Brett Battles - Exit 9

She headed for one of the other two ways out of the building, but it, too, was sealed tight. And, she soon found out, so was the last.

She stared at the door, not knowing what to do. Her father had wanted her to watch over Brandon, but now she couldn’t even get to him.

Without another word, Brandon and Hayes sprinted down the path, and rushed into the barn just as one of the helicopters came into sight.

“Don’t move,” Hayes ordered Brandon. The man peeked outside through a crack between two of the boards. “Dammit.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I think they might have seen us. They’re coming this way. I’m an idiot. We should have stayed in the trees until they passed by.”

Outside, Brandon could hear the beat of the helicopter rotors drawing nearer.

Hayes suddenly grabbed Brandon by the arm. “Come on.”

They raced back to the horse stalls, stopping next to one housing a brown mare. Hayes opened the gate. “Get in there and stand right up against Maggie.”

“Why?”

“Those people out there might have a thermal scanner. If they do, they’ll be able to see your heat signature and know you’re not a horse, but if you’re next to her, it’s possible they won’t see the difference. Now go!”

Feeling more than just a little nervous, Brandon entered the stall. Feeding the horses was one thing, but standing next to Maggie was something else entirely. As Brandon pressed against her, he was sure she would pull away, or maybe even bite and kick at him. But while she did turn her head and look at him for a second, she remained where she was.

Two stalls away, just above the sound of the helicopter, one of the horses huffed several times. Mr. Hayes said some soothing words, and the animal seemed to calm down.

The barn began to shudder from the wind generated by the aircraft as it slowed to a hover near the front and began circling the building. As it worked its way past the stall Brandon was in, he closed his eyes tight and repeated to himself, “Don’t see me. Don’t see me. Don’t see me.”

After what felt like forever, the helicopter rose higher into the air, and headed west toward the Lodge.

Five minutes later, the horses wandered out into the meadow, and Brandon and Mr. Hayes were safely under the cover of the trees.

I.D. MINUS 10 MINUTES

BLUEBIRD TIME 10:50 AM

The directors were gathered in the conference area at the back of the Cradle. The DOP thought it was an excellent location. While those on the other side of the glass wall wouldn’t be able to hear the final vote, they would be able to see the Directors, and could tell their children someday that they’d witnessed the start of the new world.

The only non-Director in the room was Rosemary Eames. She was the Principal Director’s personal aide, and, as such, was tasked with making sure the recording devices were working correctly and the meeting went smoothly.

For a brief moment, the DOP imagined future generations listening in awe to the playback of this momentous occasion. Hell, he would probably listen to it himself in the coming years, a reminder of how hard they had worked, how hard he had worked, to reach the future they knew was humanity’s only chance at true survival.

“The time in now ten fifty a.m., Central Standard Time,” Rosemary said for the record. “All the Directors are present.” She nodded at the Principal Director, who stood up.

“Today marks a beginning, not an end,” he said, his aged voice gravelly. “Though we have put considerable effort into bringing this moment about, the task ahead will be even more difficult as we shape the new human civilization. So as this day proceeds, let us reflect on where we are and where we are going, and let us not forget our brothers and sisters who will be sacrificed for the betterment of mankind.” He turned to the DOP. “The floor is yours.”

The DOP rose to his feet. “Thank you, sir.” He looked around at the others. As was decided when Project Eden was established, a final vote by all the Directors had to be taken prior to the Go signal being transmitted. A single No vote would delay implementation until the issues were resolved. “Directors of Project Eden, we have but a single item before us this morning. Implementation Day. Yes or no. Does anyone wish to say anything before the vote is taken?”

A few of the Directors shook their heads, while the others stared back stoically.

“Very good. Then we will proceed.”

He sat, and motioned for Rosemary to begin.

“Director of Survival,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Director of Recovery.”

“Yes.”

“Director of Facilities.”

“Yes.”

She continued down the list.

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“Principal Director,” she said.

A pause, and then, “Yes.”

She looked at the DOP. Since this was his operation, he was honored with the final vote. “Director of Preparation.”

“Yes,” he said.

Rosemary looked at the tablet of paper in front of her. “On the matter of moving forward with Implementation Day, nine votes yes and zero votes no.”

Excitement and anticipation burned in the DOP’s chest, but he was careful to keep his demeanor neutral. This was a solemn event, after all. Seven billion people were about to die.

But for a better world, he thought. A much better world.

“The vote is to move forward,” he said. “May the new world we create be a lasting tribute to the old.”

As if on cue, the other Directors began standing. One by one, they made their way to the DOP and shook his hand. As each Director finished, he headed out into the Cradle to be in place when the DOP entered the code that would make what they’d just voted for a reality.

Finally, it was just the DOP, the Principal Director, and Rosemary.

“Are you holding up all right?” the Principal asked as he shook the DOP’s hand.

The question was unexpected. “I’m fine, sir.”

The Principal looked at him for a moment, then said, “Good. Let’s start our new beginning.”

As they walked out, it finally hit the DOP what the Principal had probably meant. In minutes, it would be by the DOP’s hand alone that the order to exterminate ninety-nine percent of the human race went out-a genocide unlike any genocide the world had ever seen. He would be the one directly responsible.

But he’d long ago come to terms with that. It was the greater good that was important.

For the first time since he’d woken up that morning, he allowed a smile to grace his lips.

While the vote was going on in the room at the back of the Cradle, security officer Phillips frowned at his monitor. One of the indicators on the screen had just switched from Red to Green, letting him know someone had entered Bluebird through the emergency tunnel. He clicked on it to bring up the details.

AUTHORIZED ENTRY: ROWAN, BENJAMIN-SECURITY DETAIL RANK 2

Phillips signaled Ross that he wanted to speak with him.

“Yes?” Ross said over the intercom, his voice impatient.

“Rowan’s turned up, sir.”

“Rowan? Where?”

“He just entered through the tunnel.”

“He’s been gone for hours. Where the hell has he been?”

“I haven’t been able to talk to him yet, sir.”

Ross paused before responding. “Send someone to check on him, and recall the search team.”

“Yes, sir.”

I.D. MINUS 4 MINUTES

BLUEBIRD TIME 10:56 AM

Olivia held up a hand, stopping everyone.

In the distance, they could hear footsteps. She looked around quickly, and pointed at a door fifteen feet back the way they’d come. Without wasting a second, they filed into the room and closed the door behind them.