He gripped her arms gently and looked down at her with compassion. “I promise you that we will do our very best.”
With an agonized cry, Peggy wrenched away and ran off.
Manny gazed after her solemnly. “She’s a good woman, but she’s endured a lot. I hate to see her cry.”
Juan crossed his arms and surveyed the fort. “We’re ready as we can be.”
“Time to kill some zombies,” Rune said, grinning.
* * *
That night, when Travis finally lay down to grab a few hours’ sleep, he wrapped his arms tightly around his wife, grateful that they were both still alive. Without waking, Katie rolled over so that their unborn child was nestled between them.
Juan stretched out on his sofa, thinking of Jenni and the kids and all that had happened since the first day and gnawing on his scarred thumbnail. His old, nervous habit was somehow soothing. Jack padded out of Jason’s bedroom and flopped down next to the sofa, and the man reached down to stroke the dog’s head.
Nerit slept without fear and rose early to join Kevin on the roof of city hall. They reviewed the defense plans one last time. At one point, he took her hand. For a long moment, they gazed at each other, not saying a word, then went back to work.
Calhoun and Jason—and many others—worked deep into the night.
Katarina fell asleep alone in her bed, wearing Bill’s shirt. Her rifle was ready at her bedside.
Peggy woke her little boy to give him a glass of chocolate milk laced with strong sedatives she had stolen from the clinic. She sat with him while he happily drank this rare treat, then tucked him into bed and kissed him one last time. She waited until she was sure he was gone, then, with tears streaming down her face, went into the bathroom. She found her own peace at the end of a razor blade and faded from the world knowing that she and her child would never know the agony of being eaten alive.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
1.
Final Exit of the Wickedest Woman in Texas
Politics was a fickle lover.
One moment you were the hero; the next, the villain. But if you were clever, you could become the hero once again. The public was immensely shortsighted and had no memory to speak of. Even Nixon had been memorialized for his virtues when he died.
“It’s all going to be okay,” Paige Brightman told herself.
Tucked behind the steering wheel of the big Ford truck she had liberated from a dealership, Paige smiled in the gracious way Raleigh had taught her. She wondered what the little faggot was doing now. Probably wandering around half-eaten like the rest, unless the undead had cracked his skull open like a boiled egg and eaten his brain.
It was a shame all the men who had helped her escape from the mall had run off or died. Blessedly, she was a country gal who knew how to handle herself. Even when she’d failed to cross I-35, she hadn’t lost her way. She’d simply reassessed her situation and decided to hole up for a while in her sister Blanche’s mansion.
After months on the road, it had been good to have a few days of peace. The provisions she’d salvaged along the way had helped restore her, and she’d reveled in the opportunity to use Blanche’s grooming products and clothes.
The long days and nights alone had given her time to think. She realized she had come on too strong back at the mall. She should have taken a more motherly approach. Playing into the stereotype would have worked to her advantage.
Driving toward the fort now, Senator Paige Brightman’s appearance was dignified and feminine, with a touch of strength. She had discarded her darker suits for one of Blanche’s, a soft pink skirt-suit with rose satin lapels. Her shoes were sensible and her jewelry was gold and quartz—understated and elegant. She was ready to present herself as a kinder, gentler, better option.
She checked her gun one more time—a little .22 she’d salvaged at a sport shop. The holster was comfortably hidden under her suit jacket. She wasn’t worried—Paige was certain she could deal with the undead.
She planned to approach the fort with a motherly smile in place and a well-prepared speech spilling from her lips as if it were flowing from her heart. Tears would spring to her eyes. They would have pity on her and take her in. She would be humble and repentant before them.
Then she would work her way into their hearts and back to the top of the pecking order. She would be Mother Teresa, the Virgin Mary, and Princess Diana all rolled into one. They would forgive her and embrace her. Soon enough, she would become the fort’s leader and they would be on the road to their true destiny, the one she had planned for them. Failure was not an option. Lord knows, if George Bush could win a second term in office, she sure as hell could get her ass into the fort.
Of course, she did not admit to herself that her current plan matched Gordon Knox’s advice from the night before the mall fell.
The sun was just beginning to rise; a thin, scattered mist gave the impression that ghosts were wandering across the fields. The senator hummed to herself as she drove.
Cresting the hill, she gasped at the sight of the fort. The walls were a lot more extensive than she remembered from the photos and there seemed to be catapults mounted on several buildings. A lot of the town had been demolished, creating a no-man’s-land that ran completely around the fort.
“Interesting,” Paige said out loud, hitting the gas.
One second she was cruising along just fine; the next, her truck was nose down in a huge hole in the ground. Luckily, Paige was wearing her seat belt, so she only hit her forehead on the padded steering wheel, but the jolt made her scream. Staring out the windshield, she realized she was eye level with the road. The truck was sputtering, and steam rose from beneath its crumpled hood. What the hell? she wondered. There had been no sign of a hole.
Paige got out of the truck slowly. The hole was about three feet deep, and the bottom was a pool of unstable mud that sucked her high heels right off her feet. Panicked, she managed to grab her suitcase and fling it and herself into the truck bed. Catching her breath, she looked down and this time saw what looked like a big piece of cloth, painted to match the road, under the truck’s wheels.
“A fucking trap.” Probably for outlaws. She opened her suitcase and pulled out a fresh pair of shoes and her least favorite of her sister’s blouses, which she used to clean her feet. At least there were no undead fuckers in sight. Tucking her feet into the almost too tight black shoes, she forced herself to calm down. She would walk the rest of the way. It would be fine.
Zipping up the suitcase, Paige decided to leave it with the truck—someone could come back for it later. She twisted around and leaned into the cab to retrieve the bullhorn she’d left there. She’d found it at the same sport shop where she’d acquired her gun; even then, she was planning to present herself at the fort and knew she’d need to attract their attention.
She climbed onto the cab of the truck and then scrambled out of the hole. It wasn’t easy and she almost fell more than once before reaching the street. Paige took a moment to pat her bouffant back into place, straighten her clothes, and take a few deep breaths, intent on reclaiming her earlier mood. She had to be positive and glowing.
Walking briskly down the street, bullhorn in hand, she tripped over something and fell. As she reached out to catch herself, she heard a sharp, mechanical clang; then something invisible slammed into her and shoved her off her feet.
The senator found herself lying on the street, gazing at her severed hand a few feet away, still gripping the bullhorn. Her mind sputtered as a cascade of information overwhelmed her.
What was her perfectly manicured hand doing over there? It looked as if it had been sliced off at the wrist. She was having trouble seeing it, because liquid had begun to flow over her face. She tried to move and could not. She felt numb, but beneath the numbness, she sensed excruciating pain.
Senator Paige Brightman had no way of knowing, as she quickly bled to death, that she had triggered one of Jason’s traps. A spring-loaded frame mounted with r
azor wire had snapped upright, slicing deeply into her, easily cutting through muscle, sinew, and blood vessels.
Blood quickly flowed down the street. In moments, her eyes clouded over. Her last thought was, They don’t know I’m here. …
2.
When All That Is Left Is Good-bye
“So this is the day that decides the fate of the world,” Katie said musingly. She, Nerit, Travis, Juan, and Kevin were riding up to the ballroom together to grab some breakfast.
“Perhaps,” Nerit said.
“Guess so,” Travis said as he rubbed her back.
“Sucks, huh?” Juan said with a small smile.
“It feels…” Katie struggled to find the right word.
“Normal,” Nerit offered.
“Boring,” Travis stated.
“Annoying,” Juan finished.
Katie laughed.
“It’s a good day to die,” Kevin said from a corner of the elevator.
Katie flicked her gaze at him and shook her finger. “Oh, no! I’m not dying.”
“Keeping it positive, huh, babe?” Travis observed.
“Or just annoyingly optimistic,” Juan decided.
“Or she knows something you don’t know,” Nerit teased as the doors opened to the foyer off the ballroom.
Anyone not involved in the battle would stay here. They hoped that the ballroom—the highest point in the fort—would be safe no matter what happened. At the moment, the room was full of people finishing their breakfast tacos and saying good-bye to their small children and their elderly or disabled friends and relatives. Everyone was tense, but most partings were tender.
As Katie stepped out of the elevator, Jack bounded up to her and she leaned down to hug him.
Jack woofed, then took off. Katie followed him through the crowd to Juan’s family. All four children were sitting in a little group around Guadalupe’s wheelchair, munching on breakfast tacos. Juan paused a few steps away from his family, and Katie stopped beside him.
“She gave me four kids,” he said.
In response, Katie lifted an eyebrow. “Hmm?”
“Loca. She couldn’t have any more kids, but she found a way to give me four. Two boys, two girls.” Juan grinned. “That woman sure did get her way, huh?”
“Yes, she did.”
With a smile, Juan kissed Katie on the cheek. “Thank you for bringing my Loca to me.”
Tears sprang into her eyes and she choked up. Juan tightened his embrace, then released her and went to speak to his family.
Her husband drew near and smoothed her golden hair back from her eyes. Cupping her face, Travis kissed her lips, then pressed his forehead to hers. “We’re going to make it.”
Katie nodded vehemently. “Without a doubt.”
An ungodly smell hit them. Wincing, Katie searched the room and saw Calhoun, satellite-dish hat intact, looming in the doorway nearby.
“Calhoun, what is—?” Travis started to ask.
“The main fire trap is disconnected!” Calhoun yelled, waving his hands about as he rushed forward. “Gawddamn mind waves of the clones are disrupting my instruments and—”
Nerit strode over, carrying a half-eaten taco, with Kevin half a step behind her. “What do you mean, Calhoun?” she asked.
“I lost the main fire trap. The controls are dead!”
“Shit,” Kevin said. “We need that one to go off to ignite the area in front of the hotel. Lighting it manually will not have the same effect.”
“The zombies will not reach the outskirts for another thirty minutes,” Nerit noted. “Can you fix it in that time?”
“Sorry, Amazon lady, I don’t trust your dead incubus of a husband about the time when the zombie-clones arrive!”
“Calhoun,” Katie chided, “that wasn’t nice.”
“I don’t trust ghosts with their mysterious ways,” Calhoun retorted.
“Calhoun, that trap has to work. The fire barricade has to ignite or we might get overrun,” Travis said sharply.
Calhoun mumbled under his breath nervously.
“We got thirty minutes, Calhoun. Let’s go fix it,” Rune said, coming up from behind Katie. “Let’s do it, dude. I mean it. Let’s go!” Clad in his motorcycle leathers, Rune looked ready for war.
Calhoun looked uneasy, then said, “Okay, but I’m not riding bitch.”
With a grin, Rune dragged Calhoun toward the elevator. “Oh, yes, you are.”
“I’d better monitor them,” Kevin said, moving toward the elevator.
“Good idea. I’ll get Katarina out there to cover them,” Nerit said, joining him.
Katie turned to her husband and took away his half-eaten breakfast taco. He quirked an eyebrow at her as she began to munch on his food, then turned away to get more. Katie smiled. She felt strangely calm. Maybe it was the golden sunlight of the new day pouring through the windows or the vast expanse of light blue sky overhead, but it felt peaceful in the ballroom.
* * *
When the elevator doors closed behind them, Kevin shifted on his feet and looked at Nerit steadily. “I’ve wanted to tell you something since you woke up.”
“I already know. You don’t have to say it,” Nerit responded quickly.
“One of my men once called you the sexiest old woman around,” Kevin said bashfully. “I think he was right.” He stepped closer to her.
“You deserve to find a new family, to rebuild, once this is over. I can’t give you that.”
“But I know you feel it, too. If we were closer in age—”
“Yes,” Nerit said simply, meeting his gaze. “But that’s not the case, is it?”
“I wish it was.”
Nerit looked away and stared at the elevator door. “Me, too.”
Moving quickly, Kevin pressed a firm, hard kiss to her cheek. To his delight, Nerit blushed.
The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and Kevin stepped out.
Trailing him, Nerit took a breath. Hopefully, there would be a future for all of them to enjoy.
* * *
“And then we shoot them in the head,” Holly assured Juan.
“They’re not getting in,” Jason promised the little girl again.
“ Nieta, the monsters will not get past the walls,” Rosie assured her adopted granddaughter. “It’s not going to happen.”
“But if they do,” Margie said in an ominous voice, “we will shoot them in the head.”
“Shoot dem in da head,” Troy said firmly.
Juan laughed, loudly and sincerely, and kissed each one of them. “It won’t come to that, I promise.”
Jason rubbed Jack behind the ears. Troy flopped backwards to pillow his head on the dog’s stomach. The utter normalcy of it struck Juan to the heart. Guadalupe had fallen asleep in her wheelchair; his mother was fussing with the kids; the little ones were both impish and innocent; Jason was using his bangs to avoid revealing his feelings; and the dog lay happily in the middle of it all.
Juan would do anything to protect them. Every day, he thanked Jenni—his freaky, somewhat insane, zombie-killing girlfriend—for making this happen. He loved her and missed her, but he knew she was at peace. His children had been her final gift to him. Without their love, he would still be in mourning.
“I need to get going,” Jason said.
Suddenly, the little ones fell silent. Rosie looked somber.
“Give me a kiss, nieto,” she said, throwing her arms open.
Jason went to her, looking embarrassed. She kissed him and hugged him tight. Guadalupe stirred long enough to give him a firm kiss on the cheek.
Juan offered Jason his hand, then drew him into an embrace that said more than words ever could.
“Me, too!” Margie leaped onto Jason, who laughed as he hugged her and his other sister and brother.
Then, without another word, Jason strode away. Watching, Juan thought he might explode from pride.
“He’s a good boy,” Rosie said through her tears.
“So am I!” T
roy shouted as he leaped into her arms.
Rosie laughed and hugged the little boy tightly. “Yes, you are. Now, kiss your Daddy One.”
Somehow Juan managed not to cry as the three kids kissed him and hugged him tight. “Go kill the zombies,” Margie ordered.
“I will,” Juan promised.
“Shoot ’em in the head,” Holly instructed.
“I will,” Juan answered.
“In da head,” Troy repeated.
“In the head,” Juan assured him.
He walked away with his heart in his throat.
His children would not die today. They would not. There was simply no other choice but to win.
3.
And the Clock Winds Down …
Katie stared out the window as the ascending sun pushed away the gloom of the night. She saw her husband’s reflection in the glass and turned as he reached her, pulled her into his arms, and fastened a gentle kiss to her lips. Closing her eyes, she relished the moment and felt its sweetness fill her.
“I love you,” Travis murmured.
“Yeah, well, good. I’m crazy about you, too.”
Ruffling her hair, he winked.
Out of the throng of people eating breakfast Eric appeared, his brow furrowed, followed closely by his girlfriend, Stacey, who was crying. She was holding Pepe, their little dog, who stared up at her sadly.
“What’s up, Eric?” Travis asked worriedly.
“We have a situation,” Eric said, pain in his voice. Tears glimmered in his eyes. “Peggy’s … gone.”
“What?” Travis and Katie said in chorus. “She left?”
“No, she killed herself and Cody sometime last night,” Stacey sobbed.
“Oh, Jesus,” Katie murmured, covering her mouth with her hand.
“Shit,” Travis said. “Shit!” He shook his head in disbelief. “I knew she was scared, but I never thought…”
“She’s not the only one. There are about four more, according to reports from loved ones.” Eric sighed. “I was really hoping there would be none.”
“Peggy was going to run communications,” Katie said mournfully.
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