by Adrian Smith
Here she was, standing in front of him. Whenever he had once thought of the future, she had been at the forefront of those daydreams. The children graduating college, getting married, grandchildren. And the dream they talked about so often: the Victorian villa on the hill, overlooking the wild Oregon coast. Sitting on the veranda, watching the sunset as they sipped their tea.
“No!” Ryan screamed. “It can’t be true.”
“It’s me.”
“You’re meant to be dead.”
“I never died. I’ve just been away.”
“Why? Why didn’t you come back to us?”
Cal rubbed the stubble on her head.
Ryan stared at his wife. His brain screamed at him about how wrong this situation was, but his heart was telling him to stay. That she needed his help.
“No. It’s impossible! I saw you get washed away,” he said.
“Caught downstream in a net and fished out.”
“Where were you?”
“Mostly in the Eyrie.”
“Where?”
“The satellite complex.”
“No. I refuse to believe it. Calwyn Connors would come home to her family. Whoever you are, you’re an imposter.”
“Search your heart. You know it’s true.”
Ryan laughed. A nervous sound filled with more anguish than joy. The Siphons’ shrieks crescendoed, vocalizing their hunger.
One hundred meters out.
“I didn’t come home because I knew you weren’t ready for the truth. Ready for this.” Cal waved her arm around at the city of Osaka sitting across the bay, the odd glow of fires burning, the thick black smoke that poured from the docks and dotted the metropolis. Osaka was burning, and the fire was going to spread, destroying the city.
Mutated humans ran toward them.
Seventy-five meters out.
“This had to be done. You’re too idealistic to understand the why. I argued with Offenheim to bring you into the fold. Each time he refused. Maybe he was right, and that saddens me,” Cal said.
“What about the others?”
“I know you. I know how your brain works. We followed you because you were the target. Booth, Sofia, Keiko, and the other stragglers don’t matter.”
Ryan felt for the thumb drive he had slipped into the watch pocket of his pants. He held it up. “Why did you leave me that code buried in the Voynich? Why that phrase? You’ve chased me all over Japan for it.”
“To let you know I was alive. You’re the target. Not the USB stick. I wanted you here with me, to witness the rebirth of our world. To see what determined, visionary people can do. The code was a distraction. To keep you from figuring out what Sofia had stumbled across.”
“Which was?”
“It doesn’t matter now. What matters is that we’re together.” Cal stepped toward him. Ryan raised his Glock, halting her advance. He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder at the advancing Siphons.
Sixty meters out.
“That’s far enough.”
“You’re not going to shoot me, are you?”
Ryan shook his head. He slipped his hand into his satchel, searching for the taser. No matter how brainwashed Cal appeared to be, he could never harm her. She could be made to see sense. See reason. He was sure of that.
“For too long the world has suffered at the hands of humanity,” Cal said. “It was never going to change. The same bad decisions were going to be made. History repeating itself over and over. No one was going to win. The world was heading to extinction. Only OPIS could save it.”
Ryan barely heard her. The Calwyn he knew really had died that day, torn from his grasp by the raging river.
Fifty meters out.
The Siphons’ shrieks reached berserk pitch.
“At the mountains of madness. Man will know his true self and worth,” Cal said, taking another step forward.
“So this is useless?” Ryan held up the USB stick. “Seems like a lot of effort to go to, all to bring me into the fold?”
“They had eyes on Booth from the moment he landed. Remember, I was part of the team. I knew he would track you down. It was that simple.”
“Keiko?”
“She was just a pawn. I played on your feelings. On your sense of duty. I used Keiko to flush all of you out.” Cal smiled again and blew him a kiss, pointing at the Siphons.
Forty meters out.
There were five Siphons. Hairless. Ivory skin. They quickened their pace.
His mind was a whirl of emotions. It surprised him how calm he was. He realized now that, deep down, he had always known Cal was still alive. Still out there somewhere. Maybe with amnesia. Living somewhere with no idea about her previous life. That her family or her loved ones looked for her. Despite giving up the search for her, he had never given up hope.
Twenty meters out.
Ryan couldn’t stand their shrieks any longer. He grabbed one of the dead commando’s MP5s, crouched on one knee and methodically killed them, giving their tormented souls mercy.
He turned, throwing the gun to the ground. Cal had an eyebrow raised at his display of precision shooting.
“Why now?” He dug into his satchel again, searching for the taser he had taken from the security guards back on Mt. Koya. “Three years. It’s been three long years.”
“It was time. Time for the change. Some, like Offenheim, saw where the world was heading decades ago and made plans to fix it.”
“That scar. Did they put a chip in your head or something?”
“Hardly,” Cal scoffed. She took a few more steps toward him. His hand closed around the taser, but he didn’t bring it out.
“You ever hear of the overview effect?”
“It rings a bell. Astronauts?”
“Exactly. It’s something astronauts experience when they see Earth for what it is: a pale blue dot shielded by a thin atmosphere. They see it hanging in the blackness, in the void, and have a cognitive shift in awareness. Suddenly all the petty squabbles between countries on our planet are meaningless. They are overcome by a need to create a united planetary society. To be united in protecting Earth.”
“And you’re now part of ReinCorp?” Ryan said, spitting out the corporation’s name.
“ReinCorp is a front. OPIS is the real power.”
Ryan mulled over her words as he inched the taser out of the satchel. With one step forward, he would be in range. He had seen that name somewhere. OPIS. A long time ago. He pulled the taser free.
“Looks like we have a standoff.”
“Between an unarmed woman and a man holding a taser? And you thought I was mad?”
Ryan grinned. He couldn’t help it. Even though this whole crazy situation was happening, Cal still had her smart-ass sense of humor.
She kept her eyes on him as she unzipped her jacket, removing a radio. She said something inaudible into it and zipped it back away.
Within thirty seconds, the deep thump of a helicopter’s rotors reverberated around the bay and, an octave above it, the high-pitched scream of a supercar. Cal heard it too and pivoted, a Glock appearing in her hand.
Where had that come from?
A silver Nissan 370z tore into view, slipping and swerving around stalled trucks, vans, and cars. It seemed to glide on an ethereal track all its own. The helicopter was a kilometer away, its dark form hovering closer.
Cal let loose a barrage of bullets, emptying her clip in seconds as the Nissan sped toward her. They bounced harmlessly off the tinted windscreen.
Ryan winced as he discharged the taser, the baton jabbing into his wife’s back. She went rigid as the electricity coursed through her body. He caught her as she slumped and lowered her to the ground. Cal stared at him, her eyes blank, her lips frozen in an “O” shape. As if to say “Why? Why did you do that? I love you.”
The 370z screeched to a stop, slid sideways, and a door opened to reveal a Japanese man dressed in traditional uwagi. His hair was cut close and dark sunglasses covered his eyes.
> “Get in now!” he instructed.
“Who the hell are you?”
“A friend. Now get in.”
Ryan hesitated for a moment, trying to read the newcomer. It could all be a ruse, using the chopper to panic him into making a rash decision. He trusted his gut and, straining from the exertion, hauled Cal to her feet and shoved her into the back seat before climbing in himself.
The driver skidded the tires and belted away from the crashed minivan. Within moments, the helicopter was in pursuit. Bullets pinged the highway around the fleeing car.
Ryan wound down the window and pulled out his spare handgun.
“Don’t bother. We’ll be safe soon,” the man said as he swerved around another crashed eighteen-wheeler, its load of foodstuffs strewn across the highway.
The helicopter chased the Nissan, following every swerve as the driver expertly maneuvered the vehicle around the carnage on the motorway. A few bullets smacked into the body of the sports car but pinged off harmlessly.
The driver grinned. “Armor plating.”
“Ryan Connors,” he said, gripping his seat.
“Yes, I know. I’ve been looking for you.” The driver laughed. “Goro Yamada.”
“You’ve been looking for me? Why?”
“We need your help.”
More bullets thunked off the Nissan, stopping the conversation. Goro tapped the dashboard. “That’s it, old girl. You show them.”
Goro guided the sports car toward the coast and mountains. A wide tunnel mouth, big enough for trains and trucks, loomed ahead. Made from concrete, bright lights gleamed as they sped into it. The chopper chased after them. Goro laughed again, as if amused by the pilot’s pursuit. He pushed a button on the dashboard, plunging the tunnel into darkness. He grinned at Ryan and pushed yet another button.
Metal screeched as the chopper, now flying blind, hit the side of the tunnel. The tunnel curved and Goro hugged the right-hand lane as the helicopter slammed into the roof of the tunnel. A ball of flames embroiled with hunks of metal hunted after the sports car as if the dissected aircraft was eager to avenge its destruction.
Goro floored the accelerator. Up ahead, a metal door was rolling open, revealing another tunnel beyond.
“My grandfather wishes to speak to you,” he said.
Thirty-Three
Satellite Installation
Sierra Nevada Mountains
Zanzi groaned and stretched out her back. Somehow, she had slept well. She looked down at the still-sleeping Tilly, her mousy brown frizzy hair framing her face. She looked so peaceful with her hands tucked under her chin.
After they had finished their ice creams, they had slowly made their way through the empty building, back to their sleeping quarters.
Zanzi had wanted to talk to Milo or one of his guards, flirt with the one who always eyed her up and down. Instead, they had encountered Alba walking down the hallway, tapping a cane on the floor and smirking. Tilly had become so hysterical that when they got back to their room Zanzi had hugged her tightly and they had fallen asleep like that, comforting each other.
She was surprised she had slept at all. All night she had listened as helicopter after helicopter took off and landed. The noise of trucks had thundered up and down the only road leading to the installation.
The two black-clad guards strode into view, heavy footsteps thumping, breaking the early morning silence. Zanzi leaned down and shook Tilly awake.
“Hands off cocks. Put on your socks. Time to get up, ladies. Alba wants to see you.” The guard with the square jaw was looking at the two women, a lopsided grin across his face.
“What, no breakfast?” Zanzi said.
“C’mon. C’mon. We haven’t got all day.”
Tilly stumbled from the bunk and padded barefoot beside Zanzi as the guards took them up several floors and into a narrow room. Dark green overalls hung from hooks, along with black hiking jackets. Boots of various sizes were lined up in a neat row.
The door banged open at the far end of the coatroom, and Alba and a scientist entered. “Good. You’re here. It’s a pity Milo argued for your life, Zanzi. I was enjoying our little chat very much. So be it. Offenheim’s word is law. And Tilly, apparently you are to help as well. Think you can keep that chatterbox silent for a day?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Tilly said quietly.
“Good. You two are to help us search through Devil’s Falls. A charming little town. We are to collect samples from the remains. It’s that simple.” Alba glared. “And don’t think of running off or finding a gun. You’ll have an escort.”
Zanzi and Tilly dressed in the clothing provided, neither of them speaking, and joined Alba outside. A dark gray chopper sat at the edge of a raised platform, its rotors spinning slowly. True to her word, five heavily armed commandos milled around the chopper. As soon as they saw Alba they snapped to attention, waiting until she was seated in a plush red seat inside the hold. Zanzi and Tilly jumped in and took one of the hard metal seats at the back.
As the chopper lifted, Tilly grabbed Zanzi’s hand, her eyes squeezed tight.
Zanzi inhaled the cool mountain air. It made a nice change after the last few days inside. She scanned the countryside, picking out peaks and valleys she knew, trying to figure out if she knew the town they would be landing in. Most of the closest settlements were small, servicing the crowds who frequented these mountains during ski season, and mountain bikers and campers in the summer. Things that would never happen now.
She kissed the top of Tilly’s head, holding back tears. She was still struggling to accept what she had seen in the penthouse. What she had witnessed play out on the dozens of monitors. The confusion. The pain. The anguish and death as thousands of people contorted, froze, and died. But she still had hope. She had also witnessed hundreds surviving, unaffected by the horror. If there were still some people alive out there, then there was hope for her friends and family.
The helicopter banked and swooped down, circling a large town nestled beside a river that churned its way over four cataracts. The last waterfall, which gushed through a large hole in the rock, gave the town its name: Devil’s Falls.
The deciduous trees below were bright green and thick with juvenile leaf. The river was spanned by stone bridges, and advertising flags fluttered in the breeze. As the pilot descended, the chaos came into view. The shops, diners, and cafes had been full of midday customers, the streets filled with pedestrians and vehicles. Now they were empty, filled instead with death. Ash corpses littered the ground. Cars, suddenly driverless, had lodged themselves against buildings, lamp posts, or other vehicles.
The pilot nudged them to the ground in the town square. Red cobblestones in a herringbone pattern spread out in every direction. Once they had climbed out and retreated a safe distance, the chopper lifted and thundered out of view.
“401, 2, 3. With me and Doctor Lahm. 404, 5. You’re babysitting,” Alba instructed.
Zanzi held up her hand.
“What?” Alba said.
“Where are our biosafe suits? I don’t want to catch this virus and end up like them.”
Alba chortled. “Silly girl. You’re perfectly safe. It wasn’t a virus.” She turned and stomped off. Her armed guards and the doctor quickly fell into step.
The two remaining commandos handed Zanzi and Tilly a black duffel bag each. “Equipment in there. I believe you have scientific training.”
Zanzi nodded and sighed, unzipping the bag. It was filled with medical equipment for collecting samples. “What’s your name? I can’t do this without knowing your name?”
“404. He’s 405.”
“No. Your real names.”
404 looked at her, frowning. “That’s the only name I’ve ever known.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I arrived at the Eyrie as a small child and was assigned that number. Only when we become worthy are we assigned a name. Until then, I’m 404.”
“Weird, but okay. What are we doing, then?”
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“Collecting samples.”
“From what?”
404 pointed to the sidewalk. “From those.”
Zanzi followed his gesture toward the frozen forms she had seen from the air. Tilly stiffened beside her. The stench of death hung in the air like negative energy burrowing into her soul. Like hope vanishing in an instant.
Zanzi looked after Alba as she disappeared around the corner of a hardware store. Hopes and dreams. Love and happiness. Gone because of lunatics like her.
“Fine,” she said and walked over to what must have been the remains of a small child. A bike with training wheels lay on its side a few meters away. Brightly colored tassels hung from the grips, and a Dora the Explorer bell was on the handlebars.
Zanzi fought back tears and reminded herself of her mission: to destroy the facility from within, follow orders, and do as she was told, until she could figure out a way to bring Offenheim down.
She crouched next to the ash remains and scraped some into a petri dish. She admonished herself and grabbed some latex gloves.
“Put these on,” she said, handing a pair to Tilly. She then put on her own pair.
404 and 405 wandered a few meters away, one in each direction, rifles in hand but barrels pointed to the ground.
“What happened here?” Tilly said, her voice filled with fear.
“Bad things. Here, hold open this bag.”
“Are we here to help?”
“You could say that, yes.”
Zanzi figured bending the truth a little was the best way to gloss over what was really going on. Especially as she didn’t really know. She knew what she had witnessed. People dropping to their knees, screaming in agony. Some turning gray and turning into ash. Others swelling in size, and still others shrinking into wilted corpses. It haunted her sleep. Now she was helping collect samples from the deceased.
Zanzi and Tilly walked over to a grouping of three forms. Two adults curled into a ball, cradling a small child. A baby stroller faced down the street. Zanzi ignored it, not wanting to think about the small life stolen by insanity. So she collected more samples and handed them to Tilly to bag.
Tilly turned to her as they walked up the street collecting more samples. “This is like when I had to help Mrs. Johns. She was a nice teacher. She spoke with a funny accent. Sort of like the Crikey man. Do you know the Crikey man? He used to grab snakes by the tail and hold them up to the camera. He was always saying things like ‘Beauty!’ ‘Crikey!’ and ‘Wow!’ I liked him. You don’t see him on TV anymore. He talked like Mrs. Johns. We had swan plants for those pretty orange and black butterflies. But wasps ate them and chewed on their egg sac things. Mrs. Johns said I was brave. I liked her.”