Holly stood there on the platform frozen in fear, her slender body trembling. She couldn’t even cry. Next to her, Griffin and Fabian stood mutely, his fingers reaching for the girl’s hand and clasping it. I wanted to will myself to Holly’s side and made a move towards her. The cop standing next to O’Brien pointed his rifle at my head. Warnick gripped my shoulder. Balls of red light streaked across my eyes. I wanted to rip out the throats of everyone who meant to harm my family.
“You took away everything from me!” the mayor said. “My wife, my sons… My future.”
Warnick looked him in the eye, unafraid. “We didn’t kill your family. Someone attacked our convoy.”
The mayor let out a pitiful wail that echoed throughout the cavern. O’Brien eyed him uncomfortably. Then, his voice became soft, as if he were speaking to himself.
“If you hadn’t come after me, they’d still be alive.”
But Warnick wasn’t finished with him. “Why did you leave them behind? You could have saved them.”
The mayor was whining now like a petulant child. “You don’t understand. This was supposed to be my ticket…”
Choking up, he forced himself to go on. “It’s bigger than you can imagine. They got me out of there, they—”
“You abandoned your wife and children.”
The mayor was weeping now. “They promised me.”
Overlapping voices echoed in the cavern, and I struggled to make sense of them. Sweat dripped into my eyes, and the vague forms of Holly, Griffin, and Fabian wavered in front of me like ghosts in the harsh orange light, pleading with me to do something. I wiped my eyes, and Holly screamed. When I looked up, I found her on her knees in front of the mayor.
“Dave!”
He’d torn the weapon from O’Brien’s hand and was pointing it at my wife’s head. My heart thudded. I couldn’t breathe. There had to be way to—
“Dave, I love you! I’ll always love you!”
“Please,” I said. “Please don’t.”
I wept openly, unable to control myself. I was completely helpless—at the mercy of a madman. There was nothing I could do. If only I could reason with him. But that look in his eyes…
“I lost everything,” the mayor said, his voice now a frightening monotone. “Let me show you what that feels like.”
It was a dream.
I could see the bullet leaving the chamber slowly. So slowly. Now, it was spiraling angrily as it raced home to its target. Every thought in my brain vanished, my mind laser-focused on the deadly projectile. And when it struck her in the head, exploding out the other side in a burst of blood, brain, and bone, I died for a little while.
That picture—that memory of Holly—the impact of the hot lead twisting her sideways and down into the dirt—that photograph is burned in my memory forever like a brand on my soul. And it’s always accompanied by screaming—Griffin’s maybe—and Greta’s desperate, urgent barking.
It was a dream—I knew it was. Not real. A nightmare. But if it was, why couldn’t I wake up?
Because it was real.
There was no escaping, not this time. If I’d been holding my weapon, I would have used it to join Holly. There wasn’t any point in going on now. She was all I had lived for. Nothing else mattered. And the baby. So blessed to be conceived but never to be born. I felt myself falling. Falling to my knees and sobbing.
When I raised my head again, the mayor was still holding the weapon, looking at what he’d done, as if surprised that guns kill. My head clearing, I felt Warnick and Springer on either side of me. Each held a hand under one of my arms and slowly helped me to my feet.
Griffin was weeping as Fabian held her. Barking viciously, Greta pulled at the choke chain. The cop holding her pointed his weapon at her head. Fearless, she sank her teeth into his hand, lunged at him, and bit his neck. He screamed as blood squirted from an artery like a busted main.
In the chaos, Fabian punched the other cop in the throat and took his weapon. As the cop fell to the ground wheezing, I ran towards the mayor. Warnick and Springer followed. O’Brien kept trying to retrieve his weapon, but the mayor wouldn’t release it. Instead, he fired point-blank at me, hitting me in the upper arm and momentarily stunning me. Then, he fled down a dark passage.
Springer came for the cop with the rifle, but he shot my friend in the head before he could reach him. The kid collapsed midstride, dead. Grabbing a handgun, Warnick shot the cop twice, once in the throat and once in the face. Dropping the rifle, he fell. The policeman Fabian had disarmed got up and fled across the bridge, but he didn’t get far. Fabian raised his weapon and sent three bullets into the man’s upper torso. Grunting, he went over the side to his death.
O’Brien stood struggling and whimpering, Greta’s teeth sunk into his forearm. He was alone. Retrieving my weapon, I walked up to him, my arm bleeding, our eyes locked. All I could see in his now was terror. Gently, I touched Greta’s head. As she released him, he backed away, nursing his arm.
“Braves Mädchen,” I said to the dog.
I raised the gun and pointed it at O’Brien’s face. But I didn’t kill him. Not yet. Instead, I shot out his kneecap. Screaming and cursing, he stumbled but managed to remain standing. Then, incredibly, he grinned at me. Daring me. So, I shot out his other knee. This time, he fell. With my good hand, I grabbed his collar and forced him onto his shattered knees. Tears streaming from his eyes, he alternately cursed and babbled. The others made no move to stop me.
“Pray,” I said. He kept his eyes on me, gibbering like a lunatic. “Pray for my wife.” He shook his head uncomprehendingly.
“You don’t know how, do you? Want me to teach you?”
He closed his eyes, his lips trying to form the words. As he muttered, it was hard to hear, but it sounded like I’ll kill you.
“That’s not a prayer worthy of Holly or my child.”
I let go of his collar, and he collapsed onto his back, moaning, blood gushing from his shattered knees. Pointing the gun at his face, I felt nothing—not even hate. As I squeezed the trigger, he never stopped staring at me, that same insolent sneer on his lips. I emptied the mag.
When I’d finished, there was nothing left of O’Brien’s face except a ragged hole with disintegrated bone, burnt flesh, and blood. Fabian stood next to me, looking at what I’d done. Disgusted, he spit into the meaty hole.
“And there’s your lunch,” he said.
My chest heaving, I went to Holly and cradled her sweet head in my arms, gently pulling her bloodied soft blonde hair away from her face and gazing into the unseeing green eyes I loved. Bright red blood from my wound fell on her. I was still in the nightmare, unable to wake up. Somewhere, I could hear Warnick’s voice.
“We need to find the mayor.”
I looked up, my eyes blind with tears, and saw my friend with Griffin and Fabian. Greta walked forward and sniffed Holly’s hand, whimpering softly. Warnick reached out to help me to my feet. But I wanted to stay there with my wife for eternity. There was no other place I needed to be now.
“Come on.”
And like a dream, I felt myself moving as if on a cloud. As we followed the mayor through the dark rocky passageway, I turned one last time to look at Holly. I kept thinking—praying—she would call out to me. Dave, wait! Like she wasn’t really dead, only injured. But there was nothing. No voice. Only the sounds of our footsteps and Greta’s soft panting as we continued on through the darkness.
Faint lights illuminated the passageway. After fifty yards or so, we saw something on the ground—a body.
It was the mayor.
He’d been shot in the head, his hand still gripping O’Brien’s gun. Though I was elated he was dead, I was sorry I hadn’t been the one to end him. A fresh rage welled up in me, and I began kicking him. Why had God denied me the pleasure of killing this demon? As I assaulted his body again and again, I knew there was nothing left inside me but the anger. Griffin touched my shoulder.
“It’s okay, he’s dead.”
Warnick knelt, examining the gunshot wound. “This man was executed.”
A pool of yellow light illuminated the path up ahead. Someone stepped into it. I couldn’t see him clearly.
“Is that you, Dave?” I recognized the voice as Walt Freeman’s.
“What do you want?”
“What I want is to go back in time and fix this.”
I thought of Holly lying in the dirt. “So do I. Did you kill the mayor?”
“Unfortunately, he had to be dealt with.”
“Is that how the government sees it?”
“I think you can appreciate how important this project is.”
“I don’t care.”
Walt went quiet for a time. I turned to Warnick. “Get Griffin and Fabian out of here.”
“We can all go.”
“No. I’m staying. Go.”
“Dave, don’t be stupid. We can—”
“Dammit, Warnick, get out of here!”
Reluctantly, the three of them retreated with Greta while I stood my ground. I stared at Walt’s round frame in silhouette as he stood there staring back at me.
“They won’t make it out,” he said.
“We’ll see.”
“I’m sorry about your wife. Truly. If only we’d gotten here sooner, we might have—”
“Woulda, coulda, shoulda.”
“You’re a smart guy, Dave. I could use you on my team.”
My injured arm was numb. With my other hand, I awkwardly raised my weapon and fired towards Walt, intentionally missing. He flinched but stood his ground. I could see he was holding a weapon.
“Don’t make me kill you, son,” he said.
“I’m already dead.”
Suddenly, gunshots erupted behind me. I could hear Griffin screaming. Snapping out of my despair, I turned and ran. When I got to the open area near the bridge, I was alone.
“Warnick! Griffin! Fabian!”
From far off, I could hear Greta barking. I started for the bridge. But when I saw Holly, I stopped, knelt, and gently closed her eyes. Then, I kissed her cold lips.
“I love you.”
I ran onto the bridge and looked down. The researchers were still packing things up. There was no sign of Warnick or the others. Returning, I picked up Holly and placed her gently over my good shoulder. This place would be shut down now like a tomb, and I didn’t want to leave her here to rot. I hurried across the bridge, out the doors, and up the steel stairs.
I continued running till I reached the photomural and continued into the vast lobby of the research building. Warnick and the others were nowhere in sight. I prayed they’d made it out somehow. Running to the exit, I waited, watching the activity as researchers loaded equipment into a truck. All our guys were dead. And there were several black Escalades parked outside now. If I could get to one, I might be able to escape the compound.
Far off, I could see Walt Freeman talking to a group of agents in gray suits. Another man was standing in their midst, gaunt with close-cropped silver hair and wearing a black suit. It looked like he had a scar that ran from his temple to his jawline. A death shriek pierced the air. One of the draggers being loaded onto the semi had gotten free, thrashing and reaching out wildly from its chains as its handlers used cattle prods to force it back.
I saw my chance and darted towards one of the Escalades, still carrying Holly. Crouching, I squinted through the driver’s side window and saw the key hanging from the ignition. As quietly as I could, I opened the rear passenger door, carefully laid my wife inside on the backseat, slipped behind the wheel, and started up the vehicle. As I hit the gas in reverse, Walt and the others spun around. Someone shouted, and the agents in gray suits came running. They headed towards the open gate and planted themselves in a line in front of me, pointing their weapons at my windshield.
There was no way I was leaving Holly there with those devils. I had no other purpose—no mission—but to get her out of there. My heart was broken and I couldn’t unbreak it. But I could do one good thing before they killed me. Taking a searing breath, I floored it as the agents opened fire at me.
The bullets glanced off the protective glass as the vehicle picked up speed. The agents stood fast and continued firing. I bore down on them, my eyes glazed and unseeing except for the red tide of my anger and hatred.
Screaming, two of the agents leapt out of the way as I reached the gate. Gleefully, I hit one, his body flipping onto my hood with a loud thud and tumbling off to the side. The other I crushed under my wheels like a meat-filled piñata.
Then, I was gone.
I knew this road; it led to the freeway. If I could make it—away from the helicopters and other enemy vehicles—I could continue south to my home. Our home. Back to Tres Marias. I checked the rearview mirror. So far, no one was following me.
Traffic was light as I drove up the on-ramp and entered the freeway. I stayed in the middle lanes and drove the speed limit. When I was safely away from Mt. Shasta, I turned around to look at Holly. The blood from her head wound was congealing. She seemed smaller, like a fairy I could put in my pocket. I wanted to so much. A drowsiness came over me. I felt like drifting away somewhere. But I still had work to do.
My eyes focused on the road, I thought of Tres Marias. Would it survive in some new form? Would people move back into the houses and start families and open businesses? Would anyone remember what had happened?
I didn’t know what I would do when I got there. If Operation Guncotton had gone as planned, they would have already released the nerve agent. How long would it linger? Would I die? Hannity had said the poison dissipated fast. It didn’t even matter now. It was like I’d told Walt.
I was already dead.