A Heartbeat Away - Michael Palmer [115]
I’ve beaten Ebola.… I’ve outlasted Florence.… I can do this.…
Tears of pain mixed with the sweat and salted his lips. He kept his gaze fixed upward, searching for the end. Then, suddenly, his glove hit metal—the rung of the ladder! Above him, the utter darkness had given way to the gloom of dusk. He bent his head back as much as space would allow and saw the squares of the access grate, silhouetted against a darkening sky.
One rung, then another. Finally, his fingers closed on the heavy steel grate. As Melvin had warned, there was no way he would be able to shove it aside. Clutching the ladder to keep from falling back down the shaft, he cried out to the world overhead.
“Melvin! Forbush, are you there? Get me out of here! Melvin, for God’s sake, help me!”
Griff feared the suit was muffling his cries. He let go with one hand and slammed the base of his palm against the grate. Nothing. Then he heard a motor engage. An instant later, one edge of the heavy obstruction was lifted by a hook he hadn’t noticed, and the grate was dragged clear of the opening. Dizzy with exhaustion, Griff tried to lift himself out of the shaft. But the strength wasn’t there. A pair of hands reached down and grabbed Griff by his wrists.
Melvin!
Forbush lifted him clear of the shaft, disconnected his helmet, and pulled it off.
Gasping, Griff flopped over onto his back and squinted up at the fading light. His chest was heaving, desperately sucking in the wintry air. Forbush next unzipped the biocontainment suit. Underneath it, Griff was wearing only scrubs and booties. He felt a wave of frozen air envelop him, stinging his skin. His sweat instantly cooled, forming a chilling sheen that grew colder every second. Now out of his suit, Griff began shivering.
“You made it, buddy,” Forbush said. “You made it.”
“Yes, he did,” a deep voice said from behind his friend. “Good job, sport. Bloody good job.”
A huge man emerged from the far side of Melvin’s Taurus and slashed the gangly lab assistant across the back of the head with the barrel of a submachine gun. Forbush dropped like an anvil and lay on the frozen ground, rolling from side to side, moaning, and pawing at his head.
The behemoth leveled his gun at a spot between Griff’s eyes.
“Welcome to the world above, Dr. Rhodes,” he said. “You and I have some business to discuss.”
CHAPTER 52
DAY 6
4:00 P.M. (CST)
Matt Fink pulled a tangle of rope from the open trunk of the Taurus and tossed it by Griff’s feet.
“Tie him up,” he ordered.
Melvin had made it unsteadily to his knees. Through the gloom, Griff could see blood cascading around one of his ears and down his neck.
“Shit,” Forbush said. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I said tie him up!”
“How did you know we were here?” Griff asked, stalling, but also desperate to learn the answer.
Genesis had somehow been aware when Angie left the compound. Now, it appeared, they were once again a step ahead.
“I’ll ask the questions here,” the man said. “Now do as I say or I swear, I’ll shoot this jerk in the eye.”
“Why do you need me to tie him up? What do you want with us?”
“Do I look like someone you should be fucking around with, sport? You’re going to tell me where you are headed and why, or things are going to get mighty painful for both of you.”
Griff’s teeth were beginning to chatter. He rubbed at his arms to keep his circulation going. The icy wind was cutting through his thin scrubs like a scalpel.
“Didn’t he bring a jacket for me?” he asked. “I … I need one.”
“My patience is wearing thin, sport. Now, do as I say and you’ll get your jacket. Don’t do it and watch your friend here die a painful death while you become an icicle.”
Griff quickly surveyed their surroundings. To the west was the lab—a series of tiny lights on the horizon, perhaps a quarter of a mile away. To the north and east the flat, frozen ground was interrupted only by the scattered silhouettes of rolled hay. The south, however, held some promise. In fact, the distant farmhouse,