"Somebody to see you, Willard," he hisses.
"Recovery room eight," I respond to Jamison, keeping my gaze on Mathis as I return the radio to my belt.
"Not them." Mathis rolls his head side to side on his pillow. "Somebody else. He's at the door. Watching you."
I glance over my shoulder. The door's shut, just like I left it.
I don't have time for this crap. I squeeze my temples. Might as well humor the freak. Soon as Perch and Jamison arrive, playtime's over anyway.
"Who do you see, Mathis?"
"Tucker."
The stool skids, screeching out from under me as I get to my feet. Adrenaline courses through my veins, my heart pumping double time. I whip out the Colt holstered at my side and grip it in both hands.
"Never seen you so scared, Willard!" Mathis wheezes.
"Where is he?" I demand, panning the small room with my gun muzzle.
"Can't you see him? Something wrong with your eyes?" he mocks me. "I thought he died, Captain. That's what you told us. Remember way back when? You said Sharon and the girls got him when they turned into crazy cannibals."
"They did." Didn't they? They must have. Or something else killed him. When those fools went topside and retrieved the guns, all they found were bloody remains. There's no way Tucker could've survived on the surface. Not all this time, not all alone. "No one survived."
"Well, that's not what he says." There's an edge to Mathis's voice. He thinks he has something on me even as he lies there impotent, paralyzed from the neck down. "He tells me you left him to die. Even though he came to your rescue."
"Why doesn't he speak for himself?" I shout.
"Hey, Willard." The deep voice nearly stops my heart. Familiar. Too familiar. But up to now, I thought I was the only one who could hear it.
"Tucker..." His ghost has haunted me ever since I took the elevator down and disabled it, leaving him to his fate.
But it had to be done. I had no idea he'd make it, and there were ninety-odd other lives to consider. The good of the many!
"Sorry I haven't been around lately. Been busy up there with the mutos and all." Tucker sniffs—his annoying little tick.
I force a smile, feel it stretch my face. "I was starting to think you were just a figment of my imagination." I lower the gun. No use shooting a ghost. "What's it been? A week or so?"
If Mathis can see him, then maybe he's not an apparition at all. Could he be an invisible ash freak instead, and it's taken the eyes of a fellow freak to see him? That would mean these past months of hauntings have been actual visits.
It means he's really here.
"You've already talked to Willard?" Mathis's big reveal has fallen flat, and he looks deflated.
Tucker's chuckle emanates from the far corner of the room now. "Scared the living crap out of 'im is more like it. Been a real hoot!" He laughs out loud. "He's thought for sure I'm some kind of spook!"
Not anymore.
I bring up the Colt and pull the trigger. For a split second after the gunshot—loud as a bomb going off in here—Tucker becomes visible as the round meets its mark. Just like I remember him. Same bright eyes, sandy hair and beard, muscular build. He wears an old standard-issue jumpsuit. Couldn't he have found something else? His eyes are wide, his mouth thrown open in total surprise. But then he's invisible again, groaning, stumbling against one of the medical machines and causing it to flicker, vanishing and reappearing. It wobbles as he collapses to the floor.
That'll teach him to screw with me.
"Captain—everything all right up there?" Jamison's on the radio again. "Shots fired?"
"Just one." I keep the gun barrel aimed at Tucker's corner of the room and listen. If he tries to leave, I'll shoot him again. I should've known better. There's no such thing as spirits of the dead. "Make that two collars," I order. "We have another volunteer."
Mathis stares at me, eyes unblinking. "What are you going to do?"
I chuckle as I pick up the muscle stimulator from the foot of his bed. "I told you already. Something real special."
Perch and Jamison show up with the collars and a medkit. Tucker being invisible and alive throws them for a loop at first, but I explain he's just another one of our infected ash freaks. Why didn't I tell them sooner? Because I was protecting them, of course. He was one of us, close to the inner circle. It would've been more than they could bear to know he'd been turned muto by the demon-dust.
"I can't even see him," Jamison murmurs, kneeling down in the corner where Tucker fell, probably passed out by now. Jamison swings his hand side to side in the air. Then he blinks out of sight, vanishing completely.
"What the—!" Perch jumps back.
Jamison must've bumped into Tucker. His invisibility is transferable by touch. Fascinating.
"Part of the mutation," I explain. "Anything that comes in contact with him disappears." Except for the floor, apparently. What rules govern this bizarre abnormality?
"You mean—I'm..." Jamison gasps.
"You're an invisible man." But we don't have time for show and tell. "Patch him up quick and collar 'im. I want that shortwave down here within the hour."
They work quickly. As soon as Perch has the collar on Mathis and the remote online, I apply the stimulant to each of his major muscle groups. He gets all jittery and starts crying out as his body reacts in violent spasms. I don't know what to do about it; I don't have Margo's bedside manner, and that's a fact. We'll have to wait it out.
Once he's lying still again, heaving one strained gasp after the next, I nod to Perch.
"Up and at 'em." Perch activates the remote.
The light on the collar flares red, and Mathis screams, clutching at his throat as he's thrown from the bed to the floor like a crash test dummy. Perch curses, shaking the remote at him uselessly, trying to make him stand up.
"What's wrong?" I snap.
"His muscles—they're not cooperating." Perch activates the remote again and Mathis flips over onto his arched back, limbs flailing.
"Damn you!" he screams hoarsely. "What have you done to me?"
I blow out a sigh and shake my head. His body must've been sedated for too long. This isn't going to work. "What about the other one?"
Jamison nods, now visible as he backs away from Tucker. "I patched up his wound, and the collar's on, good to go." But he hesitates. "We won't be able to see him—but we'll see everything he sees." He stands at attention. "Permission to return to—"
"Go."
He'll need to be in the monitoring station before Perch activates Tucker's collar. Jamison salutes crisply and leaves, shutting the door.
"What about this one?" Perch curses, gesturing at the writhing Mathis.
"Get him back into bed." Tucker showing up now is a real godsend. This way, I won't have to use any of Margo's pets for my project. "Sedate him completely. And get that collar off 'im." I don't want her knowing what we were up to in here.
Perch nods, but he makes no move to follow orders. Instead, he fixes me with his steely gaze and sucks on his teeth. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"
"Always."
"I don't like her. Don't trust her one bit. And I don't like the way you take orders from her."
"I don't take orders from anyone but God Almighty."
He nods slowly. "So why does she call the shots where these freaks are concerned?"
"It's her area of expertise. She advises me."
"Maybe so. Or maybe she's one of 'em. She could be, you know."
How dare he? The fool—he wants her for himself, can't stand it that I have the only woman left in Eden. My Eve. Since he knows he can't have her and never will, he doesn't want me to enjoy her. He's nothing but an overgrown child.
"And how'd you arrive at this great epiphany?" I raise an eyebrow.
He shakes his head, taking a step toward me. "You're in it too deep, sir—in her way too deep to see things clearly."
"Careful, soldier," I warn him.
He apologizes. "
But think about it. How many women were in the bunker with us? Near forty, yeah? And how many of them were infected?" He waits, eyes locked with mine. "All of 'em, because they went topside. So damn curious. But she's the only one not affected? What are the odds?"
I grin at him. "I'd say it qualifies as a bona fide miracle. Wouldn't you?"
He shakes his head vehemently. "She's hiding it somehow. Her infection. Meanwhile she's convinced you to keep these freaks—her patients—alive when they should be shot down like rabid dogs!"
"You've made your point." I nod toward Mathis. "Now take care of this one like I said, and meet us in the monitoring station. On the double."
He stands rigid as I leave the room. On the catwalk outside, I blink beneath Eden's lights and glance down the line of steel doors. Twelve recovery rooms, each with an infected freak inside, hooked up to all manner of machines that drain our power, use up our resources. For what purpose?
It makes her happy, I suppose. Keeps her happy. And she makes me happy. A vicious cycle of happiness is what it is.
I couldn't tell Perch that. Not that I should have. I don't answer to him. But I don't answer to her, either. I'm Captain of the Eden Guard, and if I decide at some point that these ash freaks should be put down, so be it.
She won't stand against me. She'll be standing alone. She knows better. She needs me as much as I need her.
Regardless, there's only one priority right now: get Tucker up on the surface and have him bring down that shortwave radio. Where could the transmission be coming from? The breeders in Sector 50? 51? Eden needs some baby-makers pronto, and that's a fact. Sector 43? We could definitely use some relief around here from all the grunt work. Or maybe trade workers, trapped somewhere beneath the rubble of their own city—all-natural children of God in need of a savior? We could send a Hummer out to them, one of the old gas-powered models we found in that parking garage at the end of the south tunnel. Send Tucker to chauffeur them right here where they belong. We'll welcome them with open arms.
Tucker. What the hell's happened to him? What kind of genetic transmutation makes a body go invisible?
When we returned from our first excursion through the tunnels—Jamison, Perch, Margo, and I—we found that Catherine and Mathis had fixed the elevator and gotten the guns from up top. They'd also gotten everybody all riled up about the supposed lies I told. While they'd come across what was left of the infected women's remains, there'd been no sign of Tucker. They hadn't opened the bunker door—hadn't dared to, obviously. They could tell by the fangs and claws on the corpses that I hadn't lied about the mutations. Who knew what might be lurking outside?
Of course I had to talk fast, make them think I'd been protecting them from the awful truth, et cetera. I did pretty well; I usually do. Told them Tucker had been hauled out by the freaks before I could shut the bunker door. Told them nobody had been trying to get down the elevator, every time the DOWN arrow lit up with a ding. Nope, that was just a knee-jerk type response from me cutting the hard lines. Then why'd I tell them something topside was trying to come down? To protect them, of course. Everything was dead up there, I knew that. I just wanted to spare them the gruesome particulars.
That was the official story, and it just about saved my neck. Most of them gobbled it up. Made sense to them, surprisingly. But I kept my eye on the riot instigators, watched them close from then on for any signs of mutation. Didn't take long.
But what really happened? Sometimes even I believe the lies I tell. Not now. I have to figure out how Tucker managed to survive out there.
After that she-cat attacked me and left me bleeding out, I made it to the elevator. I heard shots fired—must've been Tucker with the gun, taking out the last of the ash freaks. I rode the elevator down and left him, and he tried to follow me. Ding. Ding. Maybe thirty-six hours went by. We broke through the southwest tunnel and ran into the nuke. Meanwhile, Mathis fixed the elevator, and he and Catherine went up top. By then, Tucker must've managed to get outside and shut the bunker door behind him.
During the days that followed, he somehow survived in the desolation outside and found the city ruins to the southwest while we were relocating through the tunnels underground. As we dismantled that first nuke we found, he was inhaling the demon-dust. When we came upon the subterranean dome and started building Eden, he was scavenging through the ruins above us. And he was as invisible as the air.
Tucker's hauntings began almost as soon as we had Eden's bare necessities up and running: filtered air cycle, reclaimed water—recycled from our hydropacks and from our own bodies, purified for drinking and showering. While we made a new life for ourselves, he played ghost, trying to scare the hell out of me.
Did I think I'd killed him? Of course. Maybe I even felt a little guilty about it.
But not anymore. Now I've got the prankster freak right where I want him. He's going to make up for all those months of screwing around. I'll work him harder than he's ever worked in his life. Getting the shortwave radio is just his first chore on a very long list that'll keep him busy from now till his dying breath—whenever I decide that's to be.
"Well?" I step into the monitoring station.
Jamison starts, salutes, and returns to the screens. "This one's Tucker." He points. "The camera's online, so we're seeing what he sees. Right now...not much."
The screen shows a lopsided view of the recovery room's medical machines and the bed where Perch has replaced Mathis, as limp as a fresh corpse.
"Still out cold?"
Jamison nods. "For now. Soon as Perch comes down, we'll activate Tucker and send him on his way."
I glance at the other three monitors where the mutos remain right where we left them, facing the shortwave radio. The light on the receiver continues to blink. Could it be some kind of automated distress call from D-Day? I can't get my hopes up that it's anything more.
The door creaks open, then shuts. Perch silently takes his post at the control panel. "Showtime," he mutters.
I focus on Tucker's monitor. At first nothing happens, no change at all. It's the same view from the floor where he fell when I shot him. But then there's a jerk, and the image bounces. Tucker groans.
Jamison punches a pad on the console and leans in. "Can you hear me, Tucker?" Another groan. "This is Jamison. You remember me?"
What's he doing? Just send the freak after the radio, for crying out loud!
"I'll wake 'im up," Perch growls.
"No—wait." Jamison holds out his hand. "He's not a muto. We can communicate with him."
"That's what I'm doing." Perch spins a dial and the image on the screen goes haywire. Tucker's agonized scream comes through loud and clear.
Jamison looks back at me, his eyes pleading in the dim light.
"Get on with it," I order, folding my arms.
Perch chuckles at the controls as more screams erupt from the speaker. Jamison leans in again, keeps his voice calm.
"Stand up, Tucker. Get on your feet, and the pain will stop."
"Maybe." Perch snickers.
Good cop, bad cop. I lean back against the wall to watch. This ought to be good.
Hard to tell which gets the most results—Jamison's encouraging words or Perch's jolts of electricity. But they manage to get Tucker out of the recovery room, down the ladder, across the main floor, and into the south tunnel without him running into anything or anybody. Of course, nobody sees him.
"He's on his way," Jamison reports. He glances up at the screen, dark now that Tucker's in the tunnel. "Switching to night vision."
The green, fuzzy image doesn't change for close to half an hour, not until Tucker reaches the uppermost level of the parking garage. All that time, he doesn't say a single word.
"You'll need to take the stairs to the top, out to the surface," Jamison tells him. He releases the audio pad on the panel. "So far so good."
"We should put cameras in there," I muse aloud. "Thermoptic, infrared. See the mutos before they get close to Eden."
&nb
sp; "Good idea, sir." Perch glances back at me and grins. "Tucker's next assignment?"
Glad to see he's on board. I'm willing to forgive and forget the stupid things he said up in the recovery room. He's a good soldier. I'd hate to have to put him down.
"We'll make a list." I chuckle, smoothing my mustache. Almost time for a trim.
Tucker takes the stairs one at a time with excruciating deliberation. That bullet to the chest could be slowing him down. Can't be comfortable. Jamison said it was just a flesh wound and that he stopped the bleeding, so Tucker should be fine. But will he be able to lift the radio? He sure had better. He botches this, Perch won't have to handle the shock collar. I'll crank it up myself and blow Tucker's head clean off.
The image on the screen pans left to right as Tucker walks through the uppermost level of the garage, passing by one derelict vehicle after the next. Their solar panels have been stripped by the mutos—not the ones we've managed to collar, the wild ones. Doesn't seem like they'd be able to figure out how to use them, but those freaks do surprise us on occasion.
"Now what?" Tucker speaks for the first time, his voice a monotone as he steps out of the garage and into the empty night.
"It talks." Perch guffaws.
Jamison leans in again, pressing the same audio pad on the console. "You're going to turn to the southeast—thirty degrees to your left."
"Any hint what I'm looking for?" Tucker sniffs, sounding dejected. No fun being our remote-controlled dog?
"We'll guide you to it."
"I'm just saying, you tell me what it is, I'll find it easy enough. I know where all the good stuff's at around here."
Excellent. He's a real godsend, and that's a fact.
Jamison looks back at me. "Sir?"
"Go ahead." There's no harm in it. Perch has him wired in case he tries anything funny.
"All right, Tucker." Jamison nods. "It's a shortwave radio. Should be located beneath what's left of a storage facility on the—"
"I know where it is," Tucker cuts him off. The image on the screen starts moving. He's heading out. "I replaced the batteries last week."
Spirits of the Earth: The Complete Series: (A Post-Apocalyptic Series Box Set: Books 1-3) Page 34