by Stark, Ken
To that, Mason could only say what he knew to be true.
“I'll either get there, or die trying.”
For the first time ever, Hansen looked at him without hatred, without bias, and without the trademark Hansen scowl. He simply looked Mason square in the eye and said, “Well, you'd better get there, big man. 'Cause if you die trying, I'll have to answer to Rebecca, and that girl will have my you-know-whats for you-know-whats.”
Any other time, Mason might have laughed. Now, he didn't.
“I don't doubt it for a second,” he said, truthfully.
“I raised a tough little girl,” Hansen said, and Mason couldn't help but see the distinction. Hansen hadn't raised a tough girl, he'd raised a tough little girl.
Was that how every father thought of his daughter? Was there ever a time when the girl stopped being a little girl? His mind went naturally to Mackenzie, and though she was certainly not his daughter, the question remained. Would the time ever come when he didn’t see her as a little girl? If so, it would surely have been when that sweet little thing put a bullet through Beverly’s skull. And yet, for some reason, it hadn’t. So, maybe Hansen was on to something after all.
“We just have to let Sarah find her book, then we'll see what's what. But the good news is, if we all die trying to get to Gloria, you won't have to answer to Becks.”
Mason could swear he almost saw Hansen crack a smile, but it might have just been gas. And just that quickly, the scowl returned.
“The book. The damned book. Tell me, big man, what is so goddam important about that damned book? What if all it says is that there's no way out of this mess? What if it says there's no way to fight the virus and no way to defend against it? What if it says that each and every one of us are destined to die, and that mankind is to be wiped off the face of the Earth forever? Will it still have been worth it?”
Mason answered without a moment's hesitation. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”
The man searched Mason's eyes, then he dropped the subject and picked up another. “So, what is it with you and Sarah anyway? Are you two... together?”
Mason released a heavy sigh. “Not that it's any of your business, Gary, but no, it's not like that. Yes, I love Sarah. I would do anything for her. I would kill for her. I would die for her. But no, we are not... together. I love Sarah. And I love Mack. And I love Becks. And let’s just leave it at that.”
Hansen mulled it over. “Alright, fair enough. I'll let it go. For now. But just so you know, big man, if you hurt my daughter again, I will most assuredly murder your ass.”
On that point, Mason had no doubt. If their places were reversed, Mason would do the same without a second thought. But still, there was a point of clarification that had to be made.
“Just so you know, Gary, I got pretty damn hurt too. I don’t know if she told you or not, but Becks and I were planning to elope. I know that every father wants to walk his daughter down the aisle, but honestly, is there any way you would’ve done that with me at the other end?” He registered Hansen’s disgust and moved on. “There was going to be a quick stop at a little chapel in Haight-Ashbury with flowers and candles and harp music. Then off to Phuket and a five-star hotel with a pool and a spa and a swim-up bar. It was going to be great. It was going to be magical. It would have been a fairy tale wedding we could tell our children about one day. And the very morning we were going to start our new lives together, she sent me a text saying that we were through.”
“A text?” Hansen snorted. “Jeez, that's cold.”
“Ya think?” Mason snapped, flushed with renewed anger. But as with all things in this new world, it didn't last long. “I blamed her for a while, but I was really just mad at myself. I know I treated her like shit, and she was right to kick my ass to the curb. But the one positive thing to come out of a world gone to Hell is that none of those things matter anymore.”
Hansen shrugged. “S'pose not.”
It was only two words, but they were a revelation to Mason. For the first time since knowing the man, he felt like he was talking to an actual person instead of the cardboard cutout of a tough, big-city lawman. And then, it got weirder.
“I was going to retire last year, you know?” Hansen said, sounding almost human. “I had my thirty. I could’ve signed the papers anytime, but I couldn’t leave the job. It was in my blood, I guess. Barbara begged me to hang it up. Kept saying that we owed it to ourselves. But I just went on making one excuse after another. Now, I'd give anything to go back and do things differently.”
“A sentiment that could be carved on the tombstone of every human being who's ever lived,” Mason harrumphed.
Hansen accepted the statement with a shrug. In the awkward silence that followed, he narrowed his eyes at Mason once more and said, “Harp music? Really?”
“It wasn't my idea.”
As Hansen fought to stifle a laugh, Mason climbed to his feet and padded quickly across to a window on the far side of the room. From there, he could see the Peterbilt and the Mustang, but he could also see the swarm, and 'approximate fuck-ton' didn't even begin to describe it. The gunshots hadn't just drawn them in from the north, they'd brought them in from every point on the compass, and there wasn't so much as a stumbling block left to slow the bastards down.
He went back to Hansen and found him hanging halfway through the window, making hand gestures to someone across the way. Sure enough, it was Becks. When the communication was done, she nodded and flashed the 'okay' sign. Then, she waved at Mason and blew him a kiss, and he waved back and wished he was the kind of man who could do the other thing.
“I feel like Hasdrubal holed-up in the Temple of Eshmun,” Hansen grumbled, dropping onto his backside on the floor.
Mason didn't get the reference, but he took a shot. “Babylon?” he guessed, but wrongly, as it turned out.
“The great Carthaginian Empire. In 149 BC, Manius Manilius led a Roman army to Africa and laid siege to Carthage. The siege lasted two years, with the Romans battering down one wall after another, as the Carthaginians retreated further and further back into the city. Ultimately, Carthage couldn't stand against such a powerful enemy. The city fell and was burned to the ground. After that, Carthage ceased to exist.”
Mason couldn't help but see the parallels, but he held his tongue for now.
“Just before the end, nine hundred survivors, most of them Roman deserters, took refuge in the tower at the Temple of Eshmun. They tried to negotiate their surrender even as the temple burned, but the Romans weren't about to show mercy.”
“So, let me guess,” Mason harrumphed. “They fought to the very last man?”
“Not quite, no.” Hansen shook his head. “One by one, those nine hundred souls threw themselves into the fire, including Hasdrubal's wife and children. They all died at their own hands rather than fall under the executioner's sword.”
Mason harrumphed again. “Then they died for nothing,” he concluded without a hint of mercy.
“Oh?” Hansen snarled. “You have a problem with a man dying with honor?”
“Honor, my ass!” Mason snarled back. “When a man faces certain death, he has precisely two options. He can lie down and die, or he can fight like hell and give it everything he's got right up to the last breath. He'll wind up just as dead either way, but only one of those options will let him take as many of the motherfuckers with him as he can.”
In a thousand years, he could never have imagined Hansen's response. The man grunted once, then he said, “Well, maybe you aren't the dumbest bag of shit in the world after all.”
Wow. A complimentary insult. In Hansen's world, that was akin to a French kiss. So, what were they now? Friends? Compatriots? The enemy of my enemy, and all that?
Thankfully, he didn't have to wonder for long.
“It's good to know you have a tiny bit of brain in that big fat head of yours, tough guy,” Hansen gruffed. “Quite frankly, I had my doubts.”
“Yeah, I got that.”
“Oh, don't be such a sensitive little flower. In case you haven't noticed, big man, I'm not exactly a fan of the human race.”
“Gee, I hadn't noticed,” Mason muttered, not quite under his breath.
Hansen kept his eyes fixed on Mason, and rather than searching his face for tells, Mason had the distinct impression that the man was looking for the most vulnerable spot to plunge his knife. Ultimately though, Hansen sighed the matter away and turned his gaze to the floor.
“You know, my old man could do it all. He could fix the car, grow vegetables in the garden, build furniture... Hell, he even built his own house from the ground up. Me, I can barely hammer a nail. I used to be able to take care my old Chevy, you know, gap the spark plugs, adjust the timing, that sort of shit. But then, they started making cars so complicated that I couldn't even change my own oil. And that's exactly what the billion-dollar companies wanted. They wanted me to give them even more of my hard-earned money, rather than be able to do it myself. I put my old man's refrigerator in the garage after he died. Forty years old, and that fridge still purred. Kept my beer as cold as ice. Upstairs, we had a fridge that told us when the milk was running low and a stove with more goddam computing power than it took to send men to the moon, and those fuckers broke down every two years like clockwork. And that's the world we made for ourselves. Our machines got smarter and our people got stupider.”
Mason rolled his eyes, but Hansen waved it away.
“Oh, I know, tough guy. Every generation complains about modern technology and longs for the good old days, right? The music sucks and damn kids these days wouldn’t know a hard day’s work if it bit ‘em in the ass. But all the grumpy old man shit aside, you know I’m right. Fifty years ago, would the world have crumbled to dust so easily? Fuck, no. But it was no grand conspiracy to make us so reliant on technology. We did it to ourselves and we were glad to do it. They made cars able to brake automatically, and it saved lives... so, bravo. But then our cars had to park themselves because it was just too damn hard to turn a wheel. Then, they had to have lane-assist, because God forbid, we maintained control of a motor vehicle enough to keep it between the lines.
“You know what I saw on that very first day, big man? I saw my neighbor from down the street piling his family into his brand new Lexus to make his escape, and they were doing just fine. Frank and Heather and all the kids got inside, all safe and sound, and they headed off to her mother's house or their summer cabin in the woods or wherever-the-fuck. But you know what happened next? A couple of '50s came out of nowhere and went charging straight at his car, and he stopped. He just stopped dead in his tracks as those '50s came tear-assing up the road. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why. But then... it dawned on me. That brand new car of his had automatic braking. Can you believe it? I'm sure there was a way to shut the damn thing off, but who's gonna learn how to do that? It's a convenience and a safety feature. Why would anyone ever want to turn it off? So, Frank sat there right in the middle of the road, because his damn car thought he was going to run down a pedestrian. And then more '50s came, and before I could even think about helping, they tore that brand new Lexus apart where it sat.”
This was one of those rare instances when Mason couldn’t think of a thing to say. Somehow, stupid died quick seemed a tad cold-blooded, considering. So, he said nothing.
“Hey, big man,” Hansen gruffed. “How about you shove that massive melon of yours back just a bit, huh?”
Hansen ripped the closest chair cushion-free and held it in the air. While Mason was still trying to figure out what the hell he was doing, there came a muted thwack! and the cushion was propelled backward. Hansen quickly reeled it in, and now Mason could see something sticking out from it. It was a short shaft of wood, flanked by two curved bits of plastic. It was one of Teddy’s crossbow bolts, but this one bore a passenger. A piece of paper had been tied to the shaft with a bit of string. It was a message, delivered as it would’ve been a millennia ago.
Hansen untied the paper and rolled it open. “It’s from Rebecca,” he said. Much to Mason's chagrin, he read the rest of it to himself first, before deigning to deliver a condensed version to Mason.
“They're all okay, aside from Donn and that... that Beverly woman.” He spat Beverly's name like a curse, and for the life of him, Mason couldn't find it in himself to disagree. “A few windows were smashed and some '50s tried to get in, but they were repelled. The doors are holding for now, and they're working on sealing off the second floor.”
“They'll get it done,” Mason said with absolute confidence, “they're all good people.”
Hansen didn’t deny it. In fact, he went so far as to say, “Yes, they are,” before reading the rest of the message aloud verbatim. “Be careful, Daddy, and look after Sarah and Mace. We'll be ready in an hour. Addison says to let us know when you're coming, so we don't think it's Jehovah's Witnesses knocking on the door and start shooting. Ha ha. Love you all. Becks.”
He folded the paper neatly into quarters and shoved it in his shirt pocket, as he sent a few hand signals across to his daughter at the other window. He finished with two fingers pressed against his lips, then he stood and declared in a huff, “Alright then. Sarah's had enough time. I don't care if she's found that precious book of hers or not, we are getting the hell out of here!”
As if on cue, the sound of crunching glass echoed up from below, and Sarah came barreling out from between the stacks.
“They're in,” she said, just that simply.
CHAPTER XX
Hansen cursed under his breath and ran to check the doors.
While he did, Mason looked for an out.
The roof? No. Even assuming that there was access from inside the library, they’d be going in the wrong direction. Getting to Gloria would be hard enough as it was. Getting to her from the roof would be impossible. Barricade the doors? Possible, but they’d never be able to do so in silence. They'd be telling the swarm exactly where they were. Not an option. Throw open the doors and try to stem the tide? Fuck that. It would be like trying to plug a thousand leaks in the Hoover Dam. For one agonizing moment, Mason once again considered taking on the entire swarm single-handedly, but once again, sanity trumped aspiration. And so, he made the only decision he could. He decided that they would stay precisely where they were.
He motioned for absolute quiet and ushered Hansen and Sarah to the farthest corner of the library. As they crouched together in a huddle, Hansen craned his neck to take a peek out of the nearest window.
“Damn!” he growled in a hush. “That monster truck of yours is only twenty feet out and ten feet down. I could almost jump that distance!”
Sarah scoffed the idea away. “And if you tried, you'd fall twelve feet short and break both your legs.”
“Damn it!” Hansen pounded his leg with a fist. “If I wasn't so pig-headed, Mace, I'd have let you bring that Tonka toy right into the Quad!”
Well, son of a bitch. Hard-ass Hansen admitting a mistake was astounding enough, but he'd just done something even more spectacular. He hadn't called Mason 'asshole,' or 'big man,' or 'tough guy.' He'd actually called him Mace.
“It was the right...” Mason began, but he quickly cut himself off as the first of the probing alphas appeared on the far side of the glass. It continued on past the doors, but as always, what started as a trickle quickly turned into a flood. First one, then three, then ten, then twenty, then too many alphas to count. And just that quickly, the second floor was overrun.
No one on the other side of those simple glass doors failed to understand just how precarious their position had become, least of all Hansen.
“Okay,” he growled, rising to his feet. “We have to go. Now!”
“Hey!” Sarah hushed, grabbing him by the belt and unceremoniously yanking him back down. “You're not going anywhere!”
“Get your fucking claws off me, you cunt!” Hansen growled, batting her hand away.
“Gladly!” Sarah hushed, but instead of backing down,
she came nose-to-nose with the man. “As long as you sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up, my claws won't come anywhere near you. But understand this, Hansen... If I think for even a second that you're about to do something stupid that'll get us all killed, this cunt will put a bullet straight through that ugly fucking head of yours.”
As the vein on Hansen's neck pulsed a brilliant red, Mason got ready to launch. Which will it be? he wondered. The usual verbal tirade, or would the man actually be stupid enough to try to lay a hand on Sarah with Mason right there beside her? Either one was sure to end badly. The former might earn Hansen a quick choke-hold and a lengthy nap. The latter would positively make the sleep eternal.
But for the second time in as many minutes, Hansen surprised him.
“Quite so,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Apparently, I am not immune to the occasional rash decision brought on by fear. I'm sorry, little la...” He stopped himself, and restarted with what appeared to be a truly sincere, “I'm sorry, Sarah.”
The immediate crisis over, Sarah returned to form.
“Don't be,” she said, dismissing the entire thing with a shrug, “No harm done.” She cast a quick eye toward the doors, adding a breathy, “I hope...”
“Nevertheless,” Hansen insisted, however grudgingly, “I used inappropriate language in referring to you as a cunt. Cunt is a term I normally reserve for the lowest dregs of your gender. You are not a cunt, Sarah. You might be a bitch, but you are most certainly not a cunt.”
“Gee... thanks,” Sarah said, deadpan.
Just then, an alpha thundered into the door, shaking the glass in its frame and making all three of them back farther away, slowly and silently. They eased down between the stacks until they could go no farther. Then they huddled together in the deepest, darkest corner of that abandoned library.
“Barbara always said that my mouth had a way of running faster than my brain,” Hansen confided to Sarah in a whisper. “My wife, Barbara. She was forever trying to get me to see the good in everyone. In all honesty, I never saw it, but I pretended to. For her.”