Atlanta Bound

by Lilith Saintcrow

  I love you.

  She’d never even told him that.

  Later, Ginny would tell her that of course Mark knew. Later, Ginny would tell her it was natural, and part of the grieving process, and she knew how it felt. Later, Ginny would hug her over and over again, and the best times were when Ginny stroked her back and hummed that wandering melody.

  At that moment, though, Steph Meacham just cried, the awful pressure of holding it together draining away and safe haven reached at last.

  Hero

  Parts of Atlanta were burned to the ground, but there were fortified cores of activity. Inside the tallest building of the biggest one, the upper windows were huge, but if it bothered General Grandon to sit at a desk with his back to one it didn’t show.

  “I expected to die out there in bumfuck Missouri.” The general sighed, heavily. His left arm was in a cast under a hastily slit sleeve; half his hair, fully grey now, was singed off and his left eye was under a patch and a pad of fresh white gauze. His fatigues, the left sleeve of the top split to allow the cast, were ironed, and his remaining eye was bloodshot but bright as ever. “They were already burning bridges.”

  Lee didn’t care. If this was a debriefing, it was one he wanted no part of, especially with his eyes full of hot sand and his entire body crawling with fatigue, sweat, and dirt. “So you dumped it on me.” He kept his hat on, his jacket zipped, and his arms folded, though habit had already made him twitch preparatory to a salute or two on the way in.

  Training, grinding in deep. A man could walk right off a cliff before he knew it, if he was in the habit of marching. Or step right through that frail shield of plate glass and plummet.

  Wouldn’t take much, just a few steps. It would take even less to punch a man, dazing him, and shoot the glass, then send the feller in a rolling chair right on through.

  That’s not a good thought, Lee.

  Grandon spread his right hand, and the fingers of his left twitched under the cast. He pressed a button, and the computer to his left woke, a glaring blue screen reflecting on window-glass. “Well…I figured if anyone would get to Atlanta, you would.”

  Son of a bitch. Lee said nothing else. Juju, standing on his left, was studying the old man, full lips pulled tight and the faintest flicker of do you believe this shit around his dark eyes.

  It was good to have a united front, even if both of them looked like bandits instead of soldiers. A gust of rain smacked along the window, a dribble of sky-saliva. Raining on the just and the unjust, like his Nonna used to say, except she never added that it all flowed downhill and drowned anyone foolish enough to believe justice was an actual thing.

  The general studied Lee, letting the quiet stretch out. Finally, though, a faintly nervous half-chuckle covered the last fraction of strained silence. “They’ve been working on a separate serum. Only got twenty-five percent survivability, though. This one was damn near ninety, and it took a fucking miracle to get it offbase. I figured you’d get it through, if only to spite me.” The habitual bluff, cajoling tone, CO to grunt, delivered from a nice dry mountaintop.

  “When’d’ja send the cleanup crew?” Juju almost spat the question, and Grandon actually blinked his good eye.

  So they were surprising the old man. Good.

  “Yeah.” Lee added the weight of his own stare to Juju’s. It was hard work to get used to electricity again, and the humming of a well-organized base. His nerves were scrubbed damn raw, to match the rest of him. “Was just wonderin that myself.”

  “Lee—” Now the old man was going to go all awshucks and buddy, and Lee’s patience threatened to snap outright. Even the little voice inside his head that sounded suspiciously like Ginny telling him to calm down had shut up, watching to see what he’d do.

  “It’s Quartine, sir.” You keep my name outta your mouth. Lee looked past Grandon, through the soaked window. Not a lot of birds out, despite all the free meat on the counter. It was a damn open-air buffet for carrion, just like any war zone. “When did you send the cleanup crew out to my place? Couldn’t have been long after we left.”

  “When I finally got to Atlanta.” Grandon had paled. “They had orders just to round up, though, not to sweep.”

  Son of a bitch. As if Lee didn’t know exactly how a simple roundup could turn into a morass when the adrenaline started squeezing. Lee imagined how Grandon felt when the cleanup reported Lee’s place deserted, and with the snow erasing their quarry’s tracks…well, Lee had cursed the weather up one side and down the other, but now it looked like it had done him a favor.

  And not just him, but everyone else as well. He didn’t think Ginny would take the news well, though.

  All he wanted was to get back to Charlotte and find her, maybe try again to explain. It wouldn’t do no good, of course. Life only gave you something good to kick you in the teeth and take it away, but at least if he was in her general vicinity, he could…what?

  Hope sprang eternal, wasn’t that the phrase? She was kind, his Virginia Mills, and he wasn’t above usin’ that.

  Not if he had to. He could even talk himself into thinking it was to keep her safe.

  A knock at the office door tensed Lee’s shoulders. Juju almost twitched, too—both of them were still on patrol-nerves, and that wasn’t good. Nobody had taken their weapons, either.

  Lee couldn’t suss out just what that meant at the moment, and he was too damn tired to try.

  “General.” The newcomer was a tall black woman in magenta scrubs and a crisp laundered lab coat, her afro sculpted high and proud. Her ebony skin glowed and her shoes were wicked point-toe numbers, albeit with sensible heels. “Ah. Make it quick, I’m busy.” Her nametag said Torres, and she was hoarse, probably from the broadcasts. Lee looked away, towards the window. Hell of a view.

  “Dr Torres.” Grandon smiled, and indicated the open hardpac on his cluttered desk. “This is our courier, and he’s brought the LV-478 serum.”

  The woman halted, her hands dropping, and gave the hardpac a long, considering look. Then, amazingly, she strode across the worn-down carpeting, those sensible heels jabbing, and flung her arms around Juju. “Thank you,” she said, and smooched him a good one right on one stubbled cheek. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  Well, since he was closest to the door, it wasn’t a bad guess on her part. “Um,” Juju said. “Um, ma’am…”

  Lee had to work to keep the smile down.

  “This will save lives,” the good doctor persisted, holding Juju’s shoulders like she was gonna shake him. “So much of the data was destroyed, now we can reverse-engineer—wait. Where’s the third syringe?”

  “Was just gonna ask that myself,” Grandon added, straightening with a wince. He hadn’t lowered himself into the chair behind the acres of paper-cluttered desk—maybe because he knew the temptation of the old man right next to the window and on a set of wheels might have been a tad overwhelming for someone like Lee just in from the field.

  Lee said nothing. Juju clammed up too, and swallowed, visibly.

  “Well, even if the antidote serum’s missing, we can engineer from the vaccine.” Torres planted another good ol’ smacking kiss on Juju’s cheek, and, not content, also kissed his other one. “Thank God. Thank God and praise Jesus.”

  “Amen,” Juju muttered.

  Wait a goddamn second. “Antidote serum?” Lee wanted to know.

  “It’s a tri-pac.” The doctor barely glanced at him, giving a quick little irritated shake of her sculpted head. “Live virus, dead vaccine load, and antidote.” She stepped away from Juju. A few long swinging strides brought her to the desk—looked like the good doctor was not one to let any moss grow on a situation. “I’ll get this into the lab. Thank God. General, we should have some good news soon.”

  Jesus Christ. The words sank in, and Lee’s entire body was cold, sweat gathering under his arms again. A roaring rose in his ears, and only habit kept him straight upright instead of staggering like a head-tapped billygoat.

 
; “Yes ma’am. Happy to oblige.” Grandon at least waited until she was out of the room before loosing a stream of deep, gritty chuckles. “Well, Thurgood. Lookit that. You’re a hero now.”

  “See if I can’t get me a few drinks.” Juju glanced nervously at Lee, who kept himself stock-still.

  Live virus. Lee’s hands were slabs of dead meat, and his knees felt pretty goddamn shaky. What if he’d injected Ginny with that mess, instead of with…dear Jesus save him.

  Well, that was yet another reason she’d want nothing to do with him, if she knew about it. He’d used up all his luck. The only surprise was that it had lasted as long as it did.

  “Well, I’m sure we can find something better.” The old man bent a little, like it hurt, and fanned a few file folders on the desktop. The screen to his left had a saver of green lines in loops, and its reflection on the rainy glass was an evil eye. “I could use a few more good men. I could use both of you, matter of fact, and—”

  Lee cleared his throat. “No.” He meant to say it quietly, but it came out with far more bite than usual. “I’ll be goin on back to Charlotte, sir, thank you.”

  Grandon glanced at Juju, but the lean brown man looked studiously over the general’s shoulder at the whiteboard full of missions and reminders.

  “Come on, Lee.” The old chummy tone, the nobody can do this but you. And Grandon would know, banged-up and wounded, he could ask for more from the poor schmucks taking orders. Grandon led from the front, and let his soldiers feel he wouldn’t ask something from them he wouldn’t do his own blessed self. It had taken a while for Lee to figure out the truth.

  Oh, if this was the old days, he could make Lee dig his own damn grave, and with a smile, too. Nobody but you, Lee. Why, it’s your job to do what others can’t.

  Oh, maybe that was so. But it wasn’t good enough for Nonna and Poppa Q’s boy anymore. He cleared his throat. “It’s Quartine. Sir.”

  Grandon’s shoulders slumped a few fractions. Burden of command, maybe, knowing you’d fucked up something too far to fix. That was a trap too, even though Lee knew that ache.

  Christ, did he ever. Especially now.

  Grandon let the silence stretch a little more, but this time Lee was determined to outwait him. And Juju said nothing. It was goddamn good to know the man had his back. At the same time, it was a torment to wonder if Juju knew Lee had his.

  It wasn’t somethin’ you could ask. Not right-out, like.

  Finally, though, the old man decided to cut his losses. “All right. I’ll get the bird to drop you back in Charlotte. No shortage of work there.” The phone on Grandon’s desk shrilled, but he ignored it, watching Lee with his good eye. There was a red rim to it, and some of the blood vessels on his hawk nose had blossomed. The bottle bit back, especially when you depended on it for tranquilizing. “You change your mind, son, there’s always a place for you in my command.”

  That’s what I’m afraid of. “Thank you, sir.” Lee did his best to sound polite. “Be on our way now.”

  He about-faced, and Juju did too. But neither of them quite marched to the door. Lee held it open, Juju passed through, and Grandon decided on one last throw.

  “Quartine?”

  Lee paused. Don’t. Don’t do it, motherfucker. I’m on the damn edge, it won’t trouble me none to go over.

  “I meant it, you know.” The chair squeaked as Grandon’s bulk shifted, the man leaning forward in his wheeled chair. “If I’d had a son—”

  Lee swept the door closed, cutting off the sentence, and stepped into the outer office, glancing at the general’s beefy, bespectacled Latinx adjutant hunched over a laptop.

  Let its last half die in there, ruthlessly used by that fucking old man. Let Grandon use the other sad sacks taking his orders now. Let them fucking find out they were expendable the hard way.

  Lee had learned his lesson. Late, but better than never.

  “Hey.” Juju tapped the adjutant on the shoulder. “We gotta get back to Charlotte, bro.”

  A Good Apple

  They returned to Charlotte bright and early the next morning, both of them rested because there was no need to stand guard in barracks. Juju was out as soon as his head touched a thin Army pillow, and woke up only when Lee in the bunk below him started to stir. There were showers in Atlanta, hot ones, even though they had to roll back into their clothes afterward if they wanted to make the chopper flight. There were washers and dryers going, computers, fluorescent hallways, the whole nine.

  But it was in Charlotte that they got their fucking coffee. Better, they could sit themselves down in an echoing cafeteria and actually drink it in peace.

  It was like heaven, and the only fly in the ointment was Lee looking mournful as fuck. The man only grunted at anything Juju said, and even the cafeteria—long, scrubbed, brightly lit, real tomatoes, how in the hell did they have real tomatoes when the world had gone to shit—didn’t cheer him up.

  Even the bacon didn’t do it, and Juju would have been truly concerned if he hadn’t been able to weasel out what the damn problem was.

  Ginny had, apparently, not taken the news of Lee’s cargo well. “And she ain’t gonna change her mind,” was all Lee would say, before applying himself to his food with all the gusto of a man with deadened taste buds and guts.

  Which meant, none at all.

  Juju settled himself and his sidearm; plastic armrests always hit in the wrong place. Everyone around here was packing, and it was probably a damn good thing. If the critters got in or someone came down with the damn flu, the firepower would be an asset.

  Well, Juju could hope. Everyone with a piece looked like they knew how to use it, at least. “She ain’t stupid, Lee. She’ll come around.”

  “Stubborn.” Lee poked at a mountain of scrambled eggs—real ones mixed in with protein powder. Someone around here had chickens, which pleased Juju on some deep, wordless level.

  As long as someone had managed to save chickens, it made the rest of the shit look somehow less fuckered. Juju crunched through another heavenly slice of bacon, trying to suss out what Lee needed to hear. “Well, I ain’t gonna tell her you could’ve given her some-damn-thing else by mistake if you won’t. Fuckin Grandon.”

  “Yeah.” Lee’s expression said there was more to that story than Juju wanted to know, and it was probably a blessing the lieutenant didn’t want to share. It was altogether likely that whatever ol’ Strap-yo-Balls had told Lee when he gave him the package hadn’t included a warning that it contained somethin’ live.

  For a few seconds, back in Grandon’s office, Juju had been sure Lee was gonna volunteer them both to serve under Grandon again, and Juju was going to have to do something drastic. It was a relief to be away from the old man, and Lord Jesus, he hoped it would stick.

  Juju straightened a little. “Speak of the devil,” he muttered.

  Ginny was at the big silver coffee tankers, probably in search of hot water for her endless cups of tea. Her hair was braided up real nice, and she wore jeans and a big bulky green sweater, gold hoops glittering in her ears. Looked like she’d been at some laundry, and that was yet another cheerful thought. Juju could stand some clean threads himself.

  Lee craned his neck to look, and the open hunger crossing the man’s face was almost comical. Juju restrained the urge to elbow him. “Ain’t you gonna go over an talk to her?”

  Lee shook his head. He’d shaved, but he hadn’t gone after his hair with clippers. It was another sign that he wasn’t ready to put his name on the dotted line for Grandon again.

  Juju made a short plosive sound of irritation. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. If you won’t, I will.”

  But it was academic, as Ginny herself might say, because she spotted them all the way across the caf’s midmorning bustle and made what wasn’t quite a beeline, but was certainly her way, over to them. She’d cleaned her boots, too.

  Women. Juju shook his head a little, and applied himself to the rest of his bacon.

  “You’re back.” The da
rk circles around her eyes weren’t any bigger, at least. “They’re saying we might get snow here, too, by the end of the week. Steph’s walking Traveller, they have a park, don’t worry, it’s safe. And Duncan’s resting. Some saline and antibiotics should fix him right up.”

  That was good to hear. Juju cleared his throat. “Ah. Yeah. That’s good, real good.”

  “Seat taken?” She indicated the one next to him, and damn if she wasn’t ignoring Lee’s presence.

  Oh, for Chrissake. “Take this one.” Juju pushed himself up. “Imma go check on Duncan. Where he at?”

  She gave him directions that included, go two doors, then turn left, then check in with Dr Nguyen at the desk, precise and clear. Then she fixed him with an amused look. “He really likes you, Juju.”

  Oh, Lord. Juju played dumb. “Huh?”

  “He’s a good apple. And he really likes you.” She shouldered him aside and put her tray down. “But you probably knew that.”

  “Yeah, well.” Juju’s cheeks warmed. Lee didn’t even look up, morosely contemplating his pile of eggs and smaller pile of bacon that hopefully wouldn’t go to waste. “Lee’s been a goddamn raincloud all morning. You two figger it out, I ain’t dealin with it.”

  “Duly noted.” She sank down next to Lee, who hunched his shoulders like he expected the firin’ squad, and Juju got while the gettin’ was good.

  He took care of his tray, got a fresh cup of coffee, and decided to stop in a bathroom somewhere along the way to Duncan’s room.

  It never hurt to freshen up a bit.

  Imagine That

  Ginny’s back ached, and her left hip. Steph hadn’t wanted to be alone, so Ginny had spent the night on a twin bed with the girl, Traveller ending up wedged between them paws-aloft and belly-exposed. Still, she’d passed out pretty hard—an actual bed and central heating did wonders for everyone. And at least Steph hadn’t tossed or turned.