THE 4400® WELCOME TO PROMISE CITY

by Greg Cox

  The other team members joined the attack. What few guards had managed to hang on to their weapons suddenly found them as hot as blazing coals. The woman cricked her neck again and a handful of guards collapsed onto the ground, like marionettes whose strings had been cut. Adams hurled the glowing marble at the flailing guards. Another blinding flash of light preceded the abrupt reappearance of the massive steel door as it crashed down between the escapees and their pursuers. The uprooted door formed an impromptu roadblock in the narrow corridor.

  These people are good, Richard realized, impressed by their obvious skills and teamwork. The guards didn’t know what hit them.

  To his ears’ relief, Billy’s sonic scream trailed off. The boy turned back toward his teammates. His pride and excitement were visible even through his ski mask. “You see that? What I did to them?”

  “Way to go, Billy,” Sanchez encouraged him. The team leader hadn’t displayed any ability of his own yet; no doubt he had been dosed with the inhibitor, too. He pointed to a corridor on the right. “Now move it, everyone!”

  They ran through the prison, past the laundry and exercise rooms. Sanchez definitely seemed to know where he was going, which gave Richard hope that this whole escape attempt had been planned out in detail. But even with his new allies’ remarkable gifts, he wasn’t sure how they were going to get away from the prison. Blaring alarms chased them down the halls. Emergency lights strobed crimson. By now, Richard figured, every guard on the premises had been mobilized, with reinforcements already en route. If they didn’t get past the outer walls soon, he’d be back in his cell in no time.

  If I don’t get gunned down first …

  To his surprise, they didn’t head for the front gates, but toward the rear of the prison. Still groggy from his beating, he lost track of where exactly they were until Adams warped another locked door out of existence. A cold winter breeze chilled his face as they burst out into the prison’s sprawling exercise yard. High concrete walls, topped with razor wire, girded the open area. Watchtowers surveyed the scene from above. The rough pavement made him wish that he had thought to snag his shoes before leaving his cell. What are we doing here? He knew every inch of the yard by heart. There was nowhere to go but up.

  Floodlights targeted the fugitives. Richard threw up his hands to shield his eyes. “Now what?” he asked Sanchez.

  “Wait.”

  The woman did her neck trick again and the sentries on the walls fainted. Exhausted, she steadied herself against the nearest wall. The rest of the strike team was looking fatigued as well. Billy screamed at the watchtowers, but his voice sounded hoarser than before. Richard wondered what their limits were.

  “Look!” Sanchez shouted. “Right on schedule!”

  A sleek black helicopter descended from the heavens. Richard was surprised by just how silent the copter’s rotors and motor were, and by the total absence of any headlights. He had ridden copters back in Korea, but this kind of stealth technology struck him as astounding even by twenty-first-century standards. If not for the evidence of his own eyes, he wouldn’t have even known the copter was approaching.

  Who are these people? he wondered again. And what exactly am I getting into?

  The spinning rotors stirred up wind and dust as the copter touched down in the middle of the yard. An automated door slid open, revealing the passenger compartment, which looked just large enough to transport the entire team plus Richard. He understood why liberating the other inmates hadn’t been an option. They would have needed an entire fleet of copters to rescue all the prisoners.

  “Our flight is boarding!” Sanchez shouted. “Scramble!” He shoved Richard ahead of him. “We’re almost out of—”

  A gunshot cut him off in midsentence. A crimson fountain erupted between his eyes and he toppled forward onto the pavement. Blood sprayed Richard’s face and chest as he spotted the sniper standing in the doorway behind where Sanchez had just stood. The guard swung his rifle toward Richard.

  Acting on instinct, Richard flung out his arm like a conductor leading an orchestra. An invisible wave of telekinetic force slammed into the gunman, sweeping him into the door frame with bone-jarring impact. Richard glimpsed more guards heading for the yard from inside the prison. He bowled them over with another burst of psychic energy. All at once, he felt like his old self again. Clearly, that booster shot had done the trick.

  But what about Sanchez? Blood pooled around the team leader’s head as he lay motionlessly on the ground. Richard moved to check on him, but the woman restrained him. “It’s too late,” she said as she tugged urgently on his arm. Violet eyes blinked back tears. “He’s gone …”

  She was right, damnit. As much as he hated to leave Sanchez behind, he let the woman drag him toward the waiting copter. Airborne dust and grit stung his eyes as he clambered into the passenger compartment and strapped himself in, while the rest of the team piled in after him. The copter door slammed shut.

  “Everybody set?” The pilot glanced back over his shoulder. A sudden frown dragged down his lips. “Where’s Sanchez?”

  Richard was startled to see that the man’s eyes were clouded over with milky white cataracts. The pupils were fixed and unmoving. Wait a second, he thought. The pilot is blind?

  “We lost Sanchez!” the woman shouted. “Take off … now!”

  Gunfire and racing footsteps outside the copter added emphasis to her plea. Without argument, the pilot turned back to the controls and instrument panel. The engine emitted a gentle hum. Richard’s seat lurched backward as the aircraft noiselessly lifted off from the prison yard. It climbed toward the top of the outer wall. He leaned forward anxiously while, a few feet away, the guy with the thermokinetic ability tried to comfort little Billy, who seemed to be taking Sanchez’s death hard. Tears leaked from beneath the boy’s glasses as he sobbed loudly. A cloudy night sky beckoned to them, offering the promise of freedom.

  I don’t believe it, Richard thought. We’re going to make it.

  Bullets thudded into the underside of the copter. Glancing out the window, he saw muzzles flare in the upper windows of the prison. The purr of the motor halted abruptly. The copter dipped alarmingly.

  “We’ve lost power!” the pilot shouted. “We’re going down.”

  No! Richard thought. Visualizing the rotors in his mind, he imagined them spinning fast enough to blur in his imagination. Instantly, the copter leveled off and regained altitude. Cheers erupted from the pilot and surviving team members. The woman tugged off her ski mask, revealing the face of a young Goth chick. Kohl lined her dark eyes. Her frizzy black hair was streaked with blue dye. She gave him a thumbs-up.

  The rat-a-tat of automatic-weapons fire swiftly faded away as the copter soared above the watchtowers and ascended into the clouds. Settling back into his seat, Richard closed his eyes and concentrated on keeping the ebony aircraft aloft.

  He hoped it wouldn’t be a long flight.

  FIVE

  ORDINARILY, EMERALD HARBORS Cemetery was an island of serenity amid the unrest of Promise City. Marble monuments studded grassy slopes. Carved angels watched over manicured lawns. Weeping willows offered shade in the summer. A wrought-iron fence usually kept the rush and tumult of the outside world at bay.

  But not today.

  A backhoe noisily tore up the earth in front of Danny Farrell’s headstone. The granite marker was inscribed simply BELOVED SON AND BROTHER. An earlier headstone, bearing Danny’s full name, had been vandalized in days. Too many angry people still blamed poor Danny for the deaths of their loved ones. His mother’s marker, adjacent to his own, now bore only her maiden name: Susan Baldwin.

  “You don’t have to be here for this,” Diana said to Tom as they watched the mechanized hoe carve deep gouges in the earth. Loose dirt spilled onto his sister’s grave. The sky was gray and overcast. An industrial crane stood by to lift the casket once it was exposed. Diana spoke softly to her partner. “Meghan and I can handle this.”

  Tom shook his head. “No.
If somebody’s messed with my nephew’s remains, I want to know about it.”

  “Well, we’re here for you, Tom,” Meghan Doyle said. The Pacific Northwest director of NTAC stood beside him, keeping his hand warm. Wavy blond hair tumbled past her shoulders. Smoky walnut eyes shone with compassion. “You know that.”

  “Thanks,” he told both women. “I appreciate it.”

  Besides the NTAC agents, attendance at the exhumation had been kept to a minimum: a coroner, with no known connections to Jordan Collier or his Movement; the cemetery director; and the actual exhumation team. Shawn had offered to attend, but Tom had assured him that wasn’t necessary. He hadn’t mentioned the disinterment to Kyle at all. Unfortunately, his son was too close to Collier to be trusted with that information. Tom could only hope that someday there wouldn’t be any more secrets between them.

  Maybe when the future sorted itself out, one way or another.

  A privacy screen had been erected to shield the somber proceedings from view. As it was only seven in the morning, Tom had spotted few visitors wandering the grounds when they’d arrived, but the fence struck him as a good idea anyway. He wondered if Simone Tanaka was spying on them from afar.

  Probably.

  Once the hoe scooped out the bulk of the topsoil, the grave diggers went to work with shovels. The men carefully cleared away the last of the dirt to uncover the top of Danny’s casket. A crushing sense of apprehension came over Tom as the crane lifted the coffin from its vault. Now that the actual moment was nearly upon them, he wasn’t sure he could actually go through with it. Memories of Danny as a child and fresh-faced young man flashed through his brain; Danny had been happy and healthy the last time Tom saw him alive. He swallowed hard.

  Meghan gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “This will be over soon.”

  Tom wished he could believe that. Was Dennis just jerking my chain, or are we in for a nasty surprise?

  The crane lowered the coffin onto a waiting tarp. Mud streaked the sides of the mahogany casket, which had lost much of its polished sheen after two months underground. A van waited outside the screened-off grave site to transport the remains to the NTAC’s private morgue. The coroner stepped forward to inspect the coffin. Stefan Vakos was a retired heart surgeon, who had been serving as medical examiner since before the 4400 returned. “Perhaps,” he suggested, “it would be better to conduct the rest of the examination elsewhere?”

  “No,” Tom insisted. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “As you wish.” Vakos rubbed menthol under his nose. “I should warn you that this won’t be pleasant. There is bound to be a strong odor.”

  “We understand,” Diana assured him. As NTAC agents, they were all more familiar than they wanted to be with the ugliness of death and its effects. Over the last few years, they had seen human beings electrocuted, burned alive, and devoured by their own house pets. “Please proceed.”

  Without any further warnings, the coroner unlocked the coffin. Rusty hinges creaked as he pried open the lid. Tattered lining hung like cobwebs from the bottom of the lid. A sickening stench, like cheese gone bad, emanated from the open casket. Tom gagged and placed his hand over his mouth. The cemetery owner and grave diggers backed away from the coffin. One of the men looked like he was on the verge of throwing up. He scrambled away as fast as he could.

  Tom barely noticed his hasty exit. He let go of Meghan’s hand.

  “Let me,” Diana volunteered, but Tom pushed past her to look inside the coffin. He gasped out loud.

  The body inside the coffin had wasted away to hair and bones. What little flesh remained was waxy and bluish white in color. The lips had peeled back to expose a death’s-head grin. Empty sockets stared blankly from a shriveled face. Mold encrusted a fraying dark suit. But it was the grayish beard that immediately caught Tom’s attention. His nephew had been a handsome young man when he died.

  Whoever the body in the casket was, it was not Danny Farrell.

  “Hello, Richard,” Jordan Collier said. “Welcome back to Seattle.”

  The self-proclaimed leader of the 4400 stood before a large picture window offering a scenic view of Lake Washington. A mane of flowing black hair and a neatly trimmed beard and mustache gave him a distinct resemblance to an earlier messiah with the same initials, a look Richard suspected that Collier cultivated on purpose. The charismatic cult leader had been a successful business tycoon before becoming a revolutionary. As Richard knew from experience, Jordan always had an agenda.

  Wonder what he wants from me now? Richard thought. He hadn’t been too surprised to discover that Collier was responsible for springing him from prison. Who else had the resources, and the audacity, to pull off an operation like that? Richard approached the other man warily. “Don’t you mean Promise City?”

  “I see you’ve been keeping up with current events,” Jordan said with a smile. Unlike the tailored three-piece suits he had once sported, his clothing now consisted of plain, loose-fitting garments. Wearing a black frock coat over a white cotton tunic, he looked more an ascetic hermit than the de facto ruler of Seattle. “Good.” He gestured toward a nearby couch. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

  After smuggling Richard back into Seattle, the strike team had delivered him to this luxurious lake house safely within the borders of the city. The stylish furnishings were clean and modern. Stained wooden trim accented the airy lines of the living room. An Impressionistic painting of a sunrise hung upon a wall near the foyer. A white leather couch and love seat surrounded a clear steel-and-glass coffee table. A carafe of fresh ice water rested on the table. A pair of bodyguards lurked silently in the background. They eyed Richard carefully as he took a seat on the couch. A suit of fresh clothes had replaced his blood-spattered prison garb. His face was still bruised from the beating he had received before being rescued. His ribs throbbed painfully.

  “I’m sorry about your man, Sanchez,” he said.

  “Thank you,” Jordan replied. A raspy voice conveyed his sorrow. “That was indeed an unfortunate tragedy. Hector was a good man and a loyal soldier. Building a new world requires sacrifice, however. He was not the first to give his life for our cause. Nor, I fear, will he be the last.” He sat down opposite Richard. “But all this heartache and turmoil will be worth it when the Movement fulfills its destiny and brings peace and universal prosperity to the Earth.”

  Right, Richard thought dubiously. He tried to reconcile Jordan’s lofty rhetoric with the ruthless businessman he had first met four years ago. The two men had a long and problematic relationship. Although they had worked together on occasion, Collier had frequently interfered with Richard’s life, and had even tried to turn Lily against him once. Richard sat stiffly on the edge of the couch, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “What do you want, Jordan?”

  “Just to share some information with you.” He glanced around the elegant interior of the lake house. “To be honest, I chose this location for a reason.” His face assumed a grave expression. “This is where your daughter died.”

  The revelation hit Richard like a live grenade. He had been informed in prison that Isabelle had died, but, despite frequent pleas, he had never been able to learn the details of his daughter’s passing. Apparently, that was “classified” information. Over the last two months, he had spent countless hours wondering and worrying about what had happened to Isabelle in the end. He hadn’t even been allowed to attend her funeral!

  “How?” he asked hoarsely. “Who?”

  Collier poured Richard a cup of water. “Let me tell you about the Marked …”

  The story he recounted, about time-traveling conspirators hiding in the bodies of modern men and women, would have sounded unbelievable to Richard only four years ago. But after having his own life manipulated by a different faction from the future, and being physically transplanted from the 1950s to the twenty-first century in a glowing ball of light, he took Jordan’s fantastic tale at face value, at least for now. But what did this have to do wi
th his daughter?

  “The Marked tried to coerce Isabelle into betraying the Movement,” Jordan explained. “When she rebelled against them, they killed her.” He let out a deep sigh. “She sacrificed her life to save both me and Tom Baldwin. You should be very proud of her.”

  “That’s really what happened?” Richard asked. Conceived in the future, and catapulted into adulthood overnight, Isabelle had grown into a dangerous and volatile young woman with extraordinary abilities. Although he had always loved her, he had struggled to help her resist her darker impulses. Now he wanted desperately to believe what Jordan was telling him, that his beautiful daughter had found redemption in the end. “She did the right thing?”

  “Your daughter died a hero,” Jordan insisted. “I was there. I saw it with my own eyes.”

  Richard was overcome with emotion. He wiped the tears from his eyes. “Did she suffer?”

  Jordan shook his head. “Not for long. It was over quickly.”

  They sat in silence for several moments while Richard processed what he had just learned. He mourned his daughter’s death all over again, but found some comfort in the knowledge that she had truly turned her life around first. To be honest, he’d feared that Isabelle had gone bad again and been killed by the authorities in some sort of deadly stand-off, but apparently that wasn’t the case. He wished he could tell Lily that their daughter had turned out all right, then realized that she probably already knew that. If there was any justice in the cosmos, his wife and daughter were together once more.

  A darker thought occurred to him. His eyes dried and his face hardened. He looked up from the floor. “And the Marked … ?”