Exodus 2022 (40 page)

“The Indians–the women mainly–would get to work then, butchering the buffalo, cutting up the meat. Cleaning the hides. One hunt and the tribe had clothing and meat for the winter. And then some.”

The screens suddenly refreshed again to reveal fog drifting over cold stone, tendrils of mist coiling and unwinding in the half-light. The only sounds: the harsh, throaty call of a raven, and the rush of water flowing over jagged rock.

And then, a halo. A band of light, pale and pearly, like moonlight, arcing across the top of the cliff.

The adrenaline in Joe’s veins—the panic he’d experienced as Beck threatened to harm Ella—was slowly dissipating.

As his mind quieted, he could feel the new connection, could sense it in the base of his skull like a low-frequency hum. Someone, or something, was sending him messages again. Images. Thoughts. Using the same channel—the same subconscious frequency—Mia had used. But there were big differences.

Joe couldn’t “see” the sender, but he was certain the sender was female. Different from Mia, yet every bit as fierce and intelligent.

He lay there letting the connection build, sensing the bright mind that had found him in the darkness, like a radar breaking through the fog of his anesthesia and illness and filling him with hope. Heintzel had reinstalled the thought-capture hardware, and Beck and Ring were now strip-mining the images in his head, splashing them around the room for all to see.

But they weren’t seeing everything.

There were secrets hidden in the new transmission. Whispers beneath the cacophonous roar.

Joe focused on these, trying to understand.

“Fascinating,” said Ring, eyes darting between five screens at once.

“Part two,” said Beck. The answer coming not from him, but from the rabid thing usurping his mind. Beck felt the thing shudder exuberantly inside his head, as it solved the riddle of the Buffalo Jump.

Ring looked shocked to hear the boss—or anyone, for that matter—solve a puzzle before him.

“Yes,” he said. “I believe you’re right.”

 “I’d been wondering about terrestrial animals,” said Ring. “Birds, mammals, reptiles, insects. Mia engineered an oceanic Exodus. But what about everything else? Everything on land?”

The halo over the cliff shone brighter now.

“It’s another gate,” said Ring. “Probably the main terrestrial gate.”

The room went completely still.

Beck said slowly, “Yes. Another gate. But into the same place the whales went?”

Ring shrugged. “It stands to reason, yes. An Exodus in two stages, to the same end place.”

Beck said, “If it’s like what happened in the sea, there will be thousands of these, all over the globe.”

“Yes.”

Beck waved at the screens. “Where’s this coming from? What’s the source?”

“I don’t know.”

“The whale?”

Ring shook his head. “Mia’s gone. In another galaxy now. Another universe, perhaps.”

He turned to one of his computers. “In any case, the brain patterns are different. Very different.”

Beck squinted at him. “The whale and Stanton were linked. The whale needed his help, so she established a connection. But this…Why would he be privy to
anything
having to do with a terrestrial Exodus?”

“I don’t know,” said Ring.

“But you have a theory?” said Beck.

“Yes.”

Beck waited.

Ring said, “Mia knew as she was leaving that Stanton was in serious trouble. She wanted to help. So maybe she opened a connection with her counterpart.”

“Counterpart?”

“Mia was the leader for the marine Exodus. The entity around whom the entire undertaking was organized. It stands to reason that there would be a similar entity on land. Another leader.”

He waved at the screens above his workstation. “Mia and the terrestrial leader were in contact. Coordinating their efforts. When Mia realized how grave Stanton’s condition had become, she connected her counterpart—her coleader—with Stanton. It’s like she said to her counterpart ‘I have to leave. Can you look after my friend?’”

Beck considered it. “This is the help? Pictures?”

Ring shrugged. “I can see no other explanation.”

Beck nodded, satisfied. “When will the terrestrial Exodus happen?”

“Soon, I should think. And when it begins, it will unfold quickly. Much more quickly than the marine Exodus.”

“Why?”

“The gates,” said Ring, “have already been tested. By Mia and her clan. The gates work. The leaders know what’s on the other side, and they like it. The process has been fine-tuned.”

“Also, on land, speed will be a necessity.” Ring pointed at an image of empty seafloor. “The oceanic gates were remote. Virtually inaccessible. So the Exodus could unfold gradually without being noticed.

“Not so on dry land. The terrestrial gates will be noticed immediately. Analyzed. Meddled with. Whoever’s organizing the Exodus doesn’t want that. There will be a rush to get through as quickly as possible and shut them down.”

Ring said, “Helicopter to Port Angeles. Your father’s jet to Bozeman. Charter helicopters to the Buffalo Jump. We could be there, on the ground, in four or five hours.”

Beck winced at the mention of his father’s jet, but he nodded in agreement. “And when we get there—to the Buffalo Jump—then what?”

Ring said, “The gate won’t close until the leader—the nexus animal—has crossed. Same as before. And it should be far easier to stop and detain a land animal than a creature of the sea.”

Beck thought about it. “Put together a team,” he said.

BECK DISAPPEARED FROM
the War Room, Ring and the others busied themselves with preparations, and Joe was temporarily forgotten, watching the screens. He could see crew hoisting the damaged skiffs and runabout out of the water. He could see inert bundles covered with yellow tarps lying on the deck. Bodies, he presumed. Beck’s crew was rushing cleanup, he guessed, to avoid scrutiny by the authorities.

Joe scanned the video wall and focused on the images from his subconscious. He stared. Tried to think. To decipher the new messages, and the identity of the sender.

Mia’s “counterpart,” Ring had said. A “terrestrial leader.”

Joe felt in his bones that Ring was right.

But there was more. There was subtlety and nuance in the new connection. A thread within the larger flow that struck him as somehow familiar.

He tried to focus, but his head felt like it was on fire. The anesthesia he’d been given was wearing off, and the pain from the surgery, and Beck’s backhand smash, was nearly unbearable. On top of the pain—on top of everything—he was worried about Ella.

He lay there. Sweating. Thirsty. Nauseated. And he tried again to shove it all aside to listen to the deep voice. The “whisper” the thought-capture hardware hadn’t yet detected.

He closed his eyes.
Mia is brilliant
, Dieturlund had told them.
One of a kind. But there’s more to her than even she comprehends.
And he thought about something Ring had said.
“The terrestrial gates will be noticed immediately. Analyzed. Meddled with. Whoever’s organizing the Exodus doesn’t want that.”

Whoever’s organizing the Exodus…

Joe thought about Mia: A leader. A genius. An anomaly. But she wasn’t acting alone. He tried to imagine the leader of the terrestrial Exodus:
Female, like Mia. Powerful. Highly intelligent. Together they’ve tapped into something. Something larger than the two of them combined, something—

Beck’s voice jerked him back to reality.

“Give him the same stuff you gave me,” Beck was saying.

Joe opened his eyes and jumped at the sight of Heintzel hovering over him—observing him as if he were a bacterium on a petri dish.

“Hi, doc,” he said weakly.

Heintzel avoided his gaze as she readied a syringe.

“Didn’t you have to take an oath in med school?” Joe asked. “Something about ‘do no harm’?”

Heintzel spoke to Beck. “We took fresh scans last night, before we reinstalled his thought-capture hardware.”

“Yeah?” said Beck.

“The mass in his brain has grown, inducing complications consistent with an astrocytic tumor or craniopharyngioma. Deterioration of the substantia nigra is manifesting in tremors in his extremities. And his EKG showed evidence of hypertrophic cardiomyopathy.”

“So?” said Beck.

Heintzel lifted the syringe, expelling a minute drop of amber-colored liquid from the tip of the hair-thin needle.

“This could well send him into cardiac arrest. Cause a seizure. A stroke. Other issues I can’t anticipate.”

Beck cocked his head. Seemed to consider it. “It’s worth the risk,” he said coolly. “We need him awake.”

Heintzel nodded and leaned in toward Joe’s arm.

Joe focused on Heintzel’s eyes—though she seemed to be looking right through him. “Thanks for the thorough history, doc. I’m touched by your concern and compassion. Truly.”

The needle pierced his skin.

“How do you sleep at night?” he asked.

Heintzel finished Joe’s injection, turned, and gawked at her boss, who was rolling up his own sleeve.

“Give me another blast, too,” said Beck.

“Not a good idea,” she replied. “Not a good idea at all. You haven’t slept in…how many hours now?”

“Never mind that,” said Beck, grinning—leering—at her with the same lunatic expression she’d seen in the infirmary.

“Fine,” she said softly. “Have it your way then.”

She gave Beck another injection, and the two of them departed Joe’s bedside without another word or glance.

Seconds later, members of the infirmary team grabbed the corners of the gurney and hustled Joe toward the door.

“I need to use the toilet,” said Joe.

“No time,” said one of the men.

“Then I’m going to wet myself.”

They took him to the restroom just outside the War Room, unclipped the straps holding him down, and helped him stand. He could feel Heintzel’s concoction coursing through his veins, making his heart thump like an air hammer at a construction site.

His first step was wobbly, and the corridor swam before his eyes in shifting black-and-gray patterns that refused to settle. Then his head cleared. A little.

He pushed his way into the restroom, found the urinal, and peed, breathing heavily, one hand clutching the metal divider for support. His urine stank and issued forth in an almost fluorescent orange stream.

Need to drink more water
, he thought, marveling, in the back of his mind, at his lack of concern.

He hobbled to the sink to wash his hands, looked in the mirror, and fear swallowed him whole.

“Aw shit,” he whispered, willing himself to confront the gaunt, grizzle-faced stranger in the glass.

“Aw shit.”

His hair was tangled, matted, and greasy; his beard uneven and flecked with gray.

Gray hair? At twenty-eight?

His skin had the color and consistency of wet ash, and there were sores on his cheeks. His lips were chapped and bleeding.

Lord help me,
he thought, arching his eyebrows simply to confirm that the ghostly visage in the mirror was really his.

Lord, please help me now.

He exited the restroom to find the attendants waiting.

“Lie back down,” one of them said, waving at the gurney.

“I can walk,” said Joe, willing himself to stand up straight. He put his shoulders back and lifted his head.

“Lie down,” said the attendant.

“Please,” said Joe, holding the man’s gaze. “Let me walk. I need to walk.”

The man traded looks with the other attendant. Shrugged. “Suit yourself. But let’s get moving.”

The elevator opened to the bright sunshine of the helideck and Joe winced and nearly cried out in pain. It felt like someone had driven a bolt through his head, just behind his eyes.

They hustled him toward the Bell 412 he and Ella had ridden from Bellingham, shoved him aboard, and strapped him into a back-row seat.

The pain behind his eyes eased a bit as he grew accustomed to the light, and he looked around.

Beck’s men were throwing crates and heavy canvas bags into the gear compartment. More crew were inspecting the craft. Doing a preflight check.

Joe lifted his eyes and stared at the sea.

Marauder
sat anchored still at the edge of a broad inlet dotted with lush, heavily-forested islands and islets.

Nothing’s changed
, Joe thought.
And absolutely everything’s changed.

Humans didn’t know it just yet, but the oceans—all of the Earth’s oceans—had been transformed.

He saw boats bobbing, listless, in the chop. Skiffs, kayaks, and sailboats bearing residents, tourists, and curiosity seekers. All of them flummoxed—dumbfounded—by the morning’s events.

Rumors of an unprecedented migration had sent them scurrying into their boats and out toward the flood of life.

But now astonishment was turning to dread.

The parade had ended, and the sea was quiet. Fish-finders showed an empty, sterile water column. A desert.

There didn’t seem to be any life, anywhere, and the boats and their passengers looked small and lost on the wide sea.

THE BELL’S CARGO COMPARTMENT
slammed shut, and the pilot and copilot climbed aboard.

Joe saw Ella approaching from the far side of the weather deck—men accompanying her, one on either side—and his heart jumped into an even higher gear than its already tachycardic rate.

She looked tired but determined. Defiant. Beautiful. She saw Joe through the passenger-compartment window—found him immediately as if she could sense his presence—and smiled.

I missed you
, she said with her mind, tears welling in her eyes.

God, it’s good to see you
, he replied.

They shoved her into one of the forward seats.

I love you, Joe. They haven’t told me anything, but I’m glad we’re together. Do you know where we’re going?

Bozeman.