by A. M. Geever
“That should be all the antibiotics you need unless you do something stupid again. Your ribs need to be rewrapped but someone here can do it. I need to get back to the health center.” Doc looked at Walter. “Call if you need me,” he said, but it sounded more like a threat than an offer. He took his leave, barking at Connor for good measure as he passed him.
Miranda saw four small red carriers on Walter’s desk. “That’s the serum?”
“Yeah,” Mario said, his voice so low it was almost a whisper.
Miranda looked at him. Mario had done it again, something only he could do, to save the human race. If by some miracle their mission succeeded children everywhere would be raised on tales of his bravery. Reduced to a bedtime story, he would become a noble, even tragic, figure. That she had borne so much of its brunt would never be mentioned.
And what if it was, she thought. What could describe the pain of believing the lie and learning the truth? A sour acid taste filled her mouth as a wave of nausea hit her. She looked at Connor. He still stood by the door, his mouth twisted by a frown.
“Looks like we’re in business,” she said.
30
As Miranda looked at the grim faces around the table, a sense of unreality crept over her. She was so exhausted her fingernails ached. Her head pounded. She needed to sleep. Just half an hour, thirty short minutes to close her eyes and lapse into oblivion, but that was not going to happen. It had seemed so simple when Father Walter first told her the plan. Now everything was spinning out of control.
She reached for a lock of hair to twirl around her finger before she remembered it was gone. The clippers had seen to that. She ran her hand over her head, the quarter inch of peach fuzz that was left felt soft against her palm. Serious missions meant serious hair. She’d seen too many people get caught by zombies because they refused to cut long hair.
“Here’s the deal,” Doug said. The expedition members were huddled around a camp table in the staging area. A creased map of the Santa Cruz mountains was spread out and taped down at the corners. A few feet away, the supplies and weapons they weren’t taking with them were being distributed. Miranda had to strain to hear over the noise.
“We need to get here.” Doug jabbed at a red circle on the map. “The lab is on the old UC Santa Cruz campus.”
“Is that even behind their city walls?” Seffie asked.
Doug shook his head. “No, but the area is heavily fortified. Only a handful of people know the exact location.” He cast a disgusted glance out the garage entrance. “The telemetry from the reconnaissance drones is terrible because of the weather, no surprise there. What we do know is the pavement is shot; some parts of the road are at least partially if not totally washed out, and there are several rock slides we need to get around.”
“And it’s dark and pissing rain. What’s the bad news?”
Connor’s friend, Mike Sealy, sported a smile that grew wider with the muffled laughter his smart-ass question prompted. Mike had made a very obvious point of talking to both Miranda and Mario a few minutes ago. The former Marine was still a professional.
Doug continued, this time with a grin. “Each of you has five vials of vaccine serum that you’ll carry. The coating we put on them will keep them cold. It’s tough but not indestructible. If you crack it, the contents of that vial will be useless in an hour. Make sure you know where everyone else is carrying theirs. None of us are carrying in the same spot. Mine’s in my vest.”
Miranda saw everyone but Mike unconsciously reach for their allotment of serum. I hope this doesn’t come down to playing poker, she thought, wondering what her own tell was.
“Based on older telemetry, one thing we do have going for us is there are very few choke points from cars in the southbound lanes,” Doug said.
“But isn’t south away from here?” asked Seffie.
“It is,” Miranda said, “but before KFOG went off the air, they were reporting that San Jose had a defensible perimeter. People were trying to get away from the cities everywhere else, but not here.”
“Then why didn’t they use all the lanes?” Seffie asked.
“Because most people are law-abiding sheep, even when it kills them,” Mario muttered.
Beside her, Miranda felt Connor bristle. His animosity toward Mario was palpable. The habit of contradicting whatever Mario said was so ingrained it was all she could do to hold her tongue, but she had to put that aside. The mission came first.
Mario brooded from the other side of the table. He was the only person sitting down. Miranda tried to ignore him but the bruises on his face were the vivid purples and blues of a gathering storm, and all the more pronounced because of his appalling pallor. She found herself wishing she had not hit him quite so hard.
Fractured ribs, a couple good belts, a gunshot wound, and I’d look like hell, too. He shouldn’t be coming; he’s going to slow us down. I know he can’t stay in San Jose, but I don’t know why Father Walter thinks Henry needs his help. Once Henry has the serum, he can do the rest.
“How old is the last reliable telemetry that gives us any idea how many zombies are up there?”
The question came from Naomi Culpepper, their medic. The young woman’s no-nonsense attitude gave her an authoritative presence, despite her age. Naomi looked like a pale china doll—rosebud lips, translucent milky skin, sky-blue eyes, and short blond hair. She only came to Miranda’s shoulder, which had surprised Miranda when Naomi fell in beside her for the briefing. She moved and spoke with such confidence that she did not seem small until you got right up next to her.
“It’s too heavily forested up there for anything we have to be very reliable,” Doug replied. “There’s always zombie activity up there. It’ll probably be bad.”
“Is it possible we’re wrong about that?” Naomi asked. “It’s been abandoned for years, at least from this side. If there’s no food for them, maybe the zombies have moved off.”
“What about Salinas?” Connor asked her. “No one has lived there in a decade and there were so many zombies we almost didn’t make it out.”
“Even if we get lucky with the zombies, we still have the weather to contend with,” Mario added. “It’s been pouring for almost twenty-four hours and if it keeps up, there will be more mudslides.”
Gabe Rivera, the gunner, smirked. “This is a one-way trip for you no matter what.”
Gabe’s voice was full of youthful swagger that bordered on insolence. He reminded Miranda of a shiny brown colt, all knees and elbows and too much energy, and he was pretty full of himself. Then again, there were very few people who could claim to be a crack shot at sixteen hundred meters on a mounted fifty cal gun.
Gabe’s dark eyes assessed Mario. “Either we get there, or we don’t. If we make it, you’re never coming back, and if we don’t, your biggest problem will be finding brains for dinner.”
Mario rolled his eyes. “Thanks for clearing that up.”
Doug began speaking again. Miranda heard Gabe, who stood on the other side of Naomi, whisper, “El Jefe better watch his step. I don’t care what the padres say, thousands of people have turned because of him.”
“Any more questions?” Doug said.
“I have one,” Mike said. He pointed to Miranda and Mario. “Are these two going to be able to work together? Getting killed is one thing. Getting killed because they don’t have their heads in the game is another.”
Miranda forced herself to keep breathing as a burning flush colored her face. She had vowed she would leave everything at the door once they were underway and the question, however humiliating, was a fair one.
“Yeah, about that,” Doug answered. “Obviously the situation with Miranda and Mario is less than ideal.”
“Less than ideal?” Miranda blurted. She looked at Mike, who stood beside Mario. “If it’s mission critical, I will take a bullet or get eaten by zombies to keep him alive. Beyond that—”
A smile twitched across Mario’s lips before he schooled it away. He f
inds this amusing, she thought, incredulous. The desire to slap the vanished grin off his face was so intense that she lost her train of thought.
“I’ll take a bullet and get eaten by zombies,” Mario said.
It was such a childish thing to say, the kind of silly stake-raising they had teased one another with once. But if she rebuked him, it only showed that there was a problem. She sucked the insides of her cheeks between her teeth to keep her mouth shut.
“Satisfied?” Doug asked Mike.
Mike shrugged. “It’ll have to do. No offense to either of you, but I had to ask.”
“None taken,” she and Mario replied simultaneously. The sound of their voices so in sync made Miranda cringe.
Doug scrutinized everyone around the table. The look in his eyes was so intense they seemed to glow.
“Our mission objective is simple. We are to deliver Mario and the serum to the Santa Cruz lab, then catch a boat at the harbor. But we’re leaving at night, in the first big winter storm, and we might be pursued. The stakes have been raised from difficult to almost impossible. The only thing you need to know is that I am getting to Santa Cruz alive. I will successfully execute this mission. If any of you have doubts about how you’re going to get there, do us all a favor and back out now.”
The table was quiet. The clamor of the activity around them filled the silence.
Doug grinned. “That’s what I thought.”
The Mission Church bell began to peal once more. Miranda saw Father Walter and several other priests over Doug’s shoulder. Father Walter had a handgun on either hip. The barrel of an assault rifle peeked over his shoulder. Miranda had not seen him suited up like that in a long time. He almost looked like a different person.
“Are you ready to go?” Walter asked.
“Just finished up,” Doug answered.
“Then we’ll bless you and off you go. We have a report that the Council’s forces have mustered at City Hall.”
Father Walter motioned everyone around the table toward him. The garage grew quiet.
“In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” Walter began, making the Sign of the Cross. He held his hands high toward the small group before him. “Holy Father, we ask that you bless and keep our comrades as they begin their journey. The peril they face is grave. We turn to You, we trust in You and Your Son, Our Lord Jesus Christ, to guide and protect them.”
Miranda reached for Connor’s hand. He turned his head just enough to murmur in her ear. “We’re going to do this, Miri, and then it’ll be you and me. We can leave all this other crap behind.”
He meant to be comforting, but Connor’s words made Miranda uneasy. This ‘other crap’ was her life.
“With Your guidance, we will lead Your children out of this terrible age of terror and death,” Walter said. “May the Love of Christ protect and guide these brave men and women as they set forth. See them safely home to You, Lord, in this life and the life to come. Amen.”
A ripple of ‘Amens’ and hasty Signs of the Cross swept through the room. Then the frantic activity started anew as if it had never stopped.
Miranda turned to Connor. “I have to go say goodbye.”
Connor leaned in and kissed her forehead. “I’ll save you a seat.”
Miranda threaded her way through the crowd. She saw Mario saying goodbye to Emily, who cried like someone had died. Might not be too far off, Miranda thought. The only person she wanted to see less than Mario just now was Emily. She did not have the emotional energy to spare. Thankful she had not attracted their attention, Miranda made her way to Father Walter. She tugged on his arm to get his attention.
“I guess this is it,” she said when Walter had turned to face her.
“Not too angry to say goodbye?”
A lump filled Miranda’s throat. She looked into Father Walter’s kind, plain face, plain except for his startling hazel eyes, and was suddenly sorry she could not stay to fight beside him.
“Not too angry,” she murmured as they embraced. Tears began to spill down her cheeks. “I’d never leave without telling you I love you, no matter how mad I am.” Miranda thought of her mother. She had learned that lesson the hard way.
Walter held her tight. “I love you too, a ghrá. And I’m sorry for what we did, truly. I’d do it differently if I could, but…” He loosened his grip and stepped away, grasping her shoulders in his hands. “Stay alive, d’ya hear me? Don’t be after doing anything stupid.”
Miranda began to laugh despite her tears. “Stupid like what I’m doing, or just stupider?”
Walter’s smile faded. He ran his hand over her peach-fuzzed head. “You know what I mean.”
Miranda nodded, dashing the tears away. “You better be here when I get back.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. You’re the best daughter I never had.”
Miranda watched after Walter for a moment as he melted into the crowd, then blew out a deep breath.
All right then.
She crossed the garage and looked up the ramp. At the top, Mario climbed into the second Humvee, careful and deliberate as an old man. Naomi slammed the door shut after him. As Miranda stepped into the rain, a hand caught her arm.
“Wait!”
Emily radiated misery. Not just from her puffy face and bloodshot eyes, but from every inch of her body. Miranda’s heart began to race. What was she supposed to say, a minute before she left? When they were both busy pretending everything was normal, it had been easy, but now?
“You okay, Em?”
“Of course I’m not.”
Emily looked down at the wet concrete, up at the ceiling, anywhere but at Miranda for more than two seconds. She seemed small and frail, like a beaten dog.
She’s just as scared as I am, Miranda thought with a start.
“You must be so angry,” Emily said, her voice barely more than a whisper. Miranda had to step closer to hear. “I didn’t know, Miranda. I didn’t know, I swear I didn’t. When I thought he switched sides it was terrible, but I wasn’t in love with him. I rationalized staying because of Michael, but the truth is I would have anyway. I couldn’t give up how safe he made me feel, even then.”
Panic began to rise in Miranda’s chest. Why was Emily telling her this? She feels sorry for me. After everything I’ve done, she feels sorry for me.
Tears coursed down Emily’s face. “I know he’s never coming back, Miri. Even if he survives, he can never come back. I need to tell you in case you don’t, either. I need to tell you I’m sorry.”
Miranda stared at Emily. “You’re sorry?”
Now that the dam had broken, Emily could not hold back the deluge. “I should have let him go, but I was too afraid. Mario made me feel safe and that was what I wanted. It was the only thing I wanted. You always took care of me, worried about hurting me, but I never cared that I hurt you, or him. He finally told me he couldn’t live a lie anymore and I—”
Emily stopped. Her eyes lowered to the rain sheeting down the ramp.
“He what?” Even now, after all that had happened, Miranda could not believe he had ignored her wishes by considering leaving his wife.
“I’m sorry, Miranda.”
“What did you do?” The question slipped out, even though Miranda was certain she did not want the answer.
Emily just shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Miranda’s head felt like a top, spinning, spinning, spinning. What could Emily have done that she was so ashamed of? She was the only blameless party to the whole mess. Miranda looked up the ramp and was almost surprised to see the Humvees were still there.
“I have to go.”
Emily grabbed her arm. Miranda jerked away, as if Emily’s touch scalded, but Emily held fast.
“He still loves you, Miranda. You should forgive him if you can.”
Miranda ripped her arm away so hard she stumbled into the rain. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she spat.
>
Emily’s face was weighed down with regret. “And you haven’t lived with him for the last five years. You should forgive yourself, too.”
Miranda didn’t know what to say. She turned away and walked up the ramp. She never looked back.
31
Gabe Rivera squatted down from the gun turret, rain dripping from his waterproof jacket. “We going dark?”
“Yeah,” Miranda said.
She flipped the bulky night-vision goggles down over her eyes. The world around her lit up in shades of day-bright fluorescent green and black. Dilapidated buildings lined both sides of the wide road. Cars littered the street. Weeds and trees sprouted from cracks in the pavement and zombies wandered around them. Not a lot, not yet. A decoy vehicle had gone out ahead of them to draw zombies in the area north, but the longer they were out, the more zombies they would attract.
Miranda had done a good job of not thinking about anything by slipping into frosty mode. Her friend Ellen, the nurse practitioner, had told her that what she called frosty would be classified as a mildly dissociative state. Miranda didn’t worry about it. Shrinks seemed to think if they could give something a name and a set of symptoms, it must be unhealthy, but people with enough time on their hands to care about that sort of thing never ventured beyond the safe zones. Unhealthy in safe places kept you alive in dangerous ones.
But now, Emily’s words echoed in her head, demanding that she pay attention to them. He still loves you, Miranda. You should forgive him if you can. Miranda did not know what she had expected Emily to say, but it had not been that. When she and Mario had been together, Emily had managed to let Miranda know that she knew without ever acknowledging it, so neither had Miranda. They simply carried on.
When did he decide to leave her? Miranda had made Mario promise that he would never leave Emily. She wouldn’t have been able to live with herself if Emily had fallen apart again. It was the one thing she had insisted on, and the only thing they had argued about as bitterly.