Vapor (6 page)

Everyone?

She couldn’t be serious. How could a single stone box hurt anyone, let alone everyone?

I checked for a pulse. Then I gave her another hard shake.

But she was dead.

I climbed to my feet. I felt tired, logy. My lungs felt like they were on fire. Awkwardly, I strode to the truck. At the same time, Graham stood up. He climbed into the still-running vehicle. Immediately, he fired up the fans and turned a dial. The windshield wipers went to work, clearing a thick layer of dirt from the glass.

I picked up Beverly and pushed her into the cab. But when I started to climb in after her, I caught sight of the reliquary. A cord had come loose, causing the sheets to shift a couple of inches. As a result, one corner of the stone box was now fully exposed to the elements. My instinct was to cover it, to protect it. Lila’s dying words gave me pause, but only for a moment.

I clambered onto the flatbed and grabbed the plastic sheets. But I couldn’t control my fingers and they slipped from my hands. I grabbed them again and stretched them over the exposed portion of stone. Then I used the loose cord to strap them into place.

Exhaustion hit me hard as I made my way across the flatbed. Carefully, I lowered myself to the ground. But my rubbery legs folded on me and I collapsed into the dirt.

I blinked a few times, watching millions of particles whirl around me. They stabbed at me, nicking my skin. I tried to stand up again, but my legs felt like spaghetti.

I clawed at the soil, trying to drag myself to the cab. But my strength was completely sapped. My mind lost focus. My eyelids snapped shut.

And then my brain slipped into blackness.

Am I … are we … dead?

My eyes shot open. I gasped for air. Stale oxygen—not nearly enough of it—entered my lungs. I gasped again. And again. And yet again.

My gasps shortened and then vanished. My breathing normalized and I slumped against a hard seat. My lungs hurt like hell, but at least I could breathe.

One by one, my senses returned. I felt warm upholstery touching my damp skin. Smelled the elastic from my goggles. Saw the still-swirling dust through the heavily smudged windshield. Tasted engine exhaust in the air. Heard soft breathing.

I wiped sweat from my face. More sweat beaded up to replace it. The truck’s cab felt hot as fire.

Memories flooded my brain. I recalled the reliquary and the approaching militia. I relived the plane sailing overhead, the hail of gunfire, and the sound of a distant crash. I was reminded of the grayish contrails and how they felt against my skin. I remembered the nonexistent oxygen, the dizziness, and the exhaustion.

But most of all, I remembered Lila. I remembered her insane plan to blow up the reliquary. I recalled the terror in her eyes and her vague warning about how it might hurt people.

Too tired to move my head, I focused my energy reserves to my jaw. “Where …?” I licked my dry lips. “Where are we?”

“Three miles from the barn.” Beverly’s voice sounded strained.

The truck felt motionless. The engine was silent. “We’re parked?”

“For now.”

“Where’s Dutch?”

“Over here.” His voice, strong and vibrant, came from the opposite end of the cab.

“Anyone else make it?”

“I don’t know,” Graham said. “But a lot of people definitely died. If it weren’t for this truck, we’d probably be dead too.”

I didn’t know any of the militia members. And I knew they’d most likely have attacked us if they’d gotten the chance. But a small part of me still mourned them. “I spoke to Lila before she died,” I said after a moment. “She said the reliquary was dangerous.”

“How?” Beverly asked.

“She didn’t say. She just said to destroy it. Otherwise, people would die.” I exhaled. “Lots of people.”

“What do you want to do?” Graham asked.

Good question.

I’d been asking myself the same thing ever since Lila had revealed her true intentions. Something about what she’d said and how she’d said it continued to nag at me. But could I really destroy the reliquary?

I’d destroyed my fair share of artifacts in the past, all with good reason. But the reliquary was different. Hell, I couldn’t even be sure it was dangerous. I only had Lila’s statements to go on and it wasn’t like I could question her about them.

I only knew one thing for certain. The reliquary, like all artifacts, was irreplaceable. If studied properly, it could shed new light on ancient history. Did I really want to be the one to extinguish that light?

“We’re salvage experts,” I said at last. “We save stuff. That’s all. Let others sort out the details.”

“So, what do you want to do with the reliquary?”

“We’ll take it to Jerusalem. Seek out some of Lila’s old colleagues. Maybe they can help us find a place for it.” I took a few more breaths. Gradually, my strength returned. “By the way, thanks to whoever saved me.”

“That was me,” Graham said.

“You must have iron lungs.”

“They do the job.” He gave me a sharp look. “What the hell were you doing out there anyway?”

“Securing the reliquary. One of the cords—”

“You risked your life for that thing?” Beverly’s voice dripped with incredulity.

I glanced over my shoulder. The stone box, covered with sheets and cords, sat on the flatbed. “It’s my job.”

Graham turned the key, igniting the engine. Then he pressed the accelerator and the truck shot forward.

I frowned. “You’re going the wrong way.”

“No, I’m not,” he replied. “We’re going back to the dig site.”

“Why?”

“To look for survivors.”

A light wind whipped across the barren landscape as we drove back to the dig site. A few dirt particles danced in front of the windshield. The dust storm no longer blotted out the sky. But it was dark out, thanks to the rapidly setting sun.

Graham flicked on the headlights. The barn came into view. He drove a little farther before parking the vehicle. Hesitantly, he reached for the door.

“Wait.” I took a deep breath. “I’ll go.”

His hand lingered on the latch. Then he lowered it to his lap and gave me a nod.

Holding my breath, I climbed out of the cab. A few particles of dirt whipped at me, striking my cheeks. The hot air burned my skin.

I took a small breath. The air tasted dirty and foul. But at least I could breathe it.

Pulling on my goggles, I activated the night-vision. The landscape lit up in multiple shades of green. Then I waved at the others.

Beverly climbed out of the cab. A curious expression crossed her face. Pulling off her shoulder bag, she started to rummage inside it.

Graham joined me. We hiked in silence, passing over chunks of rock and metal debris. Misshapen masses appeared at the edge of my vision. But it was a closer one that caught my eye.

My gaze hardened as I stared at Lila’s corpse. Her flowing white shirt and green slacks were smudged with dirt. Her hair clips had come loose, causing her hair to flutter freely with the wind. Her lifeless eyes stared at everything and nothing, all at the same time.

I felt for a pulse, more as a formality than anything else. Then I closed her eyelids. Just a little while ago, she’d been in good health. Now, she was dead, a victim of the noxious contrails.

I stood up. Angling away from Lila, we walked east. A blistering wind ripped into my cheeks. It brought the stench of death to my nostrils. Resisting the urge to gag, I walked to another body.

It belonged to the gaunt man. His fingers gripped the woman’s hand, one final act of love in a harsh world.

Steeling my heart, I swept my gaze down his torso. Then I used my machete blade to lift his shirt a few inches. “He’s got sores. Lots of them.”

“Pretty gruesome.” Graham pointed at the man’s head. “Check out his eyes. They’re bloodshot.”

“Bloodshot and petrified. He died cowering from fear.”

“Can’t say I blame him. Asphyxiation is a hell of a way to go.” He glanced at the woman’s body. “Looks like she’s got the same symptoms. Sores and bloodshot eyes.”

“So, they were sick.” I frowned. “It seems like a lot of people are sick these days.”

“Chalk it up to the famines and droughts. Weak people are more susceptible to viruses. Anyway there’s nothing we can do for these two.” Lifting his gaze, he searched the landscape. “There’s nothing we can do for any of them.”

Standing up again, I glanced at our truck. The ancient reliquary peered over the top of it. When I’d accepted Lila’s proposal, the job had seemed so easy. We merely needed to salvage the reliquary and load it safely into her pick-up truck.

Now, she was dead. We were in possession of a potentially dangerous artifact. And someone—a mysterious woman—was after it.

I glanced at other bodies. Sooner or later, someone would come looking for them. And something told me I didn’t want to be anywhere near the area when that happened.

We walked back to Beverly. As we drew close, she stowed some items in her bag. I recognized one of them. It was her mass spectrometer, which she used to analyze material samples. Normally, one needed large, expensive machines to perform mass spectrometry. But one of her colleagues had produced a handheld version last year. Since then, he’d upgraded it with several firmware updates.

I nodded at her bag. “Testing skin samples?”

“Soil samples, actually,” she replied.

“Find anything interesting?”

“Not yet.”

“Are you ready?” Graham glanced at the horizon. “We’ve got a long drive to Jerusalem.”

My mental scales tipped back and forth as I thought about our next move. On one hand, the reliquary was safe and I intended to keep it that way. The smart move was to head for Jerusalem, to turn it over to some of Lila’s colleagues. Let the Israeli authorities deal with the bodies and the airplane wreckage.

But something stopped me. Maybe it was what Lila had told me. Maybe it was the questions surrounding the reliquary. Maybe it was the desire to know more about the plane, about why Lila had feared it so much. Or maybe it was something else altogether, something I couldn’t even fathom.

I turned west. “We’ve got a stop to make.”

Graham followed my gaze. “No one could’ve survived that crash.”

“I’m not interested in survivors.” In the distance, a thin column of dark green smoke rose into the green-tinted night. “I’m interested in answers.”

“Your presence here is a waste of time.” Simona Wolcott’s tone turned frosty. “The model is fine. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“So, you’ve told me. Repeatedly.” Alan Briggs sat back in a stiff, leather-wrapped seat. “Regardless, I’m not leaving until I’ve checked every last aspect of it.”

Simona stared hard at the scientist. Briggs held the gaze without flinching. His presence annoyed her to no end. For months, she’d been able to operate her facility with zero oversight. But now, that had changed. And that meant one thing.

The Separative was growing uneasy.

At first glance, Briggs looked like a stereotypical nerd, albeit not one of the smart ones. He was in his mid-forties, but looked younger than that. His black hair was thick and uncombed. He wore spectacles and ill-fitting, wrinkled clothes.

Simona suspected that Briggs had received more than his fair share of tormenting over the years. It had hardened and focused the man, turning him into an icy-veined scientist and later, one of the world’s foremost modeling experts. Even so, she could see Briggs was deeply uncertain about himself. He craved outside validation. But since few people respected him outright, he tried to inspire fear instead.

But for all his shortcomings, or perhaps because of them, Briggs was a diligent researcher with a penchant for sniffing out problems. He was the kind of guy who’d ask too many questions and dig too deeply.

In short, he was the worst possible visitor at the worst possible moment.

Simona leaned over her sleek aluminum desk. “Fine,” she replied with an exaggerated sigh. “What do you need?”

“Your model is far too complicated for an ordinary inspection. I need a detailed breakdown of its structure.”

“I’ll ask Tessie to give you the necessary documents.”

Briggs crossed his legs. “Thank you.”

“Is there anything else?” She folded her smooth hands on top of the desk’s lacquered white surface. “I’d love to chat, but I’ve got a busy day ahead of me.”

“I also need to inspect the facilities. Not just the hangar, but the production and storage areas as well.”

Her eyes tightened imperceptibly. “I’m afraid that’s impossible. Access is strictly limited to a handful of people.”

“Let me put it this way.” Steepling his fingers, Briggs rested his elbows on the glimmering steel arms of his chair. “Either I inspect them or I shut you down. It’s your choice.”

“Be reasonable.”

“This isn’t a request. It’s an order. And it’s not my order either. My employer wishes to—”

“I know, I know.” She exhaled in frustration. “I need some time to coordinate with my people.”

“Very good.” Without fanfare, Briggs stood up and walked across the frosted glass floor. Opening an aluminum door, he vanished into the hallway.

The door started to close, but a petite hand caught it at the last minute. Seconds later, Tessie glided into the office. “How long is
he
going to be here?” she said in a tone that spoke volumes about her feelings toward Briggs.

“Too long.” Simona spun her padded leather chair to the side. Her second-floor office overlooked the interior of a sizable airport hangar. It featured frosted glass walls instead of windows. “He wants documentation pertaining to the model’s structure.”

“How much should I give him?”

“Everything.” Simona would’ve preferred to keep Briggs in the dark. But drowning him in paperwork was the next best option.

Tessie smirked. “I’ll get right on it.”

Simona opened a concealed compartment under her desk. Her forefinger pressed a button. A section of frosted glass turned clear.

She looked into the one-way glass. The hustle and bustle of the hangar lay below her. She focused her attention on the area almost directly beneath her office. Rows and rows of computers covered oversized aluminum tables. People flitted about the space, moving endlessly. As per her orders, there were no chairs to be seen. That was important.

Simona didn’t like people sitting down on the job.

“Ms. Wolcott?”

Simona’s eyes remained glued to the glass. “What is it, Tessie?”

“I almost forgot. Jeremy is on the line. He says—”

“He can wait.” Simona waved at the glass. “What do you see down there?”

“But—”

“Answer the question, please.”

Tessie walked to the wall and took a good look at the frenzied movements taking place within the hangar. “People,” she said softly. “I see people.”

“That’s not what I mean. Tell me about the patterns.”

“It’s just chaos.”

“Where you see chaos, I see a system of feedback loops.” Simona pointed at a blonde woman standing in front of a computer. “Take her, for instance. If she mistypes a word, she’ll adjust her behavior in almost imperceptible ways. Her fingers might slow down. Her eyes may stare harder at the screen. She’ll type another word, study her work, and make more adjustments. Each time she takes action, a new environment emerges in which she then takes another action.”

“Sounds like chaos to me.”

“Not so.” Simona watched the little people moving around from machine to machine, dancing an endless dance. “It’s a self-stabilizing system controlled by feedback loops. The human brain can’t even begin to comprehend all those loops. But our computers can handle them.”

“I hate to interrupt, but—”

“If we wanted to, we could model all those people as a cybernetic system. And we could use those models to predict future behaviors.”

Tessie tapped her foot impatiently on the floor. “I really must insist you take Jeremy’s call. He said it was important.”

“Very well.” Simona pressed the button under her desk and the glass frosted over. She waited until Tessie had left the room before pressing a button on her screen. The monitor fired up and the image of a serious, agitated man appeared before her. “Hello, Jeremy.”

“We have a problem, Simona.”

Simona studied her security chief. Jeremy Pascal was short with broad shoulders. His face looked firm, unyielding. His long dark hair had been pulled back into a ponytail. Knife wounds crisscrossed his brown skin.

He was of Polynesian descent, but had little use for his heritage. In fact, his people embarrassed him. At one time, Polynesians had used technological advancements in boating to cross the Pacific Ocean. They’d ruled the South Pacific like kings. But subsequent generations had squandered this mighty empire. Now, his people preferred to hang out at resorts, holding luaus and other outdated ceremonies for gawking tourists.

“Well?” Simona said. “What is it?”

“
Nautilus
is down.”

She tensed up. “How?”

“A militia—God’s Judges—arrived on the scene shortly before we ran the kill pattern. One of them must’ve fired a shoulder-based missile launcher. Direct hit, unfortunately.”

She rubbed her temples. “What’s
Nautilus
’ condition?”

“We’re not sure. We tracked it for as long as possible. But it’s no longer responding to our signals.”

“So, it crashed.”

“Not necessarily. We were able to issue an emergency-landing directive before losing communications.”

Simona leaned back in her chair. This couldn’t be happening, not now. “The self-destruct protocol?”

“Activated, of course. But the protocol was issued after we lost communications so I’ve got no idea if
Nautilus
received it.”

“Can you find
Nautilus
?”

Pascal nodded. “It shouldn’t be too difficult. At last contact, it was descending over a long stretch of abandoned farmland.”

“Good. Clean up everything before you leave.” Simona took a deep breath. “What about Lila Grinberg?”

“Dead.”

She allowed herself a small smile. “So, you’ve got the reliquary?”

“Not exactly.”

“Explain.”

“As you know, Lila hired Cy Reed’s Salvage Force to handle the excavation. They’ve disappeared along with the reliquary.”

Simona exhaled.

“Fortunately, we caught a break. Some tire tracks survived the latest dust storm. Based on their direction, I think Reed is heading toward the
Nautilus
.”

“He must be going to check on it. If you hurry, you can kill two birds with one stone.”

“Understood.” Pascal lifted his hand toward the screen, presumably to cut the connection.

“Jeremy?”

Pascal stopped short. “Yes?”

“When I say kill two birds, I mean it.” Simona stared into his eyes. “Once you have the reliquary, kill the salvage team.”