Deadlocked 7 (34 page)

“It seems so,” said Jerald. “The virus is in him, but it’s not attacking his cells. His body has started to fight it off.”

“Excellent,” said Covington. “This is all going better than we’d hoped.”

“So you’re how Jerald was able to get into the central database,” said Beatrice. “You still have your original tablet?”

Covington looked over at a glass case near the wall. A bat
tered, scarred tablet was within the case, connected by a wire to a different computer. “Indeed. It broke when I was burned, but we were able to access its hard drive, though it wasn’t easy.”

“Then, if you’re able to get into the central database, don’t you have the cure for the Tempest strain already?” asked Beatrice. “Why go to all this trouble?”

“No, all of the new files in the central database are operating under different encryption software. We can only operate the old, basic files like the security software for the facilities in this area and the old email servers. Any of the new information has been troublesome for us.”

“Okay, so you have me now, and you have someone here that has the cure in him. Let’s contact The Electorate and let them know to stand down on the Noah Initiative.”

“Now why would we do that?” asked Covington. “The fun has just started, Beatrice. Your fellow Electorate members are going to be flying out here for their final transfers soon. We’ve stepped up all of the dates. Even my new Dawn will be ready soon. You can’t imagine how long I’ve waited to get out of this scarred body and pay you back for your betrayal. But first, to other business. Jerald, you need to go handle the rest of Reagan’s old group. We won’t need them now that the rest of our plan has worked out as well as it has.”

“Okay,” said Jerald. “We’ll have to find them first. We know all of their hiding spots. It won’t take us long.”

“I doubt they’re dumb enough to stay in this area,” said Covington. “If I were them, I’d flee south, to their friends out there.”

“We can start our search there,” said Jerald.

“Don’t waste your time searching,” said Covington. “Just bomb the whole area. Be done with them once and for all.”

“Bomb them?” asked Beatrice. “Bomb them with what?”

“With our planes, of course,” said Covington. “We’ve got quite the air force here, my dear. You didn’t think we’ve spent the past two decades just sitting on our hands, did you? Beatrice, while you’ve been planning your little bioterrorism attack on us, we’ve been gearing up for war.”

“You’re insane,” said Beatrice. “Levon was right. This has gone too far. You can’t possibly believe that what you’re doing is…”

“Is what?” asked Covington, his voice cracking as he screamed. “Is right? Is ethical? Look who’s casting aspersions now! Look how the devil dares feign righteousness.” He was like a mad preacher, proselytizing and intoxicated by his own power. “The Age of Reason is ending, Beatrice. The lords of the realm will cede to my reign.” He clenched his fist hard enough to crack the fragile, scarred skin of his burned palm. Blood trickled down his arm as he grimaced in front of his captive. “I am not the madman here. I am not the malevolent force at work in the world today. I am the cleansing. I am the salvation.”

His bombastic
mannerism ceased and he looked at Beatrice calmly, almost as if he had sudden compassion for her. “I am no prophet.” He smiled and chuckled as if he was having a lighthearted conversation with an old friend. “I am no saint.” He paced and sighed plaintively. “Beatrice, I say this with the most humble of hearts.” Then he stared at her, and his madness was evident in his eyes. “I am the new God.”

*   *   *

Early morning, August 28th

At the rehab center, near Castle Rock

Arthur handed Abe his gear. They weren’t planning on being gone for long, but it was always hard to know how long it would take for The Department to answer the call. They were headed to a hotel that was on a cliff overlooking the town of Colorado Springs, where Jules and his men spent most of their time. The hotel was equipped with a large, kerosene fueled lamp that could be shuttered and was designed to alert The Department that there were people looking for them. Anyone who knew how to contact The Department would light the lamp, and then shine it down into Castle Rock in half hour increments. Eventually, someone from The Department would come to see who was visiting. Without following this procedure, searching for Jules and his men was a useless task. They rarely stayed in the same place for more than a few days, and didn’t like uninvited guests.

“Are you sure he’ll help?” asked Zack.

“No,” said Arthur. “But it’s worth a shot. We’re going to need all the help we can get if we’re planning on going after Jerald and the rest of his group.”

“Well, be careful,” said Zack as he hugged his nephew.

Arthur stumbled, nearly losing his balance on his crutch.

Zack glowered at his broken leg. “I wish it was someone else going.”

“I’ve got a good relationship with Jules. If anyone can get him to help, it’s me. Besides, I’ll have Abe along for the ride. What could go wrong?”

“Oh Lord,” said Zack as he looked at Arthur’s companion. “I guess I’ll start building the caskets.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” said Abe.

They were near the entrance of the facility, where there were no lights. They were careful not to give any exterior signs of their presence, even limiting the use of fire to the basement to avoid heat signatures. It had been four days since they escaped the church, and each of those days had been spent ensuring that the rehab center was a safe place for the survivors. They had emptied their trucks and then
drove them a few miles out to abandon them, before hiking back. It was a sad goodbye to a way of life they’d enjoyed for a long time, although many of them felt those days weren’t quite over yet.

“Daddy?” called David from the stairs that led to the basement.

“Hey buddy,” said Arthur. “What are you doing up here?”

“I wanted to walk you out.” David crossed the space between them swiftly, even on crutches.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get as good at using these as you are,” said Arthur as he waved the foot of his own crutch in a circle.

“Come here, kiddo.” Zack hefted David into his arms so the boy could kiss his father.

“Be careful, Daddy.”

“I always am,” said Arthur as he kissed his boy.

“We’ll walk you out,” said Zack.

Abe was forced to carry their supplies, a bag over each shoulder as he led the way to the entrance. There was a car on the side of the road outside of the rehab facility that they would use to drive the
forty miles south to Castle Rock.

“Are you going to take care of Aunt Annie for me?” asked Arthur.

David nodded. “Of course. I’ll do whatever Clyde needs.”

“You promise?”

“Yes sir.” David saluted his father.

“Okay, good. I want to see her up and in good spirits when I get back.”

Abe stopped in front of them and set the bags down. They were still inside, a short distance from the set of wooden doors at the entrance.

“What’s up?” asked Arthur. “Those too heavy for you?”

Abe looked at them concerned. “Do you hear that?”

Arthur did. There was an unnatural roar to the wind.

Zack set David down. “David, get back downstairs.”

“Why?” asked the boy. “What’s wrong.”

“Go, now,” said Arthur as he pointed to the stairs. “No arguments.”

Abe went to the double doors
that led outside and opened them both. A rush of wind came in, bringing leaves and twigs in as well, as if they’d suddenly welcomed a coming storm. The unidentifiable roar they heard a moment ago was now unmistakable.

Bombers, hundreds of them, were flying low overhead. Their black silhouettes hid the stars, and the moon cast their shadow on the earth.

“Are they here for us?” asked Zack as the roar of the planes grew louder.

“If they are, we’re fucked,” said Abe.

Arthur walked outside and watched the planes fly over. He looked south and knew where they were headed.

“They’re headed for the Springs,” said Arthur. “They’re going to take out Jules.”

“Oh shit,” said Zack. “Without those guys, we don’t stand a chance.”

Arthur watched the planes pass by. “I’m not sure we ever did.”

*   *   *

Under Denver International Airport

Celeste held her breath the second the gas started to fill her room.

She could hold her breath for 124 seconds. She practiced often, counting each time, and had checked the difference between a resting heart rate and an accelerated one. She knew how many steps it was from the bed to the false wall. She could be blind and still fight anyone that came into the room with her.

“This is getting old, Celeste,” said her avatar as the room filled with the gas.

The false wall slid open and a soldier walked in. To her horror, he wasn’t wearing the same suit that the others had. This soldier had a breathing apparatus, but there were no exposed tubes for her to grip. They had caught on to her plan.

She lunged and wrapped her arms around the man anyhow, determined to expose a weakness in his armor. The concussion of hitting him caused her to expel the air in her lungs and she inadvertently breathed in the noxious gas. She was frustrated with herself, but wanted to make the most of the seven seconds she had left.

It always took seven seconds for the gas to incapacitate her.

She put her fingers on the man’s helmet, and then grasped the pack on his back. He grabbed her by the waist and yelled for her to calm down, but she ignored him and continued to search for a weakness.

Her mind began to spin and she felt her muscles weaken.

Her seven seconds were up.

As she slipped into unconsciousness, her hand fell down the side of the guard’s suit. It got caught against a soft piece of fabric on the man’s side, between two plates of armor. As he hoisted her, she felt his muscle tense beneath the fabric.

A thin piece of fabric between her fingers and the man’s vulnerable flesh.

Celeste smiled as she fell asleep.

She dreamed of Hailey in the sunshine. She dreamed of the place called Juniper that the boy named Griffin had told her about. She dreamed of freedom, and of watching the sunrise.

There was just a thin piece of fabric between her and freedom.

God help anyone that stood in her way.

TO BE CONTINUED…

It breaks my heart to say it, but the Deadlocked series is quickly coming to a close. When I decided to write the fifth book in the series, I did it with the intention of having the eighth book as a final chapter. I wanted to explore a lot of unanswered questions from the first four books and expand the story in some new and exciting ways. The past three books have been far more rewarding to me than I ever thought possible, but that doesn’t change the fact that the fourth book has always been meant as a finale. You are just one book away from the end now.

When I started Deadlocked 7,
the theme I settled on was the affect the past can have on us. The over-arching theme of the entire 7 books so far has been the importance of family, but one untouched idea thus far has been what sort of legacy our forefathers leave for us. This theme is pretty blatant in some parts of this book, with the actions of the past having direct ties to what happens in the future; but then also a bit more hidden, such as how Beatrice and The Electorate are pushing to have a lasting legacy.

When I first planned out the story, I thought that I would spend the beginning half of the book exploring the past. I was going to let the time frame flow naturally, from what happened right after book four leading up to where we left off in book six. However, I quickly realized that couldn’t work. Not only would I be limited by a static timeline, but I would also be leaving readers in the lurch about what happened after the end of book six. That’s when I settled on the idea of splitting each chapter in two, which is a technique I also used in my book, 314. This really opened up the storytelling for me, and allowed me to flip flop through time periods. I was able to include some scenes in this book (like much of Annie’s backstory – which I loved) that wouldn’t have made it in anyhow.

My hope is that the back and forth between the time frames started out for the reader as a bit discombobulating. Whenever you’re telling a story about the past, the reader is a little cheated because they already know important details: like who is going to live through it and who will die. I hope that switching between the present (so to speak) and the past eventually melded the reader’s sense of intensity to the point that they started to forget not to be worried about characters when the book was telling a story from the past.

Also, I played a little with the knowledge of Reagan’s death. Ever since book five, we’ve known that he died, but didn’t know how. As this book went along, I wanted the reader to get caught up with just when Reagan was going to die, and how it would happen. That was the crux of the tension throughout those parts.