Reckoning in an Undead Age

by A. M. Geever

  He’d slept fitfully, alone in his bed, his dreams filled with pursuit and capture. The entire day had been an exercise in torture. He couldn’t stop checking his watch, only to find half an hour had passed, tops, while he worried about Mario. Had he been captured, killed, or something even worse? Tessa and Skye kept Violet occupied most of the day, though Doug had played Candyland with her for a while. Gumdrop Mountains and Peppermint Stick Forests and Molasses Swamps—Violet had loved them all. Her little face lit up at the brightly colored board filled with treats she’d never had. Twice she’d asked him when Mawree would be back, and all he could tell her was, “Soon.”

  Doug walked down the dark hallway beyond the blackout drape, the interminable waiting of the day now an endless night. He and Skye had said good night downstairs. It wasn’t that he’d have minded ending up on the floor with her again, but they shouldn’t push their luck. He tapped lightly on the door to the master bedroom, where Adam kept watch, then opened the door just far enough that he could pop his head through.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  Adam waved him over to where he sat by the window, on a stool high enough that he could see over the small balcony beyond the sliding glass doors. The other windows in the room were also covered with blackout fabric—only the sliding glass doors were uncovered. Anyone looking in from the outside would be hard-pressed to see anything.

  Before Doug could ask, Adam said, “Nothing yet.”

  “I figured as much.” After a moment’s silence, he said, “How long have you been out here?”

  “In this house? Only since the Council drove the Jesuits out.”

  “You aren’t a Jesuit.”

  “No,” Adam said, and Doug thought he could hear a smile in the man’s voice. “Almost, back in the day, but I met a girl before I got very far.”

  “Simpler that way than mine,” Doug said ruefully.

  “Yes,” Adam agreed. “Though quitting is a lot less complicated now than it was before. No waiting for it to go through Rome.”

  “I hadn’t thought about that,” Doug said. He thought he knew the answer to the next question but asked anyway. “And the girl?”

  “Didn’t last,” Adam said. Again, a smile in his voice. “But the next girl was the one. Got married three months after we met. She died a year before all this happened—breast cancer. Never thought I’d be thankful for it, but I am.”

  “I’m sorry,” Doug said.

  He understood what Adam meant. He wouldn’t wish this world on anyone, but he couldn’t imagine ever being thankful that Skye wasn’t with him. He knew what Adam said could be true, but it didn’t compute when applied to Skye.

  “We’ve got movement,” Adam said, his voice softer than before. He opened the sliding glass door a few inches and raised the rifle that had been resting on his knees to his shoulder. “I think it’s your friend, but he’s got people with him—a woman and two…no, three children.”

  “What? He got Emily and the kids?”

  “There’s a rifle with a scope in the corner behind you. Get it and take a look.”

  Doug turned around and carefully felt along the wall until his fingertips brushed cool steel. His hand slipped around the rifle’s smooth wood stock. He stepped back to the window and peered through the scope.

  “They’re at my two o’clock,” Adam said.

  Doug adjusted to Adam’s two, neon greens and black filling the scope. Mario stumbled as he entered the cul-de-sac, swaying slightly as he righted himself. He held a small child, had to be Maureen, in his arms. Emily walked beside him, dropping the hand of the child between them to put a steadying hand on Mario’s shoulder. A taller child was on Emily’s left.

  “Holy shit,” Doug whispered. He pushed the door open so that he could step onto the balcony, but Adam stayed him.

  “Could still be a trap,” Adam said. He stepped onto the balcony and said, his voice raised enough to carry across the cul-de-sac, but no further, “Are you okay?”

  Doug saw Mario close his eyes and say something to Emily that looked a lot like fuck. He was having trouble remembering the pass phrase that Rupert and Adam had shared with them.

  After a long moment, he said, “I’ve got a splitting headache.”

  “We’ve got aspirin,” Adam said, in response to Mario’s correct answer.

  “I’m going down to meet them,” Doug said.

  “Take the rifle, just in case.”

  Doug held on to the rifle, walking as quickly as was safe through the dark house. He slipped out the back door and a moment later was through the side gate. Mario, Emily, and the children had reached the sidewalk that ran alongside the house.

  “It’s good to see you, man,” Doug said, clasping Mario’s shoulder.

  “It’s good to be seen.”

  Doug turned to Emily, whom he pulled into a hug. She sagged against him, as if she were a wrung-out rag, and he felt a lump in his throat.

  “I didn’t expect to see you,” he said. “My God, Em.” He reached over and squeezed Michael’s shoulder; the sense of amazement flooding through his body felt sharp and bright. “All of you.”

  The gate opened behind them. “Come out of the street,” Brother Rupert’s voice said.

  “Can you take her, Em?”

  Maureen murmured in her sleep as they passed her between them, but didn’t wake. Doug held out his hand to usher Emily and boys through, then followed Mario, pulling the gate shut behind him. By the time he finished securing the lock, Emily and the children had already rounded the corner of the house with Rupert.

  “I was getting worried,” he said to Mario. “How—”

  “Inside,” Mario said. “I need to talk to Rupert. The Council might know I’m back.”

  “What happened?” Doug asked, a million questions popping into his head.

  “That’s not the worst part. We need to get Walter now. His execution is in the morning.”

  “What?”

  “Give me a couple minutes,” Mario said, as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb of earth-shattering proportions into the conversation. “I promised Violet I’d tell her when I got back.”

  “She’s asleep,” Doug said, his urgency to know what was going on mushrooming with every second that Mario put it off.

  “She won’t mind if I wake her.”

  Most people didn’t realize how well developed the Jesuits’ spy network was. Everyone assumed that the Jesuits and the Council spied on one another, but the Jesuits had managed to infiltrate almost every aspect of city administration under the Council’s control. It had been disrupted when the Jesuits were driven out of SCU, just how severely laid bare by the bad intel they had on Walter. No one at the safe house had the slightest inkling that his execution was scheduled for tomorrow.

  Because they had to scramble, all of Adam’s special operators—apart from an imposing brute of man named Jonathan—weren’t here yet. They were slated to arrive midday tomorrow, but they couldn’t afford to wait, especially since they didn’t have an exact time for when Walter’s execution was supposed to take place.

  A shiver started at the base of Doug’s spine, causing his whole body to quiver. If Mario had listened to him, Walter would have been killed before they could do anything. Doug was still filled with a low-level buzz of amazement. Not only had Mario gotten in and out of one of the most fortified communities in the area, he’d managed to bring Emily and the children with him. He had the devil’s own luck, or maybe not, Doug thought, thinking of Miranda and Tadpole, not to mention his brother.

  Doug brought up the rear of the rescue party, waiting at the top of the ramp across from Skye, while Adam and Jonathan skulked to the service entrance into the Westin hotel. It occupied the entire block within the walled city of San Jose. Doug glanced over his shoulder as Jonathan and Adam approached the double doors of the maintenance entrance, then looked back to the street. The darkened storefronts of restaurants and bars seemed to hold no surprises. Nothing was moving at this hour, the b
ars having closed a couple hours earlier. Bars still closed at two in the morning; why, Doug had no idea.

  “All clear,” Adam’s voice buzzed in Doug’s ear. Jonathan waited at the door as they approached, opened far enough for them to slip through one by one. Doug squinted in the low light of the dingy hallway. It stretched away from them, as far as the length of the building it seemed.

  “Everyone clear on the plan?” Adam asked.

  Adam was short and compactly built, with small piggy eyes. His taciturn manner was matter-of-fact. He’d accepted the change in circumstances without so much as a blink of an eye. Doug had been impressed by how quickly he adjusted their strategy, since the players were different, and he’d never worked with him and Skye before. Jonathan, who was tall with broad shoulders looked like he spent every spare moment at the gym. He’d been in the service, but had been evasive about which branch, shrugging off Doug’s interest. That was okay. It probably meant he’d done and seen a lot that regular people hadn’t thought much about before zombies, except for in movies and television shows. He and Adam had been working together for years. If Adam thought he was the right guy for their hastily assembled plan, Doug had confidence he was.

  The ruse of posing as members of hotel staff had been discarded in favor of a straightforward smash and grab. They would get in, get Walter, and get out. In case they were unsuccessful, a sniper was getting into position on the roof of the Knight Ridder building, which had a clear view of the Plaza de Cesar Chavez. Mario was with them. He’d insisted on doing something, despite being banged up from being hit by a car. Doug shook his head…he was tough as fucking nails and stubborn as an ox. A gallows had been erected over the plaza’s fountain during Dominic’s Stalin-like purge after he’d consolidated power.

  Just to make sure everyone was clear, Adam outlined the plan again.

  “The stairs are kitty-corner to one another. The north stairs, which me and Jonathan will take, are on this side, and come out directly down the hallway from where they’re holding Walter in room 942. His room is midpoint down the hallway. Doug and Skye, you’re taking the south stairs on the other side of the building. Last intel says there are two guards outside each staircase, and three outside the room. You two need to take out the guards—quietly—then create a distraction to pull at least one of the guards on Walter’s room away. Then we move on the room, get Walter, and get out.”

  “The elevators are inoperative, right?” Jonathan asked.

  Adam nodded. “The doors are welded shut, so don’t get any bright ideas about trying to open them to pitch someone down the shaft. If things go pear-shaped, get the hell out. The sniper team will take it from there. Questions?”

  When no one spoke, he nodded. “Let’s get to work.”

  Doug and Skye turned the corner after checking to make sure the coast was clear. Jonathan and Adam had already disappeared into the north stairwell. Doug could see a brightly lit red EXIT sign halfway down the corridor. A maid’s cart was parked against the wall. As they passed it, Doug heard an indignant female voice.

  “So then he said, ‘Why is this all on me?’”

  “What?” a second woman’s voice said, sounding scandalized.

  “Yeah. How exactly is him not keeping it in his pants anything but all on him?”

  The voices were coming closer. Doug and Skye scrambled around the corner of the cart and crouched low. Doug peeked around it, his head almost at floor level. Two women, an older white lady and a younger Hispanic one, walked toward them.

  “I hate to say it, Rosie,” the older lady said, their footsteps drawing near.

  Rosie groaned. “I know, I know. You told me he was a deadbeat.”

  “He has three kids with three different women, and two of them born within months of each other.”

  Doug pulled his head behind the cart. He made a punching motion, tipping his head at the women. Skye nodded. The women’s footsteps stopped on the other side of the cart. The cart shifted toward him and Skye about six inches.

  A reluctant note of not wanting to admit defeat in her voice, Rosie said, “It’s just he’s—”

  “A deadbeat.”

  Rosie sighed. “I know you’re—dammit. I left my smokes in the break room.”

  “I’ll get them and meet you,” the other said. “You’re going to twelve?”

  “I’ll come with you,” Rosie said. “Most of those rooms are already clean. I don’t know why he insists on us going through clean rooms.”

  Their footsteps and voices faded while the women chattered about their unreasonable boss and Rosie’s bad boyfriend. Doug peeked around the corner of the cart again. The women turned into a room near the end of the corridor. The door he and Skye needed was just beyond it, on the other side to the hall.

  “Let’s go,” he said, getting up. “We can clock them up if we need to, but we can’t waste more time.”

  Skye grabbed a gray smock and some towels from the cart before following him. Doug didn’t ask—she could explain later. The women’s voices grew louder as they drew near the open break room door. Skye walked right past it like she belonged there, despite her dark clothes and the fact that she was bristling with weapons. Doug followed. Ten seconds later they were in the stairwell.

  “That was close,” Doug said as they started up the stairs.

  Skye tucked the smock and towels under her left arm, then pulled her handgun from its holster as Doug did likewise with his Glock. “I wouldn’t have minded hearing more about Rosie’s deadbeat boyfriend.”

  “What’s with the towels?”

  She shrugged. “They might come in handy.”

  They climbed the stairs in silence, always checking above. The only sound was the shallow echoes of their boots. They slowed on the landing before the top floor. Doug peered up, but didn’t see anyone through the door’s small inset window.

  “Can’t see anything,” he said softly. He looked at Skye. She had slipped the smock over her tactical vest. “Planning to tap on the door, since you’re a beautiful, nonthreatening woman?”

  “Something like that.”

  When they reached the top landing, which put them kitty-corner from where Adam and Jonathan waited at the top of the stairs on the other side of the building, Doug scurried into the corner along the wall on the same side as the door and crouched low. Skye tapped on the glass.

  “Can you help me?” she asked.

  “What are you doing here?” a voice barked a beat later. “What’s your authorization? Where’s your ident card?”

  “My card? Rosie sent me up with some towels for room 942.” She lifted the towels so the man could see. “She didn’t say anything about needing a card.” Skye sounded perplexed as she threw the unsuspecting Rosie under the bus.

  “Rosie?”

  “Yeah. Rosie from housekeeping?”

  A different voice said, “Rosie doesn’t have authorization for that.”

  “All I know is Rosie sent me up here,” Skye said, sounding helpless. She smiled tentatively and bit her lip. “It’s my first day… I don’t want to cause trouble.”

  A dull murmur of voices followed. Skye dipped her head, then gave another tentative smile.

  “Hold on a second,” the first voice said, then the hooked door handle turned down.

  “Oh, thank you so much,” Skye said, her voice breathy with relief. Then she added, sounding dingy as hell, “Oh gosh! My card is in my pocket.”

  Doug had to hand it to her, she was laying on the dumb blond routine with startling authenticity.

  The door opened, and a large man stepped into the doorway, his tone softening. “Give me the towels. I’ll deliver them.”

  If he’d been paying attention to anything other than Skye, he should have seen Doug by now, but he wasn’t.

  Skye shoved the towels at him. Her hand whipped up, the gun’s hand grip smashing against the underside of his chin. His jaw snapped shut so hard that Doug heard his teeth click. Then she gripped the lapels of his jacket and pu
lled, flattening herself against the open door. He staggered sideways, stunned, and tumbled down the stairs. Doug launched himself from the corner. Skye had dropped low and darted through the open door. Doug heard the surprised oof and thump of impact. By the time he reached the door, the other guard was unconscious at Skye’s feet.

  Quickly, he checked the guard sprawled on the landing below. The guy was out cold. Blood seeped from the behind his head on the concrete landing. Maybe just a cut, maybe a skull fracture. Either way, he wasn’t waking up anytime soon. Doug grasped him under the arms pulled him into the corner. He wanted a clear path, just in case they needed to get back down this staircase fast. When he reached the hallway, Skye was emerging from a darkened doorway. The hallway was clear.

  “Vending area,” she said, gesturing behind her. “He’s out.”

  Doug drank in the sight of her for a brief moment, her arresting blue-gold eyes, the pale hair, and rosebud-pink lips. Her cheeks were flushed. She’d taken out both guards before he even had a chance to assist. There wasn’t a woman on the planet who’d ever be hotter than Skye.

  Skye tipped her head the direction they needed to go and said, “Quit gawking.”

  They crept down the long hallway. Even though he knew no one else was on this floor, Doug couldn’t help feeling that someone would open one of the guest room doors. Tension and excitement fizzed in his guts. Maybe Skye was right about him never settling down behind the safety of SCU’s walls.

  “Wait here,” Doug said, just above a whisper, when they reached the corner. He took a peek. The hallway was clear, except for the two men guarding the stairwell door at the far end. He pulled back and tapped his earpiece.

  “We’re in position. Distraction as soon as you confirm.”