Storm

by D. J. MacHale

  Charlotte’s hand went to her pocket.

  “It’s gone,” she exclaimed.

  I picked up the empty plastic bag.

  “There was a ton of the Ruby in here,” I said. “Tell me you didn’t eat it all.”

  “I did,” Jon said, his voice becoming a high-pitched squeal.

  “My God,” Tori said with a gasp. “He’ll explode.”

  Jon backed up until he hit the far wall, then charged at the bars. He hit them hard, bounced back, and hit them again.

  “You won’t make it until tonight,” he screamed. “I’m coming for you now.”

  Tori pulled out her gun.

  I put my hand on hers and pushed the weapon down.

  “Wait,” I said.

  The full effect of the Ruby was just kicking in. Jon was like an enraged animal with fire in his veins. He let out a bone-chilling howl, grabbed the bars, and furiously pulled on them. The metal squeaked and groaned, but held.

  “You overdosed,” I said. “If you don’t calm down, you’re going to—”

  He screamed again. It was primal and filled with anguish and anger. He grabbed the cot, lifted it up, and threw it against the bars.

  “Go ahead and shoot me,” he screamed. “It’ll be like a bee sting.”

  Olivia backed away, crying.

  Charlotte watched in stunned wonder.

  Tori, Kent, and I had been through this before. It was nothing new. The three of us watched dispassionately, waiting for the inevitable end.

  “Is there anything we can do?” Charlotte asked, horrified.

  I shook my head.

  “No wonder he wanted me to go in there,” Kent said. “He wouldn’t have had the guts otherwise.”

  Jon pulled the cot apart with his bare hands, tearing off a length of metal that he wedged into the door to try to pry it open. His hands bled, but he ignored the pain. He was stronger than the metal tool. So were the cell bars. The metal snapped in his hands.

  He screamed in despair, grabbed the bars again, and shook them furiously.

  “Let me out,” he begged, changing tactics. “I’ll convince them to spare your lives. I promise.”

  Even through the Ruby-fueled insanity, he realized he had made a mistake. The bars were too strong. He turned and ran into the far wall, hitting it square on with a sickening thud. Jon was out of his mind, more so than Marty Wiggins or Kent’s father or anybody else who paid the price for taking too much of the Ruby.

  “You have to calm down,” I said again, though I knew it was no use.

  He grabbed one of the cell bars with both hands, and with a primal howl he yanked on it with a frightening fury.

  This time the bar broke loose. He fell backward, and with an inhuman cry that showed both triumph and anguish, he landed on the floor.

  Tori lifted her gun, though she didn’t need to.

  Jon lay still.

  We all stood there, staring at the now quiet figure on the floor. The beams from the two flashlights played over him.

  “Oh, Jon,” Olivia whimpered.

  “What happened?” Charlotte asked, stunned.

  “His body couldn’t handle it,” I replied. “That’s what happens.”

  “How horrible,” Charlotte said with a pained whisper.

  “He got what he deserved,” Kent said with no sympathy. “And he did it to himself. Idiot.”

  “Everything is falling apart,” Charlotte lamented.

  “Not yet it isn’t,” I said. “But it will. When the sun sets, the storm comes back.”

  Tori said, “We’ve got to evacuate.”

  “What time is sunset?” I asked Charlotte.

  “Around six o’clock, give or take.”

  “So we’ve got ten hours to put together a plan,” I said.

  “An evacuation plan?” Kent asked.

  “Yes, and a plan to carry out the mission that everyone came here to do. Is that possible, Charlotte?”

  Charlotte continued to stare at Jon’s lifeless body.

  “Charlotte?” I said sharply.

  “What?” she replied, as if snapping out of a dream.

  “You’ve been calling for people to come here to fight back against the Retros. Is there a real plan for this sabotage? Are you ready?”

  Charlotte looked at Jon’s lifeless body. I thought she was going to zone out again, but she said, “We were waiting for more volunteers to show up. There wasn’t any time pressure before.”

  “Well, there is now,” Kent said, stating the obvious.

  “I get that, junior,” Charlotte said curtly. She was beginning to sound like her old self. “Yeah, we’re ready. Let’s take this to the Chiefs.”

  She went for the door, and the others followed.

  I hung back with Jon’s lifeless body.

  One suspect down.

  Jon was a traitor. Or an infiltrator. Whatever. But his death didn’t take the heat off of the others. Jon wasn’t from Pemberwick. Granger hadn’t been hunting him.

  There was still a very good possibility that there was another traitor.

  I left the remains of Jon Purcell in the cage where he died. He had given us some valuable information. Disturbing information. But the power and purpose behind the Retros was still a mystery. We now knew their plan was to wipe out almost every survivor except for those they would use as slaves to prepare for their repopulation of the planet. The first big city to be targeted was Los Angeles, but when would that attack happen?

  They considered us primates. Lesser forms of life. Animals. We meant nothing to them as human beings, which raised the question: What exactly were they?

  Whoever or whatever they were, they had destroyed three-quarters of the world’s population and were preparing to finish the rest.

  Unless we could stop them.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Every last survivor in Las Vegas had gathered together in an opulent theater that was supposed to look like the Roman Colosseum. Not that I’d ever been to the real Colosseum, but as far as I could tell, the only thing about this theater that looked like ancient Rome were some huge murals that I guessed were modeled after the originals. Everything else was slick and modern.

  We had walked to the meeting along the Strip, past the destruction that the Retro planes had brought to the city. The beautiful indoor park where we had met some of the other survivors had been reduced to a pile of rubble with a few forlorn carousel horses poking their noses out of the debris. The Eiffel Tower had been sheared off halfway to its peak. The upper section and the observation deck lay crumpled across the street. The only thing left of the huge bronze lion were four paws on a pedestal. The giant Coke bottle was smashed. The massive guitar had its neck broken off. Immense holes had been blown through many of the high-rise hotels. The Statue of Liberty was intact, but it lay across the road with its torch hand jammed against a broken palm tree.

  As disastrous as it all appeared, Jon was right. The Retros had been shooting at empty buildings. When the final head count was done, there was only one person who had died in the assault. It was Tom, Charlotte’s friend. And he hadn’t even died because of the attack. Jon had murdered him.

  Jon himself didn’t count. He wasn’t one of us. He was a spy. His body lay alone in the cell that was normally used to hold people who tried to cheat the casino. I guess it was a fitting place for him to die.

  The theater was packed, and the people were all nervously chattering.

  Tori, Kent, and I took seats in front of the large stage. We had been given that choice position because we had spent the last hour being interrogated by the Chiefs. It turned out that Charlotte was one of them. She hadn’t mentioned it before, but it made sense. She knew what she was doing.

  We spent the time going over every detail of what we had learned about the Retros. After listening to what we had to say, Charlotte sent us to the Colosseum with another escort so that she and the Chiefs could factor whatever information we had given them into their plans.

  The theat
er was fairly dark since the only lights were battery-powered floodlights that were trained on the stage. Camp lamps were scattered throughout the audience, creating an eerie amosphere in which shadowy people moved through pools of light.

  It struck me as risky to have everyone in the same room. If the Retros decided to attack early, a few well-placed bombs would wipe us out entirely.

  The crowd hushed when three men and Charlotte walked onto the stage. They were the Chiefs. One of the men was Matt. The second guy went by the name of Harris. No first or last name, just Harris. He had short blond hair and walked like he had a back brace on. Though he had been living in the dark depths of Las Vegas, his white shirt looked as neat and crisp as if he had just ironed it. He definitely looked military. When we were being questioned, he hadn’t said much, but he was definitely taking it all in.

  The last guy was a beefy character with a shaved head who went by the name of Cutter. Again, no first or last name. He had a thick neck and heavily muscled arms to match. During the interrogation, he was mostly interested to hear anything about how the black planes worked and what they could do. He took particular note of how we described the complete obliteration of so many of the planes when missiles struck their fuel tanks.

  These people were professionals. It was easy to see why they were put in charge of planning the attack. All four strode with purpose to the center of the stage and stood in the spotlights.

  “Okay, everybody,” Matt called out. He didn’t have to yell. The acoustics in the theater were perfect.

  “We knew something like this would happen eventually,” he began. “What can I say? We blew it. The guy slipped through our security. But I want you to know that the kids he came with didn’t know what he was up to. They’re victims as much as we are.”

  I felt the heat of a few nasty stares. I don’t think everybody agreed that we were totally innocent, and maybe they were right.

  Matt continued. “It is what it is. What’s more important to know is that those planes will be back again tonight. Count on it. When it gets dark, Las Vegas will cease to exist.”

  This prompted nervous murmurs from the crowd.

  “Our evacuation plan has us going to Los Angeles,” Matt continued. “We can’t do that. We learned from the infiltrator that they’re planning another wave of mass executions, and the first stop will be LA.”

  Once again, the crowd broke out with anxious murmurs. Matt had to raise his hands to quiet them down.

  “The alternate city for us is San Diego,” he announced. “The corridor between LA and San Diego is a busy one. For those who want to go that route, it will be easy enough to disappear. My suggestion is to stay away from the city itself. Any big city. They’re going to be targeted again.”

  A guy stood up in the second row and shouted, “We get it. We gotta get out. But what about the reason we came here?”

  Many people shouted their support with “Yeah!” and that got everyone shouting out their opinion.

  Matt quieted them down and continued.

  “That’s what we’re here to decide,” he said. “We’ve got to leave here. Today. The question is, do we run? Or do we put the plan in motion that brought us here in the first place?”

  Most everyone applauded and cheered the second option. These people were ready for action.

  Matt beamed.

  “Yeah, that’s what I figured. Before we go down that road, you have to understand, it’s going to be more dangerous now. We don’t believe the infiltrator had any specific knowledge of our plans, so he couldn’t pass them along. But the enemy will be on alert now. This mission was never going to be easy, but it just got a hell of a lot more difficult.”

  The crowd became instantly quiet.

  “So I’m putting it out there: If anybody wants to leave, do it now. Nobody will blame you. Take a car and head out. This is your chance. But if you stay, understand that you’re in till the end. We can’t risk letting any more information get out. If you try to leave after this briefing, you will be shot. I promise you that. I’ll give you a minute to think it over.”

  The normally jovial guy had suddenly turned dark. I believed he meant what he said.

  Many in the crowd shared conversations, no doubt rolling around the options.

  I knew Tori would want to stay. I couldn’t say the same about Kent and Olivia.

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  “I think I’m scared,” Olivia said. “I’m not a guerilla fighter.”

  She got no argument from me.

  “Maybe I should take Olivia out of here,” Kent offered. “She won’t make it on her own. We’ll go to Florida like she wanted in the first place.”

  Tori said, “So that means you don’t want to fight, Kent?”

  “No!” Kent said defensively. “I’m just thinking about Olivia. I don’t know if she can handle this.”

  “I can’t,” she said, obviously shaken. “Look at me. I’m only here because I had nowhere else to go. I don’t want any part of a fight. Kent, will you stay with me?”

  “You know I will,” Kent said reassuringly. “You just saved my life. I owe you, and I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

  I believed he meant it. He really did care about Olivia, and now that she had saved his life he was determined to take care of her. It was out of character for him, which made it all the more noble. Though I respected his feelings, it left me with a huge dilemma. Based on what Captain Granger told me, any one of these three could be Retro infiltrators. I didn’t want to believe it, but it was a definite possibility. If Kent and Olivia walked, they could go right to the Retros and tell them we were getting ready to attack, and that would be the end of the survivors. If they wanted to leave, I would have to tell the Chiefs. I had no doubt that they’d assume the worst . . . and that could be the end of Kent and Olivia.

  But if they were both innocent, then Olivia was absolutely right. There was no way she could fight, no matter what kind of fight it was.

  Neither option was a good one, but if she stayed with us, at least she’d have a chance.

  And I could keep an eye on her.

  “You can’t leave, Olivia,” I said. “Neither of you can.”

  “Why not?” she asked, holding back panic. “Matt said—”

  “They’re already suspicious of us because we brought Jon in. I don’t care what Matt says, if you try to leave they’ll assume the worst, and who knows what they’ll do. They might just shoot you.”

  “What?” Olivia cried. “Why?”

  “That’s what they’ve done with Retros who tried to infiltrate. I think if you walk out of that door, you’re dead.”

  The two of them looked sick. I was being harsh, but it was the only way I could think of to get them to stay.

  Olivia looked to Kent with pleading eyes. “Would they really do that?”

  Kent was visibly shaken. “I . . . I don’t know. I guess it’s possible.”

  “If you stay, at least you’ve got a chance,” I said. “If you leave . . .”

  I let them fill in the rest.

  “Now is the time,” Matt announced to the crowd. “If you’re leaving, go now, and good luck to you.”

  A handful of people got up and jogged for the exits. Their departure was met with absolute silence. There were no cheers and no insults. There was only stone-cold silence.

  I looked at Kent and Olivia. Would they leave? Was I going to have to turn them in as possible traitors?

  Olivia fidgeted in her seat.

  Kent dropped his head into his hands.

  Neither stood up.

  It was settled. We would all be in it until the end, together.

  When the final door slammed, Matt looked over the crowd.

  “Is that it?” he called.

  There was no response.

  “Fine. I want one person on every door. Nobody comes in, nobody leaves.”

  A group of men and women scrambled for the exit doors and took up their posit
ions.

  “My God,” Olivia whispered under her breath. “This can’t be happening.”

  “Are we secure?” Matt called out.

  He was answered by the people at the doors, who each called out, “Secure!”

  “All right then,” Matt bellowed. “We’ve been preparing for weeks. We’ve scouted every inch of terrain. We have the plan. We have the will. Today is the day we fight back!”

  A roar of approval went up from the crowd.

  Kent looked ready to puke.

  “Most of you have heard bits and pieces of the plan, but we haven’t shared it all for security reasons. It’s time you heard it all.”

  He stepped back, and the Chief with the short blond hair, Harris, stepped into the spotlight. He spoke with the same precision with which he carried himself. His words were clipped and to the point.

  “You all know me,” he announced. “You also know that I’ve run many operations for the CIA. There’s no sense in keeping that a secret since there no longer is a CIA.”

  A woman appeared at the end of our aisle with two stacks of paper. She took one from each and passed the stacks to the next person. The same thing happened all over the theater.

  “We used gas-powered generators to power the copy machines,” Harris explained. “There’s nothing classified about the information. We got the images from the city library. One is a road map of the area. The other is a satellite photo. Please take one of each.”

  When I got mine, I saw that one was a simple road map with Las Vegas near the bottom. There was an X designation in the desert that looked to be a hundred miles or so northwest of the city. The other was an aerial photo of what looked like a military air base.

  “The map with Las Vegas covers several hundred miles,” Harris said. “The X marks the location of the airfield you see in the other photo. That base has gone by many names. Groom Lake Test Facility, Paradise Ranch, Watertown, Detachment 3, Air Force Flight Test Center, and several more that refer to the various military detachments that have been based there over the years. It is most commonly known by the simple designation Area 51.”

  Kent shot me a quick look.