The Terminals (34 page)

“No. No. We have a good purpose,” Singh insisted.

Donnie took him by the neck, while Wally kept the AR-15 trained on his wide-eyed assistant.

Singh spoke faster now, serious and unsmiling. “Innocent people died building the Golden Gate Bridge, the pyramids. And we do something far more significant here, something evolution would have taken centuries to achieve, something it has stopped doing. We will physically improve mankind.”

Cam shook his head. “No, you won't.”

 

CAM'S PLAYLIST

40. ME ON STEROIDS
  

by Addictionopolis

41. INCONTINENTAL

by The Steam Punks

42. WE'RE ALONE TOGETHER

by The Flat Earth Society

“My better self is on the shelf.

I'll get me down when I need my help.”

Helicopter blades thumped in the distance. Wally heard them first, a full thirty seconds before Cam did. They'd only had an hour between the time they'd talked with Dr. Singh and the chopper's approach, not as much time as Cam would have liked. Their preparations were rushed. He hoped they'd be enough. He'd raided the offices while his teammates prepped, looking for phones, computers, and information. There were computers, but they were password protected, and hacking into sophisticated systems was something for ridiculous spy fiction, not real life. He searched for written records instead. There were a few handwritten notes. He cursed the doctors' penmanship, but he was able to make out most of their observations. Much of it meant nothing to him, but there were enough tidbits to piece together some answers.

At the sound of the chopper, Cam joined Wally at a window overlooking the landing zone.

“If they're carrying passengers, you can be sure they know we're here.”

The helicopter circled lazily. They were scanning the grounds. Cam was glad he hadn't posted Wally on the roof.

“If they come out with guns, shoot them,” Cam said.

Siena arrived and squatted beside them, her foot tapping rapidly. “Donnie is in place at the front door. I'll handle the rear entry as soon as we see what we're dealing with.”

“It's not good,” Wally said. “Full boat. With rifles.”

“Can you handle them?”

“Sure. Why not? We took this place.” He flipped off the safety of the AR-15.

Cam could see in the windows now. They were lined with grim faces. Siena bit her lip, which made her look more like a little girl than Cam had seen before.
She's scared
, he realized. Her breath whistled through her teeth as the chopper hovered close to the ground.

She scolded Wally. “You think beating up a few soft doctors proves anything? It looks like they've sent an entire army.”

“Wally's enhanced,” Cam said. He patted his sniper teammate on the back to lend support. “It's a good test. A clinical study, if you like. This is what you were designed for, right man?”

“Right-o.”

As the helicopter skids bumped the ground Siena flashed him an ambiguous look and took a deep breath. Then she touched Cam on the shoulder and darted off. Cam watched her go. She leaped down the stairs, taking them three and four at a time. She was gone too suddenly for his liking, and, considering the manpower and hardware descending upon them, Cam wondered if he would ever see her again.

He stayed with Wally, where he could see the entire field. The window was cracked open, not unusual in the Amazonian heat, but Wally kept his rifle and head down. He didn't want to attract their attention at the outset. They'd be watching the doors initially. Donnie and Siena would make certain of that.

Pilot was flying the bird. Cam could see his glasses and headphones. When he set it down, the doors jerked open, and men poured out. Things happened so fast that it was difficult to tell whether they were company men or hired mercenaries. Either way, they were equipped to kill; AR-15s for the lot of them, along with Kevlar and helmets. Two ran for the building, one each circled left and right, and the final two dropped to the ground to prone out and cover the others.

The wait was excruciating. Wally knelt with the rifle, not yet poking it out. Then Cam heard a door open and close.
Donnie
, he thought. Just enough to get their attention. Their heads all turned toward the front of the building at once.

And Wally shot them.

The runners were first. He took them in their feet.
Whap-whap.
They each took one more step and then crumpled to the ground like action figures dropped by their child owner. Wally tilted the barrel and put one each through the four shoulders of the prone men. Because they were already on the ground, it was hard to even tell that they'd been hit. The men on the wings sensed something amiss. One stopped in his tracks. That's when Siena threw open the back door. Both whirled and pointed their weapons, exposing their sides, and Wally put bullets in their hips, just below their Kevlar vests.

Wally never hesitated or adjusted his sights. He simply moved the barrel of the gun from man to man, squeezing one or two rounds per target as he went, disposing of them in quick succession. When he had finished, he returned to each man and put another bullet in his functioning extremities, until none had use of his arms or legs. Then he pulled the rifle inside, whistling a happy tune.

Cam didn't laugh. He felt sick. Six men lay writhing, and it had taken less than ten seconds. He stared at Wally. If they were looking for enhanced soldiers, the experiment was clearly a success.

“What?” Wally said.

“Good job,” Cam said. He could think of nothing else to say.

“One more coming out!” It was Siena's voice.

Cam and Wally peeked out the window, careful not to linger in case the next man had pinpointed the origin of the gunfire. But he wasn't packing. He strode from the helicopter, walking without haste directly toward the facility. He was built like a weight lifter, but moved like a panther, his broad shoulders relaxed. He carried no gun, but wore a knife at his belt.

“Ward,” Wally breathed.

“What the hell is he doing?” Cam said.

“Should I shoot him?”

“No.” Cam said it instinctively. He was still horrified by the carnage Wally had left lying around the field. And he knew Ward, which made it difficult to give the order to shoot. It had been so much easier with men they didn't know.
Another reason they used numbers to identify us
, he thought. Dr. Singh had said names weren't important.
Because names humanize the subjects and make it harder for the staff to kill them.

“What do we do with him?” Wally asked.

Cam glanced at the helicopter. Pilot still wasn't taking off, but he'd maneuvered the chopper's tail toward them so that Wally had no clear shot at him. Ward was holding up the universal sign for parlay.

“Let him come,” Cam said.

Ward stopped twenty yards from the window and looked up, close enough that there was no chance he could get away or attack without being shot. Cam noted that Ward had figured out where the shots were coming from, while the others hadn't.

“Who's in there?” the team's personal trainer called out.

Cam's plan didn't require that he lie to Ward. He kept out of the sight line, in case there were men in the woods, and he talked through the open window.

“It's Cam.”

“Cam, are you in charge in there, or just a spokesperson?”

“It's pretty much all on me at this point,” Cam said. “So, what can I help you with?”

Ward laughed. It was almost as disturbing as Wally's inappropriate mirth in awkward situations. “How many of you are left?”

“Lots.”

“No. Not a lot. I know that. Five, maybe four. Is that Wally up there with you?”

Wally whispered to Cam, “How'd he know?”

“You're the monkey shooter, remember? Most accurate on the team, if I recall.”

“Oh yeah.” Wally brightened like a boy whose parent had just told him he was the best actor in the school play.

Ward waved. “Let's chat, Cam. This is getting out of control.”

“No kidding. But it's a bit late to talk, I'd say.”

“It's never too late to talk. Talking is your most powerful tool, and usually the first option, remember?”

“I remember. But all of the lies have seriously dampened my faith in your catchphrases and buzzwords.”

“I have not been dishonest with you, Cam. I'm just your trainer, and I trained you to the best of my ability. Anything I said, you can rely on.”

“Why should we believe you?”

Ward glanced over his shoulder at the helicopter. The blades were still spinning in case Pilot had to make a hasty exit. It was loud enough that, when he spoke, only Wally and Cam could hear him.

“Because I was a TS-1.”

Wally's orange eyebrows leaped into dual arches. He looked at Cam, but Cam didn't have a response. He was just as shocked.
Another lie?
He didn't think so.

“Any chance you'll come down here and talk to me?” Ward called up.

“No,” Cam replied. “You come in here.”

“I was afraid you'd say that.” Ward frowned. He took his knife from his belt and dropped it on the ground. “All right. Here I come. Hold your fire.”

Wally turned to Cam and whispered. “Should I hold my fire?”

“Not necessarily.”

 

CAM'S PLAYLIST

41. INCONTINENTAL
  

by The Steam Punks

42. WE'RE ALONE TOGETHER

by The Flat Earth Society

 

 

“I been to Paraguay, Uruguay, far away.

Doesn't matter anyway. Incontinental!”

Donnie let Ward in through the front door, and Wally greeted him in the hallway with the muzzle of the AR-15. They brought him to Cam in the gli club with his hands bound in front of him.

“Siena!” Ward looked genuinely surprised when he saw her. “You've survived all this time. Wow. I'm proud of you.”

“Hello, Ward,” she said evenly.

“Where shall we start, Cam?” he said, plopping down in a huge easy chair.

Donnie, Siena, Wally, and Cam stood in a semicircle around him. A small security monitor sat on the Ping-Pong table nearby, its screen quartered like a comic book page with views of the front and back doors, the field to the south, and the forest to the north.

“Tell us about TS-1,” Cam said.

Ward kicked one leg over his other knee, settling comfortably into the chair as though about to recite “'Twas the Night Before Christmas” to his grandkids.

“Well, I didn't die, clearly. My teammates went quickly. Three months. There were only five of us back then. There were urinary tract problems, the headaches, and the most horrible acne. It was a cluster from the word ‘go.' But one guy got stronger, a lot stronger. That was enough. I was the baseline, like you, but they gave me placebos.

“When my last teammate began to die, I figured I wasn't going home either. But I didn't want to kick the bucket any more than you, and they were going to continue the program with or without me. They came for me, and I couldn't fight them, so I decided to find some good in it all. I'd noticed something wrong with their methods—my fellow recruits and I had no purpose. It wasn't enough for us to sit around in a lab playing Ping-Pong and getting our vertical leaps measured. We had no goals. We were bored. We underachieved. We atrophied. I told them my theory. I convinced them that real-life situations were the ultimate testing ground. Then I volunteered to design the program for them. I would give them real performance measures. And I would make sure that every recruit was given an incredible experience, something significant in exchange for their life.”

“Ari's yacht,” Cam said.

“And Wally's hang glider. Tegan's scuba diving.”

Cam was surprised. He hadn't guessed that one. “The soccer match was for me,” he said.