“Thanks.”
They all walked out together. The sun beat down, the blue sky close and watchful, and Sam couldn’t help but feel like they were one step closer.
Closer, and even farther away.
Chapter 43
It amazed him that an office building in Boulder could have better security than the Metro in D.C., but there you have it. It didn’t matter, really, he had the appropriate ID and equipment and uniform. No one would give him a second glance. But it was ironic.
He showed the badge at the front desk, grunted noncommittally when the guard asked him to sign in, scribbling something with the pen, careful to wipe it on his sleeve before he set it down, to smudge any possible prints. Going about in gloves at this point was too suspicious, but the minute he was in the elevator he slipped them on.
The higher the elevator rose, the more the bombs seemed to come alive in his bag, chittering to him, though he knew that was impossible. They were each swathed in the devil’s own Bubble Wrap, tucked tightly together without a chance for connection until he was ready to make them sing. They couldn’t clank or whisper, he’d made sure of that.
At the top floor, he got out and made his way to the end of the stairwell. He had a large fluorescent light in one hand, his bag in the other. He looked every bit the part of an electrician, replacing a specialized bulb.
He started at the top. He had five to place. Five tubes of life-ending hell, all ready to unleash their fury upon the heathens who created their horrors within these walls.
He worked his way down the stairs, tucking a bomb into the ventilation shafts every third floor. No cameras in the stairwells, the dummies. Though he assumed they made their devil deals out here, which was why it was the perfect spot, private, load bearing and the main escape route from the building in case of emergency. He’d be sure to capture everyone. When he was finished, all he had to do was pull the fire alarm and hightail it out of there. Count thirty to allow for maximum confusion, then hit Send on his cell. He’d already be a block away before anyone knew what hit them, and on his way back to the camp before the first responders arrived.
It was a shame he couldn’t stay to watch, but Ruth was waiting in the truck. She was a good girl, she was on the floor with her book and the windows were tinted so there was no way she could be seen from the outside. She’d happily play there for a good hour or so, more than enough time for him to set his trap.
He liked this “making a statement” work. Truth be told, in the beginning, he had been planning to stop after D.C., where things had gone so well, but he had the leftover abrin, and the material to make some serious boom-booms, so why not? He could get used to this—eliminating those who pissed him off. Obviously no one in D.C. had any idea of what was going on. They’d arrested some raghead, and he was happy to let them. It gave him more freedom, and that’s all he was trying to do, anyway, was fight for freedom. Damn government tried to interfere in everything now, and he was sick and tired of it.
They made laws that allowed the most terrible things to happen, from allowing children to die in their mothers’ wombs to the rape of the land to the secret stores of stem cells they were using behind the doors, twenty feet away, to build a genetically perfect army, clones who were unstoppable, things that would heal within minutes and rise to fight again. Like zombies. Once they’d figured out how to re-create a woman’s eggs from stem cells, it was all over. There was no more slippery slope: they’d all arrived at the bottom, and the only way to recover was to scrabble around in the mud and build their wall again, sailing to the top on the backs of the unborn, carefully crafted and modified children.
They would interfere with the people next. The evil-loving societies, and their desire to be sheep, led to the slaughter. They didn’t care. They wanted to be fattened and allowed to live their useless little lives, with their cars and electric toys and drugs and sex. They were an abomination. They epitomized sin. They reveled in their greed and sloth and envy. He’d fallen prey to one of the seven deadlies himself, been captured by the bonds of lust, and knew just how powerful that pull could be. And look where that got him.
Things went black, a rage he couldn’t control panting through him, taking him away. He had to fight for control. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. The injustice of it all overwhelmed him.
Not now. Not now.
His breathing slowed infinitesimally, enough for him to catch some air.
He wouldn’t allow the sins of the father to be visited on his child, no matter that she was the direct result of those sins.
No one would ever hurt his Ruth.
And so he became wrath.