IENDE Read online

  Kyle jumped from the car and scuttled up behind Victor. The sound of the waves breaking comforted him but stood in opposition to everything that was happening. He imagined soldiers at war, storming positions, surrounded by the beauty and peace of nature yet unable to grab more than a moment to take it in, for their fate was controlled by the greed of the few individuals in charge. Kyle inhaled the beauty deeply, as if it were a final breath.

  Victor placed his hand on the gear and nodded to Kyle.

  Kyle scanned the glass façade of the house, fearful that Remmie would somehow end up in the path of the car. Visibility was limited, but he could see the outline of an empty table and chairs. Then the edge of the ramp caught his eye.

  There was no way this could work. The car would just jam into the deck, go nowhere. World’s stupidest plan. “Is this angle okay? What if the car gets hung up? That ramp is not much wider than the car, from this angle I mean.”

  “There’s a good chance it’ll make it. Either way, it’ll distract. Besides—” Victor pulled the flash grenade from his backpack. “We’ve always got plan B.”

  Victor’s phone vibrated again. It was go time. He used a stick to tip the block onto the gas pedal. Kyle pulled at Victor’s shoulders as Victor pushed himself out of the car. He fell on top of Kyle, who gasped.

  “Sorry, man,” Victor said.

  “It’s . . . okay.”

  The car kicked up sand as it barreled toward the deck. The front-left wheel slammed into the edge of the ramp, but the right wheel gripped the surface, and the Mercedes plowed up onto the deck. The car hurled aside a few chairs and an umbrella before careening over a couple of steps, bouncing like a lowrider. A cherry-bomb bang shot from one of the tires as the car plowed through the sliding glass door and part of a window, disappearing into the house. There were more crashes.

  No screams.

  “A shame,” Kyle said. “Such a nice place.”

  “Was. Let’s go!” Victor sprinted toward the house.

  Kyle followed Victor for a few paces, then veered toward the north edge of the house. He watched Victor dart toward the ruins of the sliding door, the grenade in his hand.

  A subtle click, a blinding flash, and Kyle’s senses were stretched to form a long tunnel. It was like switching off an old tube TV, the entire picture of reality coalescing to a point and disappearing on a blank screen. Thought and emotion ceased to exist. But the sound of ocean waves crashing gradually increased like an approaching train. Then a pop echoed in Kyle’s stunned ears—a gunshot. A cold burning fuse traveled up his lower back. Could Victor have been shot, or did he shoot?

  The fuse reached his brain. “Remmie!” He pulled the gun from his backpack and dashed into the house.

  The sound of the Mercedes’ wheels still spinning and the motor revving overshadowed all other sound but the ringing in Kyle’s ears. The car was hung up against the front wall. Glass littered the floor. And there stood Rachael and Victor, pointing guns at each other. Samuel was sitting on the floor, blood on his leg. Jack stood over him with a gun to Samuel’s temple.

  “Drop the gun, Kyle,” Rachael said, her gun still on Victor.

  Kyle looked at his gun. He didn’t let go, but his arm fell limp.

  Victor said to Rachael, “You won’t shoot me. We used to share a common cause.”

  “We never shared a cause.”

  Kyle caught Samuel’s eye and raised his brow.

  “It’s okay, it just grazed my leg,” Samuel said. “She wasn’t shooting to kill.”

  “This is over, Kyle,” Jack said. He motioned to the Mercedes. “Drop the gun and go shut that noisy thing off.”

  Kyle paused, wondering where everybody else was. Where was Remmie? Were they somehow expected? This was not over. He had a responsibility to Remmie, to Victor and Samuel, not to get captured.

  Kyle said to Victor, “She can’t kill you. I’ve got your back.”

  Rachael hesitated, her hand trembling. Victor lunged his body into hers, and they fell to the floor. Jack turned his gun on Victor and Rachael. Kyle pointed his gun at Jack as Samuel spun his body around, leaping from the floor and firing an uppercut to Jack’s jaw on the way up. Jack dropped to the floor.

  Rachael let out an eardrum-puncturing shriek as Victor subdued her. Kyle thought he would be deaf after this was over. Rachael spat at Victor, kicked, and bit at his arm.

  He turned her over. “Kyle, help me here.”

  But Kyle hesitated. Where was Remmie? Where was Eli? Something wasn’t right.

  “Kyle!” Victor said. “We need to tie her up. I have disposable cuffs in my cargo pocket.”

  Kyle rushed to Victor and pulled out the cuffs.

  “Hold her feet,” Victor said.

  Kyle grabbed at Rachael’s feet. She head-butted Victor in the chin. He pulled back. There was blood.

  Kyle struggled to keep her legs in check. She reminded him of a flailing cat he’d tried to pick up as a kid. Victor got the cuffs on Rachael’s hands. They rolled her on her side. She sat up, teeth bared, makeup flowing down her face.

  Jack sat up, muddled, massaging his chin. Victor tied Jack’s hands with twine. Kyle wanted to ask about Remmie.

  Rachael got to her feet, pulling at her bindings, her face straining. “All this time you thought the entire world was under control. You ingrate! Your brother knew better. Anita knew better. But you wouldn’t accept it. And why, Victor, why? Because that would mean—”

  “Be quiet. You turned on me.”

  Kyle had never seen anyone so angry as Rachael. But he was angry too, and, he realized, had been for much of his life, angry because he had always been afraid. And he was angry now because he was afraid of losing Remmie. Of losing himself. He felt sympathy for Rachael, recognizing that it had probably taken a lot of loss, pain, and fear to bring her to this moment.

  “Is that why you left me, Victor?” Rachael said. “Deep inside you know it’s true. I can see it on your face. You remember our experiment? You know the one . . .”

  Victor was silent, fearful, throwing his gaze away from Rachael. Kyle wondered if Victor still loved her. He’d been rough on her when he tied her up, more than he should have been. That could have been fear, though.

  “You always thought those signals were emanating from us—those without Malclenersy. But you based your research on Anita, and she had Malclenersy, like you, like everyone in your family. It was her tumor that made her appear different. The Dames aren’t active except in you, those with Malclenersy—but not to control. You have a condition that would’ve killed you at birth if it weren’t for the Dames. They bridge the gaps that Malclenersy creates.”

  Victor’s shoulders straightened, a hostile figure towering over her. “No.”

  Kyle instinctively took a step toward Victor, as if Victor was going to do something to her. Victor caught Kyle’s approach and his features calmed. And what was Kyle doing? What was going on between those two was none of Kyle’s business. But he didn’t want Victor to do something stupid. And Rachael didn’t deserve it.

  “You activated that kid,” Rachael said, “Ron, and when you tried to reverse it . . . Once you’re active you can’t go back. But in Anita?”

  Victor stepped back from Rachael, wavering on his feet. His gun fell from his hand, which had developed a tremor. Kyle wondered if it was as much her mere presence as it was her words. She drew closer to Victor’s face. Kyle, again feeling compelled to intervene, motioned to Samuel, but Samuel returned a look as if to suggest that Kyle stay out of it. And Kyle knew they all needed to hear what Rachael had to say because he could feel she was telling the truth.

  Rachael pulled at her bindings again, arm muscles flexing, veins puffing in her neck. She spoke through clenched teeth. “I’ve learned a lot since joining Mr. Sands. You were always a paranoid one, Victor . . . afraid you were being watched, cheated. Your emotion always trumped your brilliant scientific mind. You said you found mathematical sequences, related via a greater sequence. Those with M
alclenersy exhibit one sequence. But there are three states, aren’t there—seeker, dormant, and active?”

  Victor’s eyes met hers, his face drawing to hers.

  “You thought those with Malclenersy were dormant,” she said. “You got the sequences wrong.”

  “No. You’re trying to deceive me—them.” Victor gestured toward Kyle and Samuel.

  “If Mr. Sands were an alien, with such technology, why would he have needed you, a lowly human, to help figure out why those with Malclenersy bypass the Dames? C’mon . . . if you take your theory and put it next to the truth—the truth your own brother believes. Once you’re activated you can’t go back. You activated Ron, and you thought you switched him back but you didn’t. When you applied the same procedure to Anita . . . Victor, she had a tumor from the time she was a child. It masked the Malclenersy. She didn’t exhibit symptoms.” Rachael moved so close to Victor’s face it appeared as if she was going to kiss him. “You signaled the Dames in her to go back to their base state—seeker. Not all of the Dames in Anita were active, because of the tumor, but the inactive ones still played a role in bridging the gaps Malclenersy created. You switched them off, breaking the gap in enough of them that Malclenersy killed Anita.”

  “If you know so much about the sequences, then why do you need me?” he said. “Why haven’t you activated the Dames already? And what did you do with Ron? Surely his disappearance wasn’t coincidence.”

  “We only know there’s a sequence because you discovered it.” Rachael’s voice was now soft, sensual. “The only data point we have is the pattern those with Malclenersy exhibit, but that’s useless without knowing how to relate the sequences, switch states. You know that because you built the technology that can change their state. You’re the only one who knows the design. And Ron? No, it wasn’t coincidence. You never got over what happened to him, did you?” Rachael’s voice hardened again. “You felt responsible, and that’s because you were. You were responsible for Anita too.”

  “Anita didn’t have Malclenersy.”

  “Think about all the knowledge, all the assumptions that have gotten you to this point—driven you to believe what you do—and compare them to the evidence. It doesn’t add up.”

  Kyle was mesmerized by Rachael’s words. It all made sense. He believed Rachael, and he could sense that Victor was beginning to believe her too.

  “But she didn’t have Malclenersy,” Victor said.

  “She did. What do you think the Dames do in unnatural tissue? You looked at her tumor . . . that’s where you found them, in their dormant state, as they always were in her tumor tissue. She had a mixed batch, so your tests led you to believe she wasn’t like you. It only took a moment of cutting the ties for her to die.” Tears beaded in Rachael’s eyes, her voice shaky. “She just shut down.”

  Victor’s limbs seemed to hang. He was broken. He leaned to Rachael as if he was going to kiss her, as if he desired her comfort, her forgiveness, her support.

  She jerked away. “You killed her. You killed your sister, you stupid fuck! And you left me because you thought I was under control . . . You didn’t love me. You’re paranoid by nature. You could have just as easily conjectured something entirely different. You’re a scientist, for God’s sake. You believed something that was never proven, and you were so sure, so damned sure. You needed to be sure, otherwise the blood of two innocent people would be on your hands.”

  Victor sat on the floor and crossed his legs, looking off toward the waves. His gun sat beside him. His upper body arched, dangling over his legs. What Rachael said was true, and Victor was on the verge of fully accepting it.

  “You always questioned why they functioned the way they did in Anita,” she said. “When you told me you didn’t love me? You made me crazy.” Rachael stomped her foot. “Those with Malclenersy—the Dames are active in you, Eli, Kyle, Remmie, and Mr. Sands. They’re keeping you alive.”

  Victor perked up at the suggestion that Mr. Sands had Malclenersy. But that made sense to Kyle.

  “Your genetic code activates them, but they aren’t able to control, only bridge,” Rachael said. “They’re a pass-through. But Malclenersy is the key to activation. I don’t have Malclenersy, the reason your crazy ass left me, but I know it was an excuse. You never loved me. I was just a moist hole to stick your dick in!”

  “Enough,” Samuel said. “This is done.”

  A man burst from the kitchen with a hobble—Rich. Kyle was subsumed by a shock not far from the experience of the flash grenade. Rich turned his gun on Samuel. Rich’s finger began to pull at the trigger. Kyle, fueled by primal instinct, abruptly raised his gun and shot at Rich—once, twice.

  The recoil pushed Kyle’s arm up like a living thing, and the first two bullets missed. Rich turned his gun on Kyle.

  But Kyle’s body quickly adapted to the recoil and the third bullet found Rich’s stomach. The last, his chest. He fell backwards onto his back, his gun bouncing from his hand, the breath leaving his body in an abrupt hiss that stabbed Kyle’s ears.

  Kyle fell to his knees, his muscles limp. A feverous ache permeated every limb. He put down the gun and drew in a bottomless breath.

  “Shake it off, Kyle,” Samuel said. “You had to.”

  Rich began coughing, choking. Blood and saliva foamed from his open mouth. Victor grabbed his gun and wiped his eyes. Rachael’s gaze fell on Rich.

  Kyle felt like he was going to pass out.

  Victor slapped him on the neck and pulled him to his feet.

  “Breathe through your nose, man,” Victor said.

  Kyle calmed his breathing. He knelt next to Rich, who was taking rapid, shallow breaths, his eyelids drawing back. His mouth opened further. His breaths quickened. A fly landed on his forehead. Kyle waved it away and looked over Rich’s bullet wounds, wounds that Kyle had put there. He looked at Samuel and then Rachael, tears carrying the last remnants of mascara down her face. Kyle then looked to Victor as the car finally stalled, leaving only the sound of breaking waves and Rich’s weakening breaths.

  Rich inhaled deeply, wheezy, bubbly, then became silent.

  Kyle pushed to his feet, stepping back, watching Rich’s wide, lifeless eyes.

  “Kyle, look at me,” Victor said.

  Kyle felt as if he were watching himself from somewhere far away. He looked at Victor.

  “You did what you had to do to protect us,” Victor said. “I saw the look in Rich’s eye. He would have shot Samuel, and then you.”

  Kyle tried to process what Victor was suggesting, but it didn’t matter. He no longer knew who he was.

  “Now I gotta stop the activation,” Victor said. He lifted his gun. “And you’re going to help me.” He looked around at every one in turn, his demeanor that of a hostile stranger. “You’re all going to help me.”

  Kyle wondered if Victor’s only remaining purpose was to somehow right his wrong. Kyle wasn’t going to ask, for he now had a wrong of his own to carry. He took one last look at Rich, fell to his knees, and puked what little was in his stomach.

  Victor grabbed Kyle’s shirt and yanked him to his feet.

  “We need to get out of here,” Victor said. “We need to get Samuel fixed up.” He said to Rachael, “Where is Mr. Sands? Where are the others?”

  “I have nothing to say to you,” she said.

  Kyle again functioned on instinct; too much emotion and he would shut down. Remmie again became his single point of focus.

  Samuel hobbled to Jack and pointed his gun at Jack’s head. “Tell us what’s going down, or I will hurt you.”

  “They left,” Jack said, still fazed from Samuel’s uppercut. “They found the bug you planted on Anthony, otherwise they’d still be here. Tommy found it this morning, early. I know they’re headed to Mexico, but that’s all I know. And that’s assuming Mr. Sands was telling the truth. That’s all Rachael knows, too. It would have been too risky otherwise.”

  “That seemed too easy.” Victor said.

  “It doesn�
��t matter,” Rachael said. “Mexico’s a big country and not an easy one to gather intelligence in.”

  “Was this all a setup?” Samuel said.

  “Yes, but we weren’t expecting you so soon,” Jack said. “We were supposed to capture you all, unharmed.” He looked at Rich. “This is not how it was supposed to go down.”

  Victor searched Rachael’s pockets. She shook her body and grunted. He pulled out her phone.

  “It’s a prepay,” he said.

  “Pop out the battery,” Rachael said. “It’s hidden there.”

  He removed the battery and a sliver of paper fell out.

  “It’s a sequence of numbers,” Victor said.

  Jack’s and Rachael’s eyes met and Rachael nodded.

  “The papers we were to use . . . to get us all across the border are in the safe. You’re holding the combination.”

  Rachael told Victor that the safe was behind the kitchen pantry. Inside were passports and papers from PNE, Inc. for crossing into Mexico. The passports were for Rachael, Jack, Rich, Victor, and Kyle, but under different names.

  “I know where we’re going,” Victor said. “We’ll take Rachael. We need to get out of here, now.” He said to Samuel, “You need medical help?”

  “Just a good first aid kit. I can take care of it. I was an EMT for three years, you know.”

  “We’ll tie Jack up and leave him here.”

  “What about him?” Samuel said, pointing at Rich.

  Victor motioned to Jack. “He’ll take care of it. Nothing will be reported. It won’t help their cause if law enforcement gets involved in this. Mr. Sands started this. He started it when he approached me years ago. He’s been manipulating things from the beginning.”

  “Blaming others again?” Rachael said.

  Victor turned to her with malevolent eyes to match hers. “Mr. Sands declared war on me, on my family. I’m gonna end it. We’re gonna end it.”