Page 60 of Crimson Moon Falling

“These aren’t just research-grade.” I ran my finger along the edge of an unpacked centrifuge, its stainless steel housing gleaming under my headlamp. “The equipment is mostly production-grade. They’re planning to manufacture something here.”

“Like what?” Parker asked, snapping another photo.

“Probably whatever they’re doing to people to turn them into Cogs.”

Freda appeared in the corridor. “I found something you both need to see.”

We followed her down a side passage, which was a narrow gap between the concrete and the rough-hewn stone, barely wide enough for Parker’s shoulders. The air grew warmer with each step, thickening until it coated the back of my throat.

The passage opened into a cavern that dropped away into darkness. Warm air billowed up from below, carrying the sharp smell of spring water. A geyser roared somewhere deep in the blackness, its thunderous rhythm vibrating through the stone beneath our feet. Mineral deposits encrusted the walls, glistening in our headlamps like wet sugar.

“The thermal activity under this bunker is off the charts,” I murmured. My energy responded, crackling along my veins, the implant humming louder in response to the surge. It was like touching a live wire.

Freda glanced at me questioningly.

“They built this place atop one of the largest energy sources in North America.” I stepped closer to the edge, peering down into the darkness. The geyser’s roar echoed up the shaft, rhythmic and immense. “Cognizant abilities are fueled by energy. It stands to reason that modifying a Normal into a Cog would require massive amounts. This location isn’t just remote. It’s a huge natural power plant.”

We documented what we could and backtracked to the main corridor. Parker ducked into what appeared to be the administrative office area. The room had a massive metal desk, office chairs, and a filing cabinet whose drawers screeched when he pulled them open.

Inside, rolled up next to yellowed maintenance logs, was a stack of maps. Parker carefully spread a few out on the desk, using his headlamp to illuminate them. I held the curled ends as we unrolled maps of Texas, New Mexico, and the Western United States. We studied them, our heads together.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

The map showed a network of facility sites, or perhaps potential sites, across the western United States, each marked with a small black X. Roswell was there, circled in what looked like fresh ink. So was the Austin site we’d found months ago. There were others. One in Nevada, another in eastern Oregon, two in northern California. And there, in the mountains of Colorado, an X marked a location in Rocky Mountain National Park.

My throat closed. With shaking hands, I lifted my phone and took several photos.

Parker’s finger hovered over the mark. “Fern Meadows,” he read.

Fern Meadows was where the forest fire had started. The fire that burned twelve thousand acres and took three weeks to contain. The fire that started around the time my father disappeared.

“I would stake my life that they burned it,” I whispered. “After he found it, they burned the whole area to cover it up.”

Parker was silent for a long moment, his fury and pain pummeling me. Then he carefully rolled the map back up. “We’re taking this with us.”

We documented the rest in silence. Freda found equipment request forms, the dates stretching back eighteen months. Apollo Genetics had been moving equipment into this bunker before Roswell was taken offline. Probably around the time they’d figured out how to modify Normals and shifters with Cog abilities.

Three hours later, the Blackhawk’s rotors thrummed through the mountain air. We loaded Malcolm’s wrapped body first, Parker and Bart carrying him between them.

“We’re leaving Bart and Freda here for now,” Parker shouted to the pilot over the rotors as we strapped in.

They were staying to guard the place until ISB and the Pack could get a proper team in. Shit was going to hit the fan… again.

We’d found another military-guarded facility, this one beneath a national park with Apollo Genetics equipment and a massive thermal energy source. We also had the map, which was probably outdated by now, that pinpointed their operational sites, dating back years.

The Blackhawk lifted, and the area vanished beneath the trees. I stared out at the mountains beneath us, vast, indifferent, and full of secrets.

My father had probably stood in a wilderness like this and taken a last stand, even though he knew it would mean his death. If there was an afterlife, I hoped he and Malcolm could meet someday.

Chapter 18

Conall

Sawyer Castillo sat in a stiff leather chair in front of the sprawling, messy Senator’s desk with his head in his hands, his fingers splayed against his scalp as if holding his skull together. They were just finishing up an early morning meeting with Senator Bryne from Colorado when Parker’s call came in.

The Senator’s office was paneled in wood and filled with gifts, plaques, and binders. The reception area held too many desks, and even the Senator’s office looked like organized chaos. Senator Bryne was a tall, older woman with steel-gray hair, a deep dimple in her chin, and a brisk, no-nonsense manner.

Most of her staff looked like they were half the Senator’s age, and Conall caught a whiff of fear from a couple of them as they walked in. But Bryne was one of the few politicians Conall could tolerate, and she was leading the opposition to the proposed shifter registration legislation.