Toward the Brink (Book 3) (4 page)

Holmes had always hired good people, but when he employed one Charles Black, he got the best. Holmes didn’t think anyone would be good enough or interested enough to track him down. But the Tall Man did. When the Tall Man, through intermediaries, was hired by Richard Holmes ostensibly to keep track of Phillip Baer and his operations for the “good of the country’s security,” the Tall Man had decided he’d better check on who it was he actually worked for.

“Yes, it is a small world, is it not?” Holmes agreed. The air in Kath’s cellar was thick with tension.

The president’s wife recognized Holmes as a key member of her husband’s administration, but that was all. She felt the bad blood too, but this wasn’t the time to ask.

“Come on, you two, let’s see if we can get a bite to eat,” she said to her teenaged children and ushered them to the steps leading into the house.

Elliot felt something as well. “Go and help my aunt Kath, will you, Cindy?”

“But Elliot, there—”

“
Please,
Cindy.”

“All right, all right,” she snapped at him. “I’m going!”

An uneasy silence gripped the room as all eyes watched Cindy go up the stairs.

“So, is this old man still pulling your strings?” the president asked Holmes. He was alluding to Etheridge, who hadn’t focused enough to realize his current situation was far more detrimental to his survival than all those foamers at the airport—or Richard Holmes.

“Well, as you more than aware, Mr. President, there’s been a slight change in the order of things.”

“What? Did you say ‘president’?” Etheridge stammered.

“Yes, he did. You
do
remember me, don’t you?” The president moved in front of Etheridge, a foot or so from his face.

“Oh. Oh, my … Holmes, look who’s on the plane with us. It’s the—”

“Never mind him, he’s been drinking,” Holmes cut in.

The Tall Man went straight toward Richard Holmes, who still acted like he didn’t know him. “Yes, can I help you?” Holmes said.

The Tall Man wanted to be sure, to hear the voice in close proximity again. He was sure. It was the Hidden One, as the Tall Man had referred to him.

The Tall Man permitted a slight grin to form at the corner of his mouth. “Yes,” he said, “and I know who you are.”

No sooner had the last word left his mouth than the heel of his right palm flew forward and struck Holmes under the nose. The force of the blow sent him backward to the floor. His arms flailed about him, and his busted nose sprayed red all over his face.

“Careful, now,” Elliot said the soldier, who made a move for his M4.

“Sure thing, I’m okay,” he replied when he saw the muzzle of Elliot’s Super Redhawk aimed toward his head. “He ain’t worth gettin’ killed for.”

“Damn, that was a shot!” Tom couldn’t hold his excitement back when he saw Holmes dealt with like that.

“Riley, take the others inside through the front door. We’ve got some
business
to attend to.”

The Tall Man’s tone suggested this was not a time for dissension.

“
D
o you know this man
?”

“Yes, Mr. President. I once worked for him,” the Tall Man answered.

While Mulhaven took the rest of the party around to the front door, the Tall Man told the group in the cellar of how, through associates, he’d met Richard Holmes, and how he was offered a high-standing security position with a company involved in the production and sale of insecticides and fertilizers.

“I was introduced to a man named Langley, who filled me in. The job was internal security, all right, but my role was to control access to Phillip Baer’s formula. He was like this with all his products, be it fertilizer or snail killer. Langley told me to keep an eye on all of the employees and on Baer as well, which I found interesting. When I got the call to meet with a man in an underground parking garage, I realized that was more typical of intelligence operatives than private security, so I ran some to checks on my own regarding my employers.”

Holmes sat up with a handkerchief to his bloodied nose, and Etheridge sat on a stool next to him. Etheridge was still under the effects of alcohol, but he was quite aware that he and Holmes were not in control of the situation. No one had realized this until it was well under way, but the two were on trial for crimes against the world.

“You couldn’t run a check. These men were professionals.” Holmes spat blood onto the floor.

“Found you, didn’t I? Thought you were so good hiding in the dark in parking garages, but I knew who you were.” The Tall Man was readying his arm to backhand the seated Holmes when he was grabbed from behind.

It was the president who had taken his arm. He didn’t say anything, he just raised an eyebrow, and that was enough. For now.

“Chuck, if we’re going to detail their crimes, we should do that in front of everyone. They deserve to know, too,” Elliot said. Perhaps he could see the need for open disclosure because he was not directly involved.

“Yes, the young man is right. Everyone needs to know the deeds of these two. Everyone.” The president, like the statesman he was, encouraged an open inquiry.

E
veryone gathered
in Kath’s living room, the largest room in the house, as if a major television event were about to take place—the invasion of Iraq, the first shuttle launch, or the moon landing. Everyone was glued not to the set, but to the two men in chairs at one end of the room.

The soldiers and flight crews lined up on one side of the room, the president and his party on another. At the top of the room were the group from Twin Falls and Shoshone, and Kath—the lone representative of Prince George, and quite possibly the only local still alive.

The two accused had been advised, as the Tall Man led them up the stairs, to remain silent if they knew “what was good for them.” Etheridge for the first time in years had no words, and Holmes’s experience told him it would be in his best interest to do as Mr. Black instructed.

Kath had made sandwiches earlier with help from Margaret, Sam, and the first lady. Cindy had joined in with the domestic chores but had mumbled the whole time about what a grump Elliot had become, and how he valued Chuck just a little more than he should.

Water was passed around, and it was accepted with enthusiasm before Tom Transky strode to the center of the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began in a subdued manner, “most of us gathered know one or the other of these men, and a few of us know or at least are aware of them both. Some of you know of their duplicitous behavior, which has now led us, and no doubt the entire world, toward the brink of destruction.” Tom looked around at the faces in the group like the lawyer he was, studying his jury. But there wouldn’t be any question regarding the outcome of this trial, other than what punishment would be fitting.
What could you actually do to these two, who organized the murder of more than five billion people, which would be just?
Tom asked himself as he looked at the faces, some confused, some angry, and all wanting answers.

Tom detailed his knowledge of Richard Holmes, his background, and his roles in many clandestine activities—most of which would not be provable in a court of law. But that was no longer of concern. When Tom finished, he asked the Tall Man to share what he knew about Richard Holmes. The Tall Man retold his story from the cellar a few minutes ago, with a few more details. He added that toward the end, he had realized there was a connection between the supersized potato and the illness sweeping Idaho, and he began to believe he and other security personnel were there to safeguard the production of this potato, to make sure it went through.

“This… this plague was planned a long way back. Baer’s potato was the perfect vehicle to deliver it to a widespread, unaware population. Hitler and Pol Pot are just babes in the woods compared to these two. Those
things
out there,” the Tall Man stood and pointed out the window. “As horrific as they are, aren’t the real monsters. These two are!”

The president stood next and echoed Tom’s assessment of Richard Holmes. Then everyone found his analysis of Milton Etheridge of such intrigue that a dropped pin would have been heard.

“No doubt, you have all read about, or heard, rumors of a super-secret group that was hell-bent on world domination. The Chamber,” the president said. “But there was no proof of its existence, was there? Well, now there is. Right here in this chair is the appointed representative of the North American branch of the Chamber. They are real, and they do control everything, and they have now destroyed everything.”

The president saw the looks of disgust and anger on the faces of most of those around him. The camouflaged soldiers appeared to be ambivalent. One moment they were glad to work for Holmes, and now that their future with him wasn’t so bright, they were eager to jump ship. But for how long could they be trusted? The president doubted he was the only one who wondered.

“And before anyone asks me why I, as president, did nothing to prevent the activities of this tumorous growth known as the Chamber, know this. The heads of government of this country and others may not be aware of how deep the tentacles of this beast stretch. Indeed, the cabinet members and senior staffs may be untouched. But it’s their staffs, advisers, and of course, the captains of private enterprise who are so corrupt that we—yes, I include myself—pander to their every whim because their money gets us re-elected. That’s how they have infiltrated every aspect of American life, and through our military superiority, the lives of every other major country, too.”

A cold silence went through the room. Some glanced at the soldiers on the other side of the room, but most stared at Etheridge and Holmes.

The Tall Man looked at his watch: This was taking too long.

“We can spend hours, if not days, on this but we need to get moving. I don’t want to spend another night here.” The Tall Man added more pressure.

“Do we get to have a say in our defense?” Etheridge asked, much to Holmes’s chagrin.

“Are you serious?” the pilot of the Global Express that had brought the president and his party to Prince George roared. He was still shaken from the scene at the airport, and now the details presented showed it was no accident. To say he was enraged would be too light a description.

“What do we do?” Kath whispered in the Tall Man’s ear.

“About these two?”

She nodded as Elliot joined them.

“I know what I’d
like
to do, but we just don’t have the time. We have to get out—we can’t spend another night here.”

“You’re right about that.” One of the soldiers, whose name was Chess, joined them. “We had a dozen troops with full-auto M4s, and they were wiped out by those things. And we have less to defend ourselves now.”

The soldier turned and looked back at the creators of the plague that gave the world the foamers. “You know, if these two are responsible, as you say, I’ll gladly shoot ‘em for you.”

At that moment, Kath realized what the whole “trial” had been about. It wasn’t about guilt or innocence, or about presenting the evidence to those not fully aware of the impact these two had on the downfall of mankind. It was about easing one’s conscience before the execution.

Can we do this?
She asked herself. She knew the group from Twin Falls hadn’t survived without their share of killing, and not just foamers, she assumed. But these two looked so pitiful. And they were unarmed.

“We can’t shoot unarmed people. We just—”

“Kath, these two, and their kind, have destroyed the entire planet! And you want to show pity on them?” The Tall Man’s distaste was clear.

The president joined the conversation. “For better or worse, we’re the law now. And we have to make tough decisions. There is no tougher decision for anyone who values life than to adjudicate on whether another shall live or die. However, if we grant these two mercy, then our very survival could be in jeopardy.”

“And the longer we dither with this, the more danger we’ll be in if we have to stay the night,” the Tall Man said.

“After all we witnessed at the airport, I can assure you, Charles, I’m for getting out of here as soon as we can.” The president agreed with the Tall Man but understood Kath’s apprehension. “While we discuss our evacuation, why don’t we lock them in the cellar until we come to a conclusion?”

“Yes. We can do that!” Kath jumped at the proposal. “I can padlock the outer door, and there’s a lock on the inside one.”

“Fine. I don’t have the time for this. Let’s just move along, shall we?” The Tall Man couldn’t allow his anger toward Holmes to interfere with their survival plans.

Kath, gave him—
her Chuck—
an affectionate squeeze on the arm. It was a small expression of gratitude, certainly, but his gesture of compromise meant a lot to her. He did it for her, she knew, but remained as tough as old boots in the process.

Men.

W
ith two of
the main culprits in the destruction of mankind safely secured below, the discussion returned in earnest to their evacuation. Aside from Etheridge’s alcohol-fueled rants about needing him and his connections if they wanted to survive, there was little that either man could do. Holmes was well aware that when such high emotion was felt, and none of it positive, it was best to keep quiet. A schemer, he hadn’t given in, but there weren’t a lot of choices for him should he manage to escape. The Tall Man was alert to this predicament, and would be on guard against any attempts by Holmes to talk himself into remaining with the group.

The Tall Man was eager to hear what the president’s travel destination had been, just as the president was interested in their plans. As the Tall Man, Mulhaven, Tom Transky, the pilots of both planes, Chess, and Kath took seats around the kitchen table to consider all options, the Tall Man called Elliot over.

“Take Cindy and go check on the ammo and weapons we have left in the motor home.”

Elliot just stared at the Tall Man. After all he’d been through, all he’d seen? Hell, he was there on the day of the undead outbreak and had been in on every decision since then. The Tall Man had gone out of his way to include him and Allan. He wasn’t about to be relegated.

“Sure, Chuck.” Elliot pulled up another chair at the table. “As soon as we’re finished.”

“Elliot!”

“Yes, Chuck?” While Elliot was just twenty or so years younger, his experience was light years away from the Tall Man’s, but he wasn’t about to give any ground.

“Chuck,” Kath whispered.

He looked back at Kath and saw the look of consternation in her eyes. This was not the time to order others about.

“You’re right, Elliot. Sorry, I’m just at a loss at the moment. With the foamers, the plane almost exploding, you running off, and then on top of it that bastard who had me protect all of this, to make sure it went ahead unimpeded, arrives on our doorstep!” It was the closest to an emotional cry for help as anyone was likely to get from the Tall Man. A good deal rested on his shoulders, and the strain was beginning to show.

“It’s okay, Chuck. We’ll do it after this.” Elliot relaxed his stance, and the brief instant of tension, like the population, vanished.

“You mentioned in the truck that you saw our plane come in and came to investigate, but you didn’t say why.” The president was a shrewd man. Not matter what people said about politics and those like the president and Tom, both had been in the game for many years, and it took more than money to get there.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. President.”

The president abruptly stood, his brow deeply furrowed, his lips pursed firmly inward. “Okay, everybody,
please
… can I have your attention?” He said it loudly enough to be heard in all rooms of the house.

“All of you know what’s happened, but not the full extent. You’ve got some damn good guesses, I’m sure, so allow me to give you the details.” He took a breath as the others from the living room gathered to hear. “The United States, our country, for all intents and purposes no longer exists. It has collapsed, as many other governments have or will. I may be accused of being the captain who abandoned his sinking ship before the passengers were rescued, but after the recent display of treachery within the White House, there were very few I could trust. My duty, therefore, as my good friend Tom Transky pointed out, was to my wife and my children. But—and this is what I want to you to hear—there is no more country, nor does the government function anymore. Therefore, I am no longer president. I, Elias Robert Charles, am no longer the president. I’d be more than pleased if you just call me Bob. And I mean it.” He looked around and made sure that everyone understood before he took his seat again.

The silence that followed was broken by Mulhaven’s lighthearted quip. “Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Bob. I’m Riley.” He threw out a hand.

Once the introductions were over, they returned to the discussion at hand.

“What I meant, Chuck,” Bob continued after the short delay, “is that everyone in your group piled into a single truck and headed out to the airport. Out into the night, and you have already attested to the fact that’s when the foamers are most active. Now, I ask … were you really coming to warn us, or did you perhaps see the plane as your ride out of here?”

“You’re a pretty clued-in guy for a politician,” the Tall Man retorted.

“You have to be at times,” Bob replied. “I only have one question. What did you initially intend to do with the occupants of the plane? You had no idea who it would be. The answer won’t bother me at all. I’m just curious.”

“To be honest, I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” the Tall Man began, “but if it came down to our survival or yours, I would have forced you off the plane or killed you myself.”

The Tall Man was nothing if not honest—and blunt! Kath was taken aback more than the others at the table. She understood by now that the man she’d fallen in love with was no shrinking violet, but to hear his words sent a chill down her back. She knew and believed in the man with a heart as big as his physique, and that’s what counted the most. And with all the foamers about, his cold but practical attitude would be welcome. Of that she was certain.

I
f there were
any doubts about the professionalism and ability of this tall individual, his straightforward reply had laid them to rest. Chess, more than anyone, understood that should a time come when control of this group had to be taken, it wouldn’t be easy. The loyalties within this group would complicate things, as well. But so far, Chess was impressed with their organizational skills and the tactics they employed to survive. Still, he would keep a wary eye out; the status quo could change drastically at any time.

As Elliot listened to further details of how the collapse had unfolded, he felt sick to his stomach to know that this man Ethereidge, now only feet from him, was responsible.

Elliot shook his head. “Asshole!”

“Something the matter, Elliot?” Bob had overheard the younger man’s disapproval.

“Oh, uh … no, no. I was just lost in thought, Mr., err … Bob.”

“About what?”

“I was wondering.” Elliot paused a moment, then had to think quickly. “Did you plan to come here to Prince George to escape the collapse?”

The former president of the United States turned to Tom Transky and indicated that he would be best suited to answer.

“We were on our way to Vancouver,” Tom began. “Our intentions were, and still are, I might add, to go to Graham Island just off the coast. I was looking at a place called Sandspit, which has a small harbor. It’s technically on Moresby Island across the channel, but Graham is the name that stands out on the map. As we crossed into Canadian airspace, out pilot was able to make contact with another pilot, who informed him that Vancouver—the city and the airport— is a disaster zone. We didn’t want to take the risk to fly through to Graham Island if there was trouble at the airport there.”

“I know Graham, but is there an airport big enough for that plane of yours to land?” Mulhaven interjected.

“Our pilot said that in an emergency, he could land at Sandspit Airport, on Moresby. Along with the harbor, that’s why I selected it.”

“What’s so special about this island?” The Tall Man’s interest had been piqued.

“The president and I came upon a theory that these foamers can’t survive the inclement weather of a northern winter. We also believed that placing a barrier between ourselves and these creatures could improve our chances of survival immeasurably—and what better barrier than the sea?” Tom looked around the table and saw everyone nodding. “Food, water, and shelter would be our main concerns, not death by zombie.”

Bob Charles cast an approving gaze at his former chief of staff. Tom hadn’t had to mention the former president at all. It was Tom and Tom alone who had developed and executed the evacuation plan. This was one reason Bob admired him so much. Tom was selfless and went out of his way to include others. He never wanted the limelight—that’s why he’d chosen to work behind the scenes.

“I don’t know anything about this island. Is there housing there? And how do you know about it?” There was more than excitement in the Tall Man’s voice; there was hope.

“Yes, there are houses around Sandspit. I spent some time there as part of a government delegation,” Tom said.

“Graham Island is quite a ways from Vancouver. How did you plan on getting there?” Mulhaven knew the distance from Vancouver to Graham was not much different than that between the island and Prince George.

“We hadn’t planned that far ahead. We didn’t have time, which I’m sure you understand.”

Mulhaven nodded, as did the others around the table. Their current situation didn’t leave room for plans.

“What is it, Chuck?” Kath noticed the Tall Man staring into space.

“This could be it. An island. What’s the population, anyone know? Does it have any agriculture? And this time, Elliot, you need to get out there and check the weapons and ammo, because we might have a whole island to clear out!”

“Right away, Chuck.” It wasn’t an order this time, and they all needed the information. “Cindy, Allan, come with me.”

Mulhaven, an avid collector of information, recounted what he knew of the island. “According to the Internet, the population is about four thousand. It’s very cold. Windswept most of the time, covered in thick pine trees—well, except where they've chopped them down; timber is the major industry. Fresh water is plentiful during the winter, and fish is your only food source. Perhaps if we had a hothouse, we could grow our own food. We might be better off taking a boat to the island. I don’t know who here is able to pilot a boat, but the closer we launch from, the safer it would be. We don’t want a long sea journey.”

Tom agreed with Mulhaven’s description of the island, but added that he didn’t know anything about hothouses or growing vegetables.

“It could be possible with enough heating,” Kath told them as she rifled through a drawer for a map. “Overhead lamps and dual-paned glass. Like the hothouse I have outside.”

“Lamps would mean a generator, and that requires fuel.” Mulhaven, too, showed interest.

“Or wind power like I have.” Kath waved her arm in the direction of the wind turbine that supplied her power. “Prince Rupert would be the best place to go. It’s on the Yellowhead Highway, just under nine hours’ drive from here.”

Mulhaven and the Tall Man leaned over to see where Kath tapped her finger on the map. “What do you think?” the Tall Man asked.

“Well, if we can follow the highway right in, why not?” Mulhaven told the Tall Man.

Right now, neither man was in a mood for long detours. If they were to drive, they would go straight on through. Their only consideration would be supplies.

“I can inform you that as this pestilence has spread, the manufacturing and supply of goods has all but ceased across the country.” Tom Transky confirmed their fears.

“You already have your generator set up. Sandspit may not have what we want.” Ewan, the pilot of the Global Express, spoke up. “Can we dismantle it?”

“Damn good idea. That would work!” The Tall Man smiled for the first time in a while.

“Let’s not lose sight of the goal here. Our aim is to survive. In order to reach that target, we need to make certain we have everything in place to facilitate our transition.” Bob spoke like the president of a nation—which he once was.

The Tall Man liked the positive attitude displayed by the former head of state. More supplies would be needed, and that might mean another day here. But with their futures at stake, there was no choice.

“
W
hat are we doing
, Elliot?” Allan caught up.

“We have to check the weapons and ammo stocks. The president—Bob—and his group were headed for an island off the coast from Vancouver. Chuck and Aunt Kath, even Mulhaven, are excited about the possibility.” Elliot opened the door of the motor home then halted to answer his friend.

Was it three or four months ago we sat and talked about our future and what it would bring?

Fatigue had set in; memories, old and not so old, played on Elliot’s mind more as the days passed. Since this outbreak, he’d witnessed things nobody would easily forget.

But hasn’t it built to this over the last few years?
Elliot knew this to be a fact.

“But you’re not?”

“Well, I’m kinda of two minds. The proposal of using an island as a natural obstruction is a good one. But I’m not sure if an island will support us, y’know?”

“How do you mean ‘support us,’ Elliot?”

“Food, Allan. Food. I don’t know if we can grow food on the island.”

“Do any of us know how to grow food?” Cindy asked. She knew as much about gardening as nuclear fusion.

“Sure, Aunt Kath has grown vegetables ever since she came here.”

“Well, that settles it. We’ll just help Kath to grow the vegetables and stuff.”

“I wish it were that simple, Allan. We’ll probably have to build a hothouse and set the windmill thing up … and all this will take time. Chuck doesn’t want to spend another night here, but we’ll have to in order to gather the necessary supplies, which is why I’m of two minds. We already have the ability to grow food here, right now.” Elliot pointed to the glass hothouse toward the back of the property.

“But the foamers, Elliot. You know we can’t stay here with so many foamers around.”

“Yeah,” Elliot conceded. “It’s just this constant running is getting to me—to us all!”

In the short time they had been here at his aunt’s, Elliot had taken note of her setup. His aunt was well versed in the art of self-sufficiency. She’d always been regarded as the strange one of the family, Elliot’s dad, James, had explained. Elliot couldn’t help but wonder what their family would have to say now.

If they were still alive.

“Well, you’re just as important to this group as Chuck is, Elliot. If you believe we have to stay another night to gather what we need, you’ll just have to tell him—and don’t take no for an answer!” Cindy told him. She had faith in Elliot, maybe more than he had in himself. She would bring out his confidence in time.