Last Days (Last Days Trilogy #1) (13 page)

It didn’t take long for Kyle to put everything together when Eliza Leon called him at his shop and made her strange request. She wanted him to take the afternoon off and accompany her to a bank in Cleveland. She also wanted him to take his shotgun.

“For what?” Kyle had asked. “A withdrawal?”

Eliza said, “Yes.”

Kyle knew the Leons were a proud family, who wanted to give their kids everything they could. But they were poor. There was no way that the Leons had anything valuable enough to warrant an armed escort.

Then Kyle thought: George and Eliza didn’t. But Marcus did. And he was the same Leon who could buy protection from the headlines that were making him a mob of enemies.

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to put it all together. The waking of the clone, the violent masses threatening Marcus, the withdrawal of large sums of money.

Kyle figured Marcus – the Leon with brains, money, and front page headlines–was going to pull a vanishing act. If Kyle was right, Marcus would be, if not already so, a marked man. As a live-and-let-live guy, this ordinarily wouldn’t concern Kyle. But he was concerned about his daughter, whom he figured to be right in the middle of things.

Disinfectant saturated facial masks and the smell of burnt flesh permeated the entire floor. John looked through the observation window and choked on emotions at the sight of the child in the room. He was swathed in bandages from head-to-toe. The bandages were opened for ventilation, exposing a body covered with slow healing third degree burns.

John swallowed hard, and turned from the window to Rev. Bailey standing close.

“Why are we here?” John asked.

“Proof. I want to see if what you say is true.” Rev. Bailey nodded at the bottle in John’s hand, then reverted his eyes back to John’s face. “Several weeks ago my ministry began a campaign to help this boy. Tragic. His name is Jamie. Comes from a poor family. His father doused him with gasoline and set him aflame. Jamie lived, but with burns on eighty percent of his body.” Rev. Bailey started into the room. “Skin grafts, surgeries, the boy is in for a long...” He halted his words when he saw Jamie’s eyes open. “Hello son. How are you today?”

Jamie’s words were garbled. “Rev. Bailey. Hi.”

Rev. Bailey looked at John. “I just love this boy. So spirited, so happy.” He moved to the bed. “I was in town again and thought I’d see you. Is your momma here?”

“No,” Jamie answered. “She’ll be in later.”

“Good. Good.” Rev. Bailey sat on the edge of the bed by Jamie’s legs. “I want to try something, son. May I see your hand?”

Jamie moved his left hand near the reverend. The hand was severely burned, his fingers singed off.

Rev. Bailey peered over his shoulder to John. “Are you
absolutely
sure?”

“Yes. You should’ve seen what it did to Dr. Leon,” John said. “I’d stake my life on it.”

“Well, it may come to that if this boy is infected,” Rev. Bailey whispered.

John handed him bottle. Rev. Bailey unscrewed the dropper top and lifted it slightly. He squeezed the top and drew some of the liquid from the bottle. With unsteady fingers, he brought it down to Jamie’s hand, whispered a prayer, and gently released three drops. They dripped onto the injured hand and rolled to where the fingers once were.

Rev. Bailey stared. Nothing. He shook his head and replaced the dropper. “I don’t believe you were....” Then as he looked back Rev. Bailey paled and nearly dropped the bottle. He jumped up, exclaiming, “Dear, sweet Lord!” He spun to John.

“So can you use your pull? It has to be done.” John spoke, pleading.

“Is there any more of this?”

“Buckets of it. Can you?” John asked.

“I will do what it takes,” Rev. Bailey said. “But first, this boy. He’s miraculous... he’s our proof.” Rev. Bailey sat back on the bed and lifted the dropper. He looked once more to see the unbelievable. Jamie’s fingers had come back.

“Daddy, of course I’m sure,” Reggie said into the phone as she paced about Marcus’ living room. “No indication. He hasn’t packed anything.”

“When’s the last time you saw him?”

“Daddy,” Reggie laughed. “Are you implying that Marcus left me?”

Silence.

“Dad?” Reggie looked at the phone and brought it back to her ear.

“No, no. But I know he’s leaving.”

“I promise you, I would know,” Reggie said.

“While we’re on promises, there’s another I want from you.”

“What’s that?” Reggie asked.

“If he hasn’t split by tomorrow morning, I want you to.”

“What!” Reggie exclaimed. “Leave him? No.”

“Reg, I’m telling you,” Kyle was insistent. “He’s planning to.”

Reggie laughed. “I don’t believe you.”

“I just got back from Chicago with a pickup full of heavy crates, two million dollars in gold. By Marcus’ request.” Kyle paused, as if letting it sink in. “Mark my words, Marcus knows there’ll be a price on his head the longer he holds onto that clone.”

“So you expect him to release it and forsake his dream?”

“Marcus might be dead by then. Especially now that that holy water’s in the equation.”

“What holy water?”

“Reg, haven’t you watched the news? The holy water. The amniotic fluid. Christ, it’s going for thousands an ounce.”

Confused, Reggie sputtered, “What are you talking about?”

“Turn on the goddamn television, Reg,” Kyle snapped. “The videotape of the lab assistant coming back to life... the little burned boy they healed.”

Reggie picked up the remote and aimed. The news was on in seconds. “Oh, Daddy.” She closed her eyes. “I think we’re in trouble.”

As if to cloak a budding smile, Marcus brought his bent index finger to his upper lip as he rocked in his chair in the lab, holding a sheet of paper with his other hand. “Listen to this....” Marcus read. “‘Dr. Leon, you will die. You will pay the price for imprisoning our Lord. Pilate got away with it. You shall not!’” He tossed the note. “Melodramatic, don’t you think? And this one...” Marcus picked up another. “This one’s from Dr. Genevieve, the head of this institute, a scientist. Yet, he says… ‘if you don’t give the people what they want, I fear that the price on your head will make the hunt for Rushdie seem like a game of hide-and-seek.’”

More than he liked to admit, the threats were getting to him. He thought of his latest dream. In it he hid behind a wall and was forced to watch as his father was tied to a post and beaten bloody, wailing with every stroke, “I don’t know where my son is!” Frozen in fear, Marcus finally stepped out to free his father. Too late – his dad had already been beheaded. Then in the midst of the rubble and bonfires, the executioner turned to Marcus and screamed, “Who shall be next, Marcus? Who shall pay for your sins?”

Was it a sin? Marcus wondered. Was the experiment a sin? Was it?

The repercussions of his decision to go ahead with it had never entered his mind until Devante spoke.

And now it was time for Marcus to face the music, to himself. He had gone to his lab to do just that, to think, to try and figure out how he could right the wrong. And things were wrong, terribly wrong, that much was clear.

Exhaling painfully, Marcus moved to his open briefcase. He gathered the last of his papers, the daily record, evidence of what he had accomplished for the day, and placed them inside. “Tomorrow... I’ll finish this experiment.”

Before closing the briefcase he picked up a six-inch black case. He laid it on top of the papers and shut his briefcase. “Thanks to you.” He turned.

There he saw Tom, his once happy lab assistant, sitting in a wheelchair. He wasn’t moving. His body was tilted to one side, his neck arched and head swung back. His right arm dangled, while the left draped across his lap.

No movement.

Mouth agape, lips cracked, his skin a pasty white and grey, Tom stared straight ahead, unblinking.

“Seven hours ago...” Marcus moved to the wheelchair. “...you were talking, rambling on and on to me while I examined you. But... no heartbeat, no respiration, no pulse...” Marcus shrugged. “Pointless, don’t you think, my taking your blood pressure. But, I did obtain cultures, did I not?” Marcus crouched down before Tom. “Dead cells. Rigor mortis. That’s…” Marcus touched the cold hard skin of Tom’s hand. “That’s your state now. And there’s nothing I can do.” Marcus hesitated, his eyes glued to Tom’s. “I know you hear me. I know you’re in there, Tom.”

A short, soft, barely audible nasal whine escaped Tom’s lips.

“That’s what I thought,” Marcus whispered. “I’m sorry. It was no miracle. He didn’t save your body. He merely condemned your soul to your physical body. Decaying or not, if I could, I’d help you. Mercifully, you’ll soon be free of your prison.” Marcus gawked deeply as the phone behind him wailed. He stood up from the couch. Reaching for the phone, he answered it. “Hello.”

“Marcus,” Reggie was breathless. “What was that Bible passage from Revelation? Was it, ‘He set out to deceive the four corners of the earth.’?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Oh Marcus, he’s doing it. The amniotic water, the video of Tom coming back to life, now this little boy has been healed...”

“Reg, calm down.”

“I can’t, Marcus. Do you know how bad it’s getting out there?”

“I hear. And... I’m on my way home now. Hang in there.” Hanging up, Marcus turned back to Tom. “I’ll be back, okay Tom?” He tapped his hand, and then started for the door.

A sudden eruption sounded outside, a choir of screams. Marcus rushed to the window. Outside, a horde – maybe thousands – was charging the institute, arms high, shrieking.

What the hell
, Marcus thought. It reminded him of a rock concert gone mad. Still clutching his briefcase, Marcus got the hell out.

He began to run but suddenly skidded to a stop. No guards. And Devante’s guard was missing. Marcus took a few steps and peered down the bend of the connecting hall. For the first time since he arrived at the Chicago Institute, there was no security at all.

He hurried to Devante’s room. The screams outside were now deafening. He grabbed his set of keys, inserted them in the lock, and opened the door. He found Devante, arms raised triumphantly to the crowd through his window.

“Get away from that window!” Marcus shouted. “Now!”

Marcus shut the door and ran across the room, past the man who towered over him, and quickly shut the blind.

Huffing, Marcus spun and looked up to Devante. “What were you thinking?”

“My people call me,” Devante said softly, moving from the window as Marcus requested.

“They aren’t your people.” Marcus ran his hand over his own head. “Your standing there is doing nothing but de... de...”

“Say it.”

“Deceiving them.”

“You oppress me.”

“You disgust me.” Marcus moved toward the door.

“You!” Devante raised his voice. “You created me.”

Marcus spun to face him. “And you are an abomination of everything I set out to do!”

“An abomination.” Devante stepped forward. “You do not know who I am or you would not speak to me like that.”

“I...” Marcus stayed calm. “...I know exactly who you are.”

“Then you should respect me.”

“I should despise you.”

“You doubt me.”

“No.” Marcus shook his head. “Not at all. And you know who you are, and who you’re pretending to be.” He stepped closer to Devante. “You keep saying how we doubt you. You tell us to believe in you. If I’m so wrong, say it. Tell me who you are.”

“I have,” Devante said.

“No, you haven’t,” Marcus argued. “You speak around it. I’ll apologize if you can say you are the Son of God.”

Devante went silent.

“Jesus said those words many times. So, if you are He, say those words.” Marcus paused, then said louder, “Speak them!” Marcus waited. “You can’t. You can’t. Yet you intentionally mislead those sheep by parlor tricks. Falsely bringing Tom back to life, healing my wound.”

“I did not heal your wound. It healed as a result of the water that surrounded this body.”

Marcus smiled slightly. “You can’t even say His name can you?” He started to leave again. “Well, goddamn you.”

“He already has,” Devante said with a sly grin.

Marcus’ heart dropped. His eyes closed. He was overwhelmed with the proof of his suspicions. The truth he sought was undeniable now. A sick feeling engulfed him. He looked back to Devante. “I will see you dead.”

“Not if you die first.”

“We’re alone. Kill me now.” Marcus took a step to him.

“You created the door for this body. Therefore, I cannot. However, someone else… anyone else… can.”

“I knew there was a reason I don’t fear you,” Marcus sighed. He moved toward the door. “Go on, look out the window. But it’s to say goodbye.”

Devante raised an eyebrow snidely. “Taking my life would be murder in the eyes of your people.”

Marcus smiled. “I’m smarter than that.” Confident that Devante was going nowhere unless he jumped from the tenth floor, Marcus left the room and secured the metal door.

He moved quickly down the empty halls, turning the bend to his apartment wing, and found no one on guard there either.

He stuck his hand in the security wall slot and entered, calling for Reggie, then grew apprehensive as he crossed the living room and still heard no answer. “Reg,” he repeated.

“Oh God, Marcus,” Reggie flew from the bedroom and dropped a bag on the floor. “We have to go. I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been trying to put things together...”

“Whoa. Wait. Go where?”

“Leave. Leave the building; leave Chicago. Marcus, someone wants you dead and we have to make a run for it.”

Marcus chuckled. “Reg, someone has wanted me dead for quite a while. Now I agree, leaving and staying hid...”

“No!” Reggie yelled, then backed up to the kitchen, placing her knapsack on the counter. She opened the cupboards, pulling items out. “There’s a bomb set to go off.” She zipped up the bag. “They’ve evacuated the building.”

“No, they didn’t.”

“Look.” Reggie pointed to the television. “They have the cameras at a distance. They said...” She hurried back into the living room. “They said the building was empty.”

“But we’re here. And...”

“Hello!”

“Shit!” Marcus joined in the flurry. “Grab a blanket from the closet. We’ll need it.”

Heading into the bedroom, but slowed when she saw him pull out a coffee can. “Coffee?”

Marcus reached into the cup and pulled out a wad of money. “For bribes.”

“Excellent idea...”

At the doorway to the bedroom, Reggie froze. Marcus followed her eyes to the television. He froze.

“Did he just say two minutes?” Marcus asked.

“He did.”

“Hurry!”

Reggie went into the bedroom and reappeared with her purse and a blanket. “Got them,” she said to Marcus, who was at the door.

Duffel bag over one shoulder, knapsack over the other, Marcus grabbed Reggie’s hand. “Let’s go.” He led her out of the apartment, to the left and down the hall. “This wing was built after the experiment was given the go ahead. They set up an escape route – the stairwell.” He pointed to a door at the end of a hall.

Once there, he said, “This is a storage room… with steps.” They entered an eight by eight room with stocked shelves. Marcus smiled and moved to the back wall, then pulled open a false shelf to a hidden stairwell. “Let’s go.”

He pulled the door closed and stayed close to Reggie as they moved down the steps. Ninth floor. Eighth. Seventh. “It leads to the basement and we can get through there to the garage.” Sixth floor. Fifth. “The garage is about a half a block away so” Fourth floor. Third. Second. “We should be able to slip away without any...”

Boom!

The blast was so powerful that, the stairwell rang with shockwaves and the whole structure vibrated and rocked. It was like an explosive earthquake. Marcus and Reggie toppled over and fell down to the first floor landing. Marcus shielded Reggie from the raining plaster. The ricocheting crack was followed by the sound of creaking metal. There was no choice but to head for the basement

Gripping Reggie, Marcus quickly backed up and through the stairwell door of the first floor as the staircases tumbled and collapsed on top of each other like dominoes, heading right for them.

Marcus yanked Reggie but the quaking floor caused them to topple and fall over each other until they both hit the floor. Marcus stood and took Reggie’s hand. He pulled her up and they bolted toward the final door. They took a single step outside and stopped when the ceiling in the hall caved in as if the weight of the entire building pressed down on it. Debris, dust, and smoke billowed out. Seeing the doorway beginning to collapse, Marcus gripped the back of Reggie’s head, secured it to his chest and dove to the floor. Laying on top of her, Marcus covered Reggie’s body with his as the entire building seemed to fall down upon them.