by Joss Ware
He and his hormones still hadn’t fully recovered from that long, lush kiss in his room. Nope, even a quick glance at Jade had him thinking about the taste of her, the feel of her fingers closing over his shoulders, even the innocuous lemon scent that wafted from her hair. Her wide, sensual mouth had the sexiest little curl at the edges when she smiled, and he well knew exactly how soft it was.
Probably had been a stupid thing to do, but even though he’d seen her apprehension, he figured he’d better take the opportunity to touch her when he was certain he wouldn’t be passing on some illness or injury. Extenuating circumstances and all.
And the feel of her soft mouth, which turned up at the corner when she smiled—as she did now, at Lou Waxnicki—had been worth the chance.
Problem was, he wanted more. A lot more. And he still didn’t know what was up with the Marlboro Man. Nor was he going to be able to touch Jade—or anyone—again for a while.
A painful twinge in his chest and over the top of his shoulder confirmed that train of thought, and Elliott resisted the urge to touch it. He’d expected this to happen after healing Simon’s ganga scratches this morning.
When he and Jade had gone to waken the others, Elliott decided it was time for an experiment he’d been considering during the night, when he was trying, in vain, to sleep. Which was why he’d sprung fully awake the moment he heard the door from the adjoining room scuff quietly open.
So, a short time ago, he’d checked Simon’s gashes, which had begun to heal very well, thanks to some natural salve Elliott had given him to spread over them.
Until today, Elliott had been afraid to touch Simon himself, until he learned more of how his weird ability worked. But this morning, the scratches were no longer puffy or oozing blood, and had started to form the shiny covering as a precursor to scabs. “I’m going to heal you,” he told Simon after Jade had left the room to knock on Wyatt’s door. “At least, I’m going to try.”
He placed his hands over the thick gashes that curved from the top of Simon’s right shoulder down over the top of his chest and closed his eyes, concentrating on the spark of energy . . . that same spark he’d felt when he healed Jade’s broken ulna . . . and let it flow through him.
The scratches had healed under his very hands, under Simon’s very eyes, as a low throb of pain settled over Elliott’s own chest and upper arm. And when he pulled his fingers away, Simon’s tanned skin was as pristine and smooth as—albeit darker than—a baby’s. Even a few blemishes from earlier injuries had been healed.
“What the fuck. . . .” Simon had breathed. It had been more of an exclamation than a question, and Elliott hadn’t bothered to answer.
But he’d taken care not to touch anyone since then, and he noticed that the dull pain he’d absorbed when he’d healed Simon had begun to twinge more sharply as time went on. Gathering at the top of his shoulder, the discomfort radiated down over his chest and centered right where Simon’s gouges had been the deepest.
Pulling his attention from the nagging pain, Elliott glanced up as the others took their seats. Jade was looking at him with curiosity . . . and something else that he hoped was interest.
Elliott smiled back, trying to keep his cool when his pulse was suddenly trammeling through him at warp speed. Yeah. It had been fifty years since he’d had sex, and his body was definitely reminding him of that lapse. Right now. Because of a single kiss. Well, a kiss, and that particular slanted look.
Hoo-boy. He was completely screwed.
Or, at least, he’d like to be. Long and slow and easy. His mouth dried and he felt his smile falter.
“We’ve been looking for Envy for months,” Wyatt was saying, and Elliott realized that everyone had settled in a group of chairs. They were in a small room near the restaurant where they’d eaten last night. It might have been one of the administrative offices or even a small gift shop when the hotel was in operation. Now, with its array of sofas and low coffee tables, it appeared to be a sort of communal gathering place. But since it was closing in on four in the morning, no one seemed to be around.
And Lou had closed the door, affording them a little bit of privacy.
Why had Jade been so insistent that they speak to Lou—and in secret? It must have something to do with her being a Runner—whatever that was.
“And now that you’ve found Envy,” Mr. Waxnicki said in reply to Wyatt, but he looked at all of them in turn, “do you find your curiosity assuaged, then?”
Considering the fact that their curiosity—hell, it was fucking desperation—burned like a never-ending flame, it was a ridiculous question. But then, of course, Lou Waxnicki could have no idea what had happened to them.
Nor could he be expected to believe it.
“Our curiosity might be assuaged if we could get some details about what happened fifty years ago. From someone who was actually there,” Elliott said, plunging right into the reason he’d wanted to speak to Waxnicki. He wanted some answers before he learned what the old man had on his mind.
“The Change, we call it. Or, simply, ‘After.’ ”
“You were there when it happened. Was it everywhere?”
“Everywhere.” Mr. Waxnicki’s voice dropped, roughened. The sharpness in his eyes lessened as though he focused on something far away. Fifty years away. “So few of us remained.”
“How few?” asked Elliott.
Mr. Waxnicki’s gaze focused again. “Hundreds, perhaps.”
Hundreds?
“You mean here in Las Vegas—Envy.”
“Yes, in Las Vegas.” Mr. Waxnicki shot Elliott that keen, considering look he’d given Wyatt earlier, then continued. “The survivors came here after, drawn by the lights. The only lights in a dark, changed world.”
“But what happened? Nuclear war? Global warming? Crazy weather?” Elliott pressed, even as the thoughts echoed in his mind.
Hundreds of survivors . . . instead of thousands? Millions? Mr. Waxnicki had to mean here in Vegas. Not . . . not the whole world. How could they know anyway, as isolated as they must be?
Then he remembered the ocean—apparently the Pacific Ocean—now sitting where Harrah’s used to be, and he felt like vomiting all over again. He hadn’t felt this sick since his first sight of a cadaver in med school.
He’d gotten over that. Would he ever get over this? Could he?
Would he ever sleep again? Feel normal? Have a life?
The very possibility seemed inconceivable.
Surely if there had been more survivors, if this had been just an isolated geographic area, there would have been some rescuers or explorers to find them in the last fifty years.
“The annihilation of humanity happened in a variety of ways,” Waxnicki replied. “It started with simultaneous massive, 9-point earthquakes throughout the world and from what we can tell, and what we experienced here, that in turn caused tsunamis and nearly a week of other natural disasters and devastation. Raging fires, mighty storms, aftershocks. We didn’t have a chance.”
“So everyone’s really gone.” Wyatt’s voice was quiet, dead with pain.
Mr. Waxnicki nodded slowly but firmly. “Fifty years ago, there were few survivors. And of the few that survived the physical devastation, the majority of them literally collapsed, dead, in the days following. We don’t know how or why some people simply died, and others, like me, didn’t. There was no explanation for it. They just dropped dead.”
Silence reigned for a long moment as Elliott and his friends tried to assimilate this information.
Impossible to believe. Simply impossible that most of the human race had been destroyed.
After a moment, Mr. Waxnicki spoke again. “Where are you from?” His expression had altered and now he was looking at Elliott more intently. “And you’re a doctor?”
Dare he tell him the truth?
Something about the elderly man with the sharp eyes, who didn’t seem the least bit senile or “off,” tempted Elliott to trust him. “Chicago,” he replied, holding th
e man’s gaze . . . and his breath.
There was silence as they waited for Mr. Waxnicki’s response.
“Chicago.” His eyes gleamed with fascination, and Elliott fairly felt the electric energy snapping in the air. “I wonder how that can be.”
But before they could respond, the old man stood with a surprising agility. “Will you all come with me? I believe we have things to discuss that might best be done privately.”
Elliott glanced at Jade, whose eyes held the same note of enthusiasm as Mr. Waxnicki’s. That was all he needed to agree.
He hoped he didn’t come to regret the decision later.
Mr. Waxnicki led them through what had been the lobby of New York–New York and down a hallway that once might have led to the catering and housekeeping staff areas. Elliott noticed that this building, which seemed to be a central point of the settlement of Envy, was in almost normal condition as compared to the other structures they’d seen in their other travels.
Mother Nature might be a ball-buster, but man could hold her back if he put his mind to it. Obviously, that was the occasion here. He saw a few cracks that had been patched, signs of normal wear and tear in the carpet, and scuffs and dents in the walls.
He could imagine how they’d done it—scavenged to find unbroken lightbulbs and perhaps window glass from other areas of the hotel.
They followed their guide, along with Jade, deep into the building, and as they proceeded, saw that the area showed more and more disrepair. In fact, the further they went, the darker it was. Perhaps only one out of every five lightbulbs worked, showing sagging doors, animal nests, rubble, and dust. They passed no one during their walk down the hallway, but Elliott could hear the faint sounds of life in the distance. And as he walked, Elliott felt the twinge of pain radiating over the top of his shoulder with the movement of his arm.
He slipped his hand beneath the collar of his shirt and touched the area . . . and felt the ridges of ganga gouges. What the . . . ? Not only had he healed Simon, but he’d taken on the cuts as well?
That was different. When he’d healed Jade, he’d simply felt the pain in his arm.
And moments later, had given the actual fracture to Linda.
Elliott frowned. He’d touched Simon and healed the deep cuts—fortunately, they’d already started to scab over and begun to heal on their own—and now he not only had the pain, but he’d also accepted the actual injuries.
Elliott kept walking and, as inconspicuously as possible, simply felt around beneath his shirt. The gashes hurt like a bitch, pounding and throbbing through his body, but he knew the injury wasn’t serious. With care, it would simply heal, just as it would have on Simon if Elliott hadn’t interfered.
In the meantime, Elliott would have a bit of discomfort.
And he just had to make sure he didn’t touch anyone.
But what happened if he bumped into someone as he walked by? Or did it have to be flesh to flesh, hand to skin?
At last, Mr. Waxnicki paused at an elevator and, using a crowbar, took a moment to open it. The clunking and clinking sounds indicated that there was some sort of combination or lock to release, but when the doors rolled open, a bold light glowed up into the semi-darkness. The elderly man stepped back and gestured them to enter, directing, “Down the stairs, if you will.”
Elliott followed Jade down a circular stairwell built into the elevator shaft. Definitely not looking at the way her hips swayed with each descending movement.
His first impression of the room below was that it was a combination of Dr. No’s underground lair and the villain’s hideaway in The Incredibles.
Yeah, he’d seen The Incredibles. It had been one of his nieces’ favorites, and Uncle E was a sucker for his girls. His lips flattened as he had a flash of memory . . . then pushed it away.
The subterranean room was vast and brightly lit. Computers and their monitors were arranged throughout on a variety of furnishings—cabinets, desks, tables—and even a few printers hummed. Wires led up into the ceiling and walls, and lined the floor.
Other than the electronics, the room was empty except for a woman who sat at one of the counters that held five different screens. Her back was to them, as she worked industriously, her fingers flying over a keyboard as she stared intently at the center screen. She had long golden red hair with thick waves and delicate, narrow shoulders.
She turned from her work, half rising as if to move to a different chair, and froze. Her gaze cast around the room as though startled to see the five men, Jade, and Mr. Waxnicki standing there, which was a bit surprising as they hadn’t exactly been silent. Not loud, but not silent by any stretch. She must have been very intent on her work.
“Lou,” she said, getting all the way to her feet, removing small earbuds. Ah, that explained it. Had she been listening to music? Or blocking out the constant whirr of the multiple computers?
She couldn’t be more than thirty, and Elliott knew most men would consider her beautiful, with fair skin dusted by golden freckles and all that great hair. But he was more interested in the cinnamon-haired, green-eyed witch with the curly-edged smile and the smoking body that had, just an hour or so ago, been plastered up against his.
Elliott pulled himself back to the moment and noticed that the strawberry-blonde didn’t look pleased at all.
Her voice carried a sharp warning. “What are you doing here?” Elliott recognized that the “you” actually meant the five of them, not Mr. Waxnicki or Jade.
“It’s all right,” Mr. Waxnicki said, “Jade and I believe they can be trusted. Everyone, this is Sage Corrigan.” And he completed the brief introductions.
Elliott nearly laughed at the choked look on her face, complete with prune-like lips—pink and full, but definitely pissed off—as she glared at the elderly man. He could almost read her mind: You believe they can be trusted?
“They helped me and Geoff Pinglett last night,” Jade said quietly. “You know Lou wouldn’t take a chance unless he was certain.”
“Why did you bring them down here?” she asked, persisting as if they didn’t exist.
“Let’s all have a seat, shall we?” said Mr. Waxnicki. “And I believe things might become clear. Any news from Theo yet?” he asked as he opened another door. Beyond, Elliott saw a space furnished like a small flat.
Sage’s face lost the pissed look and took on a hint of worry. “No.”
“Theo is my brother,” the old man explained. “He’s a Runner.”
“Lou,” Sage said, her voice and lips tight.
Mr. Waxnicki waved off her warning and them into the room. “Sit, everyone. And let’s have some tea, shall we?”
“I don’t suppose you have anything stronger than tea,” said Wyatt. Elliott could see the lines growing deeper in his face.
“It’s six o’clock in the morning,” Sage responded in affronted tones.
Mr. Waxnicki gave her a look meant to flatten out those pursed lips, and she seemed to take the hint and settled in a chair in the corner.
“Are you going to tell us why you’ve brought us here?” Wyatt asked, with a half-glance at Sage, who’d settled, glowering, in a corner. “Before someone blows a gasket?”
Mr. Waxnicki gave a little laugh that made his eyes grow narrower. “I haven’t heard that phrase in a long time. ‘Blow a gasket.’ ”
“How old are you, Mr. Waxnicki, if you don’t mind my asking?” Elliott asked suddenly. He’d noticed that the old man didn’t speak like an old man . . . at least, the old men he’d known. He talked . . . well, like they did. Which would make sense if, as he suspected, they had all been raised in the ’80s.
“I was born in nineteen eighty-three,” he said. “I’m seventy-seven years old. Perhaps you’d like to assuage my curiosity and tell me the same for you.”
Tension crackled in the room for a moment, and Sage seemed to be the only one who wasn’t sitting on the edge of her seat.
Elliott replied, “I was born in nineteen seventy-seven.”
He could almost hear the sigh of satisfaction from Mr. Waxnicki. The man’s dark eyes brightened with interest, and he looked at Jade, whose green ones widened in surprise. But to his surprise, she didn’t ask how or why. He saw that the pinched, worried look had eased from Sage’s face, replaced by an intelligent, thoughtful one. Huh. Not so much of a surprise.
Why was that?
“I suspected as much—not the particular year, but that you were . . . different,” said the older man. “What happened to you?”
“We were in a cave in Sedona,” Elliott said. “Quent, Wyatt, and I. Fence and his buddy Lenny were our guides. Suddenly, it felt like an earthquake, and everything began to shake and fall, and then we felt a sizzle of energy. A burning sensation, not really painful . . . and there were some flashes of light. The next thing we knew, we woke up. And everything was different. We found out fifty years had passed.”
“We discovered Simon nearby—” Wyatt began.
“Did you have to waken him?” Lou asked, leaning forward eagerly. “And do you know what awakened you?”
“I put my hand on his shoulder to see if he was alive . . . after all, our last memories had been of this powerful earthquake,” Elliott said. “He was breathing, he was warm. And I don’t know what, if anything, woke us.”
“We figured we’d just been caught in the earthquake, knocked out maybe by some gasses being released—since we weren’t blocked in or hit by rocks or anything. But when we came out and saw how everything had changed. . . .” Wyatt’s voice trailed off.
“Unbelievable,” Mr. Waxnicki said. His eyes were shining with excitement, and he glanced at Jade. “It makes sense . . .”
“Makes sense?” Wyatt said. “How the fuck does being asleep for fifty years when everyone else around us died make sense?”
“You were in Sedona, an area known for its mystical properties—an area in which many sources of energy seem to collect. That must have put you into the . . . freeze . . . I guess I’d say.”
“So what happened fifty years ago?” Elliott asked. “Why and how? I have a feeling there’s more than what you told us upstairs.”