by Ellis, Tara
Moving in irritated, jerking motions, Brian stripped the gloves from his hands and threw them on the ground at Jason’s feet. “You don’t understand,” he snapped, stepping in closer. “We don’t have any more gloves.”
Jason frowned, looking over Brian’s shoulder and at the doors. Four more people entered while he watched, pushing their way into what was a sea of people on the other side. “Has the emergency response plan been activated? Who’s in charge?”
Brian chortled and then slapped Jason on the chest. “That,” he declared while turning back toward the hospital, “would be you, my friend.”
Chapter 18
TYLER
Antisiranana, Madagascar
750 miles NW of Mauritius Island
The bunker turned out to be surprisingly comfy, though no amount of games, food, or pillows could lighten the mood. Especially not with the earthquakes getting stronger, which only added to Tyler’s fear of being buried underground.
“It’s your turn,” Bill said with an edge of impatience.
Tyler glanced up at his dad, wondering for about the hundredth time how he appeared to be able to simply forget about what was going on outside, and focus on a meaningless game. He was the one with claustrophobia, which made his whole cool demeanor even more disturbing. It was something like the tenth round of Skipbo. They’d already played several hands of War, and a Yahtzee tournament. Tyler lost every single game. Normally, he would be frothing over it by then because he was extremely competitive. Given the fact that their whole life was in the process of being destroyed, Tyler figured his inability to concentrate was the more rational reaction.
Tyler tossed his cards onto the small foldout camping table. “I don’t want to play anymore.”
Bill carefully collected the deck and shuffled them while staring at him. The emergency lanterns scattered around the twelve-by-twelve space cast a yellow glow over everything, making his pale skin look more sickly than usual. Tyler noticed the dark shadows gathering under his father’s eyes and reconsidered his earlier impression. He guessed it was possible the whole “nothing is wrong” act could be the next step in his dad’s continued mental breakdown. Pretending they were on a normal father-son camping trip could be the only thing holding him together.
Tyler turned to a cooler and removed two Cokes. They weren’t cold, but he was tired of drinking water. Deciding to give his dad’s method a shot, Tyler handed a can to him and then opened a fresh bag of chips. They’d already gone through some Doritos and a package of beef jerky. Tyler wasn’t even hungry, but since it was the only thing he could control, it made him feel a little better. But not his stomach.
After two swallows of soda, he regretted adding the carbonation to the mix and set the can back down. The air was already stale and whether it was his imagination or not, didn’t matter to Tyler. If he thought about it at all, it got hard to breathe and he decided another game of Skipbo wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
“Go ahead and deal,” Tyler said, his voice strained. He began to tap the ground with his foot, and his jostling knee bumped the table in the cramped room. His dad stared at him. “I’m fine,” Tyler said without much conviction.
Bill dealt the cards in silence, his eyes periodically finding their way back to Tyler’s face. It made him even more nervous. What he really wanted was for his dad to be more reassuring. To tell him again how it was possible for his mom to know she needed to prepare the room they were in, without it making her guilty of not doing something to prevent the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people.
Tyler clung to the excuse his dad gave him. But it continued to eat away at his gut, adding to the stomach ache he’d already had since the whole thing began.
He wanted to believe all of it. Tyler’s mom wasn’t a killer. She would have done something. Yet…there they were. Safe in a stocked bunker he didn’t even know they had, playing cards while Mikael and his family might be dying.
Tyler spun away from the table, his feet getting caught up in the legs and spilling the cards, chips, and Cokes on the ground. He fell to his knees on the cement floor next to where the liquid was pooling and heaved. The past three hours’ worth of snacks he ate was added to the mess, and Tyler didn’t even care when it began to soak into his jeans.
“Come on, Tyler.” His dad dropped some paper towels on top of the vomit and then placed a hand on his back. When Tyler didn’t move, Bill took him under the armpits and lifted him back onto the chair. “We’re going to get through this.”
Finally, some encouraging words. Tyler wasn’t sure if he believed them. Were they supposed to stay underground indefinitely? Surviving off chips and pop until someone gave the secret password at the door?
Tyler wrapped his arms around his midsection and groaned as another spasm failed to produce anything. Though his stomach was empty, the pain remained. He was terrified that it might never go away.
As his dad moved back around to his own seat, a musical chime indicated an incoming message on the Garmin. They both froze and looked at each other, wide-eyed.
“Mom!” Tyler shouted, momentarily forgetting his misery.
Bill fumbled with the GPS device as he dug it out of his back pocket, and then held it closer to the light he’d already set back on the table. “Get to Arrachart Airport by nine for extraction. Methane cloud moving over Madagascar now and rapidly dissipating, should be safe with mask by seven.”
Tyler frowned as he dug his cell phone out of his jeans. It was almost dead and was basically useless, except for the time. “It’s almost eight!” he shouted, growing frantic. His stomach spasmed again.
Bill furiously typed out a response, his brows drawn together in concentration. “It was sent two hours ago,” he explained after he’d finished his reply and hit send. “I guess it must have just cleared off enough out there for the satellite signal to get through.”
Tyler tried to remember exactly where the airport was. If he was right, it was located in the southern end of Antisiranana, not all that far away from them. “Do you think the car will still work?”
Bill was already moving around the room, throwing what appeared to be random things into a bag and tossing a new and improved mask at Tyler. “It should. It never got that hot out, and I don’t think the methane would have any effect on it. Put that on.”
Tyler began to feel hopeful, but he should have known better.
“But I don’t think we can count on it,” his dad added, zipping up the sports bag. “With the strength of these quakes, the roads probably aren’t going to be drivable.”
“Will that work to call the resort?” Tyler pointed at the Garmin, already knowing the answer. He was desperate, though. There was a chance Mikael’s family could be safe in a back room of the resort. The problem was the distance. It was too far away to get to them on foot before the deadline to be at the airport. Without the car, they’d be lucky to make it to the airstrip on time themselves, even if they went straight there.
Bill was shaking his head and the Garmin chimed again before he could answer. He studied the screen and then headed for the exit. “Come on. Your mom says it’s safe. The helicopter will be at the airport to refuel, but they can’t wait much longer than that for us, or they’ll miss the window of opportunity. We’ll have to fly quite a distance to a ship before the ash column collapses more. Once it does, it’ll make any sort of flight around here impossible.”
None of it sounded like good news, except that if they didn’t die trying, they might still be able to get to a boat. Then what? “Is mom on the boat?”
“What?” Bill looked back down the steep stairway at Tyler and pursed his lips while giving his head a quick jerk. “No, I highly doubt it. It’s not like your mom has any ships at Diego Garcia at her disposal. It must be someone who was already in the vicinity.”
Tyler mulled the information over while his dad waited for him to put his mask on. Bill then pushed the heavy doors open, revealing a pitch-black night beyond. The sun set two
hours earlier, so it would have already been dark even without the apocalyptic eruption and killer gasses. Except there was something about the heavy, inky blackness that felt more dangerous, more… sentient, than any other night Tyler had ever walked into.
“Come on, Tyler!” his dad urged, slipping back into his do-or-die mode again. He was holding one of the lanterns out in front of him. Fitted with a full-face gas mask they’d found in a box in the bunker, he resembled some character out of a ridiculous movie.
Tyler checked to make sure his own mask was snug before grabbing another lantern, and then followed his dad. They were rushing toward the car and he assumed they would attempt to get as far in it as possible, since every mile could make all the difference. “Wait!”
When his dad turned back and shone the light on him, Tyler squinted and raised his free hand. “I need to get something from my room and try the phone one more time.” Taking off at a brisk jog, he didn’t give his dad a chance to object.
Inside the house, Tyler was overcome by how quickly everything had changed. It already felt like it had been days since he was last here, and in the moving shadows cast by the lantern, everything looked… off. The distortion from the mask only added to the affect, until Tyler was running from room-to-room and breathing rapidly. He wanted out of there as soon as possible. It already felt like a tomb.
The phone was still dead, as expected, but he had to at least try. Tyler swallowed hard as he dropped the handset onto the kitchen counter with a loud clatter. He’d probably never see Mikael again. He stumbled backwards out into the hall, his mask steaming up from the tears he desperately tried to hold inside.
By the time he got to his bedroom, he could barely see. He was too scared to take the mask off and wipe it, so he moved his head at odd angles to try and see out of the clear spots.
There.
Tyler tugged at the top drawer of his nightstand, and then dug through the contents, throwing a baseball mitt and leather slingshot onto the floor. At the bottom was a tin container, filled with what amounted to the most important memories he’d collected over the years. Tyler let out a breath of relief as he pulled it out, and then scrambled to shove it into his gym bag in the corner, adding his favorite sweats and a couple changes of clothes. He could feel the minutes rushing by so he resisted the urge to go through some of his other treasured keepsakes and turned his back on all of it.
In the hall, he skidded to a stop after passing a small family portrait. It was from two years earlier, when they’d gone to Hawaii for a week. It was the best vacation Tyler could remember. A time filled with laughter and so much fun. That was before the MOHO had erupted and crashed into their lives, changing everything.
Snagging the picture from the wall, Tyler jammed it into the bag as he ran for the front door. Once outside, he could see his dad in the driver’s seat of the car, and a small rush of relief at the working headlights made Tyler’s step lighter. Maybe they’d catch a break and be able to drive most of the way. Maybe they could find a working phone at the airport, and tell Mikael about the helicopter in time for him to get there, and be rescued.
Sprinting the last few feet, Tyler pulled up short when his dad turned off the car and opened his door. The lights stayed on and Bill pointed in the same direction they were shining, beyond Tyler. “We have to go that way,” he said simply.
Tyler turned as the lights timed out. The suffocating blackness fell back over them like a shroud, but not before he’d seen the road and the fallen trees that blocked it. His shoulders slumped and he had a sudden desire to rip the mask from his face and scream until his voice gave out. Instead, he looked again at his phone and confirmed they’d already lost five more minutes. His dad ran past him.
Throwing the bag over his shoulder, Tyler gripped the lantern with his other hand and took off after him. He was following his dad into a nightmare, one he might never wake up from.
Chapter 19
MADS
Undisclosed mountainous region in northern California
Madeline listened to the high-pitched whine echoing off the mountains that surrounded her secluded home, located high in the rugged mountains near the Lassen National Forest. Outsiders were often shocked to discover the terrain of Northern California, inaccurately believing the state was all beaches, palm trees, and desert.
Dust, kicked up by the downdraft of the privately owned helicopter, swirled and danced across her deck to hit with a surprising amount of force against the outside wall. Mads was glad she’d opted to stay inside until the aircraft was safely settled in the cleared field below the home. She knew the space would come in handy someday.
She’d been surprised to get the call about the impromptu meeting, and it took a lot to surprise the hardened woman these days. It wasn’t so much the gesture; ICONS was known for a certain level of extravagance and showboating. Rather, it was the who. The corporation had offices all over the world, which made sense since the moguls who sat on the board were comprised of some of the most internationally influential entrepreneurs and politicians. They also had an army of assistants and administrators working for them, so it was rare for them to venture out. Especially for an unplanned meeting in a private home.
Mads squinted into the rising sun as she walked onto the deck and pursed her lips at the men stepping out of the helicopter. The one in the suit was a subjacent, while the man of the hour was dressed in jeans and a peach-colored polo. It was likely his normal attire when visiting his estate in LA where he paraded around acting like an American. He was short in stature though athletically fit, with his thick black hair slicked back, showing a trace of grey at the temples.
“Sending in the big dogs,” Mads muttered, nudging her sunglasses down into place. Something she’d said in the last online gathering rattled the right cages and apparently extreme circumstances called for extreme actions. Such as dropping Kabir Bakshi, part of the governing board, onto her lawn.
Bakshi was one of the wealthiest men in the world. His Indian-based Fortune Global 500 company had a foothold in countless endeavors around the planet, including a controlling interest in ICONS. What wasn’t revealed in the market analysis was exactly what transpired in the backroom meetings.
Mads shifted uncomfortably as the duo started up the porch steps, wishing she’d gone for the second shot of whiskey. She knew he’d likely been nominated to meet with her in person solely because of logistics. He happened to be an hour’s helicopter ride away. Otherwise, their conversation would have been strictly digital. For the first time, Mads wished she’d chosen an even more remote location to dig in.
“Doctor Schafer,” Kabir purred. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person, though the conditions would not be of my choosing.” His English was flawless, which shouldn’t have been surprising since Mads knew he’d lived in New York as a teen and attended Harvard.
Accepting his outstretched hand, she did her best not to react negatively to the limp handshake. She gestured behind her to the open door. “I don’t think any of us would choose to be compelled by a global disaster to make new friends. Why don’t we go inside before you soak through that nice shirt? It’s close to ninety out here.”
A small tickle of pleasure at his reaction to her bluntness made Mads smile. She’d never been one for formalities and something about an arrogant prick who had more money than he knew what to do with made her want to rebel. It was a bad habit that got her kicked out of a couple of tenures and more than one job.
However, as Kabir’s surprised expression settled into one of deceptive calm, Mads’ smile faded. When he stepped closer in passing, there was a tangible energy. Power and astuteness emanated from the man. She needed to remember this pool was much bigger than any other she’d played in, and the pawns weren’t what they seemed. Where her intellect might have carried her through in some other situations, this was one scenario where she likely wasn’t the biggest brain of the group. Mads didn’t like that. It made her fearful and she was absolutely one to bite if
scared. She couldn’t stop her nervous gesture in time, and began pulling her untamed curls back into a new pony tail.
Why the hell didn’t I have that second whiskey?
Her internal conversation spanned the amount of time it took for the men to walk through the doors and into her office. During those few seconds, Mads adjusted her assessment of Kabir Bakshi and completely changed her strategy. She was a master strategist and relied heavily on her ability to properly gauge her opponent. She’d never met the ICON Director before but Mads had no doubt that to think of him as anything other than an opponent would be a lethal mistake. Instead of treating him like a subservient dog in a pack, it would be wise for her to proceed as a snake handler would. He was already the Alpha and would only be controlled by conviction, not assertion.
“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” Mads said pleasantly. She crossed the room as they sat in the only two leather chairs available, located near the door. Positioning herself in front of the corkboard covered in various papers, she rested on the edge of the table under it. Bringing her down to their level was less confrontational. “Can I offer you a drink?” she asked, completing her role as host and servant.
“I’ll take some water,” Kabir said evenly.
Mads smiled. She doubted he was even thirsty. However, she gladly went to get the drink. If he had been obstinate instead and didn’t allow her to be subservient, it would have made her goal much harder to reach. The subtle jostling of power between them gave her the foothold she needed to make him feel, ultimately, like he was the one making the right decisions based on the information she was about to feed him.
When she came back with the water, complete with ice, Kabir’s fingers held hers in place on the glass for a moment. His dark eyes found hers before he pulled it away. It was enough to deliver the proper message.