Her eyes were bright. She looked at each of them in the crowd as if they might give an answer. Nobody spoke. Anna was dumbfounded. This was good, better than she'd expected. Janine would have been an inspirational mayor, and no mistake.
She stabbed a finger at Amo.
"He saw those terrible things in me. In me! So I warn you all, be careful, for some day he may see them in you too. He saw them in a man named Don, and now Don is dead; become one of Amo's many boasts. Murder is a sin, Amo, have you never learnt that? He saw them in Masako when she attempted to flee his terrible threat, and now Masako is dead; victim of his cruel, calculating command. He is a cold and ruthless killer, and despite all his attempts to veneer himself with civility, to appear more gracious and humble than he really is, to masquerade as a good, gentle soul, the truth shines through and I have seen it all along."
She looked around a final time, staring at them each for a good, hard-eyed few seconds. "I pity you. I pity the choices you make and the life that lies ahead. How many more thousands will die for Amo to feel safe? How many more living people will be murdered, how many more of the ocean slaughtered, how many more families torn apart?" She looked to Alan and Lin. "I won't have it. He wants to label me like Julio and write that into his myth for you to spread around the world, then let him. If you wish to stand by a man who does such things, I can only let you. If, however, you are keen to find a better way forward, my door will always be open. You will be made welcome. There is a place for you in Oregon, no matter your race, creed or faith. I am not the demon he has painted me as. I am, and always have been since even before he brought the apocalypse down on all our heads, a public servant. I have been seeking to remove from our body the single original sin that has stained us and condemned us all for so long."
She pointed.
"Amo. This man. So no, I don't like you, Amo. I don't respect you. I don't wish you well, nor have I any desire to feel your infecting, murderous touch again. I am glad that I have finally escaped from your grasp. To all who remain, I wish you good luck. Watch your tongue, lest you find yourself accused of speaking mistruths. Watch your back, lest you find a gun pressed against it, compelling you to leave, branding you another Julio. And remember that always, whenever you are ready, my door will be open. The land is fertile in Oregon, the winters and summers are mild, it is the perfect place to begin to rebuild. I lived there all my life before the world ended, and my family lived there for three generations. It is a good place, not like that cradle of sin, Los Angeles. Your home base is a movie theater. I feel sorry for you all, to follow this false messiah. Goodbye."
She turned and walked back to her RV, leaving a stunned silence behind. Her eleven disciples cleaved smoothly to allow her through, as if they'd practiced the motion, then followed her to their three RVs. They filed in, silently, seriously, with intent. The engines started, and in a moment they were driving away.
Anna turned to Amo. He was pale but stony still. She turned to the people. They were all pale, all weaving in place. She could say something like, 'Imagine how bad this would have been if we'd waited a few years? Imagine the pain of that separation?' but she didn't. It would be trying to patch up a raw wound with sticking tape; completely insufficient. Every thing Witzgenstein had said had a grain of truth at its heart. Those grains would sink deep and take root. She'd feared it and it had happened, and she'd played her own part in bringing it about.
There was nothing to say now, nothing to do but to stand back, to allow the Council to do its work, to avoid any semblance of behaving as Janine had charged, lest one of their people take her up on her offer.
Oregon. Anna kicked herself.
Witzgenstein was clever, choosing a neighboring State, close enough that the flight from New LA would only take a single day's drive. She was clever to stand behind her lies, not allowing her rumors to be dismissed as just her personal ambition. Now it was all a question of branding. She was on a holy war against Amo and anyone like him. He was a demon and she was an angel.
And Amo, what did he have? New LA. Movies. His comics, spreading around the world, but could they compare? What could he say now, after she'd damned his message so completely? What comic book could make this all right? It was a question of hope, and that was Amo's area, not hers.
She looked to him. Now was the time for some uplifting speech, surely? There was nothing she could think of to say that would help. More threats of punishment would do nothing, neither would mocking Witzgenstein's rhetoric, not when she'd clearly moved hearts and minds here today. She had to be taken seriously, even absent. She had been a part of their community for nine years, almost since the beginning, and her dramatic departure would be leaving the deepest, most lasting wound of all.
Anna watched Amo and waited. If anyone would know what to say, it was him. The sound of the RVs droned steadily into the distance, disappearing down the narrow road and into the snowy forest.
Amo turned to her, and in his eyes she saw the truth. This was everything he'd feared, and why he'd never done this before. This was why he'd tolerated Witzgenstein's rumors and lies and attempts to secede for so long, because beating her came at too high a cost. The victory was entirely Pyrrhic.
He didn't speak to any of that. He didn't say anything hopeful, or bright, or inspirational for the future. He didn't say a word. Instead he simply turned and walked away.
FUTURE
9. WAITING
Anna rolled up and down the concourse in her wheelchair, frustrated beyond belief. Ravi had given up walking with her and making some pretense of pushing the wheelchair's handles. She went faster than he could keep up with anyway.
Amo had been on the call alone with 'Lucas' for hours. Three times she'd checked with Jake, who'd confirmed with Sulman on a secondary frequency that they were still talking. They were. The signal was live, with Amo talking one way and this man, this alleged survivor of Salle Coram, typing the other.
Fifty times she'd rolled the whole length of the terminal, from the East Terminal and Gate 1 to the West Terminal and Gate 43. Her palms ached from pressing on the wheel rims and her shoulders throbbed from using muscles not used to this demand. Still she couldn't stop and didn't want to.
She'd been right there, ready to crush his throat. Now he was pouring poison into Amo's ear and she was out here, waiting. It was bullshit.
She went by Ravi sitting by Gate 23, trying to disguise how closely he was watching her. Feargal passed by, walking his own patrol with an AK47 cradled across his chest. Outside she could see Ollie driving his luggage cart around the runways. Wanda was out by the RVs, watching for other intruders with Peters beside her, though Anna was confident there wasn't anyone else out there.
This man was alone. He'd listened in on their transmissions and now he was trying to manipulate them. She didn't know what his story was, but every second he was spinning it to Amo without her there felt like another layer built of BS she'd have to smash down. It was Witzgenstein all over again, and she should have just let him die at the start.
Her feet ached. She rolled on.
At last the walkie in her lap crackled.
"Anna?"
It was Amo. She let the wheels coast and answered.
"I'm here."
"Come on in. There's a lot we need to discuss."
She came. Tucked away near Gate 31, the quarantine room was back to working operation, with the lights at full brightness and the clean room air filters running loudly. Inside it was still a mess with blood on the floor and walls, though someone had swept up the glass and the work area around the electron microscope had been tidied.
Anna rolled over to the man sitting upright on his workbench bed. Lucas.
He looked back at her. His face was still pale, with bedraggled brown trails of hair on his forehead, but the haunted look was gone from his eyes. Facing him was the screen with Amo sitting on the other side, in the comms room in New LA. He looked to be the haunted one now; weary and sad.
"There's a
lot to tell, Anna," he said, his voice clear but heavy. "The record's in the chat log and you can read that yourself, but here's the summary."
He gave the summary. Anna listened through it, at first disbelieving, then stunned, then feeling some of the resignation that Amo himself so plainly felt. When it was over she looked at the man on his bench. It was hard to doubt his story; the details were too precise. Somehow he'd survived their purge of the MARS3000 bunker. Perhaps he'd stumbled upon a cure. Now he'd followed them here, looking to recapture the cure he'd lost.
He extended his hand but she couldn't bring herself to shake it. Not yet. Perhaps he was who Amo said he was, and perhaps he had even cured himself of the infection, but so what?
"All of this," she said. "I almost killed you. Why?"
He looked back at her impassively. On the screen Amo sighed.
"You could've walked up to us," she went on. "At any time you could've told us all of this and we would have helped you."
Lucas didn't type anything.
"We caused the deaths of all his people, Anna," Amo said, skating over the truth about how the bunker really fell. "Not directly, but it was because of us. Is it any wonder he didn't trust us?"
Anna frowned. "If he's been spying on us, then he knows what kind of people we are. We're not ruthless, we don't kill for nothing."
Amo looked toward the man on the workbench bed. "Lucas," he said wearily, prompting him to take over as if they were old friends now.
It annoyed her. Lucas started typing regardless.
It's not the ruthlessness. It's the incompetence.
Anna stared at the message. Incompetence?
"What?"
I've studied you. I know your group now. You are functionally incompetent.
Your mistakes have led to death and division every step of the way. Indra died. Cerulean died. Masako died. Ozark, Chantelle and a dozen others died when the demons came, and after even that, you allowed Witzgenstein to break your group apart.
I've studied you and learned that it's not your intent, but your judgment that I can't trust.
Anna's mouth opened then closed. This was unexpected. It was bad enough that he knew so many of the names of their dead, but to use them like this? It was painfully on point. It was true that they had failed many times. A lot of people had died because of poor judgments; her own, Amo's, everyone's. New LA had split because she hadn't been able to think of a better way to keep it together. But to call that incompetence?
He was staring at her. Amo was too. She wasn't going to take it lying down.
"We're not perfect," she countered. "We have made mistakes, I don't deny it, and we haven't tried to hide them. But what about you? You snuck into my lab in the middle of the night, and look what happened. I almost killed you. I don't trust your judgment. Your gun had no bullets. Your whole bunker died! Who the hell are you to judge us?"
Lucas watched her coolly. Judging her, still. If he'd been through what he'd said, that surely made him a hard, intelligent man, but it didn't mean she was going to budge one inch over to make room.
He typed.
I lived under Salle Coram's rule for six years. She was ruthless and highly competent, and she made research for a cure a capital crime. Still I found a cure. I worked with a dozen others right beneath her nose, and she never caught me. None of my people died. None of them but me suffered for what I did. The death of the Habitat was out of my hands.
Anna stared at him, unwilling to back down.
"So that's on Salle. But last night is on you. I caught you. You pointed an unloaded gun at me, in my lab, using my equipment. What did you expect?"
I have always taken risks, that's true, and I took them with you last night. I didn't account for the speed of your metabolism. The dose I prepared should have kept you under until the morning.
Anna's eyes widened. The dose he'd prepared? She looked sharply to Amo. "What is he talking about?"
Amo gave the biggest, weariest sigh yet. "He pumped antihistamines into your RV last night, Anna. Sleeping drugs. He needed a sample of your and Ravi's blood, as part of his baseline for the cure. Apparently you were the last ones in his sample set; the hardest to get. You must have woken up just as he was leaving."
That was too much. "He pumped drugs into the RV? Into my RV?"
Amo was looking more exhausted by the second. "Apparently he did it to everyone in your group, one by one, night by night. None of them were harmed. I can't excuse it, of course, but we can't ignore his findings. Anna, you should-"
"I don't care about his damn findings!" she exploded. Amo was far too calm and that just made her angrier. This was a goddamn outrage. "I don't care that he didn't harm us, I care that he could have. He could've killed us if he'd wanted, and you're OK with that? You're telling me he was sneaking around our camp drugging my people night after night, taking our blood, and I'm supposed to be OK with that?"
Amo met her gaze. Lucas remained wisely silent.
"You will be," Amo said at last, with some measure of strength and certainty in his voice. "OK with that, because we need him. He is a genius, Anna, I believe that, and he's offering us something truly amazing, a chance at redemption, and we have to grab it while we can."
Anna spun to Lucas. "I don't care what you're offering- I don't trust you. I'm watching you. If you put a foot wrong around me again I'll break your neck. You think we've only barely survived this long by luck? You think we're incompetent, that we're saps for whatever scam you're trying to pull? You're wrong. It wasn't easy to survive this far. We've had to kill zombies and demons. We've had to kill our own, and your own, and three thousand people-" she paused, halting herself right at the crest.
This was the big lie, and even though she was livid with fury, that was a Rubicon she would not cross. Lucas watched her with interested eyes. She had no doubt Amo was doing the same.
"-and three thousand people died in the process," she went on seamlessly. "I don't take any of that lightly. We have the rule of law here. We have mutual respect and we're rebuilding. What of that has he done?"
She was shouting. The last words echoed round the dim quarantine ward.
"Listen to what he has to say, Anna," Amo said. "Just listen."
She would have shouted more, but for the respect that she had for Amo. He wasn't a fool, not easily suckered in no matter what she'd feared for the last several hours, so she forced her breathing to calm down. Her face was hot with a flush of blood but she willed it to cool. She gritted her teeth and made herself look at Lucas, this thin, weak man on his workbench bed.
"So talk," she said.
He began to type slowly, deliberately.
I think I can save them all.
"All who?" Anna asked. "Your people? The bunkers up ahead?"
He shook his head slightly.
All of them. My people. The bunkers. Your people. Your father in Mongolia. All the billions that we lost. I believe I can save them all.
"Not possible," she hissed. "You can't turn back the apocalypse. The T4's too entrenched.
"It is possible," Amo said firmly, "and it could change everything. Imagine it, Anna, if we could cure even just the bunkers? That's eleven bunkers with thousands of people each, joining us. Imagine the expertise, the genetic breadth, the resources we can pool. We'll have the world ticking again in a few years. And then if he really can cure them all? Even the millions turned to stone in mounds in Asia, and the millions out there trapped in buildings, cellars, high-rise apartments? Seven billion people returned, Anna, can you imagine that?"
She couldn't. She'd never seen anywhere that number of people alive before. All she'd ever seen was the ocean. Amo's vision was a fantasy, because the apocalypse could not just be switched off. Her father was dead. Her mother, whose face she couldn't even remember, was long dead and gone.
Her fingers curled into a fist. She could turn and drop one blow through his bandaged neck and it would be over. That would be the true mercy; better than string out this hope
that would hurt them all in the end.
"Look, Anna," Amo said, softly now, surely reading the tension in her muscles. He clearly saw the precipice they were teetering on, but still he kept going, and Anna didn't have to wonder why for long.
Because he needed it. A grand undoing of all the horrors committed in his name, wouldn't that be wonderful? Witzgenstein's departure had broken New LA's union and undermined the message in his cairns. People didn't look at him the same way any more, didn't feel the same sense of hope rising up from his easy, confident charm. Now they saw the picture Witzgenstein had painted, whether they really believed it or not.
But this, a cure? It was exactly what Amo hungered for most. On one side of him lay reality, with eleven bunkers fated to death and thousands of people doomed, while on the other side lay this sweet, sweet lie.
Anna wanted it to be true too. She didn't want to have kill all those people, to carry that burden and see the weight of it reflected in Ravi's eyes, but there were things that had to be done, and she would not let herself be distracted again.
"Look at the screen, Anna," Amo coaxed softly. "Just look."
She looked, because now it was about knowing her enemy. She had to see the pitch to withstand it and inoculate others against it.
On the screen the video feed had been replaced with footage of a cell stained with a red dye, shifting slightly in the flows of heat rising up through the lamp beneath the microscope slide. She'd seen thousands of these since opening the clean room in UCLA, but none like this.
She gasped. It had to be a trick, but it was too simple to check. It had to be real. Amo was not so gullible that he wouldn't demand proof. It was a cell without the T4.
It simply wasn't there. The bacteria that caused the infection, with its triangular head, drill-bit body and four waving tentacles clinging to the cell walls like sail cords taut in the wind, was just not there. There were no thick tracts of waste, splattered like gore. The telomerase strands were still elongated, but here they were healthy and clean. It was different to every living cell she'd seen before, whether from zombie or immune, because it did not have the T4.
The List (Zombie Ocean Book 5) Page 12