Deserted Lands (Book 2): Straight Into Darkness

by Robert L. Slater

  Lizzie kept hold of his arm. “It was nothing in particular. Just wanted to hang out.”

  He pulled his arm from her grip. “Lizzie, either just be my friend or let me be. I can't handle it.”

  The sound of dogs barking caught her attention. In the distance they were answered with coyote howls.

  “See? The Guard’s just trying to protect us.”

  “With a wall. Which reminds me. Let’s go to that club, the one they still call “The Wall,” even though the management tried to rename it “The Safety Dance.” I'll buy you a beer. Maybe you'll meet somebody.”

  “With my ex-um… my— With you on my arm?” He shook his head. “I don't get you, Lizzie.”

  “Let's go. I'll work on the just friends. One of the guys... That's me.”

  “Yeah. Whatever. You’re one of the guys. It better be good beer.”

  As they reached the former University campus Lizzie couldn’t help but laugh out loud at the birther propaganda littering the walls. A real pro marketing one featured a hot guy standing next to a hot car. Do you love him? Take him for a test drive. That one had to be the funniest one she’d seen yet. “Hey, Duke, can I step on your gas pedal?” She pointed at the poster and watched his face fall as he read it. Shit. When would she learn to think before she spoke?

  “You already took me for a spin, Lizzie. Besides, your tank is already full.” His words were joking but his expression was flat.

  She winced and said, “You’re going to have to lighten up, if you’re going to meet somebody.”

  “Then just shut up. Let's go find some bodies.”

  As they approached the club, 80’s pop music reverberated down the street. Duke paused. “If they start playing Wang Chung, I'm leaving.” But he waited for her at the door.

  Lizzie scanned the crowd and pulled Duke inside. He scowled. She tip-toed and kissed him on the cheek. “Come on.”

  “This is stupid.” He glanced around, his eyes flitting from place to place, person to person, then back to her. “I was never good at this.”

  “I’ll help.” Lizzie’s eye settled on a girl clinging to the wall on the other side of the room. Her long hair was simply parted and her eyes seemed wary and aware without being nervous. Like she would know what she was looking for when she found it.

  There was a tall table near her with three empty chairs. Lizzie guided Duke by the arm. “I’ll buy you a beer.” She sat him down where she thought there might be good odds on Duke seeing the girl. “Don’t leave.”

  Lizzie squeezed through the crowd to the bar. The Wall had become a really happening place. Not long ago she would have had to flash fake ID to get into a place like this, but the Provo Council thought lowering the drinking age was good for moral. Drunk teens procreated more, obviously. She didn’t really want to be here, but she wanted to somehow set right what had gone wrong.

  The bartender nodded at her. “What’ll you have?”

  “A DARK BEER and a SPRITE WITH LIME.”

  A few minutes later, he returned with a dark brown pint glass with a gentle layer of tan foam puffing over the top and a glass full of carbonated clearness. “WE'RE OUT OF LIME!”

  “THANKS.”

  She took a drink from each, figuring that might allow her to get across the dance floor without getting beer or soda on herself or others.

  The song ended, some crappy old dub step mix, and in the moments of dullness, silenced by the previous sound she hurried across the floor to Duke. She put the pint in his hand and clinked the rim on hers. “To love.” She drank.

  “To love? Fuck.” He chugged half of it.

  “Yeah.” She smiled. “See anyone?”

  “Nope.” He glanced around at the crowd. “Place is empty.”

  “Anybody interesting?”

  Duke’s eyes focused on her. “Besides you?”

  “What about her?”

  “The one with the long plain hair? Closer to my own age.”

  “Okay, old man. Cause 24 is so much older than 18.”

  An hour later, Lizzie had managed to introduce him to the long-haired girl, Aubri. She'd been happy to join them—even remembered Lizzie from her work assignment day.

  “That’s right, you were the receptionist,” said Lizzie, surprised the girl had even noticed her.

  Aubri gave her a smile of pity. “I felt so bad for you—you looked upset.”

  “Yeah. But enough about me—this is Duke.”

  Once Aubri sat down Lizzie made an excuse to leave, and disappeared for a bit.

  When she came back Aubri was gone.

  “What? Did you run her off that quick?”

  Duke pulled a napkin out of his pocket with a phone number and Aubri's name. “I told her the truth.”

  “And that is?”

  “You and I just broke up. You're trying to set me up with someone, but that I'm still in love with you.”

  “Shit. That truth. And she still gave you her number?”

  “She left it for you.”

  A crisp, cold wind tugged at Zach's jacket as he glanced away from Nev, down the row of soldiers, with wives and girlfriends hanging around to say their goodbyes. Will and a few other soldiers stood alone.

  Nev clung to him. He wasn't used to that. “This doesn't feel real. I'm going off to war and kissing the woman I love.”

  “It's not war,” she said, but she didn’t sound convinced. “Yeah, it's freaky. But everything's going to be fine.”

  He kissed the top of her head, and left his face there, breathing in the slight scent of her shampoo. “Logical, thoughtful response,” he muttered.

  “Zach Riley,” she warned.

  He placed his arms on her shoulders and held her there, trying to take in every element to keep in his head. He'd kept a vision of her in his head for years. The woman in front of him was several years older, and even prettier he decided.

  “What?”

  “Just thinking about what a wonderful adult you are. I still got a long way to go.”

  “I only pretend to be one better than you do.” She pulled him back toward her.

  Nervous excitement twitched in his muscles. “I love you, Nevaeh.”

  “Love you too, goofball.”

  He released her and knelt on one knee. “Nevaeh, will you marry me.”

  For a moment, she looked like the proverbial deer in the headlights. Then she glared at him. “Stand up.”

  He stood, feeling empty.

  “No. I won't marry you. I told you. Not now. When and if I am ready, I will tell you.”

  “Nev—”

  “What? Do you want me to promise to marry you so you'll come back from the war?” She sighed and her chest shook. Now she held him at arm's length. “I promise if you die, I will wish I had married you. But that's not going to happen. Back off. Maybe we need this time and space.”

  “Okay,” he said, backpedaling quickly. ‘Space’ was not the word he wanted to hear.

  “Don't give me those puppy dog eyes. And don't try again.” She yanked him back and hugged him fiercely. “I love you, Zach Riley. And that will have to do for now.” Her arms tightened enough to take his breath away, then she released him and walked away.

  Zach wanted to run after her. Instead he stood waiting until she was gone in case she turned around. He wanted her to know she was his focus. But she started to jog and turned the corner at the end of the block. His hands shook so he knelt down and started messing with his gear, tightening the straps on the pack.

  The whistle blew for formation. Zach lined up in the front row of his platoon, relieved to be focused on standing at attention. Colonel Foote strode by to inspect. When he reached the end, he turned to face the men. “If I call your name, fall out to the front of the formation.”

  “Benson. Cantrell,” he barked. “MacLane, Riley.”

  Zach slid out of attention like everything was cool. But was it? He lined up facing the platoon as Benson was doing. Benson was one of the few pre-pandemic soldiers in the mili
tia and besides Foote, the only officer.

  “2nd Lieutenant Benson. You are hereby promoted to 1st Lieutenant.” Foote didn’t pause. “Cantrell, MacLane and Riley, you are all promoted to the rank of 2nd Lieutenant.”

  As soon as Lizzie got back to the census office, a cubicle in a room down from the mayor’s office, the phone rang. She stared at it for a moment before lifting the receiver. “Yes?”

  “Lizzie Goodin-Guerrero?” a woman's voice asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s Flo. At the hospital.”

  “Flo.” Lizzie’s heart skipped a beat. “What's wrong?” She sat down, just in case.

  “Nothing really urgent. I'm calling on official business. I’m looking for a picture of a man. Mr. Frank Lorenzo. I was told you might have one. He died today and we’d like a picture for the obituary.”

  “I'm sorry,” Lizzie said automatically as she flipped through her list. “Frank? Yeah. Just a few days ago. I’ll e-mail it to you.”

  “Thanks, Lizzie. How’s your boy doing? And your baby?”

  “We’re all fine,” she said. “Thanks, Flo.” After she put down the phone and e-mailed the file, she printed out Mr. Lorenzo’s picture to take down to the stadium after work. The walls there were covered with memorials, and pictures of people who were unaccounted for.

  She typed up her notes and entered the morning’s information into the database before calling it quits for the day.

  She grabbed the scotch tape on the way out the door and headed for the stadium. It was good to concentrate on work and not worry about complicated things. She hoped Duke would make it back to just being her friend, but either way, she was a lot more free than she’d been for a long time.

  Her steps sped up as she approached what had become her personal shrine. The lost people on the walls were her reason for being alive. Helping make sense of the dead. Some of the photos and notes had fallen to the floor. She traced them to their previous locations and added new tape. It was a puzzle. A puzzle that kept her interested, just like the stories people told her. She knelt to pick up the next photo and stopped. Frozen.

  There he was. The face she’d etched into her mind and sketched on so many sheets of paper. The face that belonged to the body dumped out near the middle of nowhere. Lizzie stared at the photo. A guy leaned back against a couch, a laptop on his lap and a haze of beard on his chin.

  Her eyes searched the picture-crowded wall for the location it had fallen from. The tape residue on the photo was rectangular. She found the empty little wad of tape. There was a note underneath it. Help me find my cousin. He survived the disease and then disappeared.

  A phone number followed the message, but no name. “Shit.” Her phone was in her hand, though she didn't remember taking it out. She started typing the number... Then she thought better of it. Maybe have Glen check it out first. Instead of calling, she switched to camera and took a close up photo and e-mailed it to herself and to her father.

  Then she headed hurriedly from the wall, deciding that her apartment would be a better place. She called Duke. “Hey, I found him. The guy. Come on over.”

  There was silence on the other end, then, “Lizzie. I'm kinda busy. I'll call you back later.”

  Heat flashed to her face. “Busy? Already?”

  “Not like that. Give me a break. Talk to you later.” The line went dead.

  “Shit. I didn't mean it like that either!”

  She hit Rachael's icon and let it ring. When voice-mail answered Lizzie left a message that she was headed home early. After she hung up she hurried home, feeling that someone was following her the whole way.

  As soon as she got in the door she dialed Glen's number on the safe phone and left him a message with the number and a request to track it.

  Lizzie’s fingers chased each other. She flattened them against her legs. Don't get crazy. She sat down on the couch with her laptop. Maybe she could ID the phone number herself. Glen wasn’t the only one who could use a computer.

  She typed in the number and a list of search results popped up. At the top: Jenny Laurents, Provo, Utah.

  She pasted the name into the search bar and a Facebook profile popped up. She clicked on Friends and started scanning down. There he was in a business suit, looking much more professional than when she’d found him under a flock of carrion birds. Her dead guy—Lou Laurents, She clicked his image then clicked About with shaking hands. Lou was the managing partner of an Internet Service Start-up called FTL LTD. A super geek.

  What had he done to have pissed someone off that bad? Enough to off him after the end of the world, the end of law.

  The door opened and Lizzie screamed.

  “Lizzie,” Rachael said, “It's me and Saj. You okay?”

  Lizzie breathed. “Yeah. Fine. I need to make a call. But I'm a little freaked out.”

  “Saj,” Rachael suggested, “Go put the toys in your back pack away in your room.”

  Saj stared at Lizzie, measuring the likelihood that she was going to yell at him.

  “I'm sorry, Saj.” She knelt and smiled. “You want a hug? Sissie's bein' a little weird.”

  He gave her a quick hug. When she hugged him back he sneezed, leaving a goober of snot on her shirt. “Oh, Saj. Sorry you’re still a sickie.”

  “Yup. Saj sickie,” he said and ran off to his room.

  “Even sick he so damned cute.” Lizzie stood, feeling her belly shift. “You want something to drink?”

  “No. Tell me what's up,” Rachael said. “I've got news, too. I hope yours is better than mine.”

  Coldness swept across Lizzie. “Mine's relatively good news. Tell me yours first.” She collapsed into the couch.

  “Despite Mr. Ray's promise...” Rachael stared at Lizzie, fear in her eyes. “A man came around today to schedule me for an appointment. To meet with an OBGYN.”

  “An OBGYN? Don’t go.”

  “I don’t think it’s optional.”

  “Shit. Don’t know how much longer I can handle this, Rach.”

  “Sissie!” Saj ran toward Lizzie, his little legs capable. “Bath?”

  “In a minute, you can have a bath.” She scooped him up into her arms and nuzzled him under the chin. “I remember praying for someplace to feel safe. But I never imagined it being this, this…. Stifling and scary.”

  Rachael nodded.

  Saj always made Lizzie feel better, but her resentment and anger ran deep today. “It’s like fucking Sunday school.” She saw Rachael’s lips tighten. “Sorry. I know. Don’t talk like that in front of Saj. Unless I want to hear those words coming back at me.”

  “He heard it from me today, too.” She sank into the chair, her head in her hands.

  “You? Fuckin’ A, Rach,” Lizzie joked. “We might loosen you up, yet.”

  Rachael pulled her knees up to her chest, curling in tighter, hands wrapped around her head.

  Lizzie realized she recognized the body language. She remembered something similar as she slipped down the road before her visit to the psych ward.

  “Saj, you want a bath with Mama?” As she heard the words, she saw Rachael shift. “I mean, Sissie.”

  “You’re his mama now, Lizzie.” Rachael’s voice came out low and clipped.

  “You want a bath, Saj?”

  “Bath,” Saj agreed.

  Lizzie set him down. “Go get naked.” He trundled toward the bathroom as Lizzie knelt in front of Rachael. “We’ll figure it out.” She gently tugged Rachael’s arms from her eyes. “You love, Saj. I know. I do, too.” She released Rachael’s arms. “My baby’s a girl. I’m pretty sure. I don’t want her growing up without any rights. You should come jump in the bath with Saj. He’ll cheer you up.”

  Rachael shook her head. “Don’t want to be cheered up. But I’ll come with you. I don’t want to be alone.”

  Lizzie headed for the bathroom. “If we keep our voices normal, think Saj’ll notice any difference?”

  “If you’re stressed out, kids know.”


  “Okay. We’ll just play in the bath.” Lizzie headed for the bathroom. “I was beginning to think I wouldn’t miss the old world.”

  “What’s your news?”

  “After Saj goes to bed.”

  Breakdown

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  MANNIE COULD HEAR THE VOICES rising inside the small office. He was supposed to have an appointment with DiSilvio about supplies, but when the secretary had tried to ring him, the call had been rejected.

  She gave him a pained smile sharing his discomfort. “They’ve been arguing on the phone all morning since the convoy left. Then Mr. Ray came over.”

  “Maybe I should go.” He stood.

  “I’d rather you didn’t.” Her eyes shot to his as her cheeks colored. “If Mr. DiSilvio wants you and you’ve gone…”

  Mannie sat down, not wanting to cause her distress, if that’s what she’d really meant. He glanced down at her nameplate on the desk—Dolores Winters. “Ms. Winters?”

  “Mrs. Winters. Widowed. I—” She stopped abruptly.

  Mannie slid back in the faux leather chair. “Wasn’t married myself, but…”

  “You lost her.” It wasn’t a question.

  Talking about Isabel had triggered his last drunken disaster. He said the first thing in his head to move on quickly. “How long were you married?” And immediately regretted asking the question in the same theme. “Sorry.”

  “No. I don’t mind. Nobody really wants to talk about the people we’ve lost. I don’t think it’s healthy not to...” She twisted the ring on her finger. “22 years. We were high school sweethearts. Three kids. All grown. Gone now.” She said, her voice still a pleasant tone. A swift intake of breath was the only thing that implied she was uncomfortable. “I’ve got one grand-kid. She’s two.” Now she was beaming. “She’s what I have left.”

  “My daughter found me and brought me an adopted grand-kid. Keeps me mostly on an even keel. And she’s going to make me a double grandpa in about six months.”

  “Congratulations,” Dolores smiled.

  “Thanks.”

  “I miss Alex.”

  “I miss Isabel.”