The Night Sweeper: A Zombie Conspiracy Novel (The Sweeper Chronicles Book 1)

by J. Steven Butler

  His skin is soft, hot to the touch, feverish from the wounds. Strong muscles tense at the contact, and I can feel the power coiled within them. His body is like a fine-tuned machine, and there’s an overwhelming pull to wrap my arms around him, to feel his strength, his warmth. But I’m afraid of scaring him away. He’s had a tough time opening up to me. I see how he looks at me, but I don’t want to push him too hard.

  But despite myself, I trace my fingers down his sides, allowing the nails to brush against his skin, and for the briefest moment, I let my hands linger at his hips, the intimate touch tantalizing. He gives a slight shake as if he’s had an electric shock. His breath catches, then speeds up. I’ve overdone it and start to pull away, but he turns to me suddenly, indecision written across his features. I see the internal struggle in his eyes, the self-doubt, but the animal pull is there for him too, warring against the fear.

  “Listen, I…” he begins and trails off, uncertain how to voice his thoughts. I take a calming breath, feeling my heart beginning to beat rapidly. He looks into my eyes and I see the terror, the inadequacy. I smile at him and place my hands on his arms, a welcoming gesture.

  I hold his gaze, refusing to look away. I want him to know that I want to be close to him as much as I know he wants to be close to me. At long last, that brave, impervious side of him wins the struggle, and he tentatively puts his arms around my waist, pulling me slowly, uncertainly to himself. For a moment we stand there, pressed to each other, his body shaking, his breathing rapid. Then our lips meet, softly at first, testing, and then building with the intense passion of the moment as he lets go of his anxiety.

  The walls of self-doubt crash to the ground as he realizes my acceptance. I get lost in him, squeezing my arms tighter around his back, longing to break down any barrier between us, to be as close as possible…until his body stiffens and he clenches his teeth, grunting in pain, stepping gently back from me as I release my grip in horrified realization.

  “Oh, Cray…” I start, but he sees the agonized expression on my face and smiles.

  “It's okay,” he says, and reaches for me again.

  But this time, instead of kissing me, he pulls me to himself and nuzzles his face into my neck. We stay that way a long time, lost in the embrace.

  He sinks gingerly onto the little bed, the blankets we used earlier now covering the ragamuffin mattress. He eases himself back and lies on his side. He moves slowly, but doesn't seem to be in as much pain as before, and for that I'm thankful.

  I walk over to the window and lower the cover, securing the latch. We're plunged into complete darkness, but it's safer that way. I feel my way back to the bed and lie down facing him. I can't see him, but he's close enough for his breath to tickle my cheeks. His lips find mine and brush them softly. From time to time, we kiss gently, but for the most part, now that we’ve stilled, we’re both too exhausted to move. After some time, I begin to be able to see him as my eyes grow accustomed to the minimal light.

  “I owe you an explanation,” I say. He doesn't question it. He knows what I mean. But he surprises me.

  “No, you don't,” he says, his voice a tender whisper. “I can't deny I would love to know everything about you, but if you need more time...”

  “No. I don't need that. I trust you.” And I do. It isn't just a platitude. I feel safe with him. “Where do you want me to start?”

  He smirks mischievously. “Are you human? I mean, you're not a robot, right?”

  “Ha! No you dork. Do robots bleed? And before you ask, I'm not a cyborg either.” He starts to say something else. “And I'm not an alien,” I add quickly.

  He laughs, then grunts. “Ugh. It hurts to laugh. But seriously.”

  I take a breath and let it fly. “Truth is, I don't know much. All I know is what Eckert's told me.”

  “I wondered if he was in the know.”

  “He knows everything, but he's very protective of me, including how much I know about my origins.”

  “So I'm guessing the story about you being the daughter of friends was a ruse.”

  “Yeah, that's not true. Eckert was involved in a government experiment, before The Virus. He said it was beyond top secret. They were playing around with genetics.”

  He makes an ambiguous noise in response. I suddenly feel uneasy, embarrassed, but I plunge ahead.

  “So, I'm the product. Something happened. Something bad. I don't know what, but everything went south. And when it did, Eckert took me and raised me as his own. He protected me. He loved me.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then I grew up. I was eight when my abilities started manifesting.”

  “Like your strength.”

  “Strength, speed, rapid healing, and the ability to control pain.”

  “Yeah, can you teach me that one?”

  I smile, and I wonder if he can see it. But then I remember that as good as my senses are, his are better. “Sorry, it comes with the genetic freakness.”

  “Crap.” But I can tell he isn't serious.

  “Hearing myself say it all out loud, it sounds ridiculous.”

  “Not ridiculous,” he says. “It's amazing. It would be hard to believe had I not seen it firsthand.” He waits a moment. “You don't remember anything about this place, do you?”

  It takes a second for me to realize he's connected the pieces.

  “I'm impressed,” I say. “You deduced that just from what little I've told you?”

  “Just a guess. You mentioned hearing about this place, about its danger. We ran into a tiger the size of a small dinosaur. Damian Harbin created a virus, and these were his digs. You said Eckert was part of an experiment. It seemed too much of a coincidence.”

  I roll onto my back and gaze at the ceiling. Outside, the rushing of the river through the dome creates a relaxing ambiance that I don't feel. I know where the conversation is going, and I'm suddenly not sure I'm ready to face it. It's the thing that's been eating at me ever since Cray told us the location of this place. He remains quiet, sensing my unease.

  I force myself to say it, even though some part of me fights against accepting the reality. “It means, I'm part of Harbin's experiments.” I hoped the confession would bring relief. It doesn't.

  He places a strong hand on my abdomen and inches closer.

  “It all makes sense,” I say, not really sure that I fully believe it yet. “I've always felt like Eckert was ashamed of whatever part he played in what happened with those experiments. I think that was the real reason he hid most of it from me.”

  “But you still trust him.”

  The words come easy. “I do. He's the best man I've ever known, Cray. Whatever happened here, whatever he's hiding, it doesn't change the man I know he is.” If Cray is skeptical, he keeps it to himself, and rather than feed my fears, he offers a reassuring answer.

  “Maybe he felt some things are best left in the past. I can understand him wanting to protect you from this. And if he was part of what happened here, that's probably why he got involved with trying to rescue Jonathan. Maybe it was a way for him to atone for past mistakes.”

  “I think he’s always known I would eventually need the answers. I think that’s why he gave me the coordinates. I think he knew one day, maybe after he’s gone, I would need to have the whole truth.”

  I hope that's true. Either way, should we survive, I think it's time me and my dad have a long, honest talk, and not just to learn about myself. If Eckert was tied to this, he likely knows a lot about Damian Harbin and The Virus. In that instant, I'm tired of secrets, and I want them to end.

  “So, do you ever get sick?” he asks.

  He must sense my mood and shifts the direction of the conversation. He's reading me like a book, and it instantly lightens my disposition.

  “I’ve hardly ever been sick in my life. It’s been years since the last time. And even then, it never lasted very long. I remember times when Eckert would have strep, or the flu, or whatever. He would stay sick for days, bu
t I would never catch it.”

  “Maybe you should have been a nurse instead of an agent,” he says with a playful smile.

  “But I’m squeamish around blood,” I say.

  He rakes his fingers softly across my stomach. It's meant to be a tender gesture, but it tickles, and I tense involuntarily, giggling like a little girl.

  “Sorry,” he says, smiling. He squints, and there's something so analytic about his expression. It finally occurs to me what his nickname means.

  “Cray, like the old supercomputers,” I blurt out. “That’s what your name means, doesn’t it?”

  He shrugs, wincing from the movement and acting a little embarrassed. “Yeah, it was a nickname from my mom. Archer liked it. I've been using it ever since he found me.”

  I sense something in the way he says the name, and it makes me think there’s a lot more there than just a working relationship. “He means a lot to you, doesn’t he?”

  He runs a hand through his short hair, his face becoming serious. His beard is starting to grow from not shaving in a few days, and it gives him a rugged, dangerous look. I would hate to be a Fester meeting him on a dark street corner. At this moment, he has the appearance of someone very lethal, and alone together on this island, I find that comforting.

  “Archer’s been good to me,” he says. “He took me in when I was on my own, trying to survive. I was still pretty young, just nineteen. He gave me a place in The Organization. He saw something in me. Saw my potential, the advantages my mind gave me. He handled most of my training himself, encouraged me, and even gave me money to help out when I needed it.

  “After my mom died, things fell apart. The Virus took her, and…well, it was just bad. I was a little kid. Dad was good before, but never really an involved father, not even then. But I know he loved mom, more than anything. And when she died, he changed. I think he had a mental breakdown.”

  His voice cracks and he's suddenly fighting for composure. Even in the darkness, it's easy for me to see the tortured expression in his eyes. His next words are barely more than a hoarse whisper.

  “I killed her.”

  “Oh, God.” It's the only response I have.

  “After that, he didn’t treat me very well. I mean, he never hit me or anything like that, but he was pretty hard on me, and didn’t mind telling me he didn’t think a whole lot of me. That was the hardest part, I think. Feeling like one day he cared, and the next he hated me. I’ve never been able to reconcile that,” he says softly.

  I don't dare press for details. He's in enough pain without reliving it. My heart breaks for him, his eyes distant, fighting tears. I may not have had real parents, but at least I was always sure of Eckert’s love.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, and lean over to kiss him gently on the forehead. I don’t know any other kind of comfort to give.

  He takes a deep breath to settle himself. “It’s all old news. Anyway, yeah, Archer was there when nobody else was. But...” He struggles before continuing, like he’s coming to a decision. “Mira, I have to tell you something. It seems so unreal, I don’t even know if I can believe it myself.”

  I lean on one elbow. “Something about you and Archer?”

  “No. Something else. When I went in for Harbin, he was a mess. But he reacted to me strangely in that cell. He acted like he recognized me. At first, I thought maybe his mind was just cracked from what he’d been through. But then at the airfield, when we were attacked and went into the woods, when you left to take care of the Festers, he started telling me things. Crazy things.”

  “About the cure, you mean?”

  “Well, yes. But there was more. He told me things about my early years, Mira. He said a long time ago I was sent away for my own protection – to keep me hidden. But it didn't work. They found me.”

  “They?” I say. He's sitting up now, animated. “Who is 'they'?”

  He shakes his head. “I don't know. He didn't tell me that.”

  “Cray, the guy had been through hell. His mind had probably snapped.”

  “But he knew me.”

  This isn't making any sense. “Of course he did, you're a famous Sweeper.”

  “The name 'Cray' is famous, but not my face. And even that doesn't hold up, because he used my real name. He called me Alex.”

  “Okay. So how many people know your real name is Alex?”

  “Archer, you, and my dead adoptive parents.”

  Oh.

  “But the worst part is, Jonathan said I'm his brother. Mira, he said Damian Harbin was my real father.”

  Chapter 22

  Cray

  Just when you think you’ve got life figured out, it comes along and kicks you in the privates to remind you that you don’t know squat.

  Everything in me wants to dismiss Jonathan Harbin's ridiculous claims offhand, but despite my best efforts, I can't stop running his words over and over again in my thoughts. He was convinced he knew me, and was convinced that I was his brother. And even if he was delusional, I can think of no way he would know my real name. But there's more than that even – something I can't bring myself to verbalize. Once he told me I was his brother, I realized why he looked familiar to me. Because he looked like me.

  I huff in the darkness, trying for the thousandth time to think of something else.

  Mira and I talked for a long time before she fell asleep. She lies cradled in my arms, her warmth providing a stark contrast to the crispness of the night. It’s a crispness that surprises me given the fact we're on a tropical island. She fell asleep about an hour ago, but I lie awake, my senses stretched to their limits. Try as I may, I can’t relax in this place. There are too many unknowns, too much potential danger, and too much pain running rampant through my body. It doesn’t help that I’m used to sleeping during the day. Rest has been fitful for me since this whole mess began, and now raw exhaustion is gnawing at me like an old, dry bone.

  I think about the amazing woman lying here with me. It’s unbelievable the things she’s capable of. To be able to do what she can, her muscle fibers, bone density, and spinal column have to be immensely denser than that of a normal human. Her skin has to be tougher to prevent the tears that would be inevitable if so much force was exerted by someone like me. She probably has a greater lung capacity, or at least lung efficiency, for her body to get the higher amounts of oxygen needed to perform at such a miraculous level. And I bet her metabolism is off the charts. I smile. She probably eats like a horse.

  She’s something completely new, unlike any person that has ever walked the planet. But at what cost I wonder? Humans weren’t made to function the way she does. I wonder if her “powers” are taking a toll on her body that will show up in time. Who knows? They may already be. I cringe at the thought. She stirs and I look down at her. I wouldn’t be surprised if her exotic beauty is even a result of genetic modification.

  What kind of man was Damian Harbin? Only monsters would find it acceptable to experiment on human beings the way he apparently did, to speak nothing of the animals. The only ways I know to describe his behavior are reckless, cruel, and immoral. Nevertheless, there's a part of me that is oddly grateful. Had it not been for him, Mira wouldn't be here.

  I think back to my night with Mira on the rooftop of the Soho, and her comment about God wanting us to leave nature alone. It makes perfect sense. She obviously enjoys her abilities, but she’s also aware of how unnatural they are. I imagine it weighs on her mind, not knowing the how and why of what she is. And now, to be thrust into the middle of it all by no choice of her own, she has to have a million questions.

  Maybe all of the answers are here to be uncovered, but survival comes first, and we need to get to that airfield. That means we'll be facing Johnson.

  I have no doubt he’s sending people in after us, and unless he plans on dropping them into the canopy of trees, they’re coming on foot from the airfield. He has no way of knowing we survived, but he’ll be hoping we did because he still wants the information he thinks
I have. Perhaps the local wildlife will take them out, but the way things have been going, I’m not gonna bet on it.

  Chapter 23

  I wake to the face of a beautiful woman, but not the one I was expecting. I blink in shock and take in my surroundings in a heartbeat. Mira is nowhere to be seen, and the door to the small house stands wide open. Judging from the light filtering through, its early morning, barely past dawn.

  As for the woman leaning over me, her clothes are well worn, but casual – jeans and a brown tank top. She’s probably in her late forties with a wiry musculature, and a slightly wild look about her. The disturbing part is that she has her hand over my mouth. That’s a bad move.

  She starts to say something, but she’s cut off as I swat her hand away from my mouth and grab her by the throat, squeezing tightly. I expect her eyes to bulge, but instead she grips my forearm with her right hand, her grip like a vice, and easily pulls my hand away from her neck. She hasn’t tried to hurt me, so I resist the urge to attack again, but before I can do anything else, Mira comes charging through the door.

  “Cray, we’ve got a prob…” she stops mid-sentence as the woman’s presence registers. The strange woman backs against the wall, both hands held up in a placating gesture.

  “Who’s this?” Mira almost whispers the question. Why the heck is she whispering?

  “How should I know, and where were you?”

  “I had to pee, do you mind?” she says in hushed tones.

  “Please, we have to go,” the woman says, mimicking Mira’s whisper

  “Why the freak is everybody whispering?” I say, but Mira rushes over, keeping a wary eye on the other woman, and puts her hand over my mouth. Okay, you’ve got to be kidding me. But then, she nods backwards and realization sinks in. I open up my hearing to its max and detect the slight shuffling of feet coming from near the entrance we came in last night, barely distinguishable over the sound of the river, but there nevertheless.

  “The men from the plane,” the newcomer says. “Please, I can help you.”