Abandon the Night

by Joss Ware

  “They’ll do,” she said, hurrying along faster now that her feet were protected.

  Most of those who’d come from their beds and outside, seeking safety from the vibrating ground, seemed to have found their way back inside, for as they went on, Quent and Zoë met fewer people, and no one who seemed to take notice of them as they slinked through the streets. They stayed to the shortening shadows as much as they could, mindful of the ever-graying sky.

  “We’re not out of here yet,” she said, again reading his mind. “I don’t trust any of them.”

  He agreed, but was too focused, listening, mentally planning their route, to respond. The walkway was just to the right, no more than another block away. Or they could try for the docks and attempt to steal a protected boat, but that was on the other side of the island.

  “The bridge is closer,” she said.

  “But there’s nowhere to hide. It’s out in the open.”

  “We can swim. And I have a feeling,” she said, leaning close enough for him to smell her hair, “that the damn crystal in my pack might keep the sharks away.”

  “You want to risk being wrong?” He closed his eyes for a moment, sniffing, resisting the urge to bury his nose in her hair. God, he couldn’t wait to get her somewhere alone, when they weren’t running for their damn lives.

  “It’s closer. I want to get the hell out of here. And we haven’t seen a soul.”

  “Right. With you. And we’re running the whole damn way.”

  And then the bridge was there in front of them, spanning and shifting long and white over the dark sea. As they stood in the shadow of two buildings, Quent looked around and listened for any sign of life. A single light flickered on the distant shore, and the world was silent but for the lapping of waves against Mecca’s edges. The graying dawn settled over the world, illuminating shapes, but little detail.

  Quent’s neck prickled at the thought of walking onto that long, exposed bridge and he looked down at Zoë. She met his eyes in the half-light. “Bend over and zigzag side to side as you run,” he told her, just as she said, “Don’t run straight, genius, or they’ll be able to nail your ass.

  He caught his short huff of laughter and bent to kiss her, feeling surprisingly light and happy. “See you on the other side.” He released her hand and she darted forward, zigzagging like a linebacker past the large stone pillars on the shore and onto the floating walkway.

  He pulled the gun from the back of his waistband and slipped out after her, watching for any sign of movement, his back to the bridge, his eyes scanning the shoreline.

  A shout from behind grabbed his attention, and he turned. Zoë had stopped a few meters onto the bridge. What was left of her white dress glowed like a ghostly gown, her quiver and the pack odd-shaped lumps on her back. Her feet looked huge in the large black shoes. “Go,” he shouted, his throat burning. He brandished the gun to show her he was armed and backed up toward the walkway, still watching the shadows.

  “That’s all right,” said a voice directly in front of him. “We didn’t want her anyway.”

  “Liam,” Quent said. His body didn’t react to the sight of his father’s rival holding a weapon similar to the one he had in his own hand. It was pointed at him, which was also no surprise—for he’d been under no illusions that they’d be able to leave unharmed. Keep going, Zoë. “I expected you to be long gone by now. You’re not the type to go down with a sinking ship. Or didn’t you realize the ship was sinking?” He took a step to the side and backward, toward the bridge.

  The flicker of surprise on Liam Hegelsen’s face was brief. Apparently, he hadn’t realized what was happening. “Where’s Fielding?”

  “Dead.”

  “Dead.” Again, the surprise was there and then gone in an instant. “What a pleasant surprise. And one less thing that I have to attend to.”

  “You can thank me later,” Quent said, sidling back toward the bridge. “Or maybe not.”

  “I’m sorry, but I’ve no intention of letting you leave. You’re the only one who knows where the crystal is, and how to use it. As you so readily informed me tonight at dinner.” Liam gave a little jerk of his head, and the two men with him each crouched next to the walkway. “You’ll need to come back with me or they’ll take down the bridge.”

  Quent turned and saw that Zoë, instead of continuing on her way, had not only stopped but started to come back toward Mecca. “What the hell are you doing?” he shouted at her. “Get out of there!”

  She lifted her hand and he saw, clearly outlined in the gray morning, her upright middle finger.

  And she started walking toward them, the pack swinging in her hand. Grinding his teeth, Quent turned back to Liam. “I’ll take you to the crystal once she’s safely on land.”

  “As if I’d fall for that, Quentin. Where is it? I’ll go after it while you stay here with Hugo and Morris. And if I don’t return with it in ten minutes, they’ll toss her to the sharks.” He smoothed his hair, which tufted in the back as if he’d been roused from sleep. Which he probably had. “I’ve been trying to get to the crystal for years. Trying to get the bastard to show it to me for decades, and he refused. I’d have killed him long ago if I’d known where it was and how to get to it.”

  “I’m the only one who can do it,” Quent told him, glancing at Zoë, who had stopped about twenty-five meters from shore. “I know the codes.”

  “Tell me,” Liam said, and gestured to the two men who appeared to be Morris and Hugo.

  They commenced with turning some levers on the edge of the bridge and the whole walkway began to shake on its suspension cables. Quent saw it shift and sag and, in desperation, pointed the crystal gun to his temple. Zoë had to escape with the crystal. “I’ll shoot if you don’t call them off, then you’ll never get it.”

  But before Liam could respond, one of the men cranking the bridge’s suspension said, “Hey! Look!” He stopped cranking and pointed.

  Zoë was standing there on the walkway, the water lapping gently over the top where her weight sagged it into the ocean. She was holding the blue-white crystal in her hands, high and proud above her head. “Don’t move or it goes in the ocean. Then you’ll never have it.”

  Liam cursed, then he whipped toward Quent. “You lied, you bastard.”

  Quent didn’t bother to respond, and it was just as well, for Zoë wasn’t finished. “Let him go, or I’ll chuck the damned thing,” she called. “You have till the count of three to get away from the bridge, or it’s gone.”

  “Zoë, no!” Quent shouted, but she’d already started to count.

  “One,” she shouted, lifting up her pack. As they watched she crouched and dumped the crystal inside the bag—a clever move, so that its glow wouldn’t be seen in the water if she did indeed chuck it. “Two.”

  “Wait!” shouted Liam.

  Zoë held up the pack by its straps and began to swing it around. “Let him go. Or this goes.”

  Damn it Zoë. We need that crystal.

  As if reading his mind she looked at him, meeting his eyes in the dim light. He felt their gazes connect and a rush of love swamped him. He stepped toward the bridge. The crystal or being with Zoë?

  Zoë would win every time.

  “Wait,” Liam shouted. “How do I know you’ll give it to us once he’s there?”

  Zoë bent to her quiver, which was lying on the bridge in front of her, and pulled an arrow out. She fitted the pack onto the tip of the arrow and jabbed it into the bridge. Then, hooking her foot around the quiver, she began to back up, lodging a different arrow onto her bow. “I’ll leave it there and you let him come. If you take one step onto the bridge before he’s at the halfway mark, I’ll shoot. Once he’s with me, you can get the pack.”

  “And what’s to keep him from picking it up on his way?”

  “You’ve got control of the bridge, dickhead. You can loosen it and dump us into the sharks.” She looked at Quent and he knew they were going to have to run like hell if this worked bec
ause Liam was going to dump them anyway.

  He started toward her, watching as she focused with her arrow on the men behind him. When he got to the arrow holding the pack steady on the bridge, he hesitated. A crystal from Atlantis. His fingers itched to snatch it up and run…but he knew they’d never make it.

  He’d seen the terror on his brave Zoë’s face when they were in the pod. She’d come back with him, she’d come back twice now. He might risk his own life, grab the pack and make a run—and swim—for it. But he wouldn’t risk hers again.

  So he walked on past.

  He saw the relief in her shoulders, watched as she stooped to pick up her quiver, which was empty of arrows, and he realized she had her last one in the bow. Holy shit. They were fucked if she had to shoot.

  He began to run and Zoë turned to do the same, heading for the shore. The bridge swayed and sagged, and he felt the pounding of feet behind him as Liam and his men ran toward the crystal.

  About the time he reached the shore, the gatehouse in sight, he heard a shout of rage from behind him, then the heavier pounding of feet. Quent didn’t dare look back, for the guards had come from the gatehouse and blocked Zoë’s path. She didn’t hesitate, but let her last arrow fly on the run.

  It got one of the guards in the shoulder, and he tumbled away. As Quent ran up, he scooped the Taser from his pants pocket and zapped the second guard just as he reached for Zoë.

  Then Quent caught her arm and they ran off into the woods, her quiver bouncing heavily against her back.

  “They’re going to be right behind us,” she gasped.

  “What’d you do?” he said, holding her up as they jumped over a fallen tree. He was faster than she was, and worlds stronger, so he swooped her up in his arms. The quiver swung around her shoulder and banged against him and that’s when he realized what happened. “You kept the crystal?”

  She curled her arms around his neck as he bounded through the woods. The shouts behind them were still audible, but didn’t seem to be getting any closer. “Of course. We nearly died for the damn thing, and as frightening as it is, I couldn’t let them have it.”

  “How?” he asked, keeping his side of the conversation short so as to conserve on breath. He saw a good climbing tree ahead of him and made a split decision. “We’re going up,” he said, stumbling to a halt next to it. “Then we can see, and be out of sight. They won’t find us up here.”

  Zoë didn’t argue, and when he boosted her to a limb just above his head, she grabbed it and began to hike herself up like an expert. Pausing to take off her shoes and stick them into the crook of a branch, she scrambled up quickly and easily.

  He was right behind her, resisting the urge to look up her short dress. There’d be plenty of time for that later. He hoped.

  Once they settled on a large branch high among the leaves, he looked toward the skyline of Mecca. The bridge was in clear view, and he saw a large group of people hurrying toward the shore. Liam’s search party. He turned back to Zoë. “They’re coming, but we’ve got the advantage. If they come this way, we can move from tree to tree.”

  “And once the sun’s up, we might be able to spot a few mustangs,” Zoë said. “I’m not worried. This is a damn sight better than being on that creepy island.”

  “So how did you fool them? You had me fooled too.”

  “I swapped a piece of rubble for the crystal. I’d picked one up when I put the shoes on, noticing it was about the size of the crystal. I figured it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have a decoy. When I put the crystal in my pack, when you were all watching, I really put it in my quiver. I was holding the bags next to each other and did a sleight of hand.”

  “Hot damn, Zoë,” he said, and moved closer on the branch to brush a piece of bark from her cheek. “You’re fucking amazing.”

  “I know that,” she said modestly. “But I had to dump the arrows out so they wouldn’t see that I was holding my quiver, so we’re shit out of ammunition. And whatever else was in your pack is gone.”

  “I don’t care. I’ve got all that matters, right here,” he said, squeezing her close.

  She turned toward him on the branch, straddling it in her ragged gown, and lifted her face for a kiss. “Too bad we had to hide way the fuck up here,” she said, pulling away with a soft release of his lips, but steadying her hands on his chest. “It’s not the best place for ‘thank God we escaped with our lives’ sex.”

  He laughed and lifted her chin to look in her eyes. “Does it count if I tell you I love you now that we have escaped with our lives, and I know I’m not going to die?”

  “Nope.” She settled back away from him, something odd in her gaze. Sadness? Tenderness? He couldn’t quite read it in the dim light. “And anyway, genius,” she said, “we could fall out of the tree having ‘thank God we escaped with our lives’ sex and break our necks.”

  He grinned. “Wanna try it?”

  She smiled back. “Better fucking believe it.”

  * * *

  22 August 2024

  7:00 P.M.

  Oh, what a bittersweet moment to find my old journal, the memories of those horrible days. It must have been placed deep in one of the bags when David and I moved from Blue Vega all those years ago and I’d forgotten about it, putting it on the shelves with all the other books.

  We left Devi’s resting place perhaps three years after he passed. David was four and grown very big and strong, and I’d become uncomfortable with some of the dealings between the Wetherbys and those odd people who came in humvees.

  We settled in another small settlement that must be in southern Nevada and have been very happy here. I’ve been farming again and selling my herbs and vegetables to tradesmen passing through.

  No one has replaced Devi in my heart, although I suspect that will soon happen, for David’s wife, Felicia, has been in labor for nearly five hours, and I am very ready to hold a baby in my arms again.

  11:30 p.m.

  It’s a girl! She’s the loveliest creature in the world. She has the same black hair as her father, and the smoothest, softest mahogany bottom I’ve ever seen. And her lungs are quite healthy, as she’s already proven. Her legs are strong, nearly kicking her poor father in the belly as he tried to fasten a diaper around her waist. (How I miss disposable diapers! We were at least able to find enough for David over the years, but there are none left now.)

  I do believe little Miss Zoë will be quite a handful, and I look forward to spending all my grandmotherly time teaching her everything I know. I just know she’s going to be smart and brave and confident.

  And I hope and pray that she’ll survive in this devastated world, and find a home and family of her own.

  —from the diary of Mangala Kapoor

  * * *

  CHAPTER 20

  Zoë spotted the herd of mustangs from their perch about an hour after the sun had fully peaked, and once assured that their pursuers were looking in the opposite direction, they clambered down from the tree.

  It was short work to capture the tame horses, and they were soon galloping off toward Envy. Of course they wouldn’t make it before night fell, and since they were out of ammunition and had few supplies, they didn’t want to be caught by the gangas so they’d have to camp out somewhere overnight.

  By the time the sun was low to the ground, they were settled on the fourth floor of an old apartment building. Zoë managed to scrape together some greens and wild strawberries, along with walnuts and sunflower seeds that she’d collected on the way. They settled in the dusty, dingy room and watched the red ball of sun disappear beyond the dirty window. Quent had used an old scrap of cloth to wipe a peephole in the glass so they could see.

  He looked over at her, his gaze dropping to slide over her body, still dressed in the shimmery white gown. Or what was left of it. Zoë felt the answering tingle in her belly, and tried to subdue it. Their in-the-tree sex hadn’t worked out very well, for a very large spider climbing down Quent’s arm had ruined the mood for bo
th of them.

  But she didn’t mind. She had some thinking to do. Despite his joking comment about telling her he loved her, she felt an emptiness in the pit of her stomach. He was holding something back, and she’d noticed he wouldn’t look her directly in the eye since they’d made it out of Mecca.

  But now, Quent’s expression softened when he raised his eyes to meet hers again. “I’ll bet you’re ready to get some different clothes on. But when I saw you across the room last night, it was a shock. You looked like a silver goddess.”

  Zoë stiffened a little. “All that damned fake shit? Crap on my face, stuff in my hair, being unable to fucking breathe? I’ll never look like that again, so if that’s what turns you on, maybe you’d better—”

  He was laughing suddenly, his eyes lighting and really sparkling for the first time since he’d found her in his shower—how long ago was that? Two weeks? “Ah, Zoë,” he said, reaching over to pull her close. “Remember what I told you awhile ago? When you were kicking arse on those gangas? How much you turned me on, how badly I wanted to jump you at that time? It just goes to show that no matter how you look, you’ve got me. Completely.”

  She couldn’t help an undignified snort. “I looked like every other woman in the room, except they all had bigger boobs.”

  “And most of them were fake,” Quent said, smoothing his hands over her bare shoulders. She couldn’t help a little shiver of response from his touch.

  “Fake?”

  “Their breasts. In my time, women could have them augmented—made bigger.” Then he slipped his hands down and covered hers gently. “But I love yours and I’m glad you don’t have the option of changing them. They’re beautiful and high and tight and I dream of them. And the rest of you. All the time.”

  A delicious shiver fluttered in her belly. He hadn’t said he loved her, but this was close. Getting closer.

  He pulled her close, ignoring the dust that kicked up when she shifted her leg across the gritty floor, stringy with a long-frayed carpet. His lips were warm and tender as they met hers, and she closed her eyes, sliding her fingers up into his hair, sinking into him. But then he pulled away much too quickly and settled back from her.