by William Oday
Beth nodded. “Yes.”
He shrugged. “Okay.”
Miro got busy while Beth marched over to the Chief.
His eyes went wide as he saw her. “No! Please, don’t hurt me! Please!”
His pleading didn’t slow her in the slightest.
She stepped between his legs and kicked them apart. She reared back and kicked him in the balls as hard she could.
He groaned and curled over into the fetal position.
She stood above him glaring down. “Don’t worry, baby. We’ll finish this now.”
She drew her pistol and aimed it at the Chief’s back. “Get up!” She pointed it at the other two officers. “You too! All of you, get up!”
She waited for them to get their feet.
“Don’t kill me,” one said.
She smiled. “I’m not going to kill any of you.”
A fleeting look of hope flashed across his face.
It was fleeting because of what she said next.
“But the deltas might.”
She turned to Miro. “Ready?”
“Yep. Should be big enough.” He manhandled the two officers through the seam cut into the fence.
“No! Please, don’t!” Fowler said.
Miro got him halfway through but the fence pinched tight around his thick middle.
Beth put her shoe on his butt and kicked him the rest of the way through.
They pressed their faces against the fence begging to be let back in. On any other day, the naked terror in their eyes would’ve crumbled her resolve.
Miro used the other officers’ handcuffs to secure the seam. “That’ll hold for now.”
A sound beyond the fence drew their attention.
Miro clicked on his flashlight and swept it over both sides of the street. Behind a dumpster, a glowing pair of eyes reflected the light.
A long howl made her shiver.
She locked eyes with Chief Fowler. “If I were you, I’d run.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
ELIO blinked his eyes but the darkness didn’t vary. Maybe he was dreaming of being locked in a freezer. Goose bumps covered his arms. He shivered and hoped he’d wake up soon. As dreams went, this one sucked. Waking up to another day at Venice High School wasn’t much better. One more day skating the razor’s edge between two competing gangs that both wanted to claim him.
That razor sometimes cut into his heels, but it was better than slicing him in half.
Falling one way or the other was inevitable.
So why did he fight it?
Did he have other prospects that were so much better?
He would’ve laughed if his teeth weren’t chattering so hard.
Still, this dreamed sucked big time.
He blinked hard trying to wake himself, but he couldn’t shake the darkness.
“Are you awake?” a hoarse voice whispered.
Theresa?
What was she doing at his apartment? In his bed?
In a sickening second, the reality of their situation spun into place. The realization made him want to puke.
He realized the pillow his head rested on was Theresa’s lap. “Yeah.” He carefully pushed up and sat beside her with his back against the cold, hard wall.
“Did you sleep?” she asked.
“Maybe. It’s hard to tell. You?”
“Same.”
Elio touched his face in the dark and winced. He traced the shape of a swollen lump there. “How long do you think we’ve been in here?”
A hand bumped into his arm and he cupped it between his, willing warmth into her cold fingers.
“I don’t know. It feels like days. But I don’t know.”
“Yeah,” Elio said as he pulled her to him. Her head rested on his chest. Her body spasmed with silent tears. “It’s okay.”
It was a terrible lie.
But he didn’t know what else to say. He couldn’t bring himself to say they were going to be fine. That everything was going to turn out for the best.
He couldn’t say it because it wasn’t true.
And speaking the lie wasn’t a small, white one like if you told somebody their new haircut looked great.
That didn’t matter. It saved their feelings and the hair would grow back.
This was way different.
They were going to be executed.
And there was nothing he could do to stop it. An impotent rage smoldered in his chest.
They sat together in the darkness with only the sound of their breath echoing in the enclosed space.
Elio smelled her hair. He loved her scent. Everything about her drew him in. If only they could’ve shared a life together.
Any life, even one after the outbreak, was better than nothing. He would’ve made her happy. He would’ve done everything in his power to bring her joy.
He stroked her hair, admiring the beautiful dark brown color even though he couldn’t see it.
Muffled footsteps approached.
Elio’s pulse spiked.
Was it time already?
A series of clanks and clunks and then the cell door creaked open.
A flashlight blinked on in their faces.
Elio squeezed his eyes shut and turned away from the stabbing pain.
“And so the damned turned away from the light of the Lord.”
“Uh, Father, can you scoot back to a safe distance?”
“Yes, my son.”
Guards shuffled in and hauled them to their feet. The chains around their ankles and wrists rattled with the movement.
“You two have a date with destiny. Your lives will never be the same.”
“Officer, don’t taunt these poor souls. They are about to meet the Almighty and might feel inclined to pass along a word about you.”
The voice sent spasms of cold terror down into Elio’s toes. He knew that voice.
Father Roberts.
What was he doing here?
Had he come to torture them before being hanged?
“Sorry, Father.”
The guards led them out of the cell and into the dim light of the corridor. Father Roberts stayed in the shadows in the corner.
Between the lack of light and his eyes still having problems focusing, Elio couldn’t see more than vague silhouettes.
“Do you two wish to meet the Lord with your souls absolved of sin?”
Elio stepped between the silhouette that spoke and Theresa. He didn’t want her anywhere near him.
They didn’t answer.
Which he must’ve taken for a yes.
“Then pray with me. Father above, please wash away the stains upon the souls of these two young people. They have broken your word and stand at the precipice of damnation and an eternity of hell fire. Only your grace and forgiveness stays their destiny. Please, God, cleanse their souls and help them to see your light, the one true light in the dark universe. It is as Jacob—”
“Uh, Father,” a guard said. “Can we hurry this up? We’re on a schedule here.”
“Ahem,” the priest said in an irritated voice. “Please forgive them, Lord. It is only through your grace that redemption can be found.”
The hairs on the back of Elio’s neck tingled. He’d had more than enough of the pseudo-religious babble that justified whatever was in that sick bastard’s brain.
“Let’s go.” The guards pushed them forward down the corridor.
The nightmare of what he’d endured at the monastery made his legs weak. But he’d survived. Escaped.
But for what?
He was about to die.
Worse.
Theresa was about to die.
Everything else was too far away to matter.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
MASON crouched at the end of Pier Forty-Eight looking north at the thing he’d been searching for all night. All night, after he finally lost the last of the deltas. The Red Zone was infested with them. Every time he thought he lost one group, he ran into another.
They seemed to be territorial because no group had chased him more than a few blocks.
One of the groups had caught him by surprise and nearly cornered him. He’d made it across Cesar Chavez and they stopped cold, like the street was an invisible barrier. A couple of minutes later, he discovered the cause when the largest group of the night, some fifty or more deltas, found him and gave chase.
Yellows rays of light broke over the eastern horizon and Mason pursed his lips.
He’d been occupied in an all night game of cat and mouse. Run away. Hole up. Venture out and get spotted again. Run away. Rinse and repeat.
Only it wasn’t a game.
And it wasn’t just his life that hung in the balance. The scheduled execution was in less than two hours. Two hours until his daughter and Elio would be hanged. Two hours and one second until he happily threw his life away trying to kill every last person remotely involved in this outrage.
He sucked in a deep breath to clear the cobwebs in his head. He hadn’t slept more than a few hours in the last seventy-two. He hadn’t had food or water in the last sixteen or so. He grabbed the packet of gum he’d found last night and popped a stick into his mouth. Juicy Fruit. Not his favorite and it was stale, but it was better than a kick in the ass.
He cupped his trembling hands and breathed warmth into them. The chill of the morning air combined with exhaustion had him light-headed.
But he’d finally found what he was looking for.
A marina with boats.
Only for it to be on the other side of a channel he had no intention of swimming across. The water couldn’t be more than fifty degrees. That was a Betty Crocker recipe for hypothermia.
To the left of the marina was AT&T Park. The enormous baseball stadium hadn’t heard the howl of victory or defeat in months. Some in the Green Zone had suggested annexing the stadium and starting crops in it next Spring. Planning for the future didn’t mean much to Mason when his daughter might die today.
He looked further left and found a bridge across the channel. It was wide open. Totally exposed.
If any deltas were in the area, they’d see him.
But that was the most direct route to the marina and he didn’t have time to waste backtracking to find a more concealed crossing.
Mason stood up and jogged off the pier along the waterfront. He went fast enough to make good time but not so fast that he wouldn’t have anything left in the tank if he ran into deltas.
When he ran into deltas.
The sun peeked above the buildings to the east across the bay. The cursed light chilled his skin. It brought none of the usual warmth.
He didn’t hesitate as he arrived at the bridge. He accelerated into a run and made it across unobserved.
Or so he thought.
He took a sharp right and headed north along a wide path between the stadium and the waterfront. He hadn’t made it a hundred feet when the first howl sent made him shudder.
Others answered in quick succession. The first couple of deltas appeared on the path behind.
Mason kicked into that extra gear he’d been holding in reserve.
And found it had about half the horsepower he was hoping for.
But hopefully not half as much as he needed.
He sprinted passed the stadium and made it to the large marina a sign said was South Beach Marina. He zigzagged down walkways to the floating docks as more deltas joined the ones already on his tail.
Mason raced down the first dock and scanned the boats on each side as he went. There were two big problems with his brilliant plan.
One was that he had no idea which boat might be operational or had keys to start it even if they were.
And the second and worse problem was that the end of the dock was fifty yards ahead.
He had to choose one, but the howling at his back made it clear that the first choice would also be the last.
Wide-bellied sailboats, multi-storied cruisers, sleek speedboats. The expensive water toys of a city that once had more money than sense.
He ran all the way to the end of the dock without seeing anything that made his decision.
Which made the decision, as not making a choice so often did in life.
Tied to the end of the dock was an open cabin fishing boat about fourteen feet in length. The pilot’s seat faced a steering wheel and throttle while a couple of swiveling passenger seats behind it were presumably where the fishing happened. An outboard motor hung off the back end.
A motor with a pull start.
Mason leapt the four feet down into the boat and raced to the rear. He primed the motor and yanked the starter cord.
The cord snapped and the frayed end zipped back inside the motor housing. The motor belched, burped, and cut off.
Mason glanced at the deltas now halfway down the dock. He’d have a heaping helping of shit sandwich on his plate in about thirty seconds.
He unwound the rear rope securing the boat to the dock. He threw it off and went to the front. He unwound that one and kicked off as the first delta arrived.
A man a little larger than himself. Short hair that must’ve been shaved when he turned. Naked but for the filth encrusted in his voluminous body hair.
The boat drifted away from the dock as the delta jumped.
Mason caught his chest with thick handfuls of hair. He pivoted to the side and guided the body by.
The delta speared headfirst into the fiberglass edge on the far side of the boat. He took the full weight of his two hundred pounds on the bridge of his nose. His head snapped back with a sickening crunch. He collapsed into the bottom of the boat.
The grotesque angle of his neck guaranteed his fight was finished.
The other deltas skidded to a stop at the edge of the dock. The nearest one screamed as the boat continued to drift further away.
Its scream turned to a shriek as one too many of those behind pushed forward. He flailed his arms and tumbled into the water. The others hooted and hollered, their attention divided between the delta barely keeping his head above water and the escaping prey.
Satisfied that they were no longer a threat, Mason stepped over the dead man and turned his attention to the motor. It took twice as long as it should have, but he got it chugging and the boat motored north.
The underside of the Bay Bridge slipped quietly overhead. The towering skyscrapers of the Financial District loomed on the left. So many monuments to the greatness of mankind.
Would they be discovered thousands of years from now like the pyramids of Egypt?
Mason doubted it.
For one, discovering them would require there to be people around thousands of years from now, and he wasn’t optimistic on that count.
And two, the humid ocean air wasn’t going to be nearly as kind as the dry desert that had preserved the graves of the ancient kings of Egypt.
The small boat bumped from wave to wave. Mason did his best to steer into the larger ones but the chop jolted his spine again and again.
He zipped along staying close to the marinas and piers on the left.
And then it appeared ahead around the bend.
The place where prisoners arrived but never left.
The place where all hope ended.
Alcatraz.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
The craggy face of Alcatraz Island rose alone in the water. The rock had been hewn flat in places to create terraces of usable land. The lighthouse stood on the highest level at the south end. Buildings dotted the surrounding area. A passenger ferry was parked dockside.
Mason scanned the horizon and saw no other boats on the water. His approach wouldn’t go unnoticed.
And they weren’t going to roll out the welcome mat.
He needed a plan.
He looked around the boat.
There was the dead guy and little else. A glove box with a missing lock was next to the steering wheel. He flipped it open and found some discolored bobbers, an assortment of rusted hooks, a small flashlight, an
d a tattered old captain’s hat.
He took the flashlight and clicked it. To his surprise, the bulb glowed. A working flashlight. A nice find which did nothing to help his current situation.
He checked his watch. Forty-two minutes until the scheduled execution.
The sun climbed in the sky.
Minutes passed.
And then a plan sprang into his mind. It was ridiculous. Odds were even that it would get him killed, but death was a certainty if he pulled up expecting to be greeted like an old friend.
The dead delta.
The pack of gum in his pocket.
The captain’s hat.
The flashlight.
A ridiculous plan was better than nothing and so he got to work.
He tied the dock line around the steering wheel and secured it to the supports below the seat, making sure the boat was aimed a little north of the dock to account for the current pushing out to sea. He retrieved the flashlight, extracted the AA battery, and dropped it into his pocket.
Next, Mason pulled the body up into the pilot’s seat. He used more of the rope and tied the poor guy to the seat. He grabbed the captain’s hat and snugged it down over the dead man’s drooping head.
Did he say ridiculous?
That was being kind.
He crouched down into the bottom of the boat, staying low to avoid detection. He crawled back behind the rear seat. He threw open compartments and found the fuel reservoir. He unscrewed the cap and was happy to see the tank was half-full.
Mason tore long, uneven strips out of his ruined shirt.
If this worked, MacGyver would have to bow down to him. Except that the actor that once played that ingenious character was no doubt dead either from old age or the Delta Virus.
Mason tied the cotton strips together until he had about six feet of length.
He glanced over the seat to check on the distance.
Shit!
The dock and the ferry were less than a hundred yards away. Several police officers stood there with M4 rifles zeroed on his position. One stared through binoculars.
Mason ducked back behind the seat. He wadded the length of shirt up and dunked it into the fuel tank. He pulled out the soaked fabric and unwound it. One end went back into the tank.
He dug the pack of Juicy Fruit out of his pocket and pulled out a stick. He unwrapped the foil wrapper and popped the gum into his mouth.