Chapter 34
Thirty-Four
Ryder had never stopped looking for an opportunity to escape. Save the day. Survive. Sometimes that meant walking directly through the fire—right through it. Not around it, over it, or under it.
They were about to enter a hot blaze wearing hazmat suits.
He and Sarah had to make it out of this.
And Dean . . . Ryder knew he hadn’t liked that guy from the start, but now the man wore a deep frown—regretting his actions of leading the bad guys here because they were about to unleash something horrific?
That left Ryder uneasy. Still, maybe he could somehow use that to his advantage.
He’d just have to see what doors might open that Sarah could walk through, and it would be nice if he could join her.
They hiked toward the decontamination tent that had been set up in record time outside the plane while he’d been gearing up.
Looked like just two collapsible frames that had been zipped together and staked against the wind.
At this elevation and temperature, once they exited the plane after retrieving or being exposed to the bioweapon, they wouldn’t get warm water or fancy showers in those decon tents.
Probably just a crate of chemical wipes and disinfectant.
He didn’t think Smith would actually open the hatch for their entry into the wreckage until the last possible moment, and he spotted the same two men who’d assisted him earlier, now wearing hazmat suits as well—even to open the door.
At least they’d listened to him on that point, or maybe Maddox had been following Dr. Kepler’s advice. Had he been here all along?
Regardless, Ryder was relieved to see that a perimeter that served as a safe zone had been established.
The suit helmet restricted his vision. Above him the clouds remained heavy and continued unleashing their payload, filling the trenches they’d dug up earlier.
Some men continued shoveling snow away from the hatch.
That cornice wasn’t getting any lighter. If he hadn’t had a bad feeling before, he was positively sick at the sight now. His gut tensed at what could happen in the next few minutes. Not days or hours . . .
Minutes.
Though he followed Kepler—who he assumed was a CDC-level scientist—he slowed to look back at Sarah.
Twisting around to see her was no easy task.
She lagged, and he waved her forward. They were astronauts on the moon in these suits.
All around them, men in what looked like winterized tactical suits stood back from the plane near the tents and were positioned to guard this operation.
He hadn’t heard from Holt and wished he could warn him. But his brother was sharp enough to expect this kind of response. Ryder wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gotten into this position.
Except maybe it had everything to do with the brown-eyed brunette.
Whatever situation they were in now, Ryder would throw everything he had into getting them out of it.
Sarah finally caught up and walked next to him.
He turned—awkwardly—and tried to give a reassuring smile, but she couldn’t see him due to the angle of her mask and hood.
She held up well under this pressure, but he’d seen the same fear in her eyes that she likely saw in his.
And now slogging forward in their suits and too-thin boots over thermal socks, not nearly as protective as needed in this cold weather, he felt the tension rolling off her.
Or was that his own? Finally, they stood at the hatch. Smith was also now in a suit. He slowly turned to Ryder. “It won’t budge, so I’ll cut it open.”
Oxygen was wasting. Why hadn’t Smith already cut it open? But he got it—the moment that door opened, they needed to get in to assess and take whatever action was needed. That, according to Dr. Kepler, of course.
“Carefully,” Ryder warned Smith.
“I’ve done this before.” Smith pressed the cutter to the hatch.
This was such a bad idea. Ryder had been through much in his life, but this situation topped them all.
The plane’s metal door hissed under the heat as ice vaporized into strands of steam.
Smith sliced a slow arc through the aluminum skin of the old warplane.
Ryder hated every minute of this because it filled him with a sense of doom, especially with the eerie flashing light against the snow.
To his right, Sarah stood stock-still, strong, and ready to see this through.
Next to him on the left, another tech—Smith 2?—held the GPR screen, and so far, the internal chamber inside the plane hadn’t collapsed. A rivet pinged loose from the hatch and dropped into the snow. That could have torn right through someone’s suit.
Smiths 1 and 2 froze. Dr. Kepler’s eyes were wide. Sarah turned enough that he caught her glance. He wasn’t exactly sure what their concern was, but he glanced up at the slope above.
Loaded and ready to drop.
That was Ryder’s concern.
Smith 1 continued, and the second bolt popped, causing the metal to groan as it flexed through the fuselage, and finally the hatch seam gave way.
Ryder and Sarah moved closer together. “Ready?” He glanced her way.
She shook her head. Right. Neither was he. His feet were starting to ache from the cold.
After a soft pop, the hatch angled open and Smith stepped back and away. Dr. Kepler motioned for Ryder and Sarah to go first.
Of course.
He entered first, crouching and then stepping inside the fuselage, preparing himself mentally for breaching a crypt.
He turned to assist Sarah in, and she took his hand.
Once inside, he took in the surroundings.
Since he breathed through an oxygen tank, he couldn’t smell anything and had to wonder what the inside of this plane smelled like.
He imagined stale metal, old oil, or something chemical.
Just how many had been in the plane on its failed mission?
He turned on the small tactical light that was clipped to his SCBA harness, and the light flickered across the space, landing on crumpled jump seats and skeletal remains.
The usual bench seat one would expect on this kind of transport lined the walls.
Most were twisted from the crash. Ryder had to turn to shine the light where he needed and wished for a flashlight. Sarah carried one and flicked it on.
He spotted a rusted ammo crate on its side, the contents long frozen. Old canvas straps dangled like limp arms. Dr. Kepler followed Sarah inside, and he carried a small portable floodlight, which he set up.
“Kepler, what are we looking for, exactly?” Though he thought he had an idea.
“That reinforced container,” Kepler said, moving toward the case at the back, leaning on its side where the warped flooring had twisted beneath it, the straps holding it in place despite the wreckage.
Even in the hazmat suit, Kepler had a bounce to his step.
Weird. Was the guy excited about all the possibilities of his discovery?
Kepler had to be some kind of mad scientist.
Ryder followed him, unsure why he and Sarah were even made to come inside. On the container, stenciled markings could barely be read through the thin crust of ice clinging to it.
A circle with a tilted X—one arm jutting past the rim.
Faded letters.
Alpha-X.
His pulse skyrocketed as he read the rest.
Alpha-X Transfer Protocol. Authorized Personnel Only.
Holt had told him, forewarned him. Kepler had confirmed the terror inside. This was it, then, the container they were never supposed to find. Heart jackhammering, Ryder backed away slowly, urging Sarah to do the same.
“Dr. Kepler, what exactly was your plan?” he asked. “That container is likely sealed. It could be pressurized. Could be toxic, if everything inside is broken. You can’t open that in here.” And yeah, maybe he was insulting this man, but he didn’t trust anyone involved in this operation.
“Open it.” A new voice resounded behind them. Reid Maddox.
Maddox pushed past Sarah and Ryder, making his presence known. He’d donned his own suit. He obviously hadn’t trusted any of them to get the job done, so he was a hands-on kind of man.
“Dr. Kepler, here’s the canister you’ll need for the transfer.” Maddox handed a canister over to the mad scientist.
Kepler examined it as if disappointed in the size. “What happens to anything that remains?”
“We bury it.”
“It was already buried, and we found it. That isn’t good enough,” Dr. Kepler said.
“Then we destroy it.”
“We don’t know the safest way to destroy it yet,” Kepler added.
“Open it now or step aside,” Maddox said.
Backing toward the exit, Sarah nearly stumbled over skeletal remains, and Ryder caught her elbow. “Steady.”
She nodded, her eyes wide with fear, darting around the plane as if searching. He suspected that, like him, she was continuing to try to formulate an escape plan, and now they were actually in the dragon’s lair, the worst place they could be or—at least at this moment—imagine.
He glanced toward the front of the plane that appeared like a narrow tunnel.
His headlamp pierced the darkness that remained in the forward shadows despite Kepler’s lamp.
The light bounced off the frosted, cracked windows.
Snow and ice blocked that path and made an escape impossible.
This place was a frozen time capsule. Sarah’s grandfather had been on this plane and escaped somehow .
. . with a vial. That made no sense, considering the containment protocol.
But desperate times called for desperate measures, and the man they only knew as Walter Ellison had gotten proof—and did nothing until his last days.