The Survival Code, page 29
In a louder voice, one meant for MacKenna, she says, “We need to focus on getting Jay out of here.”
My gaze travels to Jay, who is making trips back and forth between several maple wood cabinets along the wall behind us and a pickup truck with a trailer attached. It’s the truck Healy was driving when he picked us up earlier today.
Mom walks past me. I look to MacKenna to make sense of all this, but she too appears to be thinking hard.
Bob Healy enters the barn with a sense of purpose. “They’re coming. Just got off the radio with Collins. A few units, probably from Goldwater, were at his store a couple of minutes ago. He said they’re using his parking lot as a makeshift command center and are sending patrols to scout things out. One or two vehicles at a time. The good news is we have enough firepower to take ’em. Bad news is, you won’t get much of a head start.” He joins Jay at the wall and opens the last cabinet in the row.
Guns.
Lots and lots of guns.
Bob Healy begins clicking ammo clips into AKs with speed and precision that would put my dad to shame.
Jay comes to stand in front of the cabinet. “I can’t believe this. Carver has been president for three days and he’s somehow managed to declare martial law.”
Mom puts her hand on his back. “I’ve been lecturing on this for years. How the military is operating with way too little oversight. Carver clearly got key people to cooperate with him even before he had the legal authority to order action.”
Dad shrugs. “Ultimately this manhunt is good for Carver. It will increase fear and panic. What he wants is total control, and there’s an astonishing number of people willing to trade freedom for the perception of safety.”
Determined to get back to the task at hand, Dad says, “Miss Novak, I need to ask you to go inside and get my son. Ramona, the horses, if you don’t mind. Jinx, deal with the drone. I mean the code. Don’t touch anything but the laptop.”
MacKenna heads for the door.
Before I can ask what the hell my dad is talking about, Ramona cuts in. “Maxwell Marshall, you aren’t leaving here in my truck with my damn horses unless you take the girl.”
Dad throws up his hands in exasperation. “Fine. But I make no promises. Our chances for survival are dwindling by the second and Annika Carver isn’t ready for this kind of life.”
At that moment, Toby brings Annika into the barn. She’s an out-of-place princess in the barn full of hay bales and truck parts and machine guns, but she comes to life and stands up a bit straighter. “No disrespect to you, Dr. Marshall, but I know my father a great deal better than you do. I understand better than anyone what he’s capable of.”
She clearly thinks what Ammon Carver is capable of includes killing his own daughter.
A serene calm has settled over Ramona Healy. “My son sees himself as the salvation of this world. A Moses for modern times, delivering mankind from evils of the heart and of the flesh. ‘If I whet my glittering sword, and mine hand take hold on judgment; I will render vengeance to mine enemies, and will reward them that hate me.’ Deuteronomy 32:41. Ammon will almost certainly exact vengeance on those who commit the sin of defying him.” There’s an awkward pause and she finishes with, “I’ll see to the horses.” Ramona walks, straight and tall, out of the barn.
“Ammon’s gone nuts,” Dad mutters. “Jinx. The drone.” He joins Bob Healy at the gun cabinet. They load guns into the passenger side of the truck.
“Yeah. What do you want me to do with it?” I ask, watching Ramona go.
His shoulders slump in a do-I-have-to-do-everything-myself kind of way. “I figured The Opposition would set up somewhere in town. They’re probably going from place to place looking for anyone who might have seen us. So I jotted down the geo-coordinates for a few spots. I’ve got the code ready to go. All you have to do is enter the coordinates for Collin’s market in the right place.”
I take slow, heavy footsteps to the worktable on the other side of the barn but frown in confusion at Dad’s setup. There doesn’t appear to be a controller. “How are you even going to pilot the thing?”
Dad actually groans. Like he thinks we’ve had this conversation a million times already or something. “It’s a static program. Compile it and then copy it to the SD card I’ve got in the laptop.” He looks up. “I’ll insert it in the drone. Don’t want you to touch the C-4.”
I jump back from the table. “That thing’s a bomb? And you won’t be able to communicate with it once you launch it?”
“I’ll launch it. Just deal with the code. Coordinates and compile.”
Okay.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
The drone is long and thin, with elegantly curved edges. Dad has painted it black to attract little attention at night. It’s like a fancy little rocket for tiny space people.
Oh. Also. A bomb that could kill us all.
I tap the trackpad on the laptop, and the screen powers on. I see Dad’s code.
if ((mDeviceController != null) &&
STATE_STOPPED.equals(mState))) {(ARCONTROLLER_DEVICE__
STATE_STOPPED.equals(mState))) {
ARCONTROLLER_ERROR_ENUM error = mDeviceController.
start();
if (error == ARCONTROLLER_ERROR_ENUM.ARCON
TROLLER_OK) {
success = true;
}
}
List> waypoints = loadWaypoints();
mDeviceController.queueWaypoints(waypoints);
I find the geolocation coordinates that Dad has scribbled out on a notepad he tossed onto the worktable. I scroll down and replace the placeholder data in the code, compile the program and copy it onto the SD card.
MacKenna returns with Charles. My brother is smiling. He doesn’t quite grasp that this isn’t a family reunion. It’s not a drill either. He’s holding a small bouquet of wildflowers.
He gives them to Annika.
My brother was out picking flowers for Annika Carver.
Terrific.
MacKenna joins me at the worktable and squints at the laptop screen. “And this is?”
“A drone,” I explain. “My dad wrote a program that will send it over to the minimart, where The Opposition has set up a command center. It’s got some explosives attached. He’s hoping to take out some of their communication equipment. Maybe some of their vehicles...”
MacKenna’s mouth falls open. “So...we’re gonna launch a bomb without any concrete knowledge of who it might really hit?”
Dad walks by the table, overhearing part of the conversation. “If Jinx enters the coordinates correctly, I have concrete knowledge that it will hit the minimart.”
“I entered the coordinates the way you wrote them!” I say.
But my pulse picks up. I don’t want to be responsible for hurting innocent people.
Seeing MacKenna’s face, Dad adds, “We have to do whatever we can to get whatever head start we can.”
Bob Healy speaks. “I gotta get in position.” He grabs several black duffel bags that he’s filled with guns and ammo in the time I’ve been working on the laptop. “Between the AKs and the Stinger, I’m fairly confident that I can take out the first patrol. The rest depends on how long it takes ’em to get reinforcements organized.”
Dad extends his hand to Healy. “I understand. And thanks.”
They shake, and then Dad goes over to the far side of the barn where he throws open the wide double doors, clearing the way for the truck.
“Dad, just so you know. Ramona used the phone. She wouldn’t tell me who she called.”
When he ignores me as usual, I repeat myself. “I said—”
Ramona reenters the barn then, leading Goldilocks from the stables into the horse trailer. She leaves a moment later to get the second horse.
“I heard you the first time,” Dad says once she’s out of earshot. He puts his hand on my shoulder. “We have limited bandwidth. We’ll have to address the situation with Ramona and Miss Carver later.”
Later.
Ramona. Annika. Navarro. Everything has to be dealt with later.
“All right. You kids in the trailer,” Jay says, making his way around the truck, slamming the doors, one by one.
“We moved the old love seat inside,” Mom says to nobody in particular. “It’ll be cramped. But you’ll live.”
“We won’t all fit back there,” I say. “Not all of us and both of the horses.”
MacKenna casts death glares at Annika. “Can’t we ride in the back of the truck?”
Mom fidgets with a strand of her long brown hair. “I don’t know. I think it might be safer to have all of you in the back.”
“It’ll be fine, Stephanie,” Jay says.
“We need to get on the road,” Dad says.
Mom’s face is red, and it strikes me that it must be so awkward to be in a three-way debate with your old husband and your new one.
Ramona is back with Jessie’s Girl. She approaches Annika. “I’m sorry I can’t do more for you, girl.”
Annika is doing her movie-star limp to the trailer when Ramona calls out, “I wish it could have been different. I used to dream that someday I’d bring you here. I think you would have liked it. But this world, well, it sometimes won’t let us live in peace with the ones we love.”
“I’m not sure this world is the problem,” Annika answers.
It’s not much of a final farewell, and I don’t know if it’s because the Carvers lack genuine feelings or if superrich people are just weird.
Annika disappears into the trailer. A second later, Ammon Carver’s mother vanishes into the darkness of the night, into obscurity once again.
Toby holds hands with Charles and leads him into the trailer.
Once they’re in, Dad adds Jessie’s Girl and slams the trailer door. The horse doesn’t appear to be too happy and sniffs and snorts a few times.
Dad tosses the keys to Jay. “I need someone to pull the truck out while I launch the drone. Right out there. Ten feet or so ought to do it.”
“I’m on it,” Jay tells him.
I climb into the bed of the truck and flop down next to a mound of stuff covered by a tarp.
Dad reaches into the driver’s side and pulls out a black bag. I take it and realize it’s full of weapons.
“If you use the AK, be sure to brace yourself. Don’t put me in the position of having to leave you here because you get thrown from the goddamn truck.”
“Got it.” I scoot over in the bed so that my back is against the cab and the bag is next to me. I unzip it and get ready. MacKenna climbs in next to me.
Everyone’s accounted for.
Except Navarro.
I’m surprised when Mom gets into the back of the truck with me and MacKenna. She does her best to smile. “I thought you guys might want some company.” That’s code for you need adult supervision.
Jay slides behind the wheel. He cranks the old truck engine to a start and moves us out of the barn so that we’re outside in the moonlight facing a dirt road that must cut through the ranch. A cow moos.
The truck’s diesel engine percolates and sputters, but even it can’t conceal the sound of the AK fire that breaks out on the other side of the ranch.
The Opposition is already here.
My dad is almost strolling away from us. Yeah. That’s the word I’d use. He’s strolling in the opposite direction, drone in hand, as if everything is going according to his master plan. I stare at the back of his Wranglers, wishing he would get a move on.
More gunfire.
And some screaming.
Whoever is out there, Healy is really letting them have it.
“That guy Healy thinks he can take out Carver’s whole army,” MacKenna whispers.
I can see Jay through the window, clutching the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles are turning white. I wonder if Charles is okay in the trailer.
“Who would you rather run into in the desert at night? One of those soldiers from Goldwater or Healy with his five hundred guns?” I whisper back.
“Good point,” she says.
Healy has a face that’s as weathered as a saddlebag and he is tough as nails. If anyone can give a patrol from The Opposition a run for its money, it’s Healy.
With a soft whir, Dad releases the drone into the air and makes a break for the truck.
The instant Dad is in the passenger side of the truck, Jay slams on the gas, sending me crashing into MacKenna. Mom is able to steady herself in the bed of the truck. We skid forward in a haze of dust, pieces of hay and some kind of grass that smells like cow dung.
Jay drives pretty similarly to my dad, taking the dirt road at a fairly fast pace.
I reach into my bag to get one of the AKs ready.
There’s something next to me. An odd, misshapen mound under the black tarp.
I don’t remember seeing anyone load supplies in the back of the truck, and anyway Dad always keeps everything ultraorganized in waterproof bins.
Even though a little voice in my head tells me not to, my pulse races as I find myself pulling at the edge of the tarp.
Revealing a pale, white hand.
A hand the size of a baseball mitt.
I simultaneously fight the urge to panic, scream and throw up. Every muscle in my body pulses and one of my legs sort of twitches.
The hand yanks the bag of guns away from me and pulls it under the tarp. Then it uncovers enough of a face so that only I can see it. A man’s face.
Tork.
I can’t breathe.
Tork sits up with the tarp around him like a cloak, with his back to the cab so he can’t be seen. From the rearview mirror, it probably looks like the same lump of stuff that was in the back all along.
Mom and MacKenna recoil in horror, both about to scream.
He has the AK from my bag. “Shh!” he says. “Listen. Just listen.”
Considering we’ve already established that Tork can kick my ass with minimal difficulty and he’s also got the bag full of guns, I don’t know what choice we really have.
I take a deep breath and try to sound confident when I whisper, “My father’s going to kill you.” But it sounds high-pitched and shrill and childish. I should have said, I’m going to kill you. I can’t though. I can’t say it and I can’t kill him. It would be like trying to shoot the devil.
I’m not sure I have what it takes to survive.
Because you have to be able to do whatever it takes to survive.
Tork rolls his eyes. My dad is pretty much the ultimate badass, yet somehow Tork finds him nonthreatening and ridiculous.
“Even if he does,” Tork says in a low tone. “There’s a hundred more of me right behind me and a hundred more behind them. What you’re doing is pointless. Surely you can see that. Like swimming against the tide. Come in now. If we get what we need from Marshall, we’ll let you go. I give you my word.”
They want the encryption key.
I should have thought of this. All along I should have thought of this. The real threat to The Opposition wasn’t Jay Novak. Or me. Or my brother. It was Dad’s malware and the chaos it would unleash on the world.
A chaos that The Opposition didn’t have a plan to use or control.
Dad’s malware is the real zero-day exploit.
“Your word?” I echo. “You want me to hand over my father?”
Mom puts her hands up and makes a few panicked pants. “Okay...okay...okay...let’s not do anything stupid here,” she says.
Tork glances at her. “Maxwell Marshall is leading an insurrection against the government. But Carver’s got a soft spot for his old buddy. If Marshall comes in voluntarily, he might not be executed. Help me bring him in.”
“Ammon Carver isn’t the government,” I say.
“Yes, he is,” Tork answers. “You just don’t realize it yet.”
“Everybody just stay calm,” Mom says.
Stay calm. Stay calm.
The calm survive.
“If this is so pointless, what difference does it make if we surrender or not?”
His blue eyes are unexpectedly earnest. He glances again at Mom. “Believe it or not, we don’t enjoy hunting women and children. There are people at the top who want to see you survive.”
“What about my dad?” MacKenna asks. She’s pushed herself against the wall of the truck and is stiff with tension and terror.
Tork shakes his head. “Jay Novak is a dead man. I won’t lie and pretend there’s anything I can do.”
“Screw you,” she tells him.
Mom watches Tork with terrified eyes. “I guess you didn’t read my husband’s book. Max won’t surrender.”
“Of course, I’ve read it,” Tork whispers. “You need to convince him that coming in falls under Rule Number Eleven—”
He’s cut off by a low rumble in the distance.
I turn my head to see yellow orange flames burst into the sky.
From where we are, Collins’s burning store might be a campfire. In some other version of reality, there’d be charming people clustered around it, melting marshmallows and making s’mores. The black smoke gives it away though. It rises into the deep blue night, floating in front of the yellow moon.
I let out a terrible scream but the sound is lost amid the backdrop of the explosion, Healy’s gunfire and the noise of the truck.
“Typical,” Tork mutters.
He places his other hand on my upper arm. “Don’t you see what’s happening? To this country? To this world? People are desperate. We’re one catastrophe away from another civil war. A strong leader like Carver is the only hope we have for real survival. Not running away from disaster like your father talks about in his book. But setting the world right. Restoring it to its rightful orbit. Ammon Carver is a new Atlas for a new era.”
