Woe man, p.52
Woe Man, page 52
“Go right here.”
“You’re still with me?”
“Where else would I be?”
Suspicious, I follow her instructions and count out thirty paces, past several openings.
“What’s wrong with these?”
“Most are dead ends. Some are exits, but not the one we want.”
“Are you sure?”
“Trust me. Walk straight ahead another hundred and fifty feet and then turn right.”
With no real choice, I set out as fast as I dare, past several sets of stairs leading down to the left and two dark openings on the right. I can’t help it and hesitate a foot away from next one I find.
“Not yet. Keep going. Another twenty feet. Here.”
The hall in front of me appears as dark as all the others.
“Are you sure this is it?”
“Yes. Only thirty more feet. Go straight.”
Running the light down the hall, I note a faint rectangular outline directly ahead. A door like the other? Reaching, I rub my hand against the wall as I step forward, and then stumble across a round indentation with my fingers. Aiming the light I bend close.
“It’s a button switch. It should open the door.”
“Yeah, even I knew that.”
As I straighten, I worry whether one of Gary’s comrades is waiting on the other side. Running my flashlight down the hall, I start searching for a hidey-hole.
My heart stops cold. The steel toes on a pair of boots protrude from a dark recess a dozen feet away. With no time to reconsider I jam my finger into the switch, race past the hidden conspirator, and scream bloody murder.
Chapter 65
“People ask me of my relationship with God. I’m God’s scribe. I don’t perform miracles. My task is to speak and write of them.”
- Diana, “Book of Life” The Inquisition
Friday 12:45 PM
Smashing through the small door, my worst fear is realized: Brad stands next to Dog on the opposite side of the bed.
“Down,” I shout.
Before I can blink, Dog sweeps her from her feet and they fall to the floor.
“Get off,” she shrieks.
I jump sideways before the wood frame behind me explodes with a bang. Dust and splinters rain down on top me as I dive for the floor.
A bullet rips into the mattress above my head.
“Stay there,” Dog yells.
“Are you crazy?” I roll to my back.
“No, I mean, you, Angela.”
Angela? Twisting wildly, I scan and spot her feet on the far side of the bed as she retracts them into the bathroom.
Another bullet blows past my face, the bedroom door slams open, and two gun-toting guards come roaring through it.
“Where?” one shouts.
I motion over my shoulder. The men let go with a spray of bullets and rush the corridor.
Dog jumps to his feet. “Shelly, get over here!”
As I lift my head to look, three more security guards burst into the room.
“That way,” I shout, pointing after the others.
They almost trample me as they jump into the fray. I twist my neck to follow them, but Dog’s frantic motions catch my eye. No other prompt is needed. Scrambling to my feet, I dive across the bed and roll into his arms. He spins me around, sets me on my feet, and shoves me back into Brad. Somehow, my momentum propels everyone through the bathroom doorframe.
More racing footsteps brings my head back around in time to see Sally Winters racing into the bedroom. “Look out. Down,” I shout.
Dog shoves me hard to the left. I trip and fall over the toilet. Clawing my way to my knees I hear the bathroom door slam behind me. A shot goes off and splinters rain down all around. Twisting, I catch his huge arms wrap up Brad and Angela before they all topple like dominos and crush me against the floor.
Feeling used and abused I attempt to crawl my way out. “Get off. Let me up.”
Dog’s giant paw latches onto my leg. “Stay down!”
“Let go,” I shout. “I’m done. I’m tired of being pushed around and…”
“Don’t be stupid,” he shouts.
Brad grabs my arm. “Shelly, stay down.”
The combination of weight and grip does the trick—I can barely budge. “Get off, you guys are heavy!”
“Shelly, wait…”
“I can’t breathe.”
“Not yet, stay down.”
I start seething, but my rage evaporates when the room outside explodes in another barrage.
Someone falls to the floor just beyond our door.
“Clear,” a male guard shouts.
When I refocus I find myself nose to nose with Angela.
“Can you get off?” I whisper.
“Give it another second,” she whispers back.
“Shelly, Brad, are you okay in there?”
Mike’s voice never sounded better.
Dog must recognize it, too, for he releases my leg, which allows Angela and then Brad to climb to their feet. Finally free to stand myself, I’m met by a confused cacophony of voices.
“Quiet,” I yell.
As the voices cease I turn to Dog and point to the door. “Out of the way. Now!”
This time he complies without an argument and I slip past. Mike stands at the bedroom door with Dr. Lucas and both are staring down on Miss Winters. Blood blossoms across her blouse.
“Oh, dear Lord,” Angela groans behind me.
“Shelly, what’s…”
I wave to cut them off. “Doctor Lucas, Marvin’s wounded in the corridors. He requires immediate assistance.”
“I heard.” He lifts a small kit to show me.
I turn to the nearest guard before realizing there are three standing near the hidden corridor entrance. I point at the door. “Is it safe for us to go in there?”
“Yes, ma’am. We found one traitor inside and he’s dead.”
“Can some of you stay here and the rest follow?”
“I’ll do it, ma’am, but don’t worry there are more reinforcements on the way.”
I rush up into his face. “If you guys were doing your job none of this would’ve happened.” I point to the now dead Miss Winters. “She and Gary almost finished us, and when I say us, I’m including your boss.” Now, I point to Angela who recoils as if stung.
She opens wide to protest. “Shelly…”
“No, Angela, you don’t get it. Everyone here needs to stay sharp and focused and start worrying one hell of a lot more. We’re all still in danger. Now, come. Let’s go save one of the good guys.” I point at the dark doorway. “Dr. Lucas?”
He steps in to follow and we rush off into the corridors.
Chapter 66
“What is God, if not the sum of all he created? What is man, if not a creation of God? Don’t you see? As God defines us, we define God.”
- Diana, “Book of Life” The Inspiration
Friday 3:15 PM
When we returned to Brad’s room after rescuing Marvin from the hidden halls, I found Angela and Dog in a heated discussion. Dog was furious. He demanded she and Kent locate a defensible living quarters for Brad. As a result, we ended up in the middle of God knows where in their “Castle Cottage,” a cozy little cabin tucked in the vast woods of their estate.
Thankfully, the cottage is more secure than I first anticipated. From the outside it looks like a small log cabin with a tall roof and covered front porch. Inside, the floor plan resembles a studio apartment I once rented with a sleeping loft over the top. Turns out they built entire structure out of some new polymer Kent’s company manufactures from recycled oils. The stuff is impervious to insects, shaped to look like wood, and is more durable than concrete.
“My network’s suing you for breach of contract.”
I reach to massage my temples and then wonder why I invited Damon to join us here. I should have left him back at the main house.
“Shelly, I’m not kidding. It’s going to get ugly.”
It takes everything to refrain from smacking him. I will my jaw to unclench. “So be it. Chances are the next attack succeeds and we’ll all be dead.”
He expels a weary sigh, no doubt miffed by my intransigence. “How can you justify this? TWN bought an exclusive. If you let the rest of media into the estate, you violate the terms of our agreement.”
I shake my head. “I told you, Damon, if you want to argue go find Diana. Her instructions were crystal clear. Everyone needs to see the delivery. We need to show the world the baby’s normal and try to dispel all the rumors we’re tied up in some hoax.
“But…”
“Stop! Effing drop it. I’m not talking about this again.”
Peeved, he spins in a huff to stare down into the moat, another of the special security features of the cottage. At the moment, some of Kent’s men are flooding it with water diverted from a nearby creek. They opened a special floodgate ten minutes ago. The bottom is already knee-deep.
I blow out a breath, lean into the handrail at my side, and will myself to relax. Damon and I stand on a drawbridge that crosses the moat. Both cottage and moat are surrounded by an open meadow two to three acres in size. The meadow is full of tall grasses, dandelions, and wild daisies and is surrounded by blackberry vines, nettles and several varieties of thistle. Beyond lies a dense Northwest forest full of cedar, hemlock, oak and alder. I can only hope it’s enough to keep away the curious, including any bears.
Bears or otherwise, we now have a sizable contingent of guards to help keep watch over Brad. The majority are stationed in a wide circle around the outside of the moat, which is about fifty feet away from the walls of the cottage. I see one guard on duty every fifty feet all along the perimeter.
Our party commandeered a dozen Katybugs to get here. We followed a windy, paved path all the way from the main house. I had no real notion what to expect, but Kent’s Katybugs turned out to be super-charged golf carts, except these accept verbal instructions from the passengers, drive themselves off GPS signals from Jamieson satellites, are all-electric, carry a maximum of two passengers and are capable of a sustained speed of forty miles per hour.
Dwight joined us here a half hour ago and promptly reminded us the wound to his temple was superficial. I hope he means it. With the bandage wrapped around his head, he could be recovering from major brain surgery and I wouldn’t know the difference.
Since he insisted on getting back to work, I tasked him with vetting all the guards. So far he interviewed about half. Our goal is to weed out Ray’s little clique, since we can ill afford another surprise attack.
Dog was exhausted and headed straight for the loft the minute it was clear Dwight was ready to relieve him. He now shares the one bed we have at the cottage with Brad who is also fast asleep. Even out here on the bridge I swear I hear both snoring.
As Damon stirs beside me my eyes refocus and I find him staring out over the railing toward the forest. His injured arm catches my attention, wrapped as it is in a black silk sling. I decide he looks damned decent for someone recovering from a bullet wound.
“I’m sorry,” he says, aiming it out across the meadow. “I keep forgetting what this is all about. I guess I’m still shaken up from the shooting.”
His words come as a welcome relief. “Thanks.” I reach out to squeeze his good shoulder. “I know this is important and appreciate everything you’ve done for us. Try not to worry. I guarantee you first pick on camera placement.”
My words appear to mollify—enough he finally turns to acknowledge me with a tight smile.
Deciding it’s all I’m going to get, I focus on evening out my breath in hope I can relieve the last of the tension still coursing through my body.
“When do you expect another update on Hank?”
His ill-timed reminder fills my brain with vivid flashes of gore. I shudder as I picture Ray’s gun blowing a hole in the middle of Hank’s chest. Blinking, I shake away the vision. “I’m not sure. Lisa and I stopped to check on him before we came here. They wouldn’t let us into his room. They’re still deeply concerned about potential infection.”
He nods, thoughtfully. “And rejection? Is that going to be an issue?”
“If you’re talking about his brain rejecting his new cyborg body, the answer is a big maybe.”
“But, it’s hopeful, right?”
Once again his endless probing irks me. “Can we please change the subject? I’m about to slap you.”
He opens his mouth, but must think better of it for he turns back to stare at the ever rising water in the moat.
Glancing around, I note Dwight is no longer on the porch, and the guards stationed near us seem tense and alert. I wonder of it for a moment, but decide Dwight knows his business.
“Did you decide what you’re doing about Howard?”
The question throws me. I twist my neck to address him. “What do you mean?”
“The debate.”
“What debate?”
“I’m on it.” In less than a second, a headline flashes in the corners of my eyes. It reads, “Howard Wants Debate. Where’s Armano?” Terrific, I did miss it. “I didn’t know anything about it.” I groan as I start reading the details. “I see he wants a one on one.”
Damon runs his hand over his short black hair. “Were you accessing that off your n-Jewels?”
“Yes. Now, why didn’t anyone tell me about the debate sooner?”
“You asked me to stop feeding you headlines.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
Damon’s brow wrinkles up and he looks around. “You weren’t? I’m confused. Who were you talking to if not with me?”
“Oh, sorry. I was talking to Lynn—to my n-Jewels.”
“You talk to your n-Jewels? Wait, why Lynn?”
“I know it sounds weird, but my n-Jewels recently took on a persona. I could almost swear she’s intelligent.”
“I am intelligent.”
“Hush, assume standby, unless Jason wants me or it’s an emergency.”
“Understood.”
“And you call her Lynn?”
“I do. She asked me to. She describes herself as my sister consciousness.”
“Really? What’s that like?”
“I’m not sure, yet. A little scary maybe. I’m not used to a separate voice in my head, one that can feed me the right information even as I think of it.”
“It sounds to me like she’s reading your thoughts.”
“Believe me, we had a long chat on the way over and she insists it’s nothing of the sort. She says she predicts my behavior based on past interaction and situational circumstance using complex mathematical algorithms. I don’t know. I have half a mind to believe her.”
“Only half?”
“If we were talking about an interface with your brain, wouldn’t you have a few doubts?”
“I don’t know. I suppose.”
Hearing the screen door slam, I turn and spot Dwight as he steps off the cottage porch and strides towards us. “More trouble,” he booms in a throaty deep bass similar to his brother’s. He stops a foot shy of the bridge.
“Now what?”
“The county sheriff and a dozen of his officers are presently on the estate to investigate our recent spate of deaths. I guess being a multi-billionaire doesn’t guarantee immunity in a homicide investigation. They want to interview us.”
I blow out a breath. “Us? Who does that include?”
“You, Damon, me, Dog, Kent, Brad, Angela, the doctors…”
“Never mind, I get the point.”
Damon moves around on my left. “Isn’t it a bit late for a police investigation?”
I flash on Jason’s crowd control problems. “I bet they were delayed. The way I heard it, the road into the estate is blocked from the front gate all the way to town.”
He nods. “I suppose we screwed up the crime scenes big time.”
“You can say that again,” Dwight sighs. He reaches toward the bandage on his forehead and tries to scratch through the dressing. “But there’s another issue, it’s Becca Five.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Because?”
“Angela told me Kent put her into a deep sleep state. They’re running a diagnostic on her, a total brain dump of some kind to discover the source of her missing memory. The thing is they don’t want anyone outside of the company looking at her memory or programming. It’s all a trade secret as far as they’re concerned.”
“Which I presume becomes a problem for the investigators?”
His eyes find mine. “Exactly. They don’t want her complete memory a matter of the public record. As far as they’re concerned, they’d sooner wipe her than let someone examine it.”
“They wouldn’t really do that, would they?” Damon asks. “She saved our butts. She’s not just some machine. She’s practically human.”
I picture Ray strangling me with Hank’s stick and Becca holding the gun that killed her. “Human or not, she sure had our backs.”
“Maybe my report will be enough for the police,” he suggests. We captured it all for TV: Every moment from Ray’s entrance to Shelly running in buck-naked. It’s all there on the disk.”
“Anyone else hungry?” I ask hoping to find a more hopeful topic. “I think the fridge is full inside.”
The cottage screen door slams open.
“What do I do?” Brad cries.
When I slip past Dwight and Damon and run up to her I notice her blue denim dress is soaked. “What’s wrong? What it is?”
“I think my water just broke.”
“Your water,” I gasp when I realize she’s talking about the baby. “Oh, my God, this is it. It’s time. Dwight, call Mike. Damon, get ready for a live update and get a hold of Jason. We need to open the gates and let the rest of the press into the estate.”
“I don’t believe this,” she cries. “The baby’s coming, isn’t it?”
As tears start running down her cheeks, I rush to her side. “Come now, Sweetie. Let’s get you cleaned up inside.”
Chapter 67
