Apocalyptic Visions Super Boxset (112 page)

The third level was thick with scum, and Sarah was tested in how quickly she could reload the .45s in her hand. She could feel the heat from the pistols radiate through her palms as she sifted through round after round, piercing Kevlar, flesh, metal—anything and everything that came into her crosshairs.

Then, standing at least a head above everyone else on the floor, she saw the same tall henchman making his way across the platform, holding her brother by the arm. Her brother had his hands cuffed behind his back.

“Ben!” Her voice cut through the bullets and screams, causing both parties to look at her. Confusion spread across Ben’s face, while a smile spread across the tall man’s.

“Go!” Jared said, appearing from behind her. “We’ll clean this up.”

Sarah sprinted around the transport carriers, parallel to where the man was dragging Ben. While their bodies disappeared through the flashes of choppers and vehicles, their feet remained a constant that she kept her eyes locked on. When she watched them pivot away from her, she made her dash through the awkward rows of helicopters. Her shoulders banged into the sides as she fought the rising sense of desperation within her. She wouldn’t be any good to her brother if she lost her wits. When Sarah made it to the other side, she could see the long hallway they entered, where no lights flickered on or off.

“Heat signature shows a couple of people on the other end,” Bryce said. “It opens up to a platform. Rick and your brother are out there.”

Sarah’s heart raced as she made her way through the shadows. The rays of sunlight from the other end finally broke through and illuminated her feet, then her knees, waist, chest, and face until she made it through the hallway and could see the chopper gearing for take off. Massive piles of crates were stacked in sporadic patterns around the platform. Then, through the glass of the helicopter, she could see Demps, the tall man, and her brother with a gun to his head.

“So good to see you again, Sarah,” Demps said. The voice echoed over the fading din of the sirens behind her. Demps was broadcasting over some sort of speaker system. The chopper’s blades twirled slowly in anticipation of takeoff.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Demps,” Sarah said.

“You know, it’s funny. I’ve spent so much time with your brother over the past few days that I feel like I’ve really gotten to know you and your family.”

The words twisted Sarah like a disease. She took a few steps forward, her mind going over the resources on her belt. If she fired at them, there wouldn’t be any doubt her brother’s life was over.

“I think my favorite story was the first time Ben here took you to the range.” Demps laughed, and so did the tall man. “Why, he said the pistol just flew out of your hand! You certainly have come a long way.”

Sarah kept up a slow pace, continuing to move forward as the chopper’s blades blew her hair back. She did her best to control the spasms in her arm. The heightened sense of awareness from the adrenaline was peaking to the point of overloading her senses.

“I was so surprised to find out that Ben here had no idea of your work—your real work, I mean,” Demps said. “I don’t think he believed me until he saw you a little bit ago. I kept telling him how much of a pain you’ve been, but I kept saying how much I admired your tenacity.”

“Yeah, that’s what keeps popping up on my performance review,” Sarah said.

“Keep him talking,” Bryce said. “Backup heading your way in thirty seconds.”

“You know, when we hacked your servers, I actually got to read your latest performance review. Quite the agent, but it did appear to me that you had some issues.”

“Twenty seconds,” Bryce said. Sarah took a few more steps forward, her stomach turning into a slow, sour knot.

“What was it exactly that was said?” Demps tapped his finger over his lips and then smiled. “Ah, I remember! ‘Agent Hill displays a narcissistic attitude in the field that could put both her and other operatives in danger.’” Demps turned to her brother and fisted a cluster of his hair, and the tall man lowered the pistol to Ben’s back. “Just like this one.”

Everything happened at once. The bullet entering Ben, the spray of blood that appeared on the window, the chopper taking off, and the tall man dropping Ben’s body from six feet off the ground before the chopper disappeared into the sky.

Sarah unloaded everything she had, the bullets pinging off the bullet proof glass and thick armor, sprinting toward her brother, her face twisted in anger, grief, and pain. She pulled one of the C-4 explosives from her belt and chucked it at the helicopter, but before the explosive made it to its target, it detonated in midair, the chopper radiating some kind of frequency to protect it.

Sarah felt the heat from the blast above as she crashed to her knees, cradling her brother’s head in her lap. Blood had poured out of his stomach, and the fall had snapped his collarbone in half, the bone protruding from the skin and cloth. His mouth filled with blood, and he coughed up bits of red over his chin and chest. “Hang on, Ben.” She put pressure on the wound, her fingers squishing in the blood. “Bryce?” Her voice was rising to a shout.

“Medevac on the way.”

“Sarah,” Ben said, his voice coming out garbled and strained.

“Ben, try not to talk. Help is on the way. You’re gonna be fine.”

“I’m sorry.” Sarah looked at her brother and saw his head rolling back and forth on the ground. He struggled for air, and his face winced in pain. “I’m sorry for not talking to you about Mom and Dad more.”

Sarah’s lip quivered. She shook her head. “It’s okay”—her voice cracked—“I should have been there. I should have come. That was my fault. I’m sorry.”

Ben gave a half smile, the same one he had inherited from their dad. He held up his hand, and Sarah grasped it, her fingers sliding from the blood. “Take care of my family.” She kept a tight hold on his hand but could feel his fingers loosen.

“Ben?” Sarah asked, checking his pulse. “Ben. Ben!” She kept screaming his name. She placed her hands over his sternum and pushed, breaking his ribs, trying to pump the life back into him. “Please, Ben, don’t do this.” Her arms went rigid as she counted the number of compressions. “C’mon, Ben!” Tears rolled off her face and landed on her hands, mixing with her brother’s blood.

A team of medics arrived and peeled Sarah off him. She watched them swarm him, lift him onto a stretcher, and then load him into the chopper that had arrived. She ran alongside him, keeping hold of his hand through the group of medics working on him. She squeezed it, even though he didn’t squeeze back. She held his hand while they tried to resuscitate him. And she kept holding it when the medics pronounced him dead upon arrival at the hospital at 6:14 p.m.

Andrea was woken in the middle of the night by her chief of staff at 3:14 a.m. It was then that she learned the power grid had been turned back on. She quickly dressed, downed a pot of coffee, and entered the conference call with the other world leaders, who looked just as abruptly awoken as she did despite the time zone differences.

“When did we get the first breakthrough?” Andrea asked.

The American president was the first to speak. “Less than twenty minutes ago. It’s starting off small, but it looks like we’ve cracked the code. We’ll be testing it out on a few smaller grids to ensure that it’s legitimate. Once that happens, we’ll be passing along the information.”

Andrea rested her head on her arm for a moment, letting the relief of the news sink in. It was still a long road to recovery, but this was a definite step in the right direction. She looked back up and could see the same relief on all the faces around her. “What about the Chinese and Russians?”

“They’re still advancing on both the Pacific and Eastern European fronts,” the Japanese prime minister replied. “But we think they’ll scale back once everything comes back online.”

“Well,” Andrea said, recomposing herself, “until then, we’re still at war. I’ll meet with my generals immediately, and we’ll reconvene in a few hours.”

The faces nodded and agreed then disappeared, leaving Andrea and the American president alone. “My aide said you wanted to speak with me privately, Mr. President?” Andrea asked.

“We didn’t crack the code, Andrea. It was given to us.”

“What? By whom?”

“I think by the same organization that your mystery friend works for.”

“Were you able to trace the source from the drop-off?”

“No, but it doesn’t sit well with me that there is some organization that is a step ahead of us. I was hoping we could share our information, see what we could come up with.”

“You don’t really think that whoever gave you the code is a threat, do you?”

“I won’t know that until I find out who they are, and until then, I will treat them like all potential threats. With caution.”

“Of course, Mr. President.”

The call ended, and Andrea leaned back in her chair, the coffee barely holding her together. Her wits were fried, along with her body. But she breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that the woman she’d met after the summit was on her side. Her instincts had been right. But despite the mystery woman’s recent acts, she was now a target of investigation by the force that was the United States. Andrea needed to find the woman before the Americans did.

***

Sarah paced back and forth outside the small hospital room where Becca and the kids sat, waiting to hear anything about Ben—their father, their husband, their family. Sarah had been outside that door for almost thirty minutes. She wanted to be the one to tell them, but she had no idea what to say. She knew the moment she opened that door, their world would be shattered.

Finally, with her stomach and heart seemingly switching places back and forth in her body, Sarah grabbed the door handle with a shaky hand and stepped inside. Ella and Matt rushed over to her and wrapped their little bodies ceremoniously around her legs, as they were accustomed to greeting her, and Sarah gave them pats on the heads.

But when Sarah looked at Becca, her face red and her eyes puffy, no words came out. And the moment she couldn’t form the words, Becca knew what that meant. She burst into tears, losing whatever strength was left in her, and collapsed to the ground. Both her children peeled themselves off Sarah’s legs and rushed to their mother, where they cried with her without knowing why.

Becca clutched her children in her arms, pulling them to her chest. She breathed in heavy sobs, trying to control herself as she focused on soothing her kids. She stroked their heads, whispering that everything was okay. With her eyes still watering, she rose to her feet.

Sarah stood there, her arms out in a helpless stance, still unable to speak, unable to say anything to help ease the pain that her family was going through at that moment. Becca took a few steps forward, and Sarah finally managed to form sounds. “Becca, I’m so sorry.”

The crack that sounded from the slap of Becca’s hand against Sarah’s cheek sent a shock of silence that permeated everything in the room—the walls, the chairs, their bodies. All that remained were the lingering burn of flesh across Sarah’s cheek and the light-red imprint of Becca’s hand. Without another word, Becca grabbed both her kids and left Sarah alone in the room.

Sarah brought her hand to her cheek gently, feeling the heat from the slap. Her mind raced to process everything, running through different scenarios of the past hour until it brought her to the present. Her legs felt weak, and she collapsed to the ground, her hands grabbing at nothing but air, forming fists. Slow, rolling sobs escaped her. They were painful, gut wrenching. Everything came out, everything she’d let herself hold in. Then the sobs and cries turned into screams. Her face flushed red, her throat turned raw, and the veins in her neck pulsed with every blood-curdling shriek that left her voice until there was nothing but raw, angry whispers.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there—time seemed to stand still—but when she finally rose, she felt a shift in her body, in her mind.

“Sarah?” Bryce asked, his voice as soft as a whisper. “I’m… I don’t…”

Sarah’s entire body trembled. Her fists clenched at her sides. Her jaw tightened, hot spit flying from her mouth as the words left her like venom being purged from a wound. “His clock is ticking. He’s a dead man. Find him for me, Bryce.” She stepped through the doorway and marched through the hospital. “Find the fucking prick.”

Four Months Ago

Dust devils swirled the orange-brown sand in tiny, menacing cyclones in the fastness that was the Iraq desert. Nothing but rolling, shifting sand as far as the eye could see, with the sun piercing through the blue sky and casting its heat over whatever living things existed in the harsh environment. Aside from herself, Sarah couldn’t see anything except the occasional scorpion. “This convoy knows I have somewhere to be tomorrow, right?”

“I don’t know if they got the memo,” Bryce answered.

Agent Sarah Hill had her belly rested on the ground, camouflaged under a mixture of clothes and netting, peering through the scope of her fifty-caliber sniper rifle. Her body was baked from the sun, burnt to a nice crisp. She wiggled underneath her cover, breaking apart the slabs of concrete that had become her joints and muscles. “I’ve had to pee for the past forty-five minutes.”

“I told you to go before you got set up, but you didn’t listen,” Bryce said.

“Thanks, Mom.” Sarah shifted the scope slightly left, scanning farther down the winding patch of dirt she had studied for the past three hours. A flash of sunlight against glass flickered, along with patches of dust kicked up from vehicles. “About time.” She wiggled her fingers on her right hand, trying to rid herself of their numbness.

“No plate, but the car description matches,” Bryce said. “And I don’t imagine there are too many Mercedes driving around in these parts.”

“For someone who tells his followers about being humble, he sure picked a hell of a car to practice his humility,” Sarah said.

“Remember, wait until the ex—”

“Don’t shoot until we have the visual. I got it.” Feeling returned to Sarah’s hands, and the smooth, curved surface of the trigger glided over the tips of her fingerless gloves. The crosshairs of the scope followed the caravan until it came to a stop six hundred yards from her position.

“Okay, we’ve got movement in the south,” Bryce said. “Four cars heading to intercept.”

“Say what you want about terrorists’ moral choices, but the bastards are punctual.” Bashir Mubar stepped out of the black Mercedes, accompanied by his security detail. Sarah moved the scope over the cut of their fine suits, ties, and polished shoes. “These guys always look like they’re heading to prom.”

“They’re just dressing professionally,” Bryce said. “Unlike some field agents.”

“Whoa. First off, I’m the most professionally dressed agent out here.”

“You’re the only agent out there.”

“Second off, a field agent’s attire’s primary objective is functionality, not style. I’ll take my Kevlar-woven jacket over a blouse any day of the week.”

“And when you’re not on a mission?”

Sarah gave a light shrug. “The jacket’s black. Black goes with everything.” The second party came into view, and one of Mubar’s associates held the silver case. “I’ve got eyes on the codes.” Sarah shifted her legs impatiently, her finger itching over the trigger. Her target and the man with the briefcase chatted back and forth. Her eye drifted from the scope to the watch on her wrist. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, do it already.”

“I’ve got more movement one thousand yards to your south,” Bryce said.

“Good movement or bad movement?”

“Shit. It’s US military.”

“I thought you said they didn’t have intel for this?”

“That’s because they didn’t.”

Sarah pivoted the crosshairs over the heads of the goons below. She counted twelve total, all armed with automatic weapons. “Put a digital signature on the case.”

“What? Why?” Bryce asked.

“’Cause we’re going to need to track it.” The crosshairs fell over Mubar’s head, and Sarah squeezed the trigger. The recoil from the rifle reverberated into her shoulder and down her back, while her target’s head burst in a shower of blood, brains, and bones. She shifted the barrel of the rifle half an inch left, bringing the man with the briefcase into view, who ducked back into the vehicle before she could shoot.

“US convoy only five hundred yards out,” Bryce said. “They’ve got a lot of chatter going on about your shots.”

“Time to move.” Sarah’s shoulders and elbows popped as she pushed herself off the ground, flinging up sand and the sheets of camouflage. She sprinted to a clump of brush, the large rifle gripped firmly in her hands and resting over her shoulder. Once the debris had been swept away, she jumped into the desert buggy and tossed the rifle into the empty passenger seat.

“Case is on the move, heading northwest,” Bryce said.

Sarah cranked the engine to life and slammed her foot on the accelerator. The buggy kicked up a spray of sand and bounced wildly over the mounds of orange and yellow granules, Sarah’s head and shoulders rocking in motion with each bump along the way. Sarah stiffened her arms, forcing the vehicle steady despite its protest. “I really should have taken the Hummer for this one.”

“Troops one hundred yards out,” Bryce said.

The dune buggy engine whined as Sarah shifted gears, picking up speed. To her left, she saw the sand kicked up by the US convoy heading to intercept. She pulled her mobile out and placed it on the dash holder. “Send the case tracker GPS to my phone.” The screen lit up, and the map of her location along with a red-and-green dot appeared. The red dot blinked only a few hundred yards away. “Keep an eye out for any ordnance strikes.”

“You’re in the clear for now. I don’t think this was planned. It’s just a team out on patrol.”

“Lucky me.” The trail of dust and sand kicked up by the black sedan blew into Sarah’s face as the red dot approached a small village. “Bryce, I need a population and structure count. And check to see if these bastards have any friends in the area that could turn up.”

“Copy that. Small town, only a few hundred citizens. No modern cement and steel structures. Just sand, mud, and whatever scrap they could find to help prop up their roofs.”

Wind and sand whipped Sarah’s face, neck, and arms, swirling into the buggy in hot streaks, stinging the exposed skin. Her eyes flitted to the watch on her wrist, then she shifted into fifth gear. She wasn’t going to miss her flight home. Not this time.

With the front of Sarah’s buggy in line with the rear bumper of the sedan, one of the henchmen swung his upper body out the backseat window, wielding a machine gun. Sarah swerved right. Bullets ripped through the open air of the exposed buggy, narrowly missing her. The vibrations from the dunes caused her arm to shake as she pulled one of the Colt 1911s from her shoulder holster and fired through the whirling sand. The .45 bullet pierced the man’s skull, and he fell from the window, his body rolling in a storm of arms and legs upon impact with the sand.

Sarah aimed for the sedan’s tires, blowing out both passenger-side wheels. The sedan jerked left and right, struggling to keep straight as it entered the dirt road that cut through the middle of the village. Bits of rubber from the tire joined the tire tracks left behind the sedan as it careened wildly, swerving left and right, until it crashed into one of the small huts near the side of the road.

The Mercedes crumpled from the front bumper all the way to the windshield, which cracked and splintered like a spider web. The two remaining passengers stumbled out, cuts across their faces, the driver still holding the silver briefcase in his hand.

The dune buggy skidded to a stop next to the Mercedes, bringing with it a shroud of dust that Sarah used for cover as she wielded both pistols. The henchmen were dead before their bodies hit the sand. Sarah pried the briefcase from the morbid hand it was attached to and tossed it into the buggy.

“Troops will be in your position in less than three minutes,” Bryce said.

“No time for a quick tour? I was hoping to buy some property out here. I could probably get a good deal.” The buggy provided little cover, exposing Sarah’s legs and body. When she sat down, three insurgents stormed from the house the Mercedes had turned to rubble. Sarah reached for the shifter when the first bullet smacked her left shoulder. The force of the impact knocked her backward. She reached for her Colt with her right arm then fired into the cluster of men when a second bullet entered the side of her right knee, tearing through the joint and cartilage.

With bullets still volleying back and forth, Sarah slammed her left foot on the accelerator and sped off through the village. Blood dribbled from the wound on her shoulder, running down her chest and stomach, while grains of sand flew into the torn and shattered bone and flesh that was her knee. “I thought you said this place was clear?” Sarah struggled to keep the wheel steady with one hand, weaving in and out among people, carts, and houses in her path.

“It was,” Bryce answered. “That village is nothing but farmers and shepherds.”

More insurgents jumped from buildings in scattered patches, all of them wielding rifles or machine guns. Sarah fired into the rain of lead blasting her path, forcing her left arm and shoulder to steady the wheel while she provided cover fire for herself. The pressure increased the blood loss, and spurts of crimson gushed out of her shoulder. Her head felt light, weightless. She forced her eyelids up from closing. Her mind struggled to stay alert.

“Roadblock up ahead,” Bryce said. “Rocket launchers and fifty calibers.”

“This place is definitely not getting my vote for Village of the Year.” Sarah shifted gears and winced. She saw the insurgents clustered up ahead. A narrow cut through opened up to her right twenty yards before the roadblock, and she made a hard right, the buggy dancing on two wheels during the turn.

The buggy was small enough to maneuver through the narrow path clustered with walls and scrap. With each turn of the wheel and shift of the gears, the pain in her shoulder and leg sharpened.

“US troops just entered the village,” Bryce said. “They’ve engaged the hostiles.”

“I guess they didn’t want me having all the fun.” The heat beating down on Sarah suddenly disappeared and was replaced by a chill running up her back. She felt her grip on the steering wheel loosen, and her eyes drifted closed. The buggy veered left and crashed into the side of one of the huts. The mud wall crumbled along with the roof and covered Sarah in a crushing weight of debris.

An echo sounded in Sarah’s ear, and her eyes flitted open. Bits of dirt and sand caked her eyelashes, and she could see the sun through cracks in the debris covering her. She shifted her arms and legs under the immense earth, and the screaming in her ear grew louder. She pushed her right arm through to the surface and leveraged herself off the buggy’s seat. With only the use of the one arm, she dragged herself over the buggy’s hood and collapsed house and stumbled to the ground, her right leg dragging behind her.

“Sarah! Move! You’ve got insurgents on your six!”

Still delirious and light headed, covered in sand, mud, and blood, Sarah picked up the suitcase and limped through the village. “I could use an evac right about now, Bryce.”

“Five minutes.”

Bullets punched holes in the building to Sarah’s left, and she ducked right behind the cover of a wall of an abandoned, dilapidated hut with whatever agility she could muster. She set the briefcase down and unholstered her sand-covered pistol with a grainy left hand. “Sooner would be nice.” Her mind drifted in and out of consciousness, but the gunshots brought a brief surge of adrenaline. She leaned out from behind the wall and squeezed off two quick rounds. The bullets connected to the terrorists’ flesh, then she disappeared back behind the wall and popped the locks on the briefcase.

“What are you doing?” Bryce asked.

“Letting you get a scan of what’s inside.” She spread out the documents, dozens of papers listing when and where the next organized attack would happen. “Let me know when you have a good read.”

“Scan’s done.”

Sarah tossed the documents back into the case, leaving the top open. She reached for her belt, pulling out a lighter, and torched a corner of the papers. The flame spread across the page, crumpling it into black ash. She tossed it into the case with the rest, and the other papers burned with it. Sarah reached her finger out to examine the wound on her knee, scraping away the dirt and sand to get a better look. The bullet had gone clean through. She grimaced as her finger brushed the edge of the exit wound.

The gunfire in the distance grew harsher, faster. Explosions rocked the ground as the US troops collided with the insurgents using whatever grenades and missiles they had. From her position near the wall, she could see the trucks of the military push their way down the street. They kept a steady pressure, but she knew it wouldn’t be long before one of the units made its way down the side road to check for her location. “I’d like to get out of here before the good guys decide to shoot me, Bryce.”

“Sixty seconds.”

Sarah poked her head around the corner again and saw a three-man team of US soldiers following the mayhem her buggy had unleashed. Shit. She planted her left foot firmly in the ground and drove herself up the side of the wall, her back grinding against the dried mud and sand. With all her weight on one leg, she felt like her good knee would break from the pressure. She checked her left hand. While she was able to make a fist, she had trouble rotating her shoulder. She forced her palm onto the handle of her second pistol. The Colt trembled slightly in her grip. She squeezed harder, and the shaking stopped. Helicopter blades thumped through the air, and she looked for her escape route.