Pale Horse (A Project Eden Thriller) (5 page)

But five minutes passed with nothing. Then six. Then seven.

“Are we still online?” he asked.

Kane, red-cheeked from the two glasses of champagne he’d already downed, leaned toward the monitor. “I, uh, think so. Yes, I believe we are. Is something wrong?”

If Kane couldn’t figure it out, Perez wasn’t going to tell him. “I need someone to open the vault.”

“What?” Kane said, confused.

“The vault. I need someone to open it.” Perez narrowed his eyes, staring at the director. “Not you.”

“Now, hold on. There’s no reason for you to take that tone with me. I’m in charge here.”

“You
were
in charge. Things have just changed.”

“What are you talking about?”

Claudia glanced at her watch, then looked at the monitor, the blood draining from her face.

Immediately she put her glass down and stood up. “I’ll take you.”

Kane gaped at her. “Claudia, what do you think you’re doing?”

Instead of answering, she led Perez out the door.

The conference room was located on the third basement level, while the vault was on level four, the bottom level.

As they rode the elevator down, Claudia said, “It could be just a communication glitch.”

Perez said nothing.

The amount of redundancies the Project had built into their communications system meant the chances of that being the case were extremely low. The second message, the one confirming everything was happening as planned, should have arrived no more than thirty minutes after activation. That was a step built into the Project’s plan years ago. The fact it hadn’t happened meant something was wrong, most likely at Bluebird itself.

But, as it had done for many possibilities, the Project had prepared for just such a circumstance.

Once out of the elevator, they made their way to the vault where Claudia punched in the code, opening the outer door. Inside was the real vault door. This took not only another code but a retinal and hand scan of an authorized individual. Claudia wasted no time releasing the locks, and within seconds they were standing inside.

One wall was covered with small, numbered doors that looked no different than a wall of safety deposit boxes in a bank. The only difference was that the ones in the Project’s vaults were opened with codes instead of keys. Each box contained instructions or information that would be used in different scenarios. Perez went immediately to box A002.

“Code,” he said.

“Two-slash-thirty-eight-slash-seven.”

He input the characters and the door popped open.

Inside was a single sheet of paper. He read it carefully then handed it to her. “I’m officially taking over this facility.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, her eyes scanning the page.

“Retrieve the communication codes for the other depots, and have your people start making contact. I want a video conference in one hour with the top four ranking members.”

Something had gone wrong at Bluebird after the activation code was sent. Which meant, until someone from the Project directorate showed up, Perez and the others he would soon contact had to take charge.

7

MONTANA

10:48 AM MOUNTAIN STANDARD TIME

B
RANDON FOCUSED ALL
his energy on trying to hear anything from the other side of the metal plate that covered his hiding spot. But there was no helicopter, no feet, no anything. Just his own heartbeat thudding in his ears.

 Every few minutes he would use the flashlight that had been in the backpack to check his watch. Hayes had been gone over half an hour. Brandon was sure he should have been back by now. He’d only heard the helicopter for a few minutes right after he was buried in the hole, so he thought it had probably flown off somewhere.

How long do I wait?

An image flashed in his mind. Hayes somewhere in the forest injured and needing help. Brandon was the only one around, the only one who could do anything.

Ten more minutes, then go look for him.

He sat on the pile of empty plastic bags, his head cocked to the side so that his ear rested against the metal.

Still silence from above.

When he checked his watch again, he saw that he was already two minutes past his deadline.

All right. All right, I’m going.

But for a moment he didn’t move, wondering if he was making the right decision.

“Go,” he whispered to himself.

He placed his palms against the metal plate and pushed. It moved half an inch, and came back down. He’d forgotten how heavy it was, plus now it had an added layer of dirt on top of it.

Could he even move it? Would he be stuck in the tube until someone found him?
Would
anyone find him?

The thought of never getting out of the hole was more than enough to motivate him to try again. This time, instead of just pushing up, he pushed up and to the side, hoping that would be easier, and was able to move it several inches before he had to set it back down again.

He gave himself half a minute, then tried once more. After three attempts, he’d moved the plate enough that a wedge of light appeared at one end. All he had to do was get it halfway across the hole and he was sure he’d be able to squeeze out.

He raised his hands to push again, but froze. A soft crunch, not far away, like someone stepping on fallen pine needles.

Hayes? Or someone else?

Brandon held his position. Another crunch, this one farther away, then several more. They sounded too light to be footsteps. What then? Something falling from the trees?

When several minutes passed with no more noise, he pushed on the plate again. The pause had given him the energy he needed, and he was able to move the cover an inch beyond the midpoint.

He rested for a moment, then raised himself so his head cleared the opening.

There was a loud rustle to his left. He whipped around just in time to see several deer hop away. The noise hadn’t been Hayes, nor one of the others.

He worked himself all the way out, then leaned over the tube and extracted the backpack. As he stood up, he looked at the metal plate and considered pushing it back over the hole. But the energy it had taken to move it off had already drained him. Shoving it around again would only make him weaker, and he knew he was going to need all the strength he had left. It would just have to stay the way it was.

He turned slowly in a full circle, unsure which way he should go in search of Hayes. His eyes settled on the ridge they had come over about an hour before. While it wasn’t completely treeless, the forest was thinner there.

Leaving his backpack by the open tube, he jogged up the hill. As he reached the top, he could hear the distant
thump-thump-thump
of one of the helicopters, and spotted it hovering above the Ranch. He searched the rest of the sky for the other helicopters, but only the one was visible.

He turned his back to the Ranch, and looked down into the valley where he’d been hiding. A carpet of trees stretched out for as far as he could see. To the left the land tapered downward, flattening out to a horizon that looked a thousand miles away. To the right were the mountains that jutted up toward the heavens like a wall marking the end of the world.

Left?

Right?

Straight ahead?

Back to the Ranch?

No. Hayes wouldn’t have gone back. That would have been heading directly toward those attacking the Resistance.

As Brandon turned back to the valley, a helicopter suddenly rose out of the trees about half a mile away. Without even thinking, he dropped to the ground, his eyes never leaving the aircraft.

It hovered in the sky for a moment, then turned and began heading in his direction.

Scrambling backward on his belly, he moved behind the nearest tree, then closed his eyes and hugged the ground.

Please don’t let them see me. Please don’t.

The thump of the helicopter increased until it roared right over his head. A part of him was sure someone inside was looking down at him, and within seconds the aircraft would descend enough so that the soldiers could drop down on ropes and snatch him from where he lay. But after a moment, the pounding of the rotors began to recede as the helicopter passed over the ridge and headed toward the Ranch.

Brandon wasted no time jumping to his feet. He sprinted down the hill to the thicker cover of the forest near the tube, retrieved his backpack, and headed in the direction of the spot where the helicopter had risen from the trees.

As he drew closer, he slowed his pace and tried to minimize the sound of his steps in case some men had been left behind. What he really wanted to do was call out Mr. Hayes’s name, but that obviously wasn’t an option.

Just ahead, he could see the clearing where the helicopter had landed. In the spring and summer it was probably green with vegetation, but now it was just dirt and rocks and scrub, waiting for the winter snows that, according to those at the Ranch, should have arrived already.

Staying among the trees, he circled around the meadow, looking for movement. It seemed, though, that the helicopter had taken everyone with it.

Just keep going. Get away from here
, a voice in his head said.

He turned, planning to do just that, when something odd caught his attention. It was just inside the trees, about a quarter of the way farther around the clearing, a blue shape that looked out of place.

It kind of looked like a tarp or—

No.

Keeping the thought from completely forming, he skirted the edge of the clearing and raced toward the object. But the closer he got, the slower his stride became, as the realization of what it was started to sink in.

The blue was flanked on both sides by offshoots of black.

No,
he thought again, taking another step closer.

A blue jacket. Black sleeves.

Another step.

A jacket that had a hole in the middle no wider than one of Brandon’s fingers. A jacket that was still being worn.

Oh, please, no. Please.

“Mr. Hayes?”

He dropped his pack on the ground, knelt down, and put a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Mr. Hayes? Are you all right?” It was a stupid question. Of course he wasn’t all right. He was lying there unconscious.

Brandon moved his hands under the man’s chest, and carefully turned him onto his back.

For a moment, all he could do was stare, then he twisted to the side and vomited.

Hayes’s eyes were open wide, but there was no life in them. There was a gaping wound in his chest right above where his heart was.

The hole in the back of the jacket, Brandon thought. A bullet hole.

His stomach turned, and he wanted to retch again, but he forced whatever was left inside to stay down.

What am I going to do now?

He stared blankly at the ground just beyond Hayes’s body.

The Ranch?

One look at Mr. Hayes was reason enough not to go that way.

Think. Think! What would Dad do?

Before the Sage Flu, his father had been just like most dads. He played with Brandon, pushed him to do his homework, taught him how to field a grounder. But after the outbreak, after Brandon and Josie’s mother had died and they’d finally been reunited with him, he had started teaching his kids other skills, survival skills they would need if things turned bad. Brandon could tell directions from the stars, knew how to shoot a gun, and even, despite his age, how to drive a car. But he was still a kid. Even he knew that.

As he closed his eyes, his father’s voice echoed in his head. “Never let events overwhelm you.” It was a lesson he’d preached many times. “Relax. Be logical. And survive.”

Brandon repeated the last part silently to himself.

When he felt he was in control once more, he opened his eyes. Hayes was still there, still staring at the sky, his chest ripped open, but the sight no longer repelled Brandon. It was as if he was watching a movie, and Hayes was only an actor on the screen. So he did what he’d seen in films many times—he closed Hayes’s eyes.

Dipping his head, he said, “Lord, please take care of Mr. Hayes. He was trying to help me, and probably saved my life. Thank him for me, okay? Amen.”

It wasn’t the best prayer ever, but it would have to do.

He gritted his teeth, knowing what he had to do next wasn’t going to be pleasant. Hesitating only a second, he started searching through Hayes’s pockets for anything he might need. He found seventy dollars in the man’s wallet first, and in the pockets a folding knife, a book of matches, and eighty-five cents in coins. He’d been hoping to find Mr. Hayes’s cell phone, but he didn’t seem to have it on him.

He stood up and took a look around the area. So where was Mr. Hayes’s backpack? Had the people from the helicopter taken it with them?

No,
Brandon realized. Mr. Hayes probably hid it somewhere so he could move faster.

Brandon thought about going in search of it, but who knew how long that might take, or if he’d find it at all? He couldn’t chance on the helicopters flying back over and finding him. He’d just have to get by with what he already had.

Keep moving
, his father’s voice said.

“But where?” Brandon whispered.

Not the Ranch, and not toward the mountains.

The only real choice was to follow the gentle slope down toward the wide horizon. Somewhere out there, there had to be a town, someone he could go to for help. At the very least, there would be a highway.

The decision made, he looked down at Hayes again. “I’m sorry you had to die. I wish I could have helped you.” He almost said goodbye, but that seemed too much.

Donning his pack, he turned east and started walking.

8

THE RANCH, MONTANA

11:23 AM MOUNTAIN STANDARD TIME