Cursed Apprentice (Earth Survives Book 2)

by R. R. Roberts

  “Here’s the gist of it,” Wren rushed to say. “The POE are here to clean house. They want a clear shot at Tanya’s stronghold—.”

  “Tanya?”

  “The first section we passed through. It’s controlled by a woman named Tanya.”

  “A woman?” This from Nelson. Wren fought back a smile. Such a traditionalist, something Nelson believed to be chivalrous but was actually quite insulting.

  She answered, “Yes. The POE want to expand their influence. They’re protecting SFU, just like we thought. Professor Red is there.”

  “So, they’ll be hard to get by. We still have to try.” Again, this from Nelson. The man just would not give up!

  “That’s not the part that’s important—.”

  Waylon snorted. “A wall of POE between us and Red? Are you serious?”

  “It’s important,” Wren amended, “But, just listen. It’s about the new virus. We know that New Pacifica was working on a secondary virus. What we didn’t know was how that virus would be spread.” Wren paused, hoping her next words would instill the urgency of their situation. “Virus weaponized POE are being prepared. They’ll be deployed first on the Indie’s holdings, and then at Freeland, targeting Indies, Freelanders, and Southern Outlanders.

  “When!” Nelson demanded. “When are these walking weapons attacking?”

  Ignoring him, Coru mused aloud, “Why attack Freeland if it’s already under Courlisaw’s control? Was our intel wrong?”

  Mattea hunched forward and they all followed his example. “Here are my thoughts—take ‘em or leave ‘em. Wren sees that they’ll be deployed sometime in the next few weeks, right Wren? Which means that our time table was off?”

  “Yes,” Wren.

  “Maybe something we’ve done here has change it?” Coru offered.

  Mattea nodded and continued, “That gives us time to warn the others. This isn’t just women and children now. This is every surviving person scraping out a living on their own. And the POE have the power to wipe out every remaining person that they come into contact with. No one will be untouched.” He raised his eyes to meet first Waylon’s and then Nelson’s. “I say, if you still have an interest in working with us on this, that we split again. Wren and Coru and Nelson stay here, make their way to Professor Red. They’ll have Wren as protection—she can warn them of impending danger. They’ll have Nelson for his knowledge of the University grounds, and Coru to reason with Red.”

  “What?” Nelson turned toward Coru. “You know this guy?”

  Tom answered smoothly, “We suspect he might. It’s our ace in the hole. Maybe.”

  That was the truth. Not all of it—but enough.

  “What do the rest of us do?” Gary wanted to know.

  Mattea answered, “We go to the rendezvous point, scoop Simon, Kelly, and Smith. Can’t leave them out to dry. They’ll have two POE Trannies at Pitt River by now, four if they got lucky. We meet them, and head straight up that highway, lickity-split—No POE will be there, they’ll be back here getting stuck with that poisonous virus. We head into God’s Country,” Mattea smiled through the dim light at Waylon in acknowledgement. “We tell everyone we can scare up they have two choices:

  “One—head to Freeland, be prepared to take it over, then defend it, facing probably their worst nightmare. The POE absolutely cannot get inside that compound. We must take it over from within and keep it safe.

  “Two—head north, now, by way of Prince George. It’s pretty clear, as far as I can tell, of the Road Warriors. We cleaned their clocks on our way here.”

  Nelson and Waylon’s eyes were round with admiration, but they stayed quiet. This was a tale for another time.

  “We won’t promise them what they might find there, but Prince George was in pretty good shape when we passed through. They could over winter there, move on in the spring.” He paused. “The thing is, if we don’t stop Red here, he’d be knocking at their door come next year. Running may protect them or may just delay an inevitable conflict. The old, ‘you can fight them now, or you can fight them later’ situation.”

  He looked around the group, all their faces now apparent in the swiftly returning daylight. “The reason I said I’d go with you is Wren can relay what she, Nelson, and Coru find here in New Pacifica through me to the rest of the Indies and beyond. Without me, there is no communication. Though, I don’t leave my friends lightly—we’ve been together since the beginning.” His roaming eyes settled on Coru then drifted to Wren and softened.

  Coru’s chest tightened. He loved Mattea like no other friend he’d had in his life. He cleared his throat and added, “And you can relay intel we might need here as well. We’ll be cut off, working alone. Mattea can keep us in the loop about what’s happening out in the country, warn us if we’re heading into trouble when we make a break from New Pacifica. With an antidote, God willing. And if we can’t make it out—.”

  Nelson jumped in. “Not going to happen. We’ve got this.”

  Tom and Gary stood up in unison—not a surprise for these two, though they had to hunch down under the tree boughs.

  Tom said, “We need to move now. Even if it is daylight. We skirt the edges of the park, and head to Pitt River. If Wren is right, and we have no reason to believe she isn’t, we won’t be challenged as long as we avoid trouble. There’ll be four POE trannies, not just two waiting there by the time we arrive. If we go back the way we came, we’ll be able to pick up three more and drive seven of the ten back with us. They’ll be faster getting back and invaluable in the upcoming fight.” Through Wren, Coru could see Tom intended to bring along the trannie with the Gatling gun mounted on it. He agreed.

  Tom continued, “Seven of us, fanned out in God’s Country, can scoop a lot of Indies, warn them, get them on their way to safety before the POE are deployed. Hundreds, even thousands of lives can be saved.”

  They all stood.

  Coru looked around the group, studying each face. “No one will think badly of you if you choose instead to return to your families to protect them.”

  No one flinched.

  Coru asked, “It’s decided then?”

  Quick nods all around.

  He offered his hand. Waylon shook it, Gary as well.

  When he reached out to Tom, Tom brought him in for a hug and murmured. “Sorry about before, man.”

  Coru clapped him across his back and shoved him playfully away. “Don’t worry—you’ll pay later.”

  Wren hugged each of the departing men, murmuring thank you and God speed to each. When it came to Mattea, she held him for a long time, and through their mental connection, Coru experienced the thick ache in her throat at holding back her emotions.

  Nelson and Waylon hugged it out, blinking back tears. The two had been boyhood friends and were like brothers. Nelson forced a laugh. “You know what they say about playing those old country songs backwards, right?”

  Waylon gave a silly giggle, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “You get your car back, you get your dog back, you get your girl back.”

  Nelson nudged him in the stomach. “You play that old record, son. I want my pal back.”

  Their gazes locked for a telling moment.

  Mattea gripped Coru’s shoulder and gave it a hard squeeze, then was gone. No words were needed. The others followed, first taking a moment to look out before slipping from the protection of the trees, one by one, out into the park, leaving Coru, Wren and Nelson alone.

  Abruptly there was far too much space in this shadowed little hollow.

  Coru prayed they would all live to see one another again.

  15

  MIKE: YEAR FIVE: WEN 2040

  AVOIDING the mirror and the sight of her thin body, Cherry stepped into her shower, counting on the hot water to calm her trembling. She’d woken with the same dream again and couldn’t stop shaking. Fear of the dream kept her awake at night, kept her away from her bed, kept her a walking zombie, dreading falling asleep knowing what would come.
>
  Mike didn’t care. Mike didn’t want to know. He was past it all now—never spoke of it, never thought of it, even, or so he claimed.

  Liar.

  She began shampooing her hair. She had no choice, she had to attend this New Year’s party. Everyone who was anyone would be there, according to Mike. Ack! She hated these Zhang affairs. They were so pretentious. She’d have to act interested in what dozens of vacuous people would say to her, act delighted, appalled, intrigued, amused, horrified—you name the required response and she’d have to produce it in spades this evening. “Oh my God,” she moaned, her voice echoing in the shower. “Release me from this prison.”

  Nothing happened of course.

  She rinsed her hair, then grabbed the bar of soap. That was because there was no escape. This was her punishment. This was her life after murdering a man in cold blood, burying him in a forest and marrying the man with whom she shared the gruesome crime. Partners for life.

  Mike wouldn’t allow her access to her wonderful little pills any more. So, no relief. Ever.

  The dream? It always started with her riding in a car, clutching her belly, afraid for her baby, the baby she’d been so very happy about. The baby she’d always dreamed of, the baby who was a celebration of that marriage she’d first entered into with such trepidation. That baby was now in danger, in this tiny car going nowhere. The dream then morphed into her trapped inside that car as it was rocked, back and forth by an angry mob, their faces pressed against the glass, their eyes bugging with accusation. If she wasn’t lucky and this didn’t wake her up, the dream moved on to act two.

  This was where the angry crowd pushed the car she was trapped in. The sound of metal screeching over rock was horrifying, deafening inside the vehicle, her dread growing with each shove, until the car teetered on the edge of a high cliff over a black, thrashing ocean. That’s when her screaming tormentors would give the car one last fateful shove, sending her careening over the cliff, the car spinning sickeningly around and around until she hit the hungry waves, the impact shuddering through her body. The car would linger for a moment, as if deciding its, and Cherry’s, fate. Here’s where she learned, all over again, that the car was a living, breathing creature.

  Of course, the choice was always the same, and never a good one, despite the fact that every time—every time—she held out hope. The car slowly filled with water, climbing up her legs, slowly but relentlessly enveloping her—there was no escaping it—and began to sink into the icy sea.

  She had some version of the dream almost every night. She’d had the whole version this afternoon, forced to take a nap that she hoped would freshen her for the party. She knew it wouldn’t work. Now she felt worse than before she laid down.

  Turning off the water, she stepped from the shower, and dried quickly. Mike had taken to walking in on her showers of late, “Oops, sorry”, he’d say, his eyes hungrily roaming her body. Crawling over her body is what it felt like. Her frail, skinny, horribly empty body. She shuddered at the thought and jerked on her robe before finishing drying. Ever since the baby…

  And then Jessica had left, without even saying goodbye.

  She fought the panic that wanted to wash over her. Her friend Jessie was gone, she was alone, and that was that. She could not allow those feelings of abandonment to resurface.

  She towelled the mirror clear of steam, she’d forgotten the overhead fan again, and reached for her hairdryer. Mike wanted her hair loose tonight. In this she would indulge him. He loved to show her off. Dressed properly, with the right makeup, she could still be presentable.

  Since she refused to sleep with him, she would allow him to parade her around. It was a compromise.

  The door opened, and she jumped, angry at herself for doing so.

  “Oops.” He was disappointed she had put on her robe already.

  She wasn’t stupid. She knew the routine.

  “Almost ready, sweetheart?”

  She switched on the hairdryer so there was no need to speak. She smiled at him in the mirror.

  He got the message and left.

  THE LIGHTS WERE at half mast, the crowd was thinning now, with costumed and bejewelled guests making their excuses, hugging one another good-bye, promising to be better this year at staying in touch. The stage was empty, the band long gone, the whole place was covered in spent balloons, littered in confetti, with many of the Happy New Year 2040 centerpieces going home with the guests.

  What did they do with them, Mike wondered. They would be tossed into the trash here by the clean-up crew or go into the trash at someone’s home after a few weeks, when they realized they were useless—old news.

  Cherry made no move to take one. If she had, he’d have celebrated her initiative and crowed with happiness. My wife, showing an interest in something; anything.

  But Cherry took no Happy New Year 2040 center piece; Cherry lived in a world of her own making. She stood beside the Turners, smiling and nodding at something Cheryl Turner was telling her. Cheryl was obviously too drunk to see Cherry couldn’t give a fig about what she was saying. Cheryl had no clue that Cherry’s undivided attention was a ploy to avoid her husband.

  Mike ground his teeth. The doctor had told him she would snap out of this on her own. That wasn’t happening. Instead of working her way back to him, she was drifting farther and farther away. And there she stood, a lovely, dainty jewel of a woman, her skin creamy, her eyes beguiling, her long, thick black hair flowing like an ebony river down her back, contrasting with the ruby silk gown that hugged her slight body. So beautiful. So charming. And stone cold.

  Mike realized he’d been silent too long beside the normally shy Syd Mueller, who hadn’t stopped talking since the cork of the first bottle of champagne had been popped open. Chatty guy. And it wasn’t even interesting. The guy liked taxidermy. A lot. He was bent on bringing Mike over to the dark side with him. Yuck.

  “Sorry, Syd. Just got the signal from my wife. Time to head home.”

  Syd looked injured.

  Couldn’t have that. Syd had some deep pockets and could be instrumental in getting some of their pricier projects off the ground. “I’d love to come see your collection, though, if you’re willing to share your studio with a newbie?”

  Syd’s eyes lit up at the prospect. They arranged a date for next week, then Mike made his escape to collect Cherry. He was tired, he’d had too much to drink and wanted to get home. Mostly he was annoyed that Moses hadn’t shown his face at his own party, leaving Mike to pick up the reins.

  This was happening more and more, and Mike didn’t like it. Oh, he didn’t mind playing host, nor did he mind the rise in stature he was achieving among the movers and shakers of this crazy city. What he minded was being taken by surprise. He’d walk in and be blind-sided with Moses’s absence. Mike would be expected to give a speech, off the cuff, and make necessary introductions while knowing little of the people he was introducing beyond the bio Moses had prepared when he’d been assembling his guest list. It was always Mike left to seek out the targeted guests and make nice.

  It was Moses’s plan—why didn’t he follow through himself?

  It pissed Mike off.

  And Mike fed off it. Because the truth was, Mike Eggers was a big deal, and he liked it.

  Arriving at his wife’s side, Mike put his arm around her and exclaimed, “Hey Gorgeous! Looking for a good time?”

  Cherry slanted her almond eyes at him and purred, “Always, Handsome.”

  Wow. Cherry maybe had a few drinks too many? He wasn’t too far behind. She hadn’t reacted to him so positively in months. He kissed her cheek. “Ready to head home, honey?”

  She leaned against him and smiled. A real smile, a smile he hadn’t seen for a very long time. “Yeah,” she answered softly. “Let’s go home.” Her friends bid them goodnight and moved toward the door. Cherry watched them go without pulling away from Mike’s embrace.

  He tightened his arm. “You had a good time?” he asked, hopeful her mood
would stay.

  She looked up at him to answer, then her eyes flickered to someone behind him and her smile faded.

  Mike turned. It was Conrad. “Mr. Zhang asked for you to come up to his suite before you go.”

  Cherry stiffened against him.

  Damn. There was no way he could blow Moses off. When he grimaced apologetically down at Cherry, her eyes dimmed, and she carefully extracted herself from his touch, the fragile connection gone so quickly he wondered if it had been there at all or just wishful thinking on his part.

  He couldn’t just abandon her here. And she hated Moses. He turned to Conrad. “You done for the night?”

  Con looked from Mike to Cherry and back again. “I can be.”

  “Great. Could you take Cherry home? I’d feel better knowing you’re with her. There’ll be all sorts of crazies on the road tonight.”

  He glanced at Cherry, looking for her reaction. Her face was tight, and her eyes roamed the mostly abandoned dining room, refusing to meet his. Accepting her withdrawal because he had little choice, he stepped away, already turning toward the entrance to the elevators. “All right, then, honey. I’ll see you at home.”

  “Not if I see you first,” she murmured.

  He stiffened, then slowly turned back to face her. “What did you say?”

  She looked at him blankly. “Say?”

  Conrad’s expression was puzzled as well.

  “You said…” Mike stopped. He was losing it. He’d heard her wrong. “Sorry. I won’t be long.”

  He hurried to the elevator, determined to make this summoned meeting a short one.

  When he met Moses on the terrace, the man was dressed all in white. Mike glanced at the white brocade dressing gown that stood neck to floor in a stiff circle around the man and was immediately reminded of a Christmas tree skirt. For sure not Moses’s intention. Believing Mike was admiring it, Moses murmured, “Fresh New Year.”

  Mike nodded like he understood. Moses could be weird.

  Moses handed him a brandy. “A toast to our partnership, my young friend. To 2040.”