Genesis (11 page)

Panting hard, Emily crouched in the shadows of the building, waiting for the man to move or at least moan. When he didn’t she moved in closer to check on him. Pulling the flashlight from her jacket, she cupped the lens with her fingers until only a slit of light was visible.

Emily felt her stomach turn over. If she had eaten any food she would have thrown up; instead, she dry heaved into her hand.

The guard lay on his back about three feet in front of her. He had tripped over the raised curb along the edge of the road, toppled backward, and hit his head on the same curb. His sightless eyes stared skyward, an almost perfect reflection of the moon lighting the left orb, as a growing pool of blood spread across the road. One arm was bent crookedly toward Emily, his wrist limp, pointing accusingly toward her.

Rhiannon’s sudden exclamation behind her brought Emily back to her senses. “Oh my God, is he dead? You killed him?” Rhiannon said.

“It was an accident,” Emily insisted. She switched off the flashlight and pocketed it.

“But . . . but you killed him,” Rhiannon insisted as darkness swallowed them.

“And there’s not a Goddamn thing I can do about it. Now keep your voice down.” Emily’s heart thumped in her chest, the words she spoke more for her own tumbling mind than Rhiannon’s reassurance. But even as they jogged the last few hundred meters back to the apartment building, Emily could not shake the image of the slack-jawed face of the guard, moonlight glinting from the pool of blood around his head. And she began to worry that she had finally stepped across an invisible boundary, a line that she would never be able to find again.

The rest of the way back to the apartment was spent in complete silence, and Emily was quite happy with that. While she felt no remorse for the death of Curtis, the death of the second guard had been a tragic accident. Either way, humanity was now two deaths closer to the point of extinction, and the knowledge that she had tipped the scales further toward their annihilation was even more terrifying, even if humanity was better off without Curtis. Of course the other problem was that the second guard would be expected to make regular check-ins with the watch commander in the northeast security tower. When the dead guard failed to respond to his radio calls, the rest of the security team would be alerted and sent out to investigate. It wouldn’t be long before they found the body. They might think it was an accident, but if they also found Curtis’s body in Emily’s cell . . . well, then Point Loma would be on lockdown faster than a stripe-assed donkey. If Emily’s plan was going to succeed, they had to get out of here right now.

And then of course there was Rhiannon. No way Emily could leave her behind now. It wouldn’t take Fisher long to figure out that Emily had help getting out of jail, and once he put two and two together, Rhiannon would be right at the top of the list of suspects. She was going to have to come with her.

The apartment building was a big black shadow. Emily, Rhiannon, and Thor eased into the foyer and silently climbed the stairs to the apartment, creeping through their front door.

Thor went straight to his water bowl and started lapping loudly.

“Your backpack is on your bed,” Rhiannon said.

“Listen,” said Emily, pausing at the door to her room, “I know I told you that you would have to stay behind, but that was before everyone lost their minds. I need you to grab some things as quickly as you can; you and Thor are coming with me.”

“I know,” said Rhiannon with a sad smile and disappeared into her own room.

Emily turned on her bedroom light, then, realizing that her window blinds were still up, she quickly dropped them and pulled across the curtains.

Sure enough, her backpack and the clothes she had been in the middle of packing lay exactly where she had left them; in the commotion following Emily’s arrest Fisher had not thought to search her apartment. Why would he? She doubted the possibility of her making any kind of an escape would have even crossed his mind, which just went to show how much they were inclined to underestimating both her and the situation.

Rhiannon had been busy, apparently, because the MREs Emily had been about to grab when Fisher and his goons arrived were stacked next to her clothes on the bed.

And what was this? Her .45 also lay on the bed. Emily had a vague memory of the last time she had seen the pistol, skittering down the hallway.

“I found it in my bedroom,” said Rhiannon, standing in the doorway.

Emily thanked her, then noticed the fully packed backpack sitting at Rhiannon’s feet. She could not have had time to get ready so quickly.

“Well, you look prepared,” she said.

“There was no way I was going to stay behind. Even if you hadn’t been arrested, I would have snuck on board, whether you wanted me with you or not. Mac always says it never hurts to always be prepared.” Rhiannon’s voice had an air of finality to it, and Emily was reminded again that she should not underestimate the resourcefulness of the kid—young woman, she corrected herself. Or her dedication. Both were apparently quite formidable.

Emily quickly finished packing her clothes and supplies into her backpack. She fastened the watch Mac had given her to her wrist, pulled a Bowie knife and its scabbard from the bedside cabinet, and secured it just above her right ankle.

After a final check of the room Emily slung the backpack over one shoulder. She didn’t bother fastening it; it’d be faster to stow that way, and every second was going to count.

“Let’s go, Thor,” she said as both women walked as quietly as they could to the front door.

As Emily closed the door to the apartment, she wondered if they would live to see it again.

In the darkness of the apartment corridor, Emily checked the time. The luminescent dial of her watch showed a little after 5:20 a.m. From the floor above came the unmistakable sound of creaking floorboards as someone walked across them. The day shift was stirring, and that meant they were quickly running out of time.

“We need to move faster,” Emily said.

They jogged down the stairs and headed through the foyer, pausing to check that the coast was clear, then Emily, Thor, and Rhiannon slipped out of the apartment building and began to make their way toward the helicopter landing pad on the northwest side of the camp.

A faint line of white was already creasing the eastern horizon. Dawn was only an hour away at most and more of the camp would be beginning to stir soon. They had to hustle if they wanted to get to the helipad undetected.

Emily picked up the pace, slowing only when they reached the top of the path leading up to the landing pad.

“Unfasten those,” Emily said, pointing to two of the four tie-downs securing the tarp that covered the helicopter.

They pulled the tarp off, bundled it up, and tossed it away.

In the slowly growing light of the fast-approaching morning, the Black Hawk looked like a huge black beetle.

“Toss your backpack inside,” Emily said as she slid the side door open. She shrugged her own pack off and threw it in next to Rhiannon’s. “Thor, up,” she told the malamute, tapping the interior floor. The dog obeyed and she slid the door back into place when he was safely inside.

“You next,” Emily said to Rhiannon, opening the copilot’s door. Rhiannon pulled herself up into the seat. Emily quickly fastened the girl’s safety harness, then placed a helmet that was far too large for Rhiannon on her head. “You’ll have to make do,” she told the girl as she connected the helmet’s chin strap in place. “Once we’re airborne this will be the only way we can communicate.” She gave Rhiannon a reassuring smile, closed the door, and jogged around to the pilot’s door. Pulling herself up into the seat, Emily closed the door behind her, then donned her own helmet.

The start-up procedure including preflight checks would normally take a good five minutes, but there was no way she was going to have that kind of time. Once the engine started up the entire camp would know exactly what was happening and where to find them. It would take about three minutes to get the rotors up to speed and get them off the ground. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out there was only one person who would be able to steal the helicopter. If she screwed anything up, or luck wasn’t with them, there would be just enough time for Valentine to alert Fisher and have him here and pulling them out of the helicopter. If that happened then it was all over.

Emily disengaged the gust lock for the rotors and quickly went through the helicopter’s start-up sequence. She held her breath as she fired up the engines.

The two massive engines rumbled to life and almost immediately she saw a light come on in one of the apartment buildings. Then another and another followed. It wasn’t hard for her to imagine the radio conversations that were now surely happening.

She engaged the rotors and glanced upward through the glass canopy to check them. They were moving painfully slowly, but they
were
moving, gradually gaining speed. It was going to take
about another minute or so before she could safely lift off.

The seconds seemed to stretch out. Emily had to force herself to
run through the basic interior checks: Fuel was good, the tank almost
entirely full. Oil pressure and engine temperature were all nominal.

She glanced down toward the camp.

Shit! Shit! Shit!
A set of headlights was bouncing rapidly through the street toward the hill to their right, one of Fisher’s security Humvees.

“Come on. Come on,” she urged, as if her words would somehow encourage the rotors to spin faster.

“Emily?” Rhiannon’s nervous voice came over the helmet’s internal speakers. She had seen the oncoming Humvee too.

“It’s all okay,” Emily repeated, not sure if she was trying to reassure Rhiannon or herself. “Almost there.”

The Humvee skidded to a halt about twenty meters away from the now rapidly rotating blades of the helicopter. The doors flew open and five figures exploded from inside, automatic rifles unslung and aimed at the canopy of the Black Hawk.

Valentine was the last to exit, unfolding from the back of the Hummer like a praying mantis, her face livid with anger.

Emily engaged the throttle hard and felt the Black Hawk lurch into the air.
Too Goddamn late,
she thought and smiled as the ground dropped quickly away.

The sound of something smacking into the fuselage snapped her attention back to the ground. Muzzle flashes sparkled and flashed in the morning half-light.
The fuckers were shooting at them
. Emily eased the throttle toward maximum and felt the Black Hawk respond accordingly, but not before several more rounds slammed into the fuselage. Then the only sound was of Rhiannon’s panting breath over the comms.

“Are you hit?” Emily asked, fearing the worst. “Are you hit?”

“No,” said Rhiannon after a long pause.

“Check on Thor.”

Rhiannon unfastened her safety harness and twisted in her seat to look back into the rear passenger compartment.

“He’s fine,” she said as she buckled herself back up.

Emily let out a long sigh she felt she had been holding in since Rhiannon had first busted her out of the brig.