The first tactical dropped before his boot hit the gravel.
I fired again….center mass, then head.
He crumpled.
Rhea was already moving, low and fast, using the van as cover.
I slid behind the engine block, pistol hot in my hand.
“Left flank!” she shouted.
I pivoted.
Two more closing in, rifles sweeping.
I put one down with a double tap.
The other fired….wild, panicked.
Bullet sparked off the van.
I returned fire.
He fell.
Silence.
Heavy.
Wet.
I counted the bodies.
Five.
One SUV still idling.
“Driver,” I whispered.
Rhea nodded.
She moved like smoke, pistol low, eyes sharp.
She reached the SUV.
Yanked the door.
The driver tried to run.
She shot him.
He dropped.
She slid behind the wheel.
“Get in.”
I did
She fired up the engine.
We sped away.
Behind us, the hub faded into the rain.
The road was black.
Ice mixed with rain.
The van fishtailed.
Rhea didn’t flinch.
“Talk,” she said.
I opened the Ledger.
Fresh page.
Wrote: “Master key = person.
Carrier = lock.
Vector = delivery system.”
Capped the pen.
“Harlan didn’t lie,” I said.
“The key isn’t a drive.
It’s you.
She gripped the wheel tighter.
“Why me?”
“Because you’re Carrier-001,” I said.
“Stable but infectious.
You’re the only one who can activate the kill-switch.”
She didn’t speak for a long time.
Then: “What happens when I do?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“But it stops Phase Two.”
She laughed.
It was hollow.
“I know enough.”
She glanced at me.
“And if it kills me?”
I didn’t answer right away.
The road wound downward.
Reykjavik glowed on the horizon, a bruise of light against the storm.
“Then I’ll make sure it matters,” I said finally.
She didn’t argue.
She just looked away.
At the rain.
At the dark.
At the road ahead.
The airport was private.
A single jet waited on the tarmac.
No markings.
No lights.
Rhea killed the engine.
“This is it?”
“Ferryman’s backup,” I said.
“He said there’d be a jet.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“You trust him?”
“I don’t trust anyone,” I said.
“But we don’t have a choice.”
We got out.
Walked to the jet.
The door was open.
Inside: empty..
I checked the cockpit.
Keys in the ignition.
Fuel full.
“Too easy,” Rhea said.
I nodded.
“Trap.”
“Then why are we boarding?”
“Because it’s the only way to Seattle,” I said.
“And because I want them to think we’re stupid.”
She didn’t argue.
She just climbed in.
I followed.
Closed the door.
Locked it.
Then I pulled the pistol.
“Sit,” I said.
“And don’t move.”
She sat.
I moved to the cockpit.
Started the engine.
The jet roared to life.
I taxied to the runway.
Took off.
Into the storm.
Into the dark
Into the unknown.
Mid-flight, my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I answered.
Smooth.
Familiar.
Ferryman.
“You’re alive,” I said.
“Barely,” he said.
“AVG just put a price on my head.”
“Why call?”
“Because I have something you want,” he said.
“The real kill-switch.”
I froze.
“What?”
“A code,” he said.
“To lock the network.
But it requires a carrier.”
I looked at Rhea.
She was asleep.
Head against the window.
Eyes closed.
“What code?” I asked.
“Seven digits,” he said.
“Entered into the master terminal.
In Seattle.”
“Where?”
“Elliott Bay,” he said.
“Alpha.”
I didn’t speak for a long time.
Then: “Why help us?”
“Because I’m not overhead,” he said.
“And because I want to live.”
I cut the call.
Silence.
I looked at Rhea.
Still asleep.
I opened the Ledger.
Fresh page.
Wrote: “Kill-switch code = 7 digits.
Terminal = Alpha.
Carrier = required.”
Capped the pen.
Then I turned back to the controls.
And flew.
Into the storm.
Into the dark.
Into the end.
The jet shook.
Turbulence.
Then a voice over the intercom: “Asset Mercer.
You are entering US airspace.
Turn back or be shot down.”
I looked at Rhea.
She was awake.
Eyes wide.
“Kael,” she whispered.
“What do we do?”
I smiled.
It wasn’t happy.
“We don’t turn back,” I said.
And I pushed the throttle forward.