The REM Precept Page 7

  Kovic’s eyebrows raised, along with the device in his hand. He gave it a little wave and said, “Do you really want to go down that road? Just sit your ass in the chair. The sooner we got on with it, the sooner you’ll be out of here.”

  No way he’s letting me go after this, thought Alex. He looked at Frankenstein’s chair in the corner, cords stretching out like tentacles from the arms and legs and headrest, all running to chirping machines on the desk that were no doubt designed to give the agent exactly what he wanted: the location of the others. And that was the last thing Alex wanted the agency to know.

  But as Alex stared into the wired-up chair, then back at an impatient Kovic, he quickly realized he didn’t have a choice in the matter. Maybe, he hoped, he could resist whatever tricks Kovic had up his sleeve. After all, didn’t he still have willpower? The ability to choose what Kovic could or couldn’t see through his mind’s eye?

  Maybe. Maybe not.

  The uncertainty of what was to come made Alex’s knees weak. Hesitantly, he took a seat in the improvised lab chair, the lump in his throat throwing a hitch in his voice. “Well,” he said looking up at the agent, “do your worst.”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Freeman,” Kovic said as he secured the captive. “It’ll be over before you know it.” Alex gripped the armrests with sweaty palms as Kovic wrapped a nylon strap around each of his wrists, giving each one an extra tug before moving on to his ankles. Alex looked at the kneeling agent and quipped, “While you’re down there, why don’t you go ahead and give them boots a polish?” Kovic responded with an extra tug of the strap securing Alex’s legs, almost cutting off the circulation. Alex grunted, and Kovic smirked.

  “All right, tough guy,” Alex said. “I ain’t going anywhere. What now? Dull knives and blowtorches?”

  The agent reached for the device lying on the bed and said, “Now I need you to wear this.”

  “What is it?”

  “The content-delivery system. Think of it as a virtual reality headset. I’m going to show you some images, and you’re going to respond to them.”

  “What kind of images?”

  “Images that are going to help us find your friends and bring them in safely. That’s it.”

  Skeptically, ‘That’s it?”

  “Yep. And once we’re done here, we can talk about finding a way to get your life back.”

  Alex didn’t believe a word of it, but he played along anyway. Hell, he had to. Kovic placed the device over his eyes and pulled the straps tight on each side, then flipped a switch. A green light shone from the device, tracing blurry figure eights on the display as Alex looked from the floor to the ceiling then back again, evaluating his new virtual surroundings while Kovic pulled up a program on one of the laptops.

  “All I see is green. Like staring into a traffic light.”

  “The program is still booting. Give it a minute.”

  The light wasn’t blinding, but it was still intense enough to cause Alex’s eyes to burn. “Well hurry it up, would ya? You take much longer and I won’t be able to see a damn thing.” Alex heard Kovic walk across the room, rustle through a bag, and walk back over. “We need to start an IV,” he said.

  “An IV? What the hell for?”

  “For the drug I’m about to administer to you, Mr. Freeman.” Alex couldn’t see it, but Kovic already had his gloves on, needle in hand, a fresh saline bag duct taped and hanging from the open closet door.

  “You didn’t say anything about any drug. And if you think that’s gonna get me to talk—”

  “For the last time, I’m not trying to get you to talk. In fact, I don’t want you to talk.” He thumped Alex’s forearm to draw a vein. “Just shut up and sit there.” Alex felt a pinch and winced. Damn needles. He’d never cared much for them, which was probably why he spent two weeks out of the year fighting off the flu instead of sucking it up for half a second to get a flu shot. But as soon as the pinch had caught Alex off-guard, a cool sensation rushed through the inside of his arm and numbed the sting.

  “What are you giving me?” he asked.

  “That’s just saline,” Kovic said, his eyes now fixed on the laptop again. “We’ll let that drip a minute, make sure you’re nice and hydrated.”

  “Then what?”

  The keyboard clicked loudly as Kovic tapped ENTER, and the program started. Instantly, the green glow of thousands of pixels turned into a high-definition montage of images that were hard to decipher, like a fast-turning kaleidoscope, impossible to lock onto one image before another came along to take its place.

  At first, it made Alex dizzy. But soon he had adjusted to the seemingly innocuous lightshow, even taking delight in the fact that instead of being waterboarded or having his fingernails pulled out one by one, he was being treated to a high-definition movie night.

  He chuckled and asked, “Is this it? This is your way of finding out where the others are? I mean seriously, what is this shit?”

  The heckling continued as Alex felt the agent grab his wrist again. “What now? Truth serum?”

  Kovic was silent. He pushed the drug into the port and watched the opaque fluid turn the clear line a creamy yellow. Once it hit Alex’s arm, the captive stopped laughing.

  Nervously, “Wh-what is this?” he asked.

  “This, Mr. Freeman, is Ocula 2.0. Surely you’ve heard about it.”

  The once-obfuscated images swirling before Alex’s eyes instantly sharpened. Everything was clear now. So terrifyingly clear. Then came the voices, the sounds. My God, he wondered. What’s gotten into my head? His eyes widened. Sweat dripped down his brow. He gripped the armrests tightly, fingers digging in and almost tearing them off the frame.

  The agent had lied about the content—no surprise there. But did he really understand how detrimental such a scenario could be? If he—or the agency, for that matter—truly had any use for the outliers alive, then no, he didn’t understand what he was doing here at all.

  “The others,” Alex moaned. “I’ve … I’ve got to … to tell the others …”

  “Don’t worry so much, Mr. Freeman. I know all of this seems bad at the moment, but trust me. You’ll be asleep in no time.”

  That was exactly what Alex was afraid of.

  Chapter 8:

  Daybreak

  Back at the cabin, Paul sat in a rocker and dozed off in the cool of the night, feet on a wooden-spool-turned coffee table, crickets and katydids loud with the soundtrack of summer filling the dark woods, cheek-in-palm and head propped up precariously on the arm of the chair. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, but there was no point in going to bed. Sleep had been hard to come by over the last six months, and was typically brought on by pure exhaustion. Even then, twenty minutes here, an hour there was about all Paul could hope for.

  This time was no different. A twig snapped in the woods and woke Paul with a start, eyes sharp as he tried quickly to focus. In front of him, past the first big oak about ten yards from the porch, a glowing white silhouette was walking toward him. He rubbed his eyes and looked again.

  It was Michelle.

  She was wearing a nightgown; the one Paul had said was his favorite, and for obvious reason. The flattering cut of lace and silk paired perfectly with his wife’s long, dirty-blonde hair and hazel eyes, and accentuated her best feminine attributes as she moved closer, walking casually toward her husband. Soon, she was on the porch, standing right in front of him. Paul stood and asked, “What are you doing here?”

  She took his hands in hers. “I want you to know, sweetie, that I love you. That Aaron loves you. That you’re going to come back to us, and that everything’s going to be all right.”

  “I don’t understand. How can you be here now? I was sure the CIA took you. That something bad had happened.” He anxiously looked around. “Where’s Aaron? Is he here, too? What happened to you two—”

  “None of that matters now. All that matters is that your family loves you. I want you to know that, okay?” She dropped his hand
s and drifted away as Paul reached out, begging her to come back.

  “Michelle, wait! Don’t leave, please! Don’t—leave …”

  Paul continued to cry out, but as Michelle floated back it was clear that she couldn’t hear him. She was past the big oak now, moving backwards toward the stream, her glowing silhouette casting sparkles atop the trickling water before fading back into the dark woods.

  “Michelle, WAIT!” He tried to go after her, but he couldn’t take a step, couldn’t move a muscle. It was as if he were paralyzed, locked in place. His mouth opened to call to her once more, but even that had been muted now. He was lost in the void, wondering if anyone would ever, could ever, hear his pleas.

  A few shakes and a slap on the face later, and Paul soon realized that someone had. It was Claire, standing in front of him, grabbing his shoulders and ordering him to wake the hell up.

  “It’s all right, it’s all right,” she said. “You’re having a nightmare. It’s not real. It’s just a nightmare.”

  Paul shut his eyelids hard, then opened them again, certain that this time he was back in the real world. “What time is it?” he asked.

  “6:05,” she said as she took a seat in the porch swing near him.

  “Sun’ll be up soon.”

  “Mhmm,” Claire said. “Mind if I sit out here with you for a bit?”

  Paul didn’t. The vision he’d had of Michelle had rattled him, and at the moment, he figured he could use some company. Soon, the first hints of sunlight peeked out from the forested hills on the horizon, the burnt oranges and reds spreading across the morning sky while slowly replacing the cool cobalt and navy tones of the Blue Ridge Mountains below. Paul and Claire watched the dark turn to dawn as they stared into the woods, Claire surveying the area and planning an escape route; Paul imagining Alex stumbling down the ridge, back from a flat tire or running out of gas or some other calamity that could explain his disappearance.

  But for Paul, there was nothing. Just long shadows on the forest floor, broken up by the occasional bird or squirrel darting by. No Alex. No return. And of course, no ride out.

  Claire stood to walk inside. “We should be ready to go soon. That is, if I can wake Fenton up.”

  “How long’s he been out?”

  “Too long,” Claire said. “I’ve never seen someone who could down that much Red Bull and then sleep through the night.”

  “Teenagers, right? I remember being that way. Some things never change.”

  Claire said, “Even in life-or-death situations, apparently.” The teen’s ears must have been burning, because Claire barely got the comment out before Fenton joined them outside. Donny followed.

  “We ready to blow this joint or what?” Donny said.

  Fenton said, “I know I am. Whose genius idea was it to get a cabin without any hot water?”

  “Cry me a river, kid,” Donny said. ‘That’s what happens when you spend the better part of an hour in the bathroom.”

  “All right, children,” Claire said. “Let’s save the bickering for later.” She knelt to tighten her shoelace, then said, “It’s about three miles to town. Shouldn’t take too long, but we’ll need to avoid the main roads and highways.”

  Paul asked, “What are you thinking? Stay in the woods but stick close to the roads?”

  “I think that’s our best bet,” Claire said. “We just need to do our best to stay out of sight, at least until we get into town.” She turned to Fenton. “You think you can get us another car?”

  “Another car?” Donny said. “What are you asking him for?”

  “We got lucky last time,” Claire said. “Just trying to work out plans B and C in my head. That’s all.”

  Donny was about to mouth off again when they heard something. A snap, the unmistakable sound of a stick breaking below a person’s foot in the woods, up the ridgeline on the other side of the creek.

  “You hear that?” Fenton asked.

  “Shhh,” Paul said. He pointed up the hill, drawing the group’s attention to a shadowy figure near the top.

  “What is it?” Claire whispered.

  “Not sure.” Paul’s eyes narrowed as he tried to get a better look. The figure was short and low to the ground. It moved gracefully between trees, staying in the shadows, advancing with a stealth that would impress any special forces operator. The closer it got, the more Paul realized that there was no way this thing was human. One misstep by the figure into the sunlight cutting through the trees, and his suspicions were confirmed.

  “Jesus, it’s a mountain lion,” he said.

  “Really?” Astonished, Fenton stepped to the edge of the porch to get a better look.

  “Yeah, kid, a mountain lion,” Donny said. “I don’t know if you noticed, but we are in the mountains.”

  “Give him a break,” Paul said. “I’ve always heard the things are up here, but still, it’s weird.” He turned to Claire and asked, “Aren’t mountain lions endangered?”

  “In Florida, maybe,” she said. “But you’re talking about panthers there. Personally, I’ve never heard of any credible mountain lion sightings in Georgia.” She looked up the hill at the ever-advancing cat, its tan coat now clearly visible at a hundred yards out. “And it doesn’t seem to be bothered by us in the least.”

  “Maybe it hasn’t seen us yet?” Donny said.

  “What I’m wondering is why we’re still whispering over a stupid cat,” Fenton said. He stepped off the porch, made a megaphone with his hands, and yelled, “HEY, YOU! YEAH, YOU, YOU STUPID CAT! GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE, WOULD YA?”

  “Have you lost your mind?” Claire asked.

  “What? You really want that thing getting any closer?”

  “Weird,” Donny said as the big cat continued its advance. “All that yelling, and it didn’t even faze it. Not one bit.”

  “He’s right,” Paul said. “Damn thing’s still heading this way. What do you make of that, Claire?” He turned to get her response, only to see her eyes fixed on the gravel parking space adjacent to the cabin, face white as a ghost. Paul followed her eyes and quickly shut his mouth.

  It was another mountain lion, crouched and tense, front paws digging into the gravel and ready to pounce.

  “My God,” Paul said. He looked back at Donny, who was closest to the door. Silently, Donny made a pistol with his thumb and index finger to inquire about a gun, and Paul immediately regretted leaving it in one of the duffel bags. He turned to Claire, who had apparently had the same thought and was slowly unzipping her backpack.

  “Easy, Claire,” Paul spoke softly as the sound of the painstakingly slow zipper seemed to agitate the predator even more. It crouched lower as it licked its chops, shoulders tight, tail swaying behind it like a pendulum as it carefully timed its next move. Any second now.

  Finally Claire’s hand found the grip of her pistol. She turned to Paul and whispered, “Run.”

  “What are you doing, Claire?”

  “RUN!”

  The cat pounced, closing the twenty-yard span between the parking space and the porch in the blink of an eye. Claire unloaded the clip, firing as fast as she could pull the trigger at the oncoming animal while Donny jerked the door open and dove back into the cabin. Fenton followed, leaving Paul frozen behind Claire as the mountain lion made its final lunge toward the two. He closed his eyes as Claire fired her last round into the beast’s chest—a perfect shot to the heart. The hundred-pound cat’s lifeless body came crashing down onto Claire, knocking her to the floor of the porch and covering everything but her head and hands.

  “Holy shit, get this thing off me!”

  Paul pulled the dead animal toward him and Claire rolled out the other side. Still in shock and now sporting fresh feline blood on her shirt, she asked, “What in the hell is going on here?”

  There wasn’t time for an answer. They turned to look toward the creek as the other mountain lion splashed across the shallow waters in a half sprint. It was heading right toward them.

  “I
nside!” Paul yelled as they both stumbled back into the cabin. Fenton slammed the door behind them, and within seconds the sounds of heavy paws on old creaking floorboards could be heard coming from just outside the door.

  “You okay, Claire?” Donny asked.

  “I’ll live,” she said, struggling to catch her breath.

  “This is insanity,” Fenton said. “Why are they attacking us?”

  “I don’t know,” Paul said, “but we can’t leave like this.” The big cat pawed at the door, then stood on its hind legs to peek in one of the windows. Unable to see through the grimy glass of the dirty cabin window, it fell back to all fours and paced the porch, waiting.

  “I don’t think this thing is leaving anytime soon,” Paul said. He turned to Claire. “How much ammunition you got left?” She ruffled through her backpack before realizing Alex had driven off with the rest of the ammo. “Son of a bitch,” she said. “That was my last clip. You?”

  Paul checked his bag and said, “One, and it’s not full. Looks like five rounds left.”

  “Five rounds,” Fenton repeated. “That should be enough, right?”

  “I fired thirteen rounds into the last one and barely stopped it.”

  More pawing at the door.

  “Honestly,” she said, “I’m not sure how much longer we’ve got before that thing’s in here with us. And I really don’t want to stick around to find out.”

  She had barely finished her sentence when Fenton nervously said, “Um, guys,” and pointed to a window on the far side of the cabin. Another mountain lion had caught their scent. The big cats now had the cabin flanked from both sides.

  Claire turned to Paul. “This isn’t normal.”

  “You think?”

  “These things don’t hunt in packs,” she said. “They’re solitary animals.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying there’s more to this than a natural encounter.”

  Donny stepped in. “You think it’s got something to do with Ocula?”

  “Exactly. We already know the effect isn’t limited to people, and those effects are precisely what landed Alex on the cover of all those hunting magazines last year. And since he’s the only one who isn’t here—”