The Mark: The Beast Rules The World (10 page)

David was on an IV again. He felt better. “Did you change my dressing?” “Yes, now be quiet.” “I thought you were off duty.”

“So did I, but I was yanked in here because I was the one who had stitched you up, and you know no doctor was going to be dragged out of bed.” “Hannah, I’ve got to get out of here.” “No, you should have been with us a few days anyway, and now you’ve got the chance.”

“I can’t and neither can you.” He quickly whispered what he had learned at the meeting. “We’ve got to be out of here before thirty days from today or be prepared for the consequences.”

“I’m prepared, David. Aren’t you?” “You know what I mean. I’ve got to find my fiancee and my pilots, and if you know of any other believers-” “Fiancee? You’re attached?” “The Phoenix cargo chief, Annie Christopher.” “I don’t know what to tell you, David. If she were here, she’d be in the system by now.”

“Would you check again for me? And see if you can get Mac McCullum and Abdullah Smith to visit me.”

“That’s quite an alias, Albie,” Plank said. “You want me to report that a Deputy Commander Elbaz came in here with the proper credentials and that I followed the letter

of the law?”

“I’m so visible on the GC database, no one will even question it,” Albie said. “They’ll probably wonder why they haven’t met me yet.”

“And soon enough,” Rayford said, “I’ll be enlisted and we’ll make sure Albie reports to me. I just worry about compromising our inside guy, the one who sets this stuff up for us.”

“How will they trace it to him or even to the palace?” Albie said.

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s precluded that, but we’ll have to let him know what’s happening.”

Plank led them out the door and down the hall, past the receptionist and into the cell area. “I heard a noise back there a minute ago,” Mrs. Garner called out from the desk.

“Trouble?”

“Somethin’ banging, that’s all.”

Plank led the men to Hattie’s door and knocked but heard no response. “Ma’am,” he called out, “GC personnel are here to transport you back to Buffer.” He winked at Rayford and Albie. “May I come in, ma’am?”

Plank fished for his key ring, unlocked the door, and pushed it open about an inch until it met resistance. Albie and Rayford stepped forward to help, but Plank said, “I got this.”

He backed up his chair, then threw it forward, bashing into the door and pushing past the bed that had been wedged against it. “Oh, no!” he said, and Rayford stepped over him, driving his shoulder into the door to force his way in.

The room was dark, but when he flipped the light switch, sparks startled him from the ceiling where the fixture had been. Light from the hall showed the fixture now on the floor, knotted at the end of a sheet. The other end was tight around Hattie’s neck, and she lay there twitching.

“Tried to hang herself from a flimsy light,” Plank said, as Albie leaped past him and slid up to Hattie on his knees. He and Rayford dug and tore at the sheet until it came loose. Rayford gently turned her on her back, and she flopped like a dead woman. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, he saw that hers were open, pupils

dilated.

“She was moving!” Albie whispered, grabbing her belt and lifting her hips off the floor. Rayford plugged her nose, forced her mouth open, and clamped his mouth over hers. Her tiny frame rose and fell as he breathed into her, and Albie applied pressure to help her breathe

out.

“Shut the door,” Albie told Plank.

“You don’t need the light?”

“Shut it!” he whispered desperately. “We’re going to save this girl, but nobody but us is going to know it.”

Plank steered his chair to push the bed out of the way,

then shut the door.

“She’s got a pulse,” Albie said. “You OK, Ray? Want

me to take over?”

Rayford shook his head and continued until Hattie began to cough. Finally she gulped in huge breaths and blew them out. Rayford sat heavily on the floor, his back against the wall. Hattie cried and swore. “I can’t even kill myself,” she hissed. “Why didn’t you let me die? I can’t go back to Buffer!”

She collapsed in tears and lay rocking on the floor on her knees and elbows.

“She doesn’t recognize anybody,” Albie said.

Hattie looked up, squinting. Rayford leaned over and turned on a small lamp. “No, I don’t,” she said, peering at Albie and glancing at Rayford. “I know Commander Pinkerton here, but who are you losers?”

Albie pointed to Rayford. “He saved your life. I’m just his loser friend.”

Hattie sat in the middle of the floor, her knees pulled up, hands clasped around them. And she swore again.

“You’re not going to Buffer, Hattie,” Rayford said finally, and it was clear she recognized his voice.

“What?” she said, wonder in her voice.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Rayford said. “There are no secrets in this room.”

“You came?” she squealed, scrambling to him and trying to embrace him.

He held her away. She looked at Plank. “But…”

“We’re all in this together,” Rayford said wearily.

“I almost killed myself,” Hattie said.

“Actually,” Albie said, “you did.”

“What?”

“You’re dead.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You want out of here? You want the GC off your back? You go out of here dead.”

“What are you saying?”

“You called your old friend to rescue you. He refused. You were despondent. When you gave up hope and were convinced you were going to Buffer, you lost all hope, wrote a note, and hung yourself. We came to get you, discovered you too late, and what could we do? Report the suicide and dispose of the body.”

“I did write a note,” she said. “See?” She pointed to a slip of paper that had fallen off the bed.

Rayford picked it up and read it under the lamp. “Thanks for nothing, old FRIENDS!!!” she had written. “I vowed never to go back to Buffer, and I meant it. You can’t win them all.” “Sign it,” Rayford said.

Hattie massaged her neck and tried to clear her throat. She found her pen and signed the note.

“How long can you hold your breath?” Albie asked. “Not long enough to kill myself, apparently.” “We’re going to wheel you out of here under a sheet, and you’re going to have to look dead when we load you on the plane too. Can you pull that off?”

“I’ll do whatever I have to.” She looked at Plank. “You’re in on this too?”

“The less you know, the better,” he said. He glanced at Albie, then Rayford. “She never needs to know, far as I’m concerned.” They nodded.

Plank told them to leave the sheet the way it was, with the light fixture still embedded in one end. “Use the other sheet from the bed to cover her, and do it now.”

Rayford ripped the sheet from the bed, and Hattie lay on the bare mattress. He floated the sheet atop her and let it settle. Plank opened the door. “Mrs. Garner!” he called, “we’ve had a tragedy here!”

“Oh my-”

“No, don’t come! Just stay where you are. The prisoner hanged herself, and the GC will dispose of the remains.”

“Oh, Commander! I-is that what I heard?”

“Possibly.”

“Could I have done something? Should I have?”

“There’s nothing you could have done, ma’am. Let’s let these men do their work. Bring the gurney from Utility.”

“I don’t have to look, do I, sir?” “I’ll handle it. Just get it for me. I’ll dictate a report later.”

Despite her ashen countenance and protestations, Rayford noticed that Mrs. Garner watched the “body” until it was loaded into the minivan. He was amazed at Hattie’s ability to look motionless under that sheet.

Plank agreed to call ahead to the former Carpathia Memorial Airstrip to clear the way for Deputy Commander Elbaz and his driver to pull Judy Hamilton’s vehicle right up to their fighter jet in order to load a body for transport. No, they would not need any assistance and would appreciate as little fuss as possible over it.

Hattie slipped back under the sheet a few miles from the airstrip, and though curious eyes peered through the windows, Rayford and Albie carried her aboard without arousing undue suspicion.

Buck pulled the Hummer out of the garage under the Strong Building after dark, lights off. He had spent the afternoon rigging up a special connection to the brake lights and backup lights. Once in regular traffic outside Chicago, he didn’t want to risk getting stopped for malfunctioning rear lights, but neither did he want those lights coming on when he braked at Zeke’s place.

Zeke himself was an expert at this and walked Buck through it by phone. It would be great when Zeke was tucked away at the new safe house, available to help with just those kinds of details. The brake lights were now disengaged, so with his lights on or off, Buck would have to manually illuminate them when applying the brake. A thin wire led from the back, through the backseat and up to the driver’s side. If he could just remember to use it.

No one knew how frequently, if ever, the GC invested the time, equipment, and manpower to overfly the quarantined city their own databases told them was heavily radioactive. It didn’t make sense that anyone would be near the place. If the readings were true-which David Hassid and the Tribulation Force knew was not the case-no one could live there long.

Still, Rayford’s plan was to come and go in his helicopter from the tower in the dark of night. And Buck, or anyone else coming or going, would do the same from the garage. It was tricky going, because no light sources-outside the Strong Building-were engaged in the city. Unless the moon was bright, seeing anything in the dark was almost impossible on what used to be those miles of city streets.

Buck pulled away slowly, the gigantic Hummer propelling itself easily over the jagged terrain. He wanted to get used to the vehicle, the largest he had ever driven. It was surprisingly comfortable, predictably powerful, and-to his delight-amazingly quiet. He had feared it would sound like a tank.

Driving around Chicago in the dark was no way to familiarize himself with the car. He needed open road and the confidence that no one was paying attention. Half an hour later he hit the city limits and took the deserted frontage road that would deliver him into the suburbs without detection. He turned on his lights and set the manual brake light switch where he could reach it with his left hand.

Near Park Ridge a rebuilt section actually had a few miles of new pavement and a couple of working traffic lights. The rest of northern Illinois seemed to have regressed to the earliest days of the automobile. Cars made their own trails through rubble, and rain sometimes made those routes impassable.

Buck saw a couple of GC squad cars, but traffic was light. When he felt safe, he tested the power of the Hummer and practiced several turns at varying speeds. The faster he went and the sharper he turned, the more violently his body was pressed against the safety belt. But it seemed nothing would make the Hummer tip. Buck found a deserted area where he was sure no one could see him and tried a couple of fast turns even on inclines. The Hummer seemed to ask for more. With its superwide stance, its weight, and its power, it had unmatched maneuverability. Buck felt as if he were starring in a commercial.

He floored the vehicle, got it up to near eighty on packed dirt, slammed on the brakes, and turned the wheel. The antilock system kept him from skidding or even hinting at going over. He couldn’t wait to compete with whatever toy the GC was using in its stakeout in Des Plaines.

Buck had to calm himself. The idea was to pick up Zeke undetected. He considered stopping at the station like a normal customer and ramming the GC as they came to investigate. But they had phones and radios and a communications network that would hem him in. If he could find a way to approach the station from the back, lights out, they might never see him, even after he pulled away with his quarry.

His phone chirped. It was Zeke. “You close by?” the young man said.

“Not far. What’s up?”

“We’re gonna hafta torch this place.”

“Why?”

“Once they figure they’ve busted every rebel that used to gas up here, they’re going to torch it anyway, right?”

“Maybe,” Buck said. “So why not let them?”

“They might search it first.”

“And find what?”

“The underground, of course. I can’t even think about gettin’ all the stuff outta here that could give my dad away.”

“What more can they do to him?”

“All they got him on now is sellin’ gas without GC approval. They fine him or make him sit a month or two. If they find out me and him was runnin’ a rebel forgery biz outta here, he becomes an enemy of the state.”

“Good thinking.” Buck never failed to be amazed at the street wisdom of the unlikely looking Zeke. Who would have guessed that the former druggie-biker-tattoo artist would be the best phony credentials man in the business?

“And remember, Mr. Williams. We were feedin’ people outta here too. Groceries, you name it. Well, you know. You bought a bunch of ‘em. OK, here’s what I’m thinkin’. I rig up a timer to a sparking device. You know, it ain’t the gas that burns anyway.”

“I’m sorry?” Buck felt stupid. He had been a globe-trotting journalist, and a virtual illiterate was trying to tell him gasoline fires aren’t what they seem?

“Yeah, it’s not the gas that burns. When I was workin’ above ground, helpin’ Dad in the station when it was legal and all, I used to toss my cigarettes in a bucket of gas we kept in the service bay.” “No, you didn’t.” “I swear.” “Lit cigarettes?”

“Swear to – I mean, honest. That was how we put ‘em out. They’d hiss like you was tossin’ ‘em into a bucket o’

water.”

“I’m confused.”

“We kept gas in there to clean our hands on. Cuts grease, you know. Like if you just did an axle job and now you gotta go fill a tank or write on a credit card receipt or something.”

“I mean I’m confused about how you could throw a cigarette into a container of gasoline.”

“Lots of people don’t know that or don’t believe it.” “How’d you keep from blowing yourselves to kingdom come?”

“Well, if the bucket of gas was fresh, you had to wait awhile. If you saw any of that shimmerin’ of the fumes over it, like when you first pour it in there, or when you’re fillin’ your tank, well, you don’t want any open flame of any kind near that.”