The woman wrapped her finger around the trigger…
…but did nothing.
For what felt like hours, she did nothing. Nothing but stare at Abby as tears began to fall from her eyes.
“I’m not a killer like you,” she finally said, her voice thick with disgust. She tossed the gun back to Abby who caught it in both hands.
“A couple years ago,” the woman continued, “there was a young lady who spent a great deal of money to buy food for my family. By the looks of her, she was no better off than we, but she gave it up anyway. That was generosity enough, but then she gave my daughter a gift: a hat. My daughter used to have a hat like that one, but she lost it in The Crisis. It was such a small thing but losing it devastated her. And then that young lady gave her one, and it brightened up her entire life.”
The woman paused, then said, “And today was the first day since then that she did not wear it.”
Abby began to cry again, not saying anything because she felt there was nothing she ought to say.
“I don’t know what happened to that young lady,” the woman said, “but I hope she comes back. Because this woman in front of me is a poor substitute.”
Abby ran a sleeved arm across her eyes, drying tears, and said, “I don’t know if she can come back.”
“As long as she lives, she can always come back.”
The woman turned and strode towards an end table nearby, retrieving a picture frame that sat on top of it. She took off the backing and removed the photograph.
“This is the last picture of our family before The Crisis,” the woman said, showing Abby the picture. She tapped the face of her husband and said, “That’s David. And a better husband and father there never was.”
“You came here for my judgment, so here it is: don’t you ever forget David. You take this picture with you and you keep it for the rest of your life. Remember his face, remember his name, and remember that you widowed a woman and stole a father.”
The woman shoved the photograph into Abby’s hands then turned away from her. She took a step towards the next room where, Abby presumed, there was the staircase that would lead her up to her children. But she stopped before disappearing from view and said, “I believe in that kind young woman who shared what she had with us so long ago. I believe she can come back, and for her sake I forgive you. But don’t you ever come around me or my children again.”
And then she was gone.
Abby stood there in the hallway for a moment looking straight ahead. She had been so certain that this narrow corridor was to become her coffin. The adrenaline high of staring down the barrel of a loaded gun held by someone with a burning hatred for her wore off and compounded the exhaustion from a sleepless night until Abby felt like she could collapse there and die anyway.
With a sigh, Abby holstered her gun and left, tucking the picture of David and his family into her back pocket.
As soon as she returned to her barracks, Abby went straight into her room, intending to hide away in there as she had last night. Throughout the day, Derrick knocked on her door or called her phone several times, but she ignored him. She lay in her bed, with the lights off and the curtains drawn, trying to push all these bad feelings back down inside her.
Everything, all the memories and trauma that Abby thought she’d restrained, were coming back with a vengeance, reinforcing the guilt that burned her insides. Truth be told, she hadn’t gone to David’s family purely for justice; she also went to die. She had been so sure that the woman would kill her, and then all the hurting would finally stop, and she could at least give the family a semblance of justice, for what that’s worth.
Exhausted, she tried to take a nap. But sleep still eluded her as it had last night, and she was forced to lay in her bed, wide awake and besieged by her conscience. Several hours later, sometime in the afternoon, Abby surrendered and climbed from her bed. She left her room as she was, bringing nothing with her, and headed directly for the gym across the street. She needed some heavy bag therapy.
Abby marched into the gym, towards the heavy bags. None were available so she shoved aside the young man standing at the one nearest to her.
“Hey, what the hell!” the young man said. He may have protested further, but after watching the first two vicious blows Abby laid on the bag he thought better of a confrontation. He gathered his things and hurried from the room.
She was furious. Tired, angry, ashamed, and full of self-loathing, Abby hit the bag with everything she had. She kicked and punched, elbowed and kneed, even hit it with her head. Her elbows were rubbed raw by repeated impacts with the bag. The skin on her knuckles split and her hands began to bleed. But she didn’t stop.
With every passing second, her tired, aching body wanted to drop on the floor but she refused. She was no longer fighting a bag. The bag and the gym had transformed, and now Abby stood in an old garage as it rained outside, fighting the mountain that was Henry. She hit him with a left, a right, and another left, kicking him and head-butting him.
It transformed again, and now Abby found herself in a burning house, surrounded by fire and snow. She punched and kicked at Isaiah as she gazed into his fierce, orange eyes. In moments, his face melted away and he became a mob of Isaiah’s psychotic disciples. Abby lashed out at them all at once, their bodies puffing away into smoke as she struck them.
Everything transformed again. This time, the bag was not an old foe.
It was… Zach.
Dad…
He and Abby stood next to the grave she’d dug him back in Illinois, surrounded by tall trees and the morning greetings of the birds. For just a moment, looking into the dark, onyx eyes of her father, Abby faltered. Tears welled up in her eyes and she stepped forward to throw herself into his arms.
But her rage returned, and Abby attacked Zach with everything she had. He didn’t fight back, of course, but Abby didn’t care. She kept hitting him, smashing his face with her fists, faster and faster as her vision began to blur at the edges and turn red.
She hated Zach. She hated him for abandoning her out there by herself, for saving her miserable, useless life just so it could be prolonged into an agonizing, endless nightmare. Another punch knocked Zach down into his grave, and Abby went down with him as he seized her by her shirt. But she didn’t stop hitting him down in the damp, worm-infested hole. She sat atop him, trying to break through his skull with repeated hammerfists. Dirt showered over them both as Abby’s onslaught continued, covering them until Abby could see nothing at all.
Everything went black.
But in the next moment, Abby found herself back in the gym, on the ground and looking up at the ceiling. She was struggling with someone, someone who had their arms around her and pinning hers to her side.
“Let me go! Let me go!” she screamed at the stranger.
“Abby, stop it! Please!” cried the stranger.
Abby turned and saw it was Derrick who was holding her, his blue eyes wet with tears. She slowly relaxed her body and stopped fighting him, and she felt his arms relax, too. A crowd had grown around them, silently gaping at Abby and the spectacle she’d caused.
“Take me home, please,” she whispered to Derrick as tears streaked down her face.
Without a word, Derrick helped Abby to her feet and walked her to the door. An employee of the gym approached them, looking concerned. But Derrick waved her off and said, “She’s fine, I’m taking care of her. And I’ll pay to get the blood cleaned up.”
Once they were outside, Derrick turned to Abby, but she cut him off before he could say anything.
“Don’t ask,” she said.
“I have to.”
“You don’t.”
“You’ve been shut up in your room since yesterday, and now I find you bloodied and screaming as you attack a heavy bag.”
That’s odd, Abby thought. She didn’t scream while she was hitting the bag. Did she? Her silence led Derrick to continue.
“Who left you?”
“Huh?”
“You were screaming ‘why’d you leave me’ over and over.”
“Oh.”
This is what the military called ‘condition black’. It was part of a color-coded scale meant to represent a service member’s mental state. It went from white to yellow, then orange, red, and finally black. Condition white was being in a state of aloofness, a total lack of awareness. Condition yellow was where the military wanted its members operating at all times, at heightened awareness of one’s surroundings. Next came orange, which was the typical mental state of a military member in combat, while condition red was an intense mental state usually found in military members in extreme danger. This was similar to the idea of ‘going berzerk’. Condition black, however, was a total loss of self-control.
That’s what Abby had done, she realized. She must have blacked out while fighting Zach… the bag, and started screaming nonsense. At least, the people watching must have thought it was nonsense, but Abby knew too well what her words meant. She knew that those ugly feelings existed, buried deep within her, and she kept them suppressed because they scared her. But it seems those thoughts finally fought their way to the forefront of her mind, forcing her to reckon with them.
Having got no other response from Abby, Derrick remained quiet the rest of the walk back to Abby’s room, though his concern was not assuaged. He made sure she got into her room okay, helped her wash the drying blood off her knuckles in her bathroom sink, and asked her, “Is everything okay, Abby?”
“Yeah,” Abby replied in an unconvincing manner.
“Does this have to do with that man on your patrol yesterday?” he pressed.
Abby looked at Derrick sharply. She hadn’t told him about that. She walked over to her bed, sat down, and asked, “How do you know about it?”
“I hear things,” Derrick replied as he sat down next to her. “I’m sorry that happened to you. Shit happens, you know? But—”
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Abby interrupted.
“Okay.”
“I don’t wanna talk at all right now. I just need to be alone, okay? I’m sorry. I’ll see you Monday.”
“Okay.”
Derrick stood up from Abby’s bed and kissed her cheek; she didn’t kiss him back. He then turned and walked out of her room without another word.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Abby remained in her room for the remainder of the day and night. She was hungry, her last meal having been about thirty-six hours ago, but she couldn’t find the strength to go downstairs to the chow hall. She couldn’t find the strength to do anything save lay in her bed and pray that sleep would find her. Her exhaustion finally overcame her later that night and she slept, but she was plagued by nightmares and awoke every half hour or so.
When dawn finally broke, Abby felt no better than she had the previous night. Her sleep was good for nothing, it seemed, but moving the clock forward faster. It was almost time to go meet Hiamovi, and maybe he’d have some good news for her. Maybe he’d tell her whatever was on Arthur’s computer would change the course of history itself, and the war was over, and she could leave now.
Abby sighed as she sat up and put her face in her hands, extinguishing that fantasy. Best not to get her hopes up at this point. She was low, lower than she’d been since coming out of The Wild, and Abby didn’t know if she could stand another disappointment, even if it was as small as unfulfilled expectations. Rising from her bed, Abby put her hair up in a ponytail, pulled on her shoes, and left her room, walking at a slow pace, like one of those old-school zombies that shuffled along and moaned ‘brains’. She pushed these thoughts away though almost as soon as they appeared. They reminded her of Zach, and right now she still hated him.
She walked slowly all the way to her destination, both because she was physically drained from inadequate sleep and hunger and because she was in no rush. She didn’t even scan her surroundings as she usually did. All Abby could do was move forward, half-walking, half-stumbling towards a hope that in the next hour she’d be rescued from this waking nightmare that her undercover mission had become.
Abby avoided eye contact with strangers as she went, but she did notice that the people here looked grim, even grimmer than usual. Few people were walking around on any kind of business, and conversations sounded hushed. Anytime Abby drew near to any group of people the conversation would die on their lips, and then continue when they saw it was just a young woman who was walking by.
Arriving a little earlier than she usually did to these meetings, Abby sauntered into the diner and made her way towards the counter to order herself some coffee while she waited for Hiamovi.
“Abby!” someone called.
Abby looked for the voice and found Hiamovi, already in their usual booth by the window, with two coffees for both of them. Abby walked over and sat down across from him, her back towards the front door.
“You’re early,” she mumbled as she grasped her coffee in both hands and sipped it.
“God, Abby, are you okay?” Hiamovi asked.
Abby nodded her head.
“You sure? You look like—”
“I said I’m fine,” Abby snapped. The few other patrons in the diner looked over at her for a second, but her return gaze withered them and they returned their attention to their own conversations.
Abby sighed. Why did Hiamovi ask stupid questions like that? He had no right to probe into her personal affairs if they had nothing to do with him. She was going to have to set up some strict borders against his questioning, Abby told herself, especially if she was going to keep her secret of sleeping with Derrick. Hiamovi was too immature to handle that. He wouldn’t understand that Abby had no choice, that it had just been part of the mission. So what if she started it? She was entitled to a little fun once and a while in her double life. Hell, it technically was a totally different person who’d done that anyway.
“Abby!” Hiamovi said.
“Huh?” Abby looked back up at Hiamovi. She hadn’t heard what he’d said, but he looked worried.
“Never mind,” he said, defeated. “Look, we’re getting you out of here, today.”
This caught Abby’s attention. “Today? You mean… it’s over?”
Hiamovi nodded, took a sip of his coffee, and said, “I’ve been dying to tell you. The files you pulled from Arthur’s computer? This is it, it’s gonna spark a full-scale revolt.”
“Just tell me already!”
Hiamovi looked over his shoulders, leaned across the table, and whispered, “Arthur created the virus. He manufactured The Crisis.”
Abby sat in stunned silence, her coffee halfway to her mouth, so Hiamovi continued.
“I had the same reaction. But it’s true. I’ve seen the files, they’re mostly research notes from some scientist who was heading up the project for Arthur. He was trying to create a virus that would make parts of the population stupider, more lethargic, less worried about important, complex things like politics. Some kind of psychotic plot to keep winning elections.”
“Well, it wasn’t working as planned. The virus messed with the brain too much, and all the test animals died. But some of them only appeared to die, either for a few seconds or a few hours, and then they’d turn feral. The virus simplified the brain alright, but it also hyped up their aggression to insane levels, and they only cared about getting food, even if it killed them.”
“And then he sold it. Apparently the rest of the world has had similar crises, and their governments all reacted the same: a high-ranking strongman takes charge, ‘saves’ everyone from the scourge, and takes supreme power.”
“Do you have names?” Abby asked, enthralled by this horrible revelation.
Hiamovi nodded and said, “Oh yeah, we have names. And they’re from every populated continent. Oh, and you remember the President getting infected and turning feral on live TV? Yeah, guess who infected him. This isn’t even the worst, Abby. But you’ll see that soon. Something big is coming. We’ve been
disseminating some bits of info, mostly what I’ve told you just now, out to the people through word of mouth and some flyers. And they’re talking about it everywhere you go. The seeds are planted, and in a couple days…you’ll see them sprout up.”
“So where are we going?”
“A secret place. I can lead you there.”
“And do what?” asked a voice behind Abby.
Hiamovi kept his eyes down, but Abby slowly turned her head to find herself looking into the confused eyes of Derrick.
There was a horrifying moment where Abby was uncertain how much Derrick had heard, and how long he’d been standing there. Hiamovi kept his gaze fixed on the table, doing his best to obscure his face without being obvious.
“Why would you be going to a secret place with some guy, Abby?” Derrick asked.
Abby sighed, partly out of relief that Derrick seemed to be unaware of what they’d actually been talking about, and partly out of sorrow. It looked like the time had come to break his heart.
“Derrick,” she said, standing up from the booth, “I’m so sorry.”
“Oh, you’re sorry,” Derrick replied in a sarcastic tone. “Well, that’s just fine then. Go run off with this asshole who doesn’t even have the balls to look at me!”
Hiamovi had kept his head down for a reason. He was still a wanted man, after all. But when Derrick yelled at him like that and slapped his hand down on the table next to him, Hiamovi couldn’t help glancing up, and his eyes locked with Derrick’s for just an instant.
Derrick looked from Hiamovi to Abby and said, “I just don’t understand how—”
The rest of that sentence died on his lips as his gaze snapped back to Hiamovi, and a light of recognition dawned in his eyes. Hiamovi saw this and acted before Derrick could. He jumped up from the booth and drew a handgun from under his jacket.
“Don’t move!” he shouted at Derrick.
Derrick slowly raised his hands to shoulder level, words impossible to find. The whiplash of emotions, from finding his girlfriend with another man to coming face to face with an outlaw, left him speechless.
His Name Was Zach (Book 2): Her Name Was Abby Page 38
