Hold On! - Tomorrow (A Sci-Fi Thriller) Read online

  “Look out!” she said.

  He realized she was under him facing up. He raised his head slightly and glimpsed the top floor of one of the buildings breaking away.

  He snapped his head forward. It was just another hundred feet. With Heather firmly in his grip, he stretched his right hand over to his left wrist and held his finger on a digital sensor. Their speed doubled, clearing them of danger without a microsecond to spare.

  A vital question came to him. “Where should I get you to?”

  “I-I think my apartment building will have been wiped out,” she said. “Where looks safe?”

  “I have my eye on the Jersey City area. It looks pretty clear.”

  “I have a friend who lives there.”

  “You got it.”

  A helicopter appeared just ahead of them. “Oh, fu—darn. That’s all I need,” he said.

  “What?”

  “We’re coming toward the damn news crew.”

  “So what?”

  “I . . . really don’t want to be on TV.” The old man is gonna see this, and the whole department is gonna get grilled.

  Having no choice, he flew past the TV helicopter toward I-78 and saw a devastating obstacle ahead of them. A tidal wave of at least two hundred feet was rolling in from the east, cutting across their path. “Shit!”

  “Shit? What’s going on?”

  “We might have to get a little wet.” Then he realized he didn’t know how to make the armor ascend higher than the default height. I have to call Tito.

  After opening up a line by means of a com-link sensor on his right wrist, he waited a few moments for a familiar voice to fill his helmet. “Are you crazy? This is a monitored line—”

  “I’m in trouble, Ti—buddy. I have a civilian under my protection, and I’m trying to head west, but I can’t. Right now, we’re looking at a two-hundred-foot tidal wave. How do I go higher than one-hundred-twenty-feet?”

  “All right, stay calm. One-twenty is the default height. You need to adjust the tilt mechanism in the jet boots.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “On your left wrist, you’ll see an icon with a bright yellow ‘A’ on it. It’s the altitude controls just below the turbo control sensor.”

  “Thanks, I see it.”

  “Just touch it for about half a second. It’s extremely sensitive. Anymore and you’ll find yourself in the stratosphere.”

  Glancing up, he saw they were virtually upon the wave. Heather screamed with her head stretched backward from her inverted position.

  Cautiously, he touched the sensor and almost instantly took his finger away. The armor automatically lifted, but the top of the wave caught Heather, submerging her for a second. She coughed, having clearly caught salt water in her lungs.

  “Are you OK?” he said, concerned.

  Sputtering, she said, “Of . . . course . . . not.”

  “I’m sorry.” The water was a mere ten feet beneath them, but at least they were in the clear. A sinking feeling struck him: there was nothing he could do for the rest of the city.

  He gunned them toward the west and checked the speed readout on the helmet screen: 154 m.p.h. They outraced the wave in seconds. “All right, we’re safe for now. Can you hold on a little longer?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Not really.”

  As they headed farther into the distance, the streets appeared increasingly dryer, and property damage wasn’t as extreme.

  Suddenly, four black Air Shark X helicopters appeared from behind two high-rises in front of them.

  “That’s the police,” he said. “I’m going to have to speed up.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I can’t afford to get busted.” He cradled the top of her head with a metallic palm and accelerated between the choppers.

  “They’re turning around,” she said.

  “Just wonderful.”

  “And . . . they’re getting closer.”

  “I can’t let them take us in, so just close your eyes. The wind pressure is gonna be intense.” Uneasily, he found himself wishing his Uncle Ty hadn’t made such formidable helicopters. He knew that if the police identified him, the old man would throw him in the slammer, along with Tito.

  With a touch on the accelerator sensor, the jets fired up. A debilitating feeling of failure crushed the confidence that had enabled him only ten minutes earlier. All he’d wanted was to get Heather to safety. No dramas, no life-threatening perils along the way, and no air races with the police. He questioned why nothing ever seemed to run smoothly.

  “They’re still close,” she said.

  “I told you to close your eyes. This kind of wind pressure is murder on ‘em.”

  “They’re half closed.”

  “Get ready. I’ll have to go even faster.”

  He hit the accelerator again and checked his speed: 234 m.p.h. He knew he had to slow down otherwise she wouldn’t survive the g-forces.

  Reducing his speed again, he said, “Are they still there?”

  “No.”

  Satisfied, he began their descent and quickly noticed a network of alleyways. A few appeared to be deserted.

  He slowed down, swooped in farther, and titled them upright, bringing them down gently in landing mode.

  The jets automatically deactivated as they touched the ground. “It’s OK. We’re safe,” he said. “Just lower your feet.”

  She did as he suggested and eased herself off him.

  He looked around the shabby alleyway. The dilapidated buildings looked like they’d been abandoned for over twenty years. The broken glass indicated years of mindless vandalism. “Do you have any idea where we are?”

  “I-I’m not sure,” she said.

  He looked back and saw she was shivering. Her beautiful blonde hair was damp and disheveled, and her usually-flawless complexion appeared flushed due to the intense wind pressure. But even through the effects of her harrowing trial, she was still the most beautiful girl in the world to him.

  Her teeth chattered as she gripped the cut on the back of her bloodied hand.

  “Ma’am, you should get to a doctor. That cut could get infected. I’ll try to pinpoint where we are, and—”

  “Knock it off, B.J.!”

  His heart froze. She had to be guessing.

  “I know it’s you, so take that silly thing off your head.”

  He was more than a little perturbed by her words, but her tone was undeniable. She appeared stronger than she’d ever been.

  Reluctantly, he removed the helmet and spoke with the tone of a child who’d just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “How did you know it was me?”

  She came toward him and her expression lightened. “Because nobody else would do something that crazy.”

  Three

  The World Below

  “What is all this, B.J.?” Heather said, gesturing to the armor.

  “Oh, nothin’ much. Just me risking my job, my future, and my goddamn liberty to pull you out of a jam. Think nothing of it.”

  Still trembling, she realized her attitude had been uncalled for and made a conscious decision to rein it in. Her adrenaline at its peak, she knew it was coming out in her voice. “I-I’m sorry, B.J. I’m a little stressed out right now.” She tried to calm her emotions as he came toward her.

  “I understand. Not many people will ever know the horror you’ve just been through.”

  He gently placed his metallic hands on her shoulders, and she was tempted to fall into his arms. She sensed her tears welling up again. No. I’m not gonna cry, dammit.

  “This friend you said you have. Does she live far from here?” He paused for a moment. “It is a she, isn’t it?”

  “Why? You jealous?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s a she.”

  He surprised her with an almost-involuntary chuckle of relief. Was he really burning a candle for her? She hadn’t seen him for nearly two years, and he hadn’t given her any ind
ication of his feelings on that occasion. She didn’t know what to make of it, and yet he’d risked everything to save her.

  “I can’t stay,” he said. “Do you have any idea where we are?”

  “I’m not sure.” She turned and walked to the end of the alley. She could hear the tapping of his metallic footsteps close behind her. He clearly wasn’t about to let her walk alone in such a decrepit environment.

  She peaked around the corner and saw a complete contrast to the alleyway. It was as though she was standing in the remains of a long-lost time, looking out into a technologically-advanced future. The street ahead seemed vaguely familiar. Glass and steel structures formed a line of stores, bars, and nightclubs. Automobiles and the occasional hover car sped by as though the inhabitants of Jersey City were oblivious to the disaster occurring to the east. It wasn’t surprising. It had happened so fast. If someone had been going about their business or if they were on the road, they would’ve known nothing about it.

  She glanced back to see B.J. bracing himself against a wall. He peaked around the side, keeping his eye on her while concealing himself from public view.

  “I know where we are,” she said. “This is about five miles from my friend’s place. We’re on the outskirts of the city.”

  “Is there any way you can get a cab?”

  She reached into her inside pocket and found her wallet, relieved she hadn’t lost it. “I’ll call one right away. You go on ahead. I’ll be fine.”

  “Do me a favor,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Go over to that cafeteria across the way and call the cab company from there. I don’t want you standing around waiting in this dump.”

  “I can take care of myself, B.J.,” she said, affronted.

  “Humor me.”

  She came closer to him. “All right. I’ll make the call from the cafeteria. I know you have to go, but I still have a long list of questions for you.” She took a card out of her wallet and handed it to him. “Do you have anywhere in that contraption you can put this?”

  He took the card and looked down at the armor. “I think so. What’s this one do?” He touched a sensor on the side of his hip plate. A silver pistol ejected from a compartment on his thigh. “Not that one.” He touched the sensor again and the gun retracted. He tried another sensor close to the lower abdomen area. A small container sprung out just below it. “That’s it. I knew it was here somewhere.” He slipped the card into the container and touched the sensor to close it.

  “OK,” she said. “Don’t lose it. My Z-Watch number is on there.” She raised her arm and tapped her watch phone. “Call me.”

  “I will.”

  “Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  She reached up and kissed him on the lips, holding it just slightly longer than a friendly gesture. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”

  B.J. grinned. “And that’s one of my finer qualities.”

  “All right, get out of here.” She turned and made her way across the street.

  He waited until she was safe inside the cafeteria. Putting his helmet back on, he ran back along the alley. He looked up, activated the jets in his boots, and rocketed into the sky.

  Flying over the remains of New York City, a deep sadness came over him as he realized the grief and heartache that would befall so many families.

  He headed toward the southeast and tried to calm himself against a tumultuous amalgam of shock, horror—and what might happen if the old man found out what he’d done. Thoughts of Heather and her insistence he call her gave him a moment of reprieve. She was feisty and such a contrast to the girl he’d grown up with. Her childhood had been painful. She’d been so vulnerable. Perhaps her success had strengthened her to the extent it had become her own protector. It was as though she never had to show vulnerability again.

  He soared just below the clouds, overcome by the most extraordinary sense of freedom. Everything in the world below seemed so small, enhancing the euphoria Heather had induced in him. He wanted to see her again so badly—if he wasn’t heading straight for the slammer.

  Within an hour, he saw Washington D.C. ahead. Would they pick him up on radar? Fearfully, he slowed his descent and activated the intercom.

  Tito’s voice came through the headset. “Hey, amigo. How’s the weather?”

  “Pretty wet, and I need to know what the visibility is like.”

  There was a pause on the line. It was obvious Tito was trying to decrypt his words. Finally, the penny dropped. “Oh, just terrible. In fact, nobody’s been able to see anything out there for the last four hours. It really is that bad.”

  B.J. sighed with relief. Tito was cryptically telling him he’d already set the stealth generators. “That’s too bad, isn’t it?”

  “Heartbreaking,” Tito said slyly.

  “OK. Thirty seconds to arrival.”

  “I’ll have a coffee ready for you.”

  “That’s what I like to hear, bud.”

  A minute later, the lab’s elevator doors opened and B.J. hurried inside. He noticed Tito’s brow was covered in perspiration. “You OK?” he said.

  “OK? OK? Are you out of your mind?”

  B.J. swallowed hard. “What’s going on?”

  “You were all over the TV, that’s what. That armor is unmistakable, and they got a terrific close-up of you playing superhero. Also, witnesses described you ripping out the front of a building with the wrist laser. The whole story has just gone viral. We’re screwed, B.J.”

  “Then help me get out of this thing fast, and put everything back to normal.”

  The two of them worked frantically to get him out of the armor and place it back on its designated stand. B.J. rushed to put his suit back on and brushed his fingers through his hair.

  “There’s dirt on the INT-Nine,” Tito said. “How am I gonna explain that?”

  “Well . . . haven’t you got a cloth or something.”

  “I’ll check.”

  B.J. pointed to his own forehead. “Hair OK?”

  Tito shook his head, exasperated. “It’s a wreck.” He took a comb out of his pocket and tossed it to B.J.

  “Thanks,” B.J. said, and hurriedly combed his hair. “I’ve got to get back up there.”

  “Yes, please do. I’ve had my fill of Brandon Drake, Jr. for one day.”

  Tito’s tone indicated distress, and B.J. couldn’t help feeling for the guy. “I’m sorry, Tito. I had no choice.”

  Tito nodded without looking at him.

  “Oh, shit. I forgot something.”

  “What?”

  B.J. ran across to the armor and touched the sensor above the groin area. The pocket sprung out, and he swiftly took out Heather’s card.

  “What’s that?”

  “Would you believe me if I told you it was a beautiful woman’s phone number?”

  “No.”

  “Figures.” Hurriedly, B.J. exited the lab.

  He quickly arrived on his floor and stepped out of the elevator, forcing himself to appear relaxed. He suspected he wasn’t succeeding. There seemed to be an aura of urgency all around him as he waded through the corridors amidst a swarm of operatives.

  “Drake,” one of them called.

  B.J. looked around to see a familiar face. “Hey, Paul. What’s going on?”

  “New York’s been virtually wiped out. And I think the old man wants to talk to you.”

  Gulp. “What about?”

  “No idea.”

  B.J. entered his office, desperately trying to figure out what he was going to say to the old man.

  Glancing down, he saw his desk phone flashing and checked the extension. This is it. The end of my life. He hit the touch pad to return the call, trembling. “You called, sir?”

  Immediately, an angry voice came through the glass speaker screen. “I want to see you in my office, right now!”

  I’m dead.

  Four

  The Old Man

  B.J. walked
the corridor toward the old man’s office consumed by a sense of foreboding. Was a long term in prison awaiting him? Would he get fired? Or would he get away with a severe reprimand and a repeat of the history of EDID—the Emergency Defense and Investigation Division? He couldn’t be sure of anything at that moment.

  He stopped at the door and hesitantly raised his shaking knuckles. Finally, he knocked.

  “Come in.”

  He turned the door knob and gingerly stepped inside.

  The old man stood behind his desk at the far end of the room gazing out the rear window, with his hands clasped behind him. As always, his blue suit appeared freshly pressed.

  B.J. swallowed hard. “S-sir, you said you wanted to see me.”

  “My, my, my. What have we here? Had yourself quite a morning, didn’t you?”

  “Sir, I’m not sure I—”

  “Do you know what the penalty is for misappropriating top secret equipment?”

  B.J. lowered his head, not knowing how to respond.

  “How about abandoning the post of a government office without leave? And then, of course, there’s exposing said top secret equipment to the public, to television news crews, and to a goddamn world of foreign powers. I bet the Russians and the Japanese are having a field day with the viral sensation you’ve caused.”

  “Sir, please understand. I had no choice. Lives were in danger.”

  “Since when has that been your decision to make?”

  There has to be some way I can soften him up. “Come on, Uncle Jed—”

  “Around here, I’m Director Crane.” The old man spun around sharply.

  “Of course. I apologize.”

  B.J. held Crane’s gaze for a long moment. The old man was pushing sixty, but he still retained a powerful presence. At over six feet tall, with a full head of graying, fair hair, and a granite-like jaw-line, his rugged appearance matched his undeniable persona.

  “So, without consulting anyone,” Crane said, “you made an impulsive decision to swipe the INT-Nine and take it for a joyride into New York. It isn’t even fully tested.”

  “Someone I care about was going to die—”