by Angel Lawson
I open the drawer and reveal a long row of files. I pull out half with both hands and pass them over. Wyatt takes them and says, “What am I looking for?”
I lift out the other half and place them on the desk.
“When Jane created the original virus, E-TR, she was working around the bureaucracy of the official government. She was tired of the red tape and wanted to do something to fight the growing fanaticism around the world. She saw ISIS coming long before the rest of us were paying attention and she used Avi’s laboratory at PharmaCorp to make it happen.”
“Right—except we know Avi was almost a pacifist. He was adamantly opposed to biological warfare.”
“Which means someone else backed her project.” I look up at Wyatt. “Do you know who hired and paid for your mission? The one to find me?”
“I worked through PharmaCorp, you know that.”
“But who really paid for it? Because we both know Avi didn’t.”
He frowns. “There’s no way your father paid for it. He was involved in stopping the spread of the virus. Not developing it.”
“There are two things I know about my father.” I pulled open two more drawers and showed Wyatt the contents. Then the closet and another file cabinet disguised as a bookshelf. “He kept papers about everything. Compulsively.”
“So he was a pack-rat.”
“He was tracking this thing from the beginning. Maybe even before the beginning. If there’s a connection between an outside source and Jane, he’ll have it.”
He sighs and sits at the chair across from the desk, files piled in his lap. “And you want that connection.”
“I don’t want it. We need it.”
“Why?”
“Because I have a hunch it’s going to lead back to Hamilton and that’s how we’re going to convince Perez to fight back.”
Truth be told, I think my father may have been more than a pack rat. The term hoarder comes to mind—particularly with papers. Anything he found useful, newspaper clippings, articles, torn out scientific journal entries that caught his eye was squirreled away, yellowing and fading in one of his cabinets. Whatever we’re looking for is a needle in a paper haystack, but just before dawn my bleary eyes stumble across a thick envelope marked ‘Grant Proposals’ in my father’s scratchy script.
“I may have found something.”
Wyatt drops the stack of files on the seat next to him and walks around the desk. He rubs his eyes, red from dust, and leans over my shoulder. Together, we flip through the sheath of papers.
The file is full of grant proposals, requests and receipts, all stamped with the seal of HSA—Homeland Security. Each a correspondence between a private company, PharmaCorp, and a particular office within HSA—research and development. Hamilton’s signature is scrawled at the bottom of each page. He’d been appointed by the President.
The first contacts were between Hamilton and Avi, starting years before. They’re not about the E-TR virus or anything pharmaceutical-related either. It seems that Hamilton was in charge of the early concept of developing Safe Cities and Avi’s building and its top-of-the-line survivalist features were of interest to the government. They wanted his expertise on how to make sustainable cities in case of a regional emergency.
Avi shared his knowledge—agreeing to a multi-million dollar consultation fee. In the files there are blueprints of Cincinnati, Winston-Salem, Bangor, and Birmingham. Unspecified money was given to HSA to start the construction. These projects were never announced publicly—only the highest state officials aware of their existence—and even then, it seemed like a distant worry.
“It seems normal until Hamilton’s needs changed,” Wyatt comments, pointing to a printed email exchange. Hamilton expressed ideas about the possibility of using parasites to make our enemies sick long enough to allow soldiers in and out of a combat zone safely. By this time my sister was a rising star at Emory University. Avi and Hamilton plucked her out of academia and into biological warfare research. That’s when Hamilton asked for the experiments to move to test subjects. Human subjects.
“I can see why Avi balked,” I say, scanning the remainder of the page. “It was too risky, not to mention violating a dozen codes and regulations.”
“That Hamilton was willing to ignore.”
“So then I guess this is where Jane came in,” Wyatt says, flipping to the next page. The paperwork continues but it’s no longer on official letterhead. They seem to be a series of handwritten notes between my sister and Hamilton as they continue the research. But it’s not just science talk—it’s something more—a philosophy.
I move the paper closer to the flashlight on the desk.
“The plans and completion of the early stages of the Safe Cities made me realize that although we’re prepared for the effect—we’re not really addressing the cause. The government is required to go through so many channels. A ridiculous amount of red tape. We’re seeing the change happen right now—the fabric of society is being altered as we speak by radicals and religious idealization. Women and children are enslaved in the name of God, while boys are led to the slaughters of war.
These battles have already reached our shores, but what is happening, just out of our line of vision, has the ability to rewrite history. And although technically my hands are tied, I’m unwilling to sit by and let that happen. There’s an answer—a way to keep our Safe Cities from ever being used. We just need to get to the warzone before our enemies gain ground. We need to eliminate the threat. We need to maintain the purity of our nation by striking first.”
I hand the paper over to Wyatt and move away from the desk. My nose itches from the dust and I have a headache. Running my hands over my face I say, “So he was the one that got her the funding to create the E-TR virus and send you and the others to spread it.”
“Looks like it.” He shuffles through a few more papers before setting them on the desk, but one. “Listen to this one, it’s dated from March—right when the Crisis began gaining speed.”
“I understand your concerns about the spread of the E-TR virus. We both knew it was a possibility. A chance we were willing to take. I think you called it “Collateral Damage,” and it’s not as though we’re unprepared. Within ten days the Safe Cities will begin lockdown protocol. The citizens in those areas will become our highest priority. Just as your facility and the staff you have acquired. Granted, it’s happened much faster than I expected but maybe that’s not a bad thing. The weak shall be culled. Yes, we will lose many good people along with the bad, but in the end the cream will rise to the top. Once the population declines we will be able to weed out the unfavorable. We can start fresh. We will be safe, our families will have protection and that is the most important thing.
Dr. Ramsey, I have no doubt that even with all of our precautions several of the Safe Cities will struggle in the aftermath of the virus. This is where you and I will step in and continue our shared vision of the future…”
“Okay I’m done,” Wyatt says with a scowl on his mouth. He drops the paper on the desk.
“Here’s the thing,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm. “I thought my sister was crazy, but Hamilton is a whole other level.”
“He knew Winston-Salem and Birmingham would have problems. He probably sabotaged them to give himself the upper hand.”
I think of the charred remains we walked through on our way out of town. It could have been natural—we’ve seen many fires along the way but then again, they should have been prepared.
“Do you think he assumes Jane is still on his side?”
“I hope so. She said she would make sure she remained useful to him.” I recall our last conversation before we left New Hope. “I knew she was hiding something. I just had no idea what.”
We blink at one another and I try to process everything. Being in my house, finding more secrets about my sister, the never-ending deceit that started the apocalypse. I’m tired but I say, “We need to get back and warn them. The Hybrids wer
e probably an unexpected road block—one he planned on using us to clean up. But he can’t be far behind.”
“We’ll go, but not until after we fuel up and rest. It’s a long ride back.”
“Four hours.”
“Each.” He holds my eye. “Four for you. Four for me.”
I sigh but nod. I’m conflicted anyway. Once I leave the house this time I know it really will be for good.
“You sleep first and I’ll check on the horse and do a perimeter check.” When I hesitate to move, he stops. “You okay?”
“It’s just a lot to take in.”
He brushes my cheek with his fingers and kisses me soft on the lips. “Rest. I’ll be back in soon.”
He leaves and I’m well aware that although he’s just doing the same thing we do every time we rest on the road, he’s also giving me space. I walk out of the office and climb the stairs to the second floor. The house feels colder up here but there’s carpet on the floor and the doors to all the rooms are open. My parents’ empty room is to the left of the stairway. To the right? My room. I feel a sense of contentment walking back through the door.
My computer sits on my desk, keyboard and screen coated in dust. My quilt, the one my aunt made and I stole out of my mother’s closet so many times that she finally gave it to me, stretches wide over the bed. Several posters I had up on the wall have fallen and are rolled up against the wall. I spot a picture of me and Liza at eighth grade graduation tucked into the corner of my mirror. We’re wearing dresses with glitter woven in the fabric and have silly smiles on our faces. I pick the photo up and stare at it. The sun was shining and no one carried a gun. We were both alive.
I hear a creak on the floorboard, the one right outside my door. The one that my mom could hear late at night if I left my room. I glance in the mirror and see Wyatt, who is large and out of place against the splash of aqua blue walls.
I hold up the picture. “Sometimes I’m jealous that she didn’t have to go through all of this.” I push it back where I found it. A relic of another life. I definitely don’t feel like that girl anymore. “Everything okay outside?”
“All quiet,” he says. “Areas like this—the ones that cleared out early either because people died or they evacuated--are fairly safe. We just don’t pass through them much because they’re so far off the main roads.”
“Maybe this is what they meant by a quiet suburban life. We just needed the apocalypse to make it happen.”
“Seems like that was Hamilton’s plan.”
He’s moved closer and my butt hits the top of my dresser, toppling a few knickknacks on the surface. I hook my finger in his waistband. “You don’t think you need to stay on watch?”
His hand moves to my hip. “I’d really rather be up here with you.”
Wyatt isn’t one to be reckless—at least with our safety—so when he leans in and kisses me with intensity, I know we’ve found a tiny slice of solitude.
We fall into one another and he lifts me off my feet, carrying me over to the twin bed. I have a fleeting moment of panic. This bed? My childhood bed? But it feels right, more than right, when he lowers me gently and kisses me all over my face and neck.
I love the feel of his weight on top of me, something real and tangible. I love his humanity and the way he loses himself in stolen moments like this one. His back is hard muscle, despite the hard days on the road. He worships me like a prized possession, which in this world, in the end? It feels good to be loved and to love.
My heart hammers in my chest and warmth spreads down my arms and legs. The adrenaline kicks in and suddenly his hands and mouth take on an entirely new sensation. His fingers burn a trail of fire down my skin.
I laugh and he stops, a frown creasing the edges of his mouth.
“What?”
“Just discovered another benefit of the EVI-3.”
The frown evaporates, transforming into a wicked grin. He flips me over and I squeal with newfound delight.
Later, wrapped under my aunt’s quilt, he tightens his arms around me. “I’ve been thinking.”
“About what?” With Wyatt it could be anything.
“After this fight we need to get out of this. Settle down.” His fingers ghost over the wedding ring he gave me days ago. I never took it off. “Get our happily ever after.”
I glance over my shoulder, looking for the hint of a smirk or a raised eyebrow. I find nothing but earnestness. “You think we can get a happily ever after?”
He kisses my forehead. “I said, our happily ever after. The kind that suits us. Suits this world.”
I rest my head back on the pillow and feel him burrow his face in my neck. It’s a lovely thought. A fantastic one, but I’ve gotten through the last two years one day at a time. Thinking about the future is asking for trouble. But then again…
“Talk to me about it again—after this thing with Hamilton is settled.”
“Deal.”
I drift into sleep, waking only when I feel Wyatt leave the bed. He quietly dresses and grabs his boots. I don’t get up until he’s gone, needing just one more quiet moment alone before we go.
I dig through my drawers, finding a couple of T-shirts I left behind. I find two pairs of jeans. One pair was too small before but now it’s a little big. I slip those on, doubling the shirts and pulling on three pairs of socks. It’s cold outside and I never regret having enough layers.
I take one last look and step in the hallway. A noise drifts up the stairs. I move to the landing. I hear a voice and the door shut. Grabbing my hatchet I rush quietly down the stairs. Wyatt’s pack is on the table. One of his guns is sticking out of the pocket.
He never leaves without his pack.
He definitely never leaves without his guns.
I creep to the door and curse when I remember we covered the window with plywood. Carefully I twist the knob, hearing the familiar creak of the hinge. I peer through the doorway, hatchet gripped tightly in my hand.
Wyatt stands on the porch. Hands shoved in his pockets, head tipped back in laughter. The sound of his voice shatters the quiet and I fling open the door, startling him and the other man.
I stare at the man—my friend—the one built like a tank, wrapped in a bear, topped off with the Incredible Hulk. He smiles at me and any anger I have from being frightened disappears.
“Hey girl,” he says and I almost trip pushing past Wyatt to give him a hug.
“You’ve been following us?” I ask Davis, his arms wrap around me like a vice.
“Since you left Catlettsburg.”
I look at Wyatt. “And you knew?”
He shrugs.
Of course. He told me he still had sources. I sigh and wave them both inside. As much as I want to be mad and possibly smack them both in the head, I can’t, because things just got a lot more interesting.
19
“I was already plotting my escape when Hamilton told me to go chase after the Hybrids. I would have left with Parker but she didn’t give me the chance.” Davis shifts in his saddle and Wyatt urges our horse to keep up. We’re on the edge of Raleigh, taking a different and hopefully faster route out of the city. “Walker and Jackson—they were sold the second we walked into New Hope. I could see the glint in Walker’s eyes. She’d found her new home. It had all the structure, discipline and the touch of authoritarian madness that she seems to crave.”
“And Jackson? Did he do it just because of her?” I ask.
“Maybe a little, but you have to remember Jackson was one of your sister’s personal Fighters at PharmaCorp. It’s likely he thrives in the same conditions. Some soldiers thrive in situations like that.” He glances at Wyatt. “Others, not so much.”
“So you ran,” I say. “Then what? You found us in Catlettsburg?”
“I figured it was a good place to start. The Hybrids and Mutts scattered like the wind. Hamilton had no idea what he was doing or what he was up against but he’s too stubborn and egotistical to admit it.”
I n
od. “That sounds like our assessment.”
“When I got to Catlettsburg I found Paul and Cole.” His jaw tightens. “I hadn’t seen that bastard in months. Not since we left Georgia and when I heard what he did to you…”
“What Chloe did to me.” I correct him. “Cole was nothing more than a pawn in this game.”
“He made his choices Alex.”
“To fight his sister.” I’m not hashing this out with Davis. I know how I feel. Wyatt does too which is why he’s silent in front of me. “Did you hurt him?”
“I wanted to. But we need as many able-bodied men as possible and Paul assured me he would fight.” He gives me a wary glance. “He’s also still scary as hell.”
Wyatt and I both laugh because Cole is beyond dangerous, but I do think he’s trying.
“Speaking of,” Wyatt asks. “Where are we meeting him?”
“At the off ramp to Burlington. Hopefully he won’t be alone.”
Paul, Cole, and Davis holed up in Catlettsburg while we were being processed in New Hope. They knew they had a split second before the dust settled and Hamilton would send us out to catch them. They worked out a plan; Davis would track us, Cole would go on the search for Mutts, and Paul would head west.
“West? Alone?” I asked. We were sitting at the table in my kitchen. The idea of Paul headed through the Hybrid-infested Death Fields alone doesn’t sit well with me.
“He’s going to check on Birmingham. See what’s happening there. Hamilton mentioned both cities down south, but Winston-Salem seemed a priority.”
“Wait. Were you there when we were ambushed by the Hybrids in the mountains?”
“I was tailing Paul and Cole. Oh and that girl they picked up.”
“So you watched that whole fight and didn’t think of helping?” I asked, thinking about how another set of hands would’ve been useful.
“You guys had it under control.”
I glared at Wyatt. “And when did you find out?”
“Shortly after that. I found him creeping around the house one night while I was on watch. I nearly shot him in the face.” The two men smiled at one another like that was hilarious.