[Anthology] Killer Thrillers Read online

  He opened the panel and looked inside. Standard stuff — each of the breakers was labeled with cryptic text that would only make sense to the electrician who’d installed them.

  67A.

  46-49B + J34.

  It was a good thing he didn’t need to understand any of it. Was there a master anywhere?

  There. At the very top of the panel, right at eye level, was a large breaker that reached almost across the entire width of the panel. He reached for it and pulled it as hard as he could. He felt the pop as the breaker handle hit the other side of the panel, and he thought he could hear a deeper pop from somewhere outside the room.

  The light in the closet stayed on.

  He looked around nervously. What if it didn’t work?

  He made up his mind. He reached up and started flipping off each of the individual breakers, one at a time, as fast as he could. If the master hadn’t actually turned anything off, this certainly would.

  He reached the bottom of the left side and started in on the right, this time working bottom to top. He got faster as he went, now using the palm of his right hand to flick sections off all at once. Somewhere in the middle, he hit the power breaker for the closet he was in, and darkness fell around him. He waited for his eyes to adjust, but they didn’t. It was dark. Even the greenish glow of the heart rate monitor was useless.

  Malcolm reached out again and felt for the rest of the breakers, using his left hand as a guide until he’d turned off the remainder of the switches. Satisfied, he looked down at the monitor waiting patiently next to him, like a pet. He ripped the clip from his finger, and a beeping sound immediately echoed from the machine. He spun the cart around, looking for a power switch.

  There, on the top of the back panel, he found it. A standard I/O computer button. He pressed it, letting out a deep breath as the machine died. For good measure, he tried to hide it behind the mops and buckets that stood in a corner. It wasn’t spy-worthy, but it at least wouldn’t be immediately noticeable.

  Now, he had to get out of the building. He assumed some doctors and other night staff would be around soon, checking in on him until the backup generators turned on. He guessed he had less than a minute to get out.

  Voices called out in the hallway.

  “Yeah, I’ll check it out. Probably a brownout or something.”

  “Okay, holler if you need anything.”

  Malcolm waited until footsteps raced past the closed closet door. Just as they receded up and over the bridge-like walkway, he opened the door and looked out. A balding man was jogging down the other side, into the hallway he had been sleeping in for the past six months. The man was only seconds away from realizing that his patient was no longer there.

  Malcolm stepped out into the hallway and started to run, then stopped and stepped back into the closet to grab a mob. He again ran out the door, trying to disconnect the mop head from its handle. As he reached the entrance to the other building, the mop head fell off.

  He ran through the open doors, only pausing to get his bearings. The electricity was out here, too — a good sign, at least until the generators kicked on.

  “Anything?” he heard another man ask. The sound came from just ahead, around the corner.

  Malcolm heard the clicking sound of a walkie-talkie, then the notoriously poor sound quality of another voice from the other end.

  “Nothing. Lights off down here, too.” A pause, then heavy breathing. “Checking in on 0-10-7… what the…” The voice continued breathing, then it shouted. “He’s not here! 0-10-7-5-4 is gone! I repeat —”

  Malcolm had heard enough. He had no idea if there was one man around the corner or twenty, but he took his chances. He flung himself around the end of the hallway, relieved to not have the burden of the heart rate monitor cart.

  A lone young man in his thirties had his back to Malcolm behind a circular desk situated in the middle of an open atrium. This man was not a doctor, Malcolm realized. He was wearing a navy blue suit and black belt.

  Rent-a-cop.

  Malcolm kept running. The atrium around him was beautiful, even without much light. A hundred feet above him, moonlight drifted down through skylights in the building’s ceiling, illuminating large plants, marble-covered floors, and desks in sharp light. It was like a modernist’s interpretation of film noir — shadows cutting through everything as they descended onto the otherwise pristine lobby.

  Malcolm ran past a glass elevator and caught a glimpse of a sign glued to the side of the elevator shaft.

  Floor 2.

  And below it: Drache Global.

  Drache Global — something clicked in Malcolm’s mind. That had been the label on the bag.

  By now, Malcolm was sure the man could hear him coming, but he didn’t turn around. Instead, the rent-a-cop flicked the button on the walkie-talkie and asked again, “Hey, you hear me? What’s up?”

  The doctor tried to respond, but the connection either cut in and out or the doctor was inept at the use of walkie-talkies. The voice flickered. “—Patient… need assistance…” The cop tried to respond again, finally realizing that there were loud footsteps behind him.

  It didn’t matter. Malcolm was now within range of the cop, and he brought the mop handle up and over his head. He felt the burn in his right shoulder as his muscles voiced their discomfort, but he ignored it.

  Malcolm felt a rage building inside him. Six months. My team; my students. Their faces flashed through his mind as the mop handle crashed down on the cop’s head just as he spun around.

  The handle connected with the man’s temple, and a look of shock appeared on both the men’s faces. The act of violence was unlike Malcolm, but he followed through. The mop handle broke in half, but the damage had been done.

  The cop’s head crunched sideways, and he fell from the stool he was on. He managed a quick gurgle of pain, but was silent as he fell to the marble floor. Malcolm dropped his half of the mop handle.

  Without checking to see if the man was alive, Malcolm turned to the elevator. There has to be…

  There. Stairs. Off to the left of the elevator shaft, he saw a small open entrance.

  He went down the stairs two at a time, his body at once excited for the movement it was now allowed as well as struggling to provide it. He reached the bottom and found himself in a similar lobby.

  Floor 1.

  Drache Global.

  No one was at the desk, but he didn’t take any chances. He found a door to the left of the stairs that was labeled L1 - Garage, and pushed it open.

  A sharp snap of air hit him in the face. Six months since I’ve felt fresh air, he realized. He’d been asleep for just about all of that time, but his body knew. He drew in a deep breath and ran outside.

  The parking garage sloped upward, and he now felt the strain on his muscles as he reached freedom. Ahead, he saw cars zipping by. The building must be on a busy road.

  He ran, daring not look back. Closer.

  The edge of the street was tantalizingly close.

  Closer.

  “Hey!”

  He heard the doctor’s voice yelling from behind. “Stop!”

  Closer.

  He reached the exit of the parking garage, thankful that the gate was an unmanned, automated machine. He dodged around it and continued running, forcing his legs to move faster.

  Closer.

  He’d made it. He reached the street, not pausing for traffic. Cars honked and swerved as they sizzled by, but Malcolm didn’t notice.

  He reached the other side, then kept running. Up another busy street.

  On his left, cars raced past him. He held up a hand, waving — pleading.

  Finally a car stopped. Malcolm slowed to a walk as the car’s window rolled down.

  “Need a lift?”

  The voice from inside was that of a middle-aged woman, raspy from a lifetime of smoking. Her hair was tousled, but she wore a huge grin and unlocked the passenger door.

  “P — please.” He didn’t k
now what else to say. “I… I don’t know where to go.”

  The woman smiled larger. “I’d guess that. I’d say we get you some clothes, first.”

  Humiliation surged through Malcolm as he looked down at his body.

  He was completely, utterly naked.

  25

  For what seemed like the hundredth time in two days, Ben drove the truck while Julie snoozed in the passenger seat. As he pulled onto the driveway that he’d known so well for so many years, he was overcome by a wave of emotion. He parked the truck just in front of the closed garage door and stepped out.

  Julie rose, yawning, as she opened the passenger door and stretched on the front lawn, she and the truck casting long late-afternoon shadows on the house.

  “Is this her house?” she asked.

  Ben was already moving toward the front door.

  “So how do you know her, anyway?”

  It was the second time she’d asked the question during their time together, and the second time he’d dodged it. “She’s lived here for almost forty years. Moved here from St. Louis.”

  He knocked but didn’t wait for a response. The door was unlocked, so he stepped into the house. Julie followed behind. The house was dim, with low ceilings that sported 1970’s style texture.

  “Hello?” he called out.

  A woman’s muffled voice came from somewhere at the back of the house, so the pair walked down the narrow hallway until they came to a closed bedroom. Ben breathed deeply, pausing before he knocked again.

  When he did, they heard a hoarse voice invite them in. Ben opened the door.

  “But stay away from the bed,” the woman said. “The contagion is extremely potent. Some sort of viral-bacterial combination, not unlike a bacteriophage.”

  Ben rushed forward, coming to his knees at the edge of the bed. He reached for the woman’s hand and held it in his own.

  “You never were a good listener, Harvey.” She nodded her head but smiled at the same time. “How are you?”

  Ben swallowed, trying to find his voice. “I — I’m good. Mom, this is Julie. She works for the CDC.”

  Julie’s eyes widened as realization swept over her. She, too, approached the bed.

  “Stay close to the door,” Ben said. “We can’t have you getting infected with this stuff.”

  “Ms. Torres? Hi. Nice to meet you.” Julie waved awkwardly from the corner of the bedroom. She stared at the large man beside the bed, doing all he could to not burst into tears.

  “Mom, what happened? Was it the sample? Some accident?” And then, as if now realizing that he was in his childhood home, “Why aren’t you in a hospital?”

  “Slow down, Harvey. No, nothing like that. And you two both know a hospital can’t do anything about this. It wasn’t your sample.” She took two breaths, each sharp and staggered. “I mean, it was the same strain, I believe, though not the sample you sent.” Again, a breath. “There was a man. Said he was with the CDC.” She looked through pained eyes toward Julie. “Which, I now know, was a lie.”

  Ben stood and dropped his mother’s hand. “What do you mean? This wasn’t an accident.”

  Tears began to form around the woman’s eyes. She pressed her lips together and shook her head, slowly.

  Ben felt his cheeks flush. His eyes narrowed. “Mom. Who was it?” The words were clipped, on edge.

  She shook her head again. “I don’t know. I didn’t recognize him. He walked into my office and emptied your sample in the lab sink, then… then…” Her eyelids fluttered. She took another sharp breath and tried to continue. Ben suddenly noticed how red her face was. He examined her neck and arms and found that they were covered in the same shiny, bubbling rash he’d seen back at Yellowstone.

  “He threw something at my feet. Another test tube, full of some liquid. After what you’d told me about the sample you sent, I assumed this one was the same thing, but a much more lethal dose.” She took a breath again. “Listen, Harvey, I don’t have much time.”

  “Stop.”

  “No, listen. You know this by now, but listen anyway. There’s more to it than just a freak virus out there. The explosion, this man who says he’s from the CDC, and the strange properties that sample was exhibiting.”

  “Mom, we’re going to —”

  “Harvey, knock it off.” The words were more intense than they had been, and Ben fell silent again. “I don’t care about any of that. I can’t. I’ve got hours to live. You listen to me, okay?”

  He nodded.

  “Harvey, I love you. It’s been over ten years since I’ve even heard from you, and you need to know that I love you.”

  A single tear fell down his right cheek. He couldn’t bear to let Julie see him cry, so he kept his eyes glued to the bed and didn’t wipe the tear away.

  “I love you, and I never stopped loving you. After your — your father…”

  “Stop it, Mom.” He felt his voice shaking. Was it noticeable? He whispered. “I love you too, okay? I do. I’m sorry.”

  His mother’s eyes were closed now, and she was trying to breathe peacefully.

  “I’m sorry for everything.”

  He stood up from the bed and left the room.

  Julie caught up to him in the hallway and followed him into the dining room, where he collapsed on an old leather sofa.

  “Hey, are you okay?” she asked. “I — I’m so… I can’t believe…” she stammered, not finding the right words.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Ben said. “I’m fine.”

  He stared blankly toward the flat-screen television that sat on a stand in the corner of the room. “I’ll stay here today, and maybe —”

  “Ben,” Julie said. She waited for him to look at her. “Ben, I know how this feels, okay? But the longer we stay here —”

  “I’m staying here.”

  “Ben, if we stay here, we’re going to die.”

  “I’m staying here,” he said again.

  “Ben! Listen to me. You know what’s about to happen. If you’re not infected yet, you will be. And then I will be. It’s only a matter of hours, Ben. You don’t have hours to wait.”

  Ben knew she was right, but he didn’t move from the sofa.

  Julie finally came around the couch and sat next to him. “Do you need anything?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  Julie sighed and retreated into the depths of the couch. “Ben, let’s at least get somewhere we can talk, okay? Somewhere we can figure this out together?”

  This time, he nodded. She reached over and placed her hand on his.

  26

  “Anything else?” The frazzled woman gazed down at the couple in the booth before her.

  Juliette Richardson shook her head. “We’re good, thanks.” The woman was gone before she could finish.

  “I thought diners were supposed to have great service,” Julie said to Ben over two plates of waffles and cups of coffee.

  He shrugged, taking a huge bite of syrup-covered waffle.

  The diner was just outside of town, on the state highway they’d taken into Twin Falls. It was called The Family Diner, and Ben and Julie — the only two guests — weren’t sure yet whether the play on words was meant to be taken seriously or not. So far they assumed it was meant as satire. There wasn’t a “family” — or even another person, besides their waitress — in sight.

  “At least the food’s good,” Julie said, cramming almost half a waffle into her mouth. She guzzled coffee to wash it down, and only then noticed Ben staring at her. “What?”

  He grinned. “As hard as this is…” he stopped.

  “Yeah?”

  “No, just… as hard as this is… I’m glad you’re here.”

  Julie swallowed. “Me too. I mean, I can’t imagine… I’m sorry, Ben.” She took another bite of waffle, and this time added a forkful of sausage to it. “By the way, what’s up with ‘Harvey?’”

  “That’s my name,” Ben said.

  “Well, yeah, I pic
ked up on that,” she said. “But you don’t go by that anymore. Why?”

  He shrugged again. “I don’t know. Dropped it after high school. Seemed like sort of a nerdy name, I guess. Ben’s easier.”

  Julie considered this. “I like Harvey.”

  Ben stared blankly at her.

  “I like Ben too,” she added.

  He looked down again at his plate, comparing his plate to Julie’s. She can really put it away, he thought. He was almost embarrassed by how little he’d eaten.

  “Hey, I have another question. Did Diana — I mean, your mom — did she have any assistants or anything? Anyone we could contact?”

  “Always working, huh?” Ben’s response was blunt.

  “Oh my God, no, Ben… I’m sorry —”

  He shook his head. “It’s fine. Really. I’m shaken up, but this is good. Let’s keep moving; figure out what’s next.” He thought for a moment, using the lull in the conversation to take a deep sip of jet-black coffee. He winced.

  “Too hot?” she asked.

  “Too crappy.” He swallowed, feigning choking. “Where’d you find this place, anyway?”

  “Google Maps. Never steered me wrong so far.”

  “‘Bout time to start using something else. Anyway, uh, I have no idea about her work. I’ve been in the park for over a decade. Man, it’s been a long time.”

  A solemn look came over his eyes.

  “Ben, it’s okay. If you need —”

  “No, I’m fine. Yeah, I can’t think of anything. Hell, I don’t even really know what she does. I remember she worked for a chemical company when I was a kid, but she took this job not too long ago.”

  “You spoke with her?”

  “No, she’d email me quite a bit. I never responded more than once or twice, I think. I kept the email account open, though. Is there any way to figure out who she was working with?”

  “I tried looking it up in the company directory, but they’re pretty good about keeping their work and employees protected. I might be able to get some help from my tech guy, though.” She took a sip of coffee, this time not using it to wash down her meal. From the expression on her face, she could clearly taste it better this time around. “Wow, you weren’t kidding. This is rough.”