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
Brandon 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.