Hold On! - Tomorrow (A Sci-Fi Thriller) Page 14

“So, what was it?”

  “There was a lot in it I found disturbing. It was very brutal. I was shaken to the core, and nobody would help me to understand it. They wouldn’t even discuss it with me.”

  B.J. could see she was becoming emotional and held her gently. “Go on.”

  “Priests would constantly go on about the Coming of the Lord. It was always coming. But the gospel narratives said something very different.”

  “What did they say?”

  “Three of the four clearly state the end would come during the lives of those present. The people in the text, who were listening to the sermon, were supposed to be still living when the end came. It never happened.”

  “No, it clearly didn’t.”

  “I would ask the abbess about it. She would scold me for asking, and send me to my cell with no food.”

  B.J. sensed a swell of rage in his heart. He’d always loved Emily with a profound sense of ‘anchor’. She had always been there for him, and the idea of her being treated so harshly and unreasonably began to tear at him. The ‘heavy metal’ thing was now starting to make more sense. It was aggressive music. She was trying to embrace a fighting spirit. He realized that even now, after all these years, the convent still haunted her.

  “The last time they locked me in my cell, I decided I’d had enough, and I escaped. I ran faster than I thought I could.”

  “I know,” he said. “You got picked up by human traffickers on the road, and that’s when my dad, my mom, Uncle Ty, and Uncle Jed came to rescue you.”

  “Yes, they did. That’s how I found my family.” She grasped his cheeks affectionately. “And how I came to know you.”

  He hugged her tightly and whispered in her ear, “Did you ever meet my dad?”

  She pulled away from him and held his gaze in a way he’d never seen before. It seemed to be a combination of affection and deep distress. “I saw your father once, for fleeting seconds. But those fleeting seconds have become so precious to me.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Emily gazed into the ether. “My shoulders were gripped. There was smoke. There was the pressure of metal at my head. My senses were dulled, but I saw his eyes. He looked exactly like you, but with longer hair. He looked back at me with such anguish. I remember, he was lying flat on his stomach at that moment. But it was as though he knew. I knew too. He was my brother.” She looked back at B.J with a hint of regret in her eyes. “And then he was gone. That’s all I can tell you.”

  B.J. looked away in an attempt to absorb what he’d just heard. He then made his way back over to the window. His father’s epitaph was clear. The snow had obviously been cleaned away by those two geeks.

  “But to answer your question about the apocalypse,” Emily said, “as far as I could understand, it should’ve happened in the first century. It didn’t, and every decade since, for over two thousand years, deluded people have been standing on street corners preaching ‘the end of the world is nigh’. Every war or natural disaster has always set them off. No matter how many times they get it wrong, they never learn. There is no apocalypse.”

  B.J. spun around sharply. “Not unless someone makes it happen. And someone is most definitely trying.”

  “But how could anyone cause the kind of catastrophes that have been occurring? It’s not possible.”

  “That’s what I’ve been working so hard to figure out.”

  Emily came toward him. “Your turn to talk. Tell me what’s been bothering you. I know there’s something else.”

  He was hesitant for a moment, but quickly relented. “My whole life, every time I asked one too many questions about my father, everybody has always clammed up. Now, what’s going on, Aunt Em? Who was Brandon Drake?”

  Emily froze, and B.J. could see the fear in her eyes. He knew she wasn’t going to tell him, and it was driving him crazy. What is it they don’t want to tell me? What the hell is it?

  The AOR song from the CD cut through their awkward silence:

  There will always be tomorrow . . . There will be another day . . . And our hearts will still be singing . . . And the sound will show the way.

  Twenty-Three

  Danger in the Dark

  Heather sat beside two EDID advisors, trying to gauge the expression of the immaculately-dressed septuagenarian before her. A hasty and exhausting flight to Los Angeles had followed Deborah Beaumont giving her the story behind B.J.’s mother and father, and this particular media mogul.

  “I’m getting too old for this,” Kevin Hobson said with a chuckle. “It’s been twenty-eight goddamn years since Brandon Drake first walked through that door. He was disguised as an FBI agent, and I actually fell for it.” Hobson laughed and spent a moment composing himself. “What happened next was beyond belief, but it took us to new heights.” He leaned forward with an assertive glare. “Of course I’ll help you, if I can, Ms. Addison. When would you like to go on air?”

  “Is tonight a possibility?” she said.

  “Done.” Hobson stood and walked around his desk, a slight limp indicating arthritis. “I could’ve retired ten years ago, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. This station has always been my baby.”

  A voice came from the corner of the room. “What about me?”

  Hobson glanced at the young man, and then back at his three guests. “That’s Matt, by the way. He’s my son, and a chip off the old block.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Matt,” Heather said.

  “The pleasure’s all mine.” Matt’s response came with blatant, amorous intentions.

  Heather couldn’t help noticing he was an attractive kid in his mid-twenties, with dazzling blue eyes and thick, brown hair. But she knew a player when she saw one.

  “Come on,” Hobson said. “I’ll introduce you to our team.”

  Heather and her two advisors, Davis and Jupp, followed Hobson out. Matt came up behind them, and Heather could feel his eyes burning into her, every step of the way. Damn, that kid needs to be put on hormone suppressants.

  She edged closer to Jupp and whispered, “OK, we’ve told him the story. How much can I say on air?”

  “Since you haven’t officially been assigned to do this, and there’s no injunction against you doing it, you’re performing as a concerned citizen. Freedom of speech. The First Amendment.”

  “What about you guys?”

  “Director Crane was arrested. We have no immediate instructions, which is why I suggested we get out of Washington D.C. immediately, before anyone arrived to take over. What else would Davis and I be doing anyway?”

  Heather smiled. “OK. Let’s do it.”

  Studio lights beamed down on Heather and the latest host of Channel 7 News, stunning brunette, Josie Ryland. As they positioned themselves on the studio sofa, the camera crew moved into position. Josie turned to camera five and stared directly into the lens.

  The first assistant director showed five fingers, then four, then three—two—one. “Josie, you are live.”

  Josie began. “Tonight, we are privileged to have a very special guest with us, Heather Addison of the Emergency Defense and Investigation Division. In a shocking turnaround, one particular senator has, according to Ms. Addison, put out an APB on The Interceptor, for coming to the aid of the people of Dallas, Texas. Apparently, the senator had closed down Project: Interceptor.” Josie turned to Heather. “Ms. Addison, please tell us about how you came to be the official spokesperson for the Interceptor program.”

  Heather assumed her posture, and began to regurgitate the story she’d told repeatedly to TV interviewers. By now, it had become an almost verbatim recital.

  She came to the end of her account, and Josie resumed the interview. “What can you tell us about the senator who has closed Project: Interceptor down? What do you think has motivated him to do this?”

  “I have no idea.” Heather focused her rage-filled eyes into the camera. “His name is Senator Christopher Sloane, and he is a member of the Senate Select Committee. I was present in
the situation room when the armor failed in Des Moines. Senator Sloane seemed, in my opinion, irrational.”

  “What happened afterward?”

  “Our technical whiz, Tito Mendez, isolated the problem with the armor and added further upgrades to it. It made no difference to Sloane. He insisted on cancelling the project. Immediately afterward, Tito Mendez was murdered.”

  Josie was visibly taken aback by Heather’s last comment. “Murdered?”

  “Yes, in his apartment. Then Dallas was hit by an earthquake, and The Interceptor disregarded orders to go out there and intervene. He saved a police and ambulance crew, and a baby after it fell into a fissure.”

  “And what was Senator Sloane’s reaction to this?”

  “I was with Director Crane when the senator came in with the FBI and arrested him. He ordered them to arrest me too.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Because I called him a jerk. The FBI chief explained to him that wasn’t grounds for an arrest, and then Sloane went crazy.”

  “Could you describe what happened?”

  Heather shook her head as she attempted to assimilate the incident. “It was completely insane. He started shouting, his face became very flushed, and I remember he said he was going to destroy us all. In my honest opinion, this man is mentally unbalanced.” She double-checked her last words and was satisfied she was in the clear. The words ‘in my opinion’ negated any possibility of libel action by Sloane.

  “Thank you, Heather. What prompted you to come to us with this?”

  Heather turned to the camera again, her eyes tearing up. “I don’t know where, but somewhere out there is an extraordinary, immeasurably courageous operative. He is now a fugitive, on account of a man who is intentionally trying to stop him from helping people, and for no reason any of us can see. I appeal to the people of America to petition Congress to put an end to this insanity. The Interceptor is a self-sacrificing hero, who has been forced to break the law in order to save innocent lives. This lunacy has to stop.”

  “Thank you for that impassioned plea, Ms. Addison.” Josie turned back to the camera. “In other news . . .”

  Heather stood and walked across the studio to Jupp and Davis.

  “Congratulations. That was awesome, Heather,” Davis said.

  Jupp concurred. “You sure were.”

  They were interrupted by the reappearance of Kevin Hobson. “Ms. Addison, might I have a few minutes.”

  “Sure.”

  “You two go ahead,” Jupp said. “We’ll see you downstairs, Heather.”

  Hobson halted them. “You should take the fire exit. After what she just said for the whole of Southern California to hear, the front entrance is gonna be swarming with opportunists from every media. It’ll be like a zoo, and your message will be lost on them.”

  “Good point.” Davis led the way and Jupp followed him out the fire escape exit.

  “Thank you for granting me an audience, Mr. Hobson,” Heather said.

  “Oh, don’t mention it. I’ve never been one for sentiment, but I’ve got to say, that was very courageous of you. Fortunately, it didn’t end like the last time.”

  “What did happen?”

  “Armed killers burst in trying to take out Brandon Drake and Belinda Reese, that’s what.” He gestured to the fire exit door. “One of the killers chased ‘em through that very door. God only knows how they got away.”

  Heather found herself staring at the door, intrigued.

  “Anyway, take this,” he said, and handed her a small microchip.

  She glanced at it curiously. “What is it?”

  “In case you need it, it’s a list of TV stations around the country who’d be extremely receptive to you.”

  Heather smiled appreciatively. “Thank you so much, Mr. Hobson.”

  “Don’t mention it.” With a wink, he turned away and walked back through the studio.

  Heather took the fire exit and made her way down the bare, stone steps to join up with Jupp and Davis.

  There were two flights of stairs, along which Heather tried to picture the scene of twenty-eight years ago that Hobson had mentioned. She could only imagine how terrifying it must’ve been for B.J.’s mom. Belinda had been almost like an aunt to her when she was growing up.

  She arrived at the bottom and stepped out into the night. The fire escape door locked shut behind her. She looked to the left. There was no sign of Jupp and Davis.

  Then she looked to the right and screamed involuntarily. Jupp and Davis lay dead on the narrow road.

  Trembling, she moved slowly toward them and knelt down. Both of their faces rested in twin pools of blood. She could see their throats had been cut. “Oh, my God.”

  She heard a rustling of feet in the distance and looked behind her. Five hooded figures appeared at the end of the street.

  She got to her feet. Terror gripped her heart, almost impairing her ability to think. The five individuals in hoods started toward her. In a single, virtually-choreographed move, they each drew a dagger from under their cloaks.

  She staggered back, realizing the Channel 7 fire exit was locked. There was no way she could get back inside. Then she noticed a dark side street to her left and sprinted into it.

  A few yards along, she saw a light on in one of a row of ground floor offices. She ran along the length of the building, quickly coming to the reception entrance. She pulled at the front door, but it was locked. Panic seized her. She glanced behind her and saw the hooded assailants were quickening their pace. Frantically, she pounded on the entrance door. “Help me. Please, somebody help me!” She struck the door with her fists, but nobody came.

  She looked behind her again, unsure it was really happening. It felt like a nightmare, but she knew it wasn’t.

  The killers were coming ever closer.

  Twenty-Four

  The Outcasts

  The five hooded stalkers were a few feet away from Heather, and she knew she couldn’t wait any longer. Stepping away from the office door, she turned and darted along the narrow road.

  A multiplicity of thoughts flooded her mind as she ran. What did these creepy lunatics want with her? Were they the ones who killed Tito? Would she escape with her life?

  A worn blue van spun around the corner ahead, blocking her exit. Heather’s heart felt as though it had come into her throat.

  The van came to an abrupt halt. An insipid, timid-looking, bespectacled man stepped out. “Ma’am, please. I need to talk to you.”

  Heather instantly realized this person wasn’t a threat. The van was a giveaway, and the look of this nerd, wearing a rather juvenile Interceptor t-shirt, abated her immediate fears. Although she had no idea who he was, his demeanor seemed to be servile, which was a useful trait in that grave moment. “You can talk to me as much as you like. Just get me the hell out of here!”

  He looked over her shoulder, his eyes assuming a look of panic. Hurriedly, he climbed back in the van and threw open the passenger door.

  Heather climbed in, closed the door, and locked it with a speed she never knew she was capable of. The face of one of her attackers appeared at the passenger window, startling her. A deep cut trailed from his forehead to his lower cheek. The remains of his eye showed a white iris, completing a chillingly disturbing visage.

  “Oh, shit,” the young nerd said.

  Heather looked across and saw two stalkers pulling on his door, but in his panic he’d locked it. The other two were trying to climb on top of the van. “Move it,” she cried. “Get us outta here!”

  He pressed his foot on the gas and the van sped away, tires screeching. Heather watched through the rear view mirror as the attackers were hurled onto their backs.

  “Who were those guys?” the nerd said.

  “I have no idea, but they just killed my two colleagues.”

  “Killed?”

  “Yeah, what do you think they wanted to do to me? Take me to the fun fair?”

  He aimed the van toward the end
of the street, spun around to the left, and entered the Golden State Freeway. They were soon lost amidst traffic.

  “So, who are you?” Heather said.

  “Me? I’m Woody, ma’am. Woody Schuster.”

  “OK. You’re Woody Schuster. But who are you?”

  “I saw you on TV and raced over to see you. It’s not for me. It’s for my friend, Phil.”

  “What does he want with me?”

  “Details. Descriptions.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s real complicated, but after what I just saw, I’d say it’s a good thing I came when I did.”

  Heather nodded reluctantly. “You have a point there.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really. Where are we going?”

  “San Fernando. It’s where I live.”

  “All right. Look Woody, it’s not that I don’t appreciate what you did, but—”

  A shattering impact threw their heads back over the tops of their seats.

  “What the hell was that?” Woody said.

  Heather looked in her rear view mirror. A sleek, black, top-of-the-line SUV was dangerously close to the rear of the van. “It’s them. How fast does this thing go?”

  “Not very.”

  “Now listen to me, Woody. You’ve got to—”

  The impact ripped through them again. Woody depressed the accelerator pedal, but only reached 70 m.p.h.

  The SUV came up beside them. Heather glanced over and saw the windows were blacked out. The SUV side-swiped them and knocked them to the left, barely missing an oncoming Lamborghini.

  “Oh, shit,” Woody said in a high-pitched tone.

  Heather saw the SUV swerve slightly to the right in preparation for making another hit. It was impossible to outrace them in this old van, but an idea came to her. “Hit the brakes, Woody. Now!”

  Woody complied and the SUV swung into an empty space in front of them. “That was like . . . so awesome.”

  “OK, Woody. We’re behind them. Can you get off the freeway? We’ve got to send them along the highway while we give them the slip.”