VIABLE (32 page)

The sheriff had explained that she had been taken to the hospital by someone called Carl Gant. Newman had targeted him because of his rare blood type. It was Gant’s blood the sheriff had brought to her and asked her to analyze. She didn’t remember Gant’s name but she had recognized him from a photograph the sheriff had shown her. It was the young man who had visited her on campus just after term had begun the previous fall to talk about some screenplay he had been working on. When she had asked the sheriff whether she could contact him to express her gratitude he had told her that Gant had since disappeared. She thought the sheriff had looked awkward, as if he were holding something back, but she hadn’t pursued it. She had had other things on her mind.

A few weeks after she had regained consciousness, when her memories had started to return in earnest, the doctors had broken the news. One of her neighbors had found her mother, maybe a week after it must have happened. She had tripped and fallen down the stairs, and had broken her neck. A random, senseless accident. Alison knew she had been home for Christmas – she had checked her credit card statement for details of the flights she had booked and then called the airline to verify that she had actually flown. It had become important to her to prove that she had seen her mother before she had died, even though she knew it was unlikely she would ever remember what they might have talked about during her final visit. She hadn’t even been at the funeral; she still had not regained consciousness by the time they had buried her. Sometimes when she thought about it she just felt like crying.

The faculty had been incredibly supportive, the dean particularly so. Alison remembered his interest in her research before whatever had happened to her. Now he seemed more curious about her recovery, whether her memory of those missing weeks had returned. Whenever he asked her about it she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was relieved when she told him it hadn’t.

The tall hardwoods opened above her as she made for the entrance to the Life Sciences building. As she walked through the lobby, Ryan, the security guard, stood up, calling her over. A package had been delivered for her while she was giving her lecture. He reached under his desk and handed her a cardboard box, about a foot square, heavily wrapped in packing tape. It was marked for her attention, with instructions that only she should open it. As she rode up in the elevator she examined the label. Austin, Texas. Strange. She wasn’t expecting anything from there.

In the lab she set the box on the table while she went in search of box cutters. Once she had cut her way through the tape she lifted the flaps. Inside was a small cooler box. She lifted it out, setting it on the table. A card was taped to the lid, on which was printed a single word.

Adrenaline.

What could that mean?

She turned the card over, looking for any clue as to who might have sent it, but the back was blank. She released the clasps that held the lid in place. Wisps of vapor snaked out as she lifted it free.

Inside the box, packed in dry ice, were three vials of blood.

HE PULLED THE bike to the side of the road and turned the key in the ignition to kill the engine, removing his helmet. Brushy Creek, just north of Austin. A nice neighborhood. Wide, tree-lined streets, manicured lawns. He checked the mailboxes. There it was. A handsome two story, directly ahead.

For the first time he felt nervous. 

He could just keep going. It was only two hundred miles to the border; he could be there in three hours. He planned to cross the Rio Grande at Laredo. Eagle Pass was closer but it was a smaller town, and he was more likely to be noticed. After three months he didn’t think anybody would still be checking for him at the borders but it was hard to be sure.

Datacore had been shut down, its records transferred back to the government, the various initiatives it had enacted, including the genetic tagging program, suspended. He had pulled the motherboards from the servers he had found at Newman’s penthouse on his way back to the roof, carefully removing all references to himself before handing the files over to Lars to give to the FBI. But for him it was too late. The military already had his DNA on record. Besides, all the information that linked the various lives he had led was still out there, just waiting for someone to look in the right places and put it all together. There was nothing he could do about that. 

A nationwide manhunt had been launched for the men who had worked for Newman, and was still under way. Given that he had been operating for almost half a century the FBI had anticipated having to track down scores of former operatives. But once the search had begun it quickly became apparent that there would be no need. None of the men who had left Newman’s service had survived more than a few months beyond their retirement, each dying shortly afterwards in a variety of accidents. Some of the active teams had been apprehended, but most were still at large. They were all well-trained, experienced operatives, practiced at avoiding detection by law enforcement. He suspected that by now most of those who had not already been arrested had left the country.

He had seen to it that the teams responsible for Fitzpatrick’s and Carla’s deaths and for the death of Alison’s mother had not escaped, however. He had not been prepared to leave their fate to chance. Each deserved the end they would ultimately have received at Newman’s hand, but he had spared them that. The files on the motherboards had divulged their locations and he had left each of the men outside the nearest FBI office, bound and gagged, a little the worse for wear but otherwise unharmed. 

He had met with Henrikssen only once since. The sheriff had managed to recover the St. Christopher medal from the items the highway patrol had found scattered in the desert near Salt Wells, after Newman’s men had first tried to abduct him. Henrikssen had told him that Joseph Brandt had been released from prison and was likely to receive a record settlement for the time he had spent in jail. Not that it would matter. He might be out of prison but Brandt was likely to remain in an institution of some sort for the rest of his life.

At least Alison seemed to have recovered well. The sheriff was keeping an eye on her. She still didn’t remember anything of her ordeal, which was probably for the best. He hoped the blood he had sent would lead to the breakthrough with her research she had been hoping for.

So it was time. He wasn’t sure how long he might be gone. He wasn’t even sure if he was ever coming back. But there was one thing he needed to do before he left. How often had he placed his life in the hands of the men he had served with, and asked them in turn to place their lives in his? It had been a mistake to walk away from all of those lives afterwards. Nevertheless he sat on his bike in front of the house for a long time. Finally he kicked the stand down and climbed off. As he approached the house he saw an old Ford Bronco sitting in the driveway, its bright red paintwork freshly waxed, its chrome glinting in the afternoon sun.

Life was too short.

At least for some.

***

Want to know more about Cody?

Click
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www.rahakok.com/#!cody-coming-soon/snfss
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But before you go…

It’s hard to overstate how important reviews are to an indie author who’s just starting out, so if you enjoyed Viable and you have a moment to spare could I ask you to post one? If you flip to the last page you should automatically be prompted to give a rating. I think Amazon wants twenty words or more, but if you click either of the links below you should be able to make it even shorter.

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Among Wolves (A Children of the Mountain Novel)

It has been ten years since the Last Day, and the Juvies huddle inside the mountain, waiting for the world to thaw. But outside the storms still rage, and supplies are running low. Kane says they are the Chosen Ones, but sixteen-year-old Gabriel isn’t so sure.

Then while out scavenging Gabriel finds a bloodstained map. The blood’s not a problem, nor for that matter are the frozen remains of the person it once belonged to. Gabriel’s used to seeing bodies; there’s far worse to be found in any Walmart or Piggly Wiggly you care to wander into. Except this one he recognizes. It shouldn’t be here. Now all Gabriel can think of is how he’s going to get back to the mountain and let Kane know what he’s found.

But Gabriel’s troubles are only just beginning. For things are not as they seem in Eden, and soon he will face a much larger problem: how to get Mags and the other Juvies out.

Available on Amazon and at
www.rahakok.com
.