Besides, her instincts told her there was something to be gained by keeping this man alive.
“McCormick, get down here!”
Danielle had momentarily forgotten about the second soldier, and her heart skipped a pulse. One soldier she could manage; two were a problem.
She moved again toward the back of the stage, pressing her body against the black velvet wall that formed the backdrop for the live bands, and from there she watched the first soldier continue further into the bar. If he turned around now and pointed his light toward the stage, she’d be caught in the beam and the shootout would begin. It was a fight she was likely to lose, but she wasn’t leaving Raise the Flagon with these men. About that she had already decided.
“What is it?” McCormick answered.
“Just get down here. You’re not gonna believe this. The place looks pristine.”
Danielle crept further down the stage until she was only a foot or two from the entranceway to the door. She stood on the edge of stage left which rose about three feet off the floor, waist-high to anyone entering the bar. She turned the shotgun in her hands, holding it high on the barrel with her right hand, her left by the port, positioning the butt of the gun down, pointing it straight like the business-end of a pitchfork.
“Davies?”
McCormick whispered the name of his companion just as he took his first—and only—step into the building, and, as the apprehensive soldier turned the light atop his rifle in the direction of the stage, Danielle could see only the glare off his helmet as she thrust the triangle stock of her shotgun into the center of the man’s face.
There was a sickening crunch of cartilage and bone, as well as a dull “ugh” from McCormick, followed by the instant crumbling of the man’s body to the floor. The light from his rifle splayed wildly and then settled on a random spot low on the entry wall.
For a moment, Danielle considered going for the scattered gun, but her instincts directed her instead toward the freedom of the alley where the rise of the stairwell awaited. She didn’t look back for the soldier who’d first entered—Davies—and instead dashed up the concrete flight of steps and into the alley.
Danielle reached the intersection where the alley met the street, and then she glanced quickly over her shoulder.
And there was Davies, already in the alley and closing quickly.
Danielle turned left on Franklin and headed in the direction of her car, but she was still more than two blocks away, and at the rate the soldier was moving—combined with the benefit he had of a guiding light on his rifle—she would never outpace him to the Mazda.
So, Danielle made the snap decision to duck into the entranceway that led to Bigg’s, a neighborhood jewelry store about three doors down from the entrance to the realty building.
The shopfront was a concave tunnel of windows that led naturally to the door, about five paces or so off the sidewalk. Danielle reached the glass door and stopped, closing her eyes for just a beat before pulling gently on the door, almost caressing it, hoping her consideration would somehow factor in its opening, but knowing in the depths of her soul that it was locked.
She prayed for a miracle, and when the door opened without a sound, she silently thanked God for supplying one.
But there was no time to bask; the soldier was only steps behind her now, and she could hear the quickening of his feet as he neared the shop. Danielle slipped across the threshold and eased the door closed, and then she pulled the shotgun tightly to her chest, crouching a few paces inside, off to the side of the entrance and out of sight.
Had the soldier glimpsed the door, seen that last little movement just before it squeezed shut? Had he heard it?
Danielle couldn’t be sure of the answer to either question, so, as a precaution, she moved further back into the shop, tiptoeing as she strode across the thin carpeting, gliding nimbly past the displays of earrings and necklaces that stared up at her, the green and red and yellow gems glistening at her subtly in the darkness, as if trying to entrance Danielle to free them from their enclosures.
But the golden metal strands and delicately cut stones were worthless now, simple elements of the earth for which Danielle could find little utility. How precarious the world was, she pondered. How teetering. It had always been that way, she knew, Life, wobbling like a battleship on the tip of a sword; but seeing the bleak incongruity of the treasures in this space of death and abandonment made the point suddenly visible. The store was filled with what would have been treasures only a few months ago, and in a moment, they had been rendered insignificant.
Danielle blinked herself from the trance of the jewels and focused back on the door, where the dim outline of the soldier had paused at the storefront. He hovered there, investigating the shop for evidence, and it seemed certain that he would turn into the wide corridor that led to the shop and ultimately through the door.
At that point, there would be no more room for mercy. Danielle would have no choice but to kill him.
But after ten seconds or so of browsing the glass, the soldier’s shadow disappeared, presumably to continue his search further down the sidewalk, and Danielle took a full breath for the first time in what seemed like an hour.
“Thank god,” she whispered and then lay her forehead flat on the glass countertop. She stared down on the rows of small diamond earrings that were lined precisely under the glass and then closed her eyes. The cold press on her forehead felt pleasant, curative, and a wave of exhaustion suddenly flooded her. If only she could sleep. In that moment, she would have given any of her possessions for just an hour of sleep.
But rest was a distant goal now. Even if she made it out of this predicament, she would have to make plans to flee her base for good. Not only Raise the Flagon, but the city proper as well. She could see no other choice. More soldiers would be back with reinforcements tomorrow, kicking down every storefront until they dug her out.
But she had to get back to the bar for just a few minutes. She had supplies there. Food and water and whiskey. Her rifle.
Her list.
This latter item was hardly a necessity—she had committed her goals to memory the first day she had written them—but there was a symbolism in the thick, black words that gave Danielle strength whenever she viewed them, a constant re-centering that had kept her strong and stoical until now. She needed food and her gun for survival—plus, to ‘Kill a Soldier,’ she would definitely need her rifle—but she needed her list for something just as precious: Purpose.
Suddenly Danielle’s neurons began to fire again, organizing strategies and routes back to the bar. She could double back now, she thought. It wasn’t too late. In fact, the present moment seemed the perfect opportunity. McCormick was down and would be for a while (perhaps forever if she had struck him just right, though she didn’t think the blow had been fatal, despite the purity of the strike) and Davies had moved on and was likely more than a block away by now. There was a window here, a chance to duck back into Raise the Flagon, if only for a few minutes, and gather up the essentials. And then she would move on and not look back, likely in the direction of the north cordon, the spot where she would kill the soldier.
Right now, though, her focus was the bar. It was the only choice; she had to go back.
Danielle lifted her head from the glass and gripped the shotgun that she had set beside her, and then she moved quickly toward the front door, a smirk of determination across her face.
But she barely reached the edge of the rear display case before the figure at the door stopped her mid-stride, causing Danielle to shriek. Instinctively, she brought her left hand onto the shotgun, but dropped it immediately at the sound of the chambering rifle that was pointed at her chest.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” the soldier said, his voice quick and certain, trying to stave off any sudden reflex of panic from his newly won prisoner. “But I’ll need you to put that gun down. Lay it on the glass top beside you, just like it was a second ago.”
&nbs
p; It was Davies; he hadn’t wandered away after all. He probably had seen the door, Danielle assumed, and then pretended to move on down the road so that she would let her guard down, take a beat to relax, and eventually wind up in the exact spot she was now.
She placed the gun on the counter as instructed, not daring to test the calm and steadiness of the barrel pointed at her. Her time would come, she still believed that, but it wasn’t this moment.
“What’s your name?” Davies asked. His face was shadowed, but his voice had a steady and clear resonance, almost comforting if not for the semi-automatic weapon in his hands.
Danielle’s first instinct was to stay completely silent, refuse to speak, like she’d seen from captured enemies in the movies. But on a deeper level, she knew that wasn’t the play here. What was the benefit?
“What difference does that make?” she asked.
Davies shrugged. “Just makes conversation easier, that’s all.”
The soldier kept his gun raised as he spoke, his eye to the sight, knowing if he lowered it for even a second and Danielle bolted, even with the light on the gun, it would be difficult to regain the advantage he had currently.
“I’m here to help you. We were here to help you. My partner is going to have a nasty bruise and a bad headache when he wakes up. There was no need for that.”
With this last sentence, Danielle heard the first hint of anger in Davies’ voice. But what was more important was that he had checked on McCormick before chasing her from the bar, and apparently the man was only unconscious and not dead. That meant her window was even tighter to make it back to the Flagon, if, somehow, she could find a way to make it out of her current predicament inside Bigg’s. The prospect seemed highly unlikely at the moment, but she was still breathing, and she could only go from there. And for a reason Danielle hadn’t yet figured, the soldier was keeping her alive.
“There’s no reason not to trust me.”
If this had been her first encounter with a soldier, perhaps she would have been more open to the possibility of trust; but since Danielle hadn’t brought up the subject, the soldier’s mention of the abstract quality suggested to her he was protesting a bit too much. Besides, she knew the story of the blast and the snow, at least the broad strokes, and she had witnessed the actions of other soldiers for several weeks now. They weren’t there to assist. They were there to hunt. To guard. To kill. And unless Danielle made a move soon, she would never know freedom again.
“Where are your companions?” Davies asked. “I’m sure you’re not alone in here, right?”
And there it was. Companions. He hadn’t killed Danielle yet because he figured she could lead him to a larger stash. If he arrived back at base having captured or killed one cordon survivor, that was commendable, but if he captured or killed a group of them, it was career-making.
“They’ve gone out for the night,” she lied. “Reconnoitring.”
“Reconnoitring?”
“Is that the word? Maybe not. Exploring? I don’t know. Anyway, it’s the system we devised to keep our supplies fresh and our area safe. Twice a week, we go out at night, it’s the only time we do, and on those bi-weekly excursions, one of us always stays behind. I was the lucky one tonight, I guess. Then we...” Danielle suddenly felt as if she were rambling, and that all of the ‘information’ she was so freely giving would quickly be spotted for the lies that they were.
“Then you what?”
Danielle dropped her eyes for a beat before glaring back at the soldier. “Why are you still pointing that gun at me?”
Davies didn’t answer, and Danielle presumed it was because he didn’t have one.
“I know you’re not here to help us, Davies,” Danielle said, using the man’s name aggressively, as if to intimidate him, inform him that she knew who he was, though what good such information did in the moment she couldn’t have said.
She took a step forward now, her chest and chin jutting forward, daring the man to act.
“That’s far enough,” Davies’ said, taking a synchronized step backward toward the front door. His voice was still calm and low, which emboldened Danielle further, figuring that if the man were going to shoot her, it would be a measured kill and not one born from a twitchy trigger finger.
“You’re gonna kill me like you did my other friends then? Is that about the size of it? How many do you have notched on your belt at this point?”
“If I was going to kill you, I’d have done it already.” He paused. “And I don’t know who you’re refer—”
“You don’t? Are you sure? You and that colonel of yours? And the rest of the maniacs that caused all of this to happen? You don’t know who I’m referring to?”
Davies went silent and took another step back, keeping the proper distance, maintaining a clear shot on Danielle for when the time came to take it.
“The experiment that caused all of this, soldier. You’re the reason behind it. Or at least you’re a part of it.”
“How...how do you know about that? The experiment? If you’ve been inside this whole time? How could you?”
“How I know matters even less than my name. I just wanted you to know that I know. And my new friends know too.”
Davies cocked his head and removed his firing finger from the trigger, using it now to point at Danielle. He wagged it twice in her direction. “You were part of them, weren’t you?” Davies’ voice had the air of fascination. “The Internals who escaped on that helicopter.”
Dominic. And Tom and James. They had gotten out. Or at least two of them had. What happened to them afterwards she couldn’t have known, but it had been they on the helicopter, just as she’d prayed. Were they still fugitives? Or had they been captured and killed?
“So, I’m right then,” Davies continued. “I can tell by your silence that it’s true.”
“Did they make it?”
Davies paused. “What do you think?
Danielle didn’t answer.
“How far do you think they could have gotten? Do you think this army would allow an unauthorized helicopter to simply fly out of the cordoned area?” His voice sounded genuinely interested in the answer, baffled that someone could hold such a belief.
Danielle’s mouth went dry, as if it were filled with sand. She didn’t believe the soldier, not necessarily, but she also didn’t want to hear the answer to his question, so she pre-empted his intimidation from going any further.
“Well, I’m sure the helicopter wasn’t authorized to be taken in the first place, and that’s a thing that happened. So maybe you’re not as organized as you want me to believe. I mean, let’s face it, your buddy McCormick is face down right now in a pool of his own blood and snot. And that probably wasn’t authorized either.”
Davies shook his head slowly, as if he felt sorry for Danielle. “You had better hope we’re organized, and you’d be wise to be on the side of civilization, because if it spreads out there...” He paused, swallowing... “And it’s already happened. More than once. Nothing’s going to matter anywhere if that happens.”
“Spreads? What are you talking about? It doesn’t spread. It’s not a virus. I already know about the experiment, soldier. I was in here when the snows came. Only if you were touched by the falling snow. That’s when you became...” Danielle cut herself off, realizing she didn’t actually know any of the science behind what happened, other than what little Stella had revealed.
Stella.
She was a name on the list, of course, and Danielle had plans to look into her eyes at the moment of her death. Dominic had been right about her all along. She had been the driving force behind the whole catastrophe. But it wasn’t until the day the soldiers arrived and took Tom and James that Danielle knew it for herself.
The memory of the camp flooded back in an instant, the night Stella had been on watch. The fire had been low when Danielle had finally turned in, blazing just enough to give off a small perimeter of warmth. But when she’d awakened to pee, she could se
e through the tent that the fire was raging, much larger than what they had agreed should ever be the capacity. Danielle’s hand was on the flap of the tent, ready to exit and scold, when she’d heard the footsteps approaching.
Danielle had watched Stella rise to her feet quickly, motioning toward the sleeping quarters, pointing at the three tents where she and Tom and James had been sleeping. Danielle had a decision to make in that moment: to warn Tom and James and likely be captured with them, or to close the flap and sneak out the back of the tent and sprint to safety.
She’d chosen the latter, of course, which had allowed her to fight another day, and though she hadn’t once doubted the wisdom of her decision, she could never quite shake the guilt of leaving. Or for trusting Stella.
Danielle had made it to the top of a ridge by the camp that night, just in time to see the end of the capture. There had been no bullets fired, and no struggle at all, really, which meant Tom and James had likely been taken prisoner. Danielle couldn’t know for what reason—it seemed that killing them would have been the obvious play, just as it seemed so now—but she assumed if they were kept alive, it was for something other than humanitarian reasons.
“Maybe you don’t know as much as you think you do,” Davies said. His tone was flat, with no hint of smugness. “I can tell you all about it, though. But I need to know where your friends are first. Once were all together, I’ll tell you everything you’re authorized to know. Which is more than you might think. About the snow. About the experiment and what went wrong. And about the spread.”
Danielle doubted Davies knew any details about the experiment itself or what happened exactly—in fact, Danielle probably knew more than he did.
But the spread. That rang true. All the ghosts hadn’t died in the melting, which meant whatever turned them was still alive inside them.
But contagious? Had whatever killed the others become infectious in this new breed?
The List Page 7