Apocalypse Journeys (Book 2): Finding AJ

by Melrose, Russ

  "It went okay, I guess. Better than I thought. Everyone here seems so nice. It's kind of weird. There's another girl who works with the kids. Her name's Nikki. She's seems fun. She's a year older than me."

  "So, you made a friend. That's great."

  "Yeah. I guess," Addy said with a shrug. "Are we going to stay in Gideon, Jules?"

  "I'm not sure, Addy. Let's talk about it tomorrow."

  "All right."

  They settled in and Jules turned off the lantern. A cascade of images cropped up in her mind—the infected stumbling at them from every direction, Cole tripping over the lantern, Sophie's sudden demise, the look of terror in her eyes, Josh's lights-out shooting skills. She tried to piece together what they might have done differently, but they'd simply been outmaneuvered by the group from Cedar City. Jules never imagined the back of the store would have been filled with the infected. They couldn't have foreseen it.

  Her thoughts turned to George Albrecht and the upcoming search of his home. The wave of excitement she'd felt as they approached Gideon that first day was gone.

  Jules felt for the thread on her little finger in the dark.

  After a while, she gave up on trying to get to sleep. Addy snored softly. Jules left the tent as quietly as she could, taking her gun and holster with her.

  At first, she wasn't sure which way to go. She didn't have a plan. On a whim, she headed for the picnic area.

  Lawrence Nichols still sat at one of the tables, shoulders slumped, a bottle and a shot glass in front of him. Jules joined him.

  Even in the dark, she could see the heaviness in his face. He shook his head. "Bad night," he said quietly.

  "Yes," she said. "Bad night."

  He lifted the bottle and gestured to her. "Would you like a touch? It's amaretto. I don't have another shot glass, but you could drink from the bottle or the glass. I don't mind."

  "No thanks," she said.

  "I often come here at night when everyone's asleep. Call it my nightly meditation. I listen to the river and the wind in the trees. It's quite soothing. And there's the amaretto too," he added with a smile. "One shot, sometimes two, depends on the night. Dallin keeps me stocked. Barbara is tolerant enough to put up with my little vice." He picked up the shot glass and stared into it. "Could you fill me in on what happened? If you don't mind."

  Jules didn't want to revisit it but understood his need to know.

  She spoke in hushed tones though there was no one else around. "There were infected in the store. A lot of them. We didn't know they were there until it was too late. They were in hibernation mode. We were very quiet, but they heard us. Suddenly, it seemed like they were coming out of the walls. They came at us from every direction. Two of them came out of one of the rows and attacked Sophie. It was over with before we could do anything." Jules paused. "That's it."

  "But they weren't in the store in the morning, right?"

  "No. The Cedar City group had to have lured them there sometime during the day."

  Nichols drained the shot glass and shook his head wistfully. "Sophie was in the group because of Cole," he said. "She wanted to make sure he was safe. I guess you could say Cole has always had a knack for getting in trouble."

  "I didn't realize they were a couple," Jules admitted.

  "Actually, they've been together for quite some time. Not always peacefully, but they were fiercely loyal to each other."

  They sat silently for a few minutes and Jules listened to the occasional rush of wind in the trees and the sound of the river's incessant movement. There was a kind of comfort embedded in nature's ceaseless rhythm. But there was something preying on her mind.

  "Maybe there's something you could help clear up for me," Jules suggested.

  "If I can, certainly."

  "There aren't any infected in Gideon, at least not out on the streets. First time I've seen anything like that. I was wondering how that came about. And I couldn't help but notice the excavator across the river and the freshly turned up dirt. I assume that's where they're buried."

  Nichols filled his shot glass. "I knew this was going to be a two-shot night," he said. He took a sip of the amaretto. "I'm not comfortable talking about this, and you'll find no one else in Gideon is either. You're right, Jules. They're buried in the field across the river. And that's the way people want to keep it. Best if you keep what I'm about to tell you to yourself."

  "Of course," Jules told him.

  He leaned toward her. "First, I'll tell you how the infected found their way to Gideon. Every Fourth, we send our high school kids, those who want to go, and usually that's most of them, to Zions National Park for the annual Fourth of July camp. It's not too far away. We bus them down to Zions. People from all over the west fly in on the Fourth to attend the celebration. Zions is one of the most beautiful parks in the west, and the fireworks display there is spectacular.

  "Pretty obviously, some of those who flew in to St. George from out of state were infected. By the time our kids came back, most of them were infected. Like most people around the country, we didn't understand what was happening. With Gideon being such a close-knit community, the virus spread like wildfire. A lot of Gideon's retirees volunteered at the clinic to help out. They became infected too. That's why there aren't many teenagers or older folks in camp." He paused and took another sip of the amaretto. "It was Heath that saved us."

  Jules listened raptly.

  "By Friday everything had deteriorated. Friday night, Heath began calling every family he knew that didn't have any teenage children. He was looking for people who weren't infected. He was on the phone for hours. He found close to forty men and some women too. Anyone who wasn't infected and knew how to shoot. The plan was simple and ingenious. He told them all to leave at exactly six a.m., bring their guns, and meet here in the campgrounds. He told them when they arrived that everyone would have to keep their distance, at least ten yards apart, in case anyone was infected. And he told them if anyone had a cough, they'd be shot.

  "Heath left five minutes early so he could park his van in front of the bridge. That's his van still parked over there right now. The sound of the cars driving to the campground parking lot drew the infected toward them. Heath knew the infected would never be able to get across the river. He had everyone who came spread along the bank on this side of the river. They brought every gun they owned. He told them the infected that were coming weren't the people they knew. He told them their friends and relatives were gone."

  Lawrence Nichols stared down at the table. "It went on for hours," he told her. "Barbara and I could hear it from our home. It was awful imagining what was happening. Awful. It took us several days to bury them. We took every precaution possible. Once they were in the ground, we burned the bodies. No one talks about it. And after tonight, I'll never talk about it again."

  "Thank you," Jules said. "I'm sorry I made you relive it. I won't say anything to anyone."

  Nichols downed what was left of the amaretto. "I should probably get back to the tent, see if I can get some sleep."

  Jules said good night and waited for Nichols to make his way to his tent. Then Jules headed back to hers.

  Chapter 14

  Angela Conway

  The river came out of the mountains and its waist-high water felt as cold as a chilled drink against Jules' bare skin. A colony of rigid goose bumps had sprouted across her bare upper arms and breasts.

  Jules had hoped bathing in the cold morning water would help her forget. She welcomed the distraction. She needed it. She'd hardly slept and wanted to get away from camp.

  A woman waded to where Jules and Addy were washing themselves. "You must be Jules," the woman said.

  The woman was elegantly tall with long, delicate limbs. She had the kind of lithe build fashionable clothes were made for. She had to be close to forty with a stoic demeanor. She had a sculpted Roman face with a long slender nose and high cheekbones. Her eyes were a lucid blue. She was beautiful but Jules sensed a sadness behind the s
toic mask. There was a look of resigned complacency in her eyes, and she seemed totally out of place in Gideon.

  "And you're Angela Conway," Jules said in a shivery voice.

  Dallin had pointed her out to Jules the first day in camp. Heath and Angela Conway had a daughter named Bethany. Young Bethany stood ten feet away from them, dutifully washing herself and having an animated conversation with an invisible companion.

  Jules had noticed that first day that Heath Conway and his wife occupied separate tents.

  Angela Conway worked the soap bar into her bath sponge. "Heath told me what happened on the supply run last night. Terrible news about Sophie. Are you holding up okay?"

  "I'm all right," Jules told her, not that she was, but she wasn't going to get into a conversation about it.

  "It must have been awful. If there's anything I can do to help, please let me know."

  Angela Conway spoke in a relaxed, lilting rhythm, the way Southerners do, her voice smooth and silky.

  Jules sensed Angela Conway was being sincere. "Sure. Thanks. I'm okay for now," Jules told her.

  "This is Addy," Jules said, introducing Addy to her. "Addy this is Angela Conway, Sheriff Conway's wife."

  A corner of Addy's lips curled upward in a tepid smile, and she breathed a barely audible hello through her lips.

  "It was nice to meet you," Angela Conway said politely, glancing at each of them.

  She looked past them down the river with her sad eyes and turned and moved away, then stopped. "Dip yourself in all the way," she said over her shoulder. "Then it won't seem so cold."

  Jules felt silly but dipped her body into the water all the way up to her neck. The current in the cove was negligible and for that she was thankful. And while she still felt cold when she rose back out of the water, the cold was at least tolerable. Addy did the same.

  Addy had spent most of her time hiding behind Jules and spying on the cliquish coteries of women chatting and bathing and stealing occasional glances at Jules and Addy.

  "They're looking at us," Addy whispered to Jules. "Why are they doing that?"

  Jules didn't look at them. "Because of what happened last night. They're curious. That's all."

  Neither Jules nor Addy fit in with the groups of gossiping women. They were every bit as out of place in Gideon as Angela Conway was.

  "What happened there?" Addy asked, pointing at the bruise that ran along Jules' collarbone.

  "It's nothing. Just bumped into something. It's fine."

  Jules said it dismissively as if it were nothing, and Addy didn't pursue it.

  Jules watched Angela Conway hover protectively near her daughter. Their shared intimacy chafed against Jules' sense of inner completeness. Jules had sacrificed the idea of having a family to pursue her career. It had been her choice and she didn't regret it. Yet she couldn't let go of it either. It might not have bothered her at all if it hadn't been for her mother's yearly third degree about whom, if anyone, she was seeing, and if anything serious was on the horizon.

  Jules decided she'd braved the icy-cold water long enough. The distraction hadn't helped Jules forget a thing. There was no point in suffering it any longer. Next time she'd join the afternoon group of bathers and avoid the frigid water.

  "Are you ready, Addy?"

  Addy's long arms were crossed, tightly hugging her body, and her hands gripped her huddled shoulders.

  "Yes. It's cold," she complained, her teeth clattering.

  "Good. Let's get out of here."

  As usual, Addy was quiet and glum as they trekked back to the campground. Jules felt beleaguered. The events of the previous night preyed on her mind. She'd had little sleep. What Jules needed was a change in mental scenery. She thought about George Albrecht. She would be searching his home soon. Jules wondered if she'd find anything.

  Chapter 15

  The Interview

  George Albrecht paced back and forth in the interview room, alternating twitchy glances between the door and the one-way mirror.

  Jules, Beckerman, and Stohl stood in the observation room of the St. George Police Station watching him. Albrecht had an uncomfortably thick body like an armadillo. He had a bald spot on the crown of his head and a few long wispy hairs in front that lead back to the bald spot. He had a round pink face clammy with sweat and small dark eyes. He'd taken off his linen sports coat and draped it neatly over the back frame of a chair but hadn't bothered to loosen his tie.

  Albrecht's not loosening his tie spoke to Jules. It told her Albrecht was a conditioned rule follower. In spite of the oppressive heat in the interview room—the police had turned off the air conditioning before placing Albrecht in the room—he didn't feel comfortable enough to loosen his tie. Albrecht was more of a conformist than a rule breaker. Jules was sure of it. He might break a few venial rules here and there as long as he could justify the rule breaking, but in Jules' mind, Albrecht was a toe-the-line type.

  "I'll conduct the interview," Beckerman said. "Vandevelde, you'll be with me. I want you to start the interview. Be friendly. See if you can make a connection. Get him to relax. You can ask if he knows the victim, but don't mention anything about the murder. When the timing's right, we'll see how he reacts."

  When they entered the room, Jules greeted Albrecht with a warm smile. "Hello, Mr. Albrecht. Sorry to keep you waiting. Please have a seat. I'm Agent Vandevelde and this is Special Agent Beckerman. We're with the FBI. We're hopeful you can assist us with a case we're working on. We have a couple questions for you."

  Albrecht took a seat and Jules and Beckerman sat across from him. Beckerman slapped a file on the table.

  Albrecht looked to Jules. "FBI? Am I in some kind of trouble? I don't understand."

  "Try to relax, Mr. Albrecht. Can I call you George?"

  "I guess."

  "We only have a few questions. I apologize for the heat. It's terrible in here. It's like a sauna. Some kind of problem with the air conditioning."

  Albrecht looked puzzled. "Do I need a lawyer?"

  Beckerman gave Albrecht a hard look. "Why would you need a lawyer?"

  Albrecht looked to Jules. She'd already established herself as his lifebuoy.

  Jules smiled. She spoke calmly in an even voice. "You can have a lawyer if you like, George. We can get that process started right away. But keep in mind you haven't been charged with anything, and again, we would just like to ask you a few questions. Getting a lawyer could take time. You could end up being here all day."

  "Okay," he said hesitantly. "But If I don't like the sound of a question, I'm not going to answer it." Albrecht had regained a portion of his wits.

  "Great," Jules said. "Let's get started. What exactly are you doing here in St. George? I understand you live in a town called Gideon."

  "Oh. For my job. I sell textbooks. Dixie State is in my territory. I'm here working at Dixie State." He sounded relieved as if explaining why he was in St. George was all they were after.

  "Who do you work for, George?" Jules asked.

  "I work for Columbia Textbook Company."

  "I see. What other states are in your territory?"

  "Well, I have client schools in Utah, Arizona, Nevada, and New Mexico."

  "That must keep you pretty busy, George."

  "Sure does. I travel all the time."

  "Do you have Arizona State University and UNLV as clients?"

  "Well, yes," he said, sounding suspicious.

  Jules changed direction. "We're wondering if you know a student at Dixie State. Her name is Natalie Jensen."

  Albrecht squinted and frowned as if trying to recall a memory he'd misplaced. He seemed genuinely perplexed by the question. "No," he said. "I don't think so."

  "She's a brunette. Slender, average height."

  "No," he said firmly.

  "Well," Beckerman hummed, opening the folder, "that's a problem George, because you were seen talking to her the other night at a place called McGinty's. Matter of fact, there's a video of you talking to her. Y
ou know McGinty's, don't you, George? It's a bar a few blocks from your motel."

  "Even if I talked to someone at a bar," he said defensively, "that doesn't mean I'm going to remember their name."

  Beckerman pushed a photo of Natalie Jensen across the table—a head shot from the crime scene. "Maybe you'll recognize her now."

  Albrecht shrunk back in his chair. "Wait. What?"

  Beckerman leaned across the table as far as he could. "You were seen talking to her, George."

  Albrecht squirmed in his chair. He looked to Jules for help.

  Beckerman's voice became gruff and authoritative. "She didn't appear very happy, George. Maybe it was something you said. A few minutes after you talked to her, she left the bar." Beckerman paused for effect. "Then you left. Next morning, we found her like this."

  "No. Wait. I didn't do this," he pleaded. Albrecht spoke rapidly as if the words were being hounded out of him. "After I left McGinty's, I went straight back to the motel. I didn't see her again."

  "Really? Can anyone corroborate your story?" Beckerman asked.

  Albrecht looked miserable. His eyes darted back and forth across the surface of the table as if the answer he was looking for was there. His eyes never once settled on the photograph of Natalie Jensen. He lifted his eyes to Jules for a moment before looking back down again.

  "The clerk," he said suddenly. He wouldn't look at Jules or Beckerman. "The clerk saw me. You can ask him. I was at the motel the rest of the night. Ask the clerk."

  Beckerman watched Albrecht for a good twenty seconds. "Oh. Don't worry, George. We'll ask."

  "Can I go now?" Albrecht asked in a small plaintive voice. Pea-sized dollops of sweat dotted his temples and forehead.

  "Not quite yet," Beckerman answered calmly. "There's a few things we have to check out first. Just make yourself comfortable."

  Beckerman gathered the photo and put it back in the file. They left the heat of the interview room and headed back to join Stohl. Jules' mind was buzzing. She didn't believe Albrecht fit the profile. He seemed genuinely frightened during the interview. In Jules mind, Albrecht wasn't the Calligrapher. But she would hold her tongue, wait till she was sure.