by LC Champlin
Trading the Bible for the John Grisham book, Albin slid out of his bunk. Other people occupied their slots at this evening hour, but more from lack of adequate diversion than a need for rest. Some gathered in one of the common rooms to watch the news. It told only of the deteriorating State of the Union. The terrorist attacks ceased, but the cannibal infection still ran rampant. Recovery crews undertook a difficult task under normal circumstances, much less when dealing with cannibals. Rioting also plagued cities. As supplies ran low and clean water grew scarce, looting began.
Reviewed in light of these developments, the ship began to look less distasteful. Then again, a prison cell might also seem appealing. Protection, food, and water amounted to the stuff of life now. Did Mr. Serebus feel this way in his cell? Albin rolled his shoulders in discomfort at the thought, but the dark man had brought it upon himself.
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The staples in Nathan’s arm ceded their grip without issue. On to the thigh. After exiting the vehicle, he stripped off his pants and set to work. This required less time since he could use both hands.
One area left: the back. That would prove a challenge on his own. Pants back on, he climbed into the Humvee. “Officer Rodriguez, would you please remove the staples from my back?”
A look of distaste greeted him. “It’ll wait until we get to our destination. Who knows, you might not even have to worry about taking them out.”
“If they’re going to execute me, then at least give me a few comfortable moments before I die.” He shrugged without emotion. He’d faced death many times. Hell, he actually had died once, going into cardiac arrest.
“Why should you have any comfort?” she sneered.
“I shouldn’t. Consider it along the lines of a last meal.”
She sighed. “Take your damn shirt off then.”
“Thank you.” Grunting, he peeled off the undershirt. Blood made it stick to his skin. At least the blood didn’t come from him. “Tell me, Officer Rodriguez, do you have any family in the Bay Area?”
“They’re all in New York.”
“I remember you mentioning them. Are they safe?” He handed her the wire cutters and pliers.
“I don’t know yet.”
I know the feeling. “Do you have a significant other? Kids?”
Rather than snapping a what do you care, she wore a wistful smile. “No. I have a few nephews and nieces. I didn’t have time to make a real family. My mom’s still pissed about that.”
He turned his back to her. “Do you plan on having one at some point?”
“I’m not a real kid person, but it’s supposed to be different if it’s yours,” she commented as she turned on the dome light.
“It is.” A dagger of guilt jabbed him.
“Hold still.” Pressure on his back. Snip.
“Does your family worry about you, considering your job?” Conversation distracted from the task at hand. Or at back.
“A lot of my relatives are first responders. They know what the job is. The ones that are on the other side would cheer if a bad guy took me out.”
“Pardon?”
“My brother was a drug dealer.” She paused, took a breath, then continued, “When I was five, we were going to get a popsicle from the ice cream truck. I heard tires squeal. All I remember is him coming around me, hugging me. There were popping noises. We both went down. The bullets hit him but not me. He died.” She spoke without emotion as she worked her way down the line of staples. She removed them with more gentleness than expected.
“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how that must have felt.”
“I got over it. It was part of why I decided to become law enforcement. I wanted to stop the bad guys. But then I realized there was more to it.”
“Yes?”
“You’re done.”
“Thank you.” Back on went the shirt.
“It’s about justice, but it’s not always as clear-cut as you think.”
He shrugged into the uniform top as he gave her a sidelong look. “You mean things aren’t as black and white as they appear?”
“Crime is black and white. Justice isn’t. They say Justice is blind, so we have to see for her. But it’s hard.” She fell silent.
“It’s difficult to see things from the perspective of others.” He buttoned up his shirt.
“Impossible, sometimes.” She settled back into her side of the vehicle. “But even though it feels like playing God, the court does the best it can with what it has.”
Chapter 13
Hold Fast
Way Out There – Lord Huron
As Albin stepped away from his bunk, the hatch to the sleeping quarters opened. A pale, grey-haired, grey-eyed man in his forties entered. His life experiences had added a decade to his appearance. Mikhail Kuznetsov, chief hardware engineer at Arete Technologies. He had turned against his employer Mr. Serebus to join Albin. Vague memories of the Russian visiting during the hospital stay surfaced.
Albin halted. “Good evening, Mr. Kuznetsov.”
Worry and relief chased each other across Kuznetsov’s face. “Mr. Conrad, I’m so glad to see you up and around. I was worried. We were all worried,” he added quickly. He gave a nervous smile as he approached. “I didn’t come earlier, because I thought you’d want time to recuperate.”
“Thank you for your concern and consideration. Is there something I can assist you with?” Or did the engineer make a purely social call?
“I—That is, when Mr. Serebus, ah . . .” He looked away. His English only failed when it suited him.
“Was there something Mr. Serebus wanted of you?”
“Here.” From his pocket he fumbled a wallet and smartphone. “He wanted me to give these to you.”
Albin received them. “They are his.”
“He said he wouldn’t need them anymore and that I should give them to you.”
“I see.” Not giving them a second glance, Albin placed them in the storage unit under his bunk. “How are you faring? I know you’ve been through much. I regret our path took this course.”
The Russian shook his head, looking away again. Sadness permeated him even more than normal. He had likely depleted his supply of antidepressant medication.
“I’m doing as well as can be hoped for, I suppose. There’s not much to do here, but I try to stay busy. It keeps me from thinking about . . . things.”
“What are your plans?”
“My plans?” Kuznetsov wet his lips. “Are you going to return to New York as soon as possible?” When Albin hesitated, the engineer backpedalled: “I assumed that was the plan . . .” He trailed off, looking to the attorney for direction.
“You’re free to do as you please.”
“What are you doing?” Desperation strained Kuznetsov’s voice. “Aren’t you going back to see Mrs. Serebus and her son? Your family, that is?”
Albin remained silent, regarding the Russian without emotion.
Uneasy, Kuznetsov rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, did I say something—I only meant—”
“I cannot return to Mrs. Serebus without seeing what has become of her husband. I have a responsibility to them.”
“But the government has him in custody. I don’t even know how they’re going to do a trial in this situation. I assume they’ll wait, or—”
“They will try him before a military tribunal if they consider him an enemy of the United States and an ally to terrorists. They could sentence him to death, or simply make him vanish. Considering the country’s current lamentable situation, few people will notice his disappearance. If they choose to make him a public scapegoat rather than a burnt offering, it will save his life, but at what cost? His life will be destroyed in nearly every other way.” Depression chilled Albin’s heart and brought an ache.
“But . . .” Kuznetsov slid his hands in his pockets and looked down at his shoes. “He did cause chaos and the deaths of many people. And have yo
u forgotten”—he met Albin’s gaze fully—“he tried to murder you. More than once.”
“He also saved my life.” Which had come after the attempted murders. “To his credit, he did attempt to protect his people. However, he was not thinking properly. He admitted this. If he had not felt remorse for his actions, he would not have brought me to medical services, nor would he have turned himself over to the government. He has taken responsibility for his actions.”
A sad smile touched Kuznetsov’s lips. “Your loyalty is admirable. I wish I had your strength.”
“I am not asking that you accompany me. I am simply informing you of my plans. I advise you return to New York. Take Mr. Shukla with you.”
“Yes, he wants to return home. Marvin Bridges would like to return to Washington, D.C.. But he’s torn. He feels like he should help the people here.”
“That sounds appropriate for Bridges. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I was about to visit Amanda.” Albin moved to step past Kuznetsov, then paused. “Do you know where I can find her quarters?”
“I can take you.” Kuznetsov brightened at the chance to guide. “I’m allowed to escort since I’ve had enough experience navigating the ship.”
Blast. Having a talkative Sailor, while irritating, trumped Kuznetsov’s hovering. Contrary to expectations, however, Kuznetsov kept silent and provided Albin personal space as they navigated the halls.
When they reached the women-only bunk that hosted the Musters, Albin requested permission to enter from the nearest female. She left to retrieve Amanda.
He turned to address Kuznetsov. “Thank you for your escort. You need not wait for me.”
The Russian hesitated, as if he did not understand the hint. Then he nodded and stepped back. “All right. It was good to talk to you.” Worry did not dampen his smile this time.
“Likewise.”
Chapter 14
Let Justice Roll On
The Me in Me – Watt White
“Rodriguez . . .” Nathan trailed off, eyes on the Book in his lap. “What do you think justice for me would be?”
“What?” As if he asked an impossible question.
“What do you think should be done with me?”
A growl of exasperation. “Look, I’m not a lawyer or judge or jury. I’m just the person who catches the bad guys and takes them in.”
“You said you wanted justice done, that it’s not simply about ‘catching the bad guy.’ You’ve caught me already.”
She drummed her fingers on the door. “There’s not a way to make up for what you’ve done.”
“That can be said of any infraction of the law.” Any crime—any sin.
“You let cannibals loose across the city because you thought you could control them. You instigated looting. You were prepared to lead neighborhoods in revolt against the government.”
It sounded vaguely familiar. “I would have returned power,” he murmured.
“You tried to kill your best friend.”
He turned to stare at her. “I did?” Only darkness met his fumbling through memories.
“How can you not remember that?” She rubbed her temples in frustration. “I’m sure it’s your fault he ended up with a knife in his neck and one in his side, too.”
“I . . .” Images of a blond man covered in blood and leaning against him blazed across his mind. Groaning, Nathan doubled over, pressing his hands over his eyes. His ribs ached as pain exploded in his head. Memories filtered back, like toxic waste dripping from a corroded barrel. “I didn’t stab him. Red Chief”—the demonic mercenary leader—“did it. I tried to save Albin.” Albin. That was his name!
“Hah, yeah, you’re a real hero.”
He sighed. “I’m a villainous viper, just like my father-in-law calls me. But it’s who I am; I apparently can’t be anything else.” That which he did not wish to do, that he did. “It’s true you reap what you sow. I thought I could do as I pleased to everyone, with victory as my only goal. But . . .” He sighed and leaned back. “Obviously that’s not the case.”
“I don’t know about any of that, but”—she glanced his way—“I know you turned yourself in to save your friend. I guess that’s something to your credit.”
Nathan rolled his shoulders experimentally. “Thank you for removing the staples. It feels much better.”
“You’ll have the scars, but they won’t be too noticeable if you take care of them.” Did she mean his physical scars or his psychological wounds? Physical, likely, because the rest still festered.
“Rodriguez, thank you for . . .”
“For what? I’m taking you to be tried and sentenced.”
“For helping me see myself from a different perspective.”
“If you say so.” Shrug. “I still think you’re a crazy bastard who I should have been able to arrest a week earlier than I did.”
“I’d have fewer charges to my name if you had. But I suppose that there’s only so much punishment one can receive. As the saying goes, if you’ve killed ten people, one more won’t matter.” A wry smile accompanied the last sentence.
“That’s not a saying.”
“It is now.”
“Depends who number eleven is, I guess.”
“Mm.” Like his best friend?
“Serebus,” she began, questioning, “I know your memory, among other things, is fucked right now, but you seem calm about the sentencing. Aren’t you worried they’ll bring the death penalty? Or life in prison?”
Rather than the anxiety he should feel, peace pervaded. “I’ve looked death in the eye more times than I care to remember. I’m not afraid.” An abiding but inexplicable faith assured he would not die as the government scapegoat. He would not spend his life in a solitary-confinement cell, either. God had chosen him. God had sent him. And God would complete what He had begun. “I am on a mission from God,” he breathed.
“What would God want with you?” she scoffed.
“That’s what I plan to find out.”
Headlights appeared from the direction of the murdered town. He sat up. The killers? Or more vengeful locals? Perhaps someone had decided to make a late-night run across the wasteland to the Wal-Mart in Santa Fe.
Nathan glanced at Rodriguez. “What do we do? Try to flag them down?”
Indecision flashed across her face. “They’ll probably stop anyway. I don’t want to be a target—”
“I’ll go.” He climbed out of the vehicle. Maglite up, he stepped into the middle of the road.
The truck slowed, its motor rumbling. Wait, that pickup—it belonged to Sophia. Did she return to kill the people she blamed for her village’s destruction? Damn, having to face the murderers might prove a better outcome. At least he knew how to deal with them.
The truck halted. The driver door opened and Sophia stepped out. She held the hunting rifle pointed at the ground.
“Hello,” he greeted her, cautious.
“We dug up the grave. You were right.” Letting out a sigh, she swung the rifle up to rest the barrel against her shoulder. “I know it wasn’t your fault my people were murdered. Your people were slaughtered too.”
“Thank you. I truly am sorry about your people. I tried to help the boy—”
“I know.” Her gaze smoldered with . . . anger? Pain? Vengeance? “I can take you two as far as San Ysidro. You’re on your own from there.”
“Where are your friends?” The men.
“They—” She cleared her throat. “They touched the black blood from those . . . cannibals, the news says. We hadn’t seen them out here. In the dark it was easy to confuse their bodies for more dead.”
Shit. Fucking damn shit. “I’m sorry.” He should have burned them or hidden them. His fists clenched around the Maglite. Again he’d cost people their lives.
“We killed those creatures,” he blurted. “I should have done something with the bodies. Again, my deepest sympathies. If there’s anything I can do—”
<
br /> “Get in the back of the truck.” She jerked her head toward the Ford’s bed. “It’s another fifteen or so miles to San Ysidro.”
“Thank you.” With a nod, he started toward the vehicle.
“Wait. What’s that in your hand?”
“What?” In his non-flashlight hand he still held the Bible. “I found this in the Bronco.”
“I gave that to Father Jose. I thought he might want to read it, even though it’s not his Catholic Bible.”
“I’ve been reading it,” Nathan responded lamely.
“Hola,” Rodriguez called as she exited the Humvee. “You came back.”
“Yeah. Get in the back of the truck. We’re going to San Ysidro.”
Chapter 15
Confessions
Drink the Water – Justin Cross
A beaming Amanda met Albin at the door to her group’s quarters. “Albin! It’s good to see you. Come in.” She waved him in.
“Thank you.” He ducked through the hatchway, into the bunk area’s confines.
“Is there something I can do for you?” She evidently knew he would not visit simply for social interaction.
“I came to return the book you lent me. Thank you.” He proffered it.
“You’re welcome. Did you enjoy it?” She smiled as she received it. Her hand brushed his.
“I found a typographical error. Likely it was a type-setting mistake.”
Shaking her head, she chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
He allowed a slight smile. “Yes. Tell me, Amanda, what are your plans?”
“Come sit down.” Turning, she led the way to another room, where crates served as benches in the common area. Straps anchored the boxes to the floor. “We’re going to wait out this situation until we can return home. I have some friends and family in California, so if they drop us off anywhere in the north, we’ll manage.”