Read Online Pale Horse (A Project Eden Thriller) by Brett Battles - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Brett Battles
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and left on twenty-four hours a day. Plus Tamara and Bobby each had a laptop so they could check the web while keeping an eye on the news. Missing something because they were sleeping wasn’t an issue. Neither of them was sleeping much these days, and for the most part, one or the other was always awake.
So far, though, there had been nothing on the news, except a few follow-up reports on a minor Sage Flu outbreak at a St. Louis-area hospital. That event had actually taken place before Matt called them, and very possibly was the reason he’d put them on alert. Though there had been several deaths, the outbreak seemed to have been contained and was dying out.
“Beer?” Bobby asked as he pushed up from the couch.
“Sure,” she said, not taking her eyes off the screen.
They were watching PCN, their former network, though that seemed like a lifetime ago. With only a couple days left before Christmas, and all the politicians having gone home, most of PCN’s stories were feel-good fluffy pieces—the best gifts for a busy dad, a gingerbread-house competition, and reports from retailers encouraged by the increased spending habits this season.
“Here,” Bobby said, handing her a bottle.
“Thanks.”
That was the way their conversations went these days. One or two words between hours of silence as they stared at the TV in a constant state of anticipation.
On the screen, one of the PCN talking heads was describing the president’s plans for the holidays. Camp David this year with family and a few friends. A turkey and a ham, and candied yams from a recipe passed down through the first lady’s family. As he started to list the desserts, the cell phone sitting on the coffee table rang for the first time since Tamara and Bobby had arrived in North Carolina.
They both jumped, and stared at the phone for a moment before Tamara snatched it up.
She pressed ACCEPT . “Yes?”
“This is one call I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to make,” Matt said.
She let out a groan, and unconsciously moved her free hand over her mouth.
“Go with WC,” he told her.
“Are you sure?” she whispered.
“I wish I wasn’t.”
“When will it happen?”
“It’s already begun. Put it up. Keep it up. Get the word out. Let’s try to save as many people as we can.”
The line went dead.
CHANNEL SIX NEWS
5:12 PM EASTERN STANDARD TIME
“…T HE ACCIDENT WAS reportedly caused by a roll of carpet. Where that carpet came from, police are unsure. The good news is, there were only minor injuries.”
The image of the polished-looking, fortysomething male anchor was replaced by his polished-looking, twentysomething female counterpart.
“Fire department and police officials have received reports of several metal containers spread around the tri-city area that are emitting what some people are calling a hum. A police spokesman says that officers have been dispatched to investigate these reports, but at this point there’s been no further information. Victoria Lawrence is on the scene with one of these boxes right now. Victoria?”
The studio shot cut to Victoria Lawrence standing in the parking lot of the Whittington Mall. About fifty feet behind her was a dark red shipping container, the top of which was open. This was the first such report to make it on the air.
“Cheryl, you can see one of the containers in question behind me.” As she said this, she turned for a quick look at the box, then faced the camera again. “This is only one of a half dozen sightings that have been called in to our station. The police have yet to arrive at this location.”
“Any indication of what might be inside?” the male anchor said.
“No, Paul. We haven’t been able to get a look yet. Mall security has asked everyone to stay away, but you might be able to hear the noise it’s making. It sounds a bit like the propeller of a small plane. As you can also see, several curious onlookers have gathered to see it for themselves.” She
So far, though, there had been nothing on the news, except a few follow-up reports on a minor Sage Flu outbreak at a St. Louis-area hospital. That event had actually taken place before Matt called them, and very possibly was the reason he’d put them on alert. Though there had been several deaths, the outbreak seemed to have been contained and was dying out.
“Beer?” Bobby asked as he pushed up from the couch.
“Sure,” she said, not taking her eyes off the screen.
They were watching PCN, their former network, though that seemed like a lifetime ago. With only a couple days left before Christmas, and all the politicians having gone home, most of PCN’s stories were feel-good fluffy pieces—the best gifts for a busy dad, a gingerbread-house competition, and reports from retailers encouraged by the increased spending habits this season.
“Here,” Bobby said, handing her a bottle.
“Thanks.”
That was the way their conversations went these days. One or two words between hours of silence as they stared at the TV in a constant state of anticipation.
On the screen, one of the PCN talking heads was describing the president’s plans for the holidays. Camp David this year with family and a few friends. A turkey and a ham, and candied yams from a recipe passed down through the first lady’s family. As he started to list the desserts, the cell phone sitting on the coffee table rang for the first time since Tamara and Bobby had arrived in North Carolina.
They both jumped, and stared at the phone for a moment before Tamara snatched it up.
She pressed ACCEPT . “Yes?”
“This is one call I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to make,” Matt said.
She let out a groan, and unconsciously moved her free hand over her mouth.
“Go with WC,” he told her.
“Are you sure?” she whispered.
“I wish I wasn’t.”
“When will it happen?”
“It’s already begun. Put it up. Keep it up. Get the word out. Let’s try to save as many people as we can.”
The line went dead.
CHANNEL SIX NEWS
5:12 PM EASTERN STANDARD TIME
“…T HE ACCIDENT WAS reportedly caused by a roll of carpet. Where that carpet came from, police are unsure. The good news is, there were only minor injuries.”
The image of the polished-looking, fortysomething male anchor was replaced by his polished-looking, twentysomething female counterpart.
“Fire department and police officials have received reports of several metal containers spread around the tri-city area that are emitting what some people are calling a hum. A police spokesman says that officers have been dispatched to investigate these reports, but at this point there’s been no further information. Victoria Lawrence is on the scene with one of these boxes right now. Victoria?”
The studio shot cut to Victoria Lawrence standing in the parking lot of the Whittington Mall. About fifty feet behind her was a dark red shipping container, the top of which was open. This was the first such report to make it on the air.
“Cheryl, you can see one of the containers in question behind me.” As she said this, she turned for a quick look at the box, then faced the camera again. “This is only one of a half dozen sightings that have been called in to our station. The police have yet to arrive at this location.”
“Any indication of what might be inside?” the male anchor said.
“No, Paul. We haven’t been able to get a look yet. Mall security has asked everyone to stay away, but you might be able to hear the noise it’s making. It sounds a bit like the propeller of a small plane. As you can also see, several curious onlookers have gathered to see it for themselves.” She
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