Primal Shift: Volume 2 (A Post Apocalyptic Thriller) Page 5

  “I’m one of them, if you haven’t noticed already. Alvarez says I’m someone special. He calls me a prince.”

  “You are special, Honey. But look around you, these aren’t people. They’re animals and they’re gonna make you do horrible things like ... ”

  “Like running people over?”

  “I did that to protect you.”

  “No, you did that to protect yourself.” His tone was flat and matter-of-fact.

  The searing pain of Aiden’s words felt like a blade being thrust through her gut. She’d risked everything to keep her kids safe and make things right where circumstances hadn’t allowed her to fulfill that obligation.

  “I’m trying to save your life,” she said, weakly, nearly defeated.

  “Let me save yours first. Turn around and leave, just like you did before.”

  Tears of disbelief were forming in her eyes when a Wiper came tussling through the crowd toward Alvarez and whispered something into his ear. Carole shrank down so she wouldn’t be noticed as Alvarez rose to his feet and tapped the edge of his cane against the platform. Slowly, the crowd grew silent, even the fighters in the pits stopped, looking up while blood ran down their bodies. Now all eyes were on Alvarez. He pointed his cane to the group now emerging from the hotel.

  Carole struggled for a better view, and no sooner did she get it but the breath caught in her throat. A group of Wipers were coming this way, holding two men. Both had been beaten badly, but it was clear enough what was going on. Russell and Josh had been captured stealing food, and now surely they would be executed.

  “Behold,” Alvarez shouted. “The thieves among us. And what’s the new penalty for stealing what is rightfully ours, my children?”

  The crowd exploded in a chant of what sounded to Carole like ‘Hit ... hit ... hit,’ and it was a full second later before she realized with a sense of growing horror that they weren’t saying “hit” at all. They were saying pit.

  Finn

  Finn was approaching the trailer when he stopped to gaze up at the night’s sky. It was packed with stars, and the enormity of the universe made him suddenly feel small and terribly insignificant. The strange lights, which had become a new feature of the heavens, weren’t nearly as pronounced anymore. Not that they were gone completely. If one stared long enough, it was still possible to see ghostly waves lapping against an invisible shore line somewhere far above him.

  Some things, however, felt far from insignificant. Like his ability to make his way from one end of the compound to the other without the help of those crutches. He’d been shot in the chest and side after all, not in the knees. But that gelatinous feeling, which had been a product of lying on his ass this last month, was now all but gone. And like those dimming lights up above, Finn’s rage over what Bud did to him and Johnson had somehow faded: first to a thumping sense of anger and then to a burning curiosity. Why? That was the question his mind kept returning to. Finn studied the trailer before him. Bars secured each of the windows. A sign above the entrance explained why: Jail, it read, and Finn pulled open the door. He was going to talk to Bud.

  Inside, a cult member stood at once. He wore a .45 1911 as well as a surprised look on his young face. It was Simon. In the corner, leaning against the wall, was an AK-47. Which made it the fifth type of rifle he’d seen so far. Once that initial burning shock of seeing armed cult members had worn off, the logical part of him had begun to scream. Each of these rifles required a different caliber of bullet. If this place ever came under serious attack, that tiny little detail could prove to be their undoing. It was far easier to replenish firing positions when all your shooters were using the same type of cartridge. No doubt, something he intended to mention to Emperor Larry, or whatever that slimy car salesman was calling himself these days.

  The trailer was divided by a row of metal bars. With barely enough room to accommodate 20 people, so long as most of them were standing. Right now, only two were inside. The first was a scraggly-looking kid Finn knew vaguely as Romeo. The other was Bud, and he was leaning up against the bars with his eyes closed.

  Simon saluted, just as Finn reached out to shake his hand.

  “Glad to see you made a full recovery.”

  The suggestion made him laugh. “Not sure if I’d call it full just yet. Something I’m reminded of every time I lower myself onto the toilet.”

  Simon smiled and sat back down. “So, what can I do for you?”

  Eyes closed or not, Bud wasn’t sleeping, Finn knew that perfectly well. When your entire world was reduced to the back end of a camper trailer, you made it your business to know what was going on around you at all times, even when your eyes weren’t quite open. Finn jerked a thumb in Bud’s direction.

  “I’m not sure, Finn, Larry said no one – ”

  “I’m not gonna do anything stupid. I just need to ask him a few questions. I’ll speak to him through the bars.”

  “It’s just that – ”

  Finn opened his coveralls, revealing the spot where the bullet from Bud’s 9 mm tore through his chest and abdomen. “After what he did, I think I’m entitled to a few answers, don’t you?”

  A look of defeat crept over Simon’s face. “OK, fine, but make it fast.”

  “You’re a prince.”

  Simon removed a baton from his belt and rattled it against the bars until Bud’s eyes opened. “Wakey, wakey, Bud. Got yourself a visitor.”

  An extra chair was by the desk, and Finn slid it over and settled into it.

  Bud watched Finn wince as he sat. “I shoulda aimed for the head,” he said. “But then I figured the blast would finish what I’d started.”

  “I guess that Dana’s tougher than you thought she’d be.”

  “Girl’s got a mean left hook.” Bud’s cold gray eyes rose until the two met. “Still chasing after those memories you’re never gonna get back?”

  “A man is his memories, Bud. Least I’m looking for mine. What’s your excuse.”

  Bud ran a finger along the bars. “I’m sort of indisposed at the moment. But you didn’t come here to gloat, did you?”

  “No. I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure out why Thomson put you up to this.”

  Bud laughed. “There is no Thomson, not anymore.”

  “He died during The Shift?”

  “In a manner of speaking. His name is Alvarez now. He walks and talks like a man, but I can tell you he isn’t human.”

  “Alvarez?”

  “He can move from one body to another. Somewhere along the line, he stopped being Thomson when he found some poor schmuck named Alvarez.”

  “So, he’s a ghost.”

  “Or a demon or something. They call it paranormal, but that’s only ‘cause we don’t understand how it works. Could be it’s as straight up as gravity or thermal frickin' dynamics.”

  “So what does he ... it want?” Finn asked.

  “He wants the facilities destroyed and anyone connected to the project dead. He may have voodoo powers our brains can’t grasp, but I’ve seen fear in his eyes.”

  “He’s scared of us?”

  “Not of you, but your story, where you came from. You know how all of this started.”

  “And maybe how to fix it.”

  “Ain’t that easy, though. You ever operated a particle collider, Finn? Would you even know how to turn the fucking thing on?

  Finn crossed his arms. “‘Course not.”

  “But there’s someone who will.”

  “What’d you mean, someone who will?”

  “Alvarez wouldn’t say more, just that someone would come along who would know, and if the colliders were destroyed, they’d never have a chance. Problem is, reversing something this big ain’t like flipping a switch. It could make things worse.”

  “Or it might just set the world right again.”

  “Don’t count on it.”

  Finn stood up.

  “That’s it, then?”

  “Is what it?”

 
“I give you all this info, and you’re just gonna walk. What about my family, man? I’m not an evil person.”

  Finn wanted to turn away, but somehow he knew Bud wasn’t lying. “What did you remember after The Shift?” Finn asked him.

  “Same as you. Pretty much nothing.”

  “So, why are you so sure this Alvarez guy’s got your family? Hell, how do you even know you have a family in the first place?”

  “First thing I saw when I came out was a briefcase on the desk. On the wall above it was a flatscreen monitor with a note taped to the edge that read, Press Play.’ Which I did. Flashed a bunch of pictures of a woman and a child and told me exactly what to do. Then it said to look inside the briefcase, and that’s when I saw the C4.”

  “Were you in any of the pictures?”

  Bud’s eyes dropped. “No, only they were.”

  “So, you took his word for it.”

  “‘Course, I took his word for it. A man says he’s holding your wife and kid, you don’t play chicken with him.”

  “No, you ask for proof.”

  Bud’s hand flew in the air. “What kinda proof? I’m standing there in a pair of boxer shorts. Feeling like I was soaking in formaldehyde for God knows how long. Some guy says do this or you’re wife and kid are gonna die. Damn right I believed him.”

  “But you’re not so sure anymore.”

  Bud took in a deep breath. “To be honest, not really, no.”

  “Then you’re welcome.”

  “Welcome?” Bud spat. “For What?”

  “For returning the favor. You no longer need to worry about saving a family you probably never had. But you will have to live with the knowledge that you took people’s lives for nothing.”

  •••

  Finn was pulling the trailer door closed when he saw the woman standing before him. Dark hair, shoulder length, pretty face. She looked thin, but then so did everyone nowadays.

  “Nice to finally meet you,” she said and extended her left hand, palm up. A movement Finn believed was an effort to shake his in greetings – strange as it was that she would have used her left instead of her right. But that wasn’t it at all. She was showing him something on her wrist.

  A tattoo just like his.

  “Joanne Blackmore,” she said. “Where can we talk?”

  •••

  A few minutes later, they were in the gymnasium. Not an ideal place, but it wasn’t like the compound was crawling with private nooks where they could talk. Even here though, they would need to keep their voices down. Cult members were setting up the wooden stage and podium. Looked like Larry had something to say, and it wouldn’t be long now before they found out what that was. Finn had been unconscious for more than a month, which meant Joanne knew Rainbowland ... or New Jamestown, better than he did.

  “Lemme guess,” Finn started. “You have questions.”

  Joanne nodded. “No one here will tell me anything. I remember waking up wet and disoriented and then being shoved into a car. Everything was so bright, my eyes stung with pain.”

  “They can’t tell you more ‘cause they don’t know anything. I was once exactly where you are now. So sure that if only I knew what happened to me, why I woke up on the floor covered in goo, then everything else would fall into place. But here’s the thing: Answers are real pricks ‘cause they only ever lead to more questions.”

  “I don’t need protection from the truth.”

  Finn wasn’t convinced. The truth, this truth, wasn’t an easy one to swallow. Joanne was looking up at him, her skin soft in the dim light, and the prospect of hurting her with what he was about to say made him sick. He took a deep breath. “You’re a criminal, Joanne.”

  “Pardon me?”

  Finn told her what Tevatron was up to and how Thomson had pushed the program too far. That destroying the world had been his aim all along.

  “To end the world? But why?”

  “If you had another hour, I’d be happy to explain it to you, at least the pieces I’ve managed to put together myself.”

  Joanne slid her back along the wall until her rear hit the gym floor. “And those other pieces? Where are they hiding?”

  “Right now my best guess is Ely State Prison.”

  “What’ll we find there?”

  Finn sank down next to her. “The truth.”

  Larry

  Putting the final touches on New Jamestown’s new charter of laws was what Larry was supposed to be doing, not procrastinating by leafing through All Father’s journal. His office was lit by a single energy saver bulb, the light a miracle made possible by the windmill mounted above the compound’s roof. He could even hear it groaning as a gentle wind made the blades spin, recharging the battery bank down in the basement. It sounded like progress. Something All Father and the other culties knew little about before Larry showed up. But a morbid sense of voyeurism aside, there was a very practical reason Larry was going through All Father’s journal. The old bastard had been the very one to help codify the original governing principals, archaic and impractical as they were in a world gone mad. Who better to help draft the language that would undo it all? If a fake dying wish from All Father had convinced this lot to embrace the militarism their continued existence depended on, then finishing off the remaining principals shouldn’t be harder than just getting the words right. As much as Larry hated to admit it, these simple-minded cult members were an integral part of his labor force. If they thought for a moment Larry had been deceiving them, even for their own good, then who knew what could happen.

  Larry was flipping a page in All Father’s journal when something caught his eye. A passage where he discussed having a meeting with Carole and her daughter, Nikki. Carole was trying unsuccessfully to convince him that they needed to raid the airport in order to help find the son she’d left behind. He wrote how his heart felt heavy telling her no, that she’d become angry, but then something else had happened, and this was where Larry’s interest was really piqued. AF writes:

  “The child asked me a question that startled me to the very core. ‘Your daughter, Abigail, when was she killed?’ As a newcomer, there was no possible way she could have known about Abigail, let alone my deep-seated suspicions over the years that she’d been murdered. Surely, the stunned look on my face must have made them wonder if it was guilt or anger I was feeling. But nothing could be further from the truth. It was Abigail’s prophecy that young Nikki’s comment brought to mind. She had been able to look deep within me and see an old memory that even I had buried. Could she be the one?”

  Larry paused there, not entirely sure what the old son of a bitch had been on about. Was All Father saying this Nikki girl, the one who had returned from the slavers thanks to Bud, possessed some hokey psychic powers? Pure foolishness.

  Back in the day, Nutrilife had gone to all the New Age trade shows. You couldn’t throw a rock without hitting a psychic in the head, all of whom specialized in regurgitating the same vague fluff in the hopes that some gullible boob would fill in the appropriate blanks.

  But if this was all so much bullshit, then why was Larry now using the key he kept on a string around his neck to unlock his desk drawer? The one which contained Abigail’s notebook with her controversial views on good and evil along with her many prophecies? Before, Larry hadn’t bothered going over those for the simple fact that nailing All Father’s ass to the wall had been accomplished rather easily. He didn’t need to press further. Seeing the old man’s diary entry, however, had made him feel it might be worth another look.

  Several sections discussed an internal threat to the cult as well as an outside evil that was growing in power every day. At last, he came to The Shift and how Aletheia had instructed the cult members to immerse themselves in water troughs to shield against the reversal. It even predicted the time. July 4 at 6:07 p.m. EST. Wow, doesn’t get much more specific than that. Not long after, it described two survivors who would “fit together like lock and key. Buried memories only she can see.�
�� It was a riddle. Larry hated riddles.

  “Buried memories only she can see,” he repeated. Is this what had made All Father’s jaw drop?

  Larry closed the notebook and tapped on his desk three times. Charlie, the cult member who guarded his office, entered and stood at attention.

  “Bring Nikki to me.”

  “Right away,” he said and disappeared.

  •••

  When the nock came a few minutes later, Larry told them to enter. He glanced up from what he was doing and was surprised to see Dana.

  “Your guard wasn’t there.”

  “I sent him to fetch someone. Something’s wrong,” he observed. “I see it all over your face. You’re having a crisis of conscience, aren’t you?”

  She came in and sat down. “That’s part of it, I guess.”

  “You’re a member of the Coast Guard,” he said. “I shouldn’t have to tell you how the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Besides, you’re doing a kick-ass job, Dana. I know I don’t tell you nearly enough, but you are.” Larry smiled, hoping he didn’t look too much like a vacuum salesman.

  “But that man with one arm I gave a strike to. It just seems these rules are getting – ”

  “Harsh, I know, and they’re about to get harsher. The compound’s dangerously low on food, exactly the time we have to pull together. If one individual doesn’t carry his weight, it risks bringing us all down. No exceptions.”

  Dana paused, as though she were trying to decide whether to say something or not. “Romeo was caught shirking work detail again. This is his third strike, and I know you’re well aware of what that means.”

  The annoyance that flashed across Larry’s face couldn’t have been there for more than a second, but he hoped Dana hadn’t seen it. Romeo had picked the safe where they kept Abigail’s disowned teachings. The very ammunition that won Larry that little power play with AF. The kid knew the risks, so why the fuck was it Larry’s responsibility to drag his sorry ass out of the mud?

  Dana was over by the door now. “We’ll be banishing him in the morning with the standard rations. One bottle of water and three crackers.”