Deserted Lands (Book 2): Straight Into Darkness

by Robert L. Slater

  “It’s all a big game with you, isn’t it?” Zach shook his head.

  “Fuck you, Zach.”

  “Grow up,” he growled. He reached across and shoved open her door.

  “I thought we should talk about stuff.” She stepped out onto the pavement. “But I guess that wasn’t your plan. You just wanted to talk at me.”

  Zach slammed his fists on the dashboard. “Why does it always have to be this way with you, Lizzie? Maybe you’re right, maybe we’d all be better off with you gone!”

  Tears welled in her eyes.

  “Shit, Lizzie. I didn’t mean it.” But it was too late. She ran from the car, across a snowy field to the women’s dorms.

  Zach sighed and let his head fall toward the steering wheel. He knew he should go after her, but he’d had enough of going after Lizzie for one day. His job—and fitting in here—was the only future he could see for himself, Lizzie, the baby—most importantly, Nev. He wanted to keep her safe.

  “Shit,” he said again, shoved the RAV into reverse and punched the accelerator. Work needed him; Nev needed him—he couldn’t keep giving all of himself to Lizzie.

  Lizzie glared as the white RAV slipped out of the parking lot and away, tossing more snow as it fishtailed. “Fuck you, Zach,” she whispered. Her voice wavered and she realized she was shaking.

  She took a moment to get herself back under control and pulled out her phone. “Rach? Yeah I’m back. I want to see Saj before daycare.”

  “Sure thing. How soon will you be here?”

  “Long enough to walk from the parking lot.” Hopefully, she hadn’t already gotten Rachael in trouble for not getting to her job on time like Zach. Why did Lizzie have such a talent for complicating lives?

  Though Rachael would never say anything—she had too gentle a heart. Since Rachael had helped Lizzie steal Saj away from the Birthers up north, she had never heard an unkind word.

  The air was crisp and cold, but the sun already shone off the snow. And the sky was clear and cloudless. The only warmth she felt came from how near she was to Saj. She hadn’t allowed herself to miss him. Not until she was sure she was coming back.

  At Rachael’s dorm room she tapped gently on the door. Its hollow core echoed more than she expected. She winced, hoping she hadn’t woken the neighbors or Saj. It was still early.

  “Be right there,” Rachael’s voice called. “Changing a diaper.”

  Lizzie tried the door. The knob turned. She entered. “Just me.”

  “Sissie!” Saj’s voice conveyed his excitement as he fought against Rachael’s hands holding him firm while she placed the Velcro tabs.

  “Glad those weren’t pins.” Rachael released her charge to come at Lizzie.

  Lizzie’s heart melted. She smiled widely. “Saj? You better get ready. Sissie’s coming!” She made an airplane sound and entered the bedroom ‘flying’ at full speed.

  Saj squealed, wide-eyed. “Sissie, sissie, sissie.”

  She couldn’t bring herself to have him call her mommy. He was more like a kid brother than her kid and she was happy to be his Sissie. Well, at some point he would probably call her Lizzie like everyone else.

  “Welcome home, Sissie.” Rachael said softly, a smug look on her face.

  “You knew.”

  “That you were coming back? Sure. How could you leave this little monster?” Rachael scooped up the squirming boy and held her arm out to Lizzie. “Jess and I started a pool on when you would be back. I’ll have to see if I won.”

  Lizzie chuckled and took the offered hug. “You did not!”

  Rachael smiled and checked the clock behind her.

  “Oh, shit, did I make you late, too?”

  “No. I already called in. I wanted to talk. If you’ve got the time.”

  “Well, I could use a shower.”

  “Then take one,” Rachael suggested, sniffing loudly in her direction, “please.”

  “Stinky?” Saj giggled and started sniffing, too. “Sissie, play?”

  “Or don’t.” Rachael grinned as Saj rolled himself over on the bed and slid down to the floor.

  He ran to Lizzie and wrapped his arms around her legs.

  “Don’t, I guess.” She tousled Saj’s curly hair. She scooped him up, blowing his belly like she used to do with Jayce. “What do you want to talk about, Rach?”

  “Never mind.” Rachael stood there, watching Lizzie play with Saj. “It was just a thought but I can see it was stupid.”

  “Out with it!”

  Rachael sighed. “Well, you know that back in the breeder compound. They picked me out to be his mom, and then… I thought… Like I said, it’s stupid. I’ll never have what you have with him.”

  “I’m going to be a good mom,” Lizzie said.

  Rachael’s face registered shock. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Why not? It’s what everyone else is thinking.”

  Rachael gaped at her.

  Lizzie sighed. “But not everyone is as kind as you are.”

  Rachael’s eyes strayed to the carpet. “I wondered if I was I ready to be a mom. If Hank would love me for as long as he said he would.” Her bitter chuckle cut short. “Till death do us part.”

  “Oh, Rachael.” Lizzie pulled her close. “Saj. Rachael needs hugs.”

  The little boy’s arms wrapped around Rachael’s neck. “Don’t cry. ‘S’all right. Everything be okay. Sissie’s home.”

  Lizzie laughed. “Yup. It’s all going to be fine. Sissie’s home.” The sarcasm in her voice didn’t help.

  Rachael laughed through her tears. “I hear my own voice. That’s what I told him when he was crying.”

  Saj’s bright chubby face gazed up at her and it pained her to know those cheeks had been tear-stained because of her. She couldn’t leave him again—or Rachael.

  “Rachael, it’s not fair that I should have two kids and you none. We’re a family—you, me and Saj. We might not be like ‘together’ or even live together in the traditional family unit, but f...err, screw traditional. You can be Saj’s daddy.” She laughed. “Right, Saj? What do you think of Daddy Rachael?”

  Snot blew out of Rachael’s nose as she snorted. She turned red and dabbed at her nose.

  Saj giggled and poked a finger up his own nose.

  Lizzie pulled his hand away and laid her cheek on his soft baby head. “We’ve got each other. That’s what counts.”

  Zach shoved through the door of the apartment he shared with Nev. Fuming, he dropped his backpack on the kitchen table. Why the hell did Lizzie have to be so stubborn? What he needed now was Nev’s strong arms around him, and maybe her legs too.

  “Nev?”

  She appeared in the doorway and his mood soothed. He could count on her calm personality to smooth away his worries. But she wasn’t smiling, her serene face was a mask.

  She held one of his shirts in her hands. She shook the wrinkles out with a loud snap and proceeded to fold it into a precise rectangle.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “She’s home safe and sound.”

  Some of the tightness in her jaw eased, but her eyebrows were still knit together. “It took you all night?”

  “Come on, Nev. I did what I had to do to get her home. That’s what you wanted, right?”

  “Hmph.” Nev walked back to the laundry room to add his shirt to a tidy pile in the basket. She focused on matching socks and rolling them together as Zach hung back in the doorway, too afraid to speak or offer to help fold.

  “I saw some new pro-family signs on the way home.” He chuckled, trying to figure out a better direction for this conversation. “They’re getting pretty racy. Made me want to come back here and see what we can do about starting one.”

  “Oh, really?” She jerked a t-shirt from inside out. “I’m surprised. You already started one with Lizzie, what do you need me for?”

  “Seriously?” Two strides and he was beside her, blocking the laundry basket with his arm to get her attention. “You’re not
the only one suffering in all this. What I want more than anything is the woman I love, right here and right now, to be all fat and round with my baby in her belly. But instead Lizzie is having my baby, and to top it off she barely seems interested in keeping herself and my baby safe—or staying in Provo.

  She faced him, arms crossed, mouth tight.

  Zach wanted to reach out to her. “I don’t know what to do about it most of the time, so I just do my best. Yeah, that means I do a lot of shit wrong. I can’t help it; that’s how I learn. I can’t change that. All I can do is love you like my chest is gonna explode and hope it’s enough to make up for being an idiot.”

  “Well, I guess it serves me right for falling for an idiot.” Nev sighed and wrapped her arms around him and rested her cheek on his shoulder. “The last thing I want you to do is change who you are, Zach.”

  Zach let the bliss of her embrace wash over him, at last.

  “I guess you’re right, it isn’t just you and me suffering.”

  “Yeah,” Zach agreed softly. “She’s hurting now. She misses you. Why don’t you talk to her?”

  Nev’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. Her words came out in a rush. “I don’t know. It feels so weird. I can’t decide whether to shout at her or hug her. I know in my brain that it isn’t her fault, but my heart feels a million things and none of them are forgiveness or understanding. My parents raised me to turn the other cheek, and ‘if you don’t have anything nice to say’ kind of stuff. I guess I was hoping to wait until I could think of nice things to say… It’s taking longer than I thought.”

  He hushed her and smoothed her hair. Her tears dripped onto his arm and each one stung like a jelly fish.

  “You better go to work. You’re going to be late. I called in so I could be here.”

  “I love you, Nev.”

  Chapter Six

  ZACH STRIPPED OUT OF LAST NIGHT’S clothes in the locker room at the Collectors hub. Between already running late, and comforting Nev, he hadn’t had time to change or shower. Luckily, he kept a spare set of work fatigues in his locker. In the command room he gulped down a hot cup of coffee and pulled on his Kevlar vest.

  Fifteen minutes later Zach crunched through frozen grass. He was front man this morning, and armed to the teeth with an AR-15 rifle, a Taser, a hunting knife and a nightstick. Where the Kevlar covered his chest he was sweating but the icy air chilled him wherever it could find a gap. Front man was the riskier position, but it meant he was tagging and finding the new stuff rather than lugging off dead bodies—and that was worth the risk.

  The Utah Independents had kept their distance since the shootout; if they were going to retaliate they would have done it by now. He wasn’t really worried, but the cougars Lizzie had seen were no longer rumors, so he kept on his toes.

  The big green recycling truck rumbled forward to the next red-tagged house a block or so back. Lucky roll of the dice for him. The poor saps who’d rolled bupkis let go of the handholds and went to retrieve their gruesome recycling, tossing bagged bodies of owners and pets together into the truck.

  Zach waved at Will, his farm-boy partner across the street, and motioned forward. Then he turned the corner and went up to the first house on the new block. He tried the front door. Locked. He lifted out the screens and tried to slide the front windows. All latched.

  The job could be monotonous, but it was better than sitting in an office. Being outside was good duty; he liked the freedom and he couldn’t begrudge Lizzie for wanting some.

  Zach replaced the screens. No point in making a mess for someone else to clean up. He wandered around the back, trying windows and doors.

  He was about to shoot out the lock on the back porch when he saw a partly opened window on the second floor and a ladder suspended by hooks on the side of the garage. At least there would be fresh air inside. Nobody liked the sealed tombs. Even camphor ointment under the nose couldn’t make those bearable. He slid the strap of the rifle over his shoulder and lifted the ladder down, pulling it vertical and extending it a few more feet to reach the window.

  Zach swung his leg over the sill and stepped into the room—no stench. He took a grateful breath. Water coming in the window had swollen a particle board bookshelf. It collapsed as his thigh brushed it, spilling toys onto the floor. Something crunched under his foot as he stepped down—a flattened pumpkin coach looked like a 3D Pacman chomping at his foot. “Shit.” He stepped gingerly into an open spot and surveyed the small girl’s room with a pink canopy bed and lots of stuffed animals. He felt bad about the toy, though the little girl who’d left it on the floor was long gone.

  Zach sat on the child-sized bed and lay back taking a moment to close his eyes. Would he and Lizzie be having a daughter? What kind of dad would he be? Lately, he’d been hearing his father in his own voice and he hated it. He sat up. Too much negative thinking.

  A little snow globe from Disneyland caught his eye. If he had a daughter, he would want to tell her about Disneyland, He glanced around for something to wrap it in. He pulled open the dresser next to the collapsed shelf and picked a pair of Betty Boop socks, wrapping the snow globe inside one then the other before stuffing it down in his pack. What was Disneyland like empty? Would it be awesome, or just creepy?

  Zach went through the rest of the house opening closets, rifling through drawers in all the bedrooms. Nothing much worth keeping. The teen boy had hidden an old girly magazine under a pile of clothes in the back of the closet. He smoothed a rock poster on the wall and found a tack to push into one of the corners that was falling down. The motion gave him an unreal sense of deja vu. He knew he’d done something similar in his old life. It was like he was watching a movie—but which was the movie, his old life or his new one?

  Downstairs, he surveyed another bedroom and an office—nothing but the usual leavings of a suburban family. He checked out the fridge and was assaulted by the usual smells. He pulled out a bottle of Squatters, and slammed the door. Not bothering to find a bottle opener, he popped it open with a smack on the edge of the counter top. The cap took a bite out of the edge of the Formica. Zach took a swallow. Nice, dark beer, Captain Bastard’s Oatmeal Stout. Being a Collector had its perks. As long as he took it easy, nobody cared.

  He opened the freezer to find stacks of tidy butcher quality meat. Locally grown by the look of it. Jackpot! He pressed a green sticky note on the outside and flipped open the cabinets—well-stocked. Double jackpot.

  He looked for a basement entrance, any sort of hidey hole. A lot of Mormons were preppers, he had discovered since beginning this job. This house didn’t feel Mormon, but sometimes looks were deceiving. No bodies.

  “Triple Jackpot,” he murmured, exiting through the front door, leaving it unlocked. He pulled the green spray can out of his pack and sprayed a green plus sign on the front window.

  Will, Zach’s self-described, redneck buddy, was sitting on a porch swing across the street, legs dangling as he puffed on a cigar. His house had a red X with a small green plus on its window.

  Sometimes Zach came across a house where everything had been cleaned out. All the canned goods, medicine cabinet, most of the clothes and he wondered where had they gone. Like the whole family had taken what they could carry and tried to run. But there was no escaping the Flu. It either killed you or it didn’t.

  Will nodded as Zach approached. “Want a smoke?” He laughed, but it turned into a hacking cough. “Shit.” He ground it out in the metal ashtray beside the swing and handed Zach a flask in a leather case.

  Zach sniffed it. “Whiskey?”

  “Yup. Water of Life.”

  “Better not. Already had a beer.” He handed it back to Will, who proceeded to take a long gulp. “Hey, take it easy. That stuff’ll kill you.”

  “What’ve I got to live for?”

  “What is it with everyone being so down today?” First Lizzie, now Will. “Take care of yourself so you’ll be here when things get better.” Did his words sound hollow—like he was just
going through the motions?

  Will stared at him like he was an alien. “Whatever.”

  Mannie strode into Provo’s City Center Building. Captain Foote had asked Mannie to come see him about a job. They’d come a long way since their first tense meeting at the barricade of the city. Mannie was pretty sure he didn’t want any job the older military man could offer him, but he felt he owed it to him to listen.

  He knocked on Foote’s door.

  “Enter.”

  Foote sat at his desk and a sharp-featured, dark-haired man in civilian clothes perched on the arm of a chair beside him. His hunched shoulders reminded Mannie of a bird of prey. Mannie acknowledged them both and remained standing.

  “Guerrero, this is Tony DiSilvio, Mr. Ray’s right hand.”

  “Mr. DiSilvio.” Mannie gave the half wave that had come to replace handshakes in this post-pandemic world. You only made physical contact with people you were always around. Everyone knew the virus was gone—well, knew might be too strong a word—but people were still cautious.

  “Tony. Mannie Guerrero. Mannie’s gonna be my right hand.”

  Mannie’s eyebrows shot up. He’d expected a job offer, but not something so high up the food chain.

  “Mannie, welcome to Provo.” DiSilvio spread out his hands like he was offering him the whole city.

  “Not The City, sir?” Mannie asked.

  “Tony, please.” DiSilvio chuckled. “Provo will always be Provo to me.”

  DiSilvio’s eyes raked him up and down. “Foote’s right hand. Pun intended.” DiSilvio leaned back in his chair. “High praise coming from Foote. Mannie, please, have a seat. You are the man I need to talk to.”

  Mannie sank into the softness of the high backed chair facing the two men. He preferred to stand, to keep his wits about him and not be lulled by the soft comfort of the seating, but DiSilvio didn’t seem like a man who enjoyed being contradicted. There was something tight and dark under the twinkle in his eyes.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Di-” Mannie caught a flash of pique, “-Tony?”