A plane.
Project Eden was coming to town.
He could hardly breathe as he realized he’d waited too long to leave. Taking a truck was out of the question now. They would spot it in no time. Hell, they’d spot anything.
Plan B, then — collect some supplies and find an out-of-the-way place he could hide in until the plane was gone. There was a market several blocks back. He could probably find everything he needed there.
He ran, afraid to drive even that short distance. Two blocks from the store, he slowed when he glanced down a side street and spotted something that was potentially even better than hiding.
A motorcycle, parked in a driveway.
He should have thought of that first. A motorbike had a much smaller profile than an F-150.
He switched course.
The bike was old, its chrome and paint dulled from years on the road, but otherwise it looked in pretty good shape. The tank was near full, but the keys were missing. He glanced at the house, steeled himself, and ran up to the door.
It was locked. He looked around and spotted a weathered garden gnome tucked between two leafless bushes. He used it to smash through the living-room window.
Wicks jumped through the opening and began his search. In addition to the keys that he located in a cabinet near the door, he found a helmet, a pair of riding gloves, a scarf, and a winter jacket that was about his size and would help keep him from freezing to death.
It had been years since he was last on a motorcycle, so it took him six attempts to get the engine started. When he finally did, he checked the sky again.
The plane was low now, maybe five miles out of town. The only consolation was that it was a small jet that probably held no more than ten people.
He considered heading right out, but knew the smart play was to wait a bit.
As the aircraft drew closer, it adjusted its course to the north, putting it on a direct path for NB219. Though Wicks couldn’t see the base from where he was, the column of smoke rising above it was clearly visible.
When the plane neared the plume, it began circling the base.
Again, the urge to run hit him, but he remained where he was.
After a third go-around, the plane lowered its landing gear and flew toward the nearby airport.
Wait, Wicks told himself.
The plane was only a few hundred feet above the ground now.
Wait.
Five stories up.
Wait.
Tree level.
Wait.
Down.
Go!
He twisted the accelerator and almost fell off the bike as he shot out of the driveway, but he didn’t slow down. With the plane barely on the ground, it was his best — perhaps only — opportunity to get out of there. Not only would they be unable to see him, but the plane’s engine would drown out the initial burst from the motorcycle.
He took the southbound ramp onto the I-25 and sped out of town.
When he hit the I-10, he continued south, every few minutes sneaking a peek over his shoulder at the sky and the highway, sure he would see people coming after him. It wasn’t until he was somewhere in the vast nothingness of west Texas that he started to think maybe he was going to be okay.
He spent that first night in Abilene, and began considering his next move. If he avoided Project Eden locations, most of which he knew about, nearly the whole world was open to him. Finding a place where he could live out his life undetected shouldn’t be that hard.
A voice woke him at four a.m.
What choice do we have? We’re the only ones who can do anything about it.
Matt’s voice. The words from so many years earlier, before Matt had faked his death and left to form the Resistance. And though the Resistance may have failed at its main objective, it hadn’t failed completely.
The original directorate was dead. And now the new principal director, Perez, was also dead. Project Eden may have unleashed its unholy hell, but the organization had been rocked, too. And if there was any chance of keeping the Project from controlling the resurrection of mankind, it had to be rocked again, in as big a way as possible.
The urge to pull the blanket over his head and hide from everything was so strong that Wicks’s hands trembled. The weak part of his mind said, “You’ve already done your part. Find a beautiful beach or a cabin by a lake. Anywhere. You have your pick. For you, the fight is over.”
But the blanket remained under his chin. The fight was not over.
“Do I really need to do this?” he whispered.
Matt’s words again. Yes. You do.
January 5th
World Population
862,727,366
3
A cold wind blew down the barren mountain, passing through skin like water through cloth and chilling the bones beneath. Teeth chattered, hands were stuffed in pockets, necks were buried under scarves, but no one said a word in complaint.
The grave was dug on high ground, well away from the flash-flood channels and dry riverbeds that latticed the area. The coffin was a pine box hauled in from a mortuary in Ely. A fancier one, with metal handles and ornate scroll work, could’ve been chosen, but Rachel Hamilton had said Matt would have wanted things simple.
All but the most essential personnel had made their way out of the warren of rooms and tunnels that made up the Resistance’s base, and trekked the quarter mile to the gravesite. Despite the frigid air, there was no snow, only the dirt and the shrubs and the wide-open sky playing home to a tiny, distant sun.
Ash glanced at Rachel. Her eyes were locked on the pine box that held her brother. Ash let her mourn in silence for several more seconds, and then moved to the head of the grave.
“As you can imagine, I’ve thought long and hard about what I was going to say here today, but I realized no matter what words I chose, they would be inadequate. To say Matt has been an essential element of our cause would not do him justice. Matt was the embodiment of why we are all here. Without him, it’s doubtful any of us would be alive today. He was our leader. Our friend.” He looked at Rachel. “Our brother.” He paused. “It would be easy to say we are now lost without his guidance, that our only choice is to give up. But if we are going to truly honor Matt’s memory, then we can never give up. We must fight on.” A silent beat. “I will miss him every minute of every day.”
He nodded to the men standing next to the coffin. They moved the box over the hole, using cloth slings, and gently lowered it inside.
“If anyone has anything they’d like to say, please step forward,” Ash said.
One by one, people shared their stories and thoughts and wishes. When the last finished, Ash caught Chloe’s attention, silently asking if she wanted to take a turn. For a moment, he thought she was going to say something, but then she shook her head.
“Go in peace, my friend,” he said, looking down into the hole. “We’ll take it from here.”
Slowly the mourners began to drift back to the base. Once most were gone, the men who had lowered the coffin picked up shovels and started to fill in the grave.
Ash walked over to Rachel and put an arm around her shoulder. “We should go back.”
“Not yet,” she said.
He could feel her shiver.
“You’re going to get sick if you stay out here any longer,” he told her.