Altered Genes: Genesis (25 page)

G
ong stood
on the barricade and looked down as a third humvee arrived to join the two already parked below. They were military vehicles but the men they held were not.
Paramilitary,
he thought as he studied them.

There were twelve men in total. All had dismounted and taken positions by the side of the humvees. Each wore body armor and military fatigues with no visible insignia. They carried their rifles in a comfortable and professional manner. Most of them wore a pistol in a leg-holster. He wasn’t able to see the type of pistol—possibly Beretta 92s—but the rifles were fully-automatic M4 carbines. He assumed each man carried six or eight additional thirty-round magazines in his chest rig.

The men from the reserve were badly out-gunned. Most held civilian AR-15 style rifles with an extra magazine jammed in the back pocket of their jeans. A few, maybe three or four, had additional mags in the handmade chest rigs they wore.

High above them, and out of range of their guns, a helicopter made circles in the sky.

The leader of the men on the road leaned lazily against the hood of a humvee. He was tall and brawny. His brown hair was cropped close to his head. He wore black mirrored sunglasses that hid his eyes. The occasional wisp of smoke from the cigarette in his mouth tickled Gong’s nose.

Gong had run out of nicotine gum three days earlier and although cigarettes were plentiful on the reserve, he had decided to quit. Right now, he was debating the wisdom of that choice.

Otetiani made his way up to the top of the barricade and stood a few feet away from Gong. He yelled down to the man below. “There have been no reports of outsiders on our land. You must be mistaken.” He placed his hands on his hips and waited.

The man by the humvee threw his cigarette on the ground and methodically butted it out with the sole of his boot. He looked up at Otetiani and spoke. “Mistaken? Are these two vehicles a mistake as well? He pointed to the van and Gong’s rental car.

Otetiani was silent.

The man took his sunglasses off and slipped them into his chest pocket. “Look, Chief,” he said in a condescending voice, “the way I see it, you’re either lying or stupid. You don’t look like a stupid man—but then again, maybe you’re both.”

The men on the barricade bristled and Otetiani waved his hand to quieten them. He stared down at the man and spoke in an equally condescending voice, “Like I told you earlier, maybe they were on our land once, but they aren’t anymore.” He pointed up at the helicopter. “If that thing comes over our land, we’ll shoot it down.”

The man looked up at the helicopter and smirked as it circled. “I’ll let the pilot know but I don’t think your bow and arrow will do much good against a Black Hawk.”

The satellite phone on his desk buzzed. Raine looked at it for a second before answering. There was only one person who knew its number.
It had better be goddamn good news.
He snatched it from the desk and held it to his ear. “What’s the status?”

“They’re nearby. We found their vehicles, but there’s a complication.”

“Complication—What kind of fucking complication?”

“It’s an Indian reserve and the road’s blocked. They won’t let us through. They say they haven’t seen Simmons and the people he’s traveling with.”

Raine felt the anger build in the pit of his gut. “And you believe them?”

The voice on the phone hesitated. “No, but they’re armed. The guy we’ve been talking to, their chief, says they’ll keep looking but he won’t let us onto their territory.”

“What else?”

“That’s it.”

Raine looked at his watch. It was a little after seven p.m. and would soon be dark. Nothing would be gained by going in at night. His men didn’t know the territory and the reserve was large enough that Simmons and his people could be hiding anywhere.

“Keep the Black Hawk in the air,” he told the man. With its thermal imaging equipment, it would be able to spot Simmons and his group if they were outside—even in the dark.

“And you tell Chief whatever-the-fuck-his-name-is he has until tomorrow morning to find and return Simmons…and if he doesn’t, we’re coming onto his land—and it won’t be for a fucking dinner party when we do.”

He disconnected the call and slammed the phone down on his desk.

M
ei slouched
in a chair by the side of Kateri’s bed and gazed out the window. It was early and the coming light of day was slowly painting over the dark of night. She couldn’t see the bird but heard it as it sang to her—
fee-bee…fee-bee…fee-bee—
over and over again.

“It’s a Black-capped Chickadee.”

Startled, she turned to see the girl’s grandfather staring at her, his eyes glistening.

“It is lonely. The Ojibwe people have a legend that tells of two boys who lost their younger sister in the forest. In the legend, they become chickadees and sing that song as they search for her.” He looked at his granddaughter and then back to Mei. “It is a song of loss.”

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” She didn’t know what else to say.

He shook his head. “How is she?”

She looked at the girl and sighed. “No change, but she hasn’t worsened since we started the new treatment.”

The door opened and Waneek walked through it with a smile on her face. “Good, you’re both awake. I was afraid, I’d wake you. ” She nodded to Mei. “It’s time again.”

Mei looked at the nurse.
I don’t know how she does it.
She rose wearily from her chair and helped the old man up. He didn’t want to be present when his granddaughter received the treatment. He would sit in a chair in the hallway until they were finished.

“Any word from the road?”

The nurse shook her head. “Noon is still the deadline.” She attached the bag to the rack and took Mei’s hand in hers. “I’m sorry, I wish I could do something, but Michael is adamant that you and your people be handed over if there’s no change in his sister’s condition.”

Mei squeezed her hand. “I understand.” Everyone on the reserve knew what had been promised. His reputation as a leader was at stake.

She helped Waneek roll Kateri onto her side. They angled the girl’s body so the mixture from the bag would drip into her colon. When they were finished, she retrieved the old man and they waited together, holding hands by the side of the bed as they dozed on and off.

The first sign something had changed was the sound of a groan. She ignored it at first, thinking it was the old man speaking in his language. He did that when he slept.
Dreams or maybe nightmares
.
She didn’t know.

She looked at him as the sound came again.
It wasn’t him.
She turned in her seat and fixed her eyes on the bed. It was Kateri. The girl’s mouth was open, trembling as she tried to speak.

“Waneek!” Mei was out of the chair and into the hallway before she even realized what she was doing. The nurse stood a dozen feet away with a puzzled look on her face.

“Tell them Kateri is awake…tell them now before it’s too late.” She turned and rushed back into the room.

The old man held his granddaughter’s hand and stroked it gently with his forefinger. He whispered something to her and closed his eyes. She smiled weakly as the bird began to sing again.

Fee-bee…fee-bee…fee-bee.

G
ong watched
Otetiani put the radio handset to his ear. The smuggler’s posture straightened as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He spoke animatedly for a couple of minutes and then handed the radio to the man next to him.

He walked to where Gong stood and spoke. “My sister is better. Your doctor kept her word and I’ll keep mine. One of my men will take you back to the clinic.”

Saanvi was indeed special. She was the future
. Gong smiled.
He looked at his watch. It was noon. He shook his head and spoke.“I am needed here.”

“Time’s up, Chief,” the man on the road yelled to Otetiani. He lit a cigarette, took a deep drag and spoke as he exhaled. “Did you find our man?”

“He’s not here,” Otetiani yelled back defiantly.

The man shook his head slowly from side to side and flicked his cigarette into the smoldering pile of tires. “Suit yourself.” He turned and walked to the passenger door of the humvee and climbed in. It reversed and the others followed.

At the sight of the humvees retreating, the men on the barricade began to cheer. They shook their rifles in the air and patted each other on the back.

It won’t be that easy,
Gong thought as he heard the dull thudding sound of the Black Hawk’s blades chopping through the air.

“Get beneath a car,” he yelled to Otetiani and the man next to him.

Without waiting to see if they listened, he dropped and rolled under the closest car a heartbeat before a wall of lead stitched holes the size of quarters in the chest of the man who had been standing next to him.

Shouts and cries of dismay broke out as discipline broke down. The men on the barricade began to shoot wildly at the humvees below and the helicopter high above.

As it circled around for another strafing run, Gong shimmied further under the car. He reached for the pistol strapped to his leg. The Glock would be useless against the helicopter but it was all he had.

He rolled onto his side and saw Otetiani beneath the car next to him. “Tell them to get under the cars,” he screamed over the crack of gunfire. “It’s coming back around.”

Otetiani nodded and wrestled with the handheld radio clipped to his belt. He brought it to his mouth and yelled into it. Gong watched from his vantage point as a handful of men crawled under the cars. Twice as many were still out in the open and the Black Hawk’s gunner mowed them down

At this rate, they’ll all be dead in minutes
. He knew the pilot was being careful, limiting his time over the barricade to avoid taking on fire. But at some point that would change. He would hover over them and the gunner would lay down a rain of bullets that would shred everything and everyone. He had to do something before that happened.

When the helicopter started its turn, he holstered his pistol and rolled out from beneath the car stopping once to grab the AR-15 that lay on the ground where the first man had been shot. He scrambled to another body and collected three magazines from the dead man’s chest rig. At the sound of the helicopter approaching, he crawled back to the side the car.

The Blackhawk hovered above them. A few sporadic shots from the far end of the barricade drew the gunner’s attention away. Gong lay the rifle on the frame of the broken car window and aimed upward. He wouldn’t have much time. His aim would have to be spot on.

Buffeted by a gust of wind, the helicopter dipped and his first shot clanged off the metal frame above the gunner’s head.
It’s now or never. He wouldn’t get another chance.
He adjusted his aim and pulled the trigger twice.

The first shot hit the gunner in the shoulder twisting his body sideways. The second one entered his throat just above the armor plate in his vest. He slumped forward, dangling from the support strap that held him in the Black Hawk.

Aware his gunner had been hit, the pilot rolled the helicopter ninety degrees to his left and pitched up. Gong took a couple more shots as the Black Hawk moved out of range but missed.

Otetiani crawled out from his position beneath the car. As he wiggled his way towards Gong, the men on the road saw him. They let loose with a salvo of gunfire pinning him down. He pushed his belly into the ground and lay still.

Gong saw the man was halfway to him and trapped. “Stay down!” he yelled, unsure if Otetiani heard him. To get a clear shot at the men, he would have to move from his current position.

He crawled to the passenger-side front door, opened it and climbed in with his stomach flat against the floorboards. When he was beneath the steering wheel, he ejected the old magazine, slapped in a fresh one and climbed up onto the torn car seat.

The driver’s side door handle was gone. The door tied to the car’s frame with a looped piece of wire that ran through the opening. There was just enough room for the barrel of his rifle, but not enough for the scope.
He could shoot but not aim.

As the gunfire from the men on the road intensified, a barrage of rounds hit the car showering him with fragments of glass and metal. He pulled the trigger on the semi-automatic rifle as fast he could and moved the gun in tiny increments to the left and right, hoping for the best. When all thirty rounds were gone, he slammed a new magazine in and began again. When the last round was fired and the bolt locked back, he listened. The shooting had stopped.

They’re regrouping, not dead.
He scrambled backward out of the car and crouched down by the passenger side front tire. The mass of the engine block in the sedan would provide extra cover. He looked back over his shoulder and saw Otetiani give him the thumbs up.

About one-quarter of the men were still alive. Even with the helicopter gone, the odds weren’t in their favor. There were just as many men on the road and they were better-armed professionals.

Otetiani brought his radio to his mouth. Seconds later, one of the men scrambled down the backside of the barricade and returned with a rocket-propelled grenade launcher and two rounds. Gong’s eyes widened.
Russian military surplus?
He turned on his knees and gave Otetiani an inquiring look.

“Humvees!” the man shouted.

The RPG was accurate up to fifty yards but the humvees were three times that distance away.
The odds weren’t good. They needed to give the man holding it time to take aim.

“He needs covering fire,” Gong shouted to Otetiani.

Otetiani gave him a thumbs up and yelled, “On five!” He began to count with his fingers. When all five fingers were pointing up, Gong and the other men poked their heads up and began to fire.

Three of the men on the road were killed instantly. The hardened glass on the open doors of the lead humvee cracked in a series of opaque spiderwebs. Unable to see, the two men hiding behind it stepped out and took aim at the man with the RPG.

Gong knew the man wouldn’t have time to get off an accurate shot.

If they kill him, it will be over.

He made his decision and stood, fully exposed to the men down below. He began to shoot rhythmically. Aim…fire…aim…fire…aim…fire. He killed the two men standing beside the humvee and another at the rear.

The round from the SR-25 sniper rifle punched through Gong’s chest, severing his subclavian artery and knocking him to the ground. As his head hit the dirt, he saw the flash of the RPG and the sound of it hitting the humvee and exploding.

He didn’t hear the second RPG nor the flurry of rounds that pummeled the man who had shot him. His last thought was of his daughter, eating ice cream by the water in the park.

T
he door
to the room opened. Mei knew something was wrong the moment she saw Otetiani’s eyes. “Gong?” she asked, suspecting the answer before he gave it.

He nodded and spoke with respect. “I’m sorry. If it weren’t for him, none of us would be here.”

She bit her lip. “I didn’t know him—not well—but he was a good man who did a lot of good things for us.” She thought of Saanvi and the men at the school.
He might have saved the world.

“We will bury him…honor his memory,” Otetiani said. “The debt of gratitude will not be forgotten.”

“I’m sorry about your grandfather,” she said after a pause.

Otetiani followed her eyes to the empty chair beside the bed. “My grandfather lived long enough to see what he most wanted to see.” He gazed lovingly at his sister, asleep in the bed.

“Are you certain you still want to risk crossing the river?” You’re welcome to stay here on the reserve with us.”

“Thank you, but we’re going to keep heading north.”

She and Simmons had talked about it earlier. They would look for a sanctuary, a place where they could study Saanvi—develop a treatment. It was safer where there were fewer people.
Raine wouldn’t quit. He and his men would continue to hunt them.

Waneek stepped into the room and looked at Mei. “You’re going now?”

“Yes—are you okay with the instructions?”

The nurse nodded. “We’ll use Kateri to treat the others.”

“It may not work,” Mei said.