by Evans, John
On the other end of the line, Wes sighed. “You got the money?”
“It’s all yours. Minus a few traveling expenses.”
“Who is this generous person I’m talking to, by the way?”
“Nicolette Waters,” Nic said, without hesitation. “Feel free to run the name. It’ll only tell you I’m not someone you want to fuck with.”
Another thoughtful pause. This guy didn’t panic, he merely analyzed as much as possible and then took action. “Fine then,” McIntyre responded at last. “Get to the CDC alive, without that little newsflash going over the airwaves, and I’ll see your patient is cured. Fair enough?”
“Got it. Leave the light on for us.”
“Safe travels,” McIntyre said, and Nic hung up the phone.
#
Riding in the back of the ambulance, Quarles was still wrestling with the magnitude of his charges’ betrayal. He had split them up because he was afraid they were too decent, too loyal, to kill each other if infection occurred. But he never imagined they would take it this far. This had made a mockery of v-laws, of personal integrity, of everything he thought they stood for.
“You’re going to be just fine, hang in there sir,” the paramedic assured him.
Quarles didn’t answer. He could only study the heavily bandaged stump where his hand used to be. It was his prized pupils’ parting gift, to make sure he didn’t forget his failure to teach them well enough. The fact that he had walked away from that accident with nothing worse than a missing hand was a miracle.
It told Quarles that God had a mission for him.
If Waters and Masakawa simply disappeared into the wilderness, the speculation would run rampant. Doubt would ripple through the department. The idea of a true believer would seem like a farce. The brink of chaos Seattle teetered on would become too slippery and before you knew it, Quarles would only have cynical killers like Gary Smith to depend on.
Quarles knew he had to go after them. He had to set things right or he would lose the entire department. If his best officers ran, they had to pay. Otherwise everyone’s sacrifices — all the summary euthanasias and Evaluation Centers and health certificates — were just empty bullshit.
Angie would have to understand that the safety of the city was at stake. Whether he came back or not, he had to go after them.
Suddenly resolute, Quarles glanced at the paramedic. “I’m kind of in a hurry. How long you think it’ll take for them to give me a nice, sharp hook?”
The woman could only stare at him, at a loss for words.
“Forget it,” he said, and dialed his phone with his good hand.
“Uncle Frank,” Armstead immediately answered. “How goes the battle?”
“I need your help kid. We got some runners. You busy?”
“Not at all. Ready to roll.”
“Outstanding. I just gotta warn you… They’re good.”
“If they’re city folk coming out here… It really doesn’t matter.”
Even Quarles found his quasi-nephew’s words a bit unnerving, or was it the cold certainty in his voice? Regardless, he knew Waters and Masakawa had never faced anything like Mike Armstead’s kid.
For a moment, he pitied them, and then the rage returned.
#
Nic just drove. They had a lot of miles to cover and most of it was through territory the government no longer tried to control or keep safe. Only those hardy (crazy?) enough to dwell between the fortress cities and readily defensible townships dwelled in these vast swathes of land, the America that Americans had given up on.
Can we make it?
She glanced at Lena in the backseat, still as healthy, radiant and beautiful as she was the night before. A little tired, maybe, but still Nic’s sun, moon and stars. And Lena was still carrying their baby, someone they could love, protect and teach what needed to be learned.
Assuming this road didn’t prove too hard and too long.
Nic looked over at Winter, who seemed as laid-back as ever. He was her right hand, her second self, her human cavalry. Having him here was huge. It gave her courage she didn’t think she’d have otherwise.
She reached out and squeezed his hand. “Thank you,” she said.
He looked at her, and she was reminded that this man was in love with her. But instead of being uncomfortable and distrustful of her own feelings, as she often had been while grappling with that fact, she felt something else this time. She had lost the part of herself that identified with the department and the city but something stronger, more primal had replaced it…
Family. This might not be a “nuclear family” or even a normal lesbian family — not with the heterosexual suitor slash third wheel in the mix — but she hadn’t felt this way since her grandmother died.
“Who wants to listen to some music,” Nic said, and clicked on her iPod. She handed it to Winter.
To avoid a human corpse, not much more than bones, Nic changed lanes. I-90, the open road, yawned before them. It would take them to Idaho and beyond. The country was already turning barren as the lush coastal region gave way to arid Eastern Washington.
“What are we in the mood for,” Winter said, scrolling through tracks.
“Something happy,” Lena said.
Nic met her gaze in the rearview mirror and winked.
For the first time in years, the tension, conflict, dread and guilt were gone from Nic’s mind. All she felt was strong, clear purpose.
And fear.
THE END
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Author John Evans has survived the Hollywood dystopia for more than a decade. John lives off his wits, travels light and adapts to hostile conditions with rugged fortitude. Though he has penned hundreds of articles and sold options on several screenplays, DEATH AFTER LIFE is his first novel.
COVER ART/CREDITS
Zombies © 2014 under license of iStock
Cover design by Jun Ares.