Dr. Detre Marlo had been blessed with two daughters and a son, with Jene, his wife of ten years. According to Tom, when the attack came there had been no warning and no mercy. The entire family had ceased to exist in a matter of minutes. If the bastards could do something like that, it was doubtful Eve’s beautiful innocence would give them pause.
She couldn’t make her daughter a target. Not when Mel couldn’t be a hundred percent sure she could protect her. Dropping off the grid when she’d discovered she was pregnant was one thing. Staying hidden when she knew there was a bull’s-eye painted on her back was another, especially when the hunters were as powerful as Grey. The only way to stop them was to make herself untouchable. And make Ryan and Eve unprofitable in the process.
Wiping the tears off her face, she grabbed only what she could carry in her saddlebags, and dropped the burn phone on the counter. A small red light flashed, signaling a message. It wouldn’t take Ryan long to figure out the code to the voicemail and retrieve her message.
By the time he did, she had to be at least close to the rendezvous point, and safety. The message was sent, via satellite uplink, from a secure com system encrypted by a code they could crack in their sleep. When Ryan activated it, anyone listening for her would pluck it right out of the air and the race would be on.
Her Harley sat shrouded in canvas next to the small cabin, just outside the kitchen door. Mel took only enough time to check the fluids before raising the stand and pushing it none-too-gracefully down the dirt two-track path that led to the highway. Ryan was a heavy sleeper, but not even he would sleep through the rattle and roll of the old bike if she started it. It would be a thunder crash in the still mountain night and bring him on the run.
Under other circumstances, watching her lanky disheveled nerd, barreling out of the house with a baseball bat he had never christened with sweat, would have been too much to pass up. Now, the thought brought a fresh rain of tears and she dug in her heels to push the big bike faster.
At the highway, Mel straddled the old Sportster, waited for the trembling in her legs to subside, and fired it up. Before she could let herself think about it, before she let herself chicken out, she turned onto the macadam and throttled up, barely slowing for the hairpin turns that would take her out of the San Francisco Peaks. In Flagstaff she headed west, leaving behind the mountains for the dry Mohave Desert.
Once on the interstate that would take her to Nevada, she opened the Sportster up. Breakneck speeds on a motorcycle kept her focused, there was no time to mourn the loss of her daughter, or feel guilt over the chaos she’d left in Ryan’s life. It was her, the bike, and primal instinct.
7
When the Asian guy in the black tunic tossed him a small handgun, he almost turned it on him and the old woman. Instinct said he was better off alone. Trust no one. He might have, anyway, if having the gun tossed to him hadn’t caught him by surprise.
Only the sound of the chopper winding down stopped him. Having a little help, at least for the next few minutes, might be a good thing.
Nor was he completely stupid. If he stood next to the odd couple and fired, the newcomers would make a connection between them, despite there not being one. There would be no chance to talk himself out of a potentially painful death. No chance to use the device as leverage. Waiting to let them fight it out and see who came out on top seemed the better option.
As soon as the gun was in Max’s hands, the Asian guy vanished. He tried to follow on legs still shaking from the juice he’d received, but the old woman was bent over Diego’s corpse. When she stood, she dangled small keys that glimmered in the dim light. She made quick work of removing the cuffs before turning to release the shackles that bound his ankles.
When they hit the concrete floor, Max stepped away from the metal bracelets and turned, but the old woman was gone. He stepped into the corridor, looked right, and then left. It was empty. Not so much as a grey hair pointed towards the direction the old woman had gone. It was a Mexican jail, for crying out loud. A small one at that. There was nowhere to hide.
Boots pounded the wooden floorboards above his head. With no idea where the other two went, and nowhere to hide, Max stepped back into his cell and over the fat policia. No sooner had he made it to his bunk and spun around, than he was admiring the graceful detail of the barrel of an assault rifle. It was close enough that it looked like the entrance to the Eisenhower Tunnel.
That old bat set me up, he thought, and dropped the handgun on the bunk as if it had turned into something that would bite. Considering the disappearing act of the odd couple, the gun had probably been empty. Or worse, it probably held nothing but blanks. Just enough flash-bang to make him think he had a chance before the unharmed soldier cut him down.
Another man, combat ready, moved down the short corridor. Rifle to the shoulder, swiveling with his field of view as if it were just another part of his body, he did a quick search of the adjoining cells.
On his way back past Max’s cell, he tilted his head to key up a throat mic. “Clear. One heartbeat. Rupert on the target.”
With that, he moved back towards the entrance and assumed his post. With the soldiers standing as still as statues, each footfall of the new arrival was unhurried and all business. It fit the man that stepped into view. Sunglasses perched on the man’s knife-blade nose probably cost a small fortune. The money paid for the suit could have purchased a small bungalow on a tropical beach.
Without a word, the guard took two steps back and one to the side, opening the doorway for Mr. Suit while keeping the business end of the rifle aimed at Max’s head. “Looks like we missed the party.”
“You didn’t miss much,” Max found himself saying. His would-be rescuers had left him high and dry, yet he found himself hesitant to reveal their presence. “They didn’t even serve guacamole.”
“I suppose you’d like me to believe you did all of this?” One eyebrow appeared above the rim of his dark sunglasses.
Max had a feeling that emotional expression was as foreign to the man’s face as two-thousand dollar sunglasses were to his. Everything in him said it was a bad idea to poke a bear, but he couldn’t resist. He winked at him. “Why don’t you have your lap dogs put down their rifles and I’ll give you a demonstration?”
If insults goaded the soldier, Max couldn’t tell. He stood relaxed, but still, patiently waiting for a signal to drop Max where he stood. The idea of being shot and falling on top of the fat sheriff set Max’s teeth on edge.
“My name is Bishop,” he said, in the best you bore me tone Max had ever heard. “My employer would like his property back.”
Max looked around, as if not sure what the man was referring to. “I’m guessing that Tazer is something that belonged to your boss. It’s defective, though.”
“If it’s so defective, Mr. Dumerick,” the eyebrow made another appearance, “why do you smell like sweat and piss?”
“Rotgut at La Rosa’s,” Max puffed up with pride he didn’t feel. He wasn’t going to let the bastard know it humiliated him. “That was after I sold the penguins.”
“I don’t like being here, Mr. Dumerick. I resent you for making it necessary.” He took a step forward. “Nor do I like class clowns that delay the resolution to a problem so that I can leave this filthy place.”
“My sincerest apologies, Mr. Bishop,” Max smiled his sweetest smile. It was a stretch, considering the rough living he’d done the last few weeks. “I had no idea you were such a whiner.”
“I would hate to report to my employer that a product he designed is malfunctioning, perhaps we should test it.”
Everything that happened next occurred too fast for Max to track. Instinct took over and only after the smoke cleared, did he realize how close he had come to dying.
As Bishop kneeled down to retrieve the Taser, a bullet took his guard in the only vulnerable spot to be had – his tender neck. Even as the man dropped to his knees and tried to stop the shower of blood from his damaged artery,
Max turned and rolled, scooping up the handgun he’d dropped on the bunk, praying there were live rounds in it, and began firing at Bishop. The small gun kicked harder than Max expected. The first two shots went wild. The last caught Bishop in the chest, throwing him back against the bars.
Max landed upside down on the bunk with his feet braced on the wall over his head. He pushed off, flipping over to land on his feet next to the unfortunate Sargent Alvarez. Two long strides brought him to the cell door where he skidded to a stop. Mittie Kate and Ling waited on the other side.
Frustrated, he yelled at them. “Where the hell were you?”
Mittie Kate laughed. “Waiting for you to quit making small talk with your new buddy.”
“He is not my buddy.”
They followed Ling to the back of the cell block, where he pulled a roll of tape out of his tunic and lined the bars above another bunk.
“Well,” Mittie Kate smiled. “He was right about one thing. You need a shower.”
Snapping off the tail end of the tape, Ling watched as the tape ignited in a white sizzling cloud of phosphorus that burned through the bars. Ling pushed them out and stepped aside to let Mittie Kate climb out first.
“What I need is a fifth of Jim Beam, and a nap. In that order,” Max climbed up on the bunk to go out next. He looked back at Ling. The roll of tape had already disappeared. “But I’d really like some of that tape.”
8
Ryan sat in the rocking chair next to Eve’s crib, his head clutched in his hands and tears falling to the carpet. “I did everything she asked,” he told the sleeping baby. “Everything. I didn’t pry about her work. When she wanted to drop off the grid, I asked how far.”
If Mel had asked him to run through a flaming building, just to prove his love, he would have done it. He would have done anything for her. How could she just pick up and leave? How could she leave Eve? She adored their daughter. Or, at least, he thought she did. Worse, her message was crazy talk. None of it made sense.
He keyed in the code one more time – Eve’s birthdate. In two more days, it would have been three months.
Ryan, her voice was so soft, so warm. But he recognized the edge of determination that underlined her speech. He tried to tell himself it carried love as well. But if it had, she would still be there with them. Please forgive me. I can’t do this anymore. I know about the other woman. I know about your baby with her.
What other woman? He idolized Mel. Worshipped her. And the only baby was the carbon copy of Mel still sleeping in her crib.
I can’t pretend I’m okay with it anymore. I’m granting you the freedom to be with her. To raise your child, to be there to teach and protect her. There was a pause, the sound of her breath as she sighed. Don’t try to find me. The divorce will be finalized this morning. I love you. Good luck.
He had listened to the recording four times and still it had the power to knock the air out of his lungs. Something was wrong with her. A breakdown of some kind? Maybe from the crap she used to do for a living. He didn’t know much about it, she was good at keeping her secrets and he had been too afraid to rock the boat. Being with her, knowing she loved him, was a miracle, a once-upon-a-fairytale ending for a man like him.
Sure, he had his adrenaline junkie side. He loved to dive, skydive, and fly. But that was like playing with Lego’s compared to the stunts Mel used to pull. When they met, she was a test pilot.
She never talked about it. Perhaps she pushed the limits too far. She was such a petite little thing. How much abuse could a body that small take before gremlins crawled into the wiring? Ryan loved her strength, her courage, and her determination. What price was she paying for it now?
There was also post-partum depression. He’d heard horror stories about it. The mood swings, the withdrawal, the inability to bond with their children. Mel was too upbeat. She was a survivor. No matter how much he reviewed the past year, he couldn’t find any sign that said, there, it was right in front of your face the whole time.
Convinced that some mental or emotional defect had to be to blame, he went to their bedroom and unpacked his own cell. Slipping the battery out of the charger and into his phone, he watched it come to life for the first time in a year. When Mel decided to drop off the grid, it was one of the first things to be disabled. That way, no one could find them without scouring satellite images for years on end. As powerful as the Global Network had become, he refused to believe they had reached omnipresence. Despite what the general population believed.
To be or not to be, he thought. Did he look for her, try to find her and help her? Or did he walk away as easily as she did?
When the green light gave him the go-ahead, he speed-dialed his old friend Marcus. Whether from age or being a child of the sixties like he claimed, Marcus was a habitual insomniac. The phone rang twice before he heard a familiar voice. “Ryan, tell me this is you? Where the hell have you been? And don’t give me that sabbatical bull.”
“Long story. Hey, I might need my old job back?”
Marcus sounded anxious, as if he were about to jump out of his skin. “Really? That’s all you’ve got to say? Kid, was Mel anywhere near the attacks? Is she okay?”
“What attacks? Man, I’m in the sticks, I don’t have internet, I don’t have T.V. Nothing. What attacks?”
“They’re not coming out and saying it, but it looks to us wee civilian folk like terrorism. Remember Malor Labs? Toast. The doctor who ran it was killed in his home. Kid, his entire family was taken out. Then they went after everyone else who’s had anything to do with them over the past five years.”
The sound of shuffling paper filled the line. Ryan stood and moved to Eve’s crib, touching her sweet little face, her hands. He’d met Dr. Malor once, and his wife and kids. Their youngest hadn’t been much more than a baby at the time. He felt sick.
“Here it is. Firedyne was hit the week before that. Same thing. Bastards went to the homes of the people who worked there. Took’em out. Then there was the shootout in Washington D.C. The attacks were too much alike to be a coincidence.”
Marcus rattled on, but Ryan wasn’t listening. His wife hadn’t been a scientist, she hadn’t been involved with these groups as anything other than a stick jockey. Or a stick monkey as she had called herself. Or was she? “Mel wasn’t anything but a glorified chauffeur, Marcus.” Was it considered lying if you were no longer sure? He couldn’t bring himself to voice his doubts. Not even to an old friend like Marcus.
He rubbed the soft skin and fine hair of Eve’s head. Was she protecting them? Was she protecting Eve? That made more sense than sudden onset dementia. It also made sense of the divorce and other woman shtick. If Mel was in danger, or even thought she was in danger, she would want to separate herself from them as much as possible.
Ryan didn’t know for sure, but it was something to hold onto. Something that said this is not your fault, nerd boy. She still loves you. Yet, how did she know about the attacks when he didn’t?
Ryan had never seen the phone she had left behind. Picking it up, he scrolled through the settings and found it empty. Deleted. She had been in touch with someone, but who? Jealousy snaked through his heart and he stopped himself just short of throwing it across the room. He sat it back down on the changing table and walked back over to Eve, soothing himself more than the baby with his touch.
“Marcus,” he began and then stopped short. He needed time to rethink this. He needed to get connected again. “Maybe it won’t be such a good idea for me to come back. Maybe somewhere new? On the other side of the country. Mel is divorcing me and I need time to heal.”
“Damn, Ryan. I’m sorry to hear that. You guys were great together. New places, new faces, huh? Okay. Look, Syracuse just lost their hydrologist to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. Let me do some digging and we’ll see if we can’t slide you in. New York is about as far away as I can get you. You can take over the Pullman Grant. With Dalton gone, I need someone I can trust working on the Atlantic
. The glacial melt has definitely had an effect on ocean temperatures, but we have no idea how far the effects reach or what long term ramifications might be. Other than riparian die-offs, which we are already seeing.”
New York? Ryan would have to get familiar with the geology and underground water systems there. That should keep him occupied for a while. Might be interesting to see what impacts the climate shift is having on the North East. “Sounds good. If you can get me in—”
“If? Remember who you’re talking to, kid. I’ve got the magic touch. You might as well start heading that way. And Ryan?”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful out there. Things are getting a little crazy. And avoid the south. Between floods and tornados, it’s a powder keg.”
“Have they started relocating the towns in the flood plains yet?”
“They’re doing a test run with a small town in Arkansas. See how cost effective they can make it. But, people are crazy. Most of the town is refusing to budge. Even with a Presidential Order. That very same town has been flooded three times, and the cracker jacks are refusing to leave it.”
“Well, it can be hard to let go of what you know.” Ryan disconnected and slipped out of the room. Even if Mel’s leaving didn’t have anything to do with protecting them, if her cheese really had started slipping off her cracker, it drove one very important point home to him. Nothing else mattered right now. Baby Eve was his priority.
Ryan stopped halfway down the hall to the kitchen. He hadn’t told Marcus about Eve. No one knew they had a child. Not even their closest family. A more proud papa could not be found anywhere and under normal circumstances, it would have been the first thing out of his mouth. So why didn’t he tell Marcus?
Genesis (Extinction Book 1) Page 3