by JE Gurley
Mace spotted Cy leaning against one of the solar cells staring at the graves. With his ear festooned by a dozen piercings, a diamond nose stud gracing his right nostril, and rings encumbering the fingers of both hands, Cy still resembled a punk rocker, but his attitude had changed after the Biosphere2 battle. He was still a loner but no longer aloof. Mace decided to speak with him. Though wearing only a light, short-sleeved shirt, Cy seemed oblivious to the cold. Focused on the two graves, he paid no attention to Mace until Mace was within a few feet of him.
“Aren’t you chilly?” Mace asked.
Cy shrugged his shoulders and turned away, eyes downcast.
“He didn’t suffer.”
Cy jerked his eyes up and leveled them on Mace. “How do you know?” he challenged.
“Elliot told me. Seth knew what had to be done. He asked Elliot to do it.”
Cy’s chest heaved one time and a sigh burst from his lips. “It’s not right. He didn’t need to die.”
“It was an accident, son. It was no one’s fault. He didn’t want to risk infecting anyone else. He died heroically.”
“Do you really believe that?” His voice held no touch of sarcasm. Mace believed Cy was truly grasping at a reason for Brisbane’s death.
“Yes, I do. He could have whined or begged for his life. Maybe Erin or one of the others would have felt sorry for him and tried to help him. Others could have died, maybe all of us. He knew that and did the right thing, the only thing he could.”
Cy stared at him for a moment; then nodded his head. “He said he would like to face death like a man when the time came.”
“Sometimes you have to ante up. He did. You should be proud of him.”
“He was my friend. I don’t have many.”
“That’s because you avoid the others. They would be your friends if you offered the same in return.”
Cy turned away. His voice cracked slightly when he replied, “It isn’t easy.”
No one knew Cy’s history. He had refused to talk about it. Mace did know that Nick Harris, the Hunter spy, had lied to and used Cy to do some things for which Cy was terribly ashamed. Since joining them, he had worked hard to earn their trust. He was one of the few people that Mace felt he could trust, if only he could forgive himself.
“Don’t grieve too long,” he told Cy. “Let’s go eat some lunch.”
Cy shook his head. “I don’t think I can.”
“Then come and sit with the others. It will make them feel better. Brisbane was their friend too.”
He might not have really believed Mace, but he forced a slight smile to his lips. “Really?”
“Sure. Come on.” Mace waited until Cy began walking and then followed him to the dining trailer.
The midday meal was a subdued affair. Trish’s absence was duly noted, but no one commented. Somehow, the leftovers from the previous day’s celebration held less flavor and provided less comfort to those gathered around the large table, chewing slowly, their thoughts more on recent events than the food on their plates. Occasionally, someone would look up in a quick furtive glance, and then resume contemplating their food as if fearing that their innermost thoughts and fears would be visible on their faces, or conversely, that they would see those fears mirrored in their companions’ eyes.
When Trish walked in toward the end of the meal, all eyes turned toward her. She stopped at the door, coldly returned their stares, and sat defiantly at the end of the table where they could all see her. Like the others, she picked at her food, eating little. The rattle of dishes and the clinking of silverware on plates became quietly thunderous in the silence. Erin was the first to break the silence.
“Your friend was past all help. He died minutes after we began working on him.”
Trish set down her fork and glared at Erin. Her hands curled into fists on each side of her plate. “His name is Bob Krell.”
The bitterness of Erin’s reply surprised Mace. “I don’t care what his name was. We did all we could do for him. I’m sure you did all you could do.”
“He was my friend. You shot him.”
Erin’s face turned hard. “We shot a dangerous zombie. We buried him beside my friend who died two days ago. If I don’t have time to grieve for my friend, I’m certainly not going to take time to grieve for a zombie.”
“You people are cold. Don’t you have any spark of humanity left? Bob just wanted to find his family.”
“Bullshit. Your friend wasn’t on a rescue mission. He was trying to assuage his guilt. He waited a whole year to see if his family was safe, knowing they were long dead. He just wanted to bury the past so he could get on with his life. We all do. I’ve been shuttled around the country to five locations since the outbreak. I’ve watched people die all around me. My colleagues and I have spent every waking moment working on a vaccine, when we’ve not been fighting Hunters or the military or zombies. One foolish death more or less doesn’t move me. I’ve become inured to death. My friends risked their lives to rescue you.” She turned to stare at Elliot. “Now, they’re going to risk them again to return you to your people. I’m not sure you’re worth it.”
She stood and left the room. As Elliot began to rise to follow her, Mace gently shook his head. He realized Erin was saying what everyone else was thinking. It was better that Trish grasped the reality of the situation. Silence returned to the table in Erin’s absence. After a while, in twos and threes, they left the dining hall. The two people on kitchen duty began to silently clear the table. Trish sat with her eyes closed, her head lowered over her plate, slowly clenching and unclenching her fists.
Elliot remained. He cleared his throat and said, “Erin takes every death as a personal affront to her ability to save people. She did all she could for your friend. We’ll get you back to your group.”
Trish raised her head and stared at him. “Why?
“We need you to warn them that they aren’t safe. The military is moving into Tucson. If they follow their pattern, they’ll gas the city to kill the zombies. Your friends will just be collateral damage.”
“Why should you care what happens to them?”
“They’re survivors. There are few enough as it is.”
“But we’re not welcome here.”
Mace joined in the conversation. “We tried that once before. Too many people died as a result. Our job is to find a vaccine. There’s not enough room here for more people.”
“So we’re on our own.”
“You’ve been on your own for a year and you’ve survived so far. That shows a certain degree of resourcefulness. We’re sitting targets here. The military wants Erin’s group. The rest of us are expendable. If I did what I should, you wouldn’t go anywhere. You know where we are. That makes you a threat.”
A quick look of fear crossed Trish’s face. “So now you’re going to kill me?”
Mace shook his head. “No. I might have, once, but the others are a little more forgiving than I am. We’ll take you to your people and hope you don’t talk.”
She shook her head at him. “I don’t understand.”
“What he’s trying to say in his long-winded, roundabout way,” Elliot said, “is that we’ll help you and your friends, but we won’t take you in. We can’t. It’s not safe for you.”
She visibly relaxed as the tension drained from her face and her body. “When?”
“Eat some food, rest up. You’re in no condition to travel. In a few days. Maybe a week.”
“Thank you,” she mumbled.
They left her there to finish her meal and walked outside. Elliot went in search of Erin, while Mace sought out Renda. He found her outside one of the trailers practicing with her guan dao. He had tried the double-bladed weapon a few times, and though he liked the three-feet-long blade at its business end, found it unwieldy. He preferred a machete as a cutting blade. In her practiced hands, it became a part of her body, an extension of her fighting will. She planted her left foot, took a step forward on her right foot as she lung
ed the blade forward and up in a blow that would have split a zombie in half. Stepping back, she swung the blade in a vicious decapitating arc, ending with the guan dao across her right shoulder. She then spun her body as she lowered the guan dao in a blow designed to hack off the legs of any opponent, rendering him immobile. In spite of the coolness of the day, sweat poured from her body.
“How are my babies doing?” Mace asked from a safe distance. Renda looked fine, but she was breathing harder than she usually did after exercise. He wished she would take it easier on herself.
She turned and smiled. She planted the guan dao in the dirt at her feet and patted her rotund belly. “We’re both tired and hungry.”
“You missed lunch,” he pointed out.
“I needed to work off some tension,” she replied.
“About what?” He knew the answer, but he had learned over time to let her articulate it in her own words. As he expected, she came directly to the point.
“You’re taking her back.”
“I have to.”
She stared at him. “No, someone has to, but why you?”
He smiled and shook his head. “Erin asked Elliot almost the same thing last night. We need to do this quickly and deliberately. We drop her off and hurry back. For that, I need people I trust. Elliot, Vince and Amanda make a good team. I’m just driving the bus.”
“We made a good team once,” she answered, glancing away.
He walked to her, reached out, and brushed her cheek with his hand. “We’re the best team, but you’re almost eight months along. If anything happened to you …”
She leaned into him. He inhaled the scent of her perspiration as if it was a fragrant perfume. “I have a confession to make,” she whispered.
“What?”
“I went to Erin a couple of days ago for an examination. She confessed that her Obstetrician’s skills are limited but that she had been reading up on the subject.”
“So?”
“She admitted that her estimation of my due date might be off.”
Mace took a deep breath and asked, “By how much.”
Renda turned her head and smiled. “Let’s just say that instead of a January baby, we might get a Christmas present.”
His legs felt wobbly. That explained her large belly, but it was a shock nevertheless. “M-maybe you should rest,” he stammered.
She chuckled at his nervousness. “I’m fine, but you see why I want you here.”
He clasped her hand in his. “I understand, but I have to go. Look, you’re one of the solidest people I know. They need you here while we’re gone. I need you here. If anything happens, I know you’ll get them motivated.”
Her eyes began to tear up. She swiped them away with the back of her hand. “Oh, dammit! These damn hormones are working overtime.”
He wrapped her in his arms and buried his lips in her hair, kissing her head. They clung to each other for several long minutes, basking in each other’s love. He smiled when he felt the baby kick once. For that brief second, he was the happiest man in the world. Too quickly, Renda broke free and frowned.
“I need a shower. I stink.”
“You smell like love to me.”
She stared at him a moment. “If you’re not too busy, once I’ve showered, I could use some of your special brand of comfort.”
She ground her hip against his groin. He glanced around to see if anyone was watching, but they were alone. “Dang it woman, you’re just using me as a sex toy.”
“You betcha. Batteries are hard to come by.”
“Are you sure? With the baby …”
“Be gentle with me,” she whispered, and then laughed.
“Give me ten minutes.”
She cocked her head to one side and said, “I’ll be ready in nine. Don’t be late.”
He watched her saunter off, feeling a warm stirring in his loins. He failed to notice her slight limp. “Damn that woman knows how to push my buttons,” he muttered to himself. “Christmas present. My God.”
7
Phoenix, Arizona
General Chadwick Lawrence Hershimer sat at his desk signing papers as the arriving C-130 Hercules rumbled overhead. He thought it strange but somewhat comforting that even during an apocalypse, the paperwork never seemed to stop. Somewhere in the very building in which he sat, scores of army clerks worked feverishly to see that every ‘T’ was crossed and every ‘I’ dotted. He needed soldiers and he had a platoon of paper shufflers.
The C-130’s wheels screeched as it touched down, it’s four turboprop engines roaring and the brakes squealing as they fought to stop the massive sixty-five ton plane. It taxied down the runway until met by light baton-waving men who directed it to a parking spot. The former Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport was now a hub of activity. Supplies came into Phoenix by rail from across the country for distribution by plane and rail to areas most in need. Phoenix was secure. There had been no zombie attacks in months. The zombies not immediately killed by the Sarin gas had all moved north. In fact, scouts reported that many zombies from other cities were moving toward the north and into heavily forested areas. He did not know why nor did he care as long as they were no longer his problem. Rebuilding a country was. President Samuel Hastings, a former Senator from New Hampshire, had declared the retaking of western cities a major priority. The East Coast with its collection of dead dinosaur metropolises could wait. Phoenix was the key to the entire operation.
The death of Major Corzine at Biosphere2 had not affected him overly much. Like most commanders, he feared and resented the wide scope of the Major’s power. News of his death had almost brought a smile to his lips. However, the loss of men and materiel had been unacceptable. There had been no survivors to relate the whole story, but the defeat of trained men at the hands of civilians had sent waves throughout the entire military chain of command. He didn’t like waves. They drew attention to him. Put him in the spotlight. Before the zombie plague, he had been just another bird colonel, riding a desk at a training facility outside Des Moines. Phoenix was his chance to shine, to rise above the rest. He intended to make the best use of the opportunity. Setbacks like Corzine’s disaster made him look bad.
He had known General Perry, late commander of the Naval Station in San Diego, personally. Perry had attempted to buck the system and it had cost him his rank, maybe his life, since Perry’s whereabouts were presently unknown. He had simply dropped off the face of the Earth. General Hershimer intended to see that things in Phoenix went by the book.
Dissent in the ranks rankled him. That upstart ditch-digging colonel in Salt Lake City, Schumer, wanted an end to the forced detention of munies; called it inhumane, as if letting thousands die was somehow more humane. Times had changed. The Judgment Day Protocol had kept the country’s government relatively intact when most nations had withered. Someone had to pay the price of freedom. When the lab guys created a real vaccine, things would go back to normal. Then they could get on with the process of ridding the country of zombies.
A grimace of disgust crossed his face. “Damn over-breeding animals,” he said to the empty room. A second C-130 rumbled overhead preparing to land, eliciting a wry smile from him. He eyed the four armored vehicles parked near the first C-130 waiting to load. The two C-130s and eighty men would go to Salt Lake City and take control.
“We’ll show that damn ditch digger he can’t buck the system.”
8
Uncompahgre Plateau, Colorado
The small New Apostle village was a collection of tents, log cabins, and lean-to huts centered around a larger tent with a hand hewn six-foot wooden cross outside. Jeb counted roughly thirty people involved in the daily tasks of washing clothes, cooking meals, and building more cabins. Except for the occasional pair of glasses and the solar oven standing side-by-side with a haunch of elk roasting on a spit over an open fire, it would have passed for any medieval European village from the Middle Ages. Most men wore loose robes over blue jeans or work pants. The
women wore longer robes, leaving no doubt that they were a religious order. None wore coats or jackets, but Jeb suspected that beneath the robes they wore multiple layers of clothing to ward off the cold. Ahiga disappeared into a tent, but Brother Malachi escorted the group to a small knoll some fifty yards from the village proper.
“This is a good spot for you, near the stream and away from my people. Until we establish mutual trust and a bond, it would be best for us to remain apart. No Children will harm you. We will share our food with you. Canvas for tents will be brought to you.” He pointed to the tent with the cross. “That is our Temple. Services are at sunrise and sunset. You are not required to attend, but I hope you will show some curiosity about our purpose.”
With this, he walked off. Ahiga emerged from the tent with a second tall man, younger than Brother Malachi, wearing a white robe. His face was stern as he surveyed the strangers. He spoke a few words with Ahiga, and then strode briskly to intercept Brother Malachi. The two exchanged heated words, but the older man waved his hand to dismiss him. By his glare as he stared at the group, Jeb knew the younger man was not happy with their presence. Jeb expected trouble from him.
His own group was quiet and subdued, overwhelmed by the enormity of their situation and the ten-mile hike. They stood around close together as if expecting trouble. Many still had their weapons at hand and looked nervous enough to use them. He watched with interest when half an hour later, four women brought bundles of canvas to them. They left without speaking and without making eye contact with the newcomers. His people continued to look torn between staying and running. He knew he had to get them focused.