Anatomy of Evil (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Two vehicles cut through the moonlit murk with stabs of light, kicking up a long wake of dust, engines roaring with purpose. They advanced across a rolling backdrop of barren desert, disrupting the stillness. The Chihuahuan Desert covered 175,000 square miles of land across New Mexico, Texas, Arizona and Mexico, one of the most lifeless places on earth, spotted with a sparse plant presence and little rainfall.

The rental truck led the way with Rodney behind the wheel, channeling his inner GPS, a heavily accented voice named Yuri. Yuri shared space with Rodney's brain waves, directing him to the precise location where a stolen warhead had lain buried for decades. Gary sat next to Rodney in the passenger seat, staring at his smart phone, muttering about the loss of connectivity in the middle of nowhere.

“Stay off that thing,” said Rodney.

“I still have to manage the store,” responded Gary. “I'm telling people it's closed for renovations.”

“Renovations,” chuckled Rodney. “Good one.”

“I had to come up with something new. I used up my last excuse.”

“What was that?”

“I was in mourning for that bitch I killed.”

Behind the truck, a formerly white rental car followed, dirtied in desert orange. Carol drove the car with Sam beside her in the passenger seat. She eyed the two boys in the back in the rearview mirror. The skinhead duo wore iPhone earbuds, each rocking out to the crunch of bombastic heavy metal that filled their skulls and overflowed into a shared listening experience in the car.

“I still don't understand why we had to bring
them
,” said Carol through gritted teeth.

“They're my two most trusted disciples,” said Sam. “We need the extra manpower. Who knows how heavy this thing is or what kind of conflicts we might face along the way.”

“But they're a couple of kids,” said Carol, eyeing them again and frowning at their giddy “let's raise hell” demeanor.

“Exactly,” said Sam. “The next generation. We have a calling, Carol, to spread the gospel. We're just four people. Who will carry on after we're gone? Who will continue the faith?”

“I've already done my part,” responded Carol.

“What you mean?”

“I fucked Gary.” She smiled. “So, yes, I'm also getting started on the next generation. Think of the power of one ultimate being created by two of us. You want a turn? Just let me know in nine months.”

Suddenly in front of them, the rental truck flashed its brake lights, then signaled, a steady, hypnotic pulse of red.

“We're moving off the main road,” said Carol, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “Brace yourself.”

The big truck turned with a mighty groan and entered a barren patch of desert indistinguishable from the past 50 miles of desolation. The car followed in the truck's tracks. Both vehicles endured a long, bumpy journey on a straight line, deep into the darkness.

Finally, the truck stopped.

Rodney hopped out of the driver's seat. He exclaimed, “Here!”

Carol pulled up alongside the truck and parked.

Everyone stepped out into the dry, sandy soil. A persistent wind howled and whipped up small cyclones of dust.

Rodney walked among the cacti and low-lying shrubs, laser focused. He stepped through gravel and clay until he reached a lengthy bald patch. His pace slowed and then he stopped. He pointed down.

“We dig here.”

Gary and Sam headed back to the truck. They flung open the rear door and rolled out a long ramp that descended to the ground.

Gary stepped inside the truck and climbed into a mini excavator. He started its engine and drove it out of the truck. The mini excavator growled into the desert wind as it moved to the spot where Rodney continued to point to the ground.

Once the mini excavator reached its mark, Gary operated the extendable arm, digging the three-foot wide blade into the earth.

The others formed a semi-circle, watching with anticipation.

Twenty minutes passed. Gary dug deep with no results.

“Are you sure—?” he finally yelled out at Rodney.

“Da!” said Rodney. Then, realizing his inadvertent lapse into Russian, he clarified, “I'm absolutely positive.”

Minutes later, the claw struck an object with a loud
clunk
. The semi-circle of onlookers cheered.

Sam and Rodney rushed to the rental truck to collect shovels.

Soon, everyone was digging a space around a large crusted cargo container caked with clay and sandstone.

“This is it,” said Rodney. “It's encased inside.”

“Praise the devil,” said Sam.

Carol climbed into the hole. She placed a hand on the cargo container and shut her eyes, reaching deep into the acquired memory of one of Yuri's Soviet scientists.

“It's a 300-pound warhead. No missile, no detonator. Just the explosive. Dormant but extremely powerful. It's twice the strength of the inversion bomb exploded over Kiritimati.”

“There's enough of us here to lift it out and get it inside the truck,” said Gary. “Then what?”

“It needs to be cleaned and fitted with a detonation device,” said Carol.

“So where do we take this thing?” asked Sam. “We need someplace where we can prepare it, out of sight, without being disturbed, before we enter Chicago.”

Rodney smiled as a hot breeze wiped across his face. “I know a place.”

After securing the warhead in the back of the rental truck, there was no room for the mini excavator, which remained parked at the big hole in the ground.

Rodney opened the gas tank on the mini excavator and inserted a rag. He lit the end of the rag on fire with a lighter.

“Let's go!” he said.

Rodney and Gary climbed into the truck. Carol, Sam and the two boys climbed into the car.

As they drove back to the main road, accelerating away from the scene, the flame burned its way down into the gas tank.

Moments later, the sky behind them lit up with a bright orange explosion, shaking the flat earth and echoing into the faraway mountains like rolling thunder.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Kelly emerged from the small, sterile bathroom of her hospital room, walking slowly and fragile, wearing a plain gown like a giant sleeve that covered her entire body. “I look like shit,” she said. Her face retained some discolor and puffiness. She hadn't washed her hair in days.

“You look a lot better than when you came in,” said Allie, the nurse waiting to help her back into the bed.

As Kelly made the slow-motion crouch and entry between the sheets, Allie asked, “Can I get you anything?”

“Just my husband,” said Kelly.

Allie smiled. She had no response. Instead, she changed the subject. “How are you feeling? We're trying to reduce the painkillers.”

Kelly settled back against a stack of pillows. “My ribs hurt. My head hurts. My neck hurts. But sometimes I can forget the pain for a few minutes. That's better than it was.”

Allie helped finish tucking her in. “Remember, if you need anything, magazines to read, something to drink or eat, you just call. Are your parents coming in again today?”

“Tomorrow,” said Kelly. “Every other day.” Then she sighed. “This has been so hard on them. But it's good for me to keep connecting with Christina. She needs to see me getting better.”

“And you're definitely getting better. I'm not a doctor, so I can't make promises, but I'm guessing you'll be able to leave in a few days.”

Kelly smiled, then withdrew the smile. “Leave for where? My life has been turned upside down.”

“You have family. You have friends. They'll help pick you up.”

After Allie left the room, Kelly tried to imagine returning home without Rodney. She couldn't.

Each day that extended his disappearance deepened her sadness. The police promised they were searching everywhere for him. She knew that search included places where a dead body could be disposed.

She regularly checked the voicemail on her cell phone for any messages, anxious for clues, hoping for a miracle. She fantasized that one day she would hear his deep-baritone voice. “Honey, it's Rodney. I am so sorry. I've been undercover on a special assignment to nail those bastards who hurt you. We found them, baby, and they're never going to hurt anyone again. I'm free to come out of hiding. I'm back home and I'm waiting for you, sweetheart.”

Even as the make-believe message played through her head, she knew it was ridiculous.

She took her cell phone off her nightstand and pressed for messages. There was one from an unknown number. She held the phone to her ear and listened.

An unfamiliar, angry male voice introduced himself as Theodore Harding. She immediately fell into disorientation. He referenced their meeting at the University of Michigan. He talked about a military veteran named Calvin Beck. He said that Beck had been murdered.

Who? What?

The voice accused her of knowing something about it. He said she had pressured him for Beck's address and he had refused. Now Beck was dead from a blow to the head by an unknown assailant at an Atlanta nursing home.

The voice ranted in anger, demanding to be called back, convinced she had something to do with the man's murder, threatening to contact the police. He referenced something called an inversion bomb and in an instant Kelly experienced a flood of memories as if something in her brain had been jarred loose.

Everything began to return, the amnesia falling like a curtain to reveal a horrifying lineup of remembrances…

…including Rodney viciously attacking her…joined by…

Sam… Gary… Carol?

How was it possible? Her head filled with horrible images of her longtime friends beating and kicking her. Where did this nightmare vision come from?

At first the avalanche of flashbacks fell in a jumbled heap. Then they began to connect like interlocking puzzle pieces. Her mind retrieved the events of the past few weeks and it set her heart on fire.

Nurse Allie returned to the room with a handful of magazines. “Are you sure you don't want something to read? Do you want me to turn on the TV? Do you like the soaps?”

“No,” responded Kelly, holding up a hand to hold back the distraction. “Right now, I just want to be alone with my thoughts.”

As Kelly regained her memory of the events leading up to and including the assault, she realized that Emma and Jake had been alluding to Rodney's personality change and descent into madness…and a similar sickness infesting Carol, Sam and Gary. During her period of amnesia, it made no sense and only deepened her confused state. Now she understood.

Kelly called Emma. She said, “I need you here right now. I remember.”

Emma arrived, joined by Jake, within the hour. They stepped into the hospital room panting from the run from the parking garage. Jake shut the door. They pulled up chairs alongside the bed.

Together they exchanged information to assess the current situation.

Carol, Sam, Gary and Rodney all remained missing. Jake had no evidence to support that Carol had really gone to London on a business trip. Gary's store was closed for “renovations.” And no one could reach Sam.

“They killed Beck,” spoke up Kelly. “After they learned about the second bomb, they went after him. They got him to reveal the bomb's location and killed him. I'm sure that's what happened.”

“Dear God,” said Emma. “We have to call the police… No, not the police, the FBI. We could all be in danger. I think Gary killed his store manager too. Who knows where they are or what they're planning. They're psychotic. They've gone totally insane.”

“We have to stick together,” said Jake. “We're not safe. Not one of us.”

“Christina!” said Kelly, an abrupt outburst at the thought of her daughter's safety. “Oh my God, I have to warn my parents.”

She snatched the cell phone from the nightstand and called her parents at the farm.

The phone rang six times until someone answered. A deep-baritone voice.

“Hello, honey,” said Rodney.

Kelly gasped.

“Don't speak,” said Rodney. “You listen. We are here with your parents. We are holding Christina captive while we take care of some business. You will not go to the police or tell anybody where we are. If you call the police, the feds, anybody, I make this promise to you. Are you listening? Listen good, because you don't want to miss this. If you tell anybody about our whereabouts, I promise I promise I promise I promise she will die. Christina will die. Do I make myself clear? I'll say it again—Christina will die. Tell me you understand.”

Tears rolled down Kelly's cheeks. Her throat tightened.

“
Tell me you understand!
” screamed Rodney.

“I…understand,” said Kelly, choking between the words.

“Good,” said Rodney. “We're keeping this in the family. Right, honey?”

“Yes,” she said faintly.

“Kiritimati is our little secret, correct?”

“Correct.”

“We had a fantastic vacation, babe,” said Rodney. “I just want to bring some of that home for more people to enjoy. Won't that be generous? You know I'm a generous guy.”

“Did…did you find it?” she asked him.

“Find what?”

“Please…you know what I'm talking about.”

“We have what we need,” said Rodney. “Now it's time to say goodbye. I'm a very busy man.”

“Please don't hurt her,” begged Kelly.

“That's up to you,” responded Rodney. Then he disconnected the call.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Rodney hung up the phone in the kitchen of the farmhouse, returning the pink receiver to its place on the wall. He turned to Carol, who stood nearby.

“She won't dare send anybody after us,” he said. “She knows the consequences. But we need to move fast and stay on schedule.”

“Gary and Sam are in the barn, fitting the detonator,” she reported. “The boys are patrolling the grounds, watching for any unwanted visitors.”

“We're confident the bomb will still work after all these years?” asked Rodney.

“The Russian scientists are guiding us every step of the way. They tell us yes.”

Rodney paused, then smiled. “Yuri agrees.”

A small child's voice cried out from another part of the house. Rodney rolled his eyes, muttering, “Here we go again.”

The tiny voice pleaded for “mommy” in an increasingly mournful voice, ending in small sobs.

“She won't shut up,” said Carol.

“She wants mommy,” grumbled Rodney. “You got tits. Go down there and tell her you're mommy.”

“You know that's not going to work.”

“Then feed her something. Maybe she's hungry. I don't know. I don't care. Just stop the noise.”

Carol grabbed a box of Cheerios from the kitchen cabinet and left the room. She walked to the end of a corridor and unbolted the door to the basement. She opened it and descended down the steps to where Christina sat on the dirty floor, pale and frightened, her wrist handcuffed to a pipe beneath an old water basin.

“Mommy?” said Christina. When Carol emerged from the shadows, revealing an evil face bringing no comfort, Christina began to cry again.

“Shut your mouth you little piece of filth,” snarled Carol.

Christina tried to pull away from the approaching woman but Rodney's police handcuffs kept her in place.

Carol kneeled down next to the child and shook the yellow box of Cheerios. “Is this what you want?”

“Mommy,” said Christina.

“Mommy all gone,” said Carol, smiling at the elevated wave of panic and crying her statement caused.

Digging her hand into the cereal box, Carol pulled out a fistful of Cheerios. She thrust them toward the child. “Okay, okay. Shut up. You like some? Yum yum food. Eat, you fucker.”

Christina's crying subsided as she inspected the Cheerios in Carol's outstretched hand.

Carol studied the little girl and watched as she began to glimmer, covered in a strange, luminescent glow. Startled, Carol let out a gasp and nearly dropped the food. Christina looked at Carol with her big, brown eyes.

Carol experienced a feeling of water washing over her, yet she remained entirely dry. She felt her anger and hatred fall away until another person emerged from inside, something familiar, an old persona retaking control of her physical being.

“Oh my God,” said Carol in a small voice, continuing to stare at Christina.

Christina reached into Carol's hand and took several Cheerios. Carol watched as the little girl placed them in her mouth and slowly began to chew.

“What have I done?” said Carol softly. “Christina, honey, who did this? Did we… Did I… Oh no. Oh dear God…”

Christina stared back at her. Carol's head swam with confusion. Her chest swelled with heartbreak.

“I'm sorry,” said Carol. “Are you hurt? Are you scared? Sweet Christina…”

“Carol!” thundered Rodney from above. “What's taking you so long?”

Carol turned to face the basement stairs, speechless.

Rodney shouted, “Leave the food with the kid and get your ass upstairs. We have a lot to do and not much time.”

She listened to the familiar voice warped by an unfamiliar tone. “Rodney?”

“
Carol, get back here!
”

Carol dropped the cereal box to the ground. She stood up, still staring at Christina.

Slowly, she backed away.

As Carol created distance between herself and Christina, she felt a whirlwind of competing emotions.

By the time she reached the stairs, a coldness began refilling her veins. She looked back at the child with a growing detachment.

“CAROL!” boomed Rodney.

Carol climbed up the stairs. When she reached the top, she turned toward Christina, a small figure huddled in the dark beneath a big, moldy water basin.

“Eat and shut up,” Carol told the little girl. “Next time you make a noise, I will kill you.”

She left the basement and closed the door.

Carol returned to the kitchen, where Rodney stood, scowling, hands balled into fists.

“What took you so long?”

“What do you mean?”

Rodney unleashed a hard punch across Carol's face. She collapsed to the ground.

Rodney stepped closer to stand over her. “I know what can happen. That is why she is isolated from us in the basement. She might seem like a mere child…but she is a persuasion. Don't be weak, Carol. I swear, I will destroy anyone on this team who shows any signs of weakness. Am I clear?”

Carol sat up. Blood trickled from her nose to her upper lip. She stared at Rodney. Slowly, sensuously, she licked the blood with her tongue. “Yes,” she said.

“Then let's get back to work.”

Rodney walked over to the kitchen table. The surface was covered in maps and blueprints. Carol joined him at his side.

Rodney pointed to a large, unfolded blueprint of a football stadium. A red circle indicated one of the entrances. “Gary tells us this is the way to get in, through the service entrance. He knows people. He's brought his truck there before, the one from his store, to deliver promotional giveaways and merchandise for the gift shop. He's a regular. No one will understand what we're doing until it's too late.”

Carol traced the circled area of the blueprint with her fingertip and smiled.

Rodney stepped away from the table. He moved to the window and parted the faded, flowery curtains. He stared at Gary's van on the gravel driveway. The cheerful “Gary's Game Day” logo decorated the side accompanied by a big cartoon rendition of Gary's smiling face.

“Tonight, we open the Gates of Hell and begin the resurrection,” said Rodney. “We will seize back the earth from a weakened God. The stadium is sold out. There won't be an empty seat in the house. Game time is near.”