Ex-Purgatory by Peter Clines (best book club books TXT) 📕

was a beautiful dark-skinned woman in a black trench coat who looked familiar. It crossed his mind she might be an actress, although he couldn’t think of what he might’ve seen her in. Or why the crazy man would be with her.

“I think they want to get in,” said Dr. Morris.

“They’re not part of your team, are they, ma’am?”

She shook her head. “Nope. I think … they look kind of familiar, though.”

As Freedom crossed the room, other people appeared out on the sidewalk. At least a dozen figures were closing in on the couple at the front door. More homeless folks in ragged clothes. Their pleading hands were held out and their mouths moved in a constant stream of words that came through the glass as pops and clicks.

For a brief moment, he considered ignoring the couple. The homeless people could be annoying, but he’d never heard of them hurting anyone. Not in this part of town, anyway. Then the thought of Donner Pass danced across his mind. And the hungry hands.

He sighed and unlocked the twin dead bolts on the door.

The couple slipped through the door as soon as they could fit. The woman pushed it closed again and snapped the locks shut, one with each hand. Up close, Freedom was even more certain he’d seen her in a commercial or magazine.

But there was something else about her, too. Her stance. The way she held herself. Something about the woman made him think of career soldiers, although he couldn’t remember ever serving with a woman even remotely as gorgeous as this one.

“Thanks,” said the crazy man.

“Of course,” said Freedom. He glanced at the figures out on the sidewalk. “Is there something I can help you with?”

The woman glanced at his insignia. “Lieutenant John Carter Freedom?” She glanced back at the man. “He is not a captain?”

“No.”

Freedom bit back a growl.

The man looked at Dr. Morris across the room. A smile broke out on his face. She stared back at him. “Wait a minute,” she said. “Is your name George?”

“Yeah,” said the man. “Do you remember me?”

That was right, Freedom remembered. He’d said his name was George.

“I think so,” Dr. Morris said, “but I’m not sure from where. Are you with DARPA? Or a college?”

“Not quite.”

The other woman, the supermodel type, studied the cases. “This is the Cerberus suit?”

“Yeah,” said Dr. Morris. “How’d you know?”

Freedom wondered as well. The Cerberus Battle Armor System wasn’t a secret. The recruiting office had been showing footage of it for a few months now, and there were YouTube clips of it online. It wasn’t getting major news coverage, though, and yet here were two people who happened by his office on the day it arrived. Both of whom seemed very familiar with the battlesuit and its creator.

Maybe too familiar.

He straightened up. “Ma’am,” he said, “sir, what can I do for you this morning?”

“We’re here for you,” said George. “Both of you.”

Dr. Morris raised an eyebrow. “Sorry?”

George glanced at the supermodel, who gave a slight nod. “This is going to sound a little strange,” he said, “but you’ve both been having a lot of dreams, haven’t you? Things that should be nightmares, but aren’t?”

“Yeah,” said Dr. Morris. Her arms pulled back up and crossed over her chest. “How did you know?”

George gestured at the crates. “Do you dream about being in the battlesuit? About fighting monsters?”

Her eyes went wide. “Yes,” she said. “They’re always all around me. They’re like a swarm. A horde.”

Freedom stiffened at the word. He wasn’t sure why at first. Then he remembered the Donner Pass.

The supermodel noticed his reaction. She was sharp. “You are having similar dreams,” she said. It was more of a statement than a question.

“No,” he told her, even as an image of gray-skinned settlers flashed in his mind. It occurred to him he still didn’t know who the woman was. “No, I am not.”

“It’s okay,” said George. “Someone did something to our minds. It’s not your fault you can’t remember.”

“My fault?” said Freedom. He felt his hands clench into fists and forced them straight. “What are you implying, sir?”

“Someone did what to our minds?” asked Dr. Morris.

“We are wasting time,” said the supermodel. “Convince them the direct way, as Madelyn convinced you.”

“She didn’t really convince me, remember?”

“George,” she said, “we do not have time.”

He sighed and looked at the crates. He pointed at one the size of a desk and glanced at Dr. Morris. “That’s the back section, right? Armor plates, spinal computer, all that stuff? It’s, what, three hundred and fifty pounds, not counting the case?”

“Yeah,” she said. “How’d you know?”

“I’ve helped you get in or out of the armor a couple hundred times. That’s the only case big enough for it.”

Her face twisted up. “Who are you people?” she asked.

George grabbed the sturdy handle. The road case leaped into the air and he caught it with his free hand. Dr. Morris gasped. Freedom tensed. George balanced it for a moment, then pushed it up to the roof with one hand.

They stared for a moment, and then Freedom set his jaw. “Sir, that’s government property,” he said. “Set it down.”

“Gently!” snapped Dr. Morris. “Do you have any idea what that costs?”

George let the case drop back down so he could balance it in both hands. “You’re always so worried about it,” he said, “even though it’s built like a tank.”

Freedom took a step and placed himself between George and the rest of the boxes. “I think you and your friend need to leave, sir.”

George looked at him for a moment. “Catch,” he said as he tossed the case at Freedom.

Dr. Morris snarled. Freedom lunged forward. He grabbed the large case in his arms like a man catching a baby. He held on to it for a moment, not wanting to shift his balance until he was sure he had it.

“It would seem,” said the dark woman, “George is not the only strong one.”

Freedom set the case down. It thudded against the thin carpet. He stared at it for