Night Resurrected

by Joss Ware

  Unfortunately, it took longer than he anticipated and he wasted nearly a day trying to find a wild herd and then lure one of the animals to him. Normally he didn’t have a hard time at all—animals were generally pretty easy around him. But for some reason none of the horses would approach, even when he offered a nice brown apple.

  He should have just gone on foot from the beginning, but he didn’t.

  Finally reaching his floor, he unlocked the door to his room and eyed the bed. Damn, it looked inviting.

  But he was nothing if not disciplined. He wanted to eat, true, but he also wanted to find out if Remy had made it to Envy, or whether she and Ian had gone somewhere else. He hoped like hell she’d listened to him and come here.

  But then again . . . this was Remy. That woman had a mind of her own, and most of the time what went through it was completely incomprehensible to him.

  He was going to have to venture down into the chaos. And so he dumped his stuff on the floor, stripped, and headed for the shower.

  A short time later Wyatt stalked out of his room and headed for the stairs. After twenty flights, his damp hair still dripping over the back of his neck, he hit the ground floor and was immediately assaulted by delicious smells.

  Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  The gathering was happening outside beneath blue and red neon lights—remnants of the blazing Vegas strip still hanging on, carefully conserved, fifty years later. Braziers and lanterns also lit the area in preparation for the descent of the sun. Another hour at the most and it would sink behind the city wall, and after that darkness would fall quickly.

  Two pigs were roasting, three huge metal cans of clams and crawfish parked amid golden coals. Unhusked ears of corn were piled in massive tubs, still steaming. Wyatt swore he saw a vat of potato salad, which seemed so not postapocalyptic. And . . . pies. There were rows of pies on a table. He could only guess the flavors, but he figured apple and cherry were good bets. But he wasn’t picky. Not about pie.

  The sultry voice of a woman singing something blue wove through the constant rumble of conversation and laughter, helped by a good old-fashioned mic and some amps. He thought he recognized Jade’s voice, and a glance toward the large brazier onstage next to her confirmed it. She’d been singing in the pub the first night he and Elliott and the others had come to Envy.

  Wyatt walked along the fringe of the celebration, toward the dark and quiet. The party went on behind him and off to the side. When he turned, standing in the shadows, far from everyone, he saw the energy, the lights, the silhouettes and shadowed forms of people. He scented cooking food, grills, and, subtly, the salt of the ocean.

  If he closed his eyes and didn’t think for a minute, he could open them again and almost believe he was back . . . Back under the stars for the blues fest or the county fair or the church carnival . . . Back home. The smells, the sounds, the lights, the energy. All were the same.

  But when he looked again, beyond the glow and the people and the stage, he saw the skyline of a ravaged city outlined by a lowering sun. Skeleton buildings, jagged structures, devoid of light and activity.

  Kind of how he felt, pretty much all the time. Empty. Destroyed. Angry.

  “Wyatt. You’re back.”

  He turned to see Simon Japp, who’d been one of the survivors from the Sedona caves. Although Simon hadn’t been in the original group on that caving trip that included Elliott and Quent, along with himself, and led by their guides Lenny and Fence, he’d been caught in this strange time lapse with the rest of them.

  “Yep,” Wyatt replied. He glanced around; they were outliers, standing at the far edge of the gathering. “Where’s Sage?” The two were nearly inseparable—at least when she wasn’t working in the secret, subterranean computer lab that Theo and Lou Waxnicki had built, and when Simon wasn’t doing his part to keep the peace in the city. Sage was a lovely woman in appearance as well as deed, and Wyatt had come to like her quiet, peaceful personality. She was one of the few people he’d actually talked to about his past. She listened.

  “Ah, she’s all busy helping with the food or something. Vaughn wanted me out here, watching for any security issues. You know how it goes when you get a bunch of people partying. Beer flowing and all. Everything all right with you?”

  Wyatt opened his mouth to respond with a short, no-nonsense affirmation, then stopped. Of all of them who’d been in the caves, Simon was the one he knew the least. He was also the quietest, most sober of the bunch. Kept to himself for the most part. And from what Wyatt knew about his background, Simon had been in a very bad place before the Change. Ironic, then, that he was the face of law enforcement—such as it was—here in Envy.

  “You ever come to Vegas . . . before?” Wyatt asked, surprising himself by saying just about precisely what was on his mind.

  “All the damned time.” Simon’s tone held the flavor of a Chicano accent along with an underlying bitterness. “Too damn often. Too much . . . shit . . . happened here. You?”

  “I came here on my honeymoon.”

  “Jesus, Wyatt.”

  “Yeah. What a cock-up.” But the anger that normally edged his voice was missing. “How the hell did you . . .” He stopped, shaking his head. He couldn’t even put into words what he wanted to say. His eyes burned and he squeezed them closed. What the hell was wrong with him?

  Somehow Simon seemed to understand. “I was the only one of us who saw—who could see—this . . . as an opportunity. An awful, horrific one . . . but it was the chance to create a new life in the wake of devastation. A resurrection.”

  Wyatt shook his head, still staring at the disrupted skyline, the jagged, empty, gutted buildings. “A resurrection.” His breath was a little ragged. His throat hurt. “Like a damn phoenix. Destroyed, then rising from the ashes, pristine and reborn. Christ, I’d just as soon have stayed in the damned ashes. I don’t understand why—” He bit off the words sharply, curled his fingers into an angry fist. “I just want to live again. Goddammit, I just want to live. And at the same time, I just want it to end. I want to be fucking done with it.” The guilt. The anger. The pain.

  Simon nodded next to him, and for a moment they were silent. Then he spoke, softly. “When it all happened—just before the cave started collapsing around me, just before all hell broke loose—I was praying. On my knees. Couldn’t remember the last time I’d really prayed. I was praying for my life to end . . . or for some miracle to happen.”

  “Well, hell, Simon, you got your damned miracle.”

  The other man looked at him, grief in his expression. “In a matter of speaking. Fact is, we can’t change—nor are we responsible for—what happened. It’s done. It’s over. It’s gone. But there’s a reason for all of us making it through, you know. Elliott, me, Quent, Fence. Even Theo. You have to find yours. You know our being here has already made things different.”

  “Hm.” Wyatt slipped his hand into his pocket. Felt the warm, solid weight there. Sifted it through his fingers, then let it slip back into the depths. He shook his head. “No. No thanks. I’ll take the ashes.”

  Simon looked at him, his perfect, chiseled features limned by the dancing light of a nearby torch. “That’s what I used to think.” His mouth twisted in a wry, sad sort of smile. He clapped him on the back, his hand lingering long enough to let Wyatt know he truly cared.

  Wyatt might have responded, but before he could, something barreled into his leg. He looked down to find himself accosted by an ecstatic bundle of fur complete with delighted whines and frantic tongue. “Dantès!” He crouched to greet the dog.

  She’s here.

  “You seen Ian Marck anywhere?” he asked Simon as he stood back up, his hand still settled on Dantès’s head. Wyatt looked around. Where Dantès was, she was never far away. But there were too many people and the light was too faulty.

  “Yeah. The bastard’s here. How’d you know?” Simon didn’t trouble to hide an inflection of surprise.

  Wyatt shrugged. �
��Just had a suspicion. What’s he up to?”

  “Nothing, so far. Chavala’s just sitting in the corner alone. Watching. Having a beer. Fence and I are keeping an eye on him.”

  Alone. Wyatt considered the implications. “I’m hungry,” he said, realizing that he still hadn’t done anything about his empty stomach. “That pork smells amazing.”

  Simon, not much of a talker himself, seemed willing to let the conversation drop. “There’s cherry pie too. But I’ve got to make one more patrol around before I can eat. And Sage said something about dancing later.” He didn’t sound all that enthusiastic about the idea. “Later.”

  “Thanks, Simon,” Wyatt said as his friend disappeared into the crowd.

  He turned back toward the revelry. Back to the world. Back to his life.

  It was about thirty minutes into the celebration before Remy realized she was having a good time. She was relaxed. She laughed. She sipped a glass of white wine studded with slices of orange and lemon and strawberries. She managed to navigate in the silver high-heeled shoes Flo had fairly shoved on her feet. A collection of wide silver bangles clanked at her wrist. And she couldn’t help the tingles of appreciation when an attractive man seemed to notice her. Particularly Vaughn Rogan, the mayor of Envy.

  Of course, the long white dress helped. The bodice was tight, fitting her curves through the hip and then falling in a loose, flowing skirt that brushed the tops of her toes. The neckline was cut in such a wide, low vee in the front and rear that Flo had stitched a delicate silver chain from shoulder to shoulder across the back of Remy’s shoulders, connecting the wide straps to it so they didn’t slip down. A short length of silver chain hung perpendicular, with a pendant on the end that bumped gently against her bare back whenever she moved. And because her hair had been pinned up at the back of her head, leaving her neck and shoulders bare, she felt every change in the tropical breeze filtering over her skin.

  When Remy protested about the fuss, Flo merely brushed her off, saying, “Humor me, dearie. This is what I do. And how often do you get to dress to the nines like this?”

  “It’s no use fighting it,” Jade told her with a smile, as she submitted to a new shade of lipstick. “Flo will have her way.”

  So, dressed to the nines—whatever that meant—Remy hung out at the festival with her new girlfriends until the mayor happened by and they were introduced.

  “Remington Truth,” he murmured in a low voice, his gray-green eyes settling on her. They sparked with interest that told her he knew precisely who she was. “Welcome to Envy.”

  “Thank you.” Remy glanced at Sage, who quirked her brow and nodded. Yes, you can trust him, seemed to be the indication. “This is a nice celebration, Mayor Rogan. I don’t think I’ve ever been to such a large event, with so many people. And it’s so well-organized.”

  “Call me Vaughn,” he said. “Please.” His attention seemed to wander off for a moment, to where a cluster of men and women stood talking. An elegant, sable-haired woman with lush curves was laughing with one of the men. Vaughn refocused on Remy. “I hope you’re enjoying it, despite the crowd.”

  “Oh yes. It’s very enjoyable,” she said sincerely. “And the food is excellent. I always wondered what cotton candy would taste like. It’s not at all what I expected.”

  “Did you try a corn dog?” Vaughn grinned. “They’re my particular favorite, and we only get to have them very rarely.”

  “Good reason to plan a party then, hmm?” she replied, aware that this could be considered flirting. “So that’s why you came up with the idea for another holiday. Very sneaky.”

  He chuckled. “Ah, you’ve discovered my ulterior motive. Don’t tell anyone, all right? And I hope if you need anything while you’re here, you’ll let me know. I mean that sincerely. I understand from Sage that you’re going to be staying in her place while you’re in Envy?”

  “That’s right. Apparently, her room’s been vacant for a while.” Ever since Sage and Simon had gotten together, according to Jade. Remy smiled to herself. While she was being buffed and fluffed, as Flo called it, she seemed to have gotten the entire history of half the people of Envy—or at least of Wyatt’s friends.

  She knew, for example, that the curvy, dark-haired woman who kept drawing Vaughn Rogan’s attention was Marley Huvane, and that she and Quent had some sort of history. And that Jade and Elliott had been an item ever since Elliott heard her singing in the pub shortly after arriving in Envy. They’d gotten married only a month ago. And she learned that Fence and Ana had some sort of connection to the sea. And that everyone was relieved Theo had met and fallen in love with Selena, since he’d originally had a thing for Sage . . . and when she fell for Simon, that had made things a little bit awkward.

  But there was something else about this group of men and women. Something that wove them together, that made them a cohesive group. Something between them that went beyond mere friendship.

  Remy felt as if she were missing something. Not that she was being excluded—no, they’d all been more than nice—but that there was something else she merely hadn’t yet discovered or comprehended.

  And she got the sense Vaughn Rogan felt the same way.

  So, feeling that kinship, she smiled at him, appreciating his rugged good looks in the same way any warm-blooded female would. He reminded her of that old famous soccer player—Becker, Beckton, something like that. But a little rougher around the edges. Like he could go a few rounds with something more dangerous than a black and white ball.

  “Ah. Jade’s singing one of my favorite songs,” Vaughn said, turning toward the stage. He smiled with affection rather than lust as he looked over at the songstress. “She usually manages to fit in at least one set because she knows I like it. One of the perks of being friends with the band.”

  By now the sun had sunk below the walls and most of the illumination came from flames dancing in braziers and torches set into the ground. Light from the moon and stars filtered stubbornly from behind clouds in the night sky. The air was still warm and muggy, but there was an edge to the breeze that indicated it would cool off soon. Smoke from the barbecues mingled with the scent of summer flowers and something baking.

  Remy listened to Jade singing about an island in the sun, and for a moment she was heavily aware of the fact that, despite being surrounded by people, she wasn’t with anyone. The realization of loneliness shocked her with a sudden intensity.

  But why? She’d been alone for so long . . . why did she now feel so lonely?

  As the song ended and a rumble of applause broke out, a nudge at her hip startled her. Remy looked down and gently pushed Dantès’s nose away from her white skirt. It wasn’t her dress, and she didn’t want to be responsible for dog slobber on it. “Hey, bud,” she crooned. “Where have you been?” She hadn’t seen him since Quent took him off so Flo could have their way with her and the others.

  Dantès butted her once more in the leg. Then, instead of waiting for more attention, he slipped off into the people. A prickle of awareness skittered down her spine, and she scanned the shadowy crowd.

  Her eyes locked with Wyatt’s.

  Ignoring the little jump of her heart, Remy focused instead on the well of fury inside her. “Excuse me,” she said to Vaughn. Without waiting for his response, she started off, pushing her way assertively through the crowds. She figured Wyatt would be slinking off as quickly as he could in order to avoid her.

  But to her surprise, he seemed to have the opposite intent. Threading his way through the crowd, he kept his attention focused on Remy as he made his way toward her. He was wearing a white shirt that picked up the light like a magnet, making his dark hair and golden skin look even richer in color. When they finally met up near a group of people, she jabbed a finger at his chest. “What the hell do you—”

  “Christ, Remy, be quiet,” he muttered before she could get the words out. “Shouting is not a good way to stay under the radar. And who the hell hit you?”

  She reach
ed up automatically to touch her bruises, amazed that he could even see the injuries in the low light and covered with makeup. “I ran into a duo of bounty hunters,” she replied, then, irritated that he’d redirected her demand for the crystal, began in a more strident voice, “Where the hell—”

  “Sonofabitch.” He cut her off again, this time curling his strong fingers around the wrist of her hand, which was still pointing at him. “Looks like they did a number on you,” he said as he slipped something small and solid into her palm. Closing her fingers around it, he looked down at her. His expression was as it always was: exasperated and unapproachable.

  Remy’s mouth snapped closed as she realized she was holding her crystal. Her ire evaporated, leaving her confused and speechless. He’d stolen it and then given it back to her? What the hell? When she started to barrage him with questions, of course he interrupted.

  “And clearly, you don’t have anywhere safe to put the damn thing,” Wyatt said, his eyes scoring over her. “No pockets or even—Jesus—a place loose enough to slip it into without it showing. Christ, could you be wearing anything tighter?” The disdain had her hackles rising.

  Before she could gather her wits beneath this verbal assault, he spun and stalked off. To add insult to injury, he took Dantès with him, bending over to scratch the dog behind the ears as they walked away.

  Remy stared after him, curling her fingers tightly around the crystal. She couldn’t believe he’d given it back to her so quickly and easily. She didn’t even have to ask for it. She shook her head, wondering what the hell she’d missed.

  “What was that all about?” Jade’s amused voice startled Remy, and she turned.