He had just begun to run forward when suddenly it jumped out from beside the crate, raising the gun and firing. Lewis slid to the ground in the nick of time just as the gun went off. It tried to fire the weapon again, but it clicked empty. The astronaut tossed the useless weapon aside and looked down, directing its blue light into his eyes.
Lewis brought up his hand to shield his face and blinked as it came closer. For a second he saw Lance Bateman, still in his black suit as he had been in the lobby, but with some kind of bright blue headlamp strapped around his forehead – then in the next blink, the astronaut stood before him again.
“Running only prolongs the inevitable,” it said. “Haven’t you suffered enough, Desmond?” The astronaut tilted its head to the side as it looked at him. “Aren’t you ready to join your brother?”
Frantic now, Lewis got to his feet and ran away in the opposite direction. He dashed past two other cargo crates but had already made up his mind. There was only one more place that seemed safe here.
The excavator.
Parked up against the rear edge of the pit, it was big and yellow, with a large hydraulic bucket mounted to the right of the cockpit and two massive tank treads on each side. Lewis ran around and jumped up on the left tread, then grabbed the door and pulled. Thankfully, no one felt the need to lock it out here in the middle of the desert, and it swung wide open.
He climbed in, shut the door, and locked it, then began anxiously looking around the cockpit for keys. It wasn’t too cramped in here, but there wasn’t much extra space. Two joysticks sat on each side of the chair and a number of pedals lay at his feet that he didn’t know what to do with. He looked up at the ceiling and saw there was a sun visor, just like in a car.
Lewis flipped it down and the key fell out, clanking to the floor. He bent down and felt around the floor for it with both hands. When he finally found it, he slid it into the ignition and turned the key just as a bright blue light appeared off to his left.
As the engine roared to life, he turned his head in time see the astronaut aggressively slam its elbow into the window with a loud crack. Lewis closed his eyes and raised his arm protectively as shards of broken glass pelted him, feeling many bounce off and rain down on the cockpit floor. The next thing he knew, the astronaut’s arm wrapped around his throat and the attacker held him in a tight headlock.
“Just let it end, Desmond,” the synthetic voice hissed.
Lewis could barely breathe. His left hand tried to pry the arm around him free while the other frantically slapped at the excavator controls. He hit a button and suddenly the entire thing lurched forward, the diesel engine grinding to life. The astronaut jumped upward, grabbing a handle inside the cockpit through the broken window to keep itself off of the treads. Its grip tightened around his neck.
“It’s already begun,” the voice continued. “Her programming is complete. Even if you stop me here, we’ve already won. So let it end.”
Squinting in the harsh blue glare that shone over his shoulder, Lewis could just make out his and the astronaut’s reflections on the unbroken right window. The astronaut was mostly obscured by the bright light, but no, he could see it, spacesuit and all.
Look harder.
Blackness crept around the edges of his vision, his lungs burning for breath. There wasn’t much more of this he could take. He stared closely at the reflection and didn’t let his mind fill in the gaps. He actually couldn’t see his attacker’s face at all. Just its arm, strangling him. A normal human arm, dressed in a black suit jacket. And there, just below the blue light, he finally saw it. A sinister smile, the leer of a deranged lunatic.
The astronaut was gone.
Summoning the last of his strength, Lewis reached past his head to the right and his fingers fumbled for a hold. Finally, they grasped the handle and with the last of his strength, he pulled it.
The door opened and the next thing he knew he was falling through space. His back hit the treads and he nearly rolled off, but something grabbed his left leg and a blue glow washed over him. He looked back. The door had swung Bateman out further; he’d landed near the front of the moving treads and had latched onto Lewis to pull himself back up. Beneath the bright light of the headlamp, his face contorted red with a mixture of rage and terror.
Lewis kicked Bateman in the shoulder as he began hauling himself closer and scrambled back as the older man’s legs went over the edge. Jenna’s father still had a death grip around Lewis’s left ankle, preventing his escape, and it tightened as a stomach-turning crunch filled the air. Bateman’s agonized scream tore through his ears as Lewis pulled his right leg back for a final kick. His opponent’s lower torso completely disappeared from view just as Lewis slammed his heel into Bateman’s forehead. He finally let go long enough for Lewis to roll off the side of the advancing treads and hit the ground.
He turned back just in time to see Lance Bateman’s hand reach for the heavens as it slipped out of sight, illuminated blue from the headlamp beneath it. Then the light shut off and the wet crunching noises abruptly came to an end. Dark blood seeped out from under the treads as the vehicle continued its forward motion, glistening in the light of the full moon.
Lewis got up and began walking around behind the excavator toward the Malibu’s glaring headlights at the top of the entrance ramp.
In the darkness of the main lobby, Victor Zhao pulled himself up against the reception desk and began looking for a first-aid kit, only to find himself out of luck. The bullet was embedded deep in the back of his left shoulder, but he should be alright. Physically, at least. The truth he now knew about his employment and what had gone on here beneath his nose would scar his memory forever.
A pair of headlights swung around in front of the main glass doors, and a moment later Desmond Lewis stumbled in, covered in dirt and looking worse for wear.
“Bateman?” Zhao asked.
Lewis shivered. “Dead.”
“Well, that solves one problem.” He looked around the main lobby. This place had once been his pride and joy, but now it was just a bad dream. One that he couldn’t wake up from. He should’ve known Family First’s offer was too good to be true.
“I hoped that the bullet wouldn’t have killed you. I need you to do us both a huge favor.” Lewis ran up to him and handed him a business card. Zhao squinted at it in the dim light and barely made out the words “Sara Gonzalez”, but definitely recognized the FBI insignia at the top.
“What is this?” he said.
“Call 9-1-1, get someone out here for your wound and to clean up the bodies. But you need to call this FBI agent, she’s been assigned to the nationwide case. Tell her about the Dream Machine, the Batemans, Rogue Horizon, all of it. There are other Family First conspirators back in L.A. who she can bring down. This’ll make national headlines.”
“I’ll get right on it,” Zhao said. Lewis began running back to the doors. “Where are you going?”
“After Jenna. They still have her. Whatever happens to her or me, call that number.” He disappeared out into the night.
Zhao leaned over the reception phone, picked it up with his blood-covered hand, and began rapidly dialing.
38
The open road stretched away before his headlights, yellow dashes rapidly flashing by on his left. The Malibu’s speedometer ticked past a hundred, but he didn’t worry about a stray cop at the side of the highway. The only thing that mattered to him was finding how far they’d gotten back to Vegas with their head-start. He was back on US-93 now, the Great Basin Highway; at this hour of the night, it was a lonely express back to civilization.