Apocalyptic Visions Super Boxset (87 page)

Dylan smacked to the floor, and the yellow dust wafted into the airflow of the room. Perry watched the particles float and dance. “And what is this, Dylan? A last attempt at—” Perry dropped the pistol and fell to his knees, clutching his throat.

The pain from the gunshot seared through Dylan’s body. That combined with the broken ribs left him paralyzed on the floor, but he tilted his head up long enough to see the blood pouring from Perry’s nose and eyes.

“You’ve… already… lost… Captain.” Perry coughed up blood, falling to his knees. His body seized up, the blood pouring steadily out of his ears and mouth now, adding to the rivers falling from his nose and eyes. His pupils turned purple, and his skin grew pale. He choked and spat blood, gargling in pain, the seizures increasing until he collapsed into a pile of his own blood.

Dylan brought his finger to his nose and saw the shimmer of blood. He felt his organs seizing up, his heart hammering to the point of bursting. He tilted his head to the right, and there on the floor was the green pill, just out of arm’s reach.

Dylan pulled himself to his side, blood steadily pouring from his chest and the first few drips oozing from his eyes. He could feel the gurgle of blood rise in his throat as he dragged himself across the floor, the knife like pain in his side digging deeper into his body with each movement. He reached out his left hand, and his fingertips grazed the pill. He was losing dexterity in his hands and fumbled the pill once then twice.

Tremors ran through his body as the effects of the yellow poison took full effect. Dylan lay there, convulsing, blood pouring from his eyes, nose, and ears. He coughed, spitting up blood, just looking at the green pill that would be his salvation if he could just grab it.

Finally, he reached out his shaking left arm one last time, gathered what was left of his energy, and scooped his hand around the pill, pulling it toward him. He leveraged the pill between his hand and chin then flipped it into his mouth. He crunched down hard with his molars, and it exploded into dust against his tongue. He shut his eyes, focusing all his strength and energy on chewing.

The taste of chalky, gritty blood flooded down his throat and into his stomach. Dylan rolled from his side to his back and lay there on the floor, the tremors in his body slowly subsiding. He awaited his fate, bloodied on the concrete, the strength sapped from his body.

Dylan closed his eyes and felt the blood collect on his eyelashes. When he opened them, the tremors had stopped, and he no longer felt the draining of blood from his body except from the wound on his chest. He tilted his head up, and saw Perry’s lifeless, drained body. But above Perry, on the screen of the Taipan, a clock was counting down.

It took a moment for Dylan to realize what it meant. Perry had already set the nuclear strike, and there were less than three minutes before the nukes launched. Dylan lay there on the floor, trying to push himself up but struggling.

When Dylan made it to his side, a waterfall of blood cascaded from his face and body, dripping onto the floor. His hand slid in the warm liquid, and he managed to get a shaky right leg underneath him. He groaned in pain and exhaustion as he pushed himself up and slammed against the counter for support. He pulled himself along the edge, the clock at less than two minutes now as he reached for the Taipan.

Dylan’s mind was fuzzy and lost as he tried to recall the code sequences to shut the device down. He found the entry settings on the device, and the screen prompted for the first code. Dylan reached a bloodied hand onto the keyboard and slowly typed.

The clock ticked below ninety seconds as the code cleared then prompted for the second and then the third and fourth. Dylan found a rhythm, pushing through the pain as the clock flashed thirty seconds and started to beep an alarm on the final stretch of the countdown.

Dylan’s knees buckled and whatever blood and consciousness that was left in his head felt like it rushed to his feet as he collapsed to the floor. He eyed the bullet wound on his chest with a dazed confusion and pressed the palm of his hand to the oozing liquid. His mouth felt dry, his body exhausted, and his mind fried. But the beeping alarm continued its hounding and he forced himself back up to the counter to finish the codes.

Finally, with only twenty seconds left, the Taipan prompted the last sequence. Dylan started typing the nine-character piece of data, his bloody fingertip smearing on the keyboard, but when he made it to the last number, he froze. The last digit escaped him. He shook his head, trying to rattle loose the last piece of data he needed, typing a two then deleting it, and replaced it with a nine, his fingers shaking with each stroke.

The clocked wound down to ten seconds, and Dylan shut his eyes, trying to remember the last number. Seven? Six? The clock was under five seconds now, and just before it hit three, the number flashed in his mind. “Eight!” He typed it in then pressed enter, and the clock stopped at 0.7 seconds.

Dylan collapsed to the floor and leaned his back against the counter. It was over. Perry was dead. The device was deactivated, and he would be left to die. He didn’t think the rescue team would make it down in time to save him, but at least he’d die knowing he’d made it. Even when there wasn’t anything left in the tank, he had the grit to push through. At last, his family was safe.

Sean and Mary sat on the leather couch on either side of Mark. The three of them watched the news stories roll across the television’s flat screen in Peter’s house. Cleaning crews had fixed the damage done by the terrorists that had attacked and killed Evelyn.

All three of them were dressed in nice clothes, Sean in a small suit, Mary in a dress, her hair braided as best Mark could do it, and Mark had even managed to put on a tie.

It’d been nonstop coverage over the past seventy-two hours, and it was all the nation could focus its attention on. Mark had never been one to be glued to the television, but the events that had unfolded three days ago were too extraordinary not to be riveting.

“Relief efforts continue in San Francisco as search-and-rescue crews scour the city in search of any survivors of the nuclear blast that leveled the iconic California town. It was released a few days ago that former Deputy Director of Homeland Security Richard Perry had orchestrated the most intricate plot in United States history to terrorize our country. Perry had spent the last eight years smuggling Egyptian extremists into the United States using his resources in the Homeland department to create fake passports, drivers’ licenses, and permits, all in preparation for the attacks our nation has experienced over the past few weeks. The plot culminating in Perry’s attack on the Minot, North Dakota, AFB, where he launched the nuclear warhead that killed more than two million Americans.”

The reporter choked up on her last words, and the cameraman quickly pivoted to her co-anchor, who took over.

“Perry was killed in a raid on the AFB before he could launch another nuclear missile, which was believed to be aimed at Washington, D.C. The motives behind Perry’s intentions are still being investigated. With the coordinated efforts of the CIA, FBI, and DEA, government officials are sniffing out the remaining sleeper cells of terrorists still believed to be at large. And while these individuals still pose an immediate danger, the current administration has stated repeatedly that there is no longer a nuclear threat. The recent allegations of the breakdown in Homeland Security have led to a complete overhaul of the operations of all intelligence agencies. Congress will hold a special hearing in two weeks to address these breakdowns that led to the tragedies over the past few weeks.”

Mark reached for the remote and turned off the television. It was all too much to take in. He’d been close enough to the epicenter of all of it to be done with it forever. He put his arms around the kids and pulled them close to his sides. “How are you two doing?”

“Okay,” Sean answered, twiddling his fingers and not looking up.

Mary looked up at him and batted her eyes. “I’m hungry. Can I have a snack?”

“Sure,” Mark answered. “But no candy. We’re going to be having a big dinner later.”

Mary smiled and scooted off the edge of the couch, and her feet pattered against the wooden floors on her way to the kitchen. Mark looked back down at Sean, who was still playing with his fingertips. He knew Sean was nervous, and Mark didn’t blame him. After everything he’d been through, the boy had aged well beyond his young years. “You all right, Sean?”

Sean was quiet for a moment, but Mark could see the questions turning in the boy’s mind. He shifted on the couch so he was facing Mark then finally looked up. “What’s going to happen now? Are me and Mary going to have to live with Peter?”

“We’ll get that sorted out after today, okay, buddy?” But the truth was everything had already been decided. But it wasn’t Mark’s place to tell him, not after everything that had happened.

***

Cooper fidgeted nervously outside Moringer’s office. She’d been sitting there for more than an hour, and the people inside with Moringer weren’t the kind to bend easily. The longer she sat waiting, the less likely she thought it was that a deal would be put into place. She bent over in her chair, resting her elbows on top of her knees, and clasped her hands together, letting out an exhalation.

The door was flung open, and Cooper jumped to her feet as a handful of senators and congressmen marched out of Moringer’s office. The faces that stared back at her gave no indication of their decision, but the few grimaces she managed to catch didn’t help her confidence.

Moringer was the last out, and he lingered by the door for a minute until all the politicians had left. When they were finally gone, he motioned her inside. “Have a seat, Cooper.”

“You were in here a while,” Cooper said, pulling up a chair right in front of Moringer’s desk. “I still don’t know if that’s good news or bad news.”

Moringer gave a slight nod of his head without indicating which way everything was leaning. “There was a lot to talk about. The new protocols that are being put into place are changing the way we handle our internal affairs. And in the current climate, you can understand how sensitive any radical changes might look in the public eye.”

Cooper’s stomach was doing back flips. “I understand, sir.” It wasn’t going to happen; she knew Moringer was right. The climate was too delicate for something like this, especially with her involvement and close proximity to both Perry and Dylan during the entire affair. But still, she held out the hope that what she’d been able to unearth about Perry would give her the edge she needed.

“However,” Moringer added. Cooper perked up in her seat, scooting to the edge and nearly falling off. Moringer reached for something on his desk, a piece of paper that he held close. “The appointment committee was impressed by the way you handled yourself. Even when no one else believed your story, you still stuck to your guns. That’s a rare quality that should be celebrated.” Moringer extended the paper to Cooper, and she grabbed it hesitantly. “Congratulations, Deputy Director Cooper.”

The document in Cooper’s hand was her confirmation from the appointment committee granting her the title and position of deputy director of the DEA, effective immediately. A swirl of emotions flitted through her as she reread the paper three more times before looking up. Moringer had his hand extended and a smile on his face. “Thank you, sir.” She grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously, trying to find more words but too happy to speak.

“Jimmy’s setting up your office now,” Moringer said. “We have a meeting this afternoon at two, when it will be announced publicly. I’ll need to get you up to speed on a few things, but why don’t you take a walk down to your new office. You’ve earned it.”

“Thank you, sir.” It was all Cooper seemed able to say. When she left, she felt like she was floating more than walking. She kept glancing back down at the paper in her hands and wondered if all of it was real. When she saw her name on the door of her new office, complete with title, everything became cemented in reality. She ran her fingers over the raised letters on the door then stepped inside.

Cooper leaned back in her chair and picked up the Deputy Director title holder that had been placed on her desk, twirling it around in her fingers. She couldn’t wipe the smile off her face no matter how hard she tried. She closed her eyes and took a moment to savor the accomplishment. She knew the trials that still lay ahead, but there, in her new office, having earned the position her way, she believed there wasn’t anything she couldn’t do.

***

The car pulled up to a large building, where crowds of people were dressed in suits and waving flags and taking pictures. It was more people than Sean had ever seen in his entire life. Mark helped him and Mary out of the car. Sean took his sister’s hand as an opening formed in the crowd, and the two walked up the large marble steps that fronted their nation’s capitol.

Sean had never been to Washington; in fact, he had barely been out of Boston. He didn’t understand why he was so nervous or why there were so many people. Mark had tried to tell him that they were there because of his dad, because of what he had done, and that was why they were going to Washington.

But even with all that, Sean still couldn’t rid himself of the anxiety. He just kept a good firm grip on his sister’s hand, while she smiled and used her free one to wave at the people they passed. She didn’t seem to be as nervous as he was.

Once they made it inside the building there weren’t as many people, which Sean was glad to see. The only people allowed inside were Sean, Mary, Mark, Peter, and a few of the security guards that had driven them to the building.

The carpet had designs on it and felt stiff and crunchy under his shoes. The walls stretched high into the ceiling and were decorated with paintings of old men. He recognized a few of them from the history class he took at school. George Washington, Abraham Lincoln… they all looked solemn, unhappy.

The guards leading them stopped outside a door, and Sean looked back up to Mark, who gave a smile and nodded. It was nice having him here since Dad had left. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Peter; it was just different now that his mom was gone. It felt too foreign with Peter. Sean wanted something familiar again. Something that felt like home.

The guards opened the door and this time ushered Sean and Mary inside, along with Mark and Peter. There were a bunch of people with cameras, and the moment the family stepped inside, the reporters all turned and started taking pictures. The bright flashes blinded Sean, and he held up his hand to block out the light.

“That’s enough, everyone.” Sean didn’t recognize the voice that boomed through the room, but it made the pictures stop. Sean and Mary walked to the front past the people with cameras. When they rounded the corner of the crowd, Sean saw two men standing. The first man he didn’t recognize, but Mary and he must have seen the second at the same time because she let go of his hand and ran.

“Dad!” Mary shouted.

Dylan sank to one knee as Mary collided into his stomach. He wrapped her up tight and lifted her off the floor. The cameras started snapping pictures again, but Sean stood there, frozen. It was everything he’d hoped for, seeing his dad again, but he couldn’t find the courage to take the first step.

When his dad set Mary down and looked over to Sean, he felt his body jolt forward. Before he realized it, his feet were stepping one after the other, faster and faster, until he crashed into his father’s arms just like his sister had. He squeezed his dad’s neck tight and felt hot tears burst from his eyes.

“It’s okay, Son.” Dylan patted Sean’s back. “We’re okay.”

Sean couldn’t hold anything back anymore. He let the tears flow from his eyes. Everything that had happened, all the pain he’d felt, poured out of him right then and there. He wouldn’t let go, and his dad had to pick him up and carry him out of the room. He could hear the shouts from the people with cameras, but he kept his eyes squinted shut, sobbing, holding on to his dad. All he could think about was not letting go.