Pale Horse (A Project Eden Thriller) (18 page)

“What’s your name?” she asked again.

He hesitated. “Brandon.”

“Well, Brandon. You want to tell me what you were really doing in the woods?”

Please open the door.

“Brandon? Why were you out there?”

“I…I was being chased.” The words left his lips before he even realized what he’d said.

“Chased? By who?”

“They were in helicopters,” he said. Now that he had started, he couldn’t stop. “And they had guns. They killed my friend, the man who was helping me. Please, I was just trying to get away.”

The door opened, but Brandon had already dropped the hand holding the soup. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. The woman remained out of view.

“Why were they chasing you?” she asked.

How did he explain that? “I don’t know.”

Silence.

“We heard those helicopters,” she said. “Yesterday. They were a long ways off, though. Ten, fifteen miles at least. Are you saying that’s where you were?”

“Yes.” His voice almost a whisper.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll ask him.” Her words were almost a mumble.

“I’m sorry?” he asked.

Ignoring him, she said, “You’re from over the big ridge, aren’t you? From that valley with that big building, and the airstrip?”

She’d seen the Ranch?

“Well?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Owen told me about it. Some kind of militia place, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what that means.” Was Owen the other person in the house?

“Private army. Anti-government. Racists, maybe? Religious zealots? Both?”

“No. Nothing like that.”

“Then what is it?”

Again he paused. He’d never been good at lying, so he was sure she’d see through him if he tried now. “The Resistance.”

“The what?”

“Resistance.”

She was silent for several seconds. “What exactly are you
resisting
?”

“The, um, end of the world.”

He heard her mumble again, but this time couldn’t make out what she was saying. It went on for nearly a minute, with pauses here and there, like she was listening. Finally, she stepped into the doorway, the barrel of her gun leading the way.

“Are you just a bunch of brainwashed crazies? Or are you telling the truth?”

There was something in the way she asked the questions that made Brandon think she was inclined to believe him. Like she knew something. Like—

Oh, no.
“It started, didn’t it?” he asked. “That’s why the helicopters attacked us.”

“What started?” she asked.

He tried to recall everything he had overheard and learned while he was at the Bunker. “The shipping containers.”

“What shipping containers?”

“They’re all over the place. They’ve been turned on, haven’t they? Is it on the news?”

Her face twisted in confusion. “The news?”

Her response caught him off guard. Maybe it
hadn’t
happened.

Before he could say anything more, she shut the door on him. A moment later, he could hear her go upstairs and across the floor. There was a loud scrape, maybe a table being moved or a chair, then nothing for several minutes.

When the floor creaked again, she was walking faster than she had previously. In no time, she was down the stairs and opening the door to his room again.

 “Come with me,” she said, disappearing into the main part of the basement.

Confused, but hoping this might be his opportunity to get away, he followed her. Once they reached the main floor, the woman crossed over to the sparsely furnished living room, and stopped in front of a plain wooden table with a computer sitting on it. He could hear what sounded like voices coming out of it, but he couldn’t see the screen.

Brandon’s eyes strayed to the front door. If he moved quickly, he could get outside before she’d be able to do anything.

“Over here,” she ordered.

Now
, he told himself,
go!
But instead, he walked into the living room, the power of what might be on the computer drawing him forward.

On the screen was the website for one of the cable news networks. It was playing a live feed.

The room around Brandon seemed to disappear as he was sucked into the reports of the strange containers that had been found in dozens of countries, emitting some kind of mist. Authorities were doing everything they could to keep the public away from the boxes, but Brandon was sure that wouldn’t matter.

After several minutes, the woman looked at him. “You knew.”

He nodded, his eyes not leaving the computer.

“Then tell me what’s going to happen next.”

“Almost everyone is going to die.”

GRISE FIORD

7:41 AM CENTRAL STANDARD TIME

A
SPOTLIGHT CUT
across the water, lighting up the Zodiac.

“That’s far enough,”
a voice boomed over the electronic megaphone. The speaker was standing on the dock not far from the light, surrounded by several others.

Ash backed off on the Zodiac motor, but didn’t bring the small boat to a full stop. He had no intention of using the dock, but he had to get by it to reach the beach closest to the airstrip.

“We just want to get to our plane,” Ash yelled back, not sure if they would even be able to hear him.

Something hit the water next to the boat. A split second later, the sound of a rifle shot echoed through the air.

“Any closer and the next one will go through the side of your vessel,” the man on the dock announced.

Ash cut the engine.

“Please,” he called out. “There’s nothing wrong with us. We just need to get to our plane.”

No response.

He looked over at Red, who was sitting up front next to Gagnon. “Pass me the radio.”

Red tossed it to him. The device was a handheld walkie-talkie with eleven different channel options. They had tried it several times on the way in, but hadn’t been able to reach anyone. This time, Ash held it in the air so those on the dock could see it, and yelled, “Channel Four! Channel Four!”

There was movement on the dock, several of the men clustering together in discussion. Finally one of them broke from the crowd and jogged to the shore. They watched his progress until he disappeared into one of the buildings.

“We really need to get Gagnon someplace warm,” Red said.

The pilot, whose condition had been improving, had lost a lot of the recently regained color in his cheeks.

There was a pop over the radio, then, “This is Grise Fiord calling party on boat.”

Ash pushed the transmit button. “This is Daniel Ash.”

“Mr. Ash, I regret to inform you you’re going to have to leave. We can’t have you here.”

On shore, the man who’d gone into the building reemerged, holding what was undoubtedly a portable radio in his hand.

“All we need to do is get to our plane so we can leave.”

“Plane?”

“The jet parked on your strip. That’s ours.”

“Hold on.”

They watched the man run down the dock to the others. There was another conference, then a different man broke from the crowd and headed to shore.

“Listen,” Ash said into the radio. “We’ll go directly to the airstrip. We won’t come near anyone.”

“Just stay where you are,” the man said.

Several minutes passed before the person who had left returned with someone new. When they reached the group, the radio crackled to life again.

“Ash? Is that you?”

“Harlan?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” Harlan Pinto was the pilot of their private jet. “Where’s the seaplane?”

“No time right now. Tell the men there with you we just want to get to the jet and that’s it.”

“They understand that, but I’m told they’re not comfortable with you coming ashore at all. Everyone’s freaked out about what’s going on in the rest of the world. The news have been showing the video Tamara Costello made telling everyone it’s a biological attack. People here have created a kind of reverse quarantine zone.”

“Let me talk to the man in charge,” Ash said. “But you stay close and listen in.”

“Okay. Just a second.”

A pause, then, “This is Gerald McKay.”

“Mr. McKay, you’re in charge of Grise Fiord?”

“That’s right.” McKay had a rough, smoker’s voice.

“I can make you a deal, and guarantee that no one in your town will ever get sick by what’s happening elsewhere.”

“So can I. That’s why we can’t allow you to come ashore.”

“My guarantee works no matter who comes ashore, now or in the future.”

“And exactly how can you do that?”

“By providing you all with a vaccine.”

McKay fell silent. In the lights on the dock, Ash could see the men talking to each other. They seemed to be directing much of their attention at Harlan.

When things settled down, McKay came back on. “How is it you have a vaccine for a disease some terrorists just released in the last twenty-four hours?”

“It’s not just any disease, Mr. McKay. It’s Sage Flu.” He paused, letting the reality of that sink in. “We’ve had the vaccine ready for some time now, knowing the day would come when these terrorists tried it again. We’d hoped to stop them, but…”

“Bullshit. You’re just saying anything to get us to allow you ashore. You know so much about this, maybe you’re already infected.”

“What do you have to lose? Harlan will get it for you. You can choose to take it or not after that. But I’d take it if I were you.”

“Maybe it’s water, or even poison. Hell, it could even be a vitamin shot. You think we’re going to believe you’d show up
right now
with a cure for something we’re not even sure exists yet?”

Ash would not get through to them. He could see that.

“Hang on,” he said to Chloe and Red.

He restarted the engine.

“What are you doing?” McKay asked.

Ash tossed the radio on the floor, gunned the motor, and headed around the end of the dock in an arc he hoped would make them harder to hit.

“You’d better be going back out to sea! You’re not wanted here!” McKay yelled at them.

Once he cleared the dock, Ash aimed the boat at the spot on the shore that would put them just below the road leading to the airfield.

“They’re heading off the dock,” Chloe said. “You want to share your plan?”

“Get to the plane.”

She smirked. “Brilliant. But I guess it’s better to die from a gunshot than freeze to death out here on the water.”

“I’d rather not do either.”

As they drew closer to the shore, Red said, “Ice ahead, all the way to the beach.”

“How far does it come out?” Ash asked.

“Looks about twenty-five feet.”

“All right. Let’s hope this thing rides the ice better than Gagnon’s plane did!”

“Seriously?” Chloe asked.

“You have a better idea?”

She stared at him for a moment, then shook her head.

Ash opened up the motor as fast as it would go, building up speed while he still could.

“Here it comes!” Red yelled.

At the last second, Ash killed the motor and pushed it down, so that the propeller end lifted out of the water instead of jamming into the ice and stopping them cold.

The boat skidded across the surface, slewing left and right, then turned until they were sideways to the beach, with only their momentum keeping them headed in the right direction.

“Bump!” Red said.

With a loud thump, the boat jumped up and slammed back down. Ash shot out a hand and grabbed Chloe, barely stopping her from flying over the side.

As they passed from the ice onto the rocky beach, there was a rip followed by the loud hiss of air, and the inflatable sides of the boat began to collapse.

Ash was the first out. He grabbed Gagnon’s legs and said, “Come on. We’ve got to keep moving.”

With a grunt, Chloe crawled out after him. Red shook his head as if he were dazed, then took a hold of Gagnon’s shoulders. The two men lifted the pilot out of the boat, and followed Chloe up to the road.

From that point, it was just over a quarter-mile to the small airfield. They headed toward it as fast as they could go, but made it only fifty yards before they heard running feet behind them.

“Stop!” a man yelled. It was McKay’s voice, though unaided by the radio now.

“Keep moving,” Ash whispered.

“Dammit, stop!”

They didn’t even pause.

There was a double crack of gunfire and two bullets screamed by them, one on either side. They still didn’t slow.

“Don’t make us shoot you!” McKay yelled.

“We’re not making you do anything,” Ash called out.

Another gunshot, this bullet sailing over their heads.

Red looked over at Ash, worried.

“Keep going,” Ash told him.

There were three more shots before they reached the plane, but none hit them. As they neared the aircraft, the side door opened and Barry Kincaid, the copilot, looked out.

“Ash!” he said, surprised. “You made it.” Then he noticed the others coming behind them with guns. “Oh, shit.”

“Get the plane ready for takeoff,” Ash ordered.

With a nod, Barry disappeared back into the plane.

“You first,” Ash told Red as they reached the short stairway to the entrance. As soon as they got Gagnon inside, Ash passed the man’s legs off to Chloe, and headed back toward the door.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Get him comfortable and warmed up. I’ll just be a minute.”

A few feet past the door was a storage compartment. He opened it, pulled out a two-by-ten-inch blue box, and climbed outside.

As his feet hit the ground, the plane’s engines growled to life. Gathered in a line about fifty feet away from the plane were the men who’d been on the dock. There were nine of them, ten counting Harlan, whom they were holding back.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” McKay’s voice came out of a red-bearded man standing near the middle of the group.

“Leaving,” Ash said.

“You shouldn’t have come ashore. You may have exposed us all.”

“Lucky for you, I didn’t.” Ash leaned down and set the box on the ground.

“What’s that?”