be through in no time.”

  “Yes sir,” the first guy said, zipping back up.

  How had my old man gotten here this fast? He must have flown from Texas as soon as the dome hit the news, which meant he probably had no idea I was here too, and I really wanted to keep it that way. Besides, I had to get back to Palmer and tell him the Holders hadn’t gotten through. And that the CAMFers were about to.

  Slowly, carefully, I slipped my gun back into the underarm holster Palmer had given me, turned myself around, and started army-crawling in the direction of the dome.

  When I was sure I was far enough away not to be seen, I got up and walked, then ran.

  To get to the fence, I’d hitched a ride with a hot blonde girl and her brother in a dune buggy. And to get back, I’d been counting on hitching a ride in one of the cars entering through the fence on their way to the dome, but that was not an option now. But it would take me hours to get back to the dome on foot. I had to find another way.

  That’s when I saw someone coming—a row of single headlights, with a set of larger ones barreling behind them. As they came closer, I could hear the familiar buzz of the dirt bikes. The bikers and their reinforcements had finally arrived.

  I ducked off to the side, out of their path, and the bulk of the group went speeding past, kicking up sand and dust, whooping and hollering. Some of the bikers still had their bats, but others now had guns, and the men in the backs of the trucks were heavily armed.

  Poor fools. They had no idea what they were heading into. They’d picked a fight with Mr. James’s rich city security, and were now racing into battle with a completely different enemy. My old man would annihilate them.

  Still, even a short delay played to my advantage.

  Now, if I could just find a faster way back.

  More headlights were coming, three more trucks, and behind them two straggler dirt bikes bobbing over the sand, one considerably behind the other.

  I searched the ground and found exactly what I needed—a stick about three feet long.

  As soon as the trucks passed me, I charged into the wake of the dust they’d left, making a trajectory for that final bike, the stick in my hand. I had never been good at math, but a word problem suddenly flashed in my head.

  If a dirt bike traveling at X miles an hour, crosses the path of a desperate human traveling Y miles an hour, and a stick whacks that biking motherfucker across the chest, the biker’s velocity is reduced to fucking zero and the bike is mine.

  Of course, it didn’t exactly work that way.

  Instead, halfway to the bike, I could tell I was going to miss it. It was moving too fast, and I was moving too slow. I tried to speed up, tried to veer more sharply to meet it, and that’s when I tripped on something. To this day, I have no idea what.

  I pitched forward, face first, my arms splayed out, the stick flung from my hand. I closed my eyes, bracing myself to tuck and roll when I hit the ground.

  Except I didn’t.

  I opened my eyes, the wind rushing past my face, to find myself flying through the air straight at the biker.

  He looked to the side, eyes widening in the narrow window of his helmet visor, but it was too late.

  I grappled for whatever I could, snagging one of his elbows and yanking him off, both of us hitting the ground together. The bike kept going a few yards before it tipped over into the sand, the motor revving. At that point, it pretty much became a wrestling match. He was scrawny but feisty. When I tried to break away and run for the bike, he grabbed my boot and pulled me back. When I felt his hand grip my ankle, I freaked out and kicked him in the helmet with my other foot. That bought me a few seconds, and I made it to the bike and got it upright, but the engine had died. I just barely got my foot on the kickstarter before the guy was all over me again, pinning me from behind and trying to wrench me off the seat. I twisted, slamming my heel down to start the bike, while at the same time pulling my attacker inward so his calf pressed against the exhaust pipe. It only took a moment before his pants were smoking and he was screaming like a girl. He let go of me then, writhing away.

  As I drove off, I could hear police sirens wailing in the distance back toward the fence. Good. They would delay my old man that much longer. And so would the weather.

  There was a storm coming.

  I could feel it in the air.

  26

  MIKE PALMER

  As soon as I heard the dirt bike pull up, I stepped out of the RV to investigate.

  It was Jason, covered in sand with blood dripping down his face, which did not bode well for the mission I’d sent him on.

  “What happened?” I asked. “Your forehead is bleeding.”

  “The CAMFers,” he said, turning off the bike and wiping at the cut, his fingers coming away bloody. “They showed up right before the Holders got through. There was a fight and the locals closed the gate. I had to steal the bike to get back, and the owner put up a fight.”

  “Did the CAMFers get through?” I asked. “Did you stay to see that much?”

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “I heard the police arrive on my way back, so I doubt it. But they will. It was my old man.”

  “That’s not good. I was counting on Alex’s men to get here before him.” It seemed nothing was going my way today. First, we’d lost Gordon, though Reiny had found out he was in stable condition in a hospital in Portland, awaiting heart surgery. That tricky old bastard, living all this time with a PSS foot. I’m not sure why it surprised me so much that I wasn’t the only one who’d kept secrets all these years. I’d almost told him, back in the RV, how I’d seen my daughter in a dream ten years before she was born, her own tiny gl
owing foot peeking out from a blanket. He would have understood it was more than just a dream: it was a foretelling. But I didn’t tell him because I didn’t want to see the look of disappointment on his face when he realized I’d abandoned Thea before she was even born. I’d told myself I was protecting her and her mother. I’d told myself that lie for a very long time.

  “So, what do we do now?” Jason asked.

  “Take that to the camper,” I gestured at the bike. “I don’t want to have to explain it to the others. Grab the bag with the guns and your stuff. Then meet me back here.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “I think our best option is the dome,” I said. “It’s the only place we’ll be safe at the moment, and from there we can work on more options. Now, all I have to do is convince them,” I added, nodding toward the RV.

  “Good luck with that,” he said, starting the bike up and peeling out in the dirt, just as a thunderclap rent the sky.

  “Try to make it back before this storm hits,” I called after him, hoping he heard me. The kid was smart and tough, but I hadn’t missed the fear in his voice when he’d told me his old man was here. He’d be back as soon as he could.

  I headed inside. Reiny and Lonan had been cooking dinner when I’d come out to talk to Jason. David and Kaylee had been cutting vegetables for a salad. None of them were going to be happy with the conversation we were about to have, but it had to be done. Not just because of the arrival of the CAMFers, but also because I’d gotten a message from Chase requesting our presence.

  As I stepped through the door, David’s glance was sharp with suspicion, but Kaylee gave me a smile.

  “I have some bad news,” I said, catching Lonan and Reiny’s attention immediately. “Don’t worry, it’s not Gordon. But Jason just got back from the fence and told me the CAMFers are here.”

  “This is exactly what I was afraid of,” David said, standing up in a panic.

  “They’re not inside yet,” I explained. “They got stopped by the cops, but it’s only a matter of time before they get through.” They didn’t need to know Alex’s forces were coming as well. Telling them that didn’t fit my needs at the moment.