by Matt Ryan
“Maybe they have an underground bunker or something?” Lucas said.
“No, it’s more like a field around her, like a wave interrupter. It would kill almost any other signal but hers. Let me check their systems.” She scrolled through her Panavice for what seemed like five minutes. “Something is very strange. They are in a total lockdown. Something called protocol thirty-two is running their systems now. I’m going to try and infiltrate it and see what’s going on.”
Lucas slowed the car down to a crawl as he anxiously watched Julie, barely sparing glances at the road.
Joey leaned forward and looked over her shoulder at the Panavice screen. She moved from page to page, clicking on certain boxes and typing in quick lines, before changing pages again. Watching it made him feel dizzy and he sat back down.
“I’m in.”
Lucas didn’t appear pleased about it. “Just be careful.”
“Oh my god, they locked down all the cure factories. Many are reporting in . . . they are being attacked. Two have gone offline.”
“What do you mean, they made a deal with the US?” Joey asked.
“I’m not sure, but someone out there obviously wants the cure for themselves. They must have found out where his factories were and tried to take them from him.”
“Hello, Julie,” a voice sounded from her Panavice.
Julie screeched and dropped it on her lap. Lucas went pale and slammed on the brake. Joey moved forward with Poly and peered at her screen.
A woman’s face appeared, looking at each of them. She looked familiar to Joey. “My big sister told me about you,” she said. “She had a finite amount of information she could share, but she gave me everything she knew about you. I found that interesting.”
Julie covered her screen with her hand and mouthed the words. “She doesn’t know about Vanar.” She peeled her hand off the Panavice, revealing the woman’s face. “Hello, Alice.”
“Please, do not call me Alice. I am but a tiny replica. You can call me Renee. It was Alice’s middle name.”
“Does Marcus know you’re talking with me?”
“Oh no, he would not approve. But I had to visit when I felt you touching me.”
Lucas cringed and pushed himself against the door.
“Can you tell me what you are doing?” Julie asked.
“Protocol thirty-two has bestowed me with limited access to this world’s internet. I am reacting to the threats poised to our different factories around the world. I am disabling the communications and creating various other problems for the people behind this offense.”
Joey raised an eyebrow at all the information flowing from Renee.
“Thank you for your openness.”
“I have a request.”
Julie, with wide eyes looked at Lucas. “What is it?”
Lucas shook his head and made a hang up motion with his thumb and pinkie extended.
“We have found a use for Samantha and would like you to stop pursuing her. She is happy now.”
“Samantha Roslin?” Julie verified.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You are interfering with our plans. She is part of our long-term goals.”
“We will not stop. We will never abandon her.”
“I give you a seven percent chance of success. In fact, if you keep pushing, I give a ninety-three percent chance one or more of you will die.”
“Your big sister gave me worse odds,” Lucas said.
“What does that mean? I get from the inflection in your voice, you have more to say on this matter.”
Lucas gritted his teeth and stared ahead.
“We don’t know anything about Alice.” Julie shook her head at Lucas. “Can I ask you a question about Marcus?”
“You can.”
“Everything is pointing at Zach being Marcus, is Zach indeed Marcus?” A long pause. The screen switched back to the main screen. “She’s gone.” Julie sighed.
“What the hell was that about?” Lucas asked.
“I don’t know. I do know this whole world just got a million times more dangerous. I should have been more careful. I should have known he’d bring part of her here.”
“I thought I’d be rid of her,” Lucas said.
“It’s a small version of her former self. A whisper of what Alice was. You aren’t facing what you faced in Vanar. But that doesn’t mean we can ignore her either. With her in the systems and around the internet . . . it’s going to be tough to mask our movements.”
Lucas huffed and gripped both hands on the steering wheel, veering around a smoking car.
“I think we need help,” Poly said.
“I agree and the first thing we need to do is,” Julie held the ZRB cure up, “take this to Vanar and see if Harris can tell us what’s different.”
AN ARRACK WITH A LAYERED necklace draping around its neck, stepped toward Hank and sniffed the air. “You’re one of them. The Six.” It hissed. “What are you doing here? Were you with them?” He pointed to the dead soldiers.
“No, we came to stop them,” Hank said and looked at the floor. He didn’t like lying.
“You smell familiar, who are you?” The Arrack looked at Harris.
Harris opened his mouth when an Arrack near him spoke up. “This . . .” he smelled the air and reeled back, “this is Harris Boone.”
Hank closed his eyes and shook his head. The Arrack’s cried out and rushed toward Harris.
“No!” The Arrack with the ornate necklace raised his sword. The horde stopped but sneered.
Hank watched Harris’s hand twitching. He knew he wanted to pull his guns out and take out a dozen Arracks before they’d overwhelm him. Harris’s unblinking, calculating stare took in each scowling face and Hank wondered if they had such an obvious advantage over him.
The head Arrack walked past Hank and close to Harris. “You are the human who tried to kill our entire species?” Spit flew from its mouth as it spoke. Its yellow eyes narrowed and it put a hand on its dagger.
“No, I had nothing to do with the letter.”
It turned its attention to Hank, but Hank kept his eyes on the ground. “I heard the Six delivered the message. Were you there? Did you help kill so many of us?”
Hank glanced at Harris who gave him the tiniest shake of his head. Hank looked back at the ground. He’d watched the cloud pour from the envelope and spill onto the table as the Arracks breathed it in, choking to their deaths. He took part in it and he knew it would haunt him for the rest of his life. “Yes, I was there, but only to deliver a message of peace.”
“Peace?” The thing hissed out between its sharp teeth. He spoke in his native tongue and the Arracks rumbled with a mixture of laughs and anger. “I would have prayed to Algo for five lifetimes just to get the luck of what has fallen in our hands today. We have the creator of the fog and the person who delivered it.”
“Let the boy go and I won’t give you any trouble,” Harris said.
“Harris, I’m not leaving you.”
“Neither of you are going anywhere! I didn’t believe it, but he thought there was a chance you’d come to one of our centers. We have been given specific directions.”
Hank stared at Harris when he felt the blade against his skin. He froze in place, nervous a single move would slice his own neck.
“Drop every weapon you have.” The Arrack jerked on the dagger against Hank’s neck.
Harris’s eyes twitched and he put his hand on his gun. He saw the process in his mind, counting the Arracks and calculating his chance of survival. Hank hoped he was part of that equation. Wincing, he waited for an onslaught of bullets.
Harris dropped his gun to the floor, one at a time, followed by several knifes.
“Shuk,” the Arrack with a necklace said.
They jumped on Harris and he fell to the ground. He disappeared under the pile and didn’t so much as raise a hand to his attackers. Hank moved to stop them from hitting him, then felt a hit on the back of his
head. The world spun and pain shot through his skull. He turned and grabbed the Arrack before it could hit him a second time with the butt of its dagger. It didn’t weigh as much as he’d been expecting, was the last thought he had before they smothered him.
Receiving one more blow to the head, things became blurry.
Small silver hands restrained his body and lifted him up to his feet. They hauled him through a door, half carrying, half dragging him. Hank tried to pull away, but they had too many hands on him and the will had left his body. Looking up, he saw the long row of lights, illuminating the secret they were hiding below: Arracks were making the cure.
Arracks moved around, packaging the cure into cardboard boxes in an assembly line fashion. A few looked up from the line as he passed, but their faces swirled and his head pounded when he tried to focus on them. There had to be a thousand workers or more. How many cures did this place keep?
The factory view ended as they pushed him into a small room. They flopped his weak body onto a steel chair sitting in front of a steel pole rising into the ceiling. His arms were pulled behind his back and strapped to a pole. Moving to his feet, they tied them against the chair legs. He thought about the wheelchairs and the moment he’d seen his friends alive in that hospital hall. It had been a high point in his life. But here? No one even knew where he was. No one was going to save him.
He decided to face the Arracks eye to eye. The fluorescent lights above amplified his blurred vision, yet he saw the hate in their eyes as they circled around Harris. They were strapping him to a chair in front of him, tying him off to a metal sink at the edge of the room.
The Arracks left the room.
Hank’s head ached and he tried to keep himself from slumping forward. Harris didn’t appear to have the same control as his chin rested on his chest. His eyes were closed and blood dripped from his nose.
Hank sighed and stared at Harris’s profile. He kicked his chair and tried to get Harris’s attention. “Harris.”
He stirred and jolted upright, taking in his surroundings with fire in his eyes. After a moment, the strain set in and he glanced at Hank. “You all right?”
“Head hurts like hell, but yeah.”
The Arrack with the large necklace walked in the room. “He will be here soon.”
“Who?” Hank asked.
The Arracks chuckled and hissed out a laugh. “Zach.”
“Don’t you mean Marcus?”
The Arrack got close to Hank’s face. “I know who I mean, do you?” His breath reeked of decay, as if it hadn’t brushed its teeth in a year.
The thing moved away from Hank and leaned close to Harris, smelling his shirt and strands of hair dangling over his brow. It blew out from his nose, pushing Harris’s bangs back and leaving tiny droplets of moisture across his forehead. The creature then reared back and slapped Harris across the face. The sound cracked like a well-placed high five.
Harris reeled from the impact, his face quickly changing to rage. “Is that all you’ve got?” Spittle flew from his mouth and the veins in his neck and forehead bulged. Hank backed away from the display.
At the open door to the room stood another Arrack, waiting at the threshold and watching the display. The necklace Arrack motioned for the next Arrack. It jumped over to Harris, closed its fist and hit Harris in the face.
“Is that all?” Harris raged.
Another Arrack stood at the door and waited as the last one left. The necklace Arrack motioned for him to come in. It was quick to pull out its dagger.
“You don’t have the guts,” Harris said, glaring at its curved blade.
The creature struck Harris in the shoulder with it, slicing through his shirt and into the meaty part of his muscle.
Harris laughed and sucked in a quick burst of air and then spit blood all over the face of the Arrack with the dagger. It swung its dagger at Harris’s neck.
“Stop!” Necklace Arrack demanded. “He does not get a quick death, there are many in line behind you. We shall all get a turn.”
The Arrack pulled back its dagger and licked the blood off the blade.
“You’re still taking orders from him?” Harris yelled. “You should get the privilege of killing me. I killed your entire planet.” He laughed. “If you let me live, I’ll do it again.”
The Arracks grumbled as the necklace Arrack translated what he said.
Hank tried to look past the maniac sitting in front of him. He didn’t know this man. Harris was always cool under pressure, he wasn’t the type to crack. “Harris, what are you doing?” he whispered, as the murmuring of Arracks became a torrent of shouts and cries.
In between Arracks, Harris said, “I’ll keep them off you, best I can.”
Hank looked at the Arracks lining up in the room and out the window, where he could see the line reaching the far wall of the warehouse. The next Arrack punched Harris in the stomach and then started choking him until another Arrack pushed it out of the way.
Harris laughed and coughed. The man was taking it for him. “Bring on the next one!”
This one punched Harris in the face.
Hank, too horrified to watch, saw the feet shuffle forward and listened to the thumps and the crazy rants coming from Harris. Over time, the rants slowed and became weak, but the Arracks didn’t stop. A fresh Arrack followed the next, until he no longer heard a noise from Harris, only the soft thumps from punches and kicks.
“Stop it! You’re going to kill him,” Hank pleaded.
They ignored him.
Harris sat limp, and maybe he had already died and they were beating his dead body. Hank sucked in his lip and looked to the ceiling. He felt tears building and wished for somebody or something to help them. He struggled against his straps for the hundredth time, forcing them further into his wrists.
Harris’s ploy had been to draw all their hate to him and it seemed to work, but as the next Arrack slammed the butt of his dagger against Harris’s fingers, Hank knew they were not touching him for a reason. Marcus must have instructed them not to injure him. If Harris wanted this beating over what Marcus brought . . . Hank had more to worry about than being beaten within an inch of his life.
SAMANTHA LOOKED OVER THE TOP of her desk at the employees scurrying around in a panic over the total shutdown. The elevators didn’t work, the windows were blocked, the exits locked, and even her cell phone stopped working. The building had effectively shut itself off from the world.
Derek held out his gun and watched the glass door, expecting an intruder at any second. She might have told him to calm down, but she needed him on high alert. Something had gone terribly wrong after the White House meeting. Her heart raced as she thought about Zach’s situation.
“I think we should get you out of this area. It’s too hard to secure if there’s an attack.” Derek spared a second to give her a look of seriousness.
“No, not yet.” She glanced at the TV and the president had come on screen. She turned up the volume.
“America, I come to you at the most egregious of times. We are faced with the worst epidemic in the modern world. We are mourning our friends and relatives at an alarming rate.” He grasped his podium with both hands and stared into the camera. Samantha knew the look, he was pissed.
“But we are not without hope. A single company, a single man, has produced a cure and a vaccine. But the price he’s asked for compliance is too much for any American to bear in the long term. We have declared Zach Ryan Baker an enemy of the state for crimes against the United States of America. The employees of ZRB have until midnight, Pacific Standard Time, to clear from the buildings they work in and cut all ties with ZRB. Any failure to do so will result in criminal charges. We are in the process of confiscating all of ZRB’s cures to properly distribute them to the United States and the rest of the world—without conditions, without costs, without any reason, but it being the right thing to do.”
Samantha covered her open mouth as she stared at the screen, then she felt the small
scar above her eye. Zach was a criminal now, an enemy of the state. Her own government had turned against them. All she and Zach wanted to do was cure the world. How could they be so cruel? The world needed the cure and they needed it now. Why was everyone trying to stop them from delivering it?
The screen flickered and Zach’s smiling face appeared on the screen. The grainy picture was up close and shook as if he was holding the camera out in front of himself.
“Hello, America.” He waved to the camera and showed his bright white teeth. “I’m the single man with the cure, the head of the single company creating it. What the President of the United States isn’t saying is who he is taking orders from. Not the American people, but a small group of men bound on stopping me at any cost in order to control this disease. But I haven’t and won’t let that happen, even on an erroneous presidential order. Even as I speak, these men are attacking my factories, not with US soldiers but with mercenaries. If this was about getting you the cure, then why attack the very factories making it? We were able to deter most of these attacks, but sadly some were lost. South Africa, Vietnam, and Australia, those were your shipments. They will be delayed because of your weakness in letting these men dictate your actions, Mr. President.
“We are at the edge of no return, but with this cure we have a way back—if we hurry. I ask the president, the men behind the president, and all other leaders to not impede my distribution of the cure. And to prove my intentions are only to get the cure to as many as possible, I am sending out teams of trucks to every major city in America over the next twenty-four hours.”
He leaned in closer to the camera. “America . . . if you don’t receive the cure, it is only a result of your president physically stopping my trucks. And just to keep everything real public, I have attached a web cam to every heavily-armed caravan. You can watch the trucks as they travel to each destination, and the live feeds will be available on our company’s website. Mr. President, do you really want to stop the cure from reaching your citizens? Let the trucks roll.”