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  The killer laughed. “Father and son, huh? Well, aren’t you the caring daddy—sure, you can lift it if you want. For an old fart you’re quite the stand-up guy, aren’t you?”

  Allison noticed the cold hard look that had suddenly appeared in Willy’s eyes.

  And, she noticed something else as well. His jawbones seemed to protrude a bit more than they had just a few short minutes ago. In the dim light of the crypt building, he seemed to be glowing. The killers probably thought it was just a trick of the light in the room, but Allison knew what it was. It was happening right in front of their eyes, just the way she’d seen it happen with her own father once upon a time.

  * * * * *

  John ran as fast as his aging legs could tolerate.

  He was still in pretty good shape, but hadn’t done any running in quite some time. He could feel it in his knees, but pushed himself to keep going.

  He came to the end of the tunnel, climbed up the short ladder, and twisted the wheel on the hatch. He heard a hissing sound as the hydraulics lifted the hatch skyward.

  He dragged himself out onto the long grass and took a second to get his bearings.

  He was in the middle of a wild, unkempt vineyard, with no discernable path to anywhere. It was too thick to see more than 20 feet in front. But, he remembered Allison telling him that the crypt building was south of where the escape hatch opened up.

  He looked up and saw the Sun.

  Luckily, this area of the world was sunny most of the time, otherwise John wouldn’t have had a clue as to which direction to run. His watch told him it was 3:00 in the afternoon, so he knew he had to aim roughly in the direction of the Sun.

  He took several deep breaths and then began his dash through the thick underbrush, grapevines slapping his face as he fought his way along. A couple of times, he tripped and fell hard, made all the more painful by the Uzi pistol stuck in his waistband. He thanked his good judgement in leaving the safety on.

  It only took a couple of minutes to break out into the open.

  And, there it was.

  The stone crypt building, where, any minute now, he was expected to open the hatch and emerge. The building where Allison and her friends were being held hostage at this very moment.

  Allison Fisher—the woman who had risked her life back in Vermont to save his.

  Now, John would have the chance to perhaps return the favor.

  He glanced at his watch. Eight minutes had gone by since he’d started his mad dash down the tunnel.

  Two minutes to go.

  John thought of phoning the police, but realized that was foolish. They would take far too long to get here, assuming they could even find this remote place.

  He realized the only choice he had was to burst through the door and hope that he shot the right targets. But, Uzi machine pistols, while deadly, were notoriously inaccurate. They were slaughter weapons, firing several rounds a second. He knew it could be switched to ‘single shot,’ but he didn’t know how to do that.

  He walked cautiously up to the building and rounded the corner towards the one and only door, his heart pounding out of his chest.

  Suddenly, he noticed something.

  Something which caused him to remember a conversation he’d had with Gerndle on one of the times he’d come out for some fresh air and sunshine.

  About twenty yards from the crypt was another little building. A building that contained nothing but electrical panels, maintenance equipment…and the control panel and piping system for the winery’s fire suppression system.

  Gerndle knew the winery inside and out, as well as all of the machinery that kept it working…and kept it safe. She had proudly taken John on a tour, even down to the oak room where rows and rows of oaken casks fostered the fermentation of Diamond Winery’s award winning vintages.

  During the tour she gave him, John had noticed that there were sprinkler heads in the ceilings of every building, including the crypt structure. Gerndle explained that the entire winery was protected by what was known as a Deluge sprinkler system, which was vastly different from the Wet Pipe systems that were more common.

  In Wet Pipe systems, there was always water in the pipes, ready to burst free as soon as the fusible links in the sprinkler heads were melted by fire at a pre-set temperature. But, the disadvantages to systems like that were possible water damage if there was leakage, or freezing of the pipes if the heating systems failed—which would cause one hell of a mess.

  In a Deluge system, there was no water in the pipes. It waited patiently until someone activated it manually. Or, it could be connected to the fire alarm—once the alarm went off, the system would activate automatically and the deluge would commence.

  At Diamond Vintage Winery, the Deluge system could be activated either way. And, making it even more interesting, Gerndle explained to him that it was engineered to be even more effective in fire suppression than just a mere water system. It had two piping networks that joined together at the entrance point to each building.

  One network contained water and the other one contained a foam solution. When the two mixed together, a ferocious liquidy foam substance blasted through the ceiling-mounted sprinkler heads, thoroughly smothering whatever fire might exist below.

  John dashed over to the little services building, opened the door and ducked inside. He glanced at his watch. Thirty seconds left.

  His eyes scanned the controls. He could activate the fire alarm and the suppression system would automatically explode into action. Or, he could just manually trigger the system without the alarm.

  He chose to go without the alarm. It would be too loud, and if Allison or the others were shouting instructions, they might not hear each other.

  John’s fingers slid across the control panel until they came to a button which was labelled ‘Hatch Building.’ He punched it, which would ensure that only that little crypt building would be deluged. John figured doing only that building would ensure maximum pressure in the system.

  Another set of controls allowed for a choice as to timespan of suppression. John chose fifteen minutes.

  His fingers slid down the screen until they came to the final button.

  Senator John Hartford pulled the Uzi out of his waistband and clicked off the safety.

  He took a deep breath…and then another.

  Through clenched teeth, he muttered to himself, “Do it, John.”

  Without another moment’s hesitation, he pressed the button labelled ‘Activate.’

  Chapter 51

  The tall killer was staring at his watch and counting down. “Ten, nine…”

  It occurred to Wyatt that he actually seemed happy, excited. His voice also bore a tinge of sarcasm and taunting. Verging on victorious.

  Wyatt didn’t know what to expect when the countdown ended. Would the hatch actually open? Was Allison telling the truth when she explained about the time delay on the lock? Would the senator open it? Or would Willy have to do the honors?

  If he did emerge from down below, the senator would be an instant dead man.

  Wyatt was certain that the rest of them would be close behind him on the trip to the hereafter. Instead of the plan to wormhole their way back to 1963, they would now just cease to exist.

  His life over the last few months had gone through incredible twists and turns. The world and all that he thought he knew about it had been turned on its end.

  The horror of what was about to happen to the planet, and the pie-in-the-sky plan to use CERN to circumvent fate, was enough to make his head spin.

  But, now, these killers.

  In an odd way, he felt annoyed, like they were just pesky little insects that needed to be squashed. The type of insects that were elusive and painful, the ones that ruined a good day of golf or a picnic in the park. No matter how hard you swatted at them, you just kept missing, and they just kept buzzing, biting.

  These hired guns obviously had no idea what was going on. They had no idea that the world was in pe
ril. They were just obeying orders, orders that the tall one already told Allison couldn’t be rescinded. So, they would kill, collect their money…and, unbeknownst to them, there would be very little time left to spend it.

  They were now standing in the way of refuge. Standing in the way of a plan, despite how ridiculously remote that plan sounded. But, it was at least something that had given each of them hope, something to hang on to.

  And, now, right when they were on the verge of some semblance of safety and a possible solution, they might not live to see it through.

  “Okay, old man. I don’t hear that hatch opening, so you’re on. Give it a heave.”

  Willy reached down to the handle on the hatch and pulled upward.

  The heavy hatch creaked as it retreated from its mooring. Wyatt caught his breath as he noticed the dramatic change in his father’s appearance. His strong hand gripping the handle of the hatch accentuated the bone structure. In his bent-over position, the rays from the single light in the room seemed to catch his face just right.

  Willy was now, once again, a living skeleton.

  With his back to the killers, they hadn’t yet noticed the horrifying apparition.

  The hatch was now completely open, revealing its dark haunting abyss.

  Senator Hartford was nowhere in sight.

  “I can’t see a fucking thing. Lady, aren’t there lights you can turn on?”

  Allison extended the remote and pressed a button. Suddenly, the shaft illuminated, all the way down as far as the eye could see.

  “Fuck! Where is he? Is there another exit out of that tomb?”

  Allison shook her head and lied. “No. For security reasons, this is the only way in or out.”

  “I don’t know if I believe you—but, okay. Plan B.”

  The killer suddenly rammed the barrel of his Glock into the back of Willy’s head. Wyatt could hear the impact from where he was standing on the opposite side of the room.

  “Climb down there, old man, and bring him up. Tell him there’s an emergency with Ms. Fisher—and, if he doesn’t buy that, just tell him we’re going to kill her and everyone else. If he’s a good senator, I’m sure his conscience won’t be able to handle that.”

  Willy slowly turned and faced the killer.

  Wyatt had seen countless horror movies over the years, but very few compared to the scene in front of him right now. His dad—a haunting glow adorning the three exposed areas: his face, and both hands.

  Totally transparent, his skeletal face accented by effervescent blue eyes. The macabre sight of an aperture that was supposed to be a mouth, opening and closing in a menacing whisper.

  “You’re a dead man.”

  The killer lurched backwards. The look on his face was indescribable. In the split second that he saw it, it reminded Wyatt of the frozen expressions of the unfortunate victims in the movie, The Ring, after they’d laid their eyes on the demon girl climbing out of the well.

  A blood-curdling scream escaped the lips of the tall man as he backpedalled away from Willy, followed by a “Jesus Fucking Christ!” from the shorter partner standing against the wall.

  Instinctively, the killer fired his pistol in Willy’s direction, but it was poorly aimed. It caught him in the shoulder and spun him around.

  But, it was only a momentary distraction.

  Willy kept coming.

  * * * * *

  John listened carefully for what he’d expected would be a sudden rush of liquid through the pipes.

  All he heard was a slight humming sound. Not the deluge he’d expected.

  He cursed, and ran out of the building towards the front door of the crypt. Maybe there was a delay on the deluge the same way there was a delay programmed for the safety lock in the hatch.

  John reached the front door, Uzi held in front of him at waist level. He knew that beyond this door was a tragedy waiting to happen.

  Allison and her friends were in danger because of him.

  And, by now, they must have realized he wasn’t in the shaft and wouldn’t be coming up.

  How the killers would react to that, he could only guess.

  They might go down to search for him, but he suspected they’d be reluctant to do that, fearing an ambush.

  John reached his free hand out towards the door handle.

  Then, he stopped himself.

  He still faced the same problem he was worried about before. Going in, gun blazing, could only result in innocent people being killed. Adding to that worry was the fact that he didn’t even know who Allison’s friends were. In the split second it took to pull the trigger, would he be able to tell the good guys from the bad?

  His idea of using the fire suppression system as a diversion didn’t seem to be working. Was there something else he was supposed to do to activate the system? Something he’d overlooked?

  John swore again, whirled around, and dashed back inside the services building.

  He wiped the sweat from his eyes and once again studied the control panel. Double-checked everything he’d done.

  He was puzzled. It appeared as if he’d followed the proper procedures.

  Then, he noticed it.

  A small switch on the side of the panel console.

  With the label: System delay override.

  * * * * *

  Willy grabbed the killer’s gun hand and flung it upwards. The man swung his free hand at his skeletal face and made contact, but Willy just shrugged it off. He twisted the man’s arm backwards until the shoulder popped out of its socket. The killer screamed in pain and shoved his knee up into Willy’s groin. Another shrug, as Willy slammed the man up against the wall.

  The tussle had only taken a couple of seconds, but to Wyatt it had seemed a lifetime. He was in awe watching his father in action, while at the same time being aware of Allison dashing over to Gerndle and covering her with her own body.

  The second gunman was now trying to position himself to get a shot at Willy without hitting his partner.

  Wyatt was just about to rush the man when there was another kind of rush.

  Actually, more like a ‘whoosh.’

  It reverberated loudly through the ceiling of the crypt for a second or two until the source of the sound made its appearance. He looked up just as a white foamy substance poured out of the sprinkler heads in the ceiling.

  Suddenly, the room and everyone in it took on a different appearance. Like a blinding snowstorm, but worse than that. A thick slippery foam that stuck to everything it sprayed.

  The short killer was trying his best to ignore the foam storm, and began angling around the room, still trying to take aim at Willy to save his partner.

  Wyatt made his move. He dove forward onto his chest and slid across the room along the foam that had now completely covered the floor. Its slipperiness carried him forward with ease, just as if he were sliding into home plate.

  At the last second, the man saw him. But, it was too late. Wyatt’s forward momentum carried him hard into the killer’s legs, taking him down. He then scrambled on top of him and slammed his foam-covered fist into his face. The sickening sound of cracking bones told Wyatt that his fist had done serious harm to his nose. He started snorting as the blood gushed across his face.

  He still had the Glock in his hand, and Wyatt scrambled farther up the man’s chest and pinned his upper arm to the floor.

  Just as he clasped his free hand on the man’s gun, he glanced up to check where Willy was.

  What he saw was a blur of motion, encased in white foam. Willy lifted the tall killer high in the air and then slammed him down to the concrete foam-covered floor in a move that most professional wrestlers would have had a tough time mimicking.

  Part of Wyatt’s brain told him to look away now, but for some reason he couldn’t.

  It was brutal and animalistic, but perhaps because it was his father doing it, it became less so.

  His brain also told him that these men had to die.

  For a second or two, he
remembered how scenes like this were portrayed in movies. Most of the time, when the killer was down and out, the good guy walked away without checking to make sure he was really and truly dead. Followed by the tiresome and traditional miracle—the bad guy would somehow come to life and reach for the gun lying on the floor.

  Wyatt was fully aware that in real life it wasn’t like that.

  During his years in the RCMP, he’d brought many lives to an end, lives that deserved an ending because of the fickleness and unpredictability of a courtroom.

  And, now, his dad was doing the same thing.

  For Wyatt, it was like a bad dream—but also a good dream. Just like when Willy had ended the lives of the kidnappers who had terrorized his wife, he was doing it once again. Exacting his own sense of justice that his amazing strength and induced brutality was allowing him. Without conscience. The offshoots of DNA that had been permanently altered.

  Willy picked up the still-breathing killer like a ragdoll and threw him on top of the shaft opening. Then, he dragged him slightly backwards until his head was positioned just right. Almost like the care he put into the works of art perfected in his studio.

  Then, without hesitation, Willy Carson grabbed the edge of the heavy metal hatch cover and slammed it down on top of the dazed killer’s head.

  Wyatt gulped and turned his attention back to the man underneath him. The killer’s hand was still wrapped tightly around the butt of the gun, but Wyatt managed to slide his index finger in between the trigger and the guard as a precaution. For now, the gun couldn’t be fired.

  He was just getting ready to break the man’s wrist to get the gun out of his hand when suddenly the door to the crypt was kicked open. Wyatt twisted his head around and noticed a tall distinguished looking man standing in the doorway, holding an Uzi pistol. He looked somewhat like the actor, Donald Sutherland.

  Allison called out. “John!”

  The one remaining killer took advantage of the moment’s distraction and wiggled his hand free from Wyatt’s grasp. He lifted his gun hand and aimed it towards the doorway.