Nemesis (Project Nemesis #1)(57)

"Most of this facility is underground," Tack was saying, closing the gate behind us. We immediately began to descend, thankfully at a slow pace. "Why would they do that?"

"Maybe they really, really wanted to keep people out," Min suggested.

"Or in," I muttered.

As we rattled downward, another catwalk came into view. It circled the silo like the one above it, but this level had chambers cut into the rock wall at regular intervals. Boxes of various shapes and sizes were stacked within each alcove.

A light began blinking on the cage's control panel. But when Min hesitated, we continued past the catwalk, plummeting deeper into the pit. Tack stood on his tiptoes, squinting into the closest alcove. "The boxes are labeled. I think one said 'sewing machine,' if you can believe it."

Another catwalk appeared. This time when the button flashed, Min pressed it. We slowed, then stopped. Min opened the gate and we stepped out, walking to the nearest chamber. The cases within were small and dusty, stacked in straight lines. "Seeds," she said, surprised. "Wheat. Corn. Potato. Soybean."

I wandered deeper into the room. "These big ones are labeled 'Farm Equipment.'"

Min's head swung left and right. "What is this place?"

Tack hustled to the next alcove, where larger crates were stored. "Tractors! Two of them, boxed up like Christmas presents! And a buttload of diesel fuel."

As we did a slow circuit, I became more and more bewildered. Each alcove contained a mountain of supplies. Camping equipment. Hard drives. A set of generators. Water filtration systems. Iodine pills. Copper wire. By the time we reached the cage again, Min was chewing on her bottom lip, eyes worried.

"This is a doomsday prepper's dream," Tack said. "Survival goods for an entire village. Hell, a city! Everything you could possibly need seems to be in here, boxed up and ready to go. But why would the government build a hidey-hole like this?"



       
         
       
        

"For the Anvil?" I suggested. "In case it was actually going to hit Earth?"

Min looked thoughtful. "That makes sense. But then, why abandon it? Plenty else has gone wrong since the asteroid miss was announced. More, honestly. You'd think places like this would be locked down right now. Hell, even filled."

She was right. The place was a gold mine. "I'll bet everything I own that Ethan and Sarah haven't seen this yet. No way they'd leave it unguarded."

"The bottom," Tack insisted, pointing into the abyss. "We have to hit rock bottom."

Poor choice of words, but he was right. We couldn't stop now.

We descended a dozen more levels without stopping, content to read whatever labels we could glimpse as the cage rolled past. Instruction manuals. Firewood. Matches. Pots and pans. One large alcove was filled with shiny ATVs. Another housed a fleet of motorcycles. A whole world of supplies, crated and stored, slowly gathering dust.

The temperature dropped as we moved farther underground. Something struck me as odd.

"All this stuff is boxed," I said. "Nothing seems prepared."

"What do you mean?" Min asked.

"There aren't any sleeping quarters. Or kitchens. No meeting rooms, or places for people to congregate. I haven't seen any perishable goods, either. No livestock, or living plants. Nothing is fresh or assembled. How would anyone survive in here?"

"You're right." Min began scanning the silo with new eyes. "It doesn't seem built for habitation. Just storage."

"The bottom," Tack repeated. "And here it comes."

The silo floor was an unbroken sheet of solid concrete. The cage descended past it, however, into a narrow chute that burrowed another twenty yards before screeching to a halt in some kind of basement. The gate clattered open. A narrow corridor led to a glass door. Beyond was a room filled with blinking red lights.

We stood silently for several heartbeats before Min pushed.

Unlocked. Indeed, the door didn't even appear to have a lock.

Inside was a control room to make NASA jealous. Workstations on descending levels faced three giant panels that filled the front wall. The outer two appeared to be computer screens. The middle section was actually a window into a much larger chamber beyond this one, where a breathtaking machine sat alone on a pedestal. It looked like an elaborate computer. 

Both spaces were empty of people.

"Oh, man! Check it out!" Tack was gawking at the back wall. I spun. Bookshelves full of plastic binders lined the rear of the control room. Each spine displayed a black sunburst followed by a two-word label.

PROJECT NEMESIS.





48


MIN



This is it.

I walked to a shelf. Pulled a binder at random. Noah and Tack crowded behind me, reading over my shoulder. No one spoke, as if the moment were too big for words. We were finally going to get answers.

The riddle of my entire life, explained within these pages. Somewhere.

But the first binder was no help-the pages contained a series of technical specs and complex math equations. I couldn't make any sense of it, not even the captions. I shoved it back with a grunt.

"Maybe start at the beginning?" Noah suggested, pointing to the top left-hand row.

Nodding, I grabbed the first volume and carried it over to a workstation. Despite a burning impatience, I had to acknowledge this might take a while.

The opening pages contained nothing but dire warnings about the confidential nature of the information to follow. Tack shook his head. "This is as top secret as it gets. Look at the stamps at the bottom. DoD. DARPA. Homeland Security. Everything about this project is the blackest of black ops."

I almost laughed. "We're in a secret military bunker hundreds of feet below ground, built less than five miles from town without anyone knowing about it. I'm not surprised it isn't public knowledge."

"More than that. Look!" Tack jabbed a paragraph with his index finger. "That's the security clearance list. It's fewer than twenty people."

"It says these are just the civilians." Noah read out familiar names. "Andrew E. Myers. Dr. Gerald Lowell. Dr. Piro D. Fanelli. Dr. Perry B. Harris. Sheriff Michael T. Watson." Then he closed his eyes. "Barbara K. Livingston."

"Virginia G. Wilder," I whispered.

I'd already known, but that didn't make seeing it on paper any easier.

There were a half dozen more people on the civilian list. Doctors, mainly. The next section authorized the creation of a special military unit for Project Nemesis. I recognized a few names in the command structure: Commander Sutton. Captain Harkes. Captain Sigler. The rest I didn't know. "The top line is redacted," Tack complained. "They blocked out the head of the pyramid."

"Black Suit." I was sure. Even now, his identity eluded me.

I'll find you one day. I promise.

Twenty-five people in total. The entire conspiracy, laid bare.

"There are page numbers next to each name." Tack flipped ahead. "Let's see what these bastards got for betraying us."

Sheriff Watson was page 213. "Bingo. Here we go. This is dated twenty years ago!"

The section began with a detailed memorandum examining Watson, including a physical description and psychological profile. Next came a list of duties and assignments. My anger sparked as I read what his role had been. "Prepare the town of Fire Lake for physical isolation. Block the creation of new access points to Fire Lake valley. Protect military property G14-88645 for use as a primary hosting location."

"Jesus," Noah breathed. "He's been working for Nemesis since before we were born."



       
         
       
        

"I want another." Tack located the section on Principal Myers. "'Administer initial DNA testing protocols under public health misdirection.'" Bitterness crept into Tack's voice. "'Monitor beta patients and broader subject pool, providing access for regular medical updates and rapid collection.' What a prick."

I scanned ahead, growing more horrified by the line. "He was tracking our specific class. Myers kept getting himself promoted to stay in charge of us, but never took a job that would pull him away. He turned down three promotions to stick with our year through the system."

Tack found the pages for Dr. Lowell. "'Monitor beta patients A and B. Manage reactivity and establish controlling narratives. Administer test phase medication.'" He turned the next tab. "More of the same for Dr. Fanelli."

"Did you see this part?" Noah went back to Lowell's first page. "'Four beta patients will be selected, each possessing the specific electromagnetic neural alignment essential to withstand the phase shift process.' I don't understand a single word of that," he admitted sourly.

"'Beta testing must be completed no fewer than ten days before the E.L.E. becomes unmanageable.'" Tack sat back and scratched his neck. "That part is underlined. What the hell does it mean?"

"It confirms Lowell was manipulating me from the first session," Noah muttered.

"Before," I corrected bitterly. "Don't forget the consent forms. But we still don't know what this project is. What's their ultimate objective? What's an E.L.E.? Why did these people dedicate their whole pathetic lives to ruining ours?"