“Do you think that’s even possible?” Brandt asked.
“I know it is, Michael,” Olivia said. “You just have to let it happen. Now promise me you’ll do like I ask.”
“I promise,” Brandt vowed, and as he said the words, he found that he meant them. He’d do whatever he needed to do to keep his promise to Olivia, which was probably why she’d exacted the promise from him to begin with. There was a reason she was the smart one of the two of them, and she wasn’t so stupid as to not recognize that he’d been well on his way to committing slow suicide over the years since his divorce and his son’s death. She’d done the one thing she could do in her dying hours, to exact a promise out of him that he’d stay alive, and she’d known it was a promise that he would never dare break.
Ten minutes later, Brandt heard a soft thud from the other side of the door. He opened the door to find Olivia slumped to the floor, slipping into unconsciousness and then, quickly after, into death. Five minutes after that, he slid a knife in through the base of her skull, up into her brain, as gently and delicately as a surgeon would use a scalpel, unwilling to wait to see what would happen after that.
Then he held her tightly, bowed his head, and cried.
Epilogue
Brandt had barely slept in nearly a week, though it wasn’t for lack of trying. He’d managed a very light doze a few times, but every time he got close to any real rest, he was startled awake by a foreign sound nearby. Afterward, he’d be on the alert, too awake to even try to sleep.
He’d fled Atlanta soon after his sister’s death. He had taken a meandering route from Atlanta to the suburbs and then to the state line. He’d found his way into Alabama and, despite his trepidations, had decided to try to disappear into a large city like Birmingham, worrying that someone from the military or the government would try to track him down. He’d thought getting lost in a crowd would be the ideal. Then the virus, which television and radio reporters were now calling the Michaluk Virus, reached Birmingham, and he’d had to flee again to keep ahead of it and the military that came with it.
Now, he was hunkered down in a house in Gadsden, Alabama, sitting on the second floor and waiting for something to happen. The virus had swept over Gadsden already, and the military had passed through shortly after, shooting everyone that showed any symptoms of infection and loading everyone else up into their cargo trucks for transport to Heaven-only-knew where. When he’d seen the camouflage-painted trucks pull up, he’d grabbed all of his meager belongings and hidden in the attic while soldiers searched the house for any occupants. The entire time, he’d sat with his eyes closed, remembering what Derek had told him, chanting it in his head: “You might be needed one day.”
They’d left without finding anything in his house. He’d watched through the slats of the tiny attic window on the front of the house as the soldiers invaded the house across the street and dragged an older woman out, empty-handed, and pushed her towards the truck.
It’d taken them two hours to search the entire street, and Brandt didn’t relax until they’d moved on.
It wasn’t until the following day, while he’d sat on a chair in a second-story bedroom watching the street below, that he’d seen any other people. He’d been eating out of a can of Beanie Weenies, not exactly relishing the taste but eating it regardless, when a blond man and a dark-haired woman emerged from the house across the street. Surprised at the presence of other people in his vicinity, he sat up straighter, dropping his spoon into the can. The couple paused on the porch and spoke to each other before descending the porch steps and walking out toward the street.
Dawn was just breaking, which gave Brandt enough light to see them. He set his can aside and leaned closer to the window, examining them closely. The man looked like he was somewhere around Brandt’s age, and he walked with the familiar swagger of a police officer or military man, a pistol in his hand. He wasn’t interested in the man as much as he was the woman, and his total attention was on her.
She wore snug jeans, a tank top, and a flannel shirt with a leather jacket on top of it. A pair of tall boots covered her calves, and she walked with the easy confidence of someone who knew what she was doing. She was slender, with long dark hair that she had pulled back into a high ponytail; he couldn’t make out any of her features from his vantage point. The sight of her rifle made him lift his eyebrows in surprise. If he wasn’t mistaken, he was looking at the familiar sight of an Israeli-issued Galil sniper rifle. The woman carried it like she was not only familiar with it but knew how to use it.
Brandt remained rooted to his spot on the chair while the two figures started a slow walk down the street. He didn’t want to involve himself with other people; he wanted to stay exactly where and how he was, hidden and alone. Then he remembered the promise he’d made to his sister: “Find someplace safe, help some other people, and do whatever you need to do to stay alive.” He couldn’t stay where he was if he expected to keep his promise to her.
He rose from his chair, made sure he was well armed, and left the bedroom, running down the stairs. He dragged the heavy chair he’d placed against the front door out of the way and unlocked the door, flinging it open and jogging out into the front yard before he could second-guess himself.
“Hey!” he shouted to get their attention. The woman stopped and turned, sliding in between him and the blond man, which very clearly designated her as the one in the lead. She aimed her rifle right at his head, and he stopped at the edge of the sidewalk, reflexively lifting his own gun in a two-handed grip and pointing it at her. He had no intention of actually shooting her. It would be a travesty to hurt such a beautiful woman. The blond man sidestepped from behind the woman to aim his own pistol at Brandt. It was two against one, and he didn’t have a chance against these two if they decided he was a threat.
“Who are you?” she asked, and her accent was probably the loveliest thing he’d heard since his sister’s voice. He pushed aside his feelings and focused on where his mind needed to be. These two people could be infected, for all he knew, so he countered her question with one of his own.
“Are you one of them?”
“I asked you a question,” the woman snapped.
“Are you one of them?” Brandt repeated, carefully enunciating each word.
“Are we one of what?”
“Are you infected?”
Her dark eyes swept him over from head to toe, and he returned the favor. “Infected?” she said. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Their eyes met, and Brandt felt a surge of something in him that said he was meant to be standing where he was right then, that he was meant to protect this woman with his life. He couldn’t explain it, and he didn’t understand it, but he couldn’t deny it. Maybe it was destiny or fate or some other indefinable thing he didn’t know about, but regardless, he decided to go with it. He lifted a hand off of his gun, held it up to indicate surrender, and lowered the pistol to his side.
“Put it down,” the blond man ordered. “On the ground. Now.”
Brandt set the weapon on the sidewalk at his feet. The woman followed the motion with her rifle, lowering it and then raising it again when he straightened and held both hands out to his sides.
“Who are you?” she asked again.
Brandt motioned to their surroundings, feeling like he was focusing on them for the first time since he’d seen the beautiful woman. “It’s not safe out here,” he said. “We need to get inside.”
“What is going on?” the man implored. The woman lowered her rifle, but the man didn’t put his own pistol away.
“I’ll explain in a minute,” Brandt told them. “Once we’re inside.” He turned and head back toward the house he’d been hiding in for the past several days.
She lifted her rifle again. “Not until you tell us who the hell you are,” she said. He looked her up and down again, and she stiffened in obvious self-consciousness but held her ground.
“Interesting accent you have there,”
he said. “What is it, Middle Eastern? Israeli, perhaps?” He stepped forward then and offered her his hand. If he was going to get them to cooperate and work with him, he was going to have to trust them with information about himself. “Lieutenant Brandt Evans,” he said, deciding to go with his middle name. “United States Marines.”
The woman hesitated, then finally lowered the rifle and offered him her hand in return. “Samal Rishon Cade Alton, former Israel Defense Forces,” she said, and he took her hand, marveling at how surprisingly soft her skin was, in contrast to the fairly masculine name she bore.
“Samal Rishon?” Brandt questioned.
“Your military’s equivalent of Staff Sergeant,” Cade clarified.
“Enough with the fucking pleasantries,” the man snapped. He had his gun pointed at Brandt again. “Tell us what’s going on.”
“Like I said, we need to get inside first,” Brandt said. He let go of Cade’s hand and glanced down the street in either direction. “Is that your SUV over there?” he asked Cade.
“It’s Ethan’s,” Cade replied, gesturing toward the blond man.
“Move it over here,” Brandt instructed. “My base is inside. I’m assuming you’ve got supplies in that SUV? At the very least, it’ll make a good escape vehicle in case we need it.”
“Escape from what?” Ethan asked.
“Ethan, put the gun down,” Cade said. “Go get the Jeep. I’ll deal with him.”
“Cade, you don’t know—”
“If it’s safe?” Cade interrupted. “Ethan, I can take care of myself. Now go.”
Ethan and Cade stared at each other for a moment, and then Ethan nodded and went to the Jeep.
“So, Marines?” Cade questioned, turning her dark brown eyes back onto Brandt.
“Yeah, Marines,” Brandt said. “We’re both military people, huh?” He motioned toward the house again. “Come on. Let’s get inside. Ethan can take care of himself, right?” He retrieved his pistol from the sidewalk, and she followed him up the walkway. “Where are you two from?”
“Memphis, Tennessee,” Cade said.
“Jesus, and you guys made it out of there alive?” Brandt asked, genuinely surprised. Cade grabbed his shoulder to stop his progress to the house.
“What do you mean? What the hell are you talking about?”
“The virus,” Brandt said. “The one they’re talking about on TV? It’s almost completely wiped out Memphis overnight.”
“A virus?” Cade repeated as Ethan jogged up to them. “So it’s true? A virus is actually causing all this? It’s not just…rioting and shit?”
“The virus that’s been spreading out from Atlanta, yeah,” Brandt said. “The one that’s causing all these people to go crazy.” He nodded toward the door. “Get inside. I’ll explain.”
The man and woman exchanged a look with each other, one that suggested they were long familiar with each other and not just two people thrown together by circumstances. Brandt discovered that he was holding his breath, hoping that they weren’t going to decide this wasn’t the place for them and bail on him. His promise to his sister flitted through his mind again: “Find somebody that could maybe give you a reason to live.” Then the two stepped in through the front door, and he let out the breath he held.
He wasn’t going to have to go through this alone.
The Becoming Brothers in Arms
Revised and Expanded Edition
Chapter 1
Gray Carter was leaning halfway under the hood of an older model Honda Civic, up to his elbows in grease and a grimace of concentration on his face, when a hand clapped against his back. Startled, he narrowly avoided striking his head on the underside of the hood before straightening and turning his grimace onto whoever had snuck up on him.
His twenty-five-year-old brother Theo stood beside him, attired in his immaculate paramedic uniform, his blond hair neatly combed and his blue eyes dancing with merriment. He held a takeout drink tray and a bag of what smelled like something fatty and greasy in one hand, and a wicked grin crossed his face. “I didn’t scare you, did I?”
“Oh, shut up, asshole,” Gray replied, though he couldn’t stop a grin from spreading across his face. He tugged the well-used rag from the back pocket of his coveralls and scrubbed at the filth that had accumulated on his hands. Engine grease had worked its way under his nails and into the creases of his skin, and he had no hope of getting it all out without liberal amounts of dish soap. “What are you doing here?” he asked, stuffing the rag back into his pocket. “I thought you had to work today.”
“I go in later this evening,” Theo replied. “I’m just covering for Justin while he’s in class. I figured I’d grab us some lunch and drop in to see how you were doing.” He looked past Gray at the vehicle and asked, “What’s wrong with this one?”
“Fubar-ed alternator,” Gray said. He nodded toward the white door that led from the service bays to the garage’s administrative offices. “There’s a sink in the break room. I can wash up in there.”
Gray led the way through the noisy garage, trying to tune out the sounds of the other mechanics banging round under the hoods of cars and calling out to each other. Somewhere, music blasted on the radio, R&B that drove Gray crazy day in and day out, but he wasn’t allowed to listen to music on headphones while servicing a customer’s car, so he had to endure the torture. As he pushed the doors open to enter the building, the music cut out, and an announcer broke in.
“We interrupt your regular programming to bring you a breaking news announcem—” The door swung shut behind him and Theo, and Gray didn’t hear what it said. It was probably nothing important, anyway. Half of the news cycles were full of “breaking news” lately, and the vast majority of the notices were inconsequential. After an intense scrubbing session with dish detergent and a rag, Gray sat down in the folding metal chair across from his brother to the feast of cheap cheeseburgers and greasy fries that Theo had unpacked from the sack.
“You did get mine with no pickles, right?” Gray asked.
Theo blew the paper wrapper off his straw, shooting it across the table at him, and Gray swatted it out of the air. “What do you think I am?” Theo asked. “Some kind of an idiot?”
“Well…” Gray drew the word out and laughed when Theo gave him a mock-offended look. “I’m kidding, okay? I know you got it without pickles. You never don’t get it without pickles.”
“I don’t understand your aversion to pickles,” Theo said. He unwrapped his burger and took a messy bite and said with his mouth full of bread and meat, “They’re awesome.”
Gray wrinkled his nose but didn’t reply. He bowed his head and recited the brief prayer of thanks he always made before eating. When he finished, he lifted his head to see Theo nibbling at a fry with a patient smile. Gray returned the smile and dug into his cheeseburger.
“You still do that prayer thing before you eat?” Theo asked once they’d both settled into the groove of their meals. Gray shrugged and finished his mouthful of burger before responding.
“Yeah, of course,” he said. “Why? Don’t you?”
Theo dabbed a fry in some ketchup. “Occasionally, whenever I think about it. Which isn’t as often as I’d like.” He took a bite of his burger and reclined in his chair. “Hey, I have tomorrow off. After I get some sleep, do you want to go out on the town, do whatever?”
“Yeah, sure. Sounds like fun,” Gray agreed. “We can go bar hopping or something. Maybe pick up a couple of chicks, huh?”
Theo snorted. “Gray, you’re the most unconvincing womanizer ever,” he joked. “You’re too baby-faced for one-night stands.”
Gray threw a fry at him. “Oh, come on. I’m not any more baby-faced than you are.” He bit his tongue to keep from bringing up his own suspicions about his brother’s sexuality, suspicions that Theo always seemed to go out of his way to deflect.
“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.” The twinkle of mischievousness in Theo’s eyes showed that he was joking, but i
t still rankled Gray’s nerves nonetheless. Before he could come up with a good retort, though, Theo said, “Oh, I almost forgot.” He leaned back in his chair, dug into the pocket by his right knee, and tossed a box at him. “I got your prescription refilled for you earlier.”
Gray caught the box and glanced at the label, then slipped it into his pocket. “Thanks. I hadn’t even thought about it.”
“See, this is why I still hang around you,” Theo said, waving a fry in Gray’s direction. “If I decide to, I don’t know, stop coming by to see you, you’d forget to get your meds refilled and end up suffocating to death.”
Gray made a face at Theo and stuffed the last of his cheeseburger into his mouth. “You’ve got to give me a little credit!”
“Why would I want to do that?” Theo laughed. “It takes all the fun out of screwing with you.”
Gray sighed. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Like maybe work, saving people’s lives, instead of sitting here making mine miserable?”
“I should be offended, but I don’t think it’s worth the energy, not after last night,” Theo said with a chuckle, grimacing. The disparity between the expression on his face and the sound he made was disconcerting. At Gray’s questioning look, Theo said, “Had to work a car accident. There was a kid involved. Those are always hard.”
Gray frowned and leaned over the table, resting his elbows on the edge and studying Theo. “You okay?”
“Hey, it’s what I signed on for, isn’t it? I wouldn’t have made it through paramedic training if I couldn’t handle it.” He took a sip of his soda. “It just gets rough when kids are hurt. Emotions and all that shit try to get in the way.”
“I could never do what you do,” Gray said. He started to clean up their trash, shoving the empty wrappers back into the bag. “I’d be entirely too nervous with other people’s lives in my hands.”
Origins (The Becoming Book 6) Page 11