by DB Carpenter
Several of the Carriers had worked themselves into a frenzy. They pleaded to be let out.
"Cut it to the left, behind that building!" Seth screamed.
The men in the cars blocking the exit crouched behind the makeshift barricade and started to shoot at the Suburban. The windshield turned into a spider's web of cracks as high-powered, well-placed bullets slammed into it.
Albert jammed on the brakes and cut the wheel hard to the left. The truck skidded off the road, bounced over a curb and crashed through a hurricane fence. The corner of the building momentarily blocked them from the line of fire. Seth turned around to tell the panicking Carriers to shut the hell up. The Latino carrier was slumped against the door. The right side of his head was gone. Blood spurted out of the gory wound.
Seth stared at him briefly before he leaned over the seat and opened the door. The body tumbled out of the truck and disappeared outside.
"If you want to live," he said in an eerily calm voice. "You'll all shut up so we can get us out of here."
Horrified faces stared back at him – now speechless.
He turned back around and looked out the window. They were rapidly approaching the runways. Cars were closing in on them from the right and behind.
"Open it up, Albert. This thing'll go faster."
Albert pressed the accelerator to the floor. The truck sped forward. The speedometer passed one hundred miles an hour.
Seth pointed the double-odd buck-filled shotgun out the window at the closest pursuer and fired. The car swerved. The passenger leaned out his window and returned Seth's fire. Seth shot again. This time he hit the driver's side front tire sending the car into a wild skid. The man who had been shooting at him hung on for his life as the vehicle careened out of control. It zigzagged wildly before flipping up and rolling, crushing the man who was half out of the window – reducing him to a vile skid mark on the side of the tumbling car that rolled half a dozen more times before coming to a stop.
"Everybody get down!" Seth yelled at the Carriers who eagerly fell to the floor.
He fired several more shots out the passenger window, and blasted a few out the rear window at the two cars behind. The pursuers slowed slightly as he shot at them and then they split up. One went to the left and the other to the right. They raced down the runway at one-hundred-twenty miles an hour. The engine roared under the hood.
"Go that way!" Seth said. "We'll try to get out through the back of the airport."
Albert nursed the Suburban in that direction.
"How did they know?" Seth said. "It had to be Foster."
It didn't make sense though. How would Chris have known about the trip to the airport today? Someone else had turned traitor – someone who knew all of their plans, certainly not Jerry or Mark. He looked at Albert remembering the hesitation as they pulled up to the curb back at the terminal.
"You son of a bitch," Seth said.
"What?" Albert exclaimed as he tore his gaze from the runway.
"It was you, wasn't it? You gave us up. You Judas son of a bitch!"
"I don't know what you're talking about!"
The end of the airport was rapidly approaching, and Seth could see the highway he hoped to get to down a hill on the other side of the runway.
From the backseat one of the Carriers yelled, "Look out!"
"Jesus Christ," Seth cried. "Watch out for that plane!"
A small plane was landing on another runway that intersected theirs up ahead.
Albert saw the plane and panicked. He cut the wheel to the right too hard for the truck's suspension. Too late. The landing gear of the small plane clipped the roof of the Suburban, tearing a jagged hole into it as the pilot tried to avoid the speeding truck.
The plane slammed into the ground behind the truck. It flipped twice, losing its wings before one of the pursuing vehicles slammed into it. The plane and car became one as they skidded down the runway.
Albert tried to control the Suburban. The three-ton vehicle had too much speed. Wind howled through the jagged gash in the roof as slowly it tilted up on two wheels, drove on at an ever-increasing angle, and then rolled over.
The sounds of horrified screams, shattering glass and crushing metal filled the van. It tumbled down the steep hill to the highway and burst into flames as it came to rest in a gulley.
The cars that contained Arthur and his men skidded to a stop above the chaotic scene on the highway, and the men ran down the embankment. They stood helpless. All they could do was watch as the Suburban and its occupants were consumed by the fire.
"Jesus Christ," Arthur muttered as he watched the fire. He needed them alive. "Stay here. Seal the area."
With that, he climbed the hill and got back to his car. He passed the men in full containment gear who were retrieving the body of the person who had fallen out of the Suburban. They sprayed a chemical on the bloodstains on the pavement.
He wasn't sure which or how many of his men had been killed, but he didn't have time to worry about them now.
3:30 pm PDT Bald Mountain, California
Chris watched Sarah stand and stare out the large window for the third time in ten minutes. He studied her reflection in the glass as she tugged on her earlobe and made a soft clicking sound with her tongue. The way the bright mid-afternoon sun was hitting her grey eyes made her reflection appear to have empty voids in her eye sockets giving her the appearance of B-movie soulless apparition.
"They should have been back by now," Sarah said.
"Maybe they ran into traffic or something," Mike offered.
"I've got a bad feeling about this," she said.
Jerry had a laptop setup and was watching a local news feed. The big news was a multi-car accident on some highway. A news copter was circling the scene sending back live shots – classic accident coverage. Chris sat up. The burned-out hulk of a Suburban was lying upside down in the ditch, still smoldering from the fire.
"Look at this," he said. The others turned just in time to see an aerial shot that had zoomed in on the burnt-out Suburban pan out to show the airport and the wrecked plane and car on the runway above. The recognizable dark blue jackets stenciled with FBI in large yellow letters across the backs dotted the scene.
They stared in silent disbelief. The burned out van had to be the one Seth had taken to the airport. Sarah dropped down into a chair and stared blankly at the television.
Chris replayed his conversation with Arthur Kent. They hadn't actually discussed what would happen at the airport and Chris had assumed that they would take the Carriers into custody but it would appear that they were cleaning up this situation in the most complete way possible. A fiery accident would certainly ensure that Gen96 hadn't escaped, wouldn't it? Actually, if he were in Arthur's shoes what would he do?
Chris couldn't help but feel that this whole thing was going sideways. He hadn't anticipated leaving the other house. The feds were undoubtedly already there, assuming they could figure out where the old McGuire place was or if they had been able to hone in on his cell phone signal. He needed them here. Damn it!
Tears ran down Camilla's cheeks, her full lips quivered before she blurted, "Albert, Jesus Christ. I talked him into this whole thing. Now he's dead. Dead!"
Sarah was silent. She didn't move to Camilla, didn't offer comfort as the beautiful starlet collapsed against the wall and sobbed. "It wasn't supposed to be this way," she wailed.
Mike finally went to her. "Well, that answers that question," he said to Sarah as he stroked Camilla's trembling back.
"What question?" Sarah asked.
"Whether or not they know where we are," he replied. "That was no accident. The FBI didn't just happen to be there – no way. They were assassinated. The FBI probably ambushed them."
"So what are we going to do?" Chris asked.
"Who are you to say we?" Jerry asked, flipping the laptop shut and stepping toward Chris. "For all I know, you're the reason they're dead." Jerry was also on the verge of tears as well, trembl
ing.
"One thing's for certain," Chris said in a calm voice.
"What's that?" Jerry said.
"You guys need to make some tough decisions, and you need to make them now – not tonight, not tomorrow. No matter how difficult it is for you, you need to accept that your plan has failed – at least in its current form. Right now you need to get the hell out of here."
Jerry began, "Who the fuck –"
"He's right," Sarah said with a weary sigh. "We've got to accept it." She broke into tears. The sound of her anguished sobs echoed in the quiet room. Someone needed to console her, but nobody made a move to do it.
Finally, Chris walked over and touched her shoulder. "It's not so bad."
"Not so bad!" She screamed as she pulled away from his hand. "They're dead. Don't you understand that?"
Chris began, "Maybe –"
"Don't even say it. They're dead! And that's all there is to it. You saw the van."
Chris stepped away from her and said, "At least you've already developed Gen96. If you can get out of here and lie low for a while, you can release it later. At this point, it's just time, right?"
The ensuing silence told Chris he was getting through to them. He wasn't the only one who had been through hell the past week and he didn't have the baggage of eighteen years of all-consuming idealism to reconcile. It wasn't his life's work that was being threatened with complete and total failure. To cap it off, there was a good chance they'd end up in jail, or dead. Up until David Rose had escaped, they had been naive, maybe even innocent but they were now undeniably a long way from David Rose's failed escape.
Innocence was a tough thing to lose. Santa and the Easter Bunny don't really exist, loved ones can be torn from you indiscriminately, the framework of love can be destroyed by uncontrollable urges – sometimes there weren't brighter, better days ahead – at least in the short term. The paradoxes of life could overwhelm even the strongest of men. He couldn't imagine a more anguished group anywhere else in the world than these people at this moment. Everything that could go wrong had. The heat of the moment offered an opportunity for him to stop Gen96 but it was also inherently dangerous, volatile.
Mike finally broke the silence. "Chris is right. We need to get our act together right now. God only knows if they know where we are, and I certainly don't want to hang around and find out."
"How could they know?" Sarah said. "We just moved again."
"But they know we're around here someplace and they're going to be here in force trying to find us," Mike replied. He stood up and started to pace, circling Chris and Sarah as he did so. He appeared predatory in his movements.
"What do you suggest?" Sarah asked.
He circled them a few more times before saying, "I think Camilla and I should head back down to LA. We need to make it look like we're going about our normal schedule. If they suspect us somehow, we should be able to fight them in court. Without you, Sarah," he looked at Sarah as he said this and bowed his head in a respectful, slow motion nod. "Or Seth, they won't be able to directly implicate us. We could tie it up for years in court. Right, Camilla?"
Camilla stood and nodded slowly as she wiped the tears from her swollen, red face. She convulsed with each breath as she struggled to control her sobs.
"Sarah," Mike said. "You need to disappear. Can you do that?"
"Yes," she replied turning her attention to Chris. "It is only time at this point. Only time."
"We've got to go now," Mike said as he turned and left the room. Everyone followed him to their car.
Once Mike and Camilla were inside, Sarah said through the rolled down window, "I'll call you in a few weeks, Camilla. Once I get out of the country and settled someplace."
"That sounds good," Camilla replied. She was pale, her eyes red and swollen, her voice soft and shaky. Albert's death had affected her deeply and the specter of jail loomed large for all of them.
From behind the wheel Mike said, "It's a delay, Sarah. It'll still happen. It's just going to take a little longer than we wanted."
Sarah leaned in through the window and kissed Camilla on the cheek. "It wasn't your fault, Camilla," she said softly. "He came here by his own free will."
Camilla nodded. "I guess. I've just never been good at death," she reached out and stroked Sarah's face. "And I'm going to have to deal with Phillip. That's not going to be easy."
"I wish I could help you with that," Sarah said.
Camilla nodded as she squeezed the nape of Sarah's long neck. "Let's get out of here."
Mike put the car in reverse and backed out of the building. Sarah waved mechanically at the departing car and silently watched it drive away.
Chris had a bad feeling about where this was going. Sarah would go one way and Jerry and Mark would disappear into America, maintaining intermittent contact with Sarah over the internet until they could get things together to try again. But where did that leave him?
As far as he could see, he was the one variable – the wild card and he had a feeling he was about to learn his fate as Sarah turned and glared at him. This wasn't a court of law. It was the court of Sarah. She was the judge, jury and prosecutor, and, if she found him guilty – which he had a feeling she already had – the executioner as well.
"Are you guys ready?" Sarah asked. Jerry and Mark said they were.
"Then let's go, it's a hike up to the extraction point," she said as she slung a backpack over her shoulder and wriggled it into position.
"What about him?" Jerry said pointing at Chris.
"Bring him with us."
"Why?"
"Because I said so," Sarah replied.
Jerry shrugged, produced a gun and pointed up the mountain. "Walk," he said to Chris.
9:01 pm PDT Summit – Bald Mountain, California
They faced each other in awkward silence until Chris said, "We need to talk."
"Okay," Sarah replied.
He motioned for her to follow. They walked inside to the main room of the Peak Lodge and sat down at long table that was stained and had countless names and slogans carved into it.
"So. What now?" He asked as he scanned the empty room and frowned. Dilapidated, stench-ridden, filthy and on the verge of collapse. A perfect metaphor for their situation.
"I don't know what to think anymore."
He cracked his knuckles and studied her. He had to make something happen. Mark and Jerry were patrolling the perimeter. That was three against one – not the best odds but much better than five hours ago. He needed to get out of here. Get into the woods and run. They would have to make a split second decision, chase him, or run for their own lives and he suspected they'd take option number two.
"Do you think that I'm the reason this all turned out the way it did?" Chris asked.
"Yes." Her grey eyes, the voids from the reflection, truly looked soulless, empty. They could have been stone eyes set in the hard, carved mask of a high priestess preparing for the ceremonial sacrifice.
Chris pulled away from her.
"That's too bad," he said. "This isn't about me, Sarah – it's all about you. What you were doing, or trying to do."
"In your opinion," she said as she folded her hands on the table. "It's all perspective."
"No. It's not," Chris replied. "There's right and wrong. What if this thing mutated and sterilized men permanently? Then where would we be? You would be solely responsible for the demise of the human race as we know it. How would that feel?"
"It won't mutate."
"And man will never walk on the moon," Chris replied.
"What's that got to do with it?"
"I don't know, Sarah. You get the point."
"I get a point."
Jerry walked in. His pistol was aimed at Chris. He went silently to Sarah and handed the gun to her.
"Thanks," she said.
"Do you want me to hang around?" He asked.
"No, you guys keep an eye out," she replied as she looked at her watch.
"Ok," he re
plied.
Jerry left the room. They sat in silence. He stared at the muzzle of the gun. So this is what it was coming down to. The cold, dark orifice contained his future, or lack thereof.
"I didn't have anything to do with it," Chris said.
"That may be so," Sarah replied. "There's something about you that I liked. If everything had gone smoothly today, I would have let you in with us. Seth would have complained, but I would have done it anyway." She winced.
"You need help now more than ever, Sarah."
She reached down and pulled a bottle out of her backpack. "All I need is right in here," she said as she looked at the clear liquid in the bottle. "Gen96 is alive and well."
"You can't do it alone," he said as she replaced the bottle.
"I can do anything." Her voice sounded as if she said it more for her benefit than his, as if she were in some sort of a rehab program – step number one, believe in yourself.
She sat directly across from him, staring, keeping the pistol in her right hand pointed at his chest.
"Then just do it," Chris said. "I'm sick of all of this bullshit. I was a normal person with a normal life. Now look at me. I've been shot at, beat up, cut open – it only seems natural that now I'll get shot for good."
She was going to do it. There was no doubt about the look on her face as her eyes narrowed and her lips parted slightly. She was detaching herself from her emotions in preparation for pulling the trigger. Ending a human life – what a concept. Her finger moved slightly, increasing the pressure on the trigger.
If he didn't do something now, he was dead. He met her gaze, counting in his head – one, two, three.
He lifted up the table and drove it forward into her with all his body weight behind it. She squeezed the trigger. The motion of the table had pushed the pistol to the side. The bullet slammed harmlessly into the wall. He screamed as he rammed the table into her. Her chair started to slide. She fought to gain some sort of control until the legs of the chair hit an irregularity in the floor. It went over backwards. He followed. She cried out as he and the heavy table landed on her.