Abandon the Night

by Joss Ware

  Envy was to the east, the opposite direction, so she had no fear that Quent and Marley would inadvertently be discovered. They were safe. He was safe.

  So she didn’t need to be having any damned trouble breathing.

  After a while, when she was certain he was really gone, Zoë climbed down from the tree. She was itching, just itching to come across a band of zombies about now. She had a whole bunch of pent-up something that needed to come out. Violently.

  But there was not an orange eye glowing anywhere to be seen. Where the hell were the bastards when she needed them?

  On the ground, she walked back toward her hideaway. She heard the quiet rustle of Fang, now released from his guard of the house, moving in and out of the bushes and tall grass. He took off suddenly, barreling into the darkness. At least he had something to hunt.

  The soft rush of the stream in the distance reminded her of Quent swimming with Marley, how he’d come back with his hair all damp, and smelling of fresh river, when he found her in the forge.

  Great. Now she wouldn’t be able to do any damned work without thinking about the way he’d come in there, invading her sanctuary, emblazoning his presence, stamping his touch on the space. Dammit.

  Her belly pitched and she felt that familiar little tingle, deep in her core. He sure as hell knew how to push her buttons. And, yeah, surprisingly enough, when to listen, and when to talk.

  Last night, in the church. Ugh. She’d fucking babbled on and on…Zoë rolled her eyes in memory. He must have been cringing inside. Yet, he’d listened. Simply touched her hand instead of trying to distract her by getting her naked. As if he’d cared.

  It had been a long time since someone cared about her. Or since she’d cared about someone else.

  She knew he didn’t understand why she’d had to kill Raul. But he hadn’t said a word of condemnation about it. He just listened. And part of her wanted to tell him how it hadn’t been quite as easy as she’d made it out to be.

  But she couldn’t. She wanted to put it behind her.

  And Quent didn’t try to impose his opinions on her. He didn’t treat her as if she didn’t have a brain, making all the decisions and giving orders like the men did to the women in adventure movies. That had always pissed her the hell off.

  And this morning, when she went swimming, he came after her on his own time, in his own way. He didn’t demand to know why she’d gone without him, where she’d been. He seemed to understand that she needed privacy. Room to breathe.

  She was so used to living alone.

  So damn lonely.

  Zoë actually gasped aloud at the thought, and looked around as if to make sure no one had heard it. As if there was anyone around. Fucking crazy, she was.

  But the thoughts wouldn’t leave her.

  Lonely. Had she ever thought of herself as lonely? After the tragedy of losing her family, damn straight. She’d had an ass-load of loneliness, all wrapped up in meta-grief. For a while. But then she’d become caught up in her revenge mission, and her hunting. And she’d built her own life.

  One she liked. Solitary. Simple. So fucking dutiful, she was certain to go to heaven.

  Like those homicide detectives in all the books she read, she burned with the need to set things right. To find the truth, to rectify damage done. The same burden and desire drove her.

  The only difference was, she had to carry out the revenge on her own. With her own hands. Because there was no one else.

  Did they have it any easier—Charlotte and Tom Pitt, or Sam Spade, or any of them—being able to simply find the truth, identify the villain…and then leave it up to someone else to ensure that justice was served? They never stepped over the line and took matters into their own hands.

  Like she had. And now she’d begun to understand the gravity of that decision. The ripples it effected through her. The knowledge that she’d ended a life—a miserable one, a violent and ugly one…but without giving him a chance. A weighty knowledge.

  Yet one that she didn’t regret. She’d taken a life to save many. She accepted it.

  Something prickled down her spine, and she spun around just in time to see a large shadow detach itself from a deeper, stationary one. Zoë had an arrow in her hand before she took another step.

  “You can put that away,” said Ian, stepping fully into the wisp of moon- and starlight.

  “I told you I wouldn’t shoot you last night, but that doesn’t mean I won’t now,” Zoë told him. Her heart pounded in her chest.

  “Same here,” he said, and she saw that he held a gun. “All bets are off at this late date.”

  “You doubled back.” She realized what had happened. Damn her for an idiot. “Without lights on.” Thank God she’d forced Quent to leave.

  She’d done something right.

  “Where are they?” he asked, as if reading her mind.

  “Who?” She glanced over toward the horizon. If she could get Fang back from his hunt, it would be all over. Son of a bastard bounty hunter.

  Ian’s handsome features hardened, half shadowed into an unpleasant mask. “Don’t play games with me. The man. Quent. That’s his name, isn’t it?”

  Zoë’s belly dropped. What the fuck did he want with Quent? “I thought you weren’t after the bounty,” she said coolly. All she needed was to whistle for Fang, but—Shit. Ian could shoot the poor beast. Although, Fang was pretty damn fast.

  “I don’t owe you any explanations, Zoë. And I don’t plan to hurt you—after all, I do have to give you credit for getting rid of my father. I was about ready to do it myself if you hadn’t.”

  “Why would you grow those balls after all these years?”

  “It was the right time.” He leveled the gun. “Are you going to tell me what I want to know?”

  He could damn well shoot her if he wanted to, but she didn’t think he would. He wanted information. He’d be more likely to use some of his father’s methods and torture it out of her rather than simply putting her out of her misery and killing her. She thought fast and settled on diversion. “Maybe. But I’m surprised you’re wasting your time chasing Quent—or Marley Huvane—when you let Remington Truth slip through your fingers.”

  That blithe statement had the desired effect. The gun lowered a bit. “What are you talking about?”

  “Remy, the brunette you had up against the tree. Remington Truth. Obviously, you were so blind with lust that you didn’t make the connection. Ian, I’m surprised at you.” She gave him a mocking smile.

  “Just because I was never blinded with lust in your presence,” he shot back.

  “Oh, damn. You just ruined my day.” He had to keep bringing that up, that one time she’d thought about seducing him so she could get information about his father. Thought being the operative word.

  His eyes narrowed. “What the hell kind of bullshit are you trying to hand me?”

  “Remington Truth—the old man—is dead. The woman you had in your hands, whose throat you were jamming your tongue down, is his granddaughter. And she’s the only connection, the only damn link to him.”

  She waited, watching as he seemed to assimilate the information.

  Then his face settled into comprehension. “You could be telling me the truth. It’s possible. Remington Truth is dead. And his granddaughter is alive.” He smiled. “And no one knows that but you…and Quent Fielding.”

  Zoë’s stomach flipped violently. Fuck. He was going to kill her and he knew Quent’s name. Holy shit. Holy fucking crapload of shit. Whatever that meant, it wasn’t good. Without another thought, she raised her fingers and gave a sharp, short whistle. A bit more desperate.

  Ian turned, his gun wavering, just as the bundle of fur blasted out of the darkness, leaping on him before he even saw it.

  The gun flew from his hand as Ian fell to the ground. Zoë scrambled to pick it up and said, “Fang. Done.” She snapped her fingers sharply, and the wolf, dejected at having his sport interrupted, looked at her from where he had his paws planted
on Ian’s chest.

  “Now, Fang.” The wolf came to stand next to her, still watching Ian with a menacing curl of his lip. She had the gun pointed at him and her finger tightened on the trigger. She could finish it now, and Quent would be safe.

  Ian looked up at her, his eyes cold and flat. Challenging. Do it.

  She couldn’t. The handle felt slippery in her hand. The gun heavy. Much too heavy.

  Holding her with his gaze, Ian stood smoothly and dusted off his jeans as if he hadn’t nearly just been mauled. She guessed someone who was not only blond but worked in close proximity with gangas had come close to that sort of situation more than once. “And as soon as I walk away, you’ll put a bullet in my head.” He said it almost as if it were a challenge. Or a request.

  “Is that what you want?” Zoë remembered feeling that way. And that sometimes the feeling crept back in, deep in the night when she had nothing with her but her thoughts as she waited for the gangas to appear. Lonely, lonely days and nights.

  He straightened, and for a moment, she thought she saw bleakness in his chiseled features. Or maybe it was merely acceptance. But the world was dark and lit only by celestial bodies, and she couldn’t be certain of either.

  “You’ve got the gun. I can’t stop you.” Ian turned and started off into the night, insolently presenting her with his back as he strode away.

  She watched him go, the gun hanging unused in her hand. Then, taking the opportunity while his back was turned, she eased into the shadows so he wouldn’t see where she was going. Her home was well hidden, but Ian was smart enough to find it if he followed her.

  And she had the sudden urge to get back into the forge. She had work to do. And things to forget.

  * * *

  6 January 2011

  9:00 P.M.

  A new year has come, and I believe it is fair to say we’ve adapted as well as we can to this world and its dangers.

  The creatures have ceased to come every night now. But we’ve learned to stay inside with the doors bolted when we hear their distant moaning.

  I suppose it is foolish for me not to give them a name, for we all know what they are, though no one has spoken it.

  Zombies. The living dead. There is no doubt in my mind that somehow when the world changed, these organic monsters were created from all the casualties of the events. All of those bodies littering the streets and buildings were suddenly gone. And although Devi disagrees, I believe they’ve been brought back to—what would one call it? Non-life.

  Garth Macomb, one of our neighbors, was attacked by the creatures not long after they began to appear, before we knew what dangers they held. We could do nothing as they picked him up and threw him over the shoulder of one of them, carrying him off.

  Devi and James meant to go after the zombies, but I stopped them. Bullets seem to make no difference, nor do arrows. Fire frightens them, but doesn’t kill.

  I am not certain whether I should be horrified at the thought of bringing our child into this new world, but I will. I estimate that he or she will arrive in early May; I confess, I’ve lost a bit track of time during these last few months.

  Devi is as delighted as I am, but there is still that underlying worry in his eyes. Yet, a baby will be yet another sign that life does go on.

  —from the diary of Mangala Kapoor

  * * *

  CHAPTER 12

  Zoë can take care of herself.

  Quent had to remind himself over and over during the rest of the night. He and Marley had escaped through the hidden exit out of the forge as Zoë directed, and drove off as quietly as possible in the dark humvee.

  She’s been doing it for years.

  Yet, driving away, leaving her behind in order to save Marley—and his chance to find Fielding—was the hardest thing he’d ever done. He never would have anyway if Fang hadn’t been standing guard at the exit.

  The wolf-dog had had no intention of allowing Quent past. He tried the “chill” command, but as soon as he took a step forward, the bared teeth came out and the creature moved to stand in his path. With the hair rising in antagonized spikes around his ruff, and his ears perked forward, Fang made it clear that he wasn’t going to back down.

  Rot. She’d made certain he wouldn’t follow her.

  Now the sun rose in the east. He’d been driving without headlights, slowly and cautiously, hiding behind buildings whenever possible, speeding up when there seemed to be nothing but trees and a few little hillocks in the way. Once they’d come upon a group of gangas moaning “uuu-vaaaaane” and “truuuu-uuuuth,” and Quent had bulldozed the monsters down with the truck. Knowing that Zoë would grudgingly approve of his blasting through the gray-skinned, rotting-faced creatures had made him feel marginally better.

  Now that it was morning, and the danger from the orange-eyed zombies was over, Quent wanted to turn around and go back to check whether Zoë had returned to her little home. But that would do nothing to keep Marley safe and get her to Envy. If the others were waiting back there, somehow having learned where their prey had gone, he and Marley would be buggered.

  Zoë knows what she’s doing. She’ll be safe.

  And if he didn’t go to Envy, she’d never be able to find him. He’d told her where to meet him. She’d come. If for no other reason than to learn how to make bottle bombs.

  So he drove on, reluctant, but convinced it was the best decision. They’d left without food or water, except what little was in his pack. He guessed at the rate they were traveling, it would take much of the rest of the day to get to the walled city unless they needed to stop to forage for sustenance. But Marley wanted him to keep going.

  “I feel exposed,” she said, looking around, then down at her very tight tank top. “Especially looking like this.”

  He raised his brows, leering appreciatively. “I’m not complaining.”

  “Another obligatory response,” Marley said, settling back in her seat. She looked out the windshield. “You’re really into her, aren’t you?”

  He nodded briefly, his attention focused on the terrain ahead. Marley opened her mouth to speak again, likely to belabor the subject, and he swerved rather harder than he needed to in order to avoid a large metal lump that might once have been a wagon. She squealed in surprise and shot him a dark look, but seemed to accept that the topic was closed to discussion.

  An hour later, he pointed to the ragged skyline of Envy. “There it is. All that’s left of Vegas.”

  He hid the humvee back in the old garage and took Marley in through the hidden passage marked by an old Wendy’s sign. Crawling through an old boxcar and up through rusted cars and other junk, he led the way, one hand safely ensconced in a glove, and the other free to touch. Another of his experiments, testing the boundaries of his control and the strength of the memories.

  Quent found himself gritting his teeth when the flush of a dark image threatened to bulldoze him, but by focusing his mind, he kept it at bay. Yes. He might be able to beat this curse after all.

  The first thing he did once they got into Envy was to bring Marley to his room. The second thing was to find Lou and get him up there to meet her.

  “The first Stranger I’ve ever met,” Lou said. He adjusted his glasses as he looked at her, his eyes lingering perhaps a bit longer than necessary on her very tight tank top.

  “They generally use the term Elite,” Marley told him. “Just FYI.”

  “You look familiar,” Lou replied, dragging his gaze up to look at her. “Sorry.” He smiled a little abashedly. “It’s been a while since I’ve—er—”

  “I think the first order of business is to get me some clothes that fit,” Marley told him.

  “Oh, I was staring at the crystal, not your very—er—”

  She laughed and sank onto the bed. “You were saying I look familiar? I’m the daughter of Brandon Huvane. If you ever happened to read the gossip columns or Page Six, you probably saw at least one photo opp.”

  “There was that time they c
aught you topless in Costa Rica,” Quent offered. “Everyone saw that one. Right after you got that tattoo on your left—”

  “Okay,” Marley interrupted. “How about we talk about something other than my breasts, hey? I know they’re nice and perky for being eighty years old, but still.”

  “Sorry,” Lou said again. “So you’re going to help Quent get into Mecca to find his father?”

  She curled her lips into themselves. “If he really wants to risk his life, I’ll tell him what I know. But I don’t think it’s a good idea. You can’t kill Fielding.” This last was directed at Quent. “It’s nearly impossible to kill an Elite, let alone get close enough to try. Aren’t there other ways to get your revenge?”

  “It’s not impossible to kill an Elite. Simon killed one, and so did Lou’s friend Jade. Get me in there, get me close enough, and I’ll take care of Fielding. I’ll have the element of surprise on my side. Okay?”

  “They killed two Elites?” Marley seemed suitably shocked. “How?”

  “Hacked out their crystals. There’s probably a prettier way to do it, but I haven’t found it.” It wasn’t lost on Quent that she had curled her fingers around her own crystal. “Good idea to find you some clothes that will hide that too.”

  “What happened when the crystal was cut out?” she asked in a low voice.

  Quent realized what he was saying and softened it a bit. “They did a Dorian Gray—just kind of shriveled up.”

  “And died.”

  He nodded. Then added, “You’ll be safe with us here, Marley. Elliott’s not going anywhere, and neither is Lou.”

  “I’m looking forward to the chance to talk with you, too, Marley,” Lou interrupted. “I’m sure you have information that will help us in our efforts.”

  Just then there was a knock on the door. Quent opened it to admit Fence, Elliott, and Theo. They were, understandably, intrigued by the presence of a nonthreatening Stranger who could be questioned, not to mention appreciative of the package she came in. Fence’s enthusiastic grin said it all.