And, well, nothing happened-no alarm started blaring, no guards with Uzis came scrambling out of the building, no laser cannons popped up out of the ground, searching for my heat signature. In fact, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say this building was just an abandoned building and nothing more. But I do know better, thanks to the GPS signal-Eli’s location-currently coming from somewhere inside.
Plus, there was the car that twenty minutes ago came breezing down the drive, its brake lights flaring red as it stopped in front of the overlarge garage door. It sat there for a few seconds, just idling, before the garage door slowly creaked open and the brake lights winked out as the car glided into darkness.
The car’s windows were tinted, so we have no idea how many people were inside, but the car had come after we had already arrived, so it was safe to assume that the person who had just arrived was Matheson, the son of a bitch responsible for all of this.
Now, several seconds after the explosion, dust and smoke enveloping the building, Ashley whispers, “Now what?”
It’s just after ten o’clock in the morning. We’ve already made the calls we needed to make-to the local police, to the local news, direct calls that ensured we were speaking with what we hoped were normal average citizens and not part of the legion. We explained that there had been an explosion at this location. Will they come? Maybe not, but our hope is they’ve already sent someone out here, a few fire trucks and police cars, anyone who is trustworthy and willing to stand up against this evil.
I grab hold of the second detonator and press my thumb down on the plunger.
Another explosion, this time on the other side of the building, causes the ground to shake beneath us.
I strap the RPG over my shoulder, then grab the assault rifle, my gaze focused on the closed garage door three hundred yards away.
“Now we wait.”
sixty-four
The LED above the door still flashing red, Zach said to Hogan, “How much support do we have?”
Hogan took a moment, biting his lip, working the numbers through his head. “Two guards, two staff, and the driver that came with Dr. Matheson.”
The phone in Zach’s pocket vibrated. He pulled it out, saw who was calling, placed the phone to his ear.
“Tyson, tell me you know what’s going on.”
“I just accessed the security feed. It looks like John Smith managed to find you.”
“Yeah, I just confirmed how he was able to do it. Eli must have swallowed a tracking device. Do you know where Smith is now?”
“Two of the cameras went down from the blast, and the rest are just showing smoke right now.”
Zach started toward the door, the old man behind him demanding to know what was happening. “Smith has to be acting on his own,” he said into the phone. “Maybe he has the Walker girl with him, but either way we can eliminate him.”
“That’s fine,” Tyson said, his voice hesitant, “but I’ve just been instructed to tell you to execute a code black. The rest of the staff has been notified. You have twenty minutes.”
This made Zach pause, turning his wrist to glance at the plain watch he-just as everyone else-was required to wear in the facility. Already the screen showing the time had been wiped clean, now with the numbers 20:00:00. As if on cue, they began to count down.
“Why?”
“We received word that an anonymous call just went out to local police and local news about the building.”
“Can’t you redirect them?”
“We might be able to hold them off for a little, but that’s it.”
“Don’t we have any people in the area?”
“We have one guy, a state trooper, but today’s his day off.”
“Well fucking call him and get him over here.”
He clicked off, more irritated now than ever before, staring off at the blank wall, seething, when another blast caused the building to shake, to tremble, to feel like it was about ready to fall down around itself.
Behind him, Matheson shouted, “What is happening?”
Hogan, doing a better job of restraining himself than Zach: “We have to leave, sir.”
“How could you let this happen?”
Zach spun around, his face a volcano about to erupt, the words on the tip of his tongue bubbling lava, but instead he said, as calmly as he could, “Sir, we are executing a code black. It’s best you come with me and my associate right now.”
“What about him?” Matheson asked, a bony, accusatory finger pointed straight at Eli strapped to the bed.
Zach kept it as simple as possible: “He can stay here and die.”
sixty-five
The smoke is starting to clear.
Thirty seconds have passed since the second blast, maybe a minute, and nothing has happened.
The garage door still remains closed.
I can feel Ashley looking at me, wanting to get my attention, so I glance at her and see it in her eyes, the questions, the confusion, the worry, the same things probably mirrored in my eyes right now. Because this, this right here, isn’t right. Stuff should be happening. Those two blasts should have put things in motion, big things, life-altering things, things that may be too big for me to handle, though I’m going to try. That’s why I’m here, after all, Ashley, too, the two of us wearing the Kevlar vests, the ones that are supposed to stop bullets, though Marta had been wearing one when David shot her in the throat and look how effective her vest had been then.
My mind is drifting, filling with worry, with excuses, stretching the time out much longer than is possible, so that a second feels like a minute, a minute an hour, an hour a day. Only an hour hasn’t yet passed. A minute’s hardly passed. And still nothing has happened besides the smoke starting to clear. The sound of sporadic traffic out on the highway, the smell of grass and leaves and dirt around us, the blood pounding in my ears-all of it is how it should be at this moment, and yet that damned garage door still hasn’t moved.
I look at Ashley, wanting to tell her something, but before I can, her eyes narrow and she ducks down, her voice soft and tiny with just one word: “Look.”
Now, besides the clearing smoke, is a single figure moving around the building. He’s dressed in tan slacks and a robin’s egg blue shirt, like he’s just your average nine-to-five office worker, only he has a rifle in his hands, much like the one I’m currently gripping. And right now he’s headed around the building, having probably exited through the front door, the man swiveling his head back and forth searching for me. Because these people, they have to know by now who’s tracked them down, who set off those two bombs, the son coming to rescue the father.
I grab the third detonator, lightly touch my thumb to the plunger.
“Wait,” Ashley whispers, “don’t-” but by that point I’ve already pushed down on the plunger, and a second later the third bomb goes off … only the blast comes from the other side of the building, not the side the man with the rifle is currently on.
I look down at the ground in front of me, at the two detonators I’ve already used, and the one that I haven’t. Obviously I picked up the wrong one. I’d thought I laid them out in order, but apparently not, and now the guy with the rifle is still alive when he should be dead, blown to pieces in the blast.
I consider grabbing the fourth detonator, setting the last bomb off, but it’s too late. The man, thrown to the ground by the blast, has gotten back to his feet. He’s coughing because of the smoke and the dust, wiping at his eyes with the hand not gripping the rifle, and he’s looking around the area, trying to find our location. Another blast would eliminate him in no time, but I don’t want to waste it if I don’t have to, so I say to Ashley, “Go to the truck, now,” and I grab the assault rifle and rush forward, through the trees, down the slight incline, focused on the man who spots me coming and takes aim.