The Darwin Protocol: A Thriller (The Last Peak Book 1)

by William Oday

  “We have to get her! She’s hurt!”

  Mason turned and his daughter froze when she saw his face.

  “Holly didn’t make it, honey.”

  “What? Where is she?”

  Mason didn’t know how to respond, so he defaulted to how his wife would’ve answered.

  “She’s in a better place now.”

  He wished he believed that as implicitly as Beth did. For her, that was simply the way of things. As natural a universal law as complementary angles always adding up to the right angle.

  She had the right angle. He wanted to share it, but wanting wasn’t believing.

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s gone, honey. Her body is in the back. But Holly is gone.”

  Theresa looked over the seat and sharply inhaled when she saw the covered body of her best friend. Of what used to be her best friend.

  Iridia turned Theresa back around and cradled her in her arms. Theresa buried her face in Iridia’s embrace. Her body shook with choked cries. Iridia stroked her hair, holding her tight while she unraveled.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Mason flicked on the lights. The devastation on the street ahead blurred into other, similar streets in his mind. In his past.

  What was going on in Los Angeles? Why was it starting to resemble a war-ravaged city in a destitute, third world country?

  Mason turned the Bronco around and accelerated away, determined not to let the past catch up to him.

  Determined not to lose the son of the father he’d lost so long ago.

  CHAPTER NINETY-NINE

  Beth wiped the sweat from her forehead, careful to use the sleeve of her shirt in order to keep her hands sterile. Somewhat sterile at least. Their bedroom wasn’t the cleanest version of an operating room.

  Mason sat in the overstuffed chair in front of her, his head leaning back against the headrest.

  “How’s Elio?”

  Beth glanced over her shoulder at the stationary form lying on their bed. His feet rested on a pile of pillows. An avalanche of blankets covered him.

  “Doing better.”

  The blue tinge to his lips and the pale skin of his face laid bare the lie. Mason didn’t need the evidence. He could read the lines of her face as easily as lines in a book. They’d been together that long.

  She’d managed to stop the bleeding and stabilize the wound, but Elio had lost a lot of blood. His heart had stopped and only an IV injection of epinephrine had brought him back. She’d already given him three pints of Mason’s type O negative blood.

  But he needed more.

  Her husband was as healthy as they came, but losing two pints would knock anyone on their butt. Losing three started to put vital organs in danger. Losing more and he could end up in the same situation as Elio. And he’d already lost a good amount from the bullet wound in his calf, several bits of shrapnel in his back, and dozens of other minor cuts and scrapes.

  Losing any more blood would be a huge risk.

  “Take another pint.”

  She’d already taken two more than she felt comfortable with. Mason could barely move as it was. He was asking her to put his life in danger.

  Her hands shook as she touched his cheek.

  So cold.

  “Mason, I can’t. You’re weak. There’s no guarantee that one more will save him and it might kill you.”

  “Please, Beth. Take it.”

  “Why? I know you care for him, but think about Theresa and I. We don’t want to lose you.”

  Tears welled in her eyes and streamed down her cheeks.

  Mason tried to swallow and gave up. His voice came out raspy and quiet.

  “I promised to protect his son.”

  “His son? You mean David?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mason, I know you promised. And you’ve done your best. You didn’t promise to die for him.”

  “To myself I did.”

  “Stop it! Why are you saying this?”

  Mason looked at the ceiling and she wasn’t sure if the conversation had ended.

  “Talk to me. Please.”

  Mason looked back to her. His face a wan mask of grief. His lips pursed and trembling.

  “I killed him.”

  “You didn’t kill him. You said it was the gang leader that shot him.”

  “Not Elio. David.”

  “David? What about David?”

  “I shot him. I killed him.”

  His eyes welled with moisture, but no tears escaped. He turned away.

  She’d never heard this version of the story. David had died from enemy fire during a house breach. Mason had told it only once, long ago. But she remembered.

  “No, you didn’t.”

  He stared at the wall, and through it to a distant time and place.

  “Beth, I did.”

  None of it made sense. What was he saying? He was probably too out of it to know.

  “It was chaos. Explosions everywhere. An inferno. I was trapped. The op went sideways. Insurgents hit most of the squad. I went down. I thought it was the end. I thought I was dead. But then he came back for me. Only I didn’t know it was him. I thought he was already down.”

  His eyes unfocused, or focused on the memory.

  “He was just a dark figure in the doorway. I could barely see. My eyes were swollen shut. Flames burned everywhere. I was furious. So angry. I wanted to kill all those muj murderers.”

  Mason shut his eyes and shook his head.

  “I thought he was an insurgent,” he said, “and I reveled in killing him.”

  Beth grabbed the seat back to steady herself.

  Suddenly, the two years following his return made sense. She’d known PTSD was a real thing. That Mason had lost squad mates. She’d known he took it hard.

  But she never understood the depth of his suffering. Never understood the anguish that dragged him down.

  She understood now.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  It would’ve helped her to help him. To support him. To give him space. To be more patient with his process. To understand.

  “I couldn’t. I didn’t want it to be real. I half-convinced myself it wasn’t.”

  “Does anyone else know?”

  “I do now,” a weak voice said.

  Beth looked over her shoulder and saw Elio awake. His eyelids heavy and barely open.

  “I’m sorry, Elio,” Mason said. His chest convulsed as a ragged exhale escaped. “So sorry.”

  The room went quiet.

  The faintest whisper broke the silence.

  “Did your best…”

  His words trailed off and he slipped back under.

  Beth turned back to her husband. He looked crushed. Beaten. Such a contradiction to the man she woke up to every morning.

  This morning that seemed like years ago. This morning when things made sense. This morning before the world went crazy.

  What the hell happened to normal, everyday life?

  Was it always so delicate and we never noticed?

  Did we ignore the fragility? Did we have to ignore it in order to keep going, day in and day out?

  Mason caught her gaze. His jaw set, his eyes unblinking.

  “Save him, Beth,” he said as he rolled his arm over to expose the IV port taped to the crook of his elbow.

  She wanted to collapse. Run away to avoid doing what he asked. Tears blurred her vision as she inserted the needle and watched as another vital pint oozed out of the man she loved. She watched his color leak away. Cold sweat trickled from his brow.

  “I will, my love. I will.”

  She’d tell him anything to bring peace. To bring comfort where only black sorrow dwelt.

  Mason managed a weak smile before his eyes rolled up in his head and he passed out.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED

  Theresa lay on her parent’s bed next to Elio. Sunlight speared through a crack in the curtain and blinded her. She looked away, at the clock on the s
ide table.

  It was morning.

  Holly was gone. She’d watched from the front window as her mom and dad carried the covered body around to the backyard. Her best friend since third grade was gone.

  Max was gone. Her two best friends in the world stolen from her. Grief stabbed at her heart. She pulled away from the sensation. Too overwhelmed to process it.

  The later events of the night bubbled to the surface and she opened her eyes. And saw Elio watching her.

  He smiled.

  “Morning.”

  “Elio.” She could barely speak his name. He’d nearly died a few times last night. She didn’t know if he’d make it until morning. There was no way she could sleep. That was the last thing she remembered before waking up.

  “You’re alive.”

  She touched his lips, as if to test this waking reality. One she didn’t yet trust not to be a dream. He kissed her fingertips.

  “Couldn’t leave right when things were getting interesting,” he said with a strained wink.

  “Are you hitting on me, Elio Lopez? Because if you are, I might remind you that that we are in my parents’ bed.”

  “I noticed that.”

  A slow smile spread across his face.

  She didn’t mean that!

  If she could’ve seen him through an unbiased lens, she would’ve been forced to admit he looked terrible. But she looked at him with nothing but wonder. Nothing but love.

  “You saved me,” she said.

  “No, you saved me.”

  Theresa edged closer and propped up on an elbow. She lowered her face to his. Her lips brushed his and a tingle of perfect connection passed between them.

  “Ahem.”

  Theresa looked up. Her mom stood in the open doorway with her arms crossed.

  “I’ll need you to give my patient some breathing room. He’s lucky to have pulled through.”

  Holding her close, Elio said, “You’re right Mrs. West. I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

  “Slow it down, Romeo. That’s my daughter you’re swooning over.”

  “I know.”

  Her mother’s eyebrows shot up.

  “I saved you last night. Don’t make me kill you this morning.”

  “Mom!”

  Her mother grinned, a sadness tinging her good spirits. “Only kidding. Mostly. Theresa, can you help me with a bottle? I’ve been up every hour and a half all night. I’m wrecked.”

  Only then did Theresa notice the blanket in her mother’s crossed arms.

  Her mom looked down and smiled. Tender and protective. She tilted the swaddled bundle down to reveal a tiny chimpanzee.

  “Sure.”

  Beth walked over and deposited the wrapped bundle in Theresa’s lap. “I’ll get the bottle.”

  She headed back to the kitchen.

  Elio peeked over and creased his brow.

  “Maybe I’m still out of it, but isn’t that a monkey?”

  “No. It’s a chimpanzee. Isn’t he the cutest thing ever?”

  He really was. Eyes closed and mouth puckered. Delicate little fingers pushing at the air. It squirmed when the air ended up not being filled with warm milk. It squealed and turned its head.

  Elio’s gaze returned to Theresa.

  “He’s the second cutest.”

  Theresa’s cheeks burned. Her ears felt warm.

  “You are an unrepentant flirt, Elio Lopez.”

  He looked up at the ceiling and smiled.

  “What?”

  “I like the way you say my name.”

  Her mom returned with a bottle of warm electrolytes. Theresa knew it wasn’t milk yet from her experience with Jane’s first few months.

  Her heart broke again knowing Jane was gone. And the loss swirled with the wonder of holding her baby. Like a grand cycle of life playing out in her hands.

  In her heart.

  She didn’t understand the depths of it. She didn’t know it could go this deep. The full depth and meaning was a hint and a promise.

  She didn’t have to understand right this minute.

  It felt significant. Like a moment you never forget. One that changed everything.

  That was enough for now.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED ONE

  Mason pushed himself up on the living room couch and rubbed his eyes. He felt like Rip Van Winkle after only an hour of sleep. The events of the night had not yet receded beyond the comforting distance of a good night’s sleep.

  Scratching the gunk out of his eyes was exhausting.

  “Good morning, honey.”

  Beth walked in from the kitchen with a tall glass of orange juice in her hand. She gave it to him accompanied by a kiss on the forehead.

  “Get back under that blanket. You’re still too cold.”

  “Yes, doctor.”

  He threw the blanket over his legs and then took a sip. The citrus tang hurt his mouth. He took another drink and then gulped it down.

  “Thirsty, huh?”

  Orange juice dribbled down his chin.

  “A little.”

  “I’ll get more.”

  “How’s Elio?”

  Beth paused and turned back. “He’s doing better. The soft tissue damage will heal. No vital organs were affected. But he got pretty torn up. Infection is the big question mark. I’ve got him pumped full of what antibiotics I had, but it’s too soon to tell.”

  “He’ll make it. He’s tough. Just like his father.”

  “I wish I had your confidence.”

  Mason remembered carrying Holly’s lifeless body to the backyard, and down into the storm shelter where the cool air would slow the tissue decay. He would take the corpse to her parents as soon as he had the strength. The thought of initiating their nightmare turned his stomach.

  An endless well of grief awaited them.

  No other future would come to pass. And yet, not knowing what happened provided a limbo of uncertainty. Like the cat in the quantum experiment that is both alive and dead at the same time.

  He knew he was partly to blame for her death. He hadn’t pulled the trigger. He knew exactly what that felt like. This was different. It was a burden. A guilt. But he’d carried greater for years.

  And for his family, he would shoulder a new one and carry on despite the weight.

  “Mason,” Beth said, “about what you told me last night. You—“

  “Let’s hold on that, if you don’t mind. I’m glad you know the truth. But I’m not ready to revisit it right now.”

  Beth looked at the floor, chewed her lip, and then nodded.

  “I’ll get the juice.”

  Mason realized again for the millionth time, he was so lucky to have her.

  She’d gone into the kitchen, so he raised his voice for her to hear.

  “Where’s Iridia?”

  Another voice answered.

  “Here.”

  She appeared in the hallway to the bedrooms. She wore his old UCLA sweatshirt. Bright yellow lettering on dark blue cloth. It hung low for a top, but rode high for a dress. Her long, thin legs drew attention to themselves. She probably planned it that way.

  How did a swimsuit issue model end up in his home? How did she end up in his sweatshirt? Beth was going to be grumpy, no doubt.

  Mason gave her a smile he didn’t totally feel. His body hurt and he wasn’t sure how his wife was going to react to their interaction. Mostly, he wished Iridia wasn’t his responsibility. What was he supposed to do with her now? He was too beat to deal with it.

  So, he faked a smile and acted like a regular human being.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “It’s too early to tell.”

  Maybe she wasn’t all bad. He felt the same exact way.

  Beth returned to the living room with another glass of orange juice.

  Mason salivated so hard his jaws ached.

  Iridia waved her away.

  “Just put it on the table. I’m still waking up.”

  Beth did a do
uble take and then chuckled.

  “It’s not for you. There’s more in the fridge if you want some.”

  Iridia looked confused. Like the idea of getting her own juice in the morning was incomprehensible.

  “You know, you might be more comfortable with some shorts on,” Beth said with a raised brow.

  Iridia pinched at the cloth.

  “This is fine. A bit rough. But okay.”

  Mason accepted the offered glass and took a big swig. The sugary juice acted like a battery charger. He literally felt the energy seeping into his limbs.

  He leaned back against the couch and looked out the window.

  The old Woodie classic was in the neighbor’s driveway. Oscar must have gotten home after they did last night. Mason remembered the scene at the Reagan Medical Center and that Oscar went to see his wife there yesterday. Hopefully, they got out before the chaos broke loose.

  And then another memory pinged for attention.

  “Damn!”

  Beth’s slow morning demeanor kicked into doctor mode. “What is it? Pain?”

  “No. I didn’t get a chance to check on Mr. Piddles last night.”

  Beth looked out the window and saw the car in the driveway.

  “They’re back now. I’m sure it’s fine.”

  Mason started to get up.

  “I should go. You know how they are with that demanding devil.”

  Beth stepped in front of him and gently pushed him back down to the couch.

  “You’re not going anywhere, Mr. West.” She turned to Iridia.

  “Iridia, can you please be a dear, and go next door to make sure Mr. Piddles didn’t die from starvation or meet some other improbable end?”

  “Really?”

  Iridia looked scandalized at the thought of doing anything more than leaning against the wall.

  “I’ll pour you a glass of orange juice, and I’ll consider making you some toast and jam.”

  Iridia nodded. She understood the give and take.

  “Deal.”

  “Put some pants on first.”

  Iridia tugged at the sweatshirt and it lifted for an instant, revealing black lace panties.

  “What’s wrong with this?”

  “You’ll give old Mr. Crayford a heart attack. That’s what’s wrong with it.”

  Beth left for a moment and returned with a gray pair of old sweatpants. She dropped them into Iridia’s arms.