by Milt Mays
“I can save us with that notebook computer, you know.”
“Please. Just dry out the gun.”
“Okay.” Sam was a good guy, so Dan would do what he asked. What he really should be doing was getting that notebook fired up and finding out more about the Realfood control center.
Sam stepped away from Dan, wanting distance before he smashed the dweeb’s nose. Though Sam hated it that they couldn’t right the car and go after Rachel, at least he had an operable satellite phone. He dialed the last number he had for Alex. The phone rang twenty times. He hung up and looked at the phone. The screen indicated there were enough satellites, enough bars.
Sam dialed again. On the third ring someone picked up.
“Hello.” A woman’s voice, not one Sam knew, that seemed sad.
“This is Sam Houston. Is Alex Smith there?”
“No. I’m sorry. Don’t know when he’ll be back. Wait a minute. Sam? You’re with Rachel, right? I’m Lorna, Charlie’s wife at Realfood.”
“Yeah. Lorna. Think we met a year ago around Thanksgiving. Maybe Charlie could help us.”
“Charlie’s . . .” There was crying after that, then nothing.
“Lorna?”
Nothing.
“Lorna?”
“Yes, I’m here. Sorry. Charlie died last night. You couldn’t know. Ambrosia attacked and they got him.” She sniffed twice.
“That’s terrible. Maybe I could talk to someone else. I’ve got a bad problem of my own, and you’re . . . Well, you’re—”
“I’m fine,” she interrupted. “What can I do?” She sniffed again.
“You sure.”
“Hello.” Apparently Lorna lost it and gave the phone to someone else.
“Yes, this is Sam. What happened to Lorna?”
“Hi, Sam. I’m Beau. Lorna’s too upset. Just tell me and I’ll help.”
“Okay. I think Jabril got Rachel. Dan Trotter and I are in a real bind. We got into an accident and the car is toast. We’re in the middle of nowhere and need someone to come get us. I think we’re about forty miles north of you, off highway 385. We passed Cheyenne Wells about twenty minutes back. We—”
“Hold on.”
All he could hear was static.
“There’s a couple of people about to leave, and they’re coming your way. Should be there in half an hour.”
“Great. Everything we have is wet. Bring extra clothes, medium men’s sizes.” He eyed the Glock and Dan dabbing at it with the inside of Sam’s dry coat. “Bring guns and a computer with 5G capability.”
“Clothes we can do. The guy has an M4 and ammo. Not sure about . . .” There was static and the connection died.
Sam shivered and looked at the satellite phone. Battery dead. Damn. He’d wanted to ask the names of the people coming. Oh well, at least they were on their way. Dan’s wet coat he’d put on was not great against the cold wind. He replayed the conversation, “The guy has an M4 and ammo.” That sounded like the other of the “couple” was a woman. Hopefully she was as good as Rachel.
Chapter 44
“Hey, how ‘bout I drive?” Jeff had been aching for the chance at the souped-up RX-7 since he’d first laid eyes on it. He scratched his chin. Had it been only yesterday when he and Alexis had jumped in the car in Texas? Damn. Only one full day with her. He needed more, much more.
She pushed up the sleeves to her pullover, smiled her little are-you-kidding-me smile and got in the driver’s side.
He opened the passenger door and got in, saying, “You get to have all the fun.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Really?”
“I mean, you know, with the driving and fighting and . . . Okay. I’ll shut up.”
Her kiss earlier had been something he’d never forget. And a lot of fun.
She laughed and he wanted to kiss her again. There was no way she was going alone.
Lorna tapped a fingernail on Alexis’s closed window, startling Jeff.
Alexis rolled down the window and Lorna said, “You need to pick up Sam and Dan Trotter up the road. They had an accident. Take this, too.” She handed Alexis a laptop computer. “We have been saving this 5G laptop for a special time. I think this is it.”
Jeff felt the breath go out of him. “My dad’s there? An accident? Is he okay?”
Lorna smiled. “He’s fine. Just a little cold. They rolled their car in a streambed.”
Alexis frowned, “I thought my mom was with them.” She handed the computer to Jeff.
Lorna crossed her arms, looked away and sniffed. “Sam thinks Jabril took her.”
“Jabril took her?” She gripped the steering wheel so tight her knuckles went white and purple.
“Jabril?” Jeff said. “He’s that bad guy you never finished telling me about. We got bullets now. Let’s get moving. We’ll help my dad, this Sam guy, find your mom, and take out Jabril. We’ll be back by lunch. No prob.” He smiled and touched her hand on the wheel.
She flinched and twisted her head at him with eyes that made him want to get out of the car. Now. The green irises seemed to glow in red, whirling lava. That was definitely something she’d never shared and he didn’t like it.
She relaxed and her gaze softened, the red glow gone. “Sorry. Jabril is the worst. And if he has my mom . . . Maybe you should stay.”
“Not on your life.”
She started to say something, then looked at Lorna. “How far are they?”
“Up 385, this side of Cheyenne Wells. ‘Bout a half hour.” Lorna bent down and picked up something. “You should put these on, too. They’ll stop most bullets.”
Alexis took them and tossed them into Jeff’s lap, then started the car. “Get in touch with Dad and tell him what’s going on. I’ll call once we know more, but I’m sure we’ll need Dad to get Mom from Jabril. Give me Sam’s number so I can let him know when we’re close.”
“He was on a satellite phone and the power died before we could tell him it was you and Jeff coming.”
Lorna shrugged. “I’ll let your dad know, though. You be careful, and use the vests.”
Alexis smiled at her, closed the window and drove the car slowly out of the cave. Jeff already had his vest on and his camouflage jacket over it. He looked at her. “Why don’t you stop and put yours on?”
“Later,” she said, and kept driving.
Two men in brown coveralls raised the last tree barriers with rope pulleys. She drove the RX-7 outside and they lowered the trees.
“Cinch up your seat belt,” she said, and the car rocketed forward.
They took U.S. 287 north to Lamar and blew through the town, or what was left of it. Very few traffic lights even worked. There were few cars and even fewer people. Motel windows were boarded up; service stations and taco joints had broken windows and looked deserted. She turned east onto U.S. 385 and flew out of town at 90 MPH, veering around potholes and almost skidding off the crumbling right shoulder. The rising sun nearly blinded them. Foot-high corn in fields brought Jeff back to traveling in a school bus to a basketball game in Limon. That had been four years ago. He’d been good. There was nothing like the bursting in the pit of his stomach when, after the long arching shot from a corner, the ball swished, the buzzer sounded, the crowd cheered. That shot had won the district finals, taking them to state.
Why the hell had he joined the Army and not gone to college? Could have had a full ride with his grades and sports. No. Had to be a hero. Dumbshit.
He looked at Alexis. Well, maybe not so dumb after all.
“When are you going to put on this vest?” he said. “We’ll be running into Ambrosia militia soon, won’t we?”
She glanced at him, a slight smile that was almost evil. “I’ll be okay. The militia will have their hands full with Dad.”
“Okay, I think it’s time you told me what’s with you and your dad. I saw what you could do, but you act like he’s a step above. It’s only 2018, and last time I looked there was no news about a new race of humans, or aliens
with green eyes and beautiful long legs and blond hair.”
“We’re a mutation.”
“No shit? Were you in some nuclear reactor overload?”
She chuckled. “Dad can probably explain it better, but he was working on some viruses and he’s not sure, but thinks they caused a mutation in his DNA. Either that or it was spontaneous. At any rate, that mutation passed on to me and allows us to do certain things. We’re not superhuman, just different.” She smiled again, this time a placating, end-of-story smile.
“What about Jabril? Did he catch the same virus, or is he just a bad guy?”
“They’re not sure. He was supposed to be dead, kept in a tomb—suspended animation, they called it—while they studied him in D.C. But he escaped a couple of days ago and is now trying to finish what he started back in 2001.”
“Which is?”
“End the world as we know it. He is one of the original jihadists trained by bin Laden and still bent on destroying us infidels. We think he’s going to spread lethal GMO foods around the country, and release those terrible lab mice we told you about that try to eat people.”
“Great guy.”
“The worst of it is, he’s a sexual deviant.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then continued in a quiet voice, “He’ll probably hurt my mom in many ways, mostly to get back at my dad.”
“What did your dad do?”
“He almost killed Jabril in 2001 and the two of them are like yin and yang, connected through some weird mental telepathy that tortures them with the other’s thoughts. But my dad will not kill Jabril. Jabril’s Muslim grandmother saved my dad’s Jewish parents from the Nazis in World War II.”
Jeff held onto the laptop with both hands, watched the green sprigs of wheat go by, listened to the road noise hum as the taste of acid creeped into the back of his throat. “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. This is too weird.”
Ahead, two men stood in the road, waving their hands above their heads.
“Sam’s the guy on the—” she started.
“The right,” Jeff finished. The other guy was his dad. The last time he’d seen his dad was over four years ago. It had been a late night, after a Nuggets game, and they had argued, yelled at each other about Jeff’s drunk-driving charge, about Jeff not going to college, about stupid stuff.
The next morning Dad had been gone and Jeff had joined the Army to be a hero. What could he possibly say to apologize to Dad now?
Chapter 45
Jabril drove, and the smell of Rachel filled every olfactory nerve making it hard to concentrate on the road. It was a mix of sweat, peach shampoo and the lingering minty aroma of the toothpaste she’d used hours before he’d duct-taped her mouth, leaning in and pressing against her breasts. Prior to grabbing her, he’d been able to control his fangs and claws, but now they were out, ready for action. His jaw ached. His fingers ached. But most of all, his penis ached. He wanted her. Yet he also knew he must not until he had the information. She could also help him get into the Ambrosia field lab.
To hell with that. He stomped on the brake. The van screeched to a halt, and he put it in park and unclicked the seat belt in the same instant. The only thing around them was miles of plowed earth, some with knee-high corn and wheat—no buildings, no people, not even any power lines. They were all alone.
He grabbed the duct tape, stood, bent over, and walked back to her. She lay unconscious on her left side, facing him, thick auburn hair partially covering her face, arms over her head. Her pants were tight against long legs, smooth ass. He duct-taped her wrists together and pulled her arms up to the bar on the wall by the sink, wrapping more tape around that and pinning her arms above her head. She was still unconscious when he unzipped her pants and turned her over onto her knees, holding her so her ass stuck out. He kneeled and pulled his pants down. She moaned. He held her steady with one hand and pulled her pants down to her knees and entered her.
She fought and she was strong but she had no leverage with her feet duct-taped and wrists secure and his hands on her shoulders.
“You see, Rachel. I can do anything I want with you.”
He moved faster against her squirming, holding her shoulders, pulling, thrusting. He knew if he grabbed her head he might kill her. Something snapped inside and he screamed and came. She went limp.
Had he killed her? He leaned over to check her pulse. No, she was alive. The shoulders of her coat had four parallel scratches from his claws, though. He pulled up his pants, pushed up her coat and shirt and saw only four red lines on her right shoulder above her bra, ghosts of the coat marks. The bra strap was black. He cut it with one claw and turned her over, flipped the bra over one breast and touched it, traced the areola, squeezed the nipple. She moaned. He was not hard and nausea made him grit his teeth. Breathing was a chore and his chest pounded.
He stood quickly, walked back behind the wheel and drove, pushing the accelerator down hard.
How could you do this to her? It was his mother’s voice in his head, choking as if in tears.
She is an infidel. She and Alex were responsible for my torture.
She is a human being, a child of God.
What God? Where was he when I needed him?
There was a stabbing, shearing pain behind his left ear, as if his head was trying to reject some cancer that had taken control of him. He swerved, but managed to recover and keep his speed. The nausea was gone. He breathed easy. His pulse returned to normal. The smooth button that was undoubtedly connected to something deep in his brain was comforting. At the same time, he wanted it out. He wanted to be himself, not some robot. If he yanked it out now, his brain would surely heal. But . . . Yes, there was a big but. If his brain didn’t heal, he would be unable to make sure Alex suffered, make sure his daughter died in front of him.
Rachel moaned. He drove faster. Mother was gone, now. God, Allah, heaven, hell: None of that mattered. Only killing the Americans and hurting Alex.
The female robotic voice on his cell phone map announced they were only a mile from the Ambrosia field lab. The cell phone he’d retrieved from Rachel’s front pants pocket sat in the center console cup holder. There was a slow but steady rise in the road, perhaps ten meters. Still only fields, but on the other side of the rise the fields were mostly covered in knee-high green corn. He thought that odd with this barely being spring. The sun was warm, though.
There’d been no cars for the last thirty minutes. Rachel moaned again and a glance revealed her eyes fluttering open. He pulled to the side of the road.
After making sure no one was coming, he turned off the engine, stood slightly bent and walked to her. It was shady in the bowels of the van, but he could still see the whites of her eyes, so wide they resembled fried eggs. She was struggling to sit and had shifted her coat shirt over her breasts, but not covering her taut abdomen and skin. He stepped to within a meter of her. She scooted on her naked ass away from him until she hit the couch, held her knees tight together and stared at him. Tears filled her eyes.
“How does it feel, to have someone else in complete control of you? You and Alex did that to me. You put me in that hole. You allowed them to cut me, take pieces of me every day. I wonder how Alex will feel about this?”
She turned her head.
“Now I have a piece of you and I will take more unless you help me. All I need is information about the GMO plants and mice.”
She was breathing fast through her nose, turning her head side to side, probably looking for a way out.
He reached over the top of her head to lift open the couch and get the mice and plants. She kicked him in the groin with her duct-taped feet. Any other time he probably would have only slapped her. But his groin was so engorged that her kick truly hurt. He groaned and stuck the claw from his right index finger through her jacket, deep into her left shoulder.
Her muffled scream against the tape sounded like a child’s doll squeaking. He looked into her eyes and twisted the claw. She squeaked again and fai
nted.
He pulled out the claw and he breathed slowly in and out and gritted his teeth as the pain in his groin gradually subsided. He roughly rolled and shoved her body to his right to get to the mice and plants under the couch. Her bare ass felt delicious, yet he wrenched her pants up and zipped and fastened them. After he got the mice and plants, she was regaining consciousness.
“Do not try that again or I will use a claw to take out one of your beautiful eyes.” His voice had changed timbre, now lower, more baritone, and it seemed to reach every corner of the van.
He touched the tip of the claw he’d removed from her shoulder to her temple, tracing the still fresh blood under her eye, then touching it to his tongue. “Do you understand?”
She nodded and squeezed her eyes shut twice. Tears rolled down her cheeks and breaths came rapidly in and out flared nostrils.
“Good. Now, I am going to take the tape off your mouth. You will tell me what I need to know. Agreed?”
She nodded quickly. Perhaps too quickly.
He touched his bloody claw to her shoulder and shoved it forcefully in an inch. “No tricks.”
A high-pitched groan came from her and she shook her head, an agitated back and forth shudder.
He removed the claw and ripped the duct tape off her mouth.
“Goddamn you to hell.”
“I do not care about God and I have been to hell, thanks to you and your husband.”
He eyed her up and down, then took another deep breath and let it out his nose, slowly, counting to six before he ended. “I need only the codes you have for the GMO viral DNA sequences.”
She panted and sobbed.
“The codes, Rachel.” He placed the tip of his claw on her shoulder.
“No. Please,” she whimpered.
“Tell me then.” He let his hand drop to his side.
“Can you untie my hands, at least from the wall? My shoulders are pulling so hard I can’t think.”
He slashed one claw through the duct tape between her wrists and the wall rod. Her arms fell into her lap. She moaned.