Lost Hope (The Bridge Sequence Book Three)

by Nathan Hystad

A truck sat on the road ahead, the taillights blinking. There were more cars ahead, and Marcus spied a group of people staring to the north.

  “Pull over,” Jessica said.

  Glen did as he was told and parked behind the row of vehicles. A bunch of dusty vans and trucks were in the ditch. Jessica exited the SUV, and Barry joined her.

  Marcus scooted over and glanced at the gun, wondering if he could escape them. But using the weapon would be risky. He rolled the window down, trying to see what everyone was so enamored with.

  The Umir behind him initiated, and began to chime and beep. “Uhm, Glen. You might want to open the hatch.”

  The ball didn’t wait. It surged through the rear of the SUV, barreling out of the vehicle. A gaping hole three feet wide remained, wires dangling loose, metal dripping from the heat of the robot.

  The sphere rolled past Jessica and slowed. She glanced at it, then at the people watching her. Marcus guessed there were a hundred spectators, and one of them, an overweight man with a cowboy hat and coveralls, approached them, pointing at the Umir. “What on God’s green earth is that?” he asked.

  The robot began to unravel, and a second later, it stood at its full height, weapons protruding from its sides.

  “That’s none of your concern.” Jessica started walking into the ditch, and Barry hurried after her.

  “Wait a goddarn moment,” the man said, wiping his brow. “There’s something fishy going on…”

  The Umir fired, blowing half of the man away. Marcus stared in disbelief as the people began to flee in horror.

  The Umir shot after them. Its blasts rang out in a constant percussion, a steady beat of death.

  Marcus was frozen, observing the carnage with disbelief. This couldn’t be happening. His fingers found the door handle, and he tugged at it. Then he remembered the gun and reached for it.

  Glen had been so still in the driver’s seat, Marcus had almost forgotten he was even there. The guy clutched his wrist, shaking his head once. “Not yet, kid.”

  “Who are you?” Marcus whispered as the Umir’s blasts ceased. He looked out the windshield, seeing the last body strike the road.

  “I’m a friend,” he whispered. “Promise me you won’t run. I’m going to need your help.”

  “Okay.” Marcus barely found the word.

  Glen snapped a blade from a pocketknife and sliced the zip ties. “Take the gun.”

  Marcus nodded, shoving it into the back of his pants.

  “There’s a jacket behind you. Grab it.” Glen was already out of the SUV.

  Marcus leaned over the seat, searching for it. The bag was singed from the Umir’s heat, but the black jacket was intact. He slipped it on, tugging it lower to make sure it covered the gun.

  By the time he’d climbed out of the vehicle, Jessica and Barry were a quarter-mile into the field. Marcus saw a series of the old oil pumpjacks in the distance and a derrick rising from the hard-packed west Texas ground. Smoke and dust rose from the area, and he now knew why. Finished with its objective, the Umir rolled alongside Jessica as they headed for the party.

  He did his best not to look at the dead people. Someone called for help, but Glen just gave him a curt nod. “There’s nothing we can do for them.”

  Fresh blood drained from under a woman in the ditch, and Marcus closed his eyes until he was past them all. He climbed over the short wooden fence and trailed after Jessica and Barry.

  They’d found the hub.

  Part II

  The Invasion

  1

  Jessica’s condo building was much as I remembered it. The drive through Boston had been easier than I’d expected, but it helped to have a military escort. Boston was so far unscathed from the troubles we’d heard from other cities. Colonel Jerkins explained that he’d gotten testimony from Portland, Maine, and Queens, New York, verifying some form of attack.

  The military was under suspicion of chemical warfare, and they were pointing fingers at Russia and China, both of whom had gone dark with a few weeks remaining on the Objects’ flight to Earth. We knew better. Once I heard about the bleeding eyes and ranting survivors, I knew it was the same thing as in the Mexican town. The Zalt had attempted to attune.

  Why they were even doing this before their actual arrival, I wasn’t sure, but they were callously killing a lot of our population. That might have been answer enough to my query. When we’d explained everything to Jerkins, and he’d met our ally Lewen hiding out in the spaceship a couple miles from his base, he’d changed his mind.

  It was nice to have someone siding with us. Someone with access to heavy artillery and soldiers. But they were only as good as our timing. If the Zalt decided to drop in, our soldiers were dead. We needed speed and precision.

  Veronica sat beside me in the Jeep, with Tripp and Lewen in the one ahead of us as we pulled up to the condo. I hated the wasted hour and a half this excursion was taking out of our day, but I needed information. Where was the Book? All paths led to this eventuality. It was either fight the hub, or utilize the Believers’ Book against them. Our odds seemed impossible from either side of the fence.

  “Nice place,” Veronica muttered. She’d been here before, but only briefly, and we’d been shot at while I narrowly escaped Jessica’s clutches.

  An old man walked his dachshund, who barked once at the sight of our entourage, then continued on its way, nose to the ground.

  “I thought the city was under a stay-at-home order,” Tripp said to our escort. The soldier just shrugged.

  “Dogs have to be walked,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “We’ll be right back.” Tripp grabbed his gun, and I assumed it was strange for these men to let us stroll around armed. If it was, they didn’t say so.

  Tripp went ahead, and Veronica and I watched his back. “There may be some of her people nearby.”

  “You think she had other Believers in her building?” Veronica asked.

  “Could be,” I said. “No telling with her.”

  We took the elevator and arrived at Jessica’s suite. Tripp used a crowbar and managed to break into her house with only a few whacks of the tool. He motioned for us to stay behind and entered first, sweeping the room. His head poked out the door a tense minute later, and he waved us inside.

  “It’s clear. Looks like she left in a hurry.” Tripp indicated the dirty dishes, the half-drunk glass of red wine. I checked, and there was another glass in the sink. She hadn’t been alone.

  “You check her bedroom,” I told Veronica.

  Tripp was in the living room, and I went to the office. We scoured that place for the next hour, rummaging through every drawer. Tripp had torn all her art off the walls, ripping the pictures from the frames in search of the Book or hidden secrets.

  “It’s not here,” Veronica said, blowing at a strand of hair. She opened the corked bottle of wine and sniffed the contents, and returned it to the countertop.

  “I was so sure we’d find a clue.” My gaze drifted to the stack of picture frames near her fireplace.

  Jessica Carver with Boston’s mayor. A photo of her with Larry Bird. I stopped at the image of her with Vice President Alan Black. It had to be a couple of years old, maybe even before he was elected into office. He’d been a hungry politician then. He had something tucked under his arm.

  “This is it!” I called, and Tripp rushed over.

  “What? This doesn’t prove anything.”

  “Wrong. That’s Black. And that…” I tapped the glass covering the photo. “…is the Book.”

  The spine was brown, cracked and old. There was no lettering that I could see.

  “Where is this taken?” Veronica asked. She grabbed the frame and peered closer. “The house. That’s his place near Atlanta.”

  “Are you certain?” I asked.

  “Yep. I’ve seen the documentary on his rise to power. One of my clients made me promise to watch it, said it was intriguing.” Veronica handed the picture over.

  I put it back
on the mantle. “And was it?”

  “No, but I’m beginning to think that client was a Believer.” Veronica looked out the window. “I think it’s Atlanta, but we should check the house first.”

  “What house?” I asked.

  “Hunter’s. Where we left Marcus and your sister.” Veronica was already at the exit, and we jogged to join her.

  Beverly needed me. So did the world. I’d have to get to Atlanta before I could reach Jessica to make the swap. That was our priority.

  Our escorts sped for our next destination. I didn’t care who knew we were going to Hunter’s old house on the water. The Believers had already broken into it and kidnapped my family and friend. Evan was supposed to watch out for them. I hated to think that he might have been involved, but wasn’t convinced that was the case. He couldn’t protect them all the time.

  I went in and saw signs of a struggle were everywhere. The couch was tipped over. A coloring book was on the kitchen table, the box of crayons spilt on the floor. I walked to it, finding Edith’s half-finished princess picture.

  Marcus’ computer was there, and Veronica tried to power it up. “It’s dead.”

  “Bring it,” I said.

  Tripp returned from the hallway. “Nothing much to see. They were probably all in this room when the attack came. Your sister on the couch, Marcus at the island. The kids at the table.” He strode through the space, pointing at things as he went. “No blood, which is a good sign. No visible errant gunshots. Also positive.”

  My guts clenched, thinking about all Bev and her children had endured. She was such a strong woman, but this… it was enough to break the best of them.

  “There’s a note!” Veronica was the first to see it near the door. We’d been so focused on the mess inside, we’d ignored the piece of paper taped to the floor.

  “What’s it say?” I demanded.

  “It just has a series of digits,” she said.

  Tripp grabbed the paper. “It’s a satellite phone number.”

  This was it. Finally, a break. The Book might be in Atlanta, and someone had scrawled this for us to discover.

  We returned to the Jeeps, and Tripp retrieved his own satellite phone from his pack. He dialed it, and I pulled my jacket tighter as the clouds rolled in overhead. A chilly breeze carried from the ocean, and I stared at the water on this bleak day, feeling like our own odds were about to improve.

  “Roger here. Go ahead.”

  My mouth opened and closed. Roger.

  “Who is this?” Tripp asked.

  “Who the hell are you? You called my phone.” The voice sounded amused.

  I took the satellite phone and pressed the button. “My name is Rex Walker.”

  I wanted to see if that meant anything to the man.

  “I’ll be damned. I’ve been waiting for you to contact me, ever since my FBI friend left my calling card for you.”

  “Evan. Is he alive?” I asked nervously.

  “Alive? He’s thriving here. I’m looking right at him.”

  “Thank God,” Veronica whispered.

  “Can I speak to him?” I held my breath.

  “Rex, where have you been?” It was Evan, all right.

  I sighed in relief. “What’s going on? We’re trying to find the Book. And my sister—”

  “Rex, get to Atlanta.”

  I looked at Tripp and then at Veronica. “Why Atlanta?”

  “Freedom Earthers. We’re ready,” Evan said, and I grimaced as he confirmed my suspicions. He’d joined up with the militia group. We needed allies.

  “Where?” I found a pen and scribbled the details on the same piece of paper.

  “There’s something else…”

  “What?”

  “You’re never going to believe who’s still alive.”

  ____________

  Beverly lowered the brush onto Edith’s hair. Stroke after stroke, in her own motherly form of meditation.

  “Mom, that hurts,” Edith cried.

  Bev looked away from the wall and set the brush on the bedside table. The Believers had given them a sliver of normalcy, despite imprisoning her family.

  “Beverly Walker,” she whispered, using her maiden name.

  “Is Dad really dead?” Carson asked. He’d been playing with a toy car, idly rolling it on the refinished hardwood. Never a smile on his face, just the shadow of remembering what fun was.

  Bev started to cry but sniffled the pain inside. She forced herself to bury it. Never let it out.

  “Your father is gone,” she said. Not quite admitting he wasn’t alive, but close enough that they understood.

  “I want to go home,” Edith sobbed. Bev pulled her tight, hugging her from behind as they sat on the bed.

  “I know, sweetie. We will be soon.” She squeezed her child closer than normal, but Edith didn’t seem to mind. Carson dropped his car and scooted up beside them, wrapping his arms around them both.

  Knock. Knock.

  Her gaze drifted to the door. The room wasn’t small, but the entrance seemed too close. It angered her that a stranger could interrupt this private moment between them. Let them grieve in peace.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  Bev gently wiped Carson’s tears off his rosy cheeks and crossed the room.

  “What?” she asked. No one ever knocked. Usually, she’d hear the turning of a deadbolt and the squeak of the handle spinning.

  It was a woman. Only two big guys ever came to their room. Her pulse quickened.

  The woman’s hair was secured into a strong ponytail, her eyes lined with smoky makeup. She looked like a European runway model yanked from Milan. Bev brushed her clothing and stood taller.

  “Can I help you?” Bev asked.

  The woman glanced past Bev to the kids and nodded. “It’s you,” she said.

  “Wherever you go, there you are,” Bev whispered, laughing at her own comment. “Have we met?”

  “That’s not important.” The woman had a French accent. “Black will be very pleased that you’re here. And your children.”

  Bev backed up, raising her hands. “He didn’t know? Why else would I be locked up here?”

  The woman smirked and made a tsking sound with her tongue. “Something to do with the Sovereign’s vendetta, but that’s not important anymore. Two days. Will you be ready?”

  “For what?” Beverly demanded. She walked closer to the woman. She was tired of the endless deceit, angry at being left out of the plans. Now she was held captive, and it was all her damned husband’s and brother’s fault. As Bev processed this, she grew more upset with the Believers, and the only focus was the woman in front of her with perfect hair and a slight diastema. She struck out, slapping the woman across the cheek.

  The stranger recoiled, her hand rushing to the red mark on her face. “He will appreciate the spirit inside you. Gereer olipo wunna.”

  Bev knew enough to understand that wasn’t Italian. “Who are you?”

  “A visitor from far away.” She smiled widely, her cheek still pink.

  Bev peered at her kids, who were huddled together on the bed, watching this interaction with horror and curiosity. “What happens in two days?”

  “You will see. Sleep well.” This caused the woman’s smile to grow, and she was off. The door locked, and Bev ran to it, slamming her fists against it.

  “What happens in two days?” she asked a dozen times, and slumped to the floor, suddenly exhausted.

  Music carried through the glass, and Bev rushed to the second cot, dragging it to the window. She hopped up and peered at the yard behind the home. It had been three days since she’d seen Marcus leaving the compound, barefoot, with Jessica.

  She was so alone. But at least she had her kids.

  People were setting up the expansive yard, decorating it with drooping twinkle lights. Tables were in clean lines, and chairs were placed in neat rows. She spotted Alan Black. He wore a suit as always, even a tie. The sun was down, and the yard was lit with hundreds of sma
ll warm-colored LEDs. Something rolled over the grounds, a shiny metal ball.

  She followed it and watched as it stood. Shivers ran up her spine at the sight.

  The Believers were preparing for an event. The woman’s ominous visit replayed in her mind as she returned to her own bed. She hugged her kids, telling them everything was going to be okay.

  Something the Believer had said lingered in her mind. Sleep well.

  Bev never did. Not anymore. She kept dreaming every night. And each morning, when she woke, the voice inside her head was stronger.

  ____________

  Boston was over a thousand miles from Atlanta. This didn’t leave us much of an option. We took the Rodax ship. Colonel Jerkins gave us a flight path that would offer the best chance of avoiding detection. According to him, the state of North Carolina appeared to be under control of the cult. The military had cut themselves off, and he’d heard rumblings about mass deaths near Charlotte. It was like moving back into the dark ages without power in most states, making simple things like communication a thing of the past.

  I assumed that the Believers were everywhere. We had to move fast, especially given the fact that we’d left the hub to attempt the linking of the Umir. It had stopped near Odessa, which was exactly where I’d dreamt Marcus and Jessica were heading.

  It was the dead of night when we finally departed from the fields near the army base, leaving Jerkins behind with his assurance he’d be there to assist when necessary. It had taken some work to explain the situation to him, but in the end, Tripp was confident his associate believed our incredible story.

  “I’ve updated Gren on our situation,” Lewen told us. “He’ll stay tight until we send word.”

  “Okay. That’s good,” I said.

  Veronica piloted the alien spacecraft, climbing to an elevation of forty thousand feet. Tripp and Lewen talked from the bench behind us, and Veronica leaned in. “What are the chances Alan Black has the Book with him in Atlanta?”

  “I’d say they’re high. If he’s planning on using the information to help attune with the leader of the Zalt, he’ll be carrying it around like it’s his firstborn.”