Vicki almost felt sorry for him, almost saw the man she once loved when he said it. Until the word is. He wouldn’t stop killing to get the world he wanted, and that scared her.
Vicki looked back out the window as they sped down the highway, trying to keep her thoughts off his maniacal, deranged violence for the time being. “It was good to hear a familiar voice, from Marcy, I mean.” She tried to keep her voice even. At least that part is true, she thought. Ambrose’s sweet, low voice flooded her mind, and she couldn’t help but smile.
“Must have been a great conversation,” Will said absently.
Vicki hid her smile, sure he hadn’t seen it. If only he knew. She knew by now Will wasn’t stupid, so to keep such a secret made her nearly giddy. She turned to the burned out and wasted fields as they traveled into town, her good mood dampened by such wanton destruction.
The car ride lasted forever. Vicki dozed off at some point but was jolted awake when the wheels rolled to a stop, throwing her slightly forward. It was twilight outside, the sun setting in the horizon, but it was still humid and blazing hot for Nebraska weather. Her first thought was Ambrose, and she wondered where he was. She hoped he was closer. Only two more days.
They had pulled up to the entrance of a large white building, pointed at the top like a carnival tent. The large entrance reminded Vicki of an amusement park, but the banner across the top was broken and hanging. She could barely make out the letters HEN and DOO and wondered where in the world they were. Leaves and building or brick debris blew across the concrete in front of a gate that once rolled shut but was now bent in the middle and hanging crooked.
“Where are we?” She turned to Will. She found herself a bit amused but worried her pains would return. The trip here had been absent of them, and she tried to convince herself it was over, a false alarm, nothing more.
He threw the door open and beamed at her. “The Zoo.”
Odd, Vicki forced herself to smile at him. “Why?”
“Because I’m tired of you moping around the mansion,” Will quipped, “now get out and enjoy yourself.”
Vicki grated her teeth but smiled again. “Of course, dear.”
Will was like a little kid as they pushed through the glass doors to an indoor jungle. He pointed out the posters of panthers, cheetahs, and hippos with a wide smile and excited tone of voice. Vicki tried to go along, tried to be excited for him, and if she was honest with herself, his excitement was a bit infectious. She’d spend months hoping the old Will would return, and this would all be some sort of weird dystopian dream. But it never happened.
This Will still harbored a darkness, and she believed this was how the world was now.
She was quickly exhausted with her fake smile and laughs. Behind them, the troop of armed soldiers trailed quietly. She turned her thoughts away from Will dragging her painfully by the wrist and pointing out monkeys, snakes, and other South American animals he’d made sure to preserve, just for her. Vicki went with the motions of smiling and nodding, but her head was elsewhere. She wondered what kind of animals Ambrose had seen in Samoa, and sadly, she wondered if she’d ever be able to share that experience with him.
Despite her nostalgia, Vicki couldn’t help her happiness at hearing Ambrose’s voice last night, and it spilled over into wonder as they traversed the hidden jungle path. She couldn’t help but wonder at the weaving vines, the flowing waterfalls, the humid mist that flowed around them in all directions. This was truly an indoor rain forest. A capybara and her baby wandered across their path, mewing silently and disappearing into a small water hold to her left. In one enclosure, black and white monkeys swung from branch to thick vine and back, howling at them as they passed. Vicki marveled at the snakes curled up behind glass under the waterfall that cascaded around them.
“What do you think?” Will shouted over the crash of the water, as they stood on a small wooden bridge overlooking the enclosure below. “Of everything destroyed in Omaha, I made sure to leave this place standing. For you. I remember how you liked the zoo in Portland.”
“I like it,” Vicki said, surprised she was telling the truth.
“I knew you would.” Will smiled, looping an arm around her waist.
“How is this still open?” Vicki asked, the unspoken invasion dropping between them.
“When I first came through here, I knew you’d love it, so I kept it open. A few of my generals and their families enjoy seeing the other animals, too. I just thought…”
Vicki bit her lip, waiting.
“…you’d like it,” he finished lamely, his smile faltering.
Vicki could see what he didn’t say: You wouldn’t be able to escape in a closed building.
“But who’s running the zoo?”
Will stared at her, then laughed. “Well, I let the zookeepers live, of course. I even gave them places to live here, of course. I’m not a complete monster.”
Liar, Vicki thought, remembering Rosa and Miguel. She said nothing, but nodded, which was the safer option.
Despite all this, Vicki enjoyed herself so much she forgot to stick with the plan: finding a way to escape. She started looking for employee exits, which were cleverly hidden to look like parts of caves, vine-covered walls, or rocks. Normally labeled, someone had taken the time to remove all the red “employee only” signs, but when Vicki looked closer, she could see the faded section of the wall where the rectangular sign had been. As they made their way along the trail deeper into the forest, she saw the zookeepers Will told her about: they scurried in and out of the doors, dressed in khaki shirt and pants, nearly blending in with the tan walls of the enclosure.
She knew the employee entrance was her best chance, but Will never strayed more than a foot away from her, and the detail of four soldiers were only a few feet behind them. Then there was the issue of what would she do when she did manage to get out of the building and away from Will? The airport was an hour by car behind them in the other direction. How in the world was she supposed to get back?
Near the end of the tour, she could feel a creeping pain etching up her side, these pains sharper this time and deeper in a way, making her gasp out loud.
Oh, no. She sucked in a breath. She didn’t want Will to see. She willed the pains to go away, as they had before.
“Are you okay, my love?” Will whispered as they ducked under a thick vine to the other side of a waterfall.
She tried to nod but failed, her teeth clenched, and her spirit defeated. She couldn’t get away now. “Maybe…we should probably hurry.”
Will hurried her through the rest of the exhibits. Vicki barely noticed the hippos they raced past, the rodents’ tent, and the tank with long, deadly crocodiles. The pain wrapped around Vicki’s middle, around to her back, and shot towards her tailbone, but she resisted the urge to stop.
This baby is the only thing keeping me alive, she told herself, as she did often these days. Please, God, don’t let me lose it.
They had only made it a few feet when Vicki couldn’t hold it anymore. She dropped to her knees suddenly, grabbing her middle and groaning. Just down the path, she could make out the bright green exit sign. She knew she’d run out of time, but she couldn’t think about that now.
Will’s arms wrapped around her and she heard him scream for the guards. “Vicki, what is it? Is it the baby?”
Vicki didn’t know. Ambrose… the name was at the tip of her lips. What if he arrived and she was trapped at the mansion? All she knew was the pain was too horrible to bear, and as another shooting bolt ripped through her, she mercifully passed out.
Chapter Eighteen
Twenty-one minutes.
That’s how long it had taken him to walk the two miles from his barracks to the airport, lugging the heavy containers, jogging most of the way. He was strong and steady but could tell his strength was quickly waning. He felt the ache in his arms at lugging the heavy tanks but pushed on.
Lights flashed around the corner – a patrol truck, one Ambrose had nev
er seen before. He ducked back behind the corner. He was sweating profusely, but he was only fifty feet from his goal: the hanger.
Once the lights had faded down the side of the runway, he crept out again, jogging the open lane with his heavy backpack bouncing back and forth, carrying the two tanks that were nearly half his size.
Exhausted and panting heavily, he reached the pilot’s lounge, a curved building that resembled a hanger, just off the tarmac. Out of the corner of his eye, Ambrose caught the sight of a huge mural on the side of the hanger, a cartooned American Eagle flexing a fist at whoever dared to mess with the good ol’ U.S. of A. Unfortunately, someone had spray painted “Whiteys go home,” over it. Apparently in the face of invasion and racial extinction, the ignorance of graffiti still reigned supreme. Ambrose sighed.
Flattening his back against the wall, then crouching to avoid the spotlight that swung from the control tower all night, he checked his watch. Twenty-two minutes before he’d be discovered. Twenty was barely enough to get the plane off the ground! He had to hurry. He reached behind him until he felt the good metal handle of the door that was supposed to be unlocked. The handle moved with ease, and though he wanted to exhale, he kept holding his breath. He’d asked a lot of favors for his fights during his time here, and part of him didn’t want to believe they’d all come true. Wincing as the metal scraped against his raw knuckles, he pushed the door open and backed in, slowly.
The hanger was pitch black and freezing, even in the middle of the summer. Briefly, he wished Vicki was standing beside him. Her uncanny ability to see in the dark would have been an asset about now.
Instead, setheset down the tanks and fished the tiny flashlight out of his pocket, the one he’d snatched from Julio’s toolbox yesterday. He felt bad Julio would be punished for missing inventory when they counted at the end of the week, but he had no other choice. Ambrose perched the flashlight in his mouth and hoisted the tanks once more. It was an awkward amble towards the back of the hanger, where he hoped beyond hope the steel beauty was parked.
There she was, chained like a prisoner: a Cessna 182, like the lined crowd at the airport back on his island. Her wheels were anchored to the ground, the tarps thrown over the wings, the glint of silver chains wrapped around her doors. A moment of panic as Ambrose started to fill the tank. What if it didn’t start when he threw the throttle? What if someone heard the creak of the hanger doors opening, what if they spotted him on the runway?
The last of the first tank went in effortlessly, and he hoisted the second. He knew both would only make it about 1500 miles, and he had 500 more to go before he reached Nebraska. It was a gamble to land somewhere and refuel, but he had hope. As he tipped the second tank into the plane, he thought about his conversation with Jaime last Tuesday, one of the other foremen on the wall crew.
“I heard there’s a resistance pocket down in Texas,” he had whispered to Ambrose in a hushed tone. “If anyone’s going to take our country back, it’s those crazy Texans.”
“Hmm.” Ambrose was terrified someone might hear them.
“And Montana,” said Jacob, another worker who straddled the table beside them.
Ambrose’s head shot up at that. “What did you say?”
Vicki’s voice from the rest stop bathroom had haunted him suddenly: ‘You wouldn’t want to meet my father. He’s holed up in Montana, some crazy prepper.’ Were they talking about his cult, as Vicki had put it?
“No way, man, I heard it was Utah,” Jaime leaned in close to Jacob, and Ambrose had to strain to hear their hushed tones, “a base of Mormons that hid in the temple and refused to let the military in. They got God on their side, or something.”
“We’re all totally fucked,” Ambrose announced in his usual gruff tone, gathering his tray and standing up. He didn’t want to appear introspective to either of these men. “Both of you ladies can sit around discussing resistance groups that’ll be dead tomorrow, if you want,” he barked at them. “Now back to work!”
He walked away, unable to see their faces, but inside he was smiling. Utah wasn’t a bad option, but he wasn’t a fan of religious freaks. Montana, on the other hand, sounded like a good option, though Ambrose knew it was a long shot to find Vicki’s father. However, a prepper was exactly what he needed right now.
Thank God for workers who gossiped like old women.
So, Montana it was. Open God’s country, he had heard from a few of the men. It would be risky to land a plane in the open, especially if he didn’t know who would be waiting on the landing strip. Even if he had to land in the wilderness and hijack a car, he’d do it. Plus, maybe it was so far out the invasion hadn’t touched it. Ambrose he’dknewhe’d do anything to get to her.
Three days, he said, and he almost regretted the time crunch. She was suffering, and time was of the essence. He couldn’t wait any longer.
Fifteen minutes, the bright green numbers on his watch read. He skipped the pre-flight checklist, hurrying through pulling down tarps and removing the anchors on the wheels. The chains proved a problem, however, and he wasted a ccprecious five minutes trying to pull them off with sheer strength, but he was worried he’d damage the precious wings. After the fight the night before, he was still relatively weak. Pointing his flashlight in the corners of the hanger, he began to look for a pair of bolt cutters or anything he could use to snap the chains.
Seven minutes passed.
“Looking for these, ese?”
The familiar voice in the darkness, breathing hard and struggling to speak, startled Ambrose so much he resisted the urge to scream like a four-year-old girl. In the small spread of light in front of him, Ambrose saw the glint of metal. “Who’s there?” he said instead, taking on his tough-guy persona that had been born out of necessity these last few months. “I’m a crew leader checking supplies, and if you’re caught snooping around I’ll…”
Someone yanked the flashlight up, and Ambrose raised his other fist to defend himself. The light swung up to a familiar face. As the light spread, Ambrose could see he was holding a pair of bolt cutters down by his left side.
“Julio?”
“Ese, you gotta work on those sneak skills.” He was still panting, as if he’d just run a race. “Ain’t you ever played Assassin’s Creed before the world went to shit?”
“What’s that?”
Julio shook his head. “Man, you don’t know nothing, do you?”
“What are you doing here?” Ambrose demanded, ignoring him.
“Same as you, trying to get the fuck out of dodge.”
Ambrose tanked the bolt cutters out of his hand. “I don’t have room for the extra weight. Go home, Julio.”
Julio looked up at the wing above them. “Bullshit, that’s a 182, carrying capacity is 2,000 pounds, and ya already got the fuel in. That leaves 500 for the both of us. You ain’t over what, 250? I know I’m not even close, ese.”
Ambrose shook his head. “No. I don’t even know where I’m going… it’s too dangerous. Besides, what about Tressa?”
“You mean Trevor?”
Ambrose stepped back. “Damn it,” was all he managed to say.
“You’ve figured it out, then?” Julio sighed. “Were we that obvious, bro? We both tried so hard to hide it.”
“I figured it out the night he said, ‘come back to bed.’ It wasn’t a woman’s voice.”
“Well, shit.”
Ambrose glanced at his watch, ticking away – five minutes until they’d both be shot on sight. “Well, go back to Trevor and let me get my plane off the ground,” he barked softly at Julio.
Julio snatched the bolt cutters back from Ambrose, reached over to the door and snapped the chains. They fell to the floor with a loud bang. Julio tossed the cutters and they clattered into the corner. “No can do, my friend.” He turned back to face Ambrose’s flashlight. “He was gone last night… remember? He was pulled in for ‘questioning.’”
Ambrose shook his head. “No one comes back from that alive.”
“I know.” His voice was edged with sadness Ambrose would have never thought possible. “So, we be out of time, bro, and I’m coming with you, whether you like it or not. Now, get that fucking plane started. You got like four minutes.”
“You aren’t coming with me,” Ambrose hissed at him. “Now, give me the bolt cutters.”
Julio glared at him. “You can’t leave me to die. You know that’s what they’ll do, once Trevor discloses information. Likely they already after me, ese, my days are fuckin’ numbered.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s too late for that.”
Before Ambrose could stop him, Julio jogged into the darkness, and Ambrose could hear the loud crank of the hanger doors. Moonlight filtered into the hanger, spreading a dense light onto the Cessna.
Three minutes.
Julio was right… they were out of time. And against his better judgement, Ambrose knew he couldn’t leave his friend here – it would be sentencing him to death, he was sure of it.
But God, they were out of time.
“Fine, get in!” he yelled at Julio, trying to keep his voice down.
Ambrose cranked the door open and pulled himself into the cockpit. In the dim flashlight view, he checked the dials, and a moment of panic raced over him. The oil pressure. Dear God, he’d forgotten about the oil. He cranked the rotor blade to life, pushing on the throttle to send the dial spiraling. The oil pressure low light lit up green. He swore. They wouldn’t make it 500 miles.
Julio flung himself into the seat next to Ambrose. “Let’s go!”
Ambrose tapped the dial. “We can’t! Not on this low-pressure light. We’ll never make the speed needed to gain altitude!”
“Shit!” Julio jumped out of the plane. “Wait here!”
Lavender Dreams: Life After Us: Book Two Page 16
