Devastation Erupts Page 4

  “From the moment you walked through these doors, you stated your intent to return home,” he stares into my eyes raptly. “I needed someone who could move about freely on the outside.” He places both hands on the desk, palms down. “I am about to give two civilians a vehicle, equipment, and weapons. If this is going to work, I had to make sure that no one could track you down.”

  “But Riley,” I mutter. “She was injected. She can be tracked.”

  “That is what we call a snafu,” he states casually. “She was vaccinated according to protocol and there is no way, to my knowledge, to reverse the tracking effect. So, we will just have to take our chances because I will not ask you to separate.”

  Riley exhales a deep rush of relief. “Thank you.”

  The sergeant doesn’t respond and uses the break in questions to steer the conversation away from the vaccinations.

  “Now, let’s fire this thing up, and I’ll show you how it works.” We spend the next ten minutes learning the basics on how to input tracker ID numbers as well as how to view trackers that are within range. The satellite phone acts like a GPS, so we can plug in the sergeant’s home address to find his wife. The tracking device also acts like a GPS, but its purpose is to lead us to those who have been injected.

  After he finishes explaining the device and how it differs from the satellite phone, he makes us demonstrate our newly-acquired knowledge.

  Satisfied that we’ve passed the “test,” Bowen swivels away from the desk and rises. He retreats to a small closet. Although his back is to us, I can hear the metallic clinking of a key as it disengages a lock. His wrist flicks a squeaky handle open and he retrieves a small black duffle bag.

  Quickly securing the cabinet, he strides back to the desk and plops into his chair. He carefully unzips the bag. “I’m going to give you some weapons to protect yourselves,” he explains calmly. “Arming civilians is not something I would do under normal circumstances, but these times are anything but normal.”

  Riley’s eyes widen as mine creep along the zippered opening, anxiously anticipating what lies within. Reaching into the shadowed interior, he grasps a gun. Its sleek black body is unforgiving. Although it’s about the size of my hand, it exudes a power that strikes fear to my core.

  “This is a Sig Sauer P226 semi-automatic pistol. It’s got ten rounds per magazine and I’m giving you three mags. So you’ve got ten shots before you have to reload. You probably won’t even use that many, let alone have a need to reload at all.” His eyes trace the metal from barrel to handle as he speaks. “It’s ideal for self-defense.” With those words, his eyes find ours. “And that is why I am giving you these weapons. These are for self-defense only. Don’t show this to anyone unless you have no other choice.”

  He places the pistol back in the bag and retrieves a silver-handled knife. Its serrated blade blares a stringent warning. He nods toward Riley. “You have any experience with something like this?” I almost choke on the incredulous laugh churning in my throat. Why would he ask her that?

  Chapter 12

  Shooting me a side eye glance, Riley answers, “No, of course not.” Bowen watches her for another moment but neither breaks the silent standoff.

  “Aren’t you going to show us how to use the gun?” I implore, smothering the rippling tension. “I mean, the knife is pretty basic, but we’ve never used a gun before.” He quickly returns the knife to its hiding spot.

  “Just one more thing and then we’ll go to the car. I’ll show you how to use the weapons there. It’s a little more secluded and the last thing we need is someone walking in here, seeing me teaching you two how to shoot.”

  As if his arm suddenly pools with lead, he sluggishly slides it across the desk toward the monitor. Wistfully, he wraps a steady hand around a wooden picture frame and presents it to us.

  “This is my wife, Rossana.” A blonde woman smiles broadly, the spark in her green eyes radiating happiness. One arm is snugly wrapped around a chubby black dog with a white muzzle.

  “All you need to do is explain that I asked you to find her and give her the sat phone. I need to work through a few more details about getting the car back, but I’ll do that while you’re on the road.”

  “Is that your dog?” Riley asks with a wistful grin, tracing a slim finger along the dog’s outline.

  She’s probably thinking of our dog, Snickers.

  “Yes, that’s Millie. You find Millie, you’ll find my wife.”

  “How will we find her?” Riley asks. “Does she have a tracker?”

  “She does not,” Bowen replies. His eyes land just above our heads as he returns to a memory we can’t see. “She refused to leave the dog behind. Certain pets are not permitted on base. So she stayed home, with Millie, when I was sent here.” After a breath, he continues.

  “I wrote our address down on a slip of paper. It’s inside the picture frame. After you find your friends—in one day—” he raises a finger in emphasis, “get back on the road, locate that paper, and enter the address into the satellite phone. It’ll guide you there like a GPS.”

  “We can handle that,” I confirm.

  “One day,” he repeats.

  Geez, I get it. We both nod in agreement.

  He gives us a brisk nod before turning toward the black keyboard. He chicken-pecks a few keys and the printer rumbles to life once more. He thrusts the mostly-white sheet toward us across the desk. This one has two names on it, along with their tracking numbers.

  James Masters: 53A72C

  Daniel Masters: 95X37H

  “You can probably guess what these are. Hopefully, they won’t show up on your scanner, but just in case, you should be on alert for those numbers.”

  “But wait, isn’t Dan still here?” Riley whimpers, her face scrunching in confusion.

  “He is, but he was a bit distraught when he was informed that James is gone. He has a guard, so he is accounted for, but we haven’t been able to question him thoroughly on what happened while you were in their company. He claims he doesn’t remember much before the fire ant incident.”

  Riley and I share worried glances. Bowen leans toward us, one hand splayed on the desk.

  “I am going to show you how to use the weapons. Remember, they are only to be used for self-defense, but they will keep you safe.” When neither of us replies, he tries again.

  “You’ll be in a car and you’re going to find your friends, so that’s more sets of eyes to help keep watch.”

  He’s right. Jim wouldn’t try anything if he was outnumbered four-to-one. He’s dumb but he’s not that dumb. Right now, we just have to make it to Jasmine’s house. Safety in numbers.

  Riley shrugs her hesitation off first. “Okay, so what’s next?”

  Bowen gathers a few stray papers scattered across the desk and shuffles them into a messy pile. He powers down the computer and rises from his swivel chair, gliding it back to its parking spot under the keyboard in one swift movement.

  Eyeing us expectantly, he exclaims, “Well, that about does it here. Gather your supplies, ladies, and let’s check out your wheels.”

  I’m not sure how long we’ve been in his office, but dusk seems to be riding our heels. “How is it already getting dark outside?” I wonder aloud. The sun still clings to the horizon, but it’s as if we’ve turned the clocks back a few hours and lost daylight.

  The others must be consumed with their own thoughts because no one responds to my question.

  As we follow the sergeant through the dimly lit pathway behind the intake trailer, Riley questions him, “So what exactly do we tell your wife if we find her?” He pauses mid-step, turning and raising an eyebrow.

  “When you find her, you will call me on the sat phone so I can talk to her. At that point I’ll instruct you on what to do next,” he pauses, but before another syllable tumbles out, a series of high-pitched beeps shriek from his hip. With wide eyes and deft fingers, he unclips the walkie-talkie and presses it to his mouth.

  “Go for
Sergeant Bowen.” The sequence of beeps must have some meaning because he’s answered that walkie-talkie in my presence before but this is the first time I’ve seen concern wash over his features as a result of it.

  “Bowen, this is Staff Sergeant Owens. Are you in a private location?” Bowen doesn’t even glance at us. His whole body is attuned to the radio. The deep voice on the other end oozes with urgency.

  “Yes, sir.” He turns his back to us, as if that will shield the conversation. It doesn’t.

  “I need you to meet me in Phoenix Room 2A. Yellowstone’s reached stage two, inflation. We’re going into lockdown at eighteen hundred hours.”

  Chapter 13

  Bowen’s shoulders hunch and his head drops for just a moment. Defeat radiates from his weary frame. A shaky hand raises the walkie-talkie one more time.

  “Yes, sir, on my way.” He stills before his shoulders expand as he ingests a gulp of air. When he faces us again, his hazel eyes exude determination.

  “Follow me.” His boots crunch gravel as he leads us toward a paved parking lot behind the office trailers. It’s so small that you’d miss it if you blinked at just the right moment. Two enormous white vans sit next to each other, taking up four parking spaces each. He can’t possibly think we can drive one of those beasts out of here unnoticed.

  His footsteps quicken as we near the vans. Riley shoots me a wide-eyed glance. I crinkle my nose in return and shake my head. We are not driving one of those things.

  Hidden behind the girth of the massive vans is a modest silver sedan. Now that’s more our speed. Bowen stops abruptly at the passenger side door and turns toward us.

  “You’re going to follow this street out of the lot.” He motions toward a road nearly bathed in darkness. One lone streetlight serves as our guide.

  “Make a right and drive straight until you come to a restricted entrance.” When my eyes flash with worry, he elaborates. “Tell them I processed your release and that I instructed you to take this exit. Tell them there’s an Alpha Charlie waiting for anyone who doesn’t let you pass.”

  I coax an unsure “Ooookaaaay” out of my mouth. Here’s hoping an Alpha Charlie is enough of a deterrent that this will work. My pulse spikes when the walkie-talkie emits three sharp beeps. Eyes trained on us, Bowen’s hand glides to the radio and silences it.

  Suddenly, my vision clouds as if muting the world around me. My heart strains to pump blood faster than is needed. Surrounding sounds fade as an inner panic monopolizes my senses. The sergeant’s beleaguered tone pulls me from the momentary haze.

  “I’ve got to go. Now.” His chest swells and billows with rapid breaths. “Remember, the address is in the frame. Do NOT lose that frame! Tell Rossana that she can bring Millie. I’ll figure something out.” His words erupt in a jumble of syllables and gasps. He turns to leave us, halfway caught between the next emergency and his only hope at finding his wife.

  “Just one more thing. The government knew about that earthquake in the Atlantic, but they didn’t warn anyone. And now this Yellowstone eruption is being kept under wraps too.” His words shoot directly to my heart like sharp daggers. It feels like a betrayal. People could have prepared if they’d known. My parents could have prepared. But there’s no time to fully process the information right now.

  He strides toward us and grabs my shoulders, physically conveying the importance of his message. “I have a ham radio at home. When I talk to my wife, I’ll tell her to give it to you. Take it and figure out how to use it. At this rate, it may become the only way left to communicate. If emergency broadcast messages are transmitted, you’re going to want to hear them.”

  Shaking his head, as if suddenly remembering the whole reason we came here, he slides a rough hand into his pocket and retrieves a pair of keys. They clink as they dangle from a silver ring attached to a round white medallion bearing the U.S. Air Force logo.

  I nod dumbly as he thrusts the keys into my hand. He leans in close for one last bit of advice. Warm breath wafts to my cheek as cautious words drift to my ears. “Drive carefully through the base but don’t waste time. You’ve got to be outside the fence before the official lockdown order is announced.”

  He whirls away, boots scuffling along the ground. Headed back toward the Intake Office, his stride is so fast that he nearly matches a runner’s pace. Numbly fixed in place, we watch his figure disappear into the shadows. Once again Riley and I are truly alone.

  “Quinn?” Riley’s voice sounds hollow and far away, as if she’s speaking from the distant end of a tunnel. Turning toward my sister, I imagine our eyes reflect the same uncertainty. We both know what we’re supposed to do, but my feet refuse to move.

  “He…he didn’t…show us how to use the gun,” she stammers.

  Crap! Silently inventorying everything he gave us, I’m relieved that we have what we need. Unfortunately, we don’t know how to use it all.

  “Riley, there’s nothing we can do about it now. Besides, we’ve got to get out of here. You heard what he said.”

  Shrugging her shoulders dejectedly, she nods.

  “You’re right. Maybe Aidan and Jeff can help us figure out how to use the gun.” I’m not sure we’re supposed to tell them we have it, but I don’t want to discuss that right now. We’ve got to go.

  “Alright, Quinn, I’ll take the keys,” she presents an open palm, holding it out expectantly. My eyebrows jump in surprise. The old Riley would never make that offer in a potentially precarious situation like this. Acknowledging she’s the more experienced driver, I drop them in her outstretched hand.

  While she adjusts the mirrors and driver’s seat, I load our supplies into the trunk. No need to show off our goodies. The base is still relatively silent and calm. I wonder how much longer it will bask in this tranquil state.

  Chapter 14

  Riley eases out of the lot, her cautious eyes bouncing in every direction. We inch past civilians and soldiers who casually stroll to and from buildings in small groups. They’re probably grabbing an evening meal at the mess hall or looking to blow off some steam at the bowling alley.

  Here and there, eyes land on us and track our movement. “I think we’re going too slow. You should speed up a bit.” Keeping her eyes glued to the road, Riley nods and accelerates. Slightly. Impatience seeps out of my right foot as it taps the floor, bouncing in place. If I was driving, I’d zoom right outta here at a whopping thirty miles per hour.

  I attempt to squelch my annoyance by focusing on the scenery we pass. This should be the last time I see any of this.

  “Look at these people, Riley,” I say, motioning out my window, even though I know her eyes are trained on our route. “None of them know this lockdown is coming. I wonder how long they’ll have to stay here.”

  “Yeah, I guess we’re really lucky that Bowen guy asked for our help. Otherwise, we’d be just like all of them: trapped lab rats.”

  Nervousness stifles the conversation and charges the air as we roll toward the gate entrance. Intermittent red lights flash along a bar that runs over the guard shacks. Their sporadic blinking display, along with the guard’s leisurely pace, confirm that it is still business as usual.

  Riley’s hands drop from the wheel and find each other, twisting with anxiety. Fiercely, I hiss between closed lips, “Stop it! You look like you’re hiding something!”

  With a deep breath, Riley smooths her long brown locks from her scalp to her shoulders. She powers the driver’s side window down and greets the soldier with a smile. His chiseled face remains stoic.

  “Ma’am, this entrance is for authorized personnel only. I’m going to need you to turn around and proceed to the main gate.” He starts pointing in the direction he’s attempting to send us but Riley cuts in.

  “I know this is a restricted gate, but we got special permission from Sergeant Bowen to use it.” The soldier sighs, narrowing his eyes. Before he can challenge the statement, I blurt, “Yeah, the sergeant says he’s got an Alpha Charlie for anyone who gives us a
hassle.”

  The words bounce from my lips with a sing-song tattletale quality. No such luck sounding intimidating. The air blisters with anticipation as we await his response. As he cocks his head to the side like a confused dog, another soldier calls out from the other guard booth.

  A bead of sweat descends along my spine as my nerves tingle. Please let us go. Please let us go.

  “Everything okay over there, Kessel?” His eyes slide from us to the other soldier. Waving a hand in the air in an affirmative gesture, he turns back toward us and slams a flat palm down on the car’s roof. Riley and I practically launch out of our seats in surprise. Kessel’s lips part in a sly smirk.

  “Alright, if the sergeant said so, proceed.” He backs away from the car with two sure-footed steps and motions for another guard to let us through. We both inhale a deep breath and Riley rolls the car forward cautiously as the creaky mechanical arm swings open.

  Once the last Langley Air Force Base sign we pass fades in the rearview mirror, the tension begins to erode.

  “We did it!” I squeal. “We’re going home!” Riley pounds the roof and my feet stomp the floor. After a few celebratory “Woots,” Riley turns toward me, suddenly silent.

  “Quinn! Where are we headed right now? I need to know where to drive!” I erupt in laughter but quickly wipe the smile from my face when Riley’s death glare targets me.

  “Okay, okay,” I raise my hands placatingly. “Sorry, we’re going to Jasmine’s house to find Aidan and Jeff.”

  “How about an address or something?” she utters impatiently.

  “Right! Can you pull over? I need to get the tracker out of the trunk.”

  After a quick stop, I scramble to fire up the tracking device with one hand while digging through my backpack with the other. Aidan wrote Jasmine’s last name down for me and the sergeant was able to provide her address.

  Riley drives in simmering silence, clearly annoyed by my lack of preparedness. The tension dissipates when a robotic voice rings out, “Destination located. Proceed on the calculated route.”