“He gave his life for mine,” Charlotte said.
“And for mine, as well,” said Elliot.
“No,” Charlotte said. “I’m sorry, but that’s not true. He didn’t give his life for yours. He gave it for England, for our people and our home. He gave it for the world. He saved you so you’d be able to save them.” She looked back to Eli, whose eyes were filling with tears, and put her hand on his shoulder. “He died finishing this. Ending the ZA. Saving the whole world.”
“Well done, mate,” Eli managed to choke out. “Well done.” But there was no chance of him speaking anything else after that. He was finished. Totally done.
The world was saved. But his best mate was gone forever.
It was too much, far too terrible to bear, after all this, after everything they’d made it through together. And he didn’t think he could take it. As his shoulders began to heave with inconsolable sobs, Eli felt strong arms around him – a lot of them. The rest of One Troop was rallying to him, holding him close, keeping him from falling, all of them crying now – even the ultimate hardman, Croucher, sobbing his eyes out.
It was just one loss too many. And the worst of them all.
* * *
Two mourners who didn’t cry were Aiden and Luke Ainsley.
Handon squatted down before both boys, and looked each in the eye. Both had the fair and dashing English good looks of their father. Handon could see the Captain in both of them, particularly the older one, who was holding a SIG P220 with the slide locked back – and holding it safely.
“That your father’s handgun?” Handon asked.
“No,” Aiden said. “Our mother’s. But Dad taught us how to shoot it. And it’s ours now.”
“I bet he did. Is your mother gone?”
Both boys nodded.
“I’m very sorry,” Handon said. “I’m so sorry. And I’ve got more bad news for you. Your father is gone, too. He fell in the line of duty, serving as an officer in front-line combat, on the mission to save the world. And you need to know something else. He died saving my life – and the lives of everyone on our team. And it was only because he chose to do that, that we completed our mission. Your father gave his life to save the whole world. To save it for you. Do you understand?”
Both boys nodded. And Handon believed they did understand – even the younger one. It was all far too hard and unfair. Children had to grow up way too fast in the ZA. But these two knew what kind of man their father was.
And neither boy cried.
Noise squatted down beside them, holding the cricket bat out, lying on his outstretched hands. He said, “Your Uncle Henno wanted you to have this.”
Aiden and Luke both looked from Noise to Handon. “Is Henno here?” Luke asked.
“No,” Handon said. “He’s not. But he asked something of me. He wanted me to take you two to Yorkshire, since he can’t do it himself. To hike on the moors. And to have a pint, when you’re old enough.”
“At the Red Lion Inn,” Luke said. “Right?”
“On Blakey Ridge,” Aiden added. “He told us about it.”
Handon nodded. It sounded like a wonderful place. And it would be his honor to take these two there. He was honored just to live in the world they would inherit.
Now he just had to find some way to live in it himself.
* * *
Even as Handon rose, he felt a hand on his shoulder from behind, and turned to find Fick, stepping up and giving him back his sat phone. But back behind him, the stairwell door banged open again, and when Handon focused farther out, he saw a happy-looking British second lieutenant step out. It was Miller, and he walked up and nodded at Fick.
“JOC up and running again?” Fick asked.
“Ish,” Miller said.
Fick looked at him. “Great. You got a sitrep, or not?”
“Yes, I do.” But instead of reporting it, he scanned the rooftop around them – but Ali had already spotted them and starting moving toward them, with Wesley in tow. Fick shook his head. At least this guy knew where his loyalties were.
Finally Miller spat it out, addressing Ali, but also the group. “Radio traffic is starting to come back up. We’re getting reports from units fighting to replug the holes in the ZPW in the north and southwest. They’ve even got a few engineers at both sites, trying to rebuild the Wall again.”
“That makes a change,” Fick said.
“It does,” Miller said. “And it’s going to change for the better. Our one semi-functional satellite shows more of what we’re seeing here: the dead are dying, spreading out in waves from this point. But not just concentric circles – there’s a deep salient, sticking out to the north, and pushing forward fast. The dead are going down in that direction, all the way to the river – and we can already see the first of them sickening and dying on the bridges. Soon it will be in the city center.”
“Nice,” Fick said. “Suck it, dead guys.”
Noise smiled. “I do not suppose they like being on the business end of the plague this time.”
Ali didn’t joke. “And the vaccination kits?”
Miller nodded. “Still being air-dropped at central locations all over the city. We’re trying to get some public announcements out – radio, TV, loudspeakers, that kind of thing.”
“Great job.” Ali looked around. “Good job everyone.”
* * *
As the light finally went out of Aliyev’s eyes, and his grip relaxed, Park checked his breathing. The Kazakh was gone.
Park let go of his hand and closed his eyes.
Even as he did, somebody else came up out of the stairwell, alone. It was an RMP, looking shaky, gore-splattered – and strangely familiar. He made a beeline for Fick in the center. On a hunch, Park followed him, joining the others.
It took Fick a second to place him – it was the RMP he’d left to guard their rabid Foxtrot in that closet. “Holy shit,” Fick said. “You get trapped out in that warehouse?”
The man shrugged, looking rather worse for wear, but not too bothered about it. “That was my post.”
“Dead get in?” Fick asked.
“A few.” He seemed happy to leave it at that.
“Good man,” Fick said. “Glad you made it back.”
“Didn’t come back to make you glad. Came back to report. The Foxtrot there changed. It’s sick now.”
Park’s eyes went wide. “How sick?”
“Took a camera-phone photo,” the RMP said, digging his phone out of his pocket.
Eyebrow arched, Fick muttered, “Too bad you can’t put it on Facebook. Just think of the likes.”
Park smiled at him. “I was always looking forward to the first time I heard somebody say, ‘Hey, remember Facebook?’”
Fick grunted. “Yeah. Unfortunately the goddamned world ended first. Gimme that.” He took the phone off the RMP and looked at the photo, alongside Park. Sure enough, it was the same butch female Foxtrot – but lying on the deck, limbs twisted at painful-looking angles.
Park checked his watch – it had been about six hours since they infected it. Then he looked up at the others. He said, “This means Foxtrots aren’t carriers, like we thought – it just means they have a longer incubation period.”
“Huh,” Fick said. “So they’ll run around doing our dirty work, infecting other dead – and then keel over. It’s perfect.”
Ali smiled. “Yeah, not bad. Homer and I were slightly worried about what we were going to do with thousands of killer Foxtrots when they were done with the others.”
The RMP took his phone back, and leaned in closer to Park. “Um, hey, Doc. There’s this one other thing.” He hesitated before going on, but then finally got it out. “I had a wicked case of shingles – for years. Damn rash and blisters would never go away. Nothing worked. Specialist said it was a ‘persistent viral infection’ – and I was stuck with it.”
Park nodded – like he knew where this was going.
“But within an hour of getting the jab for the zombie vi
rus… rash disappeared entirely. Not a trace. Am I healed, or what?”
Handon, Fick, Ali, Wesley, Noise – everyone was looking at Park. He took a breath before speaking.
“Maybe,” he said. “We won’t know for sure, not for a while. But I think so. I’m actually pretty sure the final Hargeisa vaccine also works as a universal anti-viral therapy.”
“What does that mean?” Fick asked.
“It’s like penicillin for viral, rather than bacterial, infections. I first noticed the early version had strong anti-viral properties, working on it in my lab in Chicago, then down in the bunker.” He turned and looked at Wesley. “When it kept Anderson from turning, after he was infected, I got really interested – and started testing it systematically. And it’s taken down every virus I’ve tried it against, while doing no damage to healthy human tissues. In fact, the only virus it didn’t destroy was Hargeisa itself. And I’m pretty sure testing will show that the finalized vaccine destroys even that – even post-infection.”
Ali cocked her head. “So if it’s like penicillin for viral infections, then that means you’ve just cured—”
“Yeah,” Park said. “HIV. Hepatitis. Herpes. SARS. Ebola. The common cold. All of it. The vast majority of diseases that are left.” The others looked at him in awe. “It’s not totally without precedent, nor totally unexpected. There was a universal anti-viral drug already in development, called DRACO, before the fall. And I may have been dabbling in similar techniques myself at Neuradyne – and some of those techniques just might have found their way into the Hargeisa vaccine. But DRACO had literally decades of research and testing ahead of it, even before it could be rolled out for human clinical trials.”
“Whereas yours…” Handon said.
“Yeah. It’s definitely rolling out right now. No choice, obviously. And everyone gets it.” He shrugged. “It could still turn out to have all kinds of unintended side effects. But, you know what, I actually feel pretty good about it.”
Everyone stood in silence, absorbing this. Park had not only beaten the unbeatable zombie virus. He may have just ended the entire era of human disease.
“Nice job, Doc,” Fick said, clapping him on the back. “Not a terrible consolation prize for losing most of the world.”
Park shrugged again. “It could be a better world, one with a lot less suffering – if we can rebuild it.” He looked out into the Common. “First thing we’ve got to do is get the vaccine assembly line running again. There are millions of survivors out there still waiting for it. Minutes count.”
“I am very much afraid Bio burned down,” Noise said.
“No,” Park said. “Look – the rain put the fire out when the roof collapsed. And the back half, with the warehouse and fabrication facility, appears to be intact.”
Park paused and looked back closer in, down at the slumped body of the Kazakh, the killer of Death. “Aliyev hated viruses, or the bugs as he called them. I wish he could have lived to see this.
“But I told him before he went.”
* * *
Predator and Juice stood on the line.
They were still there at the western edge, facing the prison, last guardians standing post, just in case any surviving dead still tried to climb up there. But none had in a while.
Predator pulled out his dwindling pouch of chewing tobacco, opened it up, and offered it over. Juice took half. There was just enough left for one cheekful for each of them.
Pred spat off into the mountain of dead at their feet. “Well,” he said. “I guess if we’re not actually gonna die tomorrow, we probably better give this shit up.”
“Yeah,” Juice said. “Mouth cancer ain’t pretty. And all the good cancer centers are overrun.”
Pred crumpled up the empty packet, but then paused. “Guess littering’s out now, too.” He shoved it in a pocket.
“Hell,” Juice said. “I almost forgot.” He unslung his assault pack, dug into it, and came out with a flat, square, plastic-wrapped package. “Happy birthday, man. Sorry it’s late.”
Pred took it and regarded the label in the morning light.
MEN’S BOXER BRIEFS – SIZE XXXXXL
He looked over at Juice. “What the hell? Where’d you get these?”
“Big’n’Tall men’s shop in the City. Noise told me where it was. Funnily enough, no one had scavenged that size.”
Pred squinted in thought, trying to work it out. “Hey, wait a second…” And then it hit him – it had to have been when Juice inexplicably disappeared for five minutes, on their infil route to their mission objective at Armoury House. “No fucking way, dude. Are you telling me you almost got us both killed, almost let the entire world go down… to get me fucking underwear?”
“Absolutely. Bros before…” Juice gestured out at the mountain of destroyed dead. “…those.”
And he put out his fist. Predator bumped it.
Life was good. And lifelong friendship was the best.
* * *
Ali found Homer again on the eastern edge of the rooftop.
Watching the sun rise over the green of the Common.
She stepped up beside him and slipped her hand in his. And as they stood in silence, side by side, she reflected that he had been right all along. Sure enough, there had been miracles waiting out ahead of them, just beyond the horizon. They’d simply had to have a little faith they would get there.
And realizing this, feeling his abiding presence beside her, she was overwhelmed with gratitude – for Homer’s faith, his goodness, his unquestioning and undying belief in the eternal power of love. She was so grateful. For all of it.
Wordlessly, Homer pointed down into the courtyard. Ali followed his finger to see a magpie, white and black with its distinctive iridescent blue streak, picking around on the ground – even as a second one flapped in and landed beside it.
“Two for mirth,” Ali said, smiling – but even as she did, a third joined them, and then a fourth.
“Three for a wedding,” Homer said.
Ali shook her head. “And four for a birth.”
“Uh oh.”
Ali laughed. “Probably just means a new birth for humanity.”
Then again, she thought to herself, I am going to need a hobby. Because she was definitely retiring from military service. And the world was going to need repopulating.
Homer looked at her and smiled. “Magpies don’t actually tell the future, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.” But Ali also knew something else – that the way she chose to interpret these so-called signs actually did tell a great deal about her own state of mind. What she was thinking, feeling, believing, in that moment. That was kind of how mysticism worked. These signs, just random fluctuations in a chaotic universe, didn’t have any universal meaning.
But they had meaning for her.
She knew there was meaning in this fallen world. But it was a human-generated phenomenon. You had to create your own. Suddenly, the face of her fallen friend Pope flashed in her mind. And very quickly she knew why. It was something she had seen in the book of his she’d found, by Viktor Frankl, when going through his belongings, back on the carrier.
Frankl had been talking about the age-old question “What is the meaning of life?” – and found it presumptuous to ask this, as if it was somebody else’s responsibility to tell you. Instead, the world was asking you that question, every day.
And how you chose to live was your answer.
Homer said, “Isabel always said she wanted a sister.”
“What makes you think it would be a girl?”
“Everyone knows Unit operators always have girls.”
Ali snorted. “Though no one knows why. Total mystery.”
Homer smiled. “Yet another one. Maybe it’s so they won’t grow up to become Unit operators themselves.”
Ali laughed. “Shows what they know.”
Homer sighed. “That’s you. Always upsetting the system.”
Ali stepped in front of Homer,
and let him wrap his arms around her waist again. And she tried to imagine what a little half-Ali/half-Homer child would be like. She’d probably be strong and skilled and resolved enough to singlehandedly head off the entire next Apocalypse by herself.
She’d probably be Queen of the Universe.
* * *
Charlotte needed to get away from the Royal Marines.
It was an honor and a privilege to walk with them in their time of sorrow, to grieve with them together for their fallen friend. But it was too much. Her heart was already savaged by Jameson’s loss, and she couldn’t take it. She knew she wouldn’t be able to stop crying if she stayed there.
When she looked across the rooftop, she saw a man she didn’t recognize, but who was incredibly striking – dark wavy hair, strong stubbled jaw. And he was standing over two much smaller people who she suddenly realized she did recognize.
When she went over and leaned down, she was sure. They were the two boys from the photo she’d found in Captain Ainsley’s locker, the last time she went back to Hereford – when she thought her USOC family had abandoned her.
“I’m Charlotte,” she said, squatting down to their level, and mustering a smile. “Who are you two, then?”
“Aiden.”
“I’m Luke.”
Charlotte gripped one arm of each boy. “You don’t know me. But I knew your father. And he was family to me.”
The boys nodded.
“Which means you’re my family now, too.”
These boys would be looked after – she would see to it. When Charlotte stood up, facing the striking man, she could suddenly see his powerful and ripped physique, more than a little visible through numerous tears in his clothing. Arching an eyebrow, she said, “Overpaid, oversexed, and over here.”
“What?” Handon said, baffled.
“Never mind. I’m Charlotte. Who are you, then?” When he told her, she took his hand, rounded up the boys, and herded them all toward the eastern edge of the roof.
ARISEN, Book Fourteen - ENDGAME Page 59
