We keep searching, but the few people we’re finding now are long-since beyond our help.
Chapter 30
I sit across from Mira, her legs extended on the sofa, her bandaged feet propped up on pillows. Her abdomen is stitched and bandaged under her shirt and almost already sealed. When Damian was finishing pulling the glass shards from the soles of her feet, I could swear he was actually battling against her skin trying to close over them. If I had any ability to be shocked left, I would marvel at the miracle, but right now, there is only one thing that is consuming me, and the taste of it is bitter in my mouth.
Mira sweeps a graceful hand through her hair, still wet from being freshly washed and rigorously brushed clean of glass, and she tilts her head a fraction of an inch, her intense green eyes boring into me.
“There's no use beating yourself up,” she says. “There's no way you could have known.”
I don't respond. I've been over it fifty times, and I know she's right. The deception was so expertly executed a psychic wouldn't have been able to see it. But still, it torments me that I've been duped again. First Archer, and now Ming. I'm beginning to think I'm a terrible judge of character. For all my supposed smarts, I keep getting outwitted by the people closest to me, and I'd be a liar to say that it didn't injure my pride in the process.
“Hello?” she prompts when I don't respond.
“I know,” I say, “but that doesn't make me feel any less at fault.”
She doesn't respond. She knows as well as I do that the truth will eventually take root and that the feelings I'm struggling with are fleeting. But for now, I languish in my own festering guilt.
She winks at me suddenly, the playful, flirty Mira I fell in love with showing her true colors, and I can't help but smile despite my gloom. At least she's here, alive, and whole. After what I went through the past couple of weeks, tortured at every moment by the thought of losing her, seeing her in front of me alive and well, albeit a bit banged up from her recent fight, fills me with relief like a breath of fresh air after having been entombed.
A conversation with the preacher flashes through my mind. It was from a discussion we had about Kylie, and the terrible unfairness of it all. He had said something that seemed little comfort at the time, but now with Mira here, I believe I finally understand what he meant, and some perception, some inkling of something bigger than me starts to dawn deep in my consciousness, like a pinpoint of light flickering to life in the darkness.
I recall his words now.
“Cray, there will always be tragedy,” he said. “There will always be loss, and pain, and things we could drive ourselves crazy about just tryin' to understand. But there is always good, too. You may have to look really hard to find it, may even have to dig for it, but it's there. And sometimes, when you least expect it, you'll see the good that comes only from God right in front of you, and you’ll realize, you're not really on your own.”
At that time, to say I thought he was being a bit optimistic would be an understatement. But now, looking at Mira, the truth of his words impact me, and I can't deny that I feel exactly that way about her. We were brought together by awful circumstances, and we'd been through hell together and back again, but I have no doubt about the fact that no matter what we've seen or where we're going, this woman is a gift.
I smile in spite of my sour mood and move closer to her, resting a hand lightly on the top of one of her bandaged feet and rubbing it gently. She sighs, and closes her eyes, allowing herself the small indulgence in pleasure.
“You know, we never got to finish our conversation in the snow,” she says, her eyes still closed, the hint of a smile playing at her lips.
“Yeah. You decided to go into a superwoman overload coma,” I say with a small laugh, belying the actual pain and desperation the experience put me through.
She opens her eyes, the dazzling green catching the low light in the room, and studies me, her expression measured. “There's so much, I'm not sure where to begin. We were so wrong, Cray. About everything. Your dad, the island...” she glances at where Damian and Graelin sit working at a computer terminal, their backs to us, about a hundred feet away. When she speaks again, her voice is nearly a whisper... “Ilana.
“He’s not what we thought, Cray. I know he tried to get you to kill Archer, and there’s no doubt he manipulated you, but in his own strange way, he really thought it was for the best.”
I’m confused. “How do you figure?”
“Cray, what I’m about to tell you may be hard for you to believe. I could barely believe it all at first either. Damian thought you couldn’t handle it all at once. Maybe he was right at the time, but I disagreed. I was going to tell you.”
“The day in the snow,” I say.
“Yes.” She looks briefly again at Damian and Graelin, still oblivious in their work. “I’ll tell you what I know and what I’ve seen proof of. Does the name Edward Cavaland mean anything to you?”
I look at her with a bemused expression and retort sarcastically. "Of course. He cured almost every disease known to man. He was practically the most powerful person around before his disappearance. Everybody knows who he is, Mira.”
“Ease up,” she says with a smile. “I was being rhetorical.
“Now I’m going to tell you what you don’t know – what very few people still alive know. Cavaland was approached by a conglomerate of several large, rich countries, including the United States, China, Great Britain, and Iran. He was commissioned to work on a project in secret. It would be something that wasn’t technically legal, and the people in charge worked their butts off keeping the whole thing a secret because they didn’t want any blowback.
"When Cavaland learned what they wanted him to do, he believed so strongly in it that he accepted, even though it would mean an end to the life he had known up until then. One of the big stipulations was that he would have to go into hiding, cease being Edward Cavaland, and work off the grid."
“So what did they want him to do?” I ask.
"In short, perfect the human race with the ultimate goal of immortality. At least, in a sense."
I huff. “Come on.”
"Just bear with me, okay?" she says.
“Okay, fine,” I say. “Supposing what you’re saying is true, that’s the reason Cavaland dropped off the map.”
“Exactly. They changed his appearance, gave him a background story, the whole nine yards. Even the people working around him every day didn’t know who he really was. The only people that knew were the leaders that hired him in the first place. Obviously, in addition to his appearance, they changed his name.”
Oh, crap. Suddenly I know. It makes perfect sense. I speak before she gets a chance.
“Damian Harbin.”
Chapter 31
She grins and crosses her arms, pleased that I put it together on my own.
“I guess you can see where this is going. Damian was working on cloning as part of his experimentation, as well as researching human, animal, and plant genetics, and during that time, he created The Virus. But here’s where the public story is skewed. Damian didn’t sell it off like some kind of arms dealer. That story was fabricated later.”
“Hang on a second. Why did he even create it in the first place?”
“I’ll get to that, but suffice it to say, he wasn’t trying to make a biological weapon. Quite the opposite, really. Problems started happening because the conglomerate was getting restless, each of them wanting a little more of the pie regarding the things Damian was working on. Despite their initial cooperation, they were distrustful of each other. Damian had kept The Virus a secret from them all, or so he thought, but somebody found out about it and stole it to use as a weapon against the others.”
“The President,” I say.
“Yes, and no,” she replies. “He gave the order as far as we know, but he was heavily influenced by someone else. He was convinced to use it, it seems, by the very man who had been appointed as the conglomerate�
��s representative from the U.S.A in Damian’s little venture. It was this person who discovered The Virus’ existence, stole it from Damian, and was influential in getting the President to use it. He was also the one who later blamed the President and lied about Damian selling The Virus to him. Ready for the punch line? The liaison was Cedric Archer."
She starts to continue, but looks again at Damian and Graelin. I turn to follow her gaze, but they are no longer at the terminal. They walk towards us, talking animatedly, arguing.
“But can you really know that for sure?” Graelin says.
“Yes! As sure as I’ve ever been of anything,” Damian says.
I’ve never seen him this agitated, not even when the fortress was attacked. They walk up to us and Mira rises. I do the same, mimicking her movements for no other reason than the fact she stood up.
But now I see concern on her face as well. “What is it?” she says.
I feel out of the loop.
“She hacked it all,” Damian says, his tone desperate, his breathing rapid. Sweat appears on his forehead, and his hands are shaking.
“What’s going on guys?” I say. My confusion is turning to fear. Graelin stands off to the side, tears streaming down his face. “You’re freaking me out.”
Mira ignores my question and responds to Damian.
“We know that,” she says. “We’ll find her. We’ll find Archer. We’ll make it right.”
But Damian is shaking his head adamantly. “No, Mira. You don’t understand. She hacked it all!”
Suddenly, Mira’s body goes stiff and there’s no mistaking the look of fear in her eyes.
“We have no time left,” Damian says.
“No! Not this way,” Mira says. “You promised we would discuss it first! It has to be voluntary!”
“You know what’s at stake.” He looks at Mira with pitiful earnestness and pleads. “Please!”
She stays frozen several moments, then finally nods once.
“Okay…” I try again, but Damian cuts me off.
“Son, I’m so sorry for everything. I didn’t want it to be this way. Forgive me.” He looks to Mira. “Now.”
I’m still watching him; his bizarre behavior and confession is nonsensical. I’m about to try for the third time when the shot rings out. His chest caves in, and he slumps to the ground, dead.
Mira stands beside me, her gun extended, the smell of gunpowder still hanging in the air. I look at her, dumbfounded. I can’t find words. She lowers the gun slowly.
Graelin sobs and collapses on top of my father, his screams of heartbreak ringing through the room.
I look at Mira in time to see a single tear trickle from her left eye. I'm bewildered. I don't see her raise the gun until it's too late. There's a thunderclap as she fires point blank into my chest. The last thing I remember is darkness. And cold.
###
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The Night Sweeper: Assassin: A Zombie Conspiracy Novel (The Sweeper Chronicles Book 2) Page 19