“Well, what the hell.” He tore off the plastic and opened the box. After screwing the cartomizer into the battery, he took a hit off the black cylinder. The tip glowed a bright blue like a prop from a science fiction movie, and nicotine-laced vapor filled his mouth. He pulled it into his lungs, which made him cough, but he appreciated the burn in a way he never had before. He exhaled a cloud of vapor, watching it drift toward the ceiling and writhe in the light before it vanished. He took another drag and managed to suppress the cough. Hey, not bad.
He wandered through the house and onto the back patio. Since he wore only his jeans, the chilly air bit at his chest and feet, but Norton ignored it. The stars blazed, blanketing the night sky with a pale light that was billions of years old. Norton contemplated them for a time then looked over at his parents’ house, its roof just visible above the top of the tall fence that surrounded his property. The place was dark and silent, and Norton was surprised he couldn’t hear his mother snoring. For his entire childhood, she was a perpetual snorer, so much so that his father wore earplugs to bed.
But the night wasn’t completely silent. Norton could hear the susurration of traffic flowing up and down Main Street as people fled the terrors occupying their points of origin and hurried to encounter new ones. Thinking about that made Norton aware that he had stepped outside unarmed, a thought that wouldn’t have crossed his mind two days ago. He reminded himself that he needed to be armed at all times, even in his own backyard, which was surrounded by a six-and-a-half-foot-tall fence.
He took another pull on the e-cigarette and looked up at the distant stars and made a mental note to talk to his parents about arming up. That would take some doing. While his father would probably understand the need, his mother hated guns and would be a much tougher sell. With that thought in mind, he went back into the house. He closed the door, locked it, and dropped the wooden stop into the sliding door’s rail. Just in case.
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
By the time Reese finished his report and filed the appropriate forms, it was almost three thirty in the morning. Exhausted, he staggered through the still-hectic hallways of Hollywood Station, his eyes burning and his joints aching. He stumbled twice, almost falling against the wall the second time, before he reached the command center.
Many of the desks and workstations were devoid of operators, and the remaining staffers were older cops or civilian workers. Reese approached Pallata, who sat hunched over behind her desk, her face ashen in the gray glow of the monitor. She looked up with hollow, rheumy eyes and didn’t seem to recognize him for a moment.
“How’s it going, Captain?” he asked. His voice was made rough by the combination of exhaustion coupled with the shouting he’d done during the hospital tour.
Pallata slowly nodded. “Reese. Didn’t think you were going to show up.”
Reese frowned. “What do you mean? I just filed my report.”
“Your report?”
“Yeah. You know, my little department-mandated diary of how I spent my day?” Reese put his hands on the desk and leaned toward her.
She leaned back at the same time, an unsettled expression on her face. A tremor of fear flashed through her eyes.
“Miriam, you all right? Maybe you need to grab a rack in the bridal suite for a while?” The bridal suite was the room where cops could crash during protracted emergencies that required extended staffing. It wouldn’t surprise Reese to learn it was full at this hour, but he was certain the captain could get a cot if she wanted one.
Pallata sighed and scooted forward again, resting her elbows on the desk. “Reese. Yeah. I heard things were getting out of hand down at Cedars-Sinai. What happened?”
“What happened? You already know, right?”
She rubbed her bloodshot eyes. “Things have been blowing up all over the place, Reese. I’ve got maybe a general awareness of the big picture, but I’m a little light on the specifics right now. So what happened at the hospital? Make it quick. I know you need to get some sleep.”
Reese gave her the short version of what went down then told her, “Narvaez and his troops are still there, and a new platoon of unis showed up. The Guard’s turning the place into a fortress. Not so sure that’s what we want.”
Pallata shrugged. “Not much we can do about it. The hospital has to stay open.”
Reese nodded and looked around the command center. Phones were ringing, but there weren’t enough hands to answer them. “What’s the deal here?”
She shook her head. “We’re down about a hundred cops.”
That surprised him. Hollywood Station wasn’t huge, so a hundred cops accounted for almost half. “Where are they?”
“Some were killed. More have been injured. And even more just got up and drove away, like your partner.” Pallata gazed at him expressionlessly.
Reese shuffled his feet. “Ah yeah, I was going to talk to you about that. Listen, we don’t know if Jerry’s—”
“Don’t sweat it, Reese. He’s in good company. Captain Marshall is unaccounted for, as well. I’m the new area commanding officer.” She smiled thinly. “Acting area commanding officer, I mean.”
Reese raised his eyebrows. “Are you kidding me? Marshall walked off the job?”
Pallata shuffled some papers on her desk. “We don’t know. He was out in the field. Some of the guys were attacked, and he got involved. No one knows if he was bitten or not, but he was on his way back to the station and never showed up. They found his radio car out on Sunset, parked near one of the barricades, but none of the unis there saw him. He’s off the air, won’t respond to either radio or cell.”
A helicopter thundered overhead. Guy must be flying low, Reese thought. “Well, congratulations, Miriam,” he said stupidly.
“The city’s falling apart, Reese. The LAPD’s already hollowing out. Less than three or four days into this, and the department’s coming unglued. Hollywood’s still got it easy compared to some of the other areas. Rampart, Hollenbeck, and Seventy-Seventh Street are all dropping off the network. Metro’s blowing up big time, and there’s a big fire over by the civic center. It’s the Times Building that’s burning, not headquarters, at least, the last I heard. The fire department is having as tough of a time as we are.”
Reese pushed away from the desk and stood up straight. “Yeah, you’re not telling me anything I don’t know. From what I’ve seen… well, things kind of look inevitable at this point, you know?”
Pallata eyed him with suspicion. “You going to step into the wind?”
“No. Never say never, but that’s not me. I’m in for the long haul.”
She gave him a grim smile. “You were always one of the really great cops. That’s why I liked you. You always walked the walk.”
Reese didn’t know how to handle the sudden intimacy of the conversation, so he just nodded and slid his hands into his pockets.
Apparently, Pallata didn’t know how to handle it either because she suddenly found one of the big displays on the wall very interesting. “Get some sleep, Reese. Things aren’t going to settle down overnight, so get ready for it. Tomorrow’s going to be a shit-duty day.”
Reese bobbed his head in agreement and stumbled off to the bridal suite.
SINGLE TREE, CALIFORNIA
If the town had slept during the night, Corbett couldn’t tell. The diner was open at six thirty a.m., as usual, but the lot was already half-full by the time he arrived. He backed his big truck into a space and watched as his detail hunted around for a spot for their Expedition close to his Super Duty. Corbett didn’t wait for them. He climbed out and marched into the diner.
As he’d suspected, most of the patrons were from out of town. There was plenty of bar space available but only a couple of booths. Danielle Kennedy was already at work, serving a big spread to some out-of-towners with little kids. The travelers looked worn down from worry and exhaustion. Even the kids, two girls and a boy, appeared to be just about run out as they contemplated their plates filled w
ith pancakes, eggs, and sausage. Seeing their crestfallen expressions, Corbett had to look away. His plan would save Single Tree but at the expense of hardworking Americans like the parents of those kids. They would have to be sacrificed so the town could survive. While he had grown accustomed to being viewed as a heartless, big-business boogeyman, causing harm to people, kids in particular, did not set well with him.
It’s all about the town, he told himself. For the town. The town.
Danielle waved him toward an empty two-seater booth. Corbett smiled at her and lumbered over to slide into one of the small vinyl-covered seats. Her smile was genuine, though strained. Corbett smiled back, though he was wondering what the hell she was doing in the diner at this hour, since she normally worked the late shift.
“Be with you in just a second, Barry,” Danielle said as she shot past. She moved so quickly that no one could have been able to tell she had lost a limb.
“Take your time.” He pulled a menu from the rack even though he didn’t need it.
The rest of his men piled into the diner a few minutes later. Corbett grinned inwardly at their confusion. There was only room for one of them to sit with him. Walter Lennon, the oldest man and head of the security detail, waved the three others toward the bar then spun and marched toward Corbett.
“Am I sitting here, old codger, or are you eating alone?” Lennon asked.
“I’m eating alone, Walt. Besides, we’ll be seeing each other all day every day for who knows how long. Think of it this way, I’m doing you a favor,” Corbett said.
Lennon smiled thinly. Corbett was surprised. Even though he’d known Walter Lennon for years—he had served with his father in Vietnam—the only time he had seen the man smile was when his daughter Eloise had been born.
“You shouldn’t be left unprotected, sir,” Lennon said.
Corbett cocked an eyebrow. “I’m hardly unprotected.” He patted his side where his pistol was concealed beneath his light jacket. “Go on. Get with the rest of the guys. They make some awesome cinnamon French toast here. You should try it. And get a side of huevos a la Mexicana. They do it up right here, just like back in Texas.” As he spoke, he heard a raucous rumble from outside, and he glanced out the diner’s front windows. Victor Kuruk rolled in on his gleaming Harley, bringing the machine to a soft stop between two parked cars.
“Is that the same man from last night?” Lennon asked. “The guy from the reservation?”
Corbett nodded. “None other than the great Victor Kuruk himself. He’ll be joining me.”
“You didn’t mention anything about a breakfast meeting, sir. We really need to stay current on your schedule.”
“That’s because I didn’t know I was having a breakfast meeting. But Vic’s not exactly a regular here, so he’s apparently looking for me.” Corbett raised his hand before the other man could speak. “He’s one of the good guys, Walt. Now go join the rest of the boys and have some breakfast. You’re attracting some attention, standing over me like some mother hen.”
Lennon sighed heavily and started toward the bar. Victor stepped inside the diner and headed directly for Corbett.
“Hello again,” Victor said to Lennon as he passed.
“Good morning, Mr. Kuruk,” Lennon responded. “You’re here to see Mr. Corbett?”
“I guess I am. Is that allowed?”
“Don’t pay him any mind, Vic. Have a seat,” Corbett said.
Lennon continued to the bar, and Victor slid in across from Corbett. “Well, he seems to be the protective sort,” Victor said. “So what’s good here? I haven’t been to this place in years.”
“What did you have then?”
“Uh, pancakes, maybe. The silver dollar stack. That was back when I was doing some work on that western series on Fox. I had to watch my weight because the network execs told the show runner they didn’t want to have to change the name of my character to Chief Fatso.”
“Victor, that was like twelve years ago.”
“It’s been that long? Huh. Time flies.” Victor pulled out the other menu, opened it, then reached inside his leather jacket for his reading glasses. He peered at the selections, one perfectly manicured eyebrow cocked as he adopted an expression of deep concentration.
“Do you read the white man’s words?” he asked.
Victor looked at Corbett over the rim of his reading glasses. “I can even understand your forked tongue.”
Danielle stepped up to the table, looking harried. She seemed a bit surprised to see Victor.
“Dani, you know Victor Kuruk, don’t you?” Corbett said.
“Well, yes, but mostly from TV. Hi, Mr. Kuruk,” Danielle said, running a hand through her short dark hair.
“Well, hello, Miss Kennedy,” Victor said, pressing the charm button while simultaneously maintaining the role of wise, inscrutable Indian chief. “Of course, I’ve known your father for years, but I’ve never really had the opportunity to speak with you since you were”—Victor held a hand out to his side so his palm was just a little over three feet above the floor—“about this high. I remember your father was annoyed with you because your mother had just bought you a pretty pink dress and you’d gotten it filthy playing with some of the other kids.”
Danielle blinked. “Oh, wow. You remember that?”
Victor tapped the side of his head. “Unlike Mr. Corbett here, my mind is still very much a steel trap.”
“Too bad it’s usually disconnected from your mouth,” Corbett said. “Dani, is Raoul on the grill?”
“He is.”
“Then I’ll have the Mexican scrambled eggs with extra jalapeño. Go a little light on the cilantro, and bring some chipotle salsa. And a cup of the boldest coffee you have. Vic, you drink coffee?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Make that two. My inscrutable friend here will have the cinnamon French toast with a generous side of bacon, and toss a sprig of parsley on it so he can still claim he had an ‘all-natural’ breakfast.”
Victor frowned. “Cinnamon French toast?”
“This time next year, you’ll look back on this moment fondly, Victor.”
Victor shrugged. “I see your point. Have those lathered up with an extra helping of unsalted butter, would you, Miss Kennedy? I might as well sacrifice my arteries now.”
Danielle nodded as she wrote their orders on a pad. “Sure. Half stick or whole stick?”
Victor’s hiked his eyebrow even higher. “You must be joking.”
Danielle smiled, and Corbett thought her teeth looked brilliant against the sun-kissed darkness of her face. The small scar on her left cheekbone threw in some hard-won character. She’s a good-looking girl, that Dani.
“I was,” she said.
“In that case, make it a whole stick,” Victor said, closing the menu and placing it back in the rack behind the sugar and syrup.
“Anything else, guys?” Danielle asked.
“Good to go here,” Corbett said.
“The same,” Victor added.
“Okay. Coffee’ll be right up, and I’ll get your orders in right away.”
Victor leaned out of the booth slightly, watching her retreating figure.
“She’s well out of your age range, Victor,” Corbett said.
“I wasn’t checking her out like that. I’m just surprised she can walk so well. Is it true that you sponsored her prosthesis?”
“Yep. She’s a Marine, and so am I.”
Victor grunted. “I was in the Air Force in the late seventies, you know.”
“Damn zoomie. Good thing you didn’t get blown up because I’d leave you hobbling around on your stump.”
“Typical of the white man,” Victor said, affecting a hurt expression.
Corbett smiled and reached across the table to squeeze Victor’s wrist. “We haven’t really talked in a long while. You’re looking better than ever. Dropping out of the rat race in Los Angeles seems to suit you.”
Victor clapped his hand over Corbett’s for a moment, an
unusual display of friendship. Despite an intermittent character-acting career in Hollywood that often called for him to chew up some scenery, the real Victor Kuruk wasn’t predisposed to displays of emotion. “It has been a while, hasn’t it, old friend?” Victor said. “What are you now, seventy-two?”
“Seventy-three and change. I believe we’re almost eight years apart, right?”
“A little more than that. I’ll be sixty-four next March, assuming I live that long.”
“I plan on seeing to that, Victor.”
“I appreciate that. Would this be an appropriate time to discuss things without drilling into specifics?”
Corbett nodded. “Just be mindful we’re in a room full of ears.”
“I well know you can’t awaken someone who is pretending to be asleep.”
Corbett sighed. “Another one of your Indian proverbs, Victor?”
“I’m just waiting to spring this one on you: ‘When the white man discovered this country, Indians were running it. No taxes, no debt, and women did all the work. White man thought he could improve on a system like this.’ Like it?”
“Okay. Stop that, all right?”
Victor grinned, revealing his perfect teeth. “I haven’t even started yet. Just wait until I have another cup of coffee.”
Corbett shook his head. “Damn my life.”
Victor sobered. “I spoke with my people last night and into this morning. They’re not dumb, and even those who don’t have television or a radio know something is going on. I didn’t completely explain the details of your plan, but everyone understands that we’ll have to leave the reservation and move into the town. We’re ready, and we intend to come overland. The roads and the highway aren’t really useable right now, given the amount of transient traffic. But we need to know where to go.”
The Last Town Page 16