Apocalyptic Visions Super Boxset (89 page)

***

The Chicago Central Manufacturing district was riddled with buildings older than Sarah’s grandfather and more worn down. She made her way into Chicago Packing and gave a few high fives to the workers on the belt line. “Hey, Mary, how’s Timmy doing?”

“Fine, Sarah. He starts kindergarten next year.”

“Really? Well, tell him to keep working on that right hook. And if anybody gives him any crap, just tell him to call me.”

“I will.”

Canned goods varying in size and label rolled down the multiple conveyer belts. The hum of the machines ached with the weariness of age and time, but they were well maintained, and the workers inside were some of the best people she’d ever come to know.

Past the humming, industrious metal, a large service elevator rested in the back. Sarah lifted the rusty, paint-chipped gate and jumped inside. She hit the red button on the three-button control panel and began her descent into the earth.

A robotic arm with a pearl-colored ball attached to the end extended from the roof in mechanized fashion and scanned Sarah’s left eye with beams of infrared light, casting the entire elevator in a neon red glow. Upon successful completion of the scan, the lights turned green, and the robot arm retracted into the ceiling. “Welcome back, Agent Hill.”

The elevator came to a stop, and the doors opened. Sarah’s entrance was greeted with lighthearted applause as she made her way through the desks of support agents and those field agents not away on assignment. Computer screens were filled with military recon data, criminal profiles, politicians, international legislation, and whatever other assignment the boss threw at them. She gave a few bows accompanied with overexaggerated pageant-like waves. “Thank you, thank you. Yes, it’s good to be back.”

Of all the people in the room, the only one who didn’t even acknowledge she was back was her own partner, Bryce. She jumped on the edge of his desk, shaking the monitors in front of him.

“You know Mack is pissed, right?” Bryce asked.

“Pissed about what?” Sarah asked, picking up the solved Rubik’s cube. She twirled it in her hands and shifted the colors around.

Bryce snatched it from her and flipped the pieces she’d moved back to their previous spots. “You weren’t supposed to have any causalities.”

Sarah threw her hands into the air. “Well, they were alive when I left.”

“You didn’t have to keep shooting them like that.”

“One: the shots were nonfatal. And two: they didn’t have to try and sell meth to the entire state of New Mexico, but alas, ’tis the hand fate dealt them,” Sarah said, bowing in her best Shakespearean performance.

“Do you even know how many times you’ve been written up?”

“I don’t know. Thirty something.”

“Forty-three.” The deep voice seemed omnipotent and caused Bryce to jump in his chair. Sarah scrunched her face in preparation for the lashing to come. The light from the Bluetooth in Mack’s ear blinked a light cyan, and he sipped coffee from a stained mug, which fueled the tired bags under his eyes. “My office. Now.”

“Yes, sir,” Sarah said.

Sarah tiptoed lightly in the wake of Mack’s disappointed tone and looked back at Bryce, who looked like he’d just been touched by the Grim Reaper as she mouthed, “Forty-three?”

The automatic doors to Mack’s office opened then quickly shut after the two entered the glass box centered in the headquarters’ floor. Mack flicked a switch on his desk, and the four glass walls faded grey so those inside could see what was happening outside, but no one could see inside. Mack leaned back in his chair and rested his coffee mug on the same circular stain it had sat on for the past fifteen years.

“You look like you’re upset,” Sarah said.

“Agent Hill, do you think your field antics are amusing?”

“I don’t know. I’m sort of in the moment when it happens. Bryce would probably be better qualified to answer that question. I’ll just run and get him real quick.”

Sarah had her hand on the door handle when Mack stopped her. “Sit. Down.” She turned, gave a half smile, then sank into one of the chairs in front of his desk. As many times as she’d been called to the principal’s office, she would have thought she’d be used to it by now. But this time was different. She knew it, and so did Mack. The first mission back after a surgery wasn’t one that warranted her usual shenanigans.

“It’s been four months since you’ve been in the field,” Mack said.

“Yes, sir, I know.”

“And do you also remember what took you out of the field four months ago?”

“Yes, sir. I remember.”

Mack opened the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a stack of papers as thick as the man’s skull, which wasn’t to say Sarah had ever told her boss he had a big head, except for that one time during the Christmas party when she was already on her sixth shot of tequila.

“Our review board was watching you on that mission, per our protocol for an agent returning from medical leave to active duty.” Mack pounded his thick index finger onto the top of the paper stack. “And this is what they had to say about it.” Mack pulled the first piece of paper off and cleared his throat.

“We really don’t have to—”

“Agent Hill displays a narcissistic attitude in the field that could put both her and other operatives in danger.”

“That’s blatant slander. You know I don’t go out into the field with anyone.”

“Agent Hill has a vindictive personality, shown in her capricious attitude toward opposition.”

She puffed up, spreading her arms in exasperation. “Oh, c’mon, they were meth heads! I shot drug dealers, for crying out loud, not nuns!”

“Agent Hill also has a blatant disrespect for authority and following orders.”

“Tha… Okay, that one’s actually pretty accurate.” Sarah sank back into her chair slightly and fiddled with the tips of her fingers.

Mack slammed his palm on the rest of the stack. “That’s just the tip of the iceberg of what they had to say about you. Look at this,” Mack said, thumbing the thick reams. “There are literally hundreds of pages.”

“Sir, you and I both know I’m the best agent you have. I belong out in the field. I stop the bad guys. We stop the bad guys.”

Mack let out a breath that almost sounded painful as he released the thin sheet of paper pinched between his fingers and it floated down. He thumped his elbows on the desk as he rubbed his temples. “You know, I used to have hair before you worked here.”

“But you look so much tougher bald! Like a badass Mr. Clean.”

“While the board’s review is taken into consideration, they do not have the final say on whether or not an agent is field ready. That decision lies with me.”

Sarah perked up in her seat, smiling. “I like where this is going.”

“And while I do agree with many, many of the board’s statements, you are fully reinstated into active duty.”

“Sir, for the record, I think you are in fact the most handsome, intelligent, debonair individual that has ever walked this earth.”

“Get out of my office.”

“Yes, sir.”

The windows flashed back to clear, and the room’s entire population attempted to pretend they weren’t trying to snoop in the boss’s office. Bryce continued to ignore her as she sat right back in the spot she had occupied before Mack came to get her. “Number forty-four and still kicking.”

“Unbelievable,” Bryce mumbled.

Sarah checked her watch and slapped Bryce on the back. “See you bright and early tomorrow, big boy.”

Bryce kept his face glued to his computer while she walked away. “Can’t wait.”

***

Sarah pulled the kickstand down and rested the motorcycle next to the curb outside a modest one-story house with a tire swing in the front yard, where a mixture of footballs, Barbies, and playhouses littered the grass. Without knocking, she burst through the front door and was pelted with the smell of lasagna and the high-pitched squeals of two five-year-olds running through the halls. She bent down and scooped up Ella before she could get away.

“Didn’t your mom tell you not to run in the house?” Sarah asked, hanging Ella upside down, exposing her olive-skinned belly.

“Yeah, but you always said I should run faster,” Ella giggled.

Sarah gasped, then pressed her lips against Ella’s bare stomach and blew a raspberry that echoed a fart noise through the entire house. After a spate of giggling and lightheadedness, Sarah finally let Ella back down as her twin brother, Matt, came tackling into the back of her legs. “Easy there, bulldozer. I don’t need any more knee surgeries.”

The two five-year-olds clasped Sarah’s legs tightly, and she was forced to waddle forward with the two of them clinging for dear life. She entered the kitchen, where her sister-in-law sliced a loaf of bread.

“Becca, could you take a minute to give me an exam? I suddenly had these two growths appear on my legs,” Sarah said.

Becca shook her head in a disappointed cadence. “I don’t know if we can save you. They look like they’re inoperable.”

Both Ella and Matt giggled and squeezed Sarah’s legs tighter as the front door opened and Sarah’s brother, Ben, brushed past her without a hello. The kids immediately let go of Sarah and rushed to their father, wrapping their little bodies around his legs.

“Well, I guess I’m just the flavor of the week, then,” Sarah said.

“I didn’t realize you were coming over tonight,” Ben said, shuffling through the mail.

“Yeah, well, I talked to Becca about it.”

Becca set the knife down, wiping her hands on the apron around her waist. She walked over and whispered in Ben’s ear. Sarah watched the slight motion of her lips along with the movement of her throat. I thought it would be good for the two of you. The only thing about learning how to lip read was once you did it, you couldn’t stop noticing other people’s conversations. She actually used lip reading more in her personal life than in the field. With all the surveillance technology, it was becoming an obsolete skill.

Ben turned around and forced a smile. “Well, I know the kids are happy that you’re over.”

Sarah smacked her lips together a few times and moved her hands awkwardly. “Yyyup!” She clapped her hands together on the “p.”

“So, Sarah, you’re back working at the factory again now that your leg’s healed up?” Becca asked.

“Yeah, today was my first day back. It felt great getting back into the swing of things,” Sarah answered.

Ben shuffled through the mail some more. “I still can’t believe you work there after what happened. It’s too dangerous.”

Sarah gave a half smile. “If you only knew.”

***

The alloy rims attached to a brand new Audi A6 pulled into the cracked and worn parking space of Clinton, Missouri’s New Bridge Community Church. Heath Fuller stepped out of the rental car and closed his eyes while the faint sound of the evangelistic hymns from inside the building permeated the walls. He picked up a briefcase, grimaced, and headed inside.

Heath sat in the very back pew, camouflaged among the other sinners seeking salvation from their nefarious deeds. The briefcase rested in his lap, and he laid both of his gloved hands atop it and stared innocently at the pastor giving his sermon filled with words of hope and redemption.

“And I will tell you this, my brothers and sisters, there is nothing more the devil wants to do than to bring you down to your knees with every temptation he can throw at you. Lust,” the pastor said, extending his index finger, pointing into the crowd as the congregation gave a slight groan. “Power.” The congregation’s holy moan grew louder. “Greed.” Again the room’s fervor grew. “Envy.” Singular shouts started to break through the monotonous tones. “Money!”

The man sitting in front of Heath jumped from the pew, lifted his hands into the air with clenched fists of glory, and screamed, “Hallelujah!” The rest of the congregation leapt from their seats and joined in the holy frenzy around them. Only Heath remained in his seat.

Once the sermon was over, the pastor made his way down to the door, shaking the hands of his flock, thanking them for making time to give to the Lord. The line of churchgoers extended to the last pew, where Heath sat and waited for the building to empty. When Heath heard the slam of the church doors, he knew the two were finally alone.

“What are you doing here?” the pastor asked.

Heath rose from the pew, and the pastor took a step back. Heath stood a good foot taller than the holy man. He adjusted his tie and picked up the briefcase. The pastor eyed the package, and a few scattered beads of sweat broke out on his face.

“I’ve already made my decision,” the pastor said, turning his back to Heath and marching down the aisle. Heath followed him to the pastor’s office, easily catching up, as every one of his strides was two for the chubby cleric.

Before the pastor could shut the door, Heath stopped it with his left arm and forced his way into the study. The pastor rushed to his desk and picked up the phone, but Heath pulled a gun from the inside of his jacket, and the pastor froze.

“Sit. Down,” Heath said.

The dial tone beeped in the receiver, and the pastor set the phone down gently. He fell back in his seat, Adam’s apple bobbing in trepidation. Heath reholstered the pistol inside his jacket and set the briefcase on the desk. He flipped the latches, lifted the lid, pulled out a small stack of papers, and laid them down.

The pastor sat up in his chair, his spine finding a level of rigidity it previously lacked. “I will not let a house of God become a place for you to funnel whatever type of dirty money you have!”

“I know you’ve been talking to someone,” Heath said. “Who is it?”

“There is going to come a day of reckoning, and in that moment, you will be asked to answer for everything you’ve done.”

“We both will, Pastor.”