Winter's Storm: Retribution (Winter's Saga #2)

by Karen Luellen

  “Creed. He’s trying to earn his soul back. I’ll explain later. Just go!”

  “I love you, Ali. Tell Evan I love him.”

  “We love you too, mom. Now, go!”

  42 Farrow’s Pursuit

  The humidity and heat were extreme, but she had already calculated for that. The home of Dr. St. Paul was thirty-nine meters south, southeast of the position she chose because of its dense foliage and easy line-of-sight to the front door of the house where the doctor’s vehicle was parked. Dr. Winter, the primary target, had not shown her face yet, but she would eventually, and when she did, Farrow would be waiting.

  Lying in wait for nearly three hours now had left Farrow’s usually steady nerves somewhat frazzled. Under ordinary circumstances, she could stalk her target as long as necessary without the slightest unease, but this was different. Something about this assignment made the hair on the back of her neck bristle. Three hours felt like three days.

  Sure she was just psyching herself out, she allowed herself a moment to look away from the sniper rifle’s telescopic lens and rub her eyes.

  Get it together, soldier, she scolded herself. This is just another assignment. You’ve done this before, and you’ll do it again. Come on. One shot, one kill. One shot, one kill. One shot, one kill.

  Her mental brow-beating was halted the moment she saw movement at the back door. A male with white hair was exiting the house with a long surf board tucked under his left arm. It was Dr. St. Paul. Right at his heels was the bizarre pet the Winter family kept. She had seen him before—back in California when she was sent to the hospital to count dead bodies. That was the growling thing that looked at her like fresh meat. Even through her scope, she got a clear picture of the coyote. He was huge—probably fifty-five or sixty pounds. And it behaved like a loyal dog, not a wild canine. Not wanting to alarm her primary target, Farrow chose not to fire at the aging man or the coyote, but observed them instead.

  The old man walked toward the beach. He lifted his right hand to his brow to block the sunlight so he could see more clearly the waves as they broke. The coyote had wandered away from the water’s edge following instead an interesting scent back up toward the trail that ran beside the house. His nose was to the ground as his silver coat shinned in the Hawaiian sunlight.

  Not wanting to get distracted, Farrow repositioned her scope to the house. There was no movement there. By the time she panned back to the old surfer, he was already on his board and paddling out into the water. The coyote was almost completely obscured by the undergrowth along the trail. He was really after something, but it hadn’t occurred to Farrow that he may have been tracking a very familiar scent. Not until it was too late.

  Just as the coyote began to howl mournfully with intermittent barks, an image darted across her mind. That spot was the exact location on the trail where M57 was running days before when she had delivered Dr. Williams’ “gift.” The coyote must have been tracking the girl’s scent. She was, after all, his owner.

  He was howling like a bloody demon now. It was clear he found something, but what would he have found that had Meg’s scent on it? Did she drop something that day? Farrow didn’t think so. Was she bleeding? Doubtful. It would have left a very small mark where the dart impacted her neck. Maybe there would have been a negligible spot of redness at the injection site itself once the dart was removed and…that’s when she realized what was causing the coyote to howl.

  The dart.

  Creed, the incompetent, moony-eyed, idiot! He must have left the dart in the grass! Farrow was mentally screaming in fury over Creed’s misstep that could cost them their objective. Her one last glimmer of hope was lost when it was Dr. Andrews who came running out of the house to check on the coyote, and not Dr. Winter.

  With an anger that seethed hotter and hotter inside her, the metasoldier watched the man run to the coyote, lean down and pick something up. The coyote jumped up and down excitedly beside him as he frowned at the object in his hand, yelled to Dr. St. Paul, who was already on his way back to shore with all the ruckus from the canine, and ran back into the house. Within seconds, all the subjects were out of sight and the gift was in their hands.

  This was bad.

  Only afterwards did Farrow kick herself realizing she should have taken her chances and killed everyone in her scope, including the flea-bitten mongrel they called Maze. It didn’t matter, because after taking a breather to regroup her thoughts, she decided her next step would be to wait until dark when she would finish this, once and for all. She had a life, and she was anxious to get back to it.

  Later that afternoon, when Dr. Williams’ name showed up on her cell phone, she ignored it. She didn’t want to talk with him until her mission was complete, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to be the one to tell him Dr. Winter had the “gift” that had so perfectly given him the upper hand in his quest.

  Oh, hell no. She thought to herself, cleaning her favorite handgun with deft movements. She was not going to take the fall for Creed’s sloppiness.

  43 Oldham’s Plot

  “Commander Oldham, sir.” Esther stood at attention the moment she realized he was walking down the hospital corridor. He stopped directly in front of her, standing a little too close for a comfortable conversation. Esther felt instantly wary of her superior officer as goose-bumps formed on her arms beneath her standard issue uniform. Not letting any of her feelings show, she saluted.

  “At ease, soldier.”

  As it was ingrained in her, Esther immediately clasped her hands behind her back and spread her stance slightly. Her heart was pounding, but her facial expression gave nothing away. The commander never had been down here. Esther wasn’t even aware he knew of Dr. Williams’ daughter or her condition.

  “Sir.”

  “Soldier, I’m here to perform an inspection of the patient to which you are assigned.”

  “An inspection, sir? I have not received any notification of an inspection.” If Esther’s guard was up before, it was screaming a warning now.

  “The Director himself sent me.” He flashed an important looking document in front of the young soldier.

  Esther frowned at the document. Never having encountered anything like this in the past, her mind was racing with possible protocol she was to follow. Maybe this is a test, she thought quickly.

  “Sir, my orders are clear. I am not to allow anyone entry into this room without explicit orders from Dr. Kenneth Williams, himself. No exceptions.” Esther tried to speak with strength and purpose, when inside she was shaking with fear.

  “I understand you’re just trying to do your job, soldier. You have to understand that I’m just trying to do mine, too.” He showed his teeth in a bizarre attempt at what was supposed to be a smile.

  “Sir, no disrespect intended. I will have to make a phone call to confirm these orders.” Esther’s acting skills couldn’t stop her voice from quivering this time. Her hand reached to her pocket to retrieve her phone.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you do that.” His face curled malevolently and he moved even closer to the girl and grabbed her wrist with one hand and with his other hand, zapped her with a tazor.

  With the fluidity of a highly trained Special Forces soldier, he caught her slumping body, opened the door to the patient’s room and dragged her body inside. He closed the door behind him softly.

  The room was dimly lit by a side table lamp. He saw the small frame of a girl lying on the hospital bed. She did not move or make a sound. He walked to her bedside and looked into the face of the reason his Director was losing his edge. This weak, useless excuse for a human stood between himself and all his goals. The commander shook his head in disgust. Why didn’t Williams understand that this diseased body was his anchor, his Achilles heel, a thorn in his brilliant lion’s paw?

  Weakness has no place in my Facility, the commander thought to himself. Nothing good can come from this gangrene.

  As any loyal soldier would, he was feeling compelled to hel
p his leader in any way so their end objective was achieved. Rudolph Oldham needed to help remove the thorn in his master’s paw; cut off the gangrene before it spread any further.

  Yes, this had to be done.

  He reached into his pocket to retrieve a small black case. Carefully, he opened it and removed a pair of large latex gloves. After slipping them onto each of his thick hands, his fingers returned to the case and found a specific syringe. He popped the yellow plastic cap off carefully placing the small piece back into the case before reaching for the I.V. tubing attached to June Williams.

  Satisfied with himself that the entire dose was rapidly rushing through the sickly body, he grabbed his black case, turned and walked back to the female meta, Esther. She was still lying on the ground where he left her. He strategically placed her fingers around the syringe he just used on the girl being sure her prints would be found all over it, including the thumbprint on the plunger itself. He then dropped it on the floor beside her.

  He grabbed her arm and unbuttoned the cuff of her sleeve. With absolute irreverence, Oldham yanked her sleeve above her elbow. He slapped her arm looking for a healthy vein. Finding one, he retrieved a second syringe from his case. This one had a red cap he deftly removed. Finding the vein he was looking for, he slipped the needle into place injecting the woman with the contents of the syringe. He repeated the process of putting this syringe into her hand, making it look as though she dosed herself.

  The final touch, he grabbed the folded, typed note from the black case. He left it peeking out of Esther’s breast pocket; sure it would be found and read by the right person.

  Oldham grabbed his black case and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. Retracing his steps, he double-checked that he didn’t touch anything that could have collected his fingerprints. His final chore was to clean off the doorknob to the room itself. All this, he accomplished inside three minutes, just as he planned.

  Everything went perfectly, he thought happily to himself, as he removed his gloves and slipped them into his pocket before he reached the first floor. He was smiling and whistling an unrecognizable tune as he exited the hospital and walked through the courtyard with the kind of bounce in his step that could have only been achieved by a well-planned and executed assignment.

  44 The “Gift” That Keeps Giving

  “Mom?”

  “Yes, honey. I’m here.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m safe, Alik. I’m at Paulie’s still.”

  “What?”

  “Alik, listen to me. There’s been a development I need to talk to you about.”

  “A ‘development?’ Are you crazy? Farrow is probably outside the house right now just waiting for you to try to get to your car!”

  “That’s exactly why I’m not leaving the house, Alik.”

  “Mom,…”

  “You listen to me, Alik Winter. You’d better calm down because I need you clear-headed. Meg needs you clear-headed!”

  Alik’s face was beet-red and that vein in his forehead was bulging, again. Creed and Evan watched Alik and listened to his one-sided conversation. It was clear things weren’t going as planned.

  “What could possibly be so important that you are risking your life?”

  “You, Alik. You and Evan and Meggie.”

  Feeling a flash of shame, Alik looked down at his feet and listened.

  “Ali, Maze was sniffing around on the trail where Creed told us he found Meg when she collapsed. He found something, Alik. Maze found the dart that poisoned Meg. Theo, Paulie and I are trying to decode the poison so we can make an antidote. Do you understand, me, Alik? I think we can use the original poison to create an antidote that will cure Meggie. If we can do this ourselves, we won’t need Williams.” Margo waited breathlessly for Alik to respond.

  “Oh, my God, mom! How soon can you create the antidote?”

  Both Creed and Evan’s faces lit up with equal amounts of surprise and confusion as they watched Alik talk.

  “Well, that’s hard to say. I could really use Evan’s help with this. He’s faster at equations than any of us.”

  Alik locked eyes with his little brother, his mind racing with all the new possibilities.

  “Ali, can you get the plane to turn around? You can’t go to Germany, Alik. I’m so scared that Meg will die there. Maze finding this needle on a mountainside is truly a gift from God. We need to get Meg home, now!”

  “We’re halfway across the Pacific Ocean now mom. We may have to land in California first to refuel, but we’ll get her home. I promise. I’ll bring her back to you, mom.”

  Hearing this, Creed turned and hurried toward the cockpit. He needed to figure out what options they had with the remaining fuel. Even as he yanked the door open and stepped into the small, button-and-switch-filled compartment, he felt a surge of power that was wrapped in the bright light of hope. He was going to do whatever it took to get this family put back together.

  “Captain Jacobe,” Creed’s voice was commanding.

  “Um…sir, if you would please return to the cabin and press the red button, Missy will come help you.” The captain was unnerved enough what with the rough flight and now a passenger barges into his cockpit.

  Ignoring him, Creed asked, “Does the plane have enough fuel to turn around?”

  “What?”

  Trying to remain calm, Creed repeated himself, “Does the plane have enough fuel to turn around?”

  “Um,…” he stammered and looked over at his copilot. “Mr. Trainer, could you run that calculation, please?”

  “Yes, sir. Give me a moment. I’m going to have to recalculate with the flight planning system,” he said flustered. Glancing over his shoulder nervously at Creed, the copilot punched furiously at the keyboard in front of him.

  “Things are going to be different from the original plan because of the unexpected weather that caused us to change our altitude,” yammered Mr. Trainer anxiously. “I’m using our current longitude and latitude as the starting point for the system and asking it to work its way backward to the flight’s origin. Using that geographic waypoint, the system is calculating all the variables that would effect the fuel measurement. Payload, operating weight empty, zero fuel weight, ramp weight,…”

  “Mr. Trainer!” Creed couldn’t stand the man’s babbling. “Sir, I appreciate that you know all about flying this plane, but I really don’t have time for a class on the subject now.”

  The copilot turned pale. “Of course not, sir.”

  “Don’t mind him,” Captain Jacobe chuckled nervously. “He’s a computer geek at heart.”

  “Okay, Mr. Young. The short answer is, yes, probably. We have enough fuel, but we will be using all our reserves.” He glanced over at Jacobe worriedly.

  “I’m afraid to ask what that means,” Creed ran his fingers through his hair in his typical anxious gesture.

  “He means if everything goes perfectly on our return trip, no turbulence, crosswinds, bad weather at the airport that would delay our landing—if everything goes perfectly, we’ll be okay to make it back.” It was Jacobe’s turn to look pale.

  “How many tons of fuel do we have to play with, Trainer?” Jacobe asked.

  “Um…the system says we would have an extra seven minutes of flight beyond the calculated plan.”

  “So, basically, none. We will be landing on fumes, literally.” He looked sick to his stomach.

  “You two are the pilots. You tell me. The girl back there is dying and they think they have created the antidote back on the island. Can we get her there safely?”

  Mr. Jacobe looked at the small photograph he always taped to his control panel when he went on long flights. It showed a plump-faced little boy smiling with his arms stretched out beside him, like the wings of a plane—pretending to fly.

  “Yes, sir. We’ll get her back. Right, Trainer?” Jacobe’s face looked determined.

  “If you say so, sir. I’m going to keep working with the system planner to see if
there’s any way I can reduce our fuel consumption.”

  “Great, you put your geek hat on; I’m going to turn this big-ass bird around.” He flipped a switch and spoke in his usual cocky-captain voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, please be seated immediately as we’re about to make an illegal U-turn. Jacobe, out!”

  Creed grinned widely as he held on to the frame of the doorway. The plane banked hard left. Watching the skyline tip was awesome. He felt a wave of happiness at the thought of heading back to that sweet house on the beach and those kindhearted people.

  Then reality kicked in when he remembered what else was waiting for him back on that island: One very pissed-off meta named Farrow.

  45 A Significant Chunk of Sanity Just Crashed to the Floor

  Things were looking up, and Dr. Williams was anxious to go share the good news with his beloved. In his boney hands he held a large bouquet of sunflowers already trimmed and on display in an equally large, some would say gaudy, pink vase. His little girl’s two favorite colors: pink and yellow. He adjusted the greenery slightly while waiting for the elevator.

  Once it opened and he entered, he slipped his small silver key into the control panel, typed a code and pressed “B.” The only way that button would work was with the key and the code. Otherwise, someone could stand there and push that “B” button until they were blue in the face and nothing would happen. He smiled to himself at his clever security. Nothing but the best for his June, he chanted to himself with every step down the corridor toward her room.

  With a quick tap, Dr. Williams opened the door to his daughter’s hospital room as he had hundreds of times before. But this time, he knew immediately something was wrong.

  “Esther?” he called.

  Only silence came in response.

  “Esther?” he called again, looking toward the door leading to the private bathroom.

  The lights were out.