by Joss Ware
Just as she disappeared, he glanced out the window and saw that the sun had started to light the sky.
And so began his day of reckoning.
That went well, Zoë thought to herself as she climbed silently down the rope ladder. Her lips, which only a short time ago had been swollen from kisses, now felt tight and hard. Her belly churned and she tried to dismiss her memory of Quent’s expression.
He’d thank her in the end.
She wasn’t playing a damned melodramatic martyr. That wasn’t what this was about, leaving Quent for his own good, that sort of thing. Zoë’d read two books where the man did that, and she’d ended up throwing them against the wall—and then giving them to Fang to chew on.
It wasn’t like that.
She wasn’t leaving Quent anymore than she’d done in the past. She’d never been with him, and maybe if things had been different they might have been able to build a home like the one she’d grown up in. A twinge in her middle turned into a sharp pain.
But what she could do was give him the gift of freedom. And life.
That was what she intended to do. Hers was already destroyed. His didn’t need to be as well.
Her horse was where she’d left him, a nameless black-splotched mustang who flew like the wind over the terrain. Fast and sure-footed, he’d get her to the meeting place in plenty of time.
And then she could put her plan into action.
* * *
3 May 2011
7:00 P.M.
I suspect that the baby will come tonight or tomorrow. I haven’t said much to Devi for I don’t wish to worry him after what happened with Marie, but I’m certain I’m having contractions. They seem to be fairly regular and growing more painful as the hours go by.
There was another one. A bit stronger this time. Perhaps I had best put this journal away and tell my beloved doctor to prepare to bring his child into the world.
There are no zombies out tonight. It would be a good night to be born.
—from the diary of Mangala Kapoor
* * *
CHAPTER 14
Quent’s first sight of Mecca came filtered from between thick trees and the rise of low hills. His first impression of the place was that, from a distance, everything was white. Clean and pure.
An irony for sure.
The compound sat, just as Marley had described, out in the ocean. She’d guessed five miles from shore, but upon seeing it, Fence and Quent agreed it was no more than three. White walls rose around it like a medieval castle and its bailey, and the irregular rooftops and a few angular towers jutted up from behind. There was no keep sitting on a hill, surrounded by the smaller buildings belonging to underlings, although there was a slight rise in the center.
The five hundred acre floating community housed fifty to seventy of the most powerful Elite, including the Inner Circle. They lived there with their servants, which numbered in the hundreds, and, from what Quent knew, a good portion if not all of them were humans lured, kidnapped, or bred into slavery by the bounty hunters and other crystaled mortals.
The Elite rarely if ever left the compound, preferring, as Marley put it, to keep themselves safely out of sight and uncontaminated by non-Evolved humans. While most of their food was grown elsewhere and shipped in through bounty hunters, CMs, and some humans, certain luxuries—cocoa and coffee beans for example, along with silkworm farms—were propagated only on the island itself.
A long walkway or bridge connected the compound to land. At the shoreline, which was devoid of buildings or growth, sat a gatehouse. There’d been more security at the cinema back when there were cinemas, Quent thought. Here there was a single gatehouse and a long, floating walkway. It seemed oddly open and unprotected. But Marley had assured him that no one passed to the compound without clearance. Aside of that, according to her, sharks lived in the waters surrounding the floating community. They were kept in the area by some sort of sonar device beneath the surface. The ferocious sharks were taught to attack anything in or on the water, so the boats that brought approved shipments to the island were outfitted with special crystals that sent signals through the water that kept the sharks at bay. Any other vessel—or person—would attract the beasts and be torn apart.
As they rode closer, Quent noticed that Fence seemed to become quieter. Fewer jokes and comments, and a bit of a sheen appeared over his bald head.
“You okay?” Quent asked, realizing his own pulse rate had begun to rise. This was it.
“That bridge looks damned unstable,” replied the black guy, “floating on the water like that.”
“Marley said it’s the only way on or off the compound without a protected boat.”
“The walls aren’t very high,” Fence continued. “Could fall right off, into the water, the way it’s moving with the waves.”
“It doesn’t seem very secure,” Theo agreed. “But there’s a couple horses coming across on it now and it seems all right.”
Fence snorted, subsiding into silence as they approached a thick cluster of trees. The sight of Mecca was now completely obscured by the edge of the forest, and an old gas station.
“Here’s a good place to stop,” said Quent, pulling back on his mount’s mane. “I’ve got a bit of a change of plans.”
“Fuck that,” Theo said. “We have it all worked out and you’re not going to screw it up.”
Quent shook his head. “Sorry. Unexpected circumstances.” Except he wasn’t sorry at all. He saw no reason for Theo and Fence to get their arses fried on his death mission. And aside of that, Fence was looking more than a little unwell.
“This is how it’s going down. I’m going in there—I have the best chance because Fielding is going to be shocked at my unexpected appearance. Why would he not think I died fifty years ago with everyone else? But after I do what I have to do, it’s bloody sure I’m not getting out. It’s not like they’re going to let me just walk away after he’s dead.”
“Yes, we’ve been over this,” Theo said tightly. “But—”
“Circumstances have changed,” Quent said, overriding him.
“Since when?”
“Since this morning. I had a visitor.” He leveled a serious look at them. “Just hear me out. I’m not expecting to make it back, and there’s someone who needs to be taken care of should my early demise occur.”
“Zoë?”
Quent didn’t ask how Theo knew about her. Elliott, he supposed. “In the event that she’s pregnant—which is a possibility—someone’s got to take care of her. She’s got fucking bounty hunters after her. She lives alone. She rides out and hunts zombies every night.”
“Man, you don’t have to go over there. Maybe we could find a way to draw Fielding out? If he knew you were here, he’d come.”
Shaking his head, Quent interrupted Fence, “No, he’d just send his men after me and I might not make it alive to see him. Who knows if he’d want me dead or not. And besides, that would take away the element of surprise if I just show up.” He adjusted his seat on the antsy horse. “And I do have to do this. I should have done it sixty years ago, then maybe none of this would have happened.”
Theo snorted. “Sorry to say, Spidey, but your father wasn’t the only guy with his hands in this mess. His untimely demise wouldn’t have made a difference.”
“It would have to me.” Quent rubbed his hand over his face. “Fence, I need you to stay here. Promise me that you’ll find Zoë if I don’t come back out of there, and take care of her. Even if she’s not pregnant, I need to know that someone will keep an eye on her. All right?”
“So you’re going to walk in knowing that you might be leaving a kid behind?”
“I’m not walking in there with a bloody death wish. I sure as hell would like to come out on the other side. I know it’s a distinct chance I won’t, but this has to be done. And I’m the one to do it. But I’ll be better able to do it, knowing she’ll be safe. All right?” And without waiting for a response, he gave Fence directions
to Zoë’s hideaway. “She uses it as her home base. She’ll be there eventually.” If she doesn’t get caught by a bounty hunter.
Quent closed his eyes against the thought and then reopened them. “Can I count on you, Fence? Or whatever your real name is.”
“Bruno. But, yeah, brother. You got it.” Fence extended his massive hand and Quent shook it. At least he had one less thing to worry about.
“That was my one other regret before I died,” Quent joked with a wry smile. “Afraid I wouldn’t learn your real name. That, and how you got a ridiculous moniker like Fence.” He looked at him. “Thanks.”
“Nothing,” Fence replied with a wave of his hand. “And I’ll tell you the story on the other side.”
Quent slid off the back of his horse and adjusted his pack. “I want you to leave now, so that if anything happens, you’re well away. I don’t know what kind of reception we’re going to get.”
Fence looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. “All right. I’m gone.” He turned his attention to Theo. “Take care, brother.” And he was gone.
Theo nodded, and looked at Quent. “So you’re letting me go in with you?”
“No.” Quent held up his hand to ward off any arguments. “Lou needs you, and so does the Resistance. But I want you to be my backup for escape. Stay back here, and if I succeed, I’ll shoot this flare into the air. Then you can be—”
Quent never finished his words, for all of a sudden four people emerged from the trees, surrounding them. Before he could react, Quent saw Fence, on foot and a gun held to his head, prodded from the bushes by a fifth man, who was nearly as bulky as his prisoner.
“What the hell is going on?” Quent said, looking around the circle. They’d done nothing suspicious, hadn’t even gotten within view of the gatehouse. “Are we on private property or something?” he asked, realizing how odd that sounded.
A man with long blond dreadlocks and darkly tanned skin smiled, his teeth white and crooked. He held a shotgun cradled unthreateningly against his leather vest. “No, you aren’t. But you’ve just made me a very happy man.”
A strange little prickle started down Quent’s spine. “What do you mean?” He glanced at Theo, who was inching his hand toward the Taser in his pocket. Wouldn’t help much from this distance, but at least it was something. His own gun was in the back of his jeans and he placed his hand slowly on his hip. The closer the better.
“I didn’t believe it was possible,” the dreadlocked man said. As he stepped closer, Quent saw the scar on his left cheek, curling around at the chin. “But here you are, in the flesh. Quent Fielding.”
How the bloody hell did the guy know his name? That strange prickle down his spine turned into a heavy ball in his belly. “Right, then, you have the advantage of me,” he replied calmly, though his mind was racing.
“So sorry. Uh, not,” the man replied. Then he adjusted the gun in his arms. “But what the hell? It’s no secret. Name’s Seattle.”
Quent felt as though he’d been punched in the stomach. Seattle. It could be no coincidence that the bounty hunter Zoë had “tangled with” had shown up here, as if expecting him. Knowing his name.
His mouth tasted like sawdust. “Where is she?” he said, moving toward the bounty hunter. “What did you do to her?”
Seattle raised his gun and pointed it at Theo. Not at Quent, which was telling. “Don’t move or I’ll blast his head off. He’s not worth anything.”
Apparently, Quent was, however. How the hell had this guy figured out who he was? “What did you do to her?” he asked again, his heart pounding so hard his fingers shook. He should never have let her go. He should have made her stay.
Seattle smiled, showing teeth that looked as if they’d been punched inward on top. “I didn’t do anything. She walked away on her own two feet after she got what she wanted. My opinion, she got the cocked-up end of the deal, but who am I to judge?” He gestured, and two of the men started toward Quent. “She doesn’t come back, I have you. She comes back, I have you and her other offerings.”
So shocked was he by the bounty hunter’s words that it took Quent too long to react. He reached for his gun, but didn’t quite grasp it before a whip snaked out and curled around his legs. The next thing he knew, he was on the ground, the gun fumbled away. But he recovered, rolling quickly onto his back, swinging his legs up in a bent-knee position. As one of his attackers lunged, he kicked out, tossing him through the air as if he were a doll.
As Quent scrambled to his feet, shrugging off the second assailant, there was a shout, followed by a gunshot. Quent froze, locking eyes with Seattle, who gave a sharp nod as he looked behind him. “See what you made me do.”
Quent spun. Theo was on the ground. Unmoving. And as he started toward him, Quent saw the pool of red spreading over his friend’s shirt. But before he could get there, the sound of a gun cocking stopped him.
Heart sinking, Quent looked over at Fence, who was still upright and under the control of the bulky man with the gun that had just been cocked, right next to his eye. Their gazes met and Fence shook his head slowly.
Fury chilled him and Quent turned back to Seattle. “I’ll come with you if you let them go.”
The bounty hunter sneered. He reminded Quent of a prep school kid he once knew—tall and skinny, filled with his own importance, and stupid. If Franklin Dover had grown dreadlocks and gotten his pale ass tanned, he’d look a lot like this bounty hunter.
Quent shrugged. “You shoot him”—he gestured to Fence—“and you’ve got no more leverage with me. I don’t fucking care if I die. And I’m worth nothing to you dead.” Ignoring everyone, he walked over to Theo and knelt next to him.
Hell. He was in bad shape. Quent hid his horror and tried to find a way to stanch the blood flowing from the hole in his chest. In a lung, likely. Too high to be the heart. He hoped. As he knelt, tearing off his shirt to use as a bandage, Quent slipped his hand in Theo’s pocket and sneaked the Taser out and inside his boot.
“I’ll cooperate if you let them go. He needs medical help, and trust me, if he dies,” Quent told Seattle, “you’ll be hunted down.”
“Do I look like I care?” Seattle replied. “They can hunt me all they want, whoever they are, but it won’t do them any good.” Quent could almost hear the nyah-nyah-nyah along with Seattle’s taunt.
The Taser comfortably in next to his ankle, Quent stood. “Let them go and I’ll play nice. If not, I’ll fight my way out of here and you’ll have nothing left to bargain with.”
Seattle’s face hardened, lengthening the scar along his cheek, but he must have realized he had no choice. Quent’s superior strength and leverage gave him the upper hand. For the moment.
The bounty hunter gave a short, sharp nod to the bulky guy who had Fence under his control, and the gun fell away. Fence gave Quent a meaningful look—wanna fuck ’em up?—but Quent shook his head briefly.
Theo needed help, and there was no time to waste. The chances of him getting back to Envy in time were in the pit, but at least Fence could try. And at least Lou would be able to see Theo again.
Besides, if Seattle was going to trade Quent for a bounty—presumably to Fielding—that would serve his purpose: getting him inside Mecca. He could take it from there.
“I want them all kept here,” Quent said, gesturing to Seattle’s men. “While my companions leave.”
“Who’s calling the shots here?” said the bounty hunter in a voice with a distinct whine.
“I am,” Quent told him with a humorless smile. Just wait till they’re safely gone. Then you’ll really see who’s in charge. Stupid wank.
Fence didn’t wait any longer. He hurried over, easily lifting Theo in his massive arms, and started off into the woods where, presumably, he had left his horse. His last glance back at Quent offered luck and determination.
“All right, then,” Quent said a few moments later. “Now what?”
“Come with me,” Seattle said with noticeably less bravado than
before. Noting this, one of his henchmen didn’t move quickly enough, apparently, because the bounty hunter raised his rifle and pulled the trigger. No hesitation whatsoever.
Quent turned just in time to see the man fall to the ground. Another perfect shot, this one just as deadly as the one in Theo’s chest.
“Not a great way to keep the help,” Quent commented dryly.
Having reestablished the size of his dick, Seattle snapped an order. “Tie him.” This time, his cohorts moved without hesitation. Two of them rushed to lash Quent’s wrists behind his back, and he allowed it because he knew the final result would be exactly what he wanted. They patted him down, checking his multiple pockets but not, stupidly, his boots.
The next thing he knew, something dark and muffling was yanked over his head, and he was off to the bloody races.
What an ass-crap fucked up place Mecca was.
Zoë felt smothered and stifled just standing there in the narrow space between two buildings. And the sense had nothing to do with the fact that she’d been stuffed inside a container of wool for the rocking trip from shore to shore.
Damn good thing she didn’t have a weak stomach, or she’d have puked and ruined the scratchy, stinking shit for sure. She hoped they washed the stuff before they made it into clothing or no one was going to want to wear it. And she was going to smell like sheep for a week.
The two buildings rose on either side of her, blinding in their whiteness. Everything looked the same—smooth, white, and angular. Except near the ground, where the white had become dingy and stained.
From a distance, the city looked like a pearly, beautiful place. But up close, the grime and shit showed through. Just like everything else.
Water rushed through in channels along the walkways, and tumbled in slides or in free-fall from upper levels. She understood why, having met Marley Huvane. Like pictures of the Lost Gardens of Babylon, ivy trailed from each level of many of the buildings. Red, pink, and yellow flowers sprung from occasional balconies or alongside the channels, but other than that, there was little natural growth. Just white, smooth, flat. Creepy as all hell.
