Breath wheezed in and out of his nose.
"Oh God, don't do that again," he mumbled.
"I need your help."
Peters helped. He couldn't move, but by the light of the generator, with a fresh IV-bag dripping nutrients into his battered system and him propped up in the back of the Jeep, he instructed her on what to do.
They'd done it once already; strip the propeller hood, open up the casing, get into the pistons and check for rust. Oil everything. Strip and replace faulty-looking wires, clean, replace, filter and re-hose.
She ran tests they hadn't run before, going step-by-step through the same drills Peters had taught himself a long time ago, back when it had been him and Abigail soaring through the skies over America, before Julio came and ruined everything.
Some time long past midnight Jake cried out and she dropped from her work and went to him.
His eyes were terrified. His forehead was burning with his feathery black hair plastered to his pale skull. His eyes were pleading. "Much," he tried to say.
"Hang in there," she told him, squeezing his hand. "Hang in there, Jake."
She took off his bandage to reveal the skin around the wound was an angry, inflamed red. The skin either side was turning a blackish purple. She cleaned it delicately, rewrapped a fresh bandage, and shot another dose of liquid amoxicillin direct into his IV, then helped him sip down a whole bottle of water. After that she sat and simply held his hand for a time, looking into his eyes and sporadically nodding. She ate a rice ball and drank water herself. She popped more pills for the pain and dosed Peters too.
She'd done everything she could.
"They say the first twenty-four hours," Peters wheezed. "For head trauma, the not sleeping? It'll be twenty-four soon."
Anna looked at her watch. It was 5am and the sun was rising outside. She'd worked through the night and the wreck was already a day ago. Amo and the convoy had departed a day and a half earlier. They'd be halfway across the country by now, into Kansas or Missouri, with the demons behind them and heading into the unknown.
"We can't help them like this," Peters said, "you need to sleep if you're going to fly."
She nodded and smiled. Of course, she was going to fly now. That made perfect sense. Fatigue hadn't caught up to her yet, but she was airy and light-headed. It felt like she was back on her catamaran again steaming west to Asia, leaning over the edge of the hull and pulling the craft into the wind, daydreaming for hours on end about taking a twenty-minute nap. The wind never stopped, the waves never stopped, and so she could never stop either.
But that had led to the storm which almost killed her.
"Sleep," Peters said, rousing her from the reverie.
"I will," she said, "in a minute."
She walked out of the hangar, leaving the two men curled around each other in the back of the Jeep. On the cement walkway outside it was shaping up to be a beautiful, clear day. The rising sun was warm on her skin.
She began to cry. It was exhaustion or grief or pain or all three rolled into one. This was it, really. It all came down to this. Cerulean had died to send them Peters, and now Peters was back there, inexpertly patched up, Jake might have serious brain damage, and they were about to get back into a model of plane that had done it to them.
It could happen again. They'd all die, then perhaps everyone in the convoy would die too.
"Welcome home," Amo had said, when she'd walked back into the Chinese Theater and into their lives, after finishing her circuit of the world. That was less than a week ago still. Two weeks ago she'd just got back to New York and let the zombies out of Yankee Stadium. She'd gone to her father's house in Minneapolis, and seen her mother's face for the first time. Two weeks ago but it felt like a lifetime.
She rubbed at her eyes. In the days that followed Ravi had been so sweet. He'd wanted to do everything for her, bring her whatever she wanted, drive for her, hold her hand, gaze into her eyes. Once that had infuriated her, but she'd changed, and she now found him sweet. He had become a good and caring man while she wasn't looking, no longer the silly boy she'd dismissed for years. If anything he had become more like Cerulean, solid and dependable no matter how badly she treated him.
The tears flowed freely and she let them come.
For the three days she'd been back, she hadn't been able to accept Cerulean was gone. She'd gone to the lab with Sulman and Jake, as if working furiously on the T4 could bring back another father she'd lost. Ravi had come along, supporting her though he didn't understand any of it. When she broke down in tears on the fourth day, just hours before the survivors had arrived, he was there to catch her.
That meant something. That kind of thing didn't come easily, and was worth more than she knew how to repay.
Now, standing alone looking out over the blue sky, he was all that she wanted in the world. Cerulean was dead, and she wanted Ravi's kind arms around her, with hers around his. She wanted him being annoyingly sincere and looking into her eyes, telling her he loved her, just like he'd done on the yacht in the harbor three months ago, before her crazy round-the-world voyage began. She wanted to kiss his lips and press herself against him and learn all about what love was.
She didn't deserve it, she knew that, after her cruelty for so long. She'd done nothing to earn it, not his love or his attention, but now she wanted to. She wanted to be worthy of his love, she wanted to make him happy, as he'd tried so hard to make her happy for so many years. She'd failed Cerulean, but that was in the past now, and there was nothing she could do to take it back.
There was only the future, and that meant Ravi, and Amo and Lara, and saving the community she'd only a few months ago wanted so desperately to leave.
She wanted to live. She wanted them all to live.
* * *
She slept until noon.
Jake was asleep, but his breathing was more regular and the heat in his forehead was fading. Peters snored soundly.
She made the last few adjustments to the engine then snapped the casement back on. She took out the radio and tried to raise Amo, but they were definitely too far away now. She got out a map and sketched a route. Following a familiar road seemed the best path. The Cessna had a top speed of around two hundred and seventy miles an hour and a range of around one thousand three hundred miles. That would put them around Denver by the time they had to refuel, so she marked a few airfields on the map within a two hundred mile radius of the city, where she could refuel.
They were almost there.
She woke Peters first. His eyes were bright and ready, but his grip was weak and his arms shook. "I've lost a lot of blood," he said, smiling wanly. "I can't steer. I can guide you."
She'd figured as much.
Waking Jake was harder, but he roused with persistence. He looked up at her with eyes that were still fuzzy and vague, but when he opened his mouth words came out, though they were still slurred. "Anna," he said, "hey buddy."
She cried a few tears and hugged him.
"Hey buddy," she replied. "Can you help me out?"
He was bemused in the most genteel way. He didn't remember the crash or any of the last few days, to even before the survivors arrived, and so kept introducing himself to Peters as though it was the first time.
He was strong enough to carry Peters onto the plane, though. He buckled himself in while Anna took to the cockpit. The instrument panel, which before had broken her arm and set Peters on fire, gleamed silver in a red plastic dashboard. There were countless dials, switches and little levers.
"That, that and that are bullshit," Peters said, pointing. "That I never figured out what it does. Your keys are this baby," he tapped the throttle lever, "and the stick. Everything else is there to warn you, but we're hardly going to stop if a light blinks red, are we?"
He grinned.
"No."
"No. So ease this one. Watch that one, and this bird'll take off all by herself."
Anna doubted that very much.
"Go Anna!" Jak
e said dozily from behind. "A much faster way to go around the world."
In spite of herself, and in spite of the fact that Jake was now introducing himself to Peters again, she grinned, and pushed the throttle forwards.
EAST
16. THE OCEAN
It's Anna, she's alive, and there's no time to waste.
"They're 20 miles north of you," she shouts over the radio. "I'm flying above them right now, Amo, they're all right here, but you have to move now!"
I bolt to my feet and shout it out to everyone, across our warm little encampment on the icy road in the middle of Pittsburgh. "Anna's alive! She's found the zombies, we have to go! Wake up, Anna's alive, let's go!"
I switch the radio to start the siren wailing, and that gets everyone moving.
WEEEEE AAAAAAAAW
"The zombies are north, Anna's alive, let's get to the RVs!"
The call gets taken up and within seconds we're running.
Lara gathers up our kids, I hoist one of the survivors and we start the mad dash for the RVs. Everybody runs behind us. The road thunders with our feet, leaving our braziers and our rugs and our sleeping bags behind.
"What's happening, Mommy?" Vie asks somewhere behind, coming awake in Lara's jolting arms.
"Anna's alive!" she says. "We're going to be all right."
At the nearest RV I stop and turn around, scanning the site of our last stand for any stragglers. Lara dashes by and I nod back the way we've just come, because there's something wrong. I can't explain it but I can't leave it alone. She knows it, perhaps she feels it too.
"Go," she calls over her shoulder, "quickly."
"Hurry, Amo," Anna's voice comes through the radio clipped to my belt, balancing the gun holstered on the other hip. "You're so close already."
So close.
Ravi comes stampeding back up the RV line; he's already dropped his survivor off and I roll mine into his arms.
"What are you doing?" he asks.
"Get the RVs ready," I tell him as I start to run. "I'm coming."
I sprint back up the road, guided by feeling more than anything. I didn't see her, didn't see them, and that's enough now. It's a ridiculous choice, all the convoy for this, my wife and my children for this, but I can't do it any other way. I don't leave people behind. I won't, I can't, it isn't what my new world is about.
I crest the rise in the road through the middle of all our scattered blankets and packets of snacks and sprint down the other side, to a crack in the railings leading down an embankment to a street, where now I can hear them. He's tearful and begging, she's silent but for the clack of her heels on ice, and the little boy is just crying. She's stamping past a row of parked cars at snow-smothered parking meters and they trail along behind.
Masako, Alan and Lin, heading blindly into the dark and empty city.
I slide down the snowy verge and race over to them in the shadows.
"Lara start the RV," I tell the radio as I jog closer. "I'll be there."
"Amo!" Alan calls when he hears me. He turns and despite the shadows I can see he's hysterical and weeping. Lin is in his arms and crying like a baby, his eyes screwed up and plainly terrified. "Thank God, please, she won't listen to me!"
I see in a second that he's a broken man. He was always quiet, unassuming, but basically decent. He was Masako's rebound after Cerulean and after Julio, and he was grateful, but he deserves far better than this.
I pass him and step in front of Masako, blocking her path. She stares ahead with a glare that could cut through ice, not looking at me or anything else. There's plainly a storm of emotions going in inside her; wounded pride, anger at the universe, whatever broken resentments she's been nursing for ten years, but I haven't got time to screw around with any of that. I grab her by the shoulders, and stand firm as she tries to tear free and push past.
"What do you think you're doing?" I demand. "Masako, snap out of it! You can't do this now. Anna's alive, you heard that right? She's alive!"
She stares at me with all that hatred spitting out of her eyes, so hot it should burn me right off. I've seen this before, I've felt it, a kind of all-consuming, self-righteous, suicidal rage, and normally I'd try to understand and harness it. I try to save people when I can; if I could've saved Sophia so long ago on that bend in the road into Pennsylvania, I would have. If I could've somehow not killed Don, I would change it every time.
She knees me in the balls.
I drop to my knees with the stomach crushing pain. A second blow comes that ratchets off my cheek and sends me reeling to the icy snow. That had to be a club of some sort.
"Are you happy now, Amo?" she spits, then kicks me in the ribs. I take the blow and roll out of range. She's standing holding a gun by the barrel, panting. "You took my own son from me!"
I stare at her. I don't have time for this shit, but she's not thinking straight. She's staring like a crazy person off the deep end. Reasoning's not going to work, and she's backpedaling already, taking herself out of range, waving the gun wildly.
God my balls hurt, and my temple throbs. Another concussion. I get to my knees while she rants something about how it was always me taking everything away from her. I cast around for something, anything that will change her mind.
I see it in Alan's arms, sobbing madly.
"If I do take him," I shout, staring into her fiery eyes but pointing at Lin, "if I tell you I'm going to make him just like me, would you still do this? I can't let you drag him to his death, for what, spoilt pride? Masako, the world has dealt you a shitty hand, I know. Cerulean first, Julio, now me? But get over yourself. Alan's a good man, Lin's a wonderful boy and he loves you. Don't you see that? You're a lucky woman. You have a child, goddammit!"
None of this breaks through to her. I could chase her some more, down the street, across the intersection, try to get control and carry her kicking all the way back, but that's not enough. On this snow, in the dark with my balls already up in my gut, I won't stand a chance.
She's twenty feet away already, backing up like I'm a devil, like I just crawled out of hell and am hungry for her brains.
"You!" she says. "It was always you, pouring poison in everyone's ears. That comic? I hate you, Amo. You won't lie to me ever again!"
She's flipped. She's gone. The stress, the proximity of the demons, the ten years of loss; it's just snapped her in half.
"Goddammit, Masako!" I shout. "Look at Lin. Look at what this is doing to him. He thinks I'm a hero, Masako, and do you know why? Masako, do you know why?"
The rage redoubles and her eyes widen. Maybe it's the demons' influence in her, breathing cold onto the despair and self-pity she already feels, but that's all bullshit, excuses for someone who's surrendered, and I have to burn right through it.
"It's because, in spite of all the shit you hate about me, I act like a goddamned hero sometimes! It's true. And what are you, what is this? Did you not hear the songs? Woman, be strong! I know you have it in you. Dammit, Masako, come on!"
She blinks. Perhaps the spell is breaking. Then she raises her gun.
BANG
The bullet plows into the snow with a soft puff followed by a crack against the asphalt below. It's by my feet. We've trained everyone in New LA to shoot, and after Julio raped her Masako took to it with vigor. It's a shot that rocks me and starts me seeing her in a whole new light.
The gun wavers in her hand.
"You did this," she says, "all of this."
She drops the gun and runs into the night.
"No!" I shout after her, but she doesn't stop. For a second I watch her, thirty yards now, dropping out of range. I haven't got any more time, the demons could be on us right now. In a normal world I'd let her go, I have no desire to chain anyone to a life they can't stand, but this is something far worse than suicide. This is a crime against the group, a final act of sabotage in giving herself to the demons, and that I cannot forgive.
I don't have time to chase her. I don't have time to drag her back.
I draw my gun and fire three times in fast succession, two in the back and one in the thigh. Alan screams. The thin frame of Masako drops and shakes in the snow.
"Alan," I say sternly. "Alan!"
I grab him and start running, dragging him after me while he smothers Lin's wails against his chest. We scrabble up the embankment as Anna calls over the radio.
"Amo, tell me she's dead. She has to be dead or they'll bring her back."
"She's dead," I shout back as we pound our way to the RVs. The lights are on and engines fired up, with a last few people frantically scraping ice off windshields.
Witzgenstein pokes her head out of the RV in the middle. "What the hell, Amo?" she shouts as I run up with Alan and Lin. "Was that gunfire?"
"Take care of them," I say and shove Alan and Lin her way. "Masako's dead."
Then I'm past them and running for the front. Let them judge me all they want tomorrow, for shooting a woman in cold blood. Today I've got a civilization to save.
The front RV is there; Lara is in the passenger seat already, our kids are in the back with Cynthia, and the warmth of their hope washes over me like a wave.
Slap, slap.
"Daddy's back!" Vie and Talia both call.
I drop into the front seat and lock the radio into its holder. Up ahead, over the dark silhouette of the city, the first light of morning is rising up.
"Masako?" Lara asks.
"Dead," I say as I put us in gear.
"They're almost on you," Anna calls through the radio. "Peters is sure. You need to move right now!"
"Fucking shit!" comes the confirmation from Ravi in the rear RV as I release the handbrake. "I see them! Amo they're right behind us, they smashed through the lamps and generators, they're coming this way!"
I punch the gas and the RV grinds forward over the ice and snow.
"We're moving!" I shout, "single file in my tracks, Feargal are you in the turret RV?"
"Yes, sir!" he shouts back.
"Drop to the rear and blow the shit out of these bastards with everything you've got. I don't want them getting near us."
The Last Mayor Box Set Page 79
