Kingdom of the Seven (32 page)
Read Kingdom of the Seven Online
Authors: Jon Land
McCracken was surprised to find security virtually nonexistent in the area around it. Then again, Frye would never believe an interloper could get this far, especially now that he believed the Seven’s most dangerous adversaries were dead. He noted only an occasional guard, patrolling either on foot or in a motorized golf cart, and easy to evade in either case.
Entrance to the building, though, was another matter. The doors had no knobs and required either a special identification card or keypad code to access. Blaine knew they
could not force their way in and risk tripping an alarm system. What, then?
could not force their way in and risk tripping an alarm system. What, then?
The answer was revealed moments later when a guard riding one of the golf carts pulled up near a side entrance. McCracken saw him move toward the keypad and nodded at Johnny Wareagle, who sprang into motion instantly. The guard saw nothing of the big Indian other than the arm that looped around his throat, after the door had popped electronically open. Blaine led Karen across the brief stretch of open ground and lifted the guard’s unconscious body into the golf cart before Johnny pushed it toward the nearest position of cover.
They entered the building, moving quickly and cautiously, and proceeded down a narrow entry hall to a set of glass doors just beyond a staircase. Sister Barbara had seen the first two floors of this building before leaving the Seven, and nothing resembling a laboratory had been contained on them. That meant the kingdom’s scientific facilities were on some higher floor.
Blaine pointed upward when they came to the staircase, and Johnny motioned to Karen Raymond to accompany him. When they had disappeared up the stairs, he crept along the main corridor, the layout Sister Barbara had provided recalled in his mind. She couldn’t be sure where the information Blaine sought could be found, since the building had no command post or planning center when she had left. The closest thing to it might well have been the small private theater that Harlan Frye had designed to the last chair. He was obsessed with media and video. A master manipulator of both, the Reverend relied on visual input far more than anything else.
“He needs to see
everything,”
Sister Barbara had said, further explaining that the theater had been the first completed interior project in the entire kingdom. It took up an entire corner of the building and rose three stories in height.
everything,”
Sister Barbara had said, further explaining that the theater had been the first completed interior project in the entire kingdom. It took up an entire corner of the building and rose three stories in height.
Blaine moved quickly toward the theater, still alert to the possible presence of guards. He reasoned that Frye
would entrust the kingdom’s existence to as few people as possible. The more individuals he utilized, the higher the odds that the true nature of the kingdom would leak out. Despite the lack of guards, the Reverend would feel safe and invulnerable down here in his domain.
would entrust the kingdom’s existence to as few people as possible. The more individuals he utilized, the higher the odds that the true nature of the kingdom would leak out. Despite the lack of guards, the Reverend would feel safe and invulnerable down here in his domain.
The theater was exactly where Sister Barbara described, accessible through a door that rested apart from the others at the end of a hall on the first floor. The door was open. As Blaine approached, a shadow fell across the hall floor in front of it, signaling him to take cover within a small alcove. Four men emerged and strode stiffly past him. The quick glance he managed to grab was enough to identify the four from the descriptions provided by Sister Barbara as the remaining members of the Seven.
Blaine was tempted to overpower the four evangelists and do away with them on the spot. He restrained himself by recalling that his only meaningful target here was Harlan Frye. Risk exposure by slaying these men and he ran the very real chance of forfeiting his opportunity to get to the Reverend. Obviously a briefing of some sort had just taken place within the theater. Unless Frye had taken a different route out, he would still be inside.
McCracken detected no signs of activity when he drew closer to the open door leading into the theater. He stopped just before reaching it and pressed his shoulders against the wall. Peering in, he could see connected rows of chairs neatly arranged upon a sloping rise before a screen that covered a portion of the front wall’s length. A still image was projected upon that screen now, unidentifiable from this angle. The door provided access to the front of the theater, near the screen.
McCracken dropped down to all fours and crawled into the theater on his belly, pulling himself along with his hands and letting his feet drag behind him. He wormed his body beneath the bottom rows of seats for cover and curled his frame tight, once he was all the way under. The vantage point still precluded view of the screen, and Blaine had started to angle himself for the aisle in an attempt
to better that view when a
click
sounded. Instantly the screen went dark and soft lighting lit the theater to replace the still image that had been projected. Footsteps rapped his way down the central row of stairs. McCracken froze and looked upward, catching a glimpse of a pair of small feet encased in expensive velvety loafers before the face of Harlan Frye slid by above him.
to better that view when a
click
sounded. Instantly the screen went dark and soft lighting lit the theater to replace the still image that had been projected. Footsteps rapped his way down the central row of stairs. McCracken froze and looked upward, catching a glimpse of a pair of small feet encased in expensive velvety loafers before the face of Harlan Frye slid by above him.
Blaine had known the Reverend only through poor photographs and a single brief appearance on the Future Faith channel he’d seen while inside a hotel room earlier that week. Frye was a short man of medium build who seemed average in every respect and detail, except for his face. That face seemed ageless, unmarred and smooth even without the aid of makeup. Blaine hadn’t glimpsed him smile here in the theater, but he knew that smile would be incredibly warm and reassuring. People looked at Harlan Frye and trusted him, and McCracken found himself briefly questioning how such a man could be responsible for the coming of Judgment Day. He shook himself as if from the effects of a spell. The Reverend had that effect on people.
Another man descended the stairs a few steps behind Frye, his left arm hanging stiffly by his side. Blaine followed both sets of steps until they had almost reached the open doorway. The door closed with a
whooooosh
after the pair exited, and Blaine cautiously waited a few extra minutes before snaking his way into the single aisle. He rose into the theater’s half-light and retraced Harlan Frye’s steps up the stairs. At the very top a remote control device had been left in a specially tailored slot within a chair arm at the end of the row. McCracken picked it up and pressed the ON button, eager to see what the Reverend had just shared with the other members of the Seven.
whooooosh
after the pair exited, and Blaine cautiously waited a few extra minutes before snaking his way into the single aisle. He rose into the theater’s half-light and retraced Harlan Frye’s steps up the stairs. At the very top a remote control device had been left in a specially tailored slot within a chair arm at the end of the row. McCracken picked it up and pressed the ON button, eager to see what the Reverend had just shared with the other members of the Seven.
The still image reappeared on the huge screen below him, slightly fuzzy due to the lighting in the theater. Holding the remote control in his hand, Blaine began to descend for a clearer view of what could only be Harlan Frye’s plan for Judgment Day.
The laboratory was located on the building’s fourth floor, easily identifiable thanks to a sign in bold view on a windowless steel door:
RESEARCH WING
RESTRICTED ACCESS
NO UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL
Johnny Wareagle eased Karen Raymond behind him and tried the security guard’s identification card in the slot. The two of them remained tightly pressed against the wall as the door slid open. The Indian spun away from it and lunged through the door in a blur Karen’s eyes could barely record. Barely a yard inside, he froze and motioned Karen forward with the submachine gun gripped in both hands.
The huge laboratory was deserted. Desks sat unmanned, the computer screens atop them dark. A series of separate glassed-in booths and cubicles were empty as well. More,
though, was missing than just people. None of the lab equipment looked in any way operational. Everything seemed pristine, virtually untouched. Karen had expected to find a lab teeming with activity. She had expected Johnny Wareagle would need to hold everyone at bay while she inspected its contents.
though, was missing than just people. None of the lab equipment looked in any way operational. Everything seemed pristine, virtually untouched. Karen had expected to find a lab teeming with activity. She had expected Johnny Wareagle would need to hold everyone at bay while she inspected its contents.
Her eyes locked on a single grouping of test tubes placed on a waist-high platform that ran the length of the side wall beyond the cubicles. She approached and lifted one of the tubes carefully. The plastic tube nearly compressed in her hand, because it was composed of a gelatin-plastic mixture similar to that used in the manufacture of time-release capsules. The test tube was thicker and stronger, but equally pliable; and, as with the thinner timecapsule version, it would dissolve gradually in any liquid, thereby freeing its contents.
Before Karen could consider the ramifications further, Johnny Wareagle quickly drew her back against the wall. The test tube slipped from her hand and plopped to the floor, rolling away. Her eyes darted to the center of the lab where a pair of figures was descending a staircase that spiraled upward for the next floor. They were wearing white lab isolation suits, complete with individual oxygen supplies. The Kevlar gloves on the figures’ hands perfectly traced the contours of their fingers to allow for delicate manipulations.
Karen had used such suits herself, usually to avoid contaminating an unstable mixture, or in situations requiring quarantine procedures. Her eyes followed the suited figures as they approached a set of inner security doors constructed of glass rather than steel. The glass doors slid open and the suited figures continued toward the main entrance. They stopped near a series of hooks to shed their suits, turning toward their unwelcome visitors in the process.
Johnny Wareagle sprang.
Karen Raymond had never seen a man move so fast, didn’t think a man
could
move that fast. He covered most
of the ground separating him from the figures before they had even recorded his presence. One turned and grabbed for the other’s shoulder. Karen could see the panic in his eyes under his faceplate.
could
move that fast. He covered most
of the ground separating him from the figures before they had even recorded his presence. One turned and grabbed for the other’s shoulder. Karen could see the panic in his eyes under his faceplate.
The big Indian pounced, huge arms stretching outward. He took a head in either hand and smashed them viciously together. The suited figures crumpled to the floor, helmets shattered. Johnny looked back at Karen, and then dragged their unconscious frames into one of the cubicles.
“Let’s go, miss,” he said when he reemerged, eyes darting from her to the stairwell.
“There could be others,” she pointed out.
“There aren’t.”
“How can you be so—”
Johnny was already approaching the glass doors leading to the stairwell. They parted automatically when he drew close enough, and he remained between them until Karen was safely through. He climbed the stairwell ahead of her, and Karen hurried to keep his pace. Her boots clanged against the metal steps. She reached the top just behind the Indian and saw that a glass wall lay twenty feet before them, running the floor’s entire width. Wareagle took a few steps forward and froze. Karen could feel him go tense and drew up even to share his view.
“Oh, my God,” she muttered at the sight before them.
The twins’ work was progressing smoothly. Although the amount of extrapotent plastic explosives contained in their packs was not nearly enough to cover the entire expanse of the kingdom, it was enough to topple a huge measure of it. Beyond that, the stifling and poorly ventilated confines of the mine would facilitate the spread of flames, an inferno certain to be raging in no time.
Preston Turgewell had spoken often of such a day to Jacob and Rachel through the last several desperate years. But everywhere they turned their efforts at penetrating the Seven had been stymied. Their resources and contacts dwindled. The Fifth Generation itself had been compromised,
so many members turned against them that they could no longer trust its ranks. With Sister Barbara’s continued refusal to involve herself, Benjamin Ratansky’s pilfered list became their best chance to deal Frye’s grand scheme a crushing setback by executing all the people whose names it contained. But now, thanks to Blaine McCracken, the twins were in position to do far more than that.
so many members turned against them that they could no longer trust its ranks. With Sister Barbara’s continued refusal to involve herself, Benjamin Ratansky’s pilfered list became their best chance to deal Frye’s grand scheme a crushing setback by executing all the people whose names it contained. But now, thanks to Blaine McCracken, the twins were in position to do far more than that.
Destroy the Kingdom of the Seven here and now, and the Reverend Harlan Frye’s plans for Judgment Day would be canceled forever.
Jacob and Rachel split up to maximize their effectiveness. They started at the darkest, outermost reaches of the kingdom, in shells of buildings at the earliest stages of construction. From there they worked their way toward the congestion of nearly and partially completed structures where work was ongoing. Their sweep was precise, routes designed to converge at a point closest to Frye’s command center where they would rendezvous with the others.
The setting of each charge was as simple as wedging a brick-sized mound of plastic explosives against a structural stress point and activating the detonator. Each timer was set for two o’clock sharp. Rachel had just planted her ninth mound of
plastique
and was readying her tenth when she heard what sounded like a light footstep scuffing the rocks and gravel here in the Kingdom of the Seven’s outer reaches. She remained perfectly still as she traced the sound in her mind, gauging distance and direction; swung, finally, with pistol held tight and ready.
plastique
and was readying her tenth when she heard what sounded like a light footstep scuffing the rocks and gravel here in the Kingdom of the Seven’s outer reaches. She remained perfectly still as she traced the sound in her mind, gauging distance and direction; swung, finally, with pistol held tight and ready.
No one was there. She relaxed briefly, then heard a similar sound from the exact opposite side. Again she twisted. Again her eyes found nothing.
She was being stalked, toyed with!
An unfamiliar jolt of fear stung her, and Rachel raised the walkie-talkie to her lips, one of the only two they had brought with them on this journey.
“Jacob,” she said softly.
“Yes,” he replied.
“Someone’s here.”
Normal accommodations were impossible to conceive of for Earvin Early. He had lived virtually without structure ever since renouncing his physical self. Without a physical self to be concerned with, shelter was more a burden than a luxury. Of course, within the kingdom there was little to choose from, though Early made the best of things in the dark recesses of the shells of buildings in the kingdom’s rear. He felt reasonably at home in them, although sleep had become little more than a memory since he had returned.
He recalled the sensation of pain from his previous life and imagined that was what his bulky shell must be feeling. The wounds in his arms inflicted by the dogs had begun to leak brown ooze through the makeshift bandages holding his flesh together. The last time he had changed them, he noted that the flesh had taken on a greenish tint. He could not see his split lip, but the feel of it was enough to tell him how puffy it had become, swollen to the point of peeling away from his mouth to expose his upper teeth. Each breath from his nose drew in thick gobs of something that felt like resin and smelled like death. The ripped side of his face had become one big oozing scab, festering, and his only vision was through his right eye.
My shell is rotting away,
he thought, and tried to imagine that he might exchange it for another.
he thought, and tried to imagine that he might exchange it for another.
Earvin Early was contemplating that feat when the girl passed within sight of the unfinished doorway where he was huddled. He slid his great bulk out and followed her for a bit, memorizing the spots where she placed a number of explosive charges. After watching her set a fourth, he decided to move in, taking his time, wanting to see what she would do. Her use of a walkie-talkie told Early she wasn’t alone. Have to use her to draw the other one in, then. Early found the brief exertion had tired his legs. This
shell was indeed dying, but the business at hand needed taking care of.
shell was indeed dying, but the business at hand needed taking care of.
He grew weary of the game after the girl gave up on setting her explosives and turned her focus solely on locating him. He was impressed with the way she moved, the quickness in her feet and eyes. Of course, Earvin Early didn’t mind letting her see him because he wasn’t there, not to her, not until he was ready to push his physical self into the world he preferred to shun.
The girl stopped and started to raise the walkie-talkie to her lips again. Earvin Early crept out behind her and slid into motion.
“It’s him,” Rachel whispered into her walkie-talkie.
“Who?” Jacob returned.
“The man from New York, the one the Indian spoke of. The monster.”
“How can you be—”
THUD!
Jacob heard a gasp on his sister’s end.
“Rachel,” he called. “Rachel? …”
The sound in his ear died, nothing but static in its place. Jacob turned cold, was willing the strength back into his quivering limbs when a voice that was little more than static itself emerged through the speaker.
“Stay for me there; I will not fail, to meet thee in that hollow vale.”
“No,” Jacob moaned. “No …”
And then he was running.
Behind the huge glass wall, Karen Raymond and Johnny Wareagle saw what might have been a large hospital ward; rows of beds lined up on the floor, surrounded by clusters of IV packs and monitoring machines. One entire wall of the anteroom they stood within was made up of a massive LED board that constantly accepted the data from within and displayed it in upward of a hundred separate readouts. Seeing the dancing grids made her edge closer to the glass.
Many of the beds beyond it were empty. The occupants of the rest turned her blood cold.
Many of the beds beyond it were empty. The occupants of the rest turned her blood cold.
Their bodies were decaying, wasting away, little more than slight bulges beneath sterile, white bedsheets. Rows and rows of men and women in the last stages of life. The limbs she could see were little more than bones tinted the color of withered flesh. The faces exposed above the bedsheets were marred by sores, lesions, and purplish blotches known as Kaposi’s sarcoma. And the stares on the faces she could see were blank and dazed, emanating from eyes that seemed made of glass. Karen knew well enough what she was looking at: This was the last stage of AIDS at its most cruel. Bodies reduced to mere memories of human beings. As she continued to peer into the chamber, some of the eyelids trembled and a few of the heads turned feebly toward the glass.
They were still cognizant, still aware!
Karen shivered at that thought, kept shifting her eyes to avoid meeting any of their stares.
“You’d better look at this, miss.”
Johnny Wareagle’s voice broke her trance. She turned and saw he was holding a steel medical clipboard out to her, already open to a page early in the recordings that looked like a master list.
“What was the name of the man Wayne Denbo found in the desert?” she asked him.
“McBride,” Johnny recalled. “Frank McBride.”
Karen scanned the list, eyes stopping with a thump to her gut. “He’s here,” she said, looking up. “These are the residents of Beaver Falls.”
She flipped through the next series of pages frantically, skimming their contents, stopping when a passage demanded special attention and narrating as she went.
“The first symptoms of this appeared only, my God, a week ago on Friday night. The evacuation took place at nine A.M. Monday morning, five hours before Denbo and his partner got to the town with McBride in their backseat.” She stopped to gaze through the glass. “This log
records the rate of deterioration in the town’s residents in the five days since.”
records the rate of deterioration in the town’s residents in the five days since.”
Karen slowed her flipping, eyes bulging in intensity.
“There was no trace of HIV anywhere in their blood until the first symptoms began to show up, escalating at a geometric rate when compared to the standard course of the disease—eight years in eight days wouldn’t be far from accurate. The rate of deterioration has apparently continued to advance beyond the ability of their machines to track—” Karen suddenly went pale. “My God, wait …”
The pages in the logbook flew backward and then forward again, Karen seeming to calculate something in her head.
“No,” she muttered. “No …”
“What’s wrong?” Wareagle prodded.
Her voice remained muted, distant. “Seven hundred twelve total residents in Beaver Falls. Seven hundred twelve advanced cases of AIDS monitored here, over six hundred of which have already resulted in death.”
“Just as you said before.”
“Not
as I said before, not at all.” Karen slid her front teeth over her lower lip, hoping to stop it from quivering. “The
entire
town was infected, the
entire
town is dying. But Frye’s test subjects numbered only a quarter of the population … .”
as I said before, not at all.” Karen slid her front teeth over her lower lip, hoping to stop it from quivering. “The
entire
town was infected, the
entire
town is dying. But Frye’s test subjects numbered only a quarter of the population … .”
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