Chain Reaction Power Failure Book I

by Andrew Draper

  That took care of the plans, now she hurried to secure the battery itself as Jack was already ten minutes late. She was so preoccupied with her own thoughts that she didn't hear the soft swish of the door behind her.

  Completely undetected, Murphy hid behind the file cabinet, eyes following Jenny until she hung her white coat and headed for the door.

  Watching the door swing shut, he made his move. Sitting in her chair, he tapped away at the keyboard.

  Jenny was half way to the elevators when she suddenly stopped. My keys! Crap, I left them in my coat. She turned on her heel and headed back down the hall. She pushed the door open and made a beeline for her coat, finding her keys in the pocket, right where she’d left them.

  She reached for the door and fireworks burst before her eyes as a hard, sharp blow fell on the back of her neck. The pain in her head exploded like a grenade. Flashes of light popped and danced across her vision like camera strobes. The sudden shock triggered an animal panic that enveloped her while another blow fell, and then another.

  Uncontrolled terror burned like a flash-fire across her senses as she clawed the air, trying to escape the horrific onslaught. Dropping to her knees, she raised her arms above her head, trying to protect herself, but the futile gesture was too little, too late. Another wrenching crash against her skull and the room began to spin, turning her world into a sick montage of fragmented images.

  She sagged to the floor as her vision dimmed to a gray haze. In a last, feeble attempt to fight back, she threw a blind kick and felt it connect. She registered a scream of shock and pain before a final, devastating blow landed on her head, imploding her world like a ball of crushed tinfoil.

  Murphy hit her with the butt of his pistol one more time before she finally lay still. He pulled the purse from her still-clenched fist and emptied it on the desk. As he went through the contents, he cursed her aloud. “Bitch! Look what you made me do!”

  Eyeing the small silver device, he gloated in triumph. You thought you were so dammed smart, didn’t you? Guess you were wrong.

  He dropped the empty purse and began to scan the room for the prototype. He pulled open cabinets and rifled the shelves, finding nothing.

  He stared at the inert form lying on the floor and a new wave of frustration pulsed within him, fueling his rage. Blood surging through his veins, he cleared the top of her desk with a broad sweep of his arm. The violent outburst scattered debris in all directions. All right, you conceited bitch, where did you hide the battery?

  Taking a few deep breaths, he regained a modicum of self-control and began searching her desk. Pulling pens, file folders and a half-empty box of herbal tea from the top drawer, he dropped the items in a haphazard pile next to her body. He pulled the now-empty drawer free of its guide rails, tossing it aside. Reaching a hand into the locked drawer below, he groped among the papers until he felt a hard object. Finally! He raised the small plastic case to the light, staring in awe at the two silver-dollar sized disks that lay inside.

  Pulse beginning to settle, he was already counting his money when the door opened for the second time.

  Jack walked into the lab and called out. “Jenny, Are you ready to go?”

  Limbs frozen in utter astonishment, Jack’s face went from disbelief to searing horror at the sight of Sean Murphy leaning over Jenny as she lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. Snapping out of his shock-induced immobility, he screamed, rage pushing his voice to a grating screech. “You bastard! Get away from her!”

  Drawing his muscles tight, he took three quick strides and launched himself at Murphy, bracing for the impact. The two collided with bone-jarring force, pain racing a trail from Jack’s right shoulder down his spine. The flying tackle sent both men spilling to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs.

  First to recover his senses, Murphy slammed his open palm into Jack’s nose, snapping his head back and sending a splash of crimson blood against the wall.

  Jack instinctively grabbed at his broken nose, and Murphy capitalized, landing a punishing blow to his ribs.

  Breath forced from his lungs, Jack gasped as his bruised lungs screamed in protest. He rolled to the right before Murphy could land a follow-up punch and then scrambled to his feet.

  Circling the room, the two men punched and dodged like boxers in a cage match. Each man stalked the other like a predatory animal, probing…searching for a weakness. While Jack was taller by several inches, the advantage offered by his longer reach disappeared under Murphy’s larger, lower center of gravity. Ignoring the radiating screams of his battered body, Jack lunged for Murphy and locked his arms around the other man’s portly waist. The inertia carried the pair back several feet, knocking over a computer station, the monitor shattering in an explosion of red and yellow sparks.

  Seeing his target through a blood-red veil, Jack snapped out a strong right jab, connecting with Murphy’s soft middle. Hearing the satisfying grunt, he threw a second punch at the other man’s face.

  A stinging jolt raced up Jack’s arm and he heard a satisfying “click” as his fist smashed into Murphy’s jaw.

  Howling in pain, Murphy ducked the follow-up punch and the crack of a solid right cross to his opponent’s chin finally gave him a slight advantage. He used it to roll to his feet and draw the pistol from beneath his jacket. He pointed it at Jack, a wild look now shining from his cold, dark eyes.

  As soon as he saw the automatic’s sleek black silhouette, Jack knew there was no escape. The split-second realization was quickly overshadowed in the condemned man’s guilty thoughts.

  I failed Jenny…again.

  In that fleeting instant, the hole in the end of the barrel reminded him of a train tunnel, the cavernous maw just as dark and just as big.

  “It's nothing personal Jack. This is business.” Murphy hissed, his words echoing softly in the nearly destroyed lab.

  Jack saw the muzzle flash, but didn’t live long enough to hear the faint ‘pop’ of the shot. The slug tore through Jack’s chest like tissue paper, severing his aorta. He stared a cold gaze of hatred at Murphy and collapsed to the lab’s cold tile floor, his body landing just a few feet away from his associate.

  Murphy watched in gruesome fascination as a red lake slowly appeared, the pooling blood surrounding Jack’s body in a protective moat.

  “Dammit!” Murphy swore, his profane flare echoing off the walls. He kicked the still-warm corpse. “I hate complications.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Aaron opened his apartment door and saw Carlotta sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. She greeted him with a smile. “Hello, Aaron. How was your day?”

  He answered her with a small, weary smile of his own. “Not too bad I guess, what's going on here?”

  Aaron set Rambo on the floor and dropped his keys into a basket sitting atop an end table to the left of the door. He was tired, it had been a long day and he just wanted to take a hot shower and unwind.

  She came into the living room and gave him the once-over. “You look beat. Sit down and rest. I made some chicken manicotti. I'll fix you a plate. Have you eaten at all today?”

  “I stopped at Geonelli's and got a bite at lunch time.” He lied, wanting to avoid her steadfast insistence that he eat.

  In truth, he spent almost the entire day wandering the city, eventually ending up at the cemetery visiting Heather’s grave. He replaced the flowers and talked to Heather's headstone as if she were present. He’d visited her grave every Friday since her death. Being there helped him feel her presence, but the searing loneliness almost killed him every time he had to walk away.

  He couldn't believe more than a year had gone by already. It seemed like she was with him just yesterday. He still could feel her. Sometimes he still thought he saw her, going into a fashionable shop or disappearing down a side street. It crushed him to know that tonight he would sleep alone…again.

  After the accident, Aaron wanted to kill the man who caused it. The police report said that the young truck driver
responsible for the crash was drunk. Later, Aaron was even cheated out of confronting the man in court and showing him how he had destroyed their lives. The driver lingered in a coma for three weeks and then died, robbing Aaron of even the slightest retribution.

  The driver’s insurance company awarded Beth a large settlement, but Heather was gone and no amount of money would bring her back.

  As he continued his dark thoughts, Rambo jumped in his lap, snapping his concentration and giving him quite a start. “You little monster!”

  He scratched her ears and Rambo replied by meowing softly and licking his face. She looked at him with her amber eyes and meowed again. Kneading his thighs like a loaf of bread, she curled up in his lap to go to sleep.

  As the cat was settling in, Carlotta came in from the kitchen. “Dinner’s ready.”

  Aaron got up, over Rambo's protest, and went into the kitchen. Carlotta was dishing out the food when he interrupted her, “I'm sorry Carlotta, it smells great, but I'm just not hungry.”

  She wasn't so easily put off. “Look, you need to eat. If you don't, you'll get sick,”

  He was in no mood to eat and tried to be polite “Carlotta, I appreciate the gesture, but I've had a long day and I just want to take a shower and go to bed.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. “Look, Aaron, I know that you visit Heather's grave on Fridays and I know when you come back the last thing on your mind is food, but you need to eat.”

  “Thank you so much, Carlotta. I don't know what I’d do without you.” He said, escorting her to the door.

  The woman flashed him a big smile. “I do. You'd starve yourself. Heather would never forgive me if I let that happen. Now you go eat and try to get some rest. I'll see you on Monday.”

  Genuinely touched by her concern, he ushered the housekeeper out the door with the promise he would eat later. Rambo rubbed against Aaron’s leg and gave a long, low meeeoww. “Yes, I think she is a good friend too,” he answered. The cat purred loudly. “Do you want to share some manicotti?”

  Rambo shot into the kitchen like a champagne cork.

  After dinner, Aaron stood beneath the steaming spray of the shower until it ran cold. Still toweling his hair dry, he made his way back to his room, picking up the phone. Aaron called his mother to see how Beth was doing, and see what Christmas plans they were concocting. He really didn't feel much like a party, but it was important to his mother that they all get together for the holidays.

  Aaron knew all of them being under the same roof gave his mother a sense of normalcy, something missing since his father’s death. He believed it a small inconvenience to make his mother happy.

  The call revealed that both the women in his life were fine and awaiting his return for holiday festivities.

  He finally crawled into his bed. As he was about to turn out the light, the phone’s demanding ring broke the silence.

  Who could that be? Aaron asked himself, picking it up. “Hello?”

  The voice on the phone boomed in his ear, “Hey Aaron! How’s it going?”

  The voice belonged to his Navy buddy, Ed O'Brian. “Ed, is that you, you old squid?”

  He chuckled and was joined by the laughter of man on the other end of the line. The two had been friends for decades and shared the camaraderie only military service can build.

  “Just thought I'd call and see how you were…and ask if you’re going to make the ice festival this year.”

  Aaron thought about it briefly and agreed to go. “It starts on the 20th, right? I wouldn't miss it.”

  The Woonsocket, Rhode Island ice festival was an event straight out of the works of Norman Rockwell. He could already envision the kids skating on the town’s outdoor ice rink, the people walking through town window shopping and enjoying the holiday season in a very picturesque, care-free, evening. Aaron knew his mother and Beth would get a big kick out of it, and he looked forward to a cup of their world famous hot-buttered rum.

  It’ll be fun, and right now I could use the distraction.

  He told Ed to meet him at Walnut Hill Plaza and they could take in the sights from there.

  “Right-on buddy,” O’Brian said. “I'll see you there. And don't forget to bring that terminally beautiful sister of yours. I miss her.”

  Aaron cracked a knowing smile his friend couldn’t see. Over the years, Ed had spent a considerable amount of time, both before and after her accident, trying to work up the courage to ask Beth on a date and, so far, hadn’t made it yet.

  “She’ll be there, but you keep your roving hands in your pockets or I'll beat you like a Tom-Tom,” He said, then he burst out laughing. “See you later, Ed.”

  “See ya, Aaron.”

  He clicked off the nightstand lamp, replaying the day in his mind like a looped videotape until he finally fell asleep.

  Part Two - Little girl lost

  Chapter Twelve

  As he moves down the crowded sidewalk, the piercing squeal of spinning tires assaults his ears. Only then does the car speeding toward the end of the block enter his perception. He shakes his head in disgust.

  Idiot! You’re going to kill someone that way!

  A sudden sense of familiarity burns in his thoughts, overwhelming him. He has been here before, but he doesn’t remember when or why. It’s just a feeling, simmering on the back-burner of his consciousness, leaving clear memories struggling to bubble to the surface.

  He watches in horror as the light blue sedan races around the corner, sliding on the icy pavement. He sees the out of control car is headed for a small black convertible waiting at the intersection. He frantically waves his arms and yells a warning, but no one seems to hear him. He tries to signal the people inside the sports car, but they don’t see him.

  Time and space stretch and warp as he continues his attempts to attract the attention of the people in the waiting convertible. Pedestrians rush past him on the sidewalk, looking right through him, giving him an unnerving feeling of invisibility.

  Adrenalin rushing through his veins, he bolts from his spot at the curb and darts into the street. His legs pump as he runs through the heavy, viscous air, but he never seems to get any closer to the other side. Finally reaching the center divider, he jumps over the bushes and screams yet another warning, still unheard. His entire body burns with the effort of the run, but the other side still seems miles away.

  At the last second, the sedan swerves to avoid the little convertible, but the driver’s wild gyrations are woefully inadequate.

  He watches in horror as the out of control sedan careens off a light pole before smashing into the defenseless sports car. His stomach drops as glass and plastic fragments spray outward in a rainbow colored arc.

  Plunging into the convertible’s door, the heavy sedan folds the steel like paper, the sudden, earsplitting crash nearly knocking him off his feet.

  After what seems like an eternity, he finally reaches the wreckage, spotting a small trail of white smoke curling up from beneath the sedan’s folded hood. A short bolt of red-hot panic rips across his mind like a bullet train, causing his body to flare with additional adrenalin. Quickly forcing his mind back under control, he begins to allow his years of training to take over.

  Objectively assessing the scene, he sees no movement in either of the stricken vehicles. He tries to open the still-smoking sedan, but the distorted door is jammed tight. Using all of his adrenaline-fired strength to overcome the resistance, he forces the broken door back against the fender with a groan of tortured metal. Looking inside, he sees the battered form of the driver slumped behind the wheel.

  The young man is unconscious and a wet, crimson ribbon runs from a jagged gash in his forehead. Checking his neck for a pulse, he barely feels the weak beats. He struggles to pull him from behind the distorted steering wheel as he looks through a spider crack in the smashed windshield at the mortally wounded convertible beyond.

  Dragging the unconscious man toward the curb, he steals a glance in the convertible’s windo
w and sees a face he recognizes. In a rolling landslide of shock and fear, he realizes the other driver is Heather. She is conscious, the pain clearly etched in the pleading look on her face.

  His mind reels as he struggles with the inhuman choice; stop and attempt to rescue her, or take the injured victim he already has to safety. He doesn’t hesitate for more than an instant and with a Herculean effort he sprints to the curb, depositing the young man on the sidewalk, out of harm’s way.

  His first victim safe, he turns in a mad dash for the other. His muscles scream with the effort of the run. Half way back to the wreckage, he can almost see Heather’s face. He finally closes to within a few dozen feet, reaching out to the injured woman.

  He never saw the spark, nor did he feel the flame race across the gasoline pool insidiously creeping to ensnare both vehicles. The searing heat envelops him as the liquid ignites.

  A brilliant red and yellow fireball of artificial sunshine lights up the dark street while the explosion’s shockwave hits him in the chest with a sledgehammer blow. The force of the blast knocking him backwards, he lands on the cold hard floor of his bedroom with a dull thud.

  Coming fully awake, Aaron lay on the floor struggling to rebuild reality as the dream slowly faded away.

  He wiped the beads of rapidly cooling sweat from his forehead and stood up. The clock on the nightstand told him it was a little after one o’clock in the morning. Christ, not again.

  His nerves still jangled, he headed to the kitchen to get a drink, thinking that it might help erase, or at least ease, the memory of the dream still running roughshod over his subconscious. He listened to the ice crack as the rum hit it. He raised the glass, seeing the world through the amber haze. Knowing he’d never be able to go back to sleep, he downed the last of his cocktail and decided to throw on his clothes and take a walk.