by A. M. Geever
“Fall back!” she cried, trying to be heard over the chaos. She could see Mike and Mario. They swung truncheons that must have fallen clear when the Prophet’s Guardsmen plummeted into the pit. Seffie still wielded Miranda’s dagger. Even with the archers firing from within the pit and the balcony, where the sounds of fighting had abated somewhat, the battle was fierce and closely fought.
They’re cut off, she realized.
A piercing whistle cut the air, followed by a voice. “To me,” it cried. “Here, to me!”
Miranda turned to see Finn standing in the first doorway on the south side of the building, waving his crossbow above his tawny maned head.
“Fall back,” the archers began to shout.
Mario, Doug, and Mike fought against a rising tide of zombies on the other side of the arena. There were too many. Only the Prophet, who began to thrash feebly, could save them. Miranda propped the semiconscious man into a sitting position and tried to drag him toward the melee. She looked over her shoulder at the three men she needed to save. I won’t make it, she thought desperately.
Then Connor appeared. “I’ve got him,” he said as he squatted down to shift the Prophet onto his shoulder.
With a grunt, Connor stood upright. Miranda kept close, unsure how far away from Jeremiah she could be and still be protected. She saw Mike say something to Doug. Doug pointed to her and Connor, but Mike shook his head. Then he ducked and plowed into the horde. He sidestepped and twirled with the grace of a running back, deflecting with shoulder and elbow, every movement precise as he worked his way deeper. And then he stopped.
“Mike, no!” Miranda cried, horror enveloping her even as the zombies nearest to her jerked away from the Prophet.
One moment Mike was there. In the next, he was not. Zombies engulfed him. As if by hive mind, most turned toward the nearest, easiest target.
Mario and Doug made a break for it across the pit as a howl sliced the air. Seffie charged the horde. Miranda grabbed her arm, barely able to hold on.
“Mike!” Seffie screamed, anguish and fury filling her voice. “Mike!”
“He’s gone!” Miranda shouted.
Somehow, she managed to turn Seffie around. Mario and Doug were almost even with them now.
Seffie looked at Miranda blankly, as if she did not know where she was. Miranda dragged her along for a few stumbling steps before Seffie began to run for the door where Finn waited. Bolts spit from his crossbow, but zombies were no longer a concern at such close proximity to the Prophet.
Finn led them down a corridor, which opened into a small corral. Zombies pressed in from all sides, rotting arms stretching through the spaces between the slatted fence. Finn stomped on the ground. A moment later, a trapdoor opened. Dalton squinted up at them.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Doug said, shoving the shell-shocked Seffie toward the trapdoor.
Connor hopped down after Seffie. The tips of his fingers stuck out of the ground as Doug and Finn lowered the Prophet to him.
“You okay?” Miranda asked Mario, a tremor in her voice.
Mario nodded. He looked depleted, but whole. Miranda felt like crying with relief but clamped down on the impulse. She still had a job to do.
“Go,” she told him. When he started to protest, she said, “I’m right behind you.”
Mario climbed down the ladder. As Miranda followed him, Doug said to Finn, “What will you do now?”
Miranda looked up at Finn. The young man’s face was grim, but he radiated an energy of liberation long-repressed and suddenly released. His presence filled and overflowed the space around them.
“I will burn this cursed building down.”
50
Finn held true to his promise to help. He gave them horses and supplies, returned their weapons, and told them the best route to take. He had even remembered Delilah, who trotted alongside Miranda’s horse as if she did this sort of thing every day. The opaque silvery mists that had descended without warning only to dissipate just as abruptly, the freezing rain that never let up, the skirting and backtracking to avoid zombies that had given the journey a feeling of one step forward and two steps back—none of it had phased Doug. Doug’s tenacity, the force of his will that they would succeed, had been enough to make Miranda believe they just might pull this thing off.
Until now. First, the smell pushed their way by the northerly wind off Monterey Bay. Wet soot and smoke mingled with the stink of roasted meat. The inky-black plume became visible as soon as they emerged from the forest. And moans, always the goddamned moans, distorted by remnants of the patchy fog.
Miranda looked down at the roiling zombies in the valley below the bluff where they had stopped. At least a hundred blackened, charred corpses staggered amongst the later arrivals, whose rotted, gray pallor looked healthy by comparison. Dilapidated buildings dotted the descending hillside, remnants of the UC Santa Cruz campus. A small cluster of buildings surrounded by a concrete wall lay in ruins, belching dark smoke into the sky.
The lab, she thought, even though she had never been to the Jesuits’ secret installation on the UCSC campus. It had to be the lab. There was nothing else up here worth burning. Eight scientists and as many in the security detail. Had anyone escaped or were they all dead? Even if they could get close enough to investigate, how would they tell human skeletons from those of the undead attracted and burned up by the fire?
Several miles beyond the campus, the town of Santa Cruz sat nestled between a fortified concrete wall and the ocean. A small warship, a frigate by the looks of it, was parked halfway between the shore and the horizon. The Navy’s changeable loyalties never boded well, as the ruins below attested. Miranda could not think of a reason for them to be in Santa Cruz now, the timing could not be coincidental, unless an alliance had been struck with the Council to stop their mission.
A cold fire exploded inside Miranda’s brain. Her swelling black eye throbbed. If they had not been trapped by Jeremiah, they might have been here. They might have been able to help, to prevent this, instead of finding a smoldering wreck. They might already be at sea, bringing the vaccine to the rest of the world.
She turned away from the ruined buildings and zeroed in on Jeremiah. New Jerusalem’s recently deposed Prophet lay slung over the back of a docile mare like a sack of grain. His hands were tied together and then to his bare feet, blue from the cold, by a rope that passed under the horse’s belly. A sack over his head hid the blindfold and gag. Jeremiah had started the trip upright but had made too much noise. He didn’t need to worry about the zombies he attracted, but they did.
“This is your fault!” Miranda cried, furious. The dismount from her horse turning into a controlled fall when she had to bend her injured knee. She steadied herself for a moment, then went for Jeremiah’s mount. She released the slip knot that tied his hands to his feet and dragged the bound man from the horse. He hit the sodden ground with a thump.
“You fucking piece of shit!”
She kicked at Jeremiah, but the lack of strength in her injured, stationary leg robbed the kick of power. She ripped the bag from Jeremiah’s head. His golden eyes were filled with fright.
“Not smiling anymore, are you?” Fueled by her ineffectual attempts to vent it, her fury mushroomed. She could hear the others scrambling toward her.
“Stop it, that’s enough,” Doug said, pulling her away from Jeremiah,
“It’s not nearly enough.”
Doug’s blue eyes were angry, too. He pushed his wet hair off his forehead. It stayed in place, instead of tumbling back down like it did when dry. “You’re right, but we need him alive.”
Doug’s blue eyes bored into her. They had been through so much on this godforsaken mission. They had finally, impossibly, caught a break, only to encounter another setback.
Seffie’s brittle laugh cut through the air. “There’s no lab. That’s it, game over.”
“It’s not over until I say it is,” Doug snapped.
“Does anyone
in Santa Cruz even know what’s happened here?” Connor asked.
“Maybe,” Doug answered. “But there’s only a handful of people who even know the lab is here. Downtown doesn’t look disrupted. They’re probably using shore leave as cover.”
“If they’re trying to be stealthy, setting it on fire was stupid,” Connor said.
Doug shook his head. “The wind blows north off the bay this time of year, away from town.”
“Henry’s probably dead,” Mario said, turning toward the rest of the group. Until now, he had been silent as he stared down at the ruined lab.
Doug hoisted Jeremiah up from the ground. Within minutes everyone was remounted. Jeremiah’s mare ate a mouthful of grass before the tether attached to the saddle of Doug’s stallion pulled it along.
Miranda coaxed her mare alongside Jeremiah’s. Softly, so only he could hear, she said, “Just remember, asshole. One day we aren’t going to need you anymore.”
51
An hour later they were holed up in the second story of the Sinsheimer Lab building. The Prophet sat on the floor, hands lashed to an ancient radiator.
“The horses are tethered,” Doug said as he and Connor entered the room. He leaned against the wall, then slid to the floor. Connor sat down heavily between her and Doug. He sat close to her, unlike Mario, who was on her other side. Seffie squatted a few feet away, cursing as she tried to light a small camp lantern. Miranda wondered why she bothered. It would raise the light level to gloomy, if that. Eventually the lamp flickered to life and Seffie sat down beside it.
Miranda was about to screw the cap back on her canteen when she eyed Jeremiah. Giving him a drink would be the Christian thing to do, she supposed. A day without water hardly constituted a threat to his survival, but it would give her a reason to move. At the moment moving was more compelling than Christian duty. Sitting so close to both Connor and Mario made her antsy. She would sell her soul right about now just to be held, to be told that everything was going to be all right, but which of them would she choose? The one she still loved despite herself, or the one she had most recently slept with?
Karen would get a good laugh out of this. I’m supposed to be saving the world and my head is stuck in junior high.
Connor reached over and took her canteen. As if he’d read her mind, he got up and crossed the room, then offered some to Jeremiah.
“Behave,” he said, “or you won’t get any.”
Jeremiah glared at him. Connor reached behind his head and untied the gag. Jeremiah opened and closed his stiff jaw, making dry, puckery noises with his tongue. Connor held the canteen to his lips, trying to keep the water from dribbling down his chin as he sucked on it greedily.
“You will not succeed in thwarting the Heavenly Father’s will,” he said when he had finished drinking. “You will die among the Hollow Men for your blasphemy and sin.”
“They’re not Hollow Men, they’re zombies. And you’re not a prophet, Jeremiah. You’re just crazy.”
“How dare you insult Us!” Jeremiah sputtered.
Connor shoved the gag back in his mouth, then checked his restraints.
“Who tied him up?” Connor asked. He still stood by Jeremiah. A rigid stillness had settled over him.
Miranda rose to her feet without knowing why, except that Connor sounded off. Dangerous.
“I did,” Seffie answered.
For a moment Connor looked at Seffie. Then he lunged. He lifted Seffie by the shoulders and threw her against the wall, like a child taking out a tantrum on a doll. His hands clamped around her throat. Seffie flailed, trying to break free, but was totally overpowered by her larger opponent.
“You killed them all,” Connor shouted at Seffie. “All of them! You killed all of them!”
“Connor, stop!” Miranda cried, grabbing his arm, but Connor didn’t acknowledge her. His muscles flexed, shaking with effort beneath Miranda’s hands. Seffie’s face flushed darkly. No sound escaped her mouth. Her panicked eyes bulged from their sockets. He’s going to kill her, Miranda realized.
Doug’s voice cut through the others. “Let go of her!”
Connor didn’t hear, or didn’t care. A moment later the hard smack of Doug’s punch caught Connor on the jaw. Connor staggered back a step. He never let go, but his grip loosened enough that Miranda and Mario could pry his hands away. Seffie collapsed to the floor between them, gasping and hacking for air. She wrapped her hands around her throat.
“What is wrong with you?” Doug demanded, shoving Connor away. He positioned himself between Connor and the others.
Connor stood chest to chest with Doug, a furious, murderous stare directed at Seffie over Doug’s shoulder. Miranda had seen Connor in action. She knew that he could use violence as well as anyone. Until a moment ago she could not have imagined him attacking a woman. He was not that kind of man.
“You said you never sailed before,” he spat.
Seffie stared up at him, scared and confused. “What?” she whispered hoarsely.
Connor hurled his accusation with such venom that Seffie flinched. “You said you never sailed before, that you didn’t know anything about it, and then you tie him up using constrictor knots?”
“I’m not following you, Connor,” Mario said, his calm voice trying to placate Connor’s fury.
“Oh shit,” Doug muttered. The tension drained from his body as he turned to face Seffie, Miranda, and Mario.
Connor tore his eyes from Seffie with visible effort as he answered Mario’s question. “Someone sabotaged the sailboat we took from Mazatlán. That’s why we lost it in the storm, why everyone died!”
Connor directed his attention back to Seffie. “Why would you use one of the most difficult sailing knots to tie him up if you don’t know how to sail?”
“Never said that,” Seffie croaked in protest.
“You killed them,” said Connor. “Everyone who drowned, everyone who died after. And Mike, too. You killed all of them.”
Seffie’s face crumpled. “I did not kill Mike,” she said furiously, but her raspy whisper drained her protest of strength.
“But you helped sabotage the yacht,” Doug said.
Seffie looked from face to face, panicked, shrinking in on herself like a sick animal. A sinking feeling took hold of Miranda’s stomach.
“You don’t understand,” she rasped. “My sister…taken by a Navy ship.” Seffie stopped, interrupted by a coughing fit. “If I did a job for them, they said they’d let her go.”
“Well, shit,” said Doug. “That explains a lot. And it means the Council knows where we were going.”
Miranda believed Seffie. Slavery had become rampant since the ZA, and her anguish felt real. But she had to think of the mission first.
“If she’s telling the truth,” Miranda said.
“It doesn’t matter either way,” Connor countered. “We have to get rid of her. We can’t trust her.”
Seffie appealed to Doug, fear transforming her face into a rictus of pain. “Please,” she begged, sobbing. “Please don’t leave me out here. I didn’t know you had the vaccine!”
“How did they contact you? What did you tell them?” Doug asked.
“Said to go to the church, morning, for an hour, last row,” she rasped, then was racked by a coughing fit. “Second time I met a guy, but only twice. He asked about the journey, what I knew.” She stopped again to cough. “I didn’t know anything…then we left in the night.” Seffie paused and cleared her throat. Pain spasmed across her face. She appealed again to Doug. “Out here alone…it’s a death sentence.”
“What did he look like?” Doug asked.
“Just a guy.” She hacked again. “Five ten, one sixty? Brown hair, eyes.”
“He must have said something,” Miranda said. “Think. It might be something minor. Did he live at SCU?”
Seffie thought for a moment, tried clearing her throat again, then shook her head. “He was…average.”
Alarm bells began to sound in Miranda’s br
ain. No, she thought, he would never side with the City. Her mouth felt cotton dry. “Did he offer you anything?”
Seffie shook her head no. A soft wash of relief cascaded through Miranda’s body.
Seffie was gripped by another coughing fit, then said, “He bragged he could get anything.”
All the annoying, obnoxious flirting that Miranda had put up with because she thought he was harmless, because she wanted the things he gave her. Her skin began to crawl. There was only one person she knew who could get almost anything: her annoying as fuck, just would not take the hint admirer, Harold.
“I should have just fucked him,” she said, her mind reeling. “It would have been cheaper.”
“Harold?” Doug barked in surprise. “Are you telling me it was Harold?”
Seffie looked up at him fearfully. “Never said his name.”
Miranda’s horrified shock began to give way to anger. “That fucking weasel! He got us the Humvees and weapons! I gave him more intel than she ever could!”
“Holy shit,” Mario said under his breath, his eyes meeting Miranda’s. His face said it all. What else can go wrong? He crouched down next to Seffie and put his good arm around her shoulders. She clung to him, weeping pathetically between coughing fits.
Doug turned to Connor. “Check those ropes again. Retie them, move him if you want, I don’t care.” He stepped in close. “You will not touch her again.”
Connor’s face contorted, anger curling his lip. “She—”
“Do you understand me?”
Connor nodded, then turned on his heel and stalked toward Jeremiah.
Doug motioned for Miranda to follow him. Painfully, she limped after him into the hallway just outside the door.
“What should we do?” he asked, still sounding stunned.
“The ambush, the lab.” Miranda couldn’t look Doug in the eye. “It’s my fault.”
“Jesus, Miri, don’t be so melodramatic. You didn’t tell him we were taking 17, did you?”
“No, but the kind of terrain I told Harold we needed to travel—”