Marcos searched for a moment, then nodded. “That’s four.”
He handed the camera back to Bobby, who continued his check. He spotted no more men, only a few additional buildings he hadn’t been able to see before, and a nearly empty field just north of Everton, with what looked like a small pump house or storage hut in the middle.
He switched to the bulkier lens, once more needing assistance to hold the camera steady. He hit RECORD and repeated his sweep, spending a few extra seconds on the newly discovered guard before continuing north and ending when he reached the field.
He clicked the camera off and lowered it. “All set.”
Less than a minute later, they were on the move again.
Wicks barely had time to drop to the ground before the patrol in the woods came into view. He froze, hoping they weren’t wearing night-vision goggles. If they were, he was dead for sure.
Where the hell had they come from? He’d been watching Dream Sky for over an hour, and not once had there been any patrols this far out of town. Had he tripped some sort of sensor? There had been no mention of any in the information he’d culled about the place over the past few years.
He tilted his chin up enough so he could watch the patrol as it snaked through the trees and passed by less than thirty feet away. Five people in all — three men and two women, though he could have been wrong about that. Four of them were carrying rifles, while the fifth — definitely a man — carried a large pack on his back, but no obvious weapon.
That was strange enough, but what was even odder was that none of them were dressed in the typical Project Eden security outfits. The guard Wicks had seen in town was properly dressed, so why wasn’t this patrol?
Once they passed out of sight, he rose to his knees and looked out at the field and the utility hut that was not a utility hut, then back in the direction the patrol had gone.
“Dammit,” he whispered.
He climbed to his feet and headed after them.
32
Pax decided he and Nyla would execute his little ruse, while Gabriel remained with the others to take charge if something went wrong.
“You ready?” Pax asked her.
With a wicked smile, she said, “You bet I am.”
He clicked the radio. “Everyone stand by. We’re moving.”
As he put his arm over Nyla’s shoulder, she threw hers around his back.
“Lean into me,” she said.
He did. “How’s that?”
“Fine.”
They moved along the edge of the stadium parking lot, Pax practicing his limp.
When he felt like he had it, he said, “Let’s do this.”
They turned onto the asphalt and headed straight for the stadium. The lot was largely dark, only the lights nearest the ballpark were on, so it wasn’t until they’d stepped into the illuminated area that they earned the reaction they’d wanted.
“Car,” Nyla whispered.
The sedan appeared around the corner to the right, coming fast. Pax and Nyla kept walking toward the stadium as if they hadn’t seen it.
“Here we go,” she said a few seconds later.
The car slowed to a stop directly in their path. Pax and Nyla halted, looking appropriately dazed. The two people inside climbed out and clicked on flashlights, shining them in Pax’s and Nyla’s faces.
Pax raised his free arm in front of his eyes and said in a weak voice, “Can you lower that, please?”
The beam tilted downward.
“Thank you.”
“Evening,” the driver said. “You two look like you’ve been through hell.”
“Have you been out there?” Nyla said, a tremble in her voice. “It is hell.”
“Of course,” the other man said, his voice more soothing than his partner’s. “But you’ve made it, and you’re going to be fine now.”
“So, this is the survival station?” Pax asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Thank God.”
“I do need to ask,” the nice one said, “are either of you sick?”
“No,” Nyla said.
“You, sir?”
“I don’t feel great,” Pax said. “But it’s because of my ankle. Think it might be busted.”
The man smiled. “Not to worry. Our doctors can take care of that. Hop into the car. We’ll give you a lift the rest of the way.”
“That would be great,” Nyla said.
With a nudge from his friend, the driver helped Nyla guide Pax to the vehicle.
“Best if we put your backpacks in the trunk,” the nicer man said. “It’ll be a tight squeeze otherwise.”
“Oh, um, sure.” Nyla peeled off her pack. “Here, Mr. Paxton, let me help you with yours.”
After the bags were loaded up and Nyla and Pax were sitting in the backseat, the two men climbed in.
“You two know each other from before?” the nicer man asked as the driver started the car.
He never received his answer. Before the driver could drop the car in gear, Pax and Nyla placed guns — previously strapped to their legs — against the backs of the two chairs and pulled the triggers. They had chosen smaller-caliber pistols so the sound would be minimal. The choice also meant the Project Eden men had a higher chance of survival, but with the guns pressed against their backs, neither had a chance.
As soon as Pax and Nyla were sure the men were out of commission, they reached up front and hauled the driver into the back. Nyla slipped behind the wheel, while Pax ran his hand across the top of the backseat until he found the latch that allowed him access to the trunk.
Seat lowered, he pulled their bags through, dug out his radio, and clicked the talk button.
“Go!”
Ben tiptoed through the building, checking the other bunks. On his last pass, two of the others had been awake, but now they too had drifted off. When he reached the girls and Preston, he nodded, put a finger to his lips, and headed over to the door.
As soon as they’d joined him, he pointed at each of them in the order they would follow him, starting with Jilly. He slipped out the door and along the building to the shadow by the fence. He was already on his way toward the gate when he heard the faint sound of the door opening again as Jilly came out, followed immediately by Preston.
At the gate, he crawled into the short ditch and began scraping away at the dirt on the other side, temporarily leaving the grass above it. He only had to clear away enough so they could scoot under and up, maybe two feet out at most.
Every third or fourth time he pulled the dirt under the gate, he glanced up to check on the others. Like they had discussed earlier, they were lining up in the shadow along the fence, waiting until the hole was done.
The farther he went, the more the layer of grass drooped. Once he felt he’d gone far enough, he moved back inside the enclosure and whispered, “Get ready.”
Going under the gate on his back this time, he worked his fingers up through the grass and began pulling it down until the playing field tore loose at the edges. He ripped most of it out in a single large section and cleared away the rest, then pushed all the grass under the gate, knocking it out of the hole with a flick of his feet.
He stared up at the night sky. Things had gone well so far, but from this point forward everything would be improvisation. He lifted his head above the level of the grass and looked both ways. No one in sight.
He could feel his heart thumping, knowing the next step would put his life in serious danger.
It’s better than staying here, he told himself. You stay and you will die.