2041 Sanctuary (Genesis) (46 page)

‘Not if we stay in central or southern America,’ Sarah said, ‘or China, maybe.’

Trish didn’t look convinced, perhaps because civil wars still raged in the south and to get to China without detection would be a mission in itself.

Thoughts of what they needed to do next circled Sarah’s mind and she willed them away. It was still too soon. Everything was too soon. She closed her eyes again to clear her mind and before she knew it she’d drifted back into the arms of sleep.

♦

Sarah awoke the next day to find Trish and Jason discussing something that lay on her bed. She looked around at an unfamiliar room. ‘Where are we?’

Trish looked up and gave her a smile. ‘Morning, sleepy head.’

‘The doctor had you moved to this recovery room,’ Jason said. ‘They needed the space in UCI for someone else.’

‘We thought you’d wake up when they moved your bed, but you obviously needed the sleep.’ Trish held up a map. ‘Jason found something.’

‘It was in a beat up old car parked in a side street next to the hospital,’ he said. ‘It works, too. The car, I mean, I gave it a quick run round.’

Sarah sat up and saw a tray laden with food on a trolley next to her. She’d never felt so ravenous. She pulled it onto her lap and attacked it with a vengeance.

‘There’s a route marked on it,’ Trish said, showing her the map as she ate. ‘It directs us to a house on the outskirts of a small village in southern Honduras. It looks remote, so it might be beyond militia and GMRC control.’

‘You think we should go?’ Sarah said, between mouthfuls.

‘What other choices do we have? We don’t have our passports, money, or anything else for that matter.’

‘We do have money,’ Jason said, ‘I forgot to say; I found this in the door pocket.’ He held up a wadge of well-used notes.

Trish gave him a stern look of disapproval and held out her hand. He passed her the cash and gave Sarah a wink.

‘There’s quite a bit here,’ Trish said, counting out the money, ‘enough to see us good for a few months.’

‘So this mysterious nun really is looking out for us?’ Jason said.

‘Looks that way.’

‘So do we follow the map or not?’

Trish looked at Sarah. ‘What do you think?’

She gave a shrug and continued eating as her friends discussed what to do.

After much debate and a few arguments, it was eventually decided that following the map was a bad idea. Who knew what awaited them at the other end? They had money now and their destiny was their own and, until Sarah had been released from hospital, they would take it in turns to watch the building’s entrance for signs of any militia activity.

And so that’s what they did. The days came and went, Sarah’s strength returned, and there were no signs of armed men swarming into the building. The warning from God’s vanishing messenger had been false, although there was always a nagging doubt at the backs of their minds that maybe it wasn’t the militia they should be worried about. And that reservation grew bigger and stronger until they reached the tenth day, a day before Sarah was due to have an operation to remove the pendant from her chest.

It was lunchtime and Sarah was watching TV and enjoying her last meal before she was nil by mouth. Jason had just returned from his stint as lookout down in the lobby and stirred Trish awake from a deep sleep.

‘Your turn,’ he said, shaking her shoulder.

Trish groaned and opened her eyes. ‘So soon?’

‘I can go back down if you want?’

Trish rubbed her face and sighed. ‘No, it’s okay, I’ll do it.’

Sarah offered Trish a drink of water before turning her attention back to the ancient television that hung on the wall and the Honduran news channel that streamed on it. She broke off another piece of bread and popped it in her mouth before almost choking on it.

She pointed at the TV in horror.

There on-screen, as plain as day, was a reporter speaking into the camera outside a familiar set of Mayan ruins.

Seeing the source of Sarah’s reaction, Trish stood and turned up the sound.

The reporter spoke in Spanish, but Sarah got the gist of the broadcast and the images told them all they needed to know. In the bottom right corner was the caption:

DESTRUCCIÓN

EN COPÁN RUINAS!

‘What are they saying?’ Jason said, anxious.

‘They say the site has been vandalised,’ Trish said, ‘desecrated by outsiders.’

An image of the area where they’d blasted the hole was shown.

‘They’re saying they think it’s the same people who destroyed another monument last year.’ Trish sat down on Sarah’s bed as crude photofits of three people appeared.

‘Is that meant to be us?’ Jason said.

They all looked round as the door to the room opened and a nurse walked in.

Jason jumped up and switched off the screen.

The nurse didn’t seem to notice their discomfort; instead she swapped out Sarah’s empty water jug for a full one, checked the monitoring equipment and a nearby chart and then felt Sarah’s pulse. Satisfied, she mentioned something in Spanish about the doctor coming by later and then left without another word.

Jason turned the TV back on and amazingly, or perhaps worryingly, the same story was still being broadcast. Their photofits remained on display, but shrunk to quarter size, and the reporter interviewed a man who stood in front of a small aeroplane.

‘Is that who I think it is?’ Trish said.

‘If you think it’s the helicopter pilot who brought us here,’ Jason said, ‘then yes, that’s exactly who it is.’

A new picture came up on-screen, an image that made Sarah feel sick. It was a picture of a hospital. ‘Is that this building?’

Trish nodded and Jason wiped his hand across his face. ‘Jesus, I hate it when we’re right.’

‘Do you think you’re up to leaving?’ Trish said.

‘I don’t know; I think so.’ Sarah looked at her bandages and the drip attached to her arm. ‘Would I prefer to have the artefact removed? Yes. Do I want to be hung from a tree or worse? Not really.’

‘Jason,’ Trish said.

He didn’t respond, he just stared at the screen, transfixed.

‘Jason!’

He looked round.

‘Are the supplies ready?’ she said.

‘Yep, and I put the parchments, helmets and the Mayan tablet in, too.’ He pulled out their Deep Reach rucksacks from underneath Sarah’s bed. ‘We just need food and water.’

‘Okay, go get that and I’ll get Sarah ready.’

He nodded and left the room.

Trish looked at Sarah and pulled off her bedcovers. ‘They said your wounds are healing well. We’ll leave the bandages on and dress them again when we have more time.’ Trish reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Now, are you sure you’re up to this?’

Sarah looked down at the IV line inserted into the vein on her arm. Pulling off the tape, she slid the needle free and then grasped the cannula that protruded from her skin. She looked up at Trish and then at the TV where their images remained. Their choices had gone. They had to go. Taking a breath, she tensed her face and yanked the device free.

♦

Fifteen minutes later Jason returned laden with food and a five gallon bottle of water.

‘Did anyone see you?’ Trish said.

He shook his head. ‘Turns out I’m a pretty good thief. And it’s still technically the nightshift, the nurses are spread thin and the kitchen was empty. I feel bad, though, most of this stuff is for the patients.’

‘Don’t worry’ Trish said, ‘they’ll have more where that came from.’

Jason dumped the keg of water on the floor and stuffed the stolen food into the bags. ‘I thought you said you’d get her ready.’

Sarah looked down at her hospital issue pyjamas.

‘They cut her coveralls off when she was admitted,’ Trish said, and manoeuvred a wheelchair round for Sarah to get into.

‘Is your arm okay to push me?’ Sarah said, draping her Deep Reach jacket over her legs. ‘Walking doesn’t make me as dizzy as it did.’

‘As long as it’s not uphill it’ll be fine.’ Trish looked at Jason. ‘You ready?’

‘Hang on.’ He rolled the large bottle of water over to Sarah’s chair and placed it on a rack located underneath. He then picked up the bags and held open the door, but before they could leave a nurse appeared in the doorway.

She looked at Sarah in concerned confusion.
‘¿Qué está haciendo?
’ she said,
‘¿por qué no es ella en la cama?
’

‘We’re taking her for a walk,’ Trish said, and wheeled Sarah into the hallway.

The nurse shook her head and grasped the back of the wheelchair. ‘No – no outside.’

‘We asked the doctor,’ Trish said, ‘they said it would be okay.
Le pregunté al médico
.’

‘
¿Eh?
’ The nurse glanced back down the corridor.

‘Go and ask her.
Ir y preguntarle
.’

The nurse hesitated, reluctant to leave Sarah’s side.

‘We’ll wait here for you,’ Trish said.

Jason nodded and smiled, and the woman let go of Sarah’s chair and walked away while glancing back every now and then to make sure they were still there.

‘We’ll be right here!’ Trish called after her.

As soon as the nurse had gone round the corner, Trish moved into action and Sarah found herself being rolled down the corridor towards the nearest elevator.

Jason trotted alongside and kept glancing back to see if they were being followed.

A minute later they were exiting the building into the hospital’s car park.

‘Which way?’ Trish said.

Jason looked around and then pointed left. ‘There, I parked it at the back.’

They moved forward again and Sarah looked up at the hazy light from the sun, which penetrated the thinning dust cloud. It looked like a perpetual dawn.

‘That’s it?’ Trish said. ‘That’s not a car; it’s a lawnmower on wheels!’

‘Who cares, get in.’ Jason dumped the rucksacks and water in the boot and then helped Trish get Sarah into the passenger seat.

A shout from behind made them look round. The nurse they’d spoken to before ran towards them, with two security guards in close attendance.

Jason slammed Sarah’s door. ‘Get in!’ he said, and ran round to jump in the driver’s seat.

Trish didn’t need telling twice; she leapt into the back seat as Jason revved up the gasoline engine and then floored the accelerator. The car lurched forward and the nurse jumped out of the way as they sped out into the city streets and the freedom beyond.

Chapter Eighty One

Washington D.C., USA

Over a year had passed since the asteroid AG5 impacted the Earth off the South African coastline and yet in that time, as human civilisation and the global ecosystem hovered on the brink of collapse, the impact winter’s lifespan had fallen short of predictions. Even now the sun’s rays beat down through hazy skies, penetrating the remnants of the once dense veil of particulates that had engulfed the planet and, not for the first time, Malcolm Joiner cursed the essence of time. The GMRC Intelligence Director gazed down at Capitol Hill and the fluttering banners of the Stars and Stripes as his black helicopter flew over the country’s seat of power. Before and behind, similar twin-rotor aircraft shadowed their route while a host of military gunships patrolled their flight path’s borders with unerring precision. With the world returning to a semblance of normality Joiner knew transition to the underground bases would prove more difficult. Under the cover of perpetual darkness, the final protocols would have been harder to detect by those left on the surface, but as it was, light had a tendency to expose that which the Global Meteor Response Council sought to conceal, an unfortunate trend Joiner could attest to during his many years in power. He pushed such thoughts from his mind. The GMRC would continue to execute its directives with or without his input. He had bigger problems to attend to – far bigger problems.

It had been two months since his ascension to the post of self-aware Committee member and it was also two months since he’d learned of the device in his head, primed to kill at a moment’s notice. So far he’d heard nothing from the disembodied voice that had promised to make his life a misery, which was both as surprising as it was ominous. Strangely, Joiner had grown used to having his life hang in the balance. At first he’d been unable to sleep. Night after night he’d lain awake fretting over the possibility his life could be snuffed out at the whim of his enemies, but gradually he’d grown used to the prospect. He had even begun to use it to his advantage, harnessing the sense of urgency to focus his mind, and step by step, day by day, he’d mastered his suffering.

Apart from his woes, life in Sanctuary had returned to normal once the dome’s sunlight generators had resumed function. Weather patterns had been reformed and the only problem now was that the dome was considered obsolete, as outside the massive structure the Anakim chamber and its incredible ceiling remained in a continual cycle of night and day. And added to this marvel of ancient design was the presence of weather systems that eclipsed those created inside the USSB. Great storms and tranquil calms flooded through Sanctuary’s ancient halls, and many engineers and scientists questioned the dome’s relevance in this new era of underground survival. Some even suggested dismantling the human structure in favour of the Anakim. Even Joiner had to admit, despite his continued distractions, that those people had a point. But the powers that be, which meant the military fraternity and their hidden puppet masters, the Committee, decided that it was still too soon to defer to a technology over which they had no control, and so the status quo remained.

As to the Committee itself, Joiner didn’t class himself as a bona fide member. The voice had been right about his supposed new-found brethren; the meetings he’d attended were second-rate wastes of his time. No power was to be gained by his attendance and no information he didn’t already know had been divulged.

He glanced to his right where six bodyguards sat in silent sentry, guns primed and grey armour glinting. No longer did he rely on his reputation and exalted position to keep him safe; everywhere he went, they went. They were the best of the best, handpicked elite operatives from within the enormous wealth of human resource that the Intelligence Division could draw upon. And it didn’t stop at a half dozen men, his vast retinue now made the U.S. President’s look like amateur hour. Joiner was not about to let lightning strike a third time. That someone had even dared attempt to abduct him had been bad enough, that it had happened twice and with such ease was beyond the pale. And while one of the perpetrators, the Committee, had not shied away from disclosing its identity, the other had not been so forthcoming. What was more, that hidden threat continued to evade his attempts at hunting them down. It was as if they’d never existed.