When Krista turned her attention back to Helena, she saw Horton helping her off the ground. The two of them then stood together and fought more of the attackers, his hand armed with a knife.
The gunfight went on for another few minutes, until all the Scabs were down.
Wicks left his overwatch position and joined Krista, the two of them advancing on the truck, shooting anything that was still alive on the ground.
“You guys all right?” Krista asked her men protecting the truck when she arrived.
“All good, boss.”
Horton and Helena were there, too. Both of them nodded, but didn’t respond.
“Good thing they didn’t bring more,” Wicks said, releasing the magazine from the lower receiver of his rifle. His eyes studied the rounds inside. “Almost black on ammo.”
Krista brought her eyes around, looking at her team. “Who decided it was okay to cut them loose?”
One of her men stepped forward. “I did, ma’am.”
“Actually, it was my idea,” Horton said. “Don’t blame him.”
“Well, soldier?” Krista said to the member of her team claiming responsibility.
“Seemed like the right thing to do. I wasn’t sure we could’ve stopped them all, not until you and Wicks returned. Figured there was nothing to lose at that point.”
Krista took a few moments to chew on the facts. She hated the idea that any of her men disobeyed her orders, but she understood his position. Obviously, he was right, given the outcome.
“I backed his decision, boss,” another one of her troops said, after taking a firm step forward.
It was gratifying to see her team unified, but it didn’t change what happened. “You both disobeyed a direct order. There will have to be repercussions. I can’t let it go.”
“Understood,” the men responded in unison.
Krista looked at Horton, holding for a beat before she spoke. “Thanks for the assist.”
Horton peered at Helena, then back at Krista. “I didn’t do it alone.”
Krista nodded at the girl, never thinking she’d ever thank a cannibal for anything. “That was some good work out there, young lady. Well done.”
Helena didn’t respond, only blinking a stare, her chest heaving, taking in air rapidly.
One of Krista’s other guards went to Helena with a bundle of paracord in hand, preparing to restrain her once again.
Krista stopped him with an arm bar, then turned to Horton. “Tell me this isn’t necessary.”
“It’s not. We’re all on the same side here.”
Krista took a few beats to consider his body language and the tone of the man’s response as she pondered the situation.
Security protocols demanded that she have both restrained for the trip back to Nirvana. They should not be trusted solely based on the fact that they fought alongside her men to repel the enemy, risking their own lives in the process. That was the right conclusion—on paper at least. However, her heart was telling her something different. And her gut, too. “All right, but I still have to assign my guards.”
“I would expect nothing less,” Horton said, taking Helena by the elbow and ushering her to the back of the truck. They hopped in and took a seat near the front.
“Keep an eye on them,” Krista said to her men only a moment before a brilliant crack of lightning shot across the sky. It rippled in a hundred directions all at once, like the veins in a heart. When the instant, bone-rattling clap of thunder followed, everyone flinched, then covered their heads.
Krista looked at Wicks after her ears stopped ringing. She held up a stiff index finger. “If I ever tell you to stop again to piss in an uncontrolled sector, I want you to pull out your .45 and shoot me in the head.”
CHAPTER 20
Summer walked with a heavy heart into Morse’s lab and pointed to the spot on the floor where she wanted Sergeant Barkley to lie down and snapped her fingers.
The dog responded to her suggestion, slinging his front legs out first, then dropping his hind end down in a gingerly manner.
She rubbed the fur under his collar with fervor. “Good boy. You rest now.”
Summer went to the chair behind Morse’s work desk and sat down. She scooted forward on the seat with an arched back and a determined chin, then tucked her legs under and crossed them.
If she didn’t know better, she would have felt as though she’d been asked to attend an important meeting. One that had been called to deal with a crisis head-on.
In some strange manner, both of those points were true. This was a meeting with the ghosts of two men she’d just lost. And the crisis was about her taking over as the head of Nirvana. So much had changed so quickly, she wasn’t sure what to do first.
She kept her eyes forward as she put her hands together on the desk, then laced her fingers together, never moving the rest of her body except for the occasional blink of her eyelids.
The tears racing down her cheeks were to be expected. So was the tightness pressing on her chest. However, what she didn’t expect was the overwhelming need to sit motionless in an office filled with stale air and unfinished experiments.
Perhaps it was sign of respect for a brilliant man who couldn’t sit still, despite his failing body, always working on something important.
Morse had once called it Mission Critical Duty, a phase he’d coined back when Summer had first met him.
It was the type of duty he hoped would make the lives of those around him better. Duty that might lessen the pain and suffering of the cherished few who called Nirvana home. Duty that took his life, consuming what few hours and days he had remaining.
The man had many courses to choose from when he learned about his terminal cancer. And what did he do? He chose the most selfless route—preferring to do for others, regardless of what little time he had left.
Another minute marched by, then ten more came and went, all while Summer held her statuesque pose, her mind turning in on itself, drifting deeper in thought as she cried for her lost friend.
She had no idea why she’d decided to sit alone in this room and do so in such an uncomfortable position. Some might think it was punishment for the time she’d wasted with him, not knowing that any one of those moments might be the last she’d ever share with him.
When her silent tribute reached thirty minutes, Summer took a deep breath and swallowed the pain whole. It wasn’t easy, but she found the strength to turn off the tears and wipe the wetness away with her sleeve.
When she brought her eyes down, she noticed at least a hundred scratches across the surface—each one of them a faint reminder of a project long since forgotten.
Some of those ventures she’d been a part of, while others were conducted in secret, all of it exactly how Morse preferred it—both shared and private, depending on his mood at the time. Or, perhaps, his intentions at the time.
Those two reasons may have been the same thing, given who Morse was and how he lived his life. He was a simple man and a diligent observer, not just of science and fact, but of people, too. A man she’d miss more than words could ever express.
Summer sniffed twice, then uncoiled her hands to put her palms flat against the marred surface. The cold emptiness of the desktop eased into her skin, acting as a cruel reminder of what life was like in a frozen world after The Event.
She closed her eyes and let her mind conjure a vision of the two of them working together at that same desk. It was a scene from the last time she was in his lab, discussing his latest project and her most recent Seeker Mission.
They’d laughed together without a care in the world, all the while conversing like normal people, if that term meant anything anymore.
Had she known he was terminally ill, she would have made the time they had together more meaningful, before he was gone for good.
Whether it would have been an extra hug, a second kiss on the cheek, or a firm hold of his hand, it didn’t matter. Something would have better than nothing. Something other t
han the complete selfishness she’d let consume her. The same went for Edison too—both of her favorite men taken from her life far too soon.
Another vision flashed in her mind. This time it showed Morse’s face opening his eyes right before he died and whispering the words Red radio thirty-five to Liz.
Liz had called the phrase nothing more than random gibberish. But Summer didn’t think it was nothing. Morse always had a plan or something he wanted to teach.
Summer looked at the dog on the floor. “It has to mean something, boy. We just need to figure out what.”
When her eyes came back up, she let them drift to the shortwave transmitter sitting on the corner of the worktable to her right. She got up and went to it, standing with her hands on her hips.
Morse’s plan was to fix the device, then convince Edison to start making calls to see if anyone else was around. Morse seemed concerned that they shouldn’t remain cut off from the rest of the planet, assuming there was a rest of the planet.
The microphone wasn’t attached to the radio, which was normal. Morse kept it in the file cabinet along the back wall, not wanting to jinx anything. That was a term he’d used more than once, tipping his hat to superstition instead of being guided by the sanctity of logic.
Summer shook her head. “So much for not jinxing it.”
She spun around and walked to the cabinet behind her, not far from a grease board where Morse had written a cluster of calculations in red marker ink, with the letters E. O. D. under them.
Summer opened the drawer where he kept the mic and pulled it out, having to move a white envelope and a frayed extension cord out of the way to grab it. She shut the drawer, then spun and went back to the radio, taking a seat in the chair in front of it.
A second later, the microphone was plugged into the port with a snapping click of its end. She flipped the power button on and waited for the device to roar to life with its lights blinking and cooling fan whirring.
She brought the microphone up to her mouth and was about to press the transmit button, but stopped when her mind filled with a memory of Morse preaching the words, “Patience is a virtue in all things we do.”
Summer moved the mic away from her lips and put it on the worktable, then took her hands away, laying them in her lap as she stared at its cord leading to the radio. “Not until it’s fixed and ready to go,” she muttered, channeling something Morse had said. She peered at Sergeant Barkley. “Right, boy? We wait. When it’s ready, we make the call. Not a moment before.”
The dog let out a long, guttural moan that kept changing in pitch, his jaw moving as if he were trying to say something.
“Exactly,” she said, laughing at the strange antics of her four-legged friend. “We just need to find someone who can fix this thing.”
The only person she knew capable of such a feat was the man in the brig—Doctor Lipton. He was a total asshole, but apparently very smart. At least Lipton himself thought so, and he never let anyone forget it. “We might be able to convince him to help,” she told the dog. “But Krista isn’t going to allow it. I guess I’ll have to make it an order.”
Barkley made another one of his extended moans, this time moving his head up and down along with his jaw.
She grinned. “I knew you’d understand. You always do.” Before she blinked again, a brilliant memory flash took over her mind, bringing a new idea with it.
“Hey, wait a minute,” she snarked before spinning around and looking at the grease board directly behind her—the one not far from the cabinet where the microphone had been stored.
The board was covered in mathematical equations—equations written in marker ink—red marker ink, to be exact, with the number 35 circled at the bottom.
“Holy shit! Red radio thirty-five,” she snapped, realizing the words weren’t random gibberish after all. “That’s what he meant. Red calculations with the number 35. Plus, the radio. They must all be connected somehow.”
Summer flew out of the chair and went back to the file cabinet drawer. When she opened it, she saw the white envelope again, now tucked under the frayed extension cord, both of them pushed to the side where she’d moved them to grab the mic.
She dug past the cord and snatched the envelope, then pulled it out and turned it over to discover that it was sealed. There were also two letters printed on the back in blue ink—an S and an L.
Her initials.
Summer tore her finger into the adhesive strip, prying one end of it loose, then ripped the back of the envelope open with a pull of her hand.
Inside was a piece of white paper that had been tucked into itself using thirds. She opened the tri-fold to see a letter inside. The page was covered with fancy writing, the kind that was filled with loops and curls that connected each word together.
“Shit,” she said, realizing she had no idea what it said since the schools had stopped teaching longhand well before she attended grade school. A letter written in cursive might as well have been in Russian.
Summer peered over at Sergeant Barkley and held the letter up. “You can probably read this better than me.”
The dog moaned, changing the tone of his response along with the position of his jaw to emphasize something.
“Why would he do this to me? He had to know I couldn’t read it.”
CHAPTER 21
Krista waited for Wicks to open the cell door to the brig before she pushed Helena into the bar-lined space. The extra force made the cannibal take an extra-long step for balance. “Let’s see if you can behave yourself for once.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Horton said, standing next to Krista, his hands no longer bound and his face free of the blindfold.
“Oh yes, she does,” Lipton said from the cell next door. “You can see it in her face.”
Krista nodded. “He’s right. We can’t have a Scab running around this facility. There’d be chaos.”
Horton’s face lit up red, his upper lip tucked under. “Jesus Christ! What does she have to do to prove herself? I told you, she’s not who you think she is.”
Krista grabbed Horton by the collar. “You might want to check the attitude, mister. Otherwise, you’ll be in there with her.”
“With all due respect, ma’am, shouldn’t he be anyway?” Wicks said, pushing the cell door closed with a clang before locking it with a rattle of his keychain.
“Misery loves company,” Lipton snarked with a snide look on his mug.
Krista ignored Lipton’s remark, keeping her focus on Wicks. “Be sure the girl gets an extra blanket and something to eat. But no meat. Don’t want her getting any ideas.”
“Right away, chief,” Wicks said, handing the keys to Krista, then turning and heading toward the door to the brig.
“Hey, Mr. No-Neck, why don’t you bring me one of those almond sandwiches while you’re at it? With extra mayo and some of those little sprouts I like,” Lipton said, his face covered in a full-on grin.
Wicks never acknowledged Lipton’s request, continuing his march through the door and out of sight.
Horton put a hand on Krista’s elbow, turning her a few degrees. “We can’t just leave Helena in there all alone.”
Krista pulled away in a twist, aiming her disdain at his hand for touching her without permission. “Sure we can.”
“Then put me in there with her.”
Krista flashed a raised eyebrow. “Are you sure that’s really what you want? You just earned my trust, albeit barely.”
Horton threw up his hands. “Can’t you see she’s scared?”
Krista peered at Helena, seeing the girl sitting on the center of the cot with her arms wrapped around her knees and pulled in close to her chest.
Helena brought her head up from its tucked position and made eye contact.
Krista studied the look in the girl’s eyes, seeing only the feral display of a caged animal. An animal who was used to surviving alone. “She’ll be fine. I think she’s already getting used to it.”
; “Open the door! Right now!” Horton snapped, his tone firm and short.
“So now you’re giving me orders? Really?”
“If she’s going to be a prisoner, so will I.”
Krista paused for a beat, then brought the keys up and slid one of them into the keyway of the door. She turned it. “If you insist.” She swung the entrance open, then held out an open hand and invited him to proceed with a wave.
Horton walked in and took a seat next to Helena, who was now rocking forward and back with her eyes focused in a long stare. Horton wrapped his arm around the girl and pulled her close, changing the angle of her rocking.
“Look at that,” Lipton said, breaking into a familiar melody as he sang the words, “Two lovebirds sitting in a tree—”
Krista took out her knife and rapped the handle on the bars next to Lipton’s head. “Quiet!”
Lipton took a step back, stopping his cadence as Zimmer walked into the brig. The gray-haired man with the handlebar mustache stopped his feet before the ping from the metal ran out of steam.
“What did I miss?” Zimmer asked.
Krista closed the door to Helena’s cell and pointed at Lipton. “Just corralling a little attitude.”
“So what you’re saying is same shit, different day.”
“Roger that,” Krista said. “Do you need something?”
“A little chat, if you have a minute?”
Krista ran a visual check of the occupied cells, taking a moment to appreciate her achievements today. At least the ones that outweighed the poor decisions she’d made. “Sure, I think things are under control here.”
Krista followed Zimmer into the hallway outside, closing the door behind her. “What’s up?”
“In case you haven’t heard, Morse didn’t make it.”
Krista’s shoulders slumped as a wave of depression settled in. She took in an extra few breaths, needing to collect herself. “When?”
“Not long after you left.”
“How’s Summer taking it?”
“Not well, from what I hear. She’s pretty broken up. Then again, nobody I talked to has seen her since, so who knows.”
Frozen World (Book 2): Silo [Hope's Return] Page 13