From somewhere behind Sidney, a man called out to the beast. “Jarrod, is everything okay?”
Sidney turned to face the newcomer. By instinct, he swung his rifle around and took the slack out of the trigger. But before he could find his target, he felt a searing pain in his neck. The pain was gone as quickly as it had arrived, and it was followed by a whirling sensation. The world spun around him; he tumbled over and over in tight somersaults before hitting the ground and coming to rest. Then his lips drooped into a frown.
Impossible, he thought. This isn’t possible. He was looking at the rifle, still clasped in his hands. But the perspective was all wrong. Somehow, he was looking at himself from the outside. The last thing he saw before the darkness closed in was his own, headless body dropping to its knees and sagging onto the ground.
2
Eric Larson slammed the side-by-side utility vehicle into Park, gripped the roll cage bar, and hauled himself to his feet. Moving with a discernible limp, he walked toward the burly silhouette of Jarrod Hawkins and the decapitated body lying at his feet. “Jeeze. I’m sorry, Jarrod, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I heard shots being fired, but I didn’t realize the situation was still kinetic. I thought you would have disarmed him by now.”
The black, liquid-metal armor on Jarrod’s head receded, revealing his face and pooling at his collarbone. “It’s not your fault. I was giving him time to make a choice.” The genetically-enhanced vigilante pursed his lips. “He chose to fight.”
Eric glanced at the corpse and shook his head. “Just like all of the others.”
Jarrod took a deep breath and held it for several seconds. Then he exhaled and glanced at Eric. “We’re all clear. You can head back if you’d like. I’ll get rid of the body.”
Eric didn’t respond. He stared at the headless corpse for several seconds, lost in thought. He scratched his chin, knelt beside the body and muttered, “It doesn’t make sense. Why do they keep coming, even though it’s suicide? And why don’t any of them leave when you give them the option?”
“All that matters is that you and the others are safe.”
Jarrod moved to collect the body, but Eric stopped him.
“Hold on. I’m genuinely curious about this.” He began digging through the intruder’s pockets, searching for clues into the dead man’s state of mind. All he found was a GPS and a single spare magazine. Frowning, he examined the .308 caliber rounds inside the magazine. “They’ve been notched at the end and painted black.” Using his thumb, he slid one of the rounds out and held it up for Jarrod to see. “Why is that, do you think?”
Jarrod didn’t look at the rifle cartridge, and he didn’t make eye-contact with Eric. Instead, he lowered his gaze to the forest floor.
Eric’s pulse quickened, and he rose to his feet. “You know…don’t you?” When his old friend still didn’t speak, Eric said, “Answer me, Jarrod.”
At last, Jarrod met his gaze. “The modified rifle rounds are a ploy, meant to convince the attackers that they have a chance of killing me with traditional weapons. And yes, I have known for several days.”
“Why would they do that? Why would they send their own men to die, one at a time?”
“There are several possible reasons.”
Eric felt a hot pang of impatience in his gut. “Stop beating around the bush and just tell me what’s going on here. Why would they keep attacking us if they know they’re going to fail?”
Jarrod turned away and stared at the moonlit trees. “Because…they want me to stay here.”
Eric’s eyes widened as the pieces fell into place. “The distress calls.”
Jarrod nodded.
Eric ran a hand through his thick hair and shook his head slowly. Cell phone and internet connections in the area had gone down a week ago. But Eric and Kayla always kept a satellite phone on hand for just such an emergency. They rarely used it—almost everyone they knew and loved had moved in with them after the widespread prison-breaks began. But then, two days ago, the satellite phone rang in the middle of the night.
Eric and his wife Kayla had been shocked. Neither of them recognized the number on the caller ID. After letting it ring for two full minutes, Kayla finally answered. The voice on the other end was harried, desperate. It was the voice of Santiago Torres, the director of a top-secret government laboratory known as the Hillcrest Trauma and Rehabilitation Center. Torres had taken shelter in the underground facility with his friends, family, and co-workers. There were nearly two hundred people hiding within the concrete walls, and they were all in mortal danger.
Hillcrest was under siege.
Eric swallowed and spoke in a low voice. “These terrorists—or whoever they are—they want to keep you here so you don’t go to Baltimore.”
Jarrod bowed his head. “Yes.”
Eric turned away and scratched the back of his head. He paced back and forth, kicking up dried leaves with every step. Coming to a stop, he turned to face Jarrod and said, “You need to go to them. You have to go to Baltimore and save those people.”
Jarrod’s voice lost every last trace of emotion. “No. I don’t.”
Eric felt his face reddening. “There are kids up there, Jarrod. And if the weapons and research in that building fall into the hands of those psychos—” He shook his head. “They’ll be unstoppable.”
“They already are unstoppable. Borya Tabanov has the capability to reprogram the human brain, and he has infiltrated the highest levels of the U.S. Government. It’s over. They’ve won. All we can hope to do now is protect the people we love. And that is exactly what I’m going to do.” Jarrod squared his jaw. “I’m not leaving my sister ever again.”
“Yeah? And how do you think Deedee would feel, knowing you let hundreds of people—including women and children—die for her sake.”
The last word had barely left his mouth when he felt a hand grip his shirt collar. Jarrod had closed the distance between them in the blink of an eye; his face was inches away from Eric’s.
“If you tell her—”
“What?” Eric snapped. “Are you going to cut my head off?”
Jarrod hesitated. He blinked twice, relaxed his grip, and took a step back. “I—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have threatened you.”
Eric’s eyes narrowed, and he pointed a finger at the living weapon that had once been his best friend. “I’m not going to tell Deedee anything, but you should. She has the right to know.” Lowering his hand, Eric turned and walked away. As he settled into the driver’s seat of the utility vehicle, he said, “If Borya Tabanov is as evil as you say he is, then why would you choose to stay in the cage he built for you? I’m glad you’re here, Jarrod, and I’m thankful for everything you’ve done to protect us.” He put the UTV in gear. “But right now, the entire world needs you more than we do. I hope you make the right choice, before it’s too late.”
3
Bay Harbor, Michigan
The unseasonably warm temperatures for the past forty-eight hours had melted the thick blanket of snow covering the tourist trap in northern Michigan. And all the business owners in town were losing their minds.