2041 Sanctuary (Let There Be Light) (29 page)

However, the main agency that disturbed his inner calm was an overactive imagination and the thoughts that went with it.
What if nothing awaits after death?
He couldn’t help but let fear consume him, the fear of not being, of ceasing to exist.
What if ‘nothing’ is all there is?
An upsurge of terror sought to overwhelm him and he fought back the panic by breathing deep and slow in an attempt to clear his mind. His chaotic thoughts turned to his work and his many accomplishments.
Has my life been worthwhile?
he wondered. He thought it had. He’d helped mankind to continue its battle for life and to prepare for its long journey into the unknown. Every manmade subterranean base utilised his designs, the cascading chambers, the revolutionary earthquake-proof foundations. These things would help extend human existence, not just for the millions living underground, but for many generations to come, perhaps for thousands of generations. Without the underground bases humanity would be wiped out in a matter of years, every advance lost to the whim of chance – and the asteroids were just one threat of many. A super volcano, comets, solar flares, nuclear war, environmental collapse, climate change, plague, the list went on. Only multiple underground complexes, completely independent from the surface, could hope to protect against all of these horrors of nature. And, despite what anyone thought, whatever man created was by definition natural, as man was from nature. Everything was natural; it just might not fall into the category of what people perceived as
normal
.

He also knew the bases would give people more time to populate space, as it was clear as time went by that transitioning to the realm of other planets, moons or the vacuum of the universe would be a long and difficult road. If the visions of space travel into the solar system and beyond were to reach fruition then humans needed time, and lots of it. And since some of the cataclysms that awaited were inevitable, then only a fool would risk the advances of its entire species to chance. Steiner relaxed at the thought, before rough hands hauled him to his feet.

Shoved out of his cell, Steiner shuffled forward with his last moments on Earth burning bright and his senses on overload. The smell of bleach tasted sweet on his tongue. The sound of the guard’s keys jangled like Beethoven’s fifth symphony and the colour of his orange jumpsuit was beautiful to the eye, its rough texture glorious on the skin. Even his bruises and the pain they induced made him feel alive. He moved down the long corridor with a guard on either side of him. A glimmer of light through a window made him glance up to see the small form of a creature he’d come to cherish. The bird he’d first seen from his cell had continued to visit him day in and day out during the latter part of his captivity. And even now it perched on a ledge with its tiny eyes peering into Steiner’s own.
Does it know my fate? Does it care? Does anyone?

One the guards followed Steiner’s gaze and banged the window with his extendable stick, and the bird fluttered away in distress.

Soon after, they entered the execution chamber and Steiner’s stomach cramped tight as he laid eyes on the table he would be strapped to and the cylinders of lethal fluid that stood close by. It was all he could do to keep moving.

In front, a mechanical blind blocked the view beyond and the warden entered to check over the systems, accompanied by a GMRC official.

The guards removed Steiner’s chains and helped him onto the table, where they strapped him down. Steiner lay back and looked up into the bright lights on the ceiling.

‘Time to die,’ one of the men whispered in his ear. ‘My cousin was one the police officers killed by your friend. I hope you burn in hell.’

Steiner looked at the hate in his eyes and clenched his left hand where his thumb rubbed his gold wedding band.

The other guard must have seen the movement and pointed to his colleague. ‘Take the ring.’

Steiner’s eyes widened. ‘NO!’

He clamped his fingers tight as the guard fought to prise it open. Steiner gritted his teeth before the man cracked his baton down, once, twice, three times until Steiner cried out in pain. With help from his partner, the guard tore the ring from his finger and then removed Steiner’s glasses and spat on him. Steiner winced and turned his head away as the spittle ran down the side of his face.

A siren sounded and the table beneath him rose to vertical, while the blind retracted to reveal a window and a room less than half full. The few that had been allowed access watched with grim expressions.

Steiner searched for someone he might know, but only strangers met his gaze.

Thinking of Amelia, his thumb sought the ring that was no longer there. Only then did he feel truly alone, as if his one true love had left when he needed her most. He imagined her eyes and found his turmoil prevented the visualisation from appearing.

The warden stepped forward to press a button, his shadowy form in the darkened room beyond seeming like the cast of death himself. ‘Do you have any last words, prisoner?’

Steiner gathered himself and cleared his throat. ‘May God grant me forgiveness for my crimes as I forgive those who’ve wronged me. For those among you who may know, as I do, remain steadfast that sanctuary may not be waiting for us all.’ He let his words sink in, hoping his cryptic message might fall on friendly ears. ‘I also ask that I be laid to rest by my wife, Amelia. May life continue for you all. God bless.’

The warden released the button and gave a signal with his hand. Steiner heard a hiss of sound and turned to see the first plunger sink to the bottom of its cylinder. He rested his head back and his eyes focused on the dark glass and the reflection of a skylight from above. On the ledge of this window sat his feathered friend, its tiny beak ruffling feathers. His wife had always liked birds.

Steiner concentrated on this sight of life as the sensation of warmth swept through his veins. A tear rolled down his cheek. ‘I’m coming home, Amelia,’ he whispered. ‘I’m coming home.’

Chapter Thirty Three

Outside the Pelican Bay Supermax State Prison, Brett Taylor, alongside thousands of others, watched the image of her father’s accomplice dying on the big screens. While his face had been blurred out to preserve his identity, the vision gave those present closure, along with the millions who tuned in to the macabre broadcast from around the world via the mass media. Brett herself felt satisfied, but she knew, unlike those around her, that the man responsible for pulling the trigger remained at large, her father having been spirited away by people unknown posing as GMRC employees. At least that seemed the most likely scenario, but since this was the GMRC they were talking about, anything was possible.

That her father had escaped from his crimes bit deep into Brett’s core, her quest for justice as tainted as her familial bond. The release she’d experienced at the news of her father’s death had felt like a great weight had been lifted, her past wiped clean and her future fresh with possibility. Now, however, the status quo had resumed and his shadow hovered at the periphery like a stain on her soul.

The noise of the crowd roused her from her melancholy. Despite the event they’d come to see being over, the people around her continued their vigil. News crews also remained, the correspondents speaking into cameras under floodlit glows in the dark.

Brett looked again at the piece of paper that had been slipped into her trouser pocket.

What do I want to find?
she asked herself.
My father
. The thought struck her like a stone to the temple. What if the person who’d given her this message knew where her father was? She looked around. The prison’s floodlights shone in all directions, their rays highlighting the dying trees that lined the road behind. Working her way to the street, she walked along through shadows, searching for something, anything, she knew not what.

Perhaps her father had come to save his friend.
No
, she thought,
he had no love for the old man
.
And besides, if he was here to save him he was too late. Unless the accomplice wasn’t his target
. The colonel’s words came to mind once more.
You’re making a mistake
,
your life – in danger
. Her hand strayed to the gun concealed beneath her shirt.
Perhaps he’s come back for me, to finish what he’d started, saving me from whatever madness he’s conjured from the hell he calls a mind
.

The idea was a frightening one, but she wasn’t about to turn tail and run, and after half an hour of
seeking
, Brett had found nothing in the vicinity of the prison that looked suspicious or resembled anything like a clue. She decided to head back to the motel where she’d been staying, but as she made her way to her car she spied something out of place. A white news van stood parked amongst a host of its fellows, but this vehicle had no markings or plates. It was the same one that had fled from outside the courthouse earlier that day.

She removed her pistol from her belt and approached the rear of the van. Reaching out to one of two doors, she grasped its handle and yanked it open.

Dark emptiness greeted her.

Brett stowed her weapon and got in to search the detritus on the floor, and then slid into the driver’s seat. Feeling under the passenger side dash, she opened the glove box and found it empty save for another piece of paper.

Ask who?
She turned the paper over to see it was blank.

A prison security officer approached and tapped on the window. ‘Ma’am?’

She opened the door and got out.

‘Are you the owner of this vehicle?’ he said.

‘No, I’m a federal agent.’ She reached for her badge and realised her mistake. ‘Why, is there a problem?’

He hesitated and she hoped her appearance and confident manner ensured he wouldn’t want to see ID.

‘Someone said this van was causing an obstruction.’

Brett looked and saw it was doing no such thing. She frowned. ‘Who told you that?’

‘Some kid.’ He held his hand out around waist height. ‘He was hanging around the rear of the compound.’

‘Show me.’

The man nodded and led her back into the crowd before skirting the perimeter of the prison’s fence. A minute later they emerged into to an emptier area.

The security man looked around. ‘He was right here.’

‘What did he look like?’

His radio crackled. ‘Disturbance at gate two, Andy, can you assist?’

He grasped the handset. ‘Copy, Control, on my way.’ He looked to Brett. ‘Not sure, short dark hair, Asian looking? I have to go.’

The man jogged away and disappeared back into the melee.

Apart from a small access road and a high fence, all Brett could see were three tall guard towers and their searchlights raking the compound’s interior.

Movement inside caught her eye and she raised her computer phone and zoomed in to get a better look. A large blue and white truck stood parked behind a mass of security fencing and on its side were the words:

COUNTY OF LOS ANGELES DEPARTMENT OF

CORONER

SPECIAL OPERATIONS RESPONSE TEAM

Brett could just make out two people dressed in black uniforms with matching caps getting out of the back of the vehicle. They pulled a collapsible gurney with them and its legs unfolded to the ground, enabling them to wheel it into the prison’s main building.

A couple of minutes later the two state employees re-emerged, but this time an ominous body bag lay on the trolley, its shape leaving little doubt that its function had been fulfilled.

When the grisly cargo had been loaded, the prison warden, accompanied by two of his guards, came to sign off the undertaking and waited as the two death dealers slammed shut the rear doors before climbing into the cab.

Something about the scene niggled at her, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. The body language of the two coroners seemed tense, almost rushed –
but no, that isn’t it
. Brett zoomed further in on the image.