Phoenix (14 page)

Booby
-
trap
?

His impulsiveness won out over good sense,
and he grabbed the knob, giving it a twist and throwing the door
open. It banged off the wall behind it, but otherwise silence
greeted him. And darkness. The room was darker than it should have
been. Then he noticed all the curtains had been pulled. He felt
around with one hand just inside the doorway until he found the
light switch. Using his radar and turning his head from side to
side, blinking, he swept the apartment for danger. The signal he
had followed before was completely gone.

Brad knew his suited friend could cloak
himself, so he entered the apartment under the assumption that
someone
was
inside, and that whoever it was meant him harm.
He crept as quietly as he could, easing his way from the front
door, through the illuminated kitchen, and into a cramped hallway.
There was a closed door to his left, so he cracked it open and
reached inside to turn on the light, not thinking that someone
could be hiding inside and might slam the door shut on his wrist.
Luckily, that didn’t happen. What turned out to be a bathroom was
empty.

The room ahead looked like a living room. He
could just make out a couch. Before entering, he looked around for
another light switch but couldn’t find any. To the far right of
that room was another closed door. He assumed this was a bedroom.
But he couldn’t check it before crossing through the dark. He stood
there, letting his eyes adjust, clenching his fists, trying to
decide what to do. His senses told him nothing; the area was safe.
Where had his watcher gone? Was he hiding? Was it the Old Suit or
someone new?

Brad strode over to the large window directly
in front of him. He jerked back the curtains and bathed the room in
light. He spun around, bringing his fists up and ready to
pounce.

He was alone. The room was empty.

He huffed out a breath and stomped over to
the closed door. It swung inward and again he was greeted by
emptiness. Other than himself, the apartment was vacant.

"Well, shit."

With his hands on his hips, he stepped back
toward the center of the living room. Only then did he notice a
chair turned at an awkward angle compared to the rest of the
furniture. There was a small stand next to it. He walked over and
positioned himself between the chair and the window, then looked
back and forth. After a moment he sat down and saw he had a clear
view of his apartment. Brad felt the same electrical sensation
coming from the chair that he had felt before grabbing the front
door’s knob.

"How long did you watch me from here?"

Something white caught his eye. There was a
piece of paper on the stand beside him. He jerked his hand back
before his fingers touched it. Where the doorknob and chair were
faint, the paper seemed to leap out and shock him with static. He
got up from the chair and stood over the paper. After summoning his
nerve, he reached down and snatched it up. The pain only lasted a
moment and was forgotten when Brad read the words written
there.

Cut off the head and the snake will fall.

"Seems we’ve got the same idea," Brad
mumbled. He ran his fingertips over the paper and read it again.
"Why do you want to kill your boss, hmm?" He looked out the window
and stuffed the note in his pocket.

* * *

For the next forty-eight hours after the Book
Club’s nationwide sabotage, it was mass hysteria. Then everything
quieted down as it usually does. The general public, pacified by
the mainstream media, slowly put this to the backs of their minds
and went on with their daily lives. Those responsible for the
vandalism of PhoenTek’s trucks were never caught
because
of
the chaos that ensued directly after. Too much had happened, too
quickly, and in too short a time on a massive scale. Overwhelmed
authorities were given new directives: keep everyone calm and no
matter what, don’t mention the flu. The papers stopped talking
about it. The news stopped reporting on what was happening in other
countries. It seemed like the outside world had just disappeared
and most Americans never even noticed.

Some were paying attention, though.

The Book Club stopped meeting at Mort’s and
instead began keeping in touch with him by phone, reporting in once
a day. With barely any news coming in from either the TV or the
Internet regarding the epidemic, the core Club members had to again
reach out to the same acquaintances who had helped stop vaccine
distribution. The mission this time? Use every psychic ability
available to keep tabs on the state of things.

They found the problem with this particular
approach fairly quickly.

"They’re
all
blocked," Adams told
Mort.

Mort paced the room as he spoke into the
phone. "And you’re sure?"

"Yes. The signal’s getting screwed up, backed
up, or whatever. Same issue the Club’s been dealing with this whole
time, except now we know it’s not just us. It’s everyfuckingbody.
You want to know what PhoenTek is doing, gonna have to watch the
news like anyone else. And we all know what a crock of shit that
is."

"Alright," Mort whispered and peered around
the corner into the kitchen, where Brad was staring out the window.
"Get in touch with Laura again. Spread the word to keep trying and
keep updating me at least once a day. I’ll try to get the precogs
on it, see if they have any better luck."

"Copy that. Later."

Mort hung up and studied Brad a bit longer
before approaching him. The young man had been in a black mood for
the past two days, keeping to himself and never getting involved in
conversation. Mort rubbed his pen and tapped it against his chest,
staring at the back of Brad’s head until everything else went out
of focus. Mort waited for those wisps, those tiny indicators of
emotion, waited for them to strengthen and grow until they
surrounded picture-Brad. The only thing he could see was a gaping
black hole.

Apparently he wasn’t the only one. He’d also
had to relieve fears from Laura when she’d called, thinking Brad
was dead. This confirmed for Mort that he wasn’t the only one
unable to see or feel his friend with his extra sense. The reason
behind it, he still hadn’t figured out.

"Trouble?" Brad asked without turning.

"When is there
not
?"

Brad grunted.

"Apparently the whole network is running into
that block."

"The network?"

"Everyone in my book."

"Ah." Brad had barely raised his voice at all
and was keeping his back to Mort. He was staring out the small
window above the sink like there were naked women in the
backyard.

Mort prodded. "Well, what do you think?"

Brad didn’t answer. Mort took a deep breath
and busied himself inside the refrigerator.

"We should go out today. Take a look around,
see if we can get any hits."

Brad still didn’t have anything to say.

Mort shut the fridge door and set his arm
full of sandwich makings onto the kitchen island. "Maybe go
downtown and check out the general mood."

Brad barely heard anything Mort was saying.
The man was still talking as he made them both sandwiches, but Brad
was watching the corpses walk around in Mort’s backyard and
thinking the grass needed mowed.

Cut
off
the
head
.

His dreams had become so convoluted over the
past couple nights that he stopped paying attention to anything in
them. What Mort had said about the network
did
make sense,
and he had a very good feeling it was going to get worse before it
was all over with. The best thing they could have done was leave
well enough alone. They stirred up a hornet’s nest when they messed
with PhoenTek, and now those evil bastards were ramping up their
psychic blockade.

"You should eat something," Mort said around
a mouthful of turkey and cheese. He sat on the stool and watched
his younger friend brood.

Brad couldn’t think about eating when he was
staring at the back of a dead man whose skin was sloughing off in
sloppy wet chunks.

Cut
off
the
head
.

As they’d suspected might happen, disrupting
the delivery of PhoenTek’s vaccine hadn’t derailed the apocalypse.
Why else would he still be seeing and dreaming of dead people? And
Izzy too, according to Mort. It was true, their visions were being
jammed, but enough still slipped through to confirm they carried
the same message. It was still on and the worst part was he and the
others wouldn’t have any sort of warning. They were blocked, their
extra senses rendered practically impotent by PhoenTek and the
agents. Like the rest of the world, they’d be caught with their
pants down.

Cut
off
the
head
.

"I’ll be busy today. You’ll have to go
without me."

Mort, surprised by the sound of Brad’s voice,
almost dropped his sandwich. He’d asked Brad that question fifteen
minutes ago and had just been talking about something that had
nothing to do with it.

Brad left the kitchen and grabbed the
newspaper off the countertop on his way out.

Thomas Rakburn didn’t meet his partner in
Columbus, where Briggs waited for him at the CC. Before leaving his
post and heading to his granddaughter’s, Rakburn had left his young
target a gift. Two, as a matter of fact. A cloak and a lead. What
the precog chose to do with those things was entirely up to him,
though Rakburn would never have done so had he any doubts of what
Bradley would do next.

He’d had several conversations with his
agents in the field, advising them to do the same: pack up and
disappear. They had played their part. Phoenix was coming and, with
it, the end, and they had more important places to be now.

"Priorities," he had said to them.
"Priorities and loyalties. Decide yours now."

Rakburn had played his part.

* * *

The first stop Brad made was a pawn shop. He
purchased a six-inch fixed blade knife and a sheath. His second
stop was Wal-Mart, where he bought a wool mask, rubber gloves, a
box of Milk Duds, and a Coke. Then he hopped on a bus and headed
out of town. His cell phone rang every fifteen minutes or so. He
eventually turned it off without answering. It lay in his backpack,
on top of the newspaper he had taken with him from Mort’s. The
phone covered the picture on the front page, but the small headline
next to it read:

CEO To Give Press Conference Today

* * *

Brad got off the bus in the parking lot of
the newly opened Ramada Inn and Suites. He hadn’t thought he’d make
it in time and still wasn’t sure if he had. He was only slightly
taken aback that at no point during the hour-long trip did he have
any second thoughts. He was committed and hopefully prepared. Even
if he was caught, he considered it worth it. At this point, he just
didn’t care.

He stopped partway across the parking lot and
stuffed the wool mask into his backpack, deciding at the last
minute that wearing something like that would draw way more
attention than not wearing it. The knife and gloves he tucked away
in the pockets of his jacket. He strode up to the revolving door
and walked through, giving a small wave to the man stationed at the
front desk. Brad walked straight to the elevator and held the door
open for a woman pushing a stroller. She thanked him as she left
and he smiled, then stepped inside and hit the three button. A
conference room made up half of that floor. He waited at the back
of the elevator, watching the indicator light change from one to
two. By the time it lit up with a three, he was whistling along to
the music. The doors slid open and Brad exited, pausing for only a
moment to open his radar. He blinked and got two pings to the left,
so he went that direction.

He passed a restroom when he found the source
of the first ping. It was inside, and he doubted the CEO of a
multibillion dollar company would use a public bathroom. Two hotel
rooms later he found the second ping. Brad waited outside,
considering his options. A woman’s voice from further down the hall
got his attention. She was pushing a cart with one hand and talking
to her iPhone. Or rather, she was reading something on her iPhone
and talking to herself. Brad noted the cleaning chemicals, sheets,
and extra towels on the cart and knew what he needed to do.

"Excuse me?" he asked and gave her the most
handsome smile he could muster.

She looked up from her phone but didn’t
answer him immediately.

Brad laughed and tried to look embarrassed.
"I, uh…" He motioned to the door knob and the keycard slot. "I
kinda left my key inside." He chuckled again and ran a hand through
his hair. "Any way you could help me out?"

She stopped at the room just before the one
he'd indicated and shot him a sharp eyebrow.

But she smiled back.

"Make sure you keep it with you next time,
because I won’t be doing this again," she said and fumbled with her
own set.

Brad bobbed his head, still smiling. "Yes,
ma’am. Thanks, I really appreciate the help."

"Uh huh."

She swiped her key and turned back to her
work as it beeped and unlocked. She entered the next room across
the hall just as Brad entered the room she’d unlocked for him.

* * *

Normally a man of his wealth and title
wouldn't stay at the Ramada Inn, but Boucher wanted to be thought
of as a common man, someone people could relate to, someone "for
the people." He even planned to hold his conference in the Inn's
banquet room, free booze and an all-you-can-eat buffet
included.