by Jeff Gunhus
In reality, the radiation treatments were eating him up alive and he couldn’t stand the sight of food.
But the stories weren’t all fiction. He was working on something transformational. And he was obsessed with completing the work, even if it harmed his health further. It wasn’t for any altruistic reason. Other men might have wanted to finish their crowning achievement on their deathbed as a way to leave their mark on the world, but Morris didn’t give two shits about that.
Morris’s only priority was to save himself. Once he climbed out of his deathbed as a new man, then he’d decide whether to keep his promise to Keefer. He wouldn’t agree to do everything the old man wanted, that was madness, but he would give just enough to keep him happy. If it wasn’t enough, then Morris would have to dispose of him. If things got that far, Morris would have absolute control. Even though he’d promised it, it was never part of the plan to give control to Keefer. The man was brilliant, but Morris knew brilliance and insanity often danced together in a man’s mind. No, Keefer would never have control. He’d made certain of it.
As Dr. Fitzgerald and his small team checked Morris’s vitals and hooked him up to the transfusion machine, Morris closed his eyes and imagined the future and what it might hold for him.
Nothing short of immortality.
As long as Keefer didn’t screw it up.
32
Rick fell to the floor, hitting hard with his front shoulder to break his fall because his hands were still tied behind his back. Estevez kicked him in the ribs and the pain sliced through him.
“Stop it,” Cassie shouted.
Rick rolled away from Estevez and curled up, hoping to at least protect his head and stomach.
“Mother fucker,” Estevez said, kicking harder. “You’ve been a pain in the ass from the beginning, you know that? Throw them both in the back cell.”
The other two soldiers grabbed Rick and dragged him across the floor into the cell block. They passed the first cell with the unconscious men, then entered the only other cell where they dropped him in a heap on the floor. They threw Cassie in after him and she broke her fall on the bed against the far wall.
“Are we supposed to knock them out like these other guys?” one of the soldiers asked Estevez.
“Why bother?” his buddy said. “You heard him up there, sounding all crazy an’ shit. Who’s going to listen to him? Besides, it’s almost over.”
Estevez pushed the men aside and came into the cell to kneel on the floor in front of Rick. “You know what, Sheriff? I don’t like you.”
“Trust me, the feeling’s mutual, pal.”
Estevez grinned. “The colonel thinks the two of you are worth keeping around. I don’t see it.” He looked Cassie over. “Then again, it might be nice to release a little stress. You’re not really my type, but I think I can get past that.”
“Go screw yourself,” Cassie said, but her voice trembled.
“That’s not what I had in mind,” Estevez said.
“Hey, asshole,” Rick said. “Over here.”
As Estevez turned, Rick hawked a mouthful of spit and blood into his face. Estevez swung his feet out and kicked him in the side.
“Rick, no!” Cassie screamed.
A second later, two gun barrels were stuck in Rick’s face.
“Stay down, shit head,” the soldier yelled. “Move and you’re dead.”
Estevez climbed to his feet, wiping the spittle from his face. He pulled the gun from his side and stepped forward, pressing it against Rick’s forehead. Rick kept his eyes open, staring the man down.
“Don’t do it, man,” one of the soldiers said. “The colonel wanted them alive. He’ll be pissed.”
Estevez curled his lip, pressing the gun harder against Rick’s forehead. Rick pushed his head forward even though the gun barrel dug into his skin. He wasn’t about to give the asshole the satisfaction of seeing him cower.
Finally, Estevez pulled his gun back, grinning. “Lock them up,” he said.
The soldier nearest Rick smashed the butt of his rifle into Rick’s head and he fell to the floor. The soldiers left and Cassie got on her feet as the cell door slammed shut.
“Wait. We’re not inoculated,” she said, sticking her arms through the bars. “Look, no green wristbands.”
The soldiers turned and stared back at her; the cell block reflected in their mirrored faceplates. Estevez walked up to her.
“You don’t have a green wristband?” he asked.
“No, neither of us do,” she said.
He leaned to the side and looked at Rick getting up from the floor.
“Damn, she’s right,” Estevez said to the two soldiers, an edge of sarcasm in his voice. “I didn’t notice with this facemask on.”
He reached up to his helmet, turned two locks and lifted his visor.
The other two soldiers followed suit.
Rick sat up as Cassie stumbled backward.
“Oh my God,” she whispered.
The man to Estevez’s right was rough-looking, in his thirties, with a face marked by scars and shiny skin from burn marks. The other one had a swirling tattoo just like the one Estevez had on his neck, only this one didn’t stop at the man’s jawline. It covered the entire side of his face, enveloping one of his eyes. Even with the need for warm bodies, the US military would never allow a tattoo like that in its ranks.
Rick knew with a rush of insight that the man wasn’t active military. Not only that, but there was no virus in the air. Keefer had been lying the whole time.
Rick felt a rush of vindication. He’d been right all along, goddammit.
But there was no joy in the feeling. It only meant that the danger was real. And Dahlia and Charlie were still outside.
Rick climbed to his feet, struggling to get up with his hands tied. “Who are you guys?” he yelled. “What’s really going on out there?”
Estevez grinned. When he responded, he did so in an exact imitation of President Mayfield’s voice. “I’m not sure what I’ll enjoy more. You knowing the truth or having to sit there and wonder what’s happening outside when the clock hits zero?”
“Oh Jesus,” Cassie said. “That was you on the phone. Just an impersonation.”
Estevez pressed his face to the bars and pointed at her, now changing his accent to a southern twang. “Damn, they said you was smart, girl. And they was right, weren’t they?”
Rick felt Cassie next to him before he saw her. Like a blur, she pushed him aside and landed a punch through the iron bars right on Estevez’s nose. Rick was surprised to see blood gush down the man’s face. His nose definitely appeared to be cocked to one side.
“Holy shit, did you see that?” the soldier with the tattoo said.
“Bitch broke your nose, man.” The one with the burned face laughed. “Guess she don’t like your impersonations.”
Estevez glared at the two soldiers and they fell silent. He felt his nose and then, with a violent twist, put it back into place.
“Jacobs, you think it’s so funny, you get to be the one who kills ’em,” Estevez said to the soldier with the burned face.
Rick took a step in front of Cassie. He did it on instinct, but he knew it wouldn’t matter. It wasn’t like he was going to stop a bullet from reaching her.
The soldier looked nervous. “I thought you said the colonel wants them alive.”
“You report to me,” Estevez said. “Don’t forget that. And I say they die, got it?”
“Yes, sir,” Jacobs replied, lifting his rifle toward the cell.
Cassie let out a short scream.
But Estevez pushed the rifle up. “Not yet, everyone would hear it. Besides, I want this asshole to stew for a while. Wait until the clock runs down; it’ll be nice and loud. No one will notice a couple of gunshots in the mix. You say they got loose and tried to escape. You did what you had to. You got that?”
“I’ve got it,” Jacobs said.
Rick watched the interplay between the two men. They all k
new what was happening. The officer wanted the enlisted man to do his shit work so if it came back on him there’d be a fall guy. All Rick knew was that it gave him time, which was exactly what he needed.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Estevez said. “Bye, asshole. I’ll be sure to take care of that girl of yours. We got a couple of guys with us that like little boys too. I’ll make sure he isn’t left out.”
Rick didn’t take the bait even though he wanted to throw himself at the iron bars.
Estevez turned and walked out, the soldiers following fast, raising their visors as they walked. Rick stood frozen until the door to the office slammed shut.
“Rick, I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you,” Cassie whispered behind him.
Rick watched the door for a few seconds, making sure the soldier named Jacobs was going to wait it out in the office and not come back to the cell block.
“I should never have––”
“Get up,” he said spinning around. “Now.”
“What? Why?” she said.
“Come on, hurry up,” he said. She stood up. “Now move the mattress.”
“What are you …” She stopped and stared at the set of keys hidden under there. “When did you put these here?”
“Right before we went outside. I figured if we were lucky, we’d get thrown in here.”
“You call this lucky?”
“Considering I was pretty sure we’d already be dead, yeah, this is pretty lucky,” he said. “There’s a little pocketknife on that keychain. Use it to get through these zip ties.”
Cassie grabbed the keys, unfolded the knife and sawed at his bindings until they broke loose. Rick turned and grabbed the key from her.
“If they’re not terrorists, then what the hell is going on?” she asked.
“They’re not Jihadis, but that doesn’t mean they’re not terrorists. These guys aren’t regular military, that’s for sure.” He reached out and inserted the key in the cell door. “And now we know there’s no virus.”
“Or there is and these guys have already been vaccinated, and the visors are just a way to mask their identities,” she said. “If that’s the case, then you and I are going to be screwed in about seven minutes.”
Rick felt his stomach clench. There was no time. Even with the new information, what could they do in seven minutes?
Rick eased the door open, wincing with each squeak of the hinges. They stepped into the hallway. There was only one door and, as far as they knew, there might be a dozen soldiers on the other side.
Rick got down on his stomach and motioned for Cassie to do the same. The last thing they needed was for one of the soldiers to catch movement through the small square window in the door.
They crawled forward on their hands and knees, the creaks of the wooden floor thankfully masked by the men snoring in the other cell.
When they reached the door, Rick gestured for Cassie to stay down. He slowly raised himself, staying to the side of the window and as flat against the door as possible. If someone on the other side spotted him, they didn’t stand a chance. Bullets versus fists never ended well. They needed the element of surprise if they stood any chance of getting free. Not that he had any great plan for what to do after that, but one problem at a time.
The barest peek through the window showed an empty room on the other side. He darted back away from the window, just in case. Nothing happened so he inched forward again and chanced a longer look into the room. As he did, the side alley door opened and Jacobs walked in. Rick ducked down, drawing in a sharp breath.
He motioned for Cassie to get on her feet and stand to the right of the door. He inserted the key into the lock and pantomimed her opening the door and him running through. She nodded that she understood.
He took a quick look through the window. Jacobs was by himself and was to the left with his back to him. It wasn’t going to get any better than that.
He nodded to Cassie. She turned the key and heaved open the door.
Rick ran out and slammed into the soldier just as he turned.
They flew across the desk and landed in a heap on the other side.
Jacobs threw an elbow and caught Rick in the face, but he ignored the flash of pain. Rick punched at the man’s throat but the suit was too thick for it to do any damage. Jacobs got up on his knees and landed two brutal blows to Rick’s ribcage, the same spot Estevez had kicked him earlier. He cried out in pain and grabbed at the man, wrestling him to the floor, trying to grab hold of the hazmat suit. He was on top of the man, his own face reflected off the man’s visor, bloody and bug-eyed from straining.
The soldier tried to twist away from his grasp, and Rick took the opening to smash through the visor with his prosthetic hand. The nerve sensors in the skin flared, but they were calibrated to max out before it felt like actual pain. He pulled back and punched the man again, artificial skin shredding on the shards of glass.
Jacobs kicked and landed a knee in Rick’s stomach, rolling to the side. Rick went with him, staying on top. But the soldier used the momentum to keep going, hammering Rick into the wall.
The man connected hard shots to Rick’s body, knocking the air out of him. He figured a head shot was coming next in the combination. On a blind guess, he dodged to his left.
He guessed correctly, and Jacobs drove his fist into the wood floor instead of into Rick’s face.
Rick smacked him in the jaw with an elbow then clawed for the man’s eyes. His fingernails dug into the skin and he felt the soft tissue of eyes.
Jacobs rose up, a cry coming from his mouth as he reached up to his face.
Rick punched the man’s throat and the cry cut off in a gurgling sound.
He swung his legs over and pinned the man down as if they were on a wrestling mat. He had position on the soldier and what felt like around a twenty-pound advantage. Still, Jacobs was tough and fought back. Rick wrestled the man into an arm-bar with his forearm lodged under the man’s neck. Despite thick rubber of the suit, he had enough pressure against Jacobs’s throat to choke him out.
But he didn’t need to kill the man, just incapacitate him.
He clung to Jacobs as he bucked and strained against him. But his hold was tight and soon the man stopped fighting back and hung limp in his arms.
“Hand me those,” he whispered to Cassie, pointing to the handcuffs on the other desk.
She grabbed them and tossed them over, then crouched down behind a low filing cabinet so she couldn’t be seen from the street.
Rick cuffed the soldier then grabbed the man’s gun. It was a semi-auto M-1 assault rifle, standard issue for the US armed forces. He was more than familiar with the weapon’s capabilities. A quick glance out the windows in front showed several soldiers, thankfully all of them facing out to the crowd.
“How much time is left on the clock?” Cassie asked. “Can you see it?”
Rick strained to one side of the window to get a look at the stage. He saw Keefer first, walking up to the microphone. Then he saw the clock, and a cold shiver passed through his body. He stepped away from the window and leaned against the wall.
“What did you see?” Cassie whispered.
Rick shook his head. All he could think about were Dahlia and Charlie. They were out there and he couldn’t save them. He’d promised Charlie he would protect him, but he couldn’t. He’d failed. He’d failed everyone.
“Rick, how much time?”
The room felt as if it was pressing in on him, the world shifting under his feet. He closed his eyes but that just made the vertigo worse. When he opened his eyes, Cassie had crossed the room to look out the window for herself.
Less than two minutes left. They were out of time.
Everyone out there was going to die. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.
33
Keefer stood before the mic as the clouds parted, giving way to a warm glow of fall sunshine. He took it as one more sign that what he was doing was right and just. The though
t surprised him. He’d never been one to look at something as arbitrary as the weather for meaning, and doing so was out of character for him. He’d been many things over his life, but a hand-wringer was not one of them.
From the first late-night conversation with Alejandro Estevez, over four years ago, he’d never questioned the morality of their plan. Perhaps it was because every bit of his mental energy had been spent on the logistical challenges of making this day happen, but he’d never had time for second-guessing.
The only thing that mattered was that his beloved country would be saved. With that as the result, how could anything he did not be justified?
Still, in the last few weeks, he admitted to a few lapses in confidence. With the planning coming to fruition, and the odds of the mission working steadily increasing, he’d had sleepless nights where the price of his country’s liberty materialized before him. He pictured all the death in front of him and it nearly overwhelmed him. When he was awake, he kept the mental images of the casualties limited to that of faceless men. But in his sleep, they were always women and children. And there were more of them than he could ever count.
But by the light of day, the certainty returned. All he needed to do was turn on any of the twenty-four-hour news channels to know that his plan was not only just, but the only option left for his country to be great once again. Now he was about to take the first major step. His chest swelled with pride; he was about to become his nation’s savior.
The clock was under two minutes when he held up his hands to the crowd. They all fell silent, and he relished the power. He knew it was just fear that made them so pliable, but it was fear that he’d manufactured and manipulated. The only guilt he felt was that these were all Americans in front of him. And he was going to be responsible for their deaths.
But he’d sent soldiers into battle before, knowing full well that most if not all of them would perish on a mission. Thomas Jefferson had said that the tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants. Any man who oversaw the creation of the greatest nation in the history of mankind was someone Keefer could get behind.