by Dirk Patton
The commies had pulled out shortly afterward, leaving nothing other than a lot of bodies on the ground. They hadn’t even taken their own dead! But they’d done one good thing at least. They’d cleared out the last of the infected.
Titus would have been perfectly safe if he’d left his bunker and returned to his modest home above ground, but there was nothing there for him, either. Just more silence, broken only by the ghostly sighing of wind blowing through the empty city. No, he was fine where he was.
Besides, he’d already decided that it was time. But he hadn’t figured out why he was waiting. His wife was gone, having turned into one of the infected. Maybe killed by the invading army. Perhaps not, but either way she was gone to him. His daughter had turned during the night and killed his grandson before he could put her down. Now, there was nothing left. Nothing but the revolver sitting on his chairside table.
With a sigh, he ignored the alarm and dropped into the recliner. The fancy surveillance system his son in law had installed was set to alert if any of the cameras scattered around town detected motion. And this wasn’t the first, or even the second time they had gone off. Months ago, they’d been tripped by deer wandering the abandoned streets. That happened several times and he’d watched them on a monitor until they moved out of viewing range.
Popping another beer, he raised it to his mouth, pausing before he could take a sip. Turning to look at the door again, he frowned. It had been months since the cameras had detected anything moving up above. No deer or feral dogs or even birds coming in to pick at the Russian corpses. Nothing. It had been silent and he’d forgotten that it was still patiently watching for motion.
Cursing under his breath, Titus levered himself to his feet and walked to the room, beer in hand. Pushing the door fully open, he went inside, flipped the lights on and dropped into a chair at the control console. The screens were dark. In sleep mode. Pushing a button on the keyboard, he took a long drink as they came to life.
He lowered the can from his mouth in amazement when several monitors showed different angles of a woman walking down an empty street. She carried a Russian rifle, moving carefully and constantly scanning her surroundings. She was favoring one leg with a pronounced limp.
It was a bright, sunny day up top and he could see her in crisp, high definition clarity. She was dirty, clothes streaked with mud and what appeared to be blood. Her hair was long and filthy, matted to her skull.
“Ain’t no goddamn infected,” Titus mumbled to himself. “Bitches don’t carry rifles.”
He watched her slowly move through town for several minutes, draining the beer and wishing for another, but didn’t want to leave the room in case something happened. As she progressed, the system automatically tracked her, shifting the view across different cameras. They were placed at varying heights and when she reached one that was closer to the ground, he leaned forward for a better look and frowned in thought.
She was familiar. Something about her. He racked his brain, trying to remember a brown skinned woman with long hair. She was a few years younger than his daughter, so maybe one of her friends? But how had she survived this long?
Titus didn’t know the answer to his question, but the thought of his little girl spurred him to act. This woman might be a stranger, but she was someone’s daughter. The least he could do was see if she needed help.
Standing and moving with a purpose that had been missing since he’d shot the Russian sniper to help the Major, he snatched the revolver up and holstered it before grabbing a shotgun leaned in the corner. Opening the vault door that protected him, he passed through into a concrete walled chamber with a ladder leading to a hatch concealed in the floor of the sporting goods store above.
Carefully re-locking the door, he climbed, released a catch and pushed up and into the store. A solid steel door was to his right, leading to a small parking lot at the rear of the building. Mounted above was a small screen connected to a roof mounted camera. He stood watching, waiting until he saw the woman approaching. Taking a breath, he unlocked the deadbolt and slowly pushed the door open.
She spotted him the instant he stepped out, whipping the rifle up and pointing it at him. She was less than thirty yards away and he could see her eyes were locked onto his face.
He held the shotgun low in one hand, hoping he appeared as non-threatening as he was trying to project. Several long seconds passed, the two of them staring at each other. Her rifle never wavered off target.
“Looked like you was lost,” Titus called.
She squinted briefly, then took a step backward.
“Hold on, missy,” he said, raising his empty hand. “I ain’t gonna hurt you. Where you been? How you been hangin’ on?”
The woman stopped when he spoke, but didn’t lower the weapon.
“I’ll be on my way,” she said, taking a limping step to the side.
“You hurt? Seen you got a gimpy leg,” Titus said. “I got medical supplies.”
“I don’t think so,” she said after a long pause.
He could tell she wanted to trust him. She was obviously in pain and needed help. Raising his free hand again, he slowly stooped down and placed the shotgun on the pavement. Her eyes briefly widened in surprise when he carefully drew the revolver and placed it down before stepping away from the weapons.
“Now, I ain’t got no gun. Don’t wanna hurt ya. Gonna help, if’n you let me.”
Another long stretch passed as the woman watched his face intently.
“Why?” she finally called.
“ ‘Cause juss maybe you ‘n me’s the last two people left alive,” he said with a shrug. “Figure that’s good’a reason as any.”
The muzzle of the rifle wavered slightly after another long stretch of silence. Slowly, she lowered it, but maintained a hold that could bring it into action in a heartbeat.
“How is it you’re still alive?” she asked.
“Guess I can’t get sick,” Titus said. “Least ways that’s what this Army Major tole me a few months back.”
She frowned, tilting her head.
“What Major? What was his name?”
“John somethin’. Can’t ‘member his family name.”
She took a step forward, grimacing as she moved her injured leg.
“Chase?” She asked, hope in her voice. “John Chase? Big guy with a shaved head?”
“That’s the fellar! You know him?”
“What happened to him?” she asked, taking another step.
“Gone. Went and kilt a whole buncha those Russian bastards that had his missus. Last I seen him. Don’t know if he got her back or not.”
The woman let the rifle drop farther and took another step.
“When was this? Where’d he go?” she asked urgently.
“Few months ago, and I got no idea where he got to. Was you with him?”
She nodded and he frowned.
“Where ya been all this time, then?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered, looking around like she might spot a clue.
“Well, don’t rightly know if’n I can help find him, but I can sure help ya with that bum leg. Whyn’t you come on in and let’s see what’s what.”
She looked around at the empty city, then slowly nodded. Limping, she walked up and looked him in the eye.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Titus Bull. And yours, missy?”
“Jennifer,” she said. “Captain Jennifer Martinez. US Air Force.”
Afterword
Okay, what the hell just happened? I’m sure more than a few readers are asking that very question right about now, but hopefully in a good way.
First of all, if you didn’t take my advice and read 36 and The Void, you’re probably really lost right about now. It’s not too late. Reading them now will probably give you more than a few ah-ha moments.
A little about time travel. First, you have my promise that it will not enter into the V Plague story line again, other than as a d
iscussion between characters as they try to understand some of the events in Fractured. I really struggled with adding this twist to the series and have received my share of hate mail for having done it, but with no risk comes no reward. In the end, you the reader will be the final judge of whether it was a good idea or a total pooch screw. But, if I made you cry when Dog died… well, I guess I did my job as an author.
Secondly, this is for the plethora of armchair theoretical physicists out there. You’ve written me, some of you multiple times, with adamant assurances that I screwed up the entire time travel thing. You’ve sent me articles found on the internet in an effort to disprove the possibility of the paradoxes I created due to influences from adjacent timelines. You’re certain that events as described in my books could not possibly occur. I haven’t replied to any of you because I don’t have time to engage in hypothetical discussions on the internet, so forgive me. I wasn’t being rude, I was working. But now I have a challenge for you. Prove me wrong! Build a functioning time machine and prove me wrong. Until you do that, relax and remember this is just fiction that comes from a tequila addled brain. Try enjoying the ride. But if you do manage to create a way to go back in time, please let me know. There are a few things I’d like to do over!
Anyway, enough of that. I’m excited to have Martinez back. She was always my favorite character to write, except for possibly Nitro, and I hope you’re looking forward as much as I am to the impact her return will have on the series. It’s never bad to have a sarcastic, irreverent, ass-kicking woman along for the ride!
Finally, the most frequent question I’m asked. When will it all end? How many are you going to write? My steadfast answer hasn’t changed. I don’t know. When the story ends, the series will be wrapped up. Next book? Five books from now? Ten? I don’t know. I still love immersing myself in this world and over the past four years the characters that aren’t already real-life family and friends have become that to me. I still enjoy writing them and will continue to do so until a logical conclusion is reached. I’m not looking for one, but I’m sure that someday I’ll reach it. If you’re wanting a more definitive answer than that, I’ve got the contact info for a lot of physicists I’ll let you talk to. Perhaps, with their expertise in time travel, they can bop into the future then let us all know what becomes of John, Rachel, Dog and company.
In the meantime, as always, thank you for reading my work!
DP
Table of Contents
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
Epilogue