Project Aquarius (The Sensitives Series Book 1) (20 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY

Cyril

It was nearing noon and Cyril stood in his post by the edge of the parking garage, watching the Project Aquarius staff return. The hard concrete bothered his feet, but it was a small price to pay for front row seats to the emotional combustion rodeo. And he couldn’t stop smiling.

    The Master had lived up to his word and had opened the Project Aquarius gates promptly at nine a.m. Most of the staff had been excited to leave headquarters after the weeklong lockdown.

Now as they returned, they whined and warbled, stricken with grief over the total destruction of their once magnificent city. They scrunched their faces into horrid angles, and the weak ones shed tears, sobbing for their newly dead mothers. The acrid stench of the human fear pheromone hung in the air. Delicious. Commander Cyril owned their fear.

He spotted James, and that dark-haired woman from his lab, shuffling back into the garage, looking predictably dejected. James patted the woman on the back as she hunched over in a sob. Cyril sweated in anticipation. He had been saving the last spot on his Recon Team for James and planned to spring it on him now that he was in a weakened state.

Cyril admitted, James was an unusual choice, but he had been Cyril’s only friend in the early stages of Project Aquarius. And he wanted to keep his only true ally close. The Master had given him free reign of the recruitment for the recon operation. And Cyril was sure that with the right team he could return to the exact location where he had spotted survivors and be a hero in the Master’s eyes. He had already signed up four new team members that morning. It just so happened that there was a large influx of volunteers after the gates opened. Fear made people more pliable.

As his only friend in the world walked within earshot, Cyril lurched forward awkwardly and called out, “Hey, James!” with hopefully an appropriately moderate amount of enthusiasm.

“Oh… hello Cyril…” said James, his voice distant and full of pain. The guy looked like he was about to vomit.

“What did you think?” Cyril clamored. This time he did little to mask the excitement in his voice.

“What do I think about…? The state of things? I don’t even know… I can’t…” James’ voice trailed off.

Obviously, James was a kind man. And kindness was an untrustworthy flaw. That’s why Cyril had left James in the dark about the true nature of the Project until now. He had wanted to tell him, he had so badly wanted a companion to share in the glory. It was time to bring James into the fold now, time for them both to revel in their genetic superiority.

“Where did you go? See anything good?” Cyril pressed. He wanted grisly details. He wanted to hear about the pain and suffering. Mostly, Cyril wanted proof that he was completely in control.

The woman with the dark hair seemed to detect Cyril’s delight and shot him a dirty look. Then she forlornly waved goodbye to James and skulked off toward the elevator.

James began, “We walked through Central Square to Harvard. It was unbelievable. I thought… I had no idea it spread so far… how far does it go Cyril? How many people are dead because of me?”

“I was hoping you would ask that,” Cyril brightened. “If you are really curious about the state of the world, I can take you out and show you. I could use your help,” Cyril said, purposefully appealing to the man’s kindness.

“You have permission to take me out of here?” James looked dubious.

Cyril gloated, “Yup. I’m second in command.”

James scrunched his face in response. Cyril wasn’t sure how to read the look. But he knew in extreme situations, fear made people align with their captors. Wasn’t it called Stockholm syndrome? If Cyril could convert James’ Fear into Belief, they would be unstoppable.

“So what do you say, will you join my Recon Team? I could use the favor.”

***

Cyril’s Recon Team lined the hallway on Level B. He had wanted to make a show of their operation in the busiest hallway in the lab, right outside The Master’s office. He wasn’t disappointed with the result. Their black gear and shiny weapons drew stares. Staff members gave them wide berth, stepping around the assembled men, heads down. The fear had spread like a disease. Those who hadn’t braved going outside, had heard about it. As the Master had predicted, nearly everyone had come back when they realized nothing was left. Ninety-three percent of staff had returned to their posts by 1 p.m.

    Dressed in riot gear, Cyril’s friend James appeared severely out of place. Looking at his pallid face, Cyril started to wonder if he had picked the wrong guy. But he must have faith. Faith had brought him this far. And Cyril had to admit that he wouldn’t be where he was today without his buddy James’ amazing intelligence and cutting edge research. He drew in a deep breath of faith.

    “Line up men!” Cyril ordered, his loud voice reverberating off the glass walls.

The chosen men shuffled into position. To Cyril, they looked perfect–– appropriately intimidating in their flack jackets, bulletproof vests, and goggles. He noted that James’ face had broken out in hives, and his hands, though encased in black Kevlar gloves, were shaking.

“Okay men. Our task is simple. Gather as many survivors as we can and return here. In the event there are no survivors, collect evidence of post-Pulse human activity.” Cyril took a slow breath in; he wanted to relish the moment. He felt powerful and strong, like he was finally living his true purpose. “This is our day to shine. This is our day to make a difference. This is a day that will be remembered for all time.”

Master Shin interrupted Cyril’s speech by opening the frosted glass door to his office. “Is this your Recon Team, Commander Cyril?” he barked.

“It is, yes sir!” Cyril added a salute for a flourish. He had hoped to catch the Master’s attention.

“Good. Good.” Shin walked up and down the line, eyeing each member. “Do they understand the importance of the mission?”

“I think so, sir.”

The Master addressed the captive audience, “Men, we are survivors here. There are other survivors out there and they need our help.” Members of the team muttered in agreement. “Commander Cyril has spotted a group of children living in a neighborhood just outside of—”

“Dr. Shin!” a voice squeaked with high-pitched urgency. A staff member in an aqua jumpsuit came running down the hall, the stamped Project Aquarius logo bouncing up and down on his chest. “Dr. Shin I need to speak with you!” His shrill voice interrupted the Master’s pep talk.

“Who the hell are you?” The Master let his temper show through for a moment, growling between breaths, quickly recovering to a neutral expression.

“I… I work in communications, sir.”

The Master looked over the length of his aqua suit. “I don’t know you. You aren’t my Lead Communication Commander.”

“No sir, I’m a college intern sir, or was before the…”

“And what is a college intern doing in front of my office interrupting important business?”

“You weren’t picking up your phone, sir. I have Shanghai on the line. They want to know—”

“Tell them not to worry. The plan has been executed perfectly.” The Master punctuated every word with perfect diction. He was a seasoned actor playing to an enthralled house.

“But what about Denver, sir? He… He’s very upset about Colorado.”

The Master lowered his voice, “Tell my father to calm down. I have everything under control.”

“But… um… your father says the deal was for all the states. The deal is no good without Colorado. And that you’ve already had a week…”

The Master gritted his teeth for a microsecond and then flashed a smile to the crowd. “Tell him I have a plan. I will gain control of Colorado. The deal is on.”

“Anything else… sir?” the intern asked hesitantly.

“Yes. Tell Evans we are a go for security reboot at 1900 hours. All security codes are to be changed and all doors securely locked. The facility will return to lock down.” Master Shin turned to face Cyril. “Anyone left outside the gates at 1900 hours will be terminated. No staff members may return after that time, for any reason. Understood?”

“Yessir!” chimed Cyril and the intern at the same time.

The Master cold-stared at the college kid in the aqua jumpsuit.

“Anything else… sir?” the intern asked once more.

“Get out of my face.”

The intern in the company onesie lowered his head and scampered off the way he came, squeaking the whole time.

“Cyril, get these men out of here. And don’t come back without the surviving children. You’re dismissed.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Drea

The group was in a solemn mood. Their bodies were exhausted from hours of walking. From the position of the sun, Drea could tell it was around two in the afternoon. Despite the sunlight overhead, it was a brisk day on the Pike. To ward off the pervasive afternoon chill, she snuggled into the plush lining of her favorite hoodie. The extra layer of fleece helped to keep out the unpredictable New England weather.

Unfortunately, it was Drea’s turn to pull the rattling red wagon. What had seemed like an essential tool back in Cambridge had become an unreasonably heavy burden that squeaked over every bump. The group had abandoned most of their camping gear at the house in Weston, so the cart now held a small supply of clean bottled water and nonperishable food. Drea’s arm ached deeply from pulling the damn thing for miles.

At the moment, she also had a bit of a Chef Boyardee hangover. For years, her parents had forced her to eat healthy organic food and she and Sammy had always fought them on it. Now, she would kill for some fresh kale or asparagus. Her head was buzzing in a processed food haze, her pulse thrumming in her ears.

There was another sound too. Far away at first. It was a deep rhythm that disturbed Drea on a cellular level.

“Hey do you hear that?” she asked Laura who was walking right in front of her.

“Yeah, I’ve been listening to it for a minute now,” Laura admitted.

“What is it?” Drea asked.

“I can’t tell.”

When Drea first had heard it, her brain couldn’t interpret the distant sound mixed with the turning wagon wheels. It was an indistinct far off noise. But as it grew closer, though she couldn’t quite place it, Drea recognized the sound as mechanical and familiar, which intensified the disturbing feeling in her gut.

Finally, the beat reached an identifiable decibel.

“Oh my God. Is that a helicopter?” Laura wondered.

Drea’s stomach dropped. The chopper hadn’t yet come over the tree canopy, but she knew it would change everything.

Laura began waving her arms frantically toward the sky.

“We’re saved! We’re rescued!” Laura screeched with joy.

She took off her red jacket and waved it in a circle over her head. The bright fabric and the frantic motion were sure to be noticed.

Sammy froze in the middle of the highway under the umbrella of assaulting noise. He crouched, covered his ears, and began to wail. He wasn’t wearing his headphones because he hadn’t needed them out on the peaceful open road. Drea felt a pang of guilt. She could only imagine what the helicopter blades sounded like to Sammy. To her, the sound felt like certain death, an impending doom that couldn’t be stopped. And to him it was likely a thousand times worse.

Darnell ran up to Laura and tugged on her wild arms.

“Yo, don’t be flaggin’ them down. It’s the po-po.”

Darnell had voiced what Drea was feeling.

“The police could help us,” Laura reasoned, continuing to wave and flag and shout, “Help us. We’re down here. Help!”

“I’m tellin’ you somethin’ bad is about to go down,” he insisted. “And I ain’t stayin’ around to find out who wins.”

In a classic Darnell move, he took off for cover at the edge of the highway.

The chopper passed directly overhead and circled back around. Drea’s mouth went dry. She too was frozen, fighting her impulse to run. She couldn’t abandon the group, especially her eleven year-old brother, at a time like this. Obviously, it had spotted Laura.

The bird flew low, looking for a clear space to land. As it swung back toward the group, Drea observed a weird unidentifiable white logo on the side of the glossy black paint. She squinted and made out two wavy parallel lines, kind of like an equal sign. There was no other observable writing on the helicopter— it clearly wasn’t from the Red Cross or the police. The chopper didn’t look military or humanitarian. It looked corporate.

The helicopter landed gracefully on the highway in a space between car wrecks. Over the whirring blades, Drea could hear Laura shouting, “Thank you. Thank you. We need help!”

That’s when two men in black SWAT gear exited the plane. Drea’s stomach churned.

Subconsciously, she had been backing away from Laura since the chopper came into view. And the sight of the men in black supported her urge to run. Yet, she was still frozen. Her brain wasn’t totally convinced. Maybe they were friendly?