“Did? So you failed? Why did you try?”
I take a deep breath. I don't know why I'm about to tell him this, but I feel the overwhelming need to do so, like it will somehow cleanse my soul. I start from the beginning and tell him everything. I don't leave anything out. I talk for twenty minutes straight. When I'm done, I wait for his response, condemnation, to hear that he detests me for what I've become.
But those words never come. Instead, he turns to me, and I see a tear trickle down the right side of his face.
He places a calloused hand on my good shoulder. “I'm so sorry you've been put in that position, son. But you're wrong. I haven't changed my mind about you.”
“Even though I’m not good?”
“None of us are good, and I’m no better than you. Only Jesus was good, and it’s because of Him that God takes us as we are.”
It's been four days since I came out of my drugged sleep, and although I'm grateful for the help and like the people here, it’s time to go. Mira is weighing more and more heavily on my mind with every passing moment.
Ming and I stand looking out over the rooftop garden from the skywalk. Beautiful rows of corn, and various other vegetables grow full and enticing. Some of the residents move about tending to the crops, pruning, watering, or whatever they do to make them grow.
To the right and on the far side, I see Toby's young form as he works with an older man, taking instructions, and helping with various chores. From time to time, I see them laugh, and I’m thankful that this young child has found this oasis in the chaos.
Ming speaks, continuing our conversation.
“I checked the SUV. Everything's still in working order. It smells horrendous from all the blood you spurted in there, but the biggest problem is gas. There's less than a quarter of a tank.”
Gas is a rare enough commodity in the safe cities. Out here, it's next to non-existent. Even if there was gas left at an old station and it was possible to siphon it, it's been sitting there for over a decade. It would be long past its usefulness.
I sigh in frustration. I estimate we're approximately three hundred miles from the air strip where I stashed the Wraith, and I have no idea how hard it will be to get there. Every moment is another moment I come closer to losing Mira forever.
“I'll talk to him,” I finally say. “See if we can brainstorm and come up with something.”
I look out over the garden again and spot Andrew standing near the skywalk’s entrance. As we emerge from the entrance onto the upper deck, the sun splashes us with warmth and a breeze rushes across us, cool enough to dampen the afternoon heat.
We walk towards Andrew who smiles good-naturedly when he looks up and sees us. He shakes our hands with vigor as we come up, and neither of us can help from smiling in return.
“Happy to see you two out and about,” he says. “First time out of doors since you've been here, Cray. Well, whaddya think of our little field project up close?
“I wouldn't call it little,” I say, glancing around at the garden I previously saw from the window, “and it's incredible the job you guys have done.”
He speaks again. “Yeah, well we need to eat, and we have a lot of time on our hands. So this is just what we do.”
I pause. “Andrew, we need gasoline. I hate to ask for help after all you've already done, but I have to get back. There's too much at stake. Do you know where we can get some, or if there's even any to be had?”
The preacher doesn't hesitate. “We've got a stash, enough to fill up your vehicle and keep enough for us too.”
I nod. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Getting from here to New York by car is going to be nigh near impossible. The roads are trashed and the countryside’s crawling with Festers.”
“We don’t have a choice I say. We’ll make it work.”
Andrew looks thoughtful. “Promise me one thing, Cray.” I watch this gentle man the I owe my life to. “When you get back, if everything doesn't go south and that cure is real, remember us? Remember little Kylie and her mom?”
I feel a lump form in my throat and steel my voice.
“If there's anything I can do, you have my word.”
Andrew smiles, silent understanding passing between us.
“Cray!”
I turn to see a smiling Toby running up to me. His face and hands are covered with dirt as are most of his clothes.
“Hey, buddy,” I say, and he launches into a monologue of all the “exciting” things he's been learning about gardening. I'm about to laugh at his enthusiasm when I hear a sound that fills me with dread.
Chapter 21
In the distance, approaching fast, I hear the thump of helicopter blades. I cast a quick glance at Ming who meets my stare knowingly. Before I even say anything, she' running in the direction of the workers, shouting for them all to get inside.
At the same instant, I grab the preacher's arm and echo Ming's words.
“We have to get everybody inside, now!”
He looks around confused, but moves off to help Ming with the others.
Choppers are only used by the government, and although it's not impossible that there could be a random reason for it to be passing through here, it's highly unlikely. I'm not hopeful.
I close my eyes and listen intently. No doubt about it. It's coming straight for us and closing quickly. The workers are starting to move from the far end of the deck towards the sky bridge, but I already know the awful truth. They're not all going to make it in time.
From the corner of my eye, I notice Toby is still standing next to me. The chopper is visible now, bearing down on us like a storm. I'm about to push Toby towards the sky bridge when I see a flash and a puff of smoke come from the side of the helicopter.
It only takes a second for me to realize what it is and calculate the trajectory. I dive on top of the boy a split second before the rocket hits the sky bridge and blows it to kingdom come. That was our only escape route. We're sitting ducks.
My ears are still ringing from the explosion. Toby is screaming underneath me, but a quick exam reveals he's not injured.
Rolling to the side and into a crouch, I pull out my gun as the chopper moves into a hover over the deck. I squeeze off a perfectly aimed shot at the pilot behind the windshield, but nothing happens. The bullet didn't punch through and the pilot is unharmed.
A quick mental check, and I know I only have two bullets left. I bring my weapon up again, but a side-mounted machinegun on the chopper spits fire and I dive to the side as bullets slam into the ground.
Four lines drop simultaneously from the sides of the helicopter, and a man drops down each of the lines, all carrying assault rifles. I fire my last two shots from the ground and two of the men drop dead to the deck. But now I'm out of ammo. I start to rise, and when I look up, I freeze.
There have been very few times in my adult life that I've been stunned into inaction, but what I see stops me dead in my tracks, and I curse myself for being a fool. I assumed Toby would run for cover after the explosion. He didn't. The bullets meant for me found him. He kneels a few feet away, pain and shock distorting his young features, his hands soaked in blood and holding his abdomen. He's been gut shot.
Oh dear God no! No, no, no, no, no!!
The two remaining gunmen have made it to the deck and are firing on anything that moves.
Suddenly, Ming crashes at me, grabbing Toby and me and shoving us both behind a small pile of debris from the demolished sky bridge. Immediately, she slams her hands onto Toby's stomach trying to slow the bleeding as tears stream down his small face.
I finally shake off my daze. “Your gun?” I shout to her.
“Inside,” she yells.
Blast! I have to do something now or we'll all be mown down like grass. Sunlight glints off something to my right and I leap from behind the debris rolling as fast as I can to where a discarded shovel lies on the ground.
I come up with the handle firmly in both hands and charge th
e nearest gunner who's already turned to bear on me. I throw all of my senses into overdrive a moment before he squeezes the trigger, but even before that, I calculated the angles and swung the metal head of the shovel into the path of the five bullets that leave the barrel. They ding powerfully into the shovel, almost ripping if from my grip, but they don't get through it.
One of the slugs ricochets into the leg of the second gunman, sending him sprawling. The first man fires again and I'm just barely able to deflect them fast enough this time, but now I'm nearly on top of him and I swing the shovel down with all of my might, nearly severing his right arm.
Beside us, Andrew roars and leaps onto the second man and begins wrestling for his machine gun.
I spin in a quick, fluid motion and my second strike with the shovel buries deep in the first man's neck. He slumps unmoving to the ground. Without even stopping, I dive to Andrew's aid, snapping the neck of the other attacker.
I look around in desperation. All of the men that rappelled from the chopper are down, but fly boy up there still has his freaking Gatling gun and rocket launcher, and with the bridge blown to Hades, we’re fish in a barrel. All he has to do is fly out and pummel us from a distance. I wonder why they didn't just do that in the first place, unless the first objective was to take hostages. Either way, I can't afford to give him the chance. To my right, Ming works desperately to stop Toby’s bleeding, but it doesn’t look good.
The pilot is hovering by the end of the deck and any second he could pull away and open fire on us again. In that instant, I know what I have to do, and I break into a dead run, adjusting the angle to give me the best possible chance of success. He's fairly close, and I hope he doesn’t bank away at the last second. This is really going to suck.
I leap onto the barrier circling the rooftop and launch myself into open air about the same time the pilot does exactly what I didn't want and banks hard to pull away from the deck. Everything flashes by in an instant of awareness – the ground far below, the roar of the helicopter's engines, the whump-whump of its blades, and the fleeting sense of flight before gravity regains control over my momentum and begins to pull me down.
I reach one of the dangling rappel cords with less than a foot of space to spare and grit my teeth against the agony in my shoulder as I rap my hands around it and pray to God I can hold on. Somehow, I manage to keep my grip as the chopper pulls me into its own momentum. I swing wildly, struggling to climb a few feet, until I can twine the rope around my right leg for support.
My weight threw the chopper off balance for a moment, and when I look up, I can see the pilot leaning out the side window to catch a glimpse of me swinging below. Now that I’m here, I curse my circumstances. It’s a long way up, and saying these are less than ideal climbing conditions is a ridiculous understatement.
The chopper pulls out and away from the top deck of the parking garage, and I struggle up a few more feet of the rope, careful to keep my leg looped in case my arms decide they don't want to cooperate any more. Far below, I can see the Fester's milling about, drawn by the commotion, arms outstretched and faces upturned to the chopper, their skin a macabre sight in the sunlight.
I start to pull up a little higher, but the pilot makes a sharp turn, centrifugal force swinging me out wide beneath him. My leg aches from the rope being pulled tight on it, and already my palms are covered in rope burns, but I fight upward, an inch at a time, until my eyes catch a glimpse of what's ahead.
There's nothing I can do but close my eyes and hold on tight as the masochist piloting the aircraft plunges me headlong into the tops of the trees neighboring the hospital. Limbs and foliage slash and pummel me, my body bouncing wildly around. Thankfully the clump of trees is small, and by some miracle, I manage to hang on and emerge from the other side.
From the corner of my eye, I see the flashes of muzzle fire, and look back quickly to find the preacher has picked up an assault rifle. Not good! I appreciate the attempt, but he's no soldier, and he's liable to hit me. Even if he does manage to disable the craft, I'm still hanging beneath it. I try to loosen my grip enough to wave him off with one hand, but Ming comes charging across the rooftop from where Toby lies motionless and grabs the gun from the preacher. Thank God for small blessings.
The pilot peeks his head out at me again and I can read his lips when he cusses about the fact that I'm still here. Abruptly, he changes course. Now it's my turn to cuss because I instantly know what he's thinking. We race back at the parking deck, and my options just went from bad to terrible. The pilot is going to slam me into the side.
My thoughts race furiously. If I let go at the right moment, I can survive by slipping through the opening between decks, but that will leave him free to circle back and open fire on the roof. But then I see something, and a crazy-stupid idea forms. It’s a longshot, but I’m desperate. I kick my senses into light speed, allowing things to slow.
I'm suddenly thinking of Mira, the beautiful, amazing creature that she is. I wish I had a little bit of her strength and speed right now because I could really use it. I've pulled off some crazy stunts before, but as it is, I just don't know if I can move fast enough.
It seems like a minute has passed, though in reality, it's only been five seconds. The side of the deck is looming closer, and those left on the roof dive wildly for cover as the pilot takes the opportunity to squeeze off a few rounds. I will my body to relax as much as possible, letting the tension that could slow me down leak from my muscles like air from a balloon. I unwind my leg from the rope, my arms protesting the added strain.
Three…two…one! I loosen my grip and slide down several feet of the rope, pulling my feet up and angling through the opening between the top deck and the one immediately beneath it. As soon as I crash to the concrete, I begin to roll, my elbows and knees getting trashed from the impact, but I manage to hang on to the rope. I regain my footing just enough to make an insane leap at my target about four feet to my right.
On this level, the stairway remains intact, and my chest smacks into the top bar of the railing. But I'm already moving as fast as I can. With the little slack left in the rope, I loop it around the top of the rail. One time. Two times. I lean against the loose end making the loops as tight as possible.
The helicopter overhead reaches the end of the slack and groans, nearly managing to rip the rail from the deck, but the loops hold. The groan is followed by a sharp smack and I know the chopper has been thrown to the deck above. I can only pray none of our people were in the way. A gunshot rings out above the drone of the helicopter, and a few moments later, the engines die and the craft whines as the blades begin to slow to a stop.
By now, my whole body is on fire with agony and I’m so weak I can no longer stand. I collapse onto my back and I wait.
Time passes, and I’m unable to determine if it’s seconds or hours.
"Cray," Ming screams from above.
I breathe a sigh of well-deserved relief.
"I'm okay," I manage to shout back. "I just need to rest for a while," I quip. With that, I close my eyes and get lost in exhaustion and pain.
Chapter 22
I sit in a chair beside Toby’s bed in one of the old patient rooms. Streaks of light stream through the window, enhancing how pale he looks lying there. He makes no sound and blood still oozes from the terrible wounds in his abdomen. It’s amazing he’s lasted as long as he has, and I feel a rising, torturous helplessness, because I know he’ll be gone soon. Like me, this kid was thrown some bad breaks, but unlike me, he hadn’t had the opportunities for survival I had. And now, just when things might have been looking up for him, a bunch of rogue military gunmen soar in from the sky and put a few bullets into his belly.
I feel the beginning prickle of tears and wipe them away furiously, surprised by the strong connection I feel to this child after so short a time. Instead, I channel my feelings into hatred. Hatred for Cedric Archer, who would send men that would kill a child with indiscretion. Hatred for my father, who is
the ultimate cause of all of this nightmare world we live in. Hatred for myself, for not saving Toby from a painful death, especially when he looked up to me so much.
Haley walks up from behind me and approaches the bed, wiping a cool, damp cloth over Toby's forehead. When she turns, I can see hot tears streaming down her cheeks, the look of abject hopelessness distorting her features.
“He's just a little boy,” she says, stating the terrible truth, and I have no response, so I just stare back at her. After a moment, she walks silently from the room. In the hallway, before the door shuts, I catch a glimpse of the preacher and several others, hands joined and heads bowed, their mouths muttering whispered prayers.
After another twenty minutes, Toby's right hand twitches, and he suddenly pulls in a long, ragged breath, as if fighting to hang on to the little life left inside, but the breath comes back out with a wheeze, and his chest stops rising and falling. This time, I don't fight the tears. Instead, I take his small hand in mine, and let them flow freely for a very long time, the pain greater than anything physical I've endured. I allow the bad of my life and Toby's to pull me into a dark abyss, made all the worse by the crushing fact that I could very soon be facing this same moment with Mira.
I throttle up, the blades spinning like a cyclone above my head, and we rise slowly into the sky, the garden deck dropping away below us. The preacher raises his hand to wave, his face reflecting my own somber mood. I nod my head, and silently renew the promise I made to him. Whatever I can do to help his group, I'll do. I owe them my life, and the chance to save Mira.
I look away as we rise higher into the night sky, stars sparkling overhead like glittering diamonds. The moon is full, the sky cloudless. Far below, between the trees and buildings, I can make out the quick, jerky movements of Festers, drawn by the noise of our ascent.
At least one problem was solved. Upon inspection, the helicopter proved to be in surprisingly good shape. Despite the crash, it sustained no real damage other than to the landing struts, which thankfully are still intact enough to support a landing, if somewhat lopsided. Of course, it's pretty foul on the inside from where Ming blew a massive hole in the head of the pilot once the chopper was downed, but I can live with that. I'm no aircraft mechanic, but I know enough from my readings and studies to tell there are no major mechanical problems. That, and the fact that it still has plenty of fuel, will get us back to the Wraith, and subsequently, Damian's fortress, far faster than I could have hoped.
The Night Sweeper: Assassin: A Zombie Conspiracy Novel (The Sweeper Chronicles Book 2) Page 15