by Sam Sisavath
“What’s there to explain?”
“Those men were Rhim. I think you know that.”
“So what does that make you?”
“My name is Sarah. My friends and I want the same things you do.”
“Which are?”
“First and foremost, to defeat the Rhim.”
“What makes you think I want to defeat the Rhim?”
“Don’t you?”
“I’m just trying to survive them.”
“The only way to do that is to beat them.”
“Hiding works, too.”
“You’ve only been at this for two weeks, Quinn. You’ll discover that hiding is only a temporary solution. A very difficult one at that.”
“You seem to be doing just fine.”
“We’ve been at this longer than you, but it was just as hard for us in the beginning. We lost people. Too many people to count. We’re still losing people now. As good as we’ve gotten at hiding, they’re constantly adapting.”
Quinn stared at the woman, trying to read something in her body language or on her face that may or may not even be there. Sarah, for her part, seemed perfectly fine with being scrutinized. She radiated control, something Quinn hadn’t been able to find in herself ever since that night she ran into John Porter.
There was just five feet of space between them, and Quinn ran the scenarios through her head for the tenth time since the woman sat down. She wondered if she could take the woman. Maybe. They were about the same height and close to the same weight. Sarah clearly had weapons training, given how she had handled herself earlier in the parking lot. Would that training also include hand-to-hand combat?
Quinn put the odds of winning a fight with Sarah at fifty percent. Not bad, if it meant escaping. She was still on her feet, which gave her the advantage over the sitting woman. But there was a rub: Even if she could get past Sarah, there was that big mountain of a man waiting outside with the Uzi. And he might not be alone. There was no way she could take the brute barehanded. She was well-trained, but size and strength always favored the bigger fighter in close-quarter combat no matter what Hollywood wanted her to think.
So fifty-fifty to make it out of the room. Then what, after that?
“You look different,” Sarah said, finally breaking the silence. “I almost didn’t recognize you in the parking lot. The hair, the eyes, even the makeup. No wonder you were able to drive all the way up here from Houston without being spotted.”
“But you did, apparently,” Quinn said. “So did my four pals.”
“They have eyes everywhere, Quinn. You were bound to make a mistake.”
“The Rhim.”
“Who else?”
“The Easter Bunny? Santa Claus?”
“We’re not afraid of them.”
“But you’re afraid of the Rhim.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because we know who they are and what they’re capable of. We’ve seen what they can do, just like you have.”
My career. Ben. My entire life.
All gone, because I discovered that the Rhim existed.
She’s not wrong.
“How do you know about them?” Quinn asked.
“The same way you did. The same way most people did. A combination of bad luck and worse luck.”
Quinn couldn’t help but smile because there was a whole lot of truth in that statement. Bad luck had brought John Porter into her life, and from there things only snowballed into worse luck.
“I’d be more inclined to believe anything you’re saying if I wasn’t at such a disadvantage right now,” Quinn said.
“How are you at a disadvantage?”
“For one, there’s your big friend with the Uzi outside.”
“Rick.”
“Whatever his name is.”
“His real name’s Ricardo, but don’t tell him I told you that. He’s very sensitive when it comes to the topic. Apparently he’s been teased about it since he was a kid. Something about an actor with the same name. Supposed to be on Star Trek or something.”
Quinn glanced past Sarah at the door, imagining the big monster of a man outside with the submachine gun being “sensitive” about anything. She found it very difficult to believe, but then she was never the biggest person in a room, so what did she know about being big?
She looked back at Sarah. “Then there’s you.”
“What about little ol’ me?”
“You’re telling me you came in here unarmed?”
Sarah nodded.
“I don’t believe you,” Quinn said.
“That’s your prerogative. But it’s the truth.”
“The truth tends to be a very fluid thing these days.”
“Very true. But I’m not lying. I haven’t lied to you since we met. Not once.”
“So you say.”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“Why?” the other woman repeated.
“Why would you come in here unarmed after kidnapping me in broad daylight?”
“Because I can’t risk you taking the gun from me.”
Quinn grinned. “Are you saying if I attack you now, that you wouldn’t be able to stop me?”
Sarah shrugged. “I pegged the chances of you succeeding at fifty-fifty.”
Sounds familiar, Quinn thought.
“Should I be flattered that you’re scared of me?” she asked instead.
“Scared?” Sarah shook her head. “I’m not scared, Quinn. I’m just concerned for your safety, because nothing good will come from it.”
“Rick.”
“Rick, and everyone else. We brought you here to talk.”
“We?”
“My friends and I.”
“How many friends?”
“Does that matter?”
“Depends on the answer.”
“A few, and let’s leave it at that.”
“You seem to have it all figured out.”
“Not everything, just what I’d do in your position. We have a lot in common, you and I.”
“Really? Did someone abduct you and put you in a cold concrete room, too?”
Sarah smiled. Quinn couldn’t tell if it was genuine or not.
“I know what you’ve been through,” Sarah said.
“I somehow doubt that.”
“You shouldn’t. Your experience isn’t unique, Quinn. Many people have been in your shoes. Even Rick.”
“I don’t think Rick would fit in my shoes.”
Another smile, and like the last one, Quinn couldn’t be certain about this one’s genuineness, either.
“What is it that you want from me?” Quinn asked.
“I already answered that. I want what you want.”
“To defeat the Rhim.”
“Yes.”
“And how are we going to do that?”
“Red Sky.”
“The sky was blue the last time I checked.”
“We know Porter came back home looking for it,” Sarah said. “He knows it’s dangerous; that’s why he risked everything to return home after five years in the cold.”
Porter. Of course, Porter.
Everything always goes right back to you, doesn’t it? Even now, with you probably dead…
“Porter’s dead,” Quinn said.
“So they say.”
“But you don’t believe it.”
“I don’t believe anything I can’t see with my own eyes.”
“What else do you know about Porter?”
“That he was right to come back. Because it is dangerous, Quinn. Red Sky will be the end of us all.”
“What is it? What is Red Sky?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then how do you know it’s dangerous? How do you know it’ll ‘be the end of us all?’”
“Because it’s the one thing the Rhim has been working toward since its inception. It’s their endgame. Everything they’ve done—all the strings they’ve pu
lled, the lives they’ve taken, the wars they’ve started—it’s all been in service of Red Sky.”
“That’s a hell of a statement. I assume you have evidence to support it?”
“I have as much of evidence as you do that the Rhim even exists, Quinn.”
“So nothing.”
“Nothing that I can take to the news, or convince anyone in power I wasn’t just another conspiracy nut job. Not that it would matter anyway. They control the news. They control the powers that be. At least the ones big enough to make any difference. But you know all about that, don’t you? That was quite the two weeks you had.”
“Yeah, it was a hoot and a half, all right.”
“So you know how powerful they are, the things they can do. Do you know what they’re calling that shootout at the parking lot an hour ago?”
“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
“A carjacking,” Sarah said. “Fortunately there were no casualties, because a couple of plainclothes police officers were in the area when it happened. They exchanged gunfire with the robbers, who managed to escape in a van.”
“Is that the story?”
“That’s the official story, yes.”
“You killed two of them.”
“I shot two of them, and my friends shot the other two. But there are no bodies. The FBI is already involved because the suspects have crossed multiple state lines. At least that’s how the story will play out on the rush hour news and in all the police reports. By tomorrow, no one will remember it.”
“You said you shot two of them. I saw them go down. At least one of them was dead.”
“They’re Rhim, Quinn,” the woman said, and let the rest go unsaid.
Quinn thought about Pete Ringo, about how difficult it was to kill the man…
Right. They’re Rhim. I guess that really does say everything.
“So you’re looking for Red Sky, too,” Quinn said.
“We are,” Sarah nodded. “We have been for some time, but we’ve never found it. Whenever we’ve gotten close, it’s cost us dearly.”
“So what makes you think I know what it is?”
“I know you don’t know, Quinn, but you’re closer to finding out than we’ve ever been. The Kobalcom bombing. That was Porter’s idea, wasn’t it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Sarah continued as if Quinn hadn’t said anything. “Kobalcom was a Rhim data node. It never occurred to us to attack it so the servers would activate its safety protocol. When it did that, Porter was waiting and intercepted the data. They still have it, don’t they?”
“‘They?’”
“The Sons of Porter in Houston.”
“Porter has sons?”
Sarah smiled. “Are we still playing games?”
“Who’s playing? I didn’t know Porter had sons.”
“They’re in trouble, you know.”
“Who?”
“Your friends in Houston. The SOPs that you know nothing about.”
Quinn frowned. She had forgotten all about Xiao and Aaron thanks to the still-fresh memories of the parking lot shootout, and now waking up a prisoner in a concrete room. But it hadn’t been all that long ago when she saw the live news feed from Texas and rushed out of the store. Barely an hour ago, if her captor could be believed.
“It’s all over the message boards,” Sarah said. “The hostage situation at the school. They’re calling it terrorism, but we both know differently, don’t we?”
“What’s happened?” Quinn asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.
“It’s over,” Sarah said. “HRT stormed the school and there was an explosion. A gunfight ensued. The official news is that the two hostage takers were killed during the raid. The FBI, once again, has taken over all aspects of the investigation.”
Quinn felt as if someone had shoved a knife into her gut and twisted it around. It was suddenly very hard to stay still, and she began pacing the room.
Xiao. Aaron. Trevor.
The school on the TV screen, surrounded by police...
She had left them to look for Porter while she chased her past. She hadn’t wanted to do it, but after a week of fruitless searching, there didn’t seem to be any point in just sitting around doing nothing.
What if she hadn’t left? What if she had stayed behind when the shit hit the fan? Would her presence have mattered? Would they still be alive right now if she were in Houston?
I should have stayed down there. Jesus, why did I leave?
I’m sorry, Aaron. I’m sorry, Xiao. I’m—
“Wait,” Quinn said, spinning back to Sarah. “You said there were only two hostage takers?”
Chapter 8
Zoe
“Gunfire and explosions as chaos ensues, with police in the process of storming the school! This is Zoe McIntosh, reporting to you live from the scene of what is shaping up to be a very bloody day!”
“What the hell are you doing? Get outta there!”
Zoe ignored the voice screaming at her through a megaphone. Or voices. There might have been a couple (maybe a dozen?) coming at her from different directions at the same time.
“Hey, you two! Stop! Stop right where you are!”
She focused on Ron, chasing after her with the camera. The red light—the confirmation they were recording and sending the footage live to the station—remained on. “The police are ordering us off the premises, but we’re not going anywhere! Ron, stay with me!”
Ron nodded. Or she thought he did. The camera went up and down, but that could have just been Ron struggling with his footing as he did his very best to keep up with her and not do a face-first dive to the ground. She wished he were a younger man—ten years younger would have been perfect—who didn’t eat so many hot dogs.
“Don’t come any closer! Stop where you are!”
Zoe spun around while still in mid stride to check on how far she’d advanced. Thirty yards or so remained, with the parking lot to her left and the school to her right. She could hear the pop-pop-pop of gunfire coming from the building along with the whup-whup-whup of helicopters swooping lower and lower somewhere above her. The law-enforcement choppers had been joined by news media, and it was chaos everywhere.
“This is your final warning!”
She ignored it and turned again, refocusing on Ron as the cameraman stumbled on a patch of grass and nearly went over. He quickly righted himself and, breathing hard, kept the camera trained on her.
“There is still shooting coming from the school!” Zoe shouted into the wireless microphone clutched in her hand. “We don’t know what’s happening, or who set off the initial explosion that began the assault, but it looks like the police aren’t taking any chances! Ron, pan to the school!”
Ron obeyed, swinging the camera over to the right even as he stumbled after her.
Zoe began backpedaling and slowing down so she didn’t stray too far from Ron and the camera. “As far as we know, the explosion came from one of the classrooms. That’s when all hell broke loose and gunfire erupted. We’re trying to get closer to the building now!”
As if on cue, the pop-pop-pop of automatic weapons rang out again, this time sounding much louder, which could only mean they were getting closer to the action.
Twenty more yards…
Ron swung the camera back to her. “We don’t know how many kids are still inside the school, but we’re going to try to get as close as possible to find out the answer—”
“Watch out!” Ron shouted.
Watch out? she thought but didn’t get the chance to put them into words before a body slammed into her from the side and drove her into the grass. The mic flew from her hand, and Zoe had no idea where it went because she was too busy trying not to bite her tongue in half as she crashed into the ground, her entire body shaking from the sudden impact.
She had landed on one cheek, which allowed her to see Ron as he ploomped! on his side about five feet away from her, his camera landing nearb
y. Multiple pairs of legs appeared and crowded around them even as someone grabbed and turned her over onto her stomach until she was practically chowing down on the school lawn.
The freshness from the recently mowed grass wafted into her nostrils, and she almost threw up. There was nothing Zoe hated more than the stink of freshly cut grass. It reminded her of suburbs and white picket fences and kids—
“Crazy bitch,” whoever was above her said. “You trying to get yourself killed?”
She turned her head to the side so she could spit out, “I’m just doing my job!”
“Right. Your job. What would have happened if someone opened fire on you? You thought of that?”
“Risk is part of the job!”
“Yeah? What about risking my life to save your stupid ass?”
She had a comeback for that one, too, but before she could get it out, cold metal scraped against her wrists and bit into her flesh. “Hey, that’s too tight!” she shouted instead.
“Tough nuts,” the man grunted, just before she was (not so kindly) dragged up from the ground and deposited onto wobbly feet.
Uniformed cops had surrounded her while she was trying not to eat grass. About a dozen that she could make out, two of them pulling Ron up to his feet next to her while one of them—a young man—picked up the camera.
“That better still work, mister,” Zoe said to him.
The guy glanced back at her, confused. She saw, much to her delight, that the red light on the camera was still on, which meant it was continuing to record and transmitting everything back to the station in real time.
The cop saw where she was looking and started pushing buttons on the camera.
“Hey, stop that!” Zoe shouted. “That’s private property! You break it, you buy it!”
He ignored her and finally pressed the right button, and the red light switched off.
Crap, Zoe thought as two of them led her away.
She glanced back and found Ron stumbling after her, flanked by two uniforms. He looked okay—slightly bruised around the chin and forehead, but she didn’t see any blood. She was feeling pretty good herself. Getting broadsided had knocked the wind out of her, but she wasn’t in any real pain. It was entirely possible she was still in shock and wasn’t thinking straight, but she didn’t think so.