The Road to Wolfe (The Sanctuary Series Book 4)

by Nikita Slater

  "Yeah, probably," Wolfe confirms. "But just in case, we're doubling your guard in the city and I prefer you not go beyond the walls."

  I direct a frown out of my window into the night. He’s taking the attack on us far more seriously than he should. They tried and they failed, losing a significant amount of men in the process. They're not going to try again. Still, I know what it's like to argue with Wolfe. About as productive as having a conversation with a wall.

  Instead, I ask, "How long will I be guarded?"

  "Until I'm positive you'll be safe."

  I frown at him. "I'm safe now. They're not going to come after me. Even if they somehow got into Sanctuary, how would they find me? I’m just one person, not important enough to go to that kind of trouble for."

  Even in the darkness of the car I can see his scowl. He knows my logic is sound, but his desire for my safety outweighs that. "Doesn't mean they won't try. Until I know that they've all been killed or are no longer in the area, you will be guarded."

  Still, I try to argue my way out of a heavier guard. "If they watch the city hoping to get their hands on me, they won't hang around for long. They'll see that we’re well fortified. I have work to do, I can't remain trapped inside the city walls with a contingent of guards following me around everywhere."

  “This conversation is over," Wolfe says, his voice harsh.

  I fall silent, staring at the road ahead. Despite his coolness during the fight, and the grin he'd sent me as he realized that we were about to take on the Outsiders together, it's clear the attack has rattled him. I know he's not worried for himself, which means he's worried about me. He didn’t like that they were after me in particular.

  "Hell of a way to talk to your future Warlord," I can't help but mumble.

  His eyes remain on the road, but I can tell from the shifting shadows around his mouth that he's trying not to smile. "Accept the role of Warlord and we’ll talk about giving you more freedom."

  I stick my tongue out at him and complain, "I call bullshit. Even if I was Warlord, you'd still smother me in protection."

  He says nothing. He doesn't need to. We both know I'm right.

  Thirty-Seven

  I look around at my city council, which has expanded from the last time we met. It now includes three men: Wolfe, Kingston and Dorian Milkstone, a ninety-four-year old historian. I’m exhausted but satisfied. It’s been one week since Wolfe and I spent that night on the cliff. One week since the attack by the Outsiders, and we’re no closer to understanding who they are and why they targeted us.

  I personally think it was a crime of opportunity. They saw a naked woman, young enough to have children, pretty enough to catch the eye of a Warlord, and they attacked us. I’ve put the incident behind me despite the presence of increased security. Wolfe doesn't agree with my assessment. He thinks the Outsiders were after more than just a woman to sell. He believes they wouldn't have attacked with so much force and such ferocity if they weren't after me in particular.

  I think he's wrong, but I'm not in charge of security and he has insisted on a detail of at least five men with me everywhere I go. Their constant presence has hindered my progress in the city, but not by much.

  "How are things at the water treatment plant?" I turn to speak to Anita.

  Anita has finished her work on the wall, helping Wolfe to secure it with the best possible materials available and an improved structure. She is now working out at the plant with Dolly. The two of them work together with a team of people from the city, rebuilding and attempting to get a water supply that will last our city well into the future.

  As I watch her, Anita runs a tired hand over her face. I sympathize, I feel as tired as she looks.

  "This is going to have to be a long-term project," she says, shaking her head. "If I had to guess, the treatment plant was one of the first places to be abandoned when Santa Fe came under attack during the Great Fall. It's been abandoned since… I don't know?"

  She looks around the table to see if anyone can answer her question.

  Dorian pipes up. "The city fell to Primitives in 2026. The plant was likely abandoned around the same time."

  Dorian was in Santa Fe during the Great Fall. He'd abandoned the city with other survivors when it became clear that the area could no longer sustain them. However, a few years later, they were encouraged to come back by a Warlord who touted his strength and ability to both protect and provide for the inhabitants.

  Anita nods and looks at me. "Then it's most likely been abandoned for the past 50 years. Dolly’s having a heck of a time bringing the computer system back online. It would help if we could use hydroelectricity."

  We all laugh at the joke. The water treatment plant is also connected to a dam. If they were both functioning properly, we would have hydroelectricity. We need one for the other.

  "Keep working," I tell the two women. "Let me know if you need anything. Getting a stable water source is one of the most important things we can do for the city. Whatever supplies, manpower, management you need, just ask for it."

  I can't help myself, I glance to the right, looking to Wolfe. He gives me a slight nod and I feel a sense of both achievement and shame. He has put me in this position and has made it clear that it’s mine to do with as I please, yet I still have the desire for his approval.

  I refocus my gaze on the group in front of me and turn my attention to the doctor. "Dr. Summers, how is the situation in the city?"

  Like almost everyone else at the table, Dr. Summers looks exhausted, only she has a very good reason. On top of her work with the live zombies, she’s also battling a flu bug that has hit our city. At first, we thought we could contain it, isolating the few individuals who were sick. However, it’s become clear that there’s a long incubation period with no symptoms, which means that there are infected people walking among us.

  She shakes her head. "Not good," she says grimly. She lifts her eyes to meet mine and I can see the concern. "The sick are multiplying, and we can't seem to contain the virus. I'm positive that it's not new, that it's the same flu virus that swept the continent several years ago. But that doesn't mean that we're any closer to knowing how to deal with it."

  My heart wrenches in pain at her words. Every person at this table would have been affected by that virus. It spread rapidly from Sanctuary to Sanctuary, despite low travel rates among citizens. Many people died, weakening city defenses and leaving them open for Primitive attacks. In one such attack on the Las Vegas Sanctuary, I’d been bitten and separated from my family.

  "What…" My voice is high and worried so I reach for my water glass, taking a gulp and steadying my nerves before I continue, "What can we do?"

  Though I’m scared, I am still their leader.

  As if sensing my resolve, a light of hope flares to life in Dr. Summers’s eyes and she sounds stronger when she says, "We’ll need a real hospital. My clinic is going to be overwhelmed soon and the hospital will be better able to separate patients sick with the flu."

  I glance around the table. "Does anyone have any ideas on what we can use for a hospital?"

  "The old school in the western quadrant could be converted into a hospital," Dorian says.

  "We're in the process of reopening a school there," Christine says to him and then meets my eyes. "I'd rather not have to come up with a new building in that section of the city for school."

  I nod. "Of course. Any other suggestions?"

  A few more ideas are tossed around and all are rejected. We need a building that’s stable enough and large enough to hold many people. It needs to be centrally located but not in a heavily populated area.

  "There's a warehouse a couple blocks from the city gates, easy to get to, on the main road, but out of the way enough that we can make it a permanent hospital. It's sturdy and well-built. Right now we're using it to house wall supplies, but those can be easily moved."

  All eyes turn to Wolfe. This is the first time he’s spoken in one of our council meetings.
A glow of pride wells up in me as he makes an effort to engage in city planning. So far all I've seen Wolfe care about is security, security and more security. My security, the city security, the wall security, the countryside security. But he rarely engages in other city programs.

  Dr. Summers gives him a slight smile and nods toward me. "That'll work perfectly. With your permission I'd like to get to work tomorrow. Get the hospital up and running before we have too many more cases of this flu."

  "Yes, we need to get on this right away. I'll have Kingston assign some people to you." My gaze moves to Kingston, who’s sitting on the other end of the table. I’ve started asking him to sit in on council meetings because he often has excellent suggestions and he seems to have his finger on the pulse of the city at all times.

  "I'll see to it," he says, his voice deep and steady.

  I look around the table. "Is there anything else we need to discuss?"

  When no one says anything, I dismiss them. Once everyone leaves, only Wolfe and I are left. He pushes away from the table, his chair scraping heavily against the floor as he lifts his big body. He stretches and rolls his shoulders, cracking them.

  "Come, our meal should be ready and I'm hungry."

  I smile and gather up the papers in front of me, tucking them away in my folder. I’ve started having to keep everything organized on paper because it won't stay in my head. There's a lot involved in running a city.

  Together, we climb the stairs to the Warlord's chambers. Despite the problems that we’ve been dealing with over the past few hours, a sense of peace settles over me.

  I examine that feeling as we walk side-by-side. Wolfe pushes open the main door to the Warlord’s chambers, holding it for me as I walk ahead of him. He places his broad hand on my back as we walk toward the bedchamber, where we’ll wash up before we eat.

  Home.

  It strikes me why I’m so content. I feel like this is… home. Despite the city problems, despite everything, this place feels like a place that I belong.

  As he pulls away from me, I watch Wolfe strip off his shirt and bend over the water bowl, scooping it up to scrub over his face and chest. The water drips down his torso, soaking the waistband of his pants, catching on the trail of hair at his groin and sparkling like tiny jewels in the light coming through the window. I watch, completely mesmerized.

  Wolfe is my home.

  The air is sucked out of the room as I come to this realization and a wave of dizziness hits me. I've known this man for more than seven years, but I didn't know him until now.

  I was so busy fighting him, myself, and my grief, that I didn't see who he was. I never saw the strength, the integrity and the honesty that makes this man. He thinks of himself as a bad man, a villain, a ravenous wolf. He's not. He's the most unselfish person I know. He gives everything he has to make me happy and comfortable.

  He knows me better than I know myself. That's why he left me in Tucson, because he knew that I needed time to grieve, time to stop being angry at the world, time to find my own strength. He did what he knew was best for my well-being, even if I couldn’t see his sacrifice at the time.

  "Your turn," he tells me as he wipes his face and chest with the towel.

  I reach out and tug the towel from his hands. He lets me take it and I toss it aside. I step into him, wrapping my arms around his waist and tilting my face up to look at him.

  "I love you, Wolfe."

  I feel calm, at peace, completely sure of myself.

  He’s frozen under my fingertips, but I give him time, knowing that this is what he's wanted for a very long time. Finally, he moves, sliding his hand up to my head and cupping the back of it, holding me to him.

  "Be very sure, Skye."

  I nod and smile at him, but I don't repeat myself. I'm taking a page out of Wolfe's book. He knows I meant what I said, I don't have to repeat myself.

  He swoops down and kisses me, telling me with his body how much he loves me in return.

  Thirty-Eight

  As I step out of the palace, I look up at the beautiful azure sky with a sigh of contentment. I glance sideways at Kingston. "Pretty fucking awesome, isn’t it?"

  "What’s that?" he asks with a scowl, squinting maliciously at the sky. Kingston isn’t a morning person any more than I am. The only reason I’m even half-way cordial this particular morning is because I’m in love.

  "Everything," I say brightly, handing my teacup to the nearest guard. I’m surrounded by five of them, they may as well be useful since there’re no threats in sight.

  As much as I want to balk at the added security Wolfe has placed on me, he's made sure that my work won't be hindered by the presence of his security. They do as I order without question, only checking in with Wolfe once they've seen me settled in my destination.

  Though I’m no longer allowed outside the city walls, I make sure that there’s a solid protection detail for Dolly and Anita at the water refinery plant. The plant itself is far more vulnerable than anything within the city walls and I want to be sure the Outsiders don't get an opportunity to snatch the two women or cause damage to the equipment.

  Wolfe and I have fallen into an easy partnership. In my wildest imagination, I would never have expected this. Not my place in the city, nor Wolfe's, nor our relationship with each other. Yet, it feels right. Almost perfect.

  There's only one thing holding me back from truly embracing the things that Wolfe is pushing me toward. Claiming the position of Warlord. Becoming Wolfe's wife.

  The fact that my husband still lives. It’s this that has directed my steps toward Dr. Summers’s lab on a bright summer morning. I need to confront and accept my past so I can move on with my future. The doctor greets me brightly as I enter her lab.

  I wave and say, “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  "Not at all," she says without looking up from her position in front of a microscope, a plethora of notes spread out on the table in front of her.

  I walk slowly toward the zombie prison, my eyes searching for Silas. Once more, he’s huddled in the corner, his dirty long hair obscuring his face. I knock on the glass, drawing the attention of the two inside. The third is strapped to a table nearby, her gaze now also on me. As she strains to get up and attack, the two imprisoned Primitives lurch toward me, screaming and hitting the glass. I move to stand in front of the man…. the Primitive…. who used to be my husband. As I look into Silas’s eyes, I can positively say that I see nothing of the man I once knew in the dead gaze staring back at me.

  "Is he usually like this?" I turn to direct my question to Dr. Summers.

  "Like what?" she asks absently, not looking at me.

  I look at Silas again, his stringy hair plastered to his face, head and neck. His lips pulled back in a feral grin. His skin sallow and dark with bruising. He's been punctured in several places on his body, bits of metal shoved through the openings. His missing nose is an awful sight. I'm not sure if he's done this to himself or if other Primitives did this to him, but the effect is gruesome and sickening.

  He stands in front of me, listless but alert, as though he'll attack anyone who goes in. I forget my original question, instead asking, "Don't they get infections from stabbing themselves with dirty, rusted objects?"

  Dr. Summers finally looks up from her workstation. "Necrotitis Primeval deadens the skin, a little like leprosy. Yet somehow it doesn’t rot and fall off. It's a horrific disease, one that defies medicine as we knew it at the beginning of the 21st century, and we haven't come much farther since then." She comes to stand next to me, her professionally cool gaze on our former Warlord. "For some reason, the virus mostly freezes us humans in the exact growth phase of our lives when we were bitten. Zombies don’t seem to grow older, but we don’t have a lot of empirical evidence either way, since studying them is incredibly difficult."

  I didn't know that, but I suppose it makes sense. Even the mythology of zombie-ism agrees, zombies are dead reanimated people.

  "Come with me,"
Dr. Summers murmurs, waving me over to a steel table where the female zombie is strapped down.

  I approach cautiously, looking down. Now that I'm closer to her, I can see that she's young. Quite young. Probably not even out of her teens when she was turned. Empathy rises up, though I try to push it down. She’s here for experimental purposes, nothing more. I can't see her as having been human once.

  Dr. Summers takes the stethoscope from around her neck and with a questioning look places the earpieces in my ears when I give her a nod. She takes the other end of the stethoscope and places it against the Primitive’s chest.

  At first, I hear nothing. I look at the doctor questioningly, thinking that she’s showing me that zombies have no heartbeat. I wouldn't be surprised by this. But then, I hear it. A single heartbeat. I hold my breath, believing that I misheard, my brows furrowing as I wait. Then it comes again, one more heartbeat. My eyes lift to Dr. Summers’s and she nods. She pulls the earpieces from my head.

  "We've always believed that zombies don't age, that they remain frozen from the moment they’re bitten. But now, I don't think that's true anymore. I think they do age, just incredibly slowly. As though the virus slows their metabolism down, almost to a halt. Yet they’re somehow still able to function."

  "But then, how are they able to move so quickly?"

  "Pure adrenaline," she says, her crystal blue gaze on the female laid out before us. The Primitive’s clothes are in tatters, hanging off her emaciated frame. Her bones are visible through a thin layer of skin. Unlike Silas, she's been punctured all over, including her arms and legs. "The constant adrenaline rushes as they hunt shortens their lives significantly. So even though growth and aging slow down, the effect the virus has on the human body is devastating. I believe it's why your friend’s organs shut down after she was turned human again."

  I try to wrap my head around everything the doctor is saying, but it's so fantastic, so out of the realm of everything I know, it's hard to imagine. Zombies are living creatures. It's easier to think of them as completely dead. That way when I kill them, slide my blade into them and put a bullet in their heads, I'm just making sure the dead stay dead.