“All right, let’s get to it,” Dice said, standing firm as the teams broke into a sprint and began their hunt.
Sketch waited a full minute, then turned to Dice. “Two hours?”
“Didn’t want to raise any red flags.”
“I especially liked the part about extra points for head shots.”
“Yeah, just hit me right then.”
“Kind of hard to do with disabled firing pins,” Sketch said.
“Yeah, but they don’t know that.”
“Good thing.”
Dice agreed, his mind turning to another possibility. “Craven better come through before some rogue chipmunk decides to stick its head out.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about it. I doubt there’s any game up there.”
“If there is, we’re fucked,” Dice said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the tube of spray. He applied some on Sketch and then on himself, being sure to splash the repellent on both their fronts and backs. “This shit better still work.”
Sketch craned his neck and watched the teams climb the mountain. “I wonder where Craven set his ambush.”
Dice matched his friend’s gaze. “We’ll know soon. He was supposed to be in position a half hour ago.”
“Poor bastards.”
“They have no idea what’s coming,” Dice said.
“Welcome to the Mountain of the Scabs, where the meat is plentiful and so are the teeth.”
Dice couldn’t hold back a chuckle, even though his insides were doing flipflops. He figured guilt was the source of the queasiness. “At least this will keep Craven off our backs for a while.”
“How many payments did we miss?”
“Only one that I know about. There could have been others before I was read in as second.”
“Well, that was to be expected with the Frost situation and all.”
“Still, Craven’s not a man you want on your bad side, if you know what I mean.”
Sketch nodded, pausing for a few beats. “How much meat do you think they take with them? You know, after the initial feeding.”
“I really don’t want to go up there and find out, do you?”
Sketch held for a moment, then shook his head. “Just making conversation, that’s all. What about all the gear and ammo? We just going to leave it up there?”
“That’s interest on the debt. Craven demanded some vig for his trouble.”
“I guess that’s a small price to pay.”
“At least he didn’t want more fuel. That we couldn’t spare.”
* * *
“Any trouble?” Krista asked Wicks, who was still at his post in the brig, keeping watch on the prisoners.
“None,” he said, his shoulders square to the wall behind him.
Krista ran a quick visual check of the prisoners.
Horton and the Scab Girl were in the cell on the left, with the girl sitting cross-legged on the floor. Horton was a few feet away, standing adjacent to the cell door, his fingers wrapped around a pair of vertical bars.
Doc Lipton was on the cot in the other cell, lounging on his right side with his back to the door.
Krista brought her eyes back to Wicks, straining her neck to make eye contact with the man. “Why don’t you go get chow? I need to have a chat with our new friends.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Wicks said, turning and marching out the door.
Krista walked to Lipton’s cell. “Hey, asshat, you sleeping?”
“Yes, I am,” Lipton said, holding up his left hand and flipping her the bird without looking.
“That’s what I thought,” she replied. “I need to talk to you.”
“Go away. I’m asleep, remember?”
The Scab Girl was now on her feet and standing next to Horton in the adjacent cell.
“Look, I’m not going to ask again. Get up before I drag your sorry ass out of that bed. We have important business to discuss.”
Lipton rolled onto his back, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. “What do you want? I’m busy.”
Krista held up the rainbow-colored notebook belonging to Morse, tapping the binder on the bars. “There’s something I need you to help me with.”
“Let me guess. You found an old cereal box and you can’t figure out how to open it.”
Krista shook her head. “You might want to check the attitude, mister. Otherwise, you’ll never get out of that cell.”
“Who are you kidding? I’m in here for the duration.”
“If you help us with this journal, that won’t always be the case.”
Lipton turned his head toward Krista. “What kind of journal?”
“One you might have written, if you worked for us instead of Frost.”
Lipton sat up, swinging his feet around and planting them on the floor. “I’m intrigued. Go on.”
“Our version of you died and left this notebook behind.”
“Handwritten?”
“Yes.”
“Well, what do you know? At least one of you can write.”
Krista ignored his condescending babble. “We need to know what it all means.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“One hour of exercise on the surface. Some fresh air might do you good.”
Lipton shook his head. “Me? Fresh air? Exercise? I think not. You need to sweeten the deal, if you want my help—with anything.” He pointed to his head. “What’s in here ain’t free.”
“You’re really not in a position to negotiate.”
“Actually, I am. You obviously need what only I possess. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here begging for it, with hat in hand like some kind of street vagrant.”
Krista held her temper in check, though every word out of his mouth demanded a beatdown. “This isn’t begging, pal. I’m only here as a courtesy. The boss told me to make a one-time offer, so here I am.”
“Then run along and go tell that little squirrel you failed. I’m not interested.”
Horton laughed from behind the bars. “Now you know what all of us have been putting up with for years.”
“I can’t believe Frost ever did,” Krista replied.
“He didn’t have a choice,” Lipton said, looking sure of himself. He stood up, putting his arms out to the side as if he were preparing to give a speech to the United Nations, back when that organization still existed. “Frost knew, just as you do now, that knowledge rules the world. To that end, I say to all you peasants, step before the king and shower him with gifts.”
Horton shook his head, laughing again, this time even harder.
Krista rolled her eyes at Horton, then brought them back to Lipton. “Trust me, you’re no king.”
“Au contraire, mon ami.”
Krista paused, soaking in the arrogance standing before her. She needed to change tactics, otherwise she would be forced to either unlock the cell door and beat him senseless or walk away empty-handed. Neither result was acceptable. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s it going to take?”
Lipton didn’t hesitate, firing back in a millisecond. “Freedom to move about this complex, as I so choose.”
Krista replied just as quickly. “Never going to happen.”
“Then I guess we’re done here.”
“Yes, we are,” Krista said, turning for the door. Before she could finish the first step, Summer walked in.
“How’s it going?” the new leader asked.
Krista stopped in her tracks, holding the notebook up, then shooting a glance back at Lipton. “Dingle fuck over there thinks he’s the new king.”
“What?”
Lipton stepped to the bars, wrapping his fingers around them just as Horton had done. “Ah, the little squirrel returns. Maybe now we can negotiate in earnest.”
Summer shot Krista a raised eyebrow. “What is he talking about?”
“He thinks if he helps us, he’s getting released.”
Summer walked to his cell. “Nice try, Lipton. But we’re not that stupid.”
“Oh
, the minds of the ignorant. They shall forever live in a world of denial.”
Krista continued, “I asked him what he wanted and he just spouted some bullshit about the peasants showering him with gifts.”
“Sounds like isolation disease is starting to creep in,” Summer quipped.
“Though technically, none of us are isolated,” Horton said.
Lipton chuckled before he spoke to Summer again. “It’s a metaphor, darling. Try to keep up.”
Summer took the notebook from Krista and held it in front of Lipton. “Just tell us what this means. Otherwise, I’ll have Wicks back here in two shakes and he’ll drag you outside and tie you naked to a rock. Let’s see if the overnight temperature drop teaches you who’s really in charge here.”
Lipton’s smug expression never changed. “Then you’ll never know what secrets the journal holds.”
“So be it. We don’t know now. I really couldn’t care less at this point. Either help us or not. Your choice.”
“There needs to be adequate compensation, my little squirrel. Like I told Ms. All Balls over there, my wisdom is not free.”
Summer took a moment, then said, “I’ll tell you what, Lipton. If you help us, I’ll authorize one hour a day of roaming privileges, but under guard of course. Take it or leave it.”
Lipton held out his hand. “What if the notes only contain a failed recipe for some version of soy-based cupcakes?”
Summer gave him the notebook. “Then it’s a new recipe. The deal still stands. One hour a day. That’s the best I can do.”
“I accept. We now have a binding agreement,” Lipton said, opening the notebook and studying the first few pages. “Hmmm. Interesting.”
“Well?”
Lipton held up an index finger, but didn’t respond as he flipped through a few more pages, his eyes taking in the notes. Several minutes went by before he spoke again. “Let me say this: Your version of me was quite thorough.”
“Yeah, tell us something we don’t know,” Krista said.
“I’m afraid that would take the rest of my days.”
“Are you gonna help us or not?” Krista snapped.
“Patience is the path to enlightenment,” Lipton said, licking the tip of his finger and turning another page. A few more minutes ticked by before he finished reading and closed the journal.
“What does it mean?” Summer asked, taking the notebook from him.
“His notes make mention of additional calculations. Might I see them?”
“How do you know our version of you was a man?” Krista said. “I never said that.”
“Of course he was. Don’t be silly.”
“What a chauvinist prick,” Krista mumbled, rolling her eyes.
“The calculations?” Lipton asked Summer again.
“They’re in his lab.”
“I suggest you take me there. Posthaste. This truly cannot wait another minute.”
CHAPTER 27
Summer stood shoulder to shoulder with the taller Lipton as the scientist stepped to the worktable in Morse’s lab, humming a soft tune. Summer couldn’t place the melody, but it sounded familiar, though she didn’t know how or why.
Lipton’s hand went to the transmitter sitting on the far end of the surface, running the tip of his finger across its metal case, almost as if it gave him sexual gratification.
So far, Krista hadn’t restrained Lipton, but her chief watchdog, Wicks, was not far behind, his hands on his rifle and eyes on the prisoner.
Lipton moved his hand to the box of spare parts sitting adjacent to the radio, dipping his fingers into the disarray. He picked up a couple of circuit boards, inspecting each for a moment, before putting them back in the same location.
“The equations are over here,” Summer said, pointing to the leftmost grease board in the room. “You said it was urgent, so let’s stop wasting time.”
Lipton followed Summer to the first board, his humming never taking a second off. Not until he decided to speak. “Well. Well. Well. It appears I need to revise my earlier assessment.”
“About what?”
“Your version of me being thorough.” Lipton picked up a magic marker and an eraser, wiping away one of the equations on the board and replacing it with a new one. “He needed to double-check his math. Sloppy is all I can say. And a bit hasty with his assumptions.”
“Morse was usually very careful.”
“Obviously not. I trust you did not put all your faith in his conclusions.”
“Actually, we did. He was our go-to guy—for everything.”
Lipton’s face pinched, his cheeks turning a red color. “And this facility remains?”
Summer held up her hands. “Look around. What do you think?”
“I suppose a modicum of luck was to be expected. Even a blind squirrel—” Lipton said, stopping his sentence short.
Summer looked at Krista and she looked back, both of them shooting each other a what the hell look.
Lipton moved to the right, reviewing the next board. This time he didn’t change anything after pondering the handwritten presentation.
The man continued on, moving from board to board, changing a number here, an equation there, circling some figures and underlining others.
When Lipton arrived at the last board—the one with the equations written in red—he stopped his perpetual hum and took a step back before crossing his arms over his chest. He froze in that stance, his lips fluttering without any sound.
After an extended silence, Lipton put his hand out to Summer. “Journal, please.”
Summer gave it to him.
Lipton opened it, zipping past a dozen pages until he landed on one near the middle. His head tilted to the left, but his eyes remained fixed on the notes when he said, “That’s what I thought.”
“What?”
“Time to start packing.”
“Excuse me?”
He pointed to the number thirty-five circled on the board in red, then at the three letters written after it. “Haven’t you ever wondered what the E.O.D. represents?”
“Of course I do. That’s why you’re here.”
“It means End of Days, of which, you have 35 remaining,” he said, pausing with an intense look on his face. He used the eraser and pen again, this time changing the number thirty-five. “Correction, 29 days.”
Summer took a few moments to process the words he’d just uttered, not wanting to accept the man’s explanation. Perhaps she heard him wrong. “When you say End of Days, do you mean, like, the End of Days, as in the Bible?”
“More or less.”
“For the planet?”
“For this complex. As I mentioned before, time to start packing.”
Krista stepped forward, breaking her silence with a sharp tongue. “Explain what you mean.”
Lipton walked to the worktable and sat down in the chair before putting the notebook on the surface. “It’s all about the wastewater experiments he was running.”
“Wastewater?” Summer asked.
“Yes, as in sewage. You do have a reclamation system in use, correct?”
“I think so,” Summer answered.
“It’s on Sublevel 8,” Krista added.
Summer cleared her throat and sent daggers with her eyes at Krista, wishing her second-in-command hadn’t told him that fact.
She turned her attention to Lipton, praying he didn’t catch onto where they were or what kind of facility they were in. His face didn’t give any indication he’d gleaned any information from her comment, though he was an odd duck anyway, so there was no way to know for sure.
Summer waved her hands at several of the grease boards in the room, hoping to keep his attention on something else. “What does wastewater have to do with any of this?”
Lipton opened the notebook to page three and pointed at the diagram in the middle. It was one of five charts on the page. “This tells the story of what he discovered.”
“Go on.”
“I’m
sure you remember the days when the evening news was filled with reports about physicians over-prescribing antibiotics.”
“Sure,” Krista said. “Something about the diseases becoming immune.”
“Actually, not the disease. The microbes. When they have time to familiarize themselves with an abundance of antibiotics, both the surrounding bacteria and their own cellular structure begin to share bits and pieces with each other about the DNA involved in the antibiotics. Specifically, the resistances they encounter.”
“Are you saying they learn from each other?” Summer asked.
“In a sense, yes,” Lipton answered. “But it doesn’t end there. That prolonged exposure allows the microbes to develop a resistance over time, rendering the antibiotics ineffective. Eventually, the drugs administered to defeat the microbes become a food source, giving them energy to grow and evolve, becoming pathogenic. And when I say that, I mean evolve into a super pathogen. One without any method of treatment.”
Summer hesitated for a bit, letting the words soak in, trying to link the pieces together from what the man had said. “Okay, I get that, but why was Morse running experiments on our sewage?”
“As most microbiologists will tell you, there are concentrated amounts of antibiotics in our soils, our water, and our sewage, especially around hospitals, farms, and anywhere else physicians hand out antibiotics like pamphlets at a political rally.”
“There used to be a huge dairy farm not too far from here,” Krista said. “I remember the Professor talking about it.”
“Me too,” Summer said. “In fact, it was one of the largest in the entire state.”
“As I suspected. That was ground zero. You see, when cows process what they eat, then excrete—”
“You mean shit—” Summer added.
“Yes, and lots of it. The overuse of antibiotics and steroids by farmers on their herds eventually made its way from the excrement into the soil, with the help of rain and other natural processes, some of it contaminating the water table.”
“So what you’re saying is we’ve been drinking steroids and eating antibiotics?” Wicks asked, breaking his silence.
“No. Not even close, my huge friend. It has to do with microbes and their natural tendency to evolve inside a closed ecosystem. One that includes a sufficient amount of humidity and heat, plus sewage, bacteria, and other fundamental elements. Now, when you mix in a healthy supply of antibiotics and the biologically active nature of steroids and their effect on cell membranes, what you have is—”
Frozen World (Book 2): Silo [Hope's Return] Page 17