by Sean Platt
Ana was so relieved at how much Calla had finally calmed down, it took her a half minute before relief twisted into an ugly panic as it dawned on her that the girl had stopped moving. Ana’s heart froze as she reached for Calla’s neck to feel for a pulse.
Nothing.
Oh God.
NO.
Don’t let her die.
No, please, please, NO.
Ana wasn’t sure whom she was praying to. God had stopped answering prayers.
Still no pulse.
Ana moved her fingers, hoping she was simply being stupid and feeling in the wrong spot. Ana’s heart seemed to gather Calla’s lost beats as if stealing them, until finally she felt the girl’s pulse like a whisper, faint but there.
Ana exhaled, nearly collapsing into tears as Calla’s bright blue eyes blinked opened and looked up at Ana.
The whites were ringed in an angry red. She looked confused but mostly aware.
“You’re going to be OK,” Ana said again, desperately wanting to believe the words through her smile.
“I’m tired,” Calla said, her voice weak.
Ana wasn’t sure what she could say. Everything was stupid in her head. Should she let Calla sleep or force her to stay awake? Ana remembered how she’d been at her lowest point before losing herself to a sleep so deep that Liam said he thought she was on her way to somewhere else forever. Then she woke up feeling better, somehow having survived the infection.
Maybe if she let Calla sleep, the girl would wake up cured.
Then again she might never wake up again.
Where is Oswald?
The doctor answered her thoughts and appeared in the doorway. “Calla!”
He looked briefly at the dead subject, then dropped to his knees beside Calla as Father Truth appeared in the doorway behind him.
“What happened?” Father Truth asked.
Ana told them everything she could about Calla, while leaving out everything the infected man had said—that was for later.
Father Truth grabbed a com from his coat pocket, called someone, and told them that the situation was under control and that the subject was dead.
Moments later, the alarm finally stopped screaming.
Oswald picked up Calla and laid her flat on an exam table.
He asked: “Where are you? What’s your name? How do you feel?” and a dozen other questions, which Calla groggily, but accurately, answered. All the while he was checking her vitals and taking notes on a clipboard beside the table.
“I wasn’t sure if I should let her sleep,” Ana said. “I was afraid she might not wake up. Or wake up as a zombie.”
“It’s OK,” Father Truth said, reaching into his long coat and withdrawing a small brown pouch. He unfastened a leather string, opened the pouch, and poured two tiny white pills into his palm.
“Give her these,” he said to Oswald.
Oswald grabbed a bottle of water from his desktop, then helped Calla take the pills and drink the water. Within seconds, Calla’s eyelids closed.
“What did you give her?” Ana asked.
“Something to help her sleep,” Father Truth said. “You were right in trying to calm her. From what we’ve seen, the infected can trigger a rapid escalation in another’s virus. As can stress. The two together are a lethal recipe.”
“Was she starting to change? I mean, could she still change now or when she wakes up?”
Oswald answered, “Well, we can’t be certain if she was actually changing, though it would seem from your description that she may have been. As to whether she still might, we can’t say. But I don’t think so. She’ll be in a deeper sleep in a few minutes, then I’ll reinject her with the serum. Using your white blood cells, I should have something ready by tomorrow, a variation of our Hydrangea experiments.”
“Is it whatever you were using on this man?” Ana asked. “Because I’m not sure it was working.”
Oswald kept his eyes on Calla as her breathing slowed to a calm pattern, hiding his expression from Ana.
Father Truth answered instead. “No, we were giving him an older version of the serum. We have another subject responding quite positively to the new variation.”
Father Truth seemed so kind as he met her upset eyes. His voice was warm enough to make Ana loathe her next question. But she couldn’t ignore the accusation or stuff it inside her.
“The man said that you all infected him. Is it true?”
Father Truth rubbed his hand through his hair, pushing it back as he seemed to deliberate the proper response. Finally, he motioned for Ana to follow him out of the room and into the hallway.
“Yes, it’s true,” he nodded, hands folded in front of him, eyes on Ana as if expecting her to snap.
But Ana could only stare. She finally found words, but they sounded even uglier out loud.
“You guys are kidnapping and infecting people?”
Father Truth held her eyes, rather than flinching like a coward. “I’m not proud of it, Ana. But sometimes advances in science require sacrifice.”
“Like me?”
He couldn’t meet her eyes. She swallowed her desire to yell and instead said, “I want to see Egan.”
“Certainly.” Father Truth nodded. “I’ll take you immediately.”
CHAPTER 32—KELLER
Keller sat alone in the master viewing room, staring at the two dozen screens that peeked onto streets and into resident homes inside City 1, returning to the search he’d all but surrendered four months ago.
There were cameras in every television, on every street corner, and in every public place in The City. They recorded everything, yet somehow none had managed to show Keller who had helped Jonah Lovecraft unleash the zombie virus on City 1.
There was a woman who’d met with him, but she had disappeared after the attack, and no one seemed to know her real name.
He stared at the screens, flipping through footage from the day of the attack on The City, growing increasingly annoyed with the red squares covering nearly half the screens on any one cycle.
Red squares were a designation from the Elders that the person in that home was not to be spied upon. An electronic block prevented these televisions from viewing or recording anything. Since the most powerful people resided in City 1, they were granted privileges that others were not.
Keller had asked the Elders if there were some way to unblock the squares. They had said no, the blocks were legitimate and there was nothing that he, or they, could do. They all had blocks themselves, so he doubted their explanations were necessarily on the level.
Regardless, it meant that if whoever helped plan the attack were among The City’s Elders or community leaders, Keller was shit out of luck.
He stared at the screens for so long they all became a giant blur of red, until his eyes tired and he closed them, wondering why he’d bothered to hit the office. He could’ve stayed home with nothing done. And there, he could drink.
After a few more wasted hours, his com rang—Jacquelyn asking if he’d be home for dinner.
“Yeah, Jackie. I’m heading out now.”
He grabbed his jacket and headed for the elevators. Of course his phone rang as the doors closed. It was Elderman Hesh, one of the six at the pyramid’s top. They ran The Elders’ Council—the only people above Keller, unless you counted the deceased Jack Geralt, who The State still pretended was alive.
“Yes, Elderman Hesh?”
“Mr. Keller,” Hesh said with his insincere joviality, “how are you this afternoon?”
Keller hated how The Council all referred to him—in person—as “Mr. Keller” rather than by his title “Provisional Leader.” It was as if they wanted to remind him at all times that he served at their discretion. State citizens thought Keller ran the show, as Geralt had before him. But these old men called the shots, disguising their influence with a “One True Leader” so no one would hold them accountable. Nor would the populace know that The Council acted in their own interests, maintainin
g power, wealth, and influence, while doing the same for their friends.
Hell, even Keller had had no idea how crooked the system was until he’d been named Provisional Leader. It was a different view behind the curtain—that is, behind the curtain behind the curtain. Corruption or no, he had a job to do and asses to kiss. Better this crooked system than The Underground’s unbridled anarchy.
“I’m quite fine.”
“I understand that you’ve been accessing data from The City 1 attack.”
“Well, yes.” Keller wondered how closely they were watching him.
“May I ask why?”
“Certainly. I’m following up on a lead.”
“A lead? What kind of lead?”
Keller wished he hadn’t said “lead.” A lead meant he’d have to divulge his source, when in fact he had none. And it wasn’t like he could make up something that would hold water if The Council were to try and verify it. This wasn’t like City 6 where Keller knew everyone, and City Watch had each other’s backs. People in City 1 were only interested in themselves—especially since the attack.
While few beyond Keller and The Council knew that Geralt was dead, the people could sense unoccupied rungs in the political ladder, and many were angling to climb. It wasn’t enough that three of The Council had died during the attack, which meant three newly appointed Elders. Several State departments were also affected, with new people holding key positions. There were so many new faces and changes, no one felt safe in their jobs. All were looking to secure their spots—which meant infighting and backstabbing.
While the attack was a strike at The State’s center of power, it hadn’t disrupted the flow but merely rerouted the current.
Keller felt like he was onto something, perhaps connecting a few more dots from the attack to someone within The City. And if his sniffing around had drawn the attention of an Elderman, he must be closer than he thought to sussing things out.
Hesh derailed his thought.
“What kind of lead, Mr. Keller?” Hesh repeated.
“Not a lead so much as a hunch.”
“What kind of hunch?”
“I don’t know, Sir. I was thinking maybe I missed something, so I figured I’d go through the footage from the day of the attack again.”
“And did you find anything?”
“No, Sir.”
“I thought The Council had made it clear that you were to end your investigation.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And yet, here you are? Is there nothing better to do with your time?”
“No, Sir, I mean, yes, I have better things. I just hate thinking that our enemies are alive to strike again.”
“We have our enemy, Mr. Keller. The Underground, led by Jonah Lovecraft, who is dead. Those were your findings, correct?”
Yes, that’s what The Council decided that Keller had found after reviewing his investigation.
“Yes, Sir.”
“So, the case is closed then?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Great!” Hesh said. “Glad to hear it.”
Keller again wondered how the hell Hesh knew he’d been investigating the attack. He let him stew in the silence. This interrogation technique worked on 90 percent of criminals; maybe it would work on an old man with too much power.
This time was no different.
After a moment, Hesh said, “Some people would like this put to bed, so we can get to the business of moving on.”
Keller played dumb. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was offending any Elders.”
“No, no—I mean, not me, anyway.”
So it is someone else asking you to make this call?
Keller stayed quiet, knowing a name was forthcoming. Hesh wanted to tell Keller this—people in the know always want to talk and prove their insider status.
Again, Hesh didn’t disappoint. “Elderman Sinclair was worried that maybe some of our people would see that you’re still investigating this when the case is closed and that it might send the wrong message about our priorities—or your fitness for leadership.”
Elderman Denton Sinclair was one of The Council who came into power following the attacks. For the third time, Keller wondered how the hell Sinclair, Hesh, or anyone else knew that Keller was viewing the feeds. It had to be someone close to Keller, someone angling for his job, feeding information to The Council in an attempt to undermine him or prevent him from finding the truth. Keller would have to find that someone and take care of the snitch. For now, though, politics.
“Should I speak to Elderman Sinclair?” Keller asked, suspecting Hesh wouldn’t want that at all.
“Oh, no, no, no. Not necessary. He asked me to take care of it because you and I have known each other so long. He figured you might take it better from me.”
Or perhaps he didn’t want me to know that he’s watching me, so he back channeled through you.
“Of course,” Keller said. “I understand. Please tell Elderman Sinclair that I’m finished. As far as I’m concerned, Jonah was The Underground’s head. We’ve cut that off nicely and are now inches from total eradication.”
Hesh thanked him and hung up.
Keller stared at the com, then pressed a button on the wall. The doors parted and he stepped into the garage, still unsure why Denton Sinclair was so interested in his investigation.
CHAPTER 33—SUTHERLAND
After parking their truck so as not to alert anyone of their presence, Sutherland had been scouting the area surrounding where he believed the train station housing Ana and the her friends to be. At his side was the giant oaf—and Sutherland’s savior—Horrance, as well as the two stooges, Wormwood and Finch, and another handful of idiots that he’d been traveling with ever since leaving Hydrangea an unpleasant memory.
Sutherland was also wrestling with himself. Half of him was grateful for the lot of them. They had risked plenty to save him and had trusted him enough to follow his plan to turn on their own people and unleash the virus in Hydrangea. The rest of Sutherland saw them for the idiots they were. That half wanted to strangle them as they clomped carelessly through the woods like they were on a merry jaunt.
“Want us to go find something to eat?”
Wormwood had been asking Sutherland the same goddamned question for the last few hours, ever since they reached the station’s perimeter and turned food into something they’d have to think about later.
“No,” Sutherland said, barely holding his pleasant facade. “We’ll eat after we find the base where Ana Lovecraft is hiding. Now, please.” He tried not to hiss as he forced his lips into the same tired sentences. “Try and keep your voice down. We want to see before we’re seen. Got it?”
“What?” Wormwood asked loudly.
A sudden rustling in the woods ahead caught their collective attention. Horrance turned to Sutherland, quietly begging for direction.
Sutherland ducked low in the brush along the tree line and with a gesture ordered his men to do the same. They crouched, Sutherland watching and hoping his men wouldn’t screw up.
A few of the men looked like they wanted to say something and point out the obvious, but Sutherland put his finger to his lips and wagged his head. He nodded toward the rustling, which grew louder until a pair of people entered the clearing.
Sutherland could feel the smile as it lit his lips. They had to be from the base. They looked healthy, their equipment and clothing were too nice for them to be scavengers or bandits. One was a young teenage boy, maybe 15 or 16, hard to tell with him bundled so tight. His companion, a girl, was a few years older. He bobbed behind her like a lovesick pup.
They would be easy enough to question and kill. Each carried a light-looking backpack. Sutherland assumed they were mostly empty, there to transport whatever they killed for dinner back to the base. In addition to their matching packs, the pair carried identical weapons—short bows, full quivers, and mini-blasters at their sides. The girl wore hers high on the right, the boy had his low on the lef
t.
Sutherland nodded a gesture at Horrance, hoping the oaf wasn’t too stupid to get his meaning. The ogre got it, whispered something to Finch, then followed the leader alone, as the rest of the men stayed back behind the trees.
After he and Horrance had been trailing the scouts for a while, Sutherland felt his smile start to widen, remembering his own days staying alive by killing game. This wasn’t all that different, though the prey now came with half as many legs. He continued to follow his quarry.
In winter even skilled hunters went hungry. The best way to fight starvation was to hunt among the bedding areas where deer went to rest—a strategy the couple in front was clearly familiar with. The pair Sutherland was following was hunting smart and carefully.
The hunters spotted a buck, right where the pine trees started to thicken. Sutherland motioned for Horrance to stay back, then kept going alone, knowing the oaf would make too much noise and scare the deer along with the hunters trailing it.
As he continued to follow, Sutherland couldn’t help but be impressed with the hunters. Young as they were, they were patient, not rushing the kill, waiting until they had their shots lined up. With the wind picking up and a snowstorm brewing, they knew that they might not get another chance if they missed.
Deeper in the woods, with Sutherland’s men still far behind them, the hunters turned so quiet they were nearly invisible. The girl drew an arrow from her quiver, notched it in her bow, and aimed.
Too bad she’ll never fire.
Sutherland stepped up behind her, no longer worried about stealth. His boot heel snapped a branch and sent the deer darting into the woods. The girl’s arrow sailed toward the deer, too high, and thunked into a tree. As the deer vanished, he grabbed her from behind and put a knife to her throat.
The guy never stood a chance. By the time he realized what was happening, Horrance had him by the hair, blade to his throat.
“You can say something. No need to be quiet. Dinner’s gone. Dessert, well, that’s another matter.” Sutherland smiled at the hunters, thinking it funny that they were now prey, then focused on the girl. “If you don’t tell us exactly what we need to know, I’ll let my boys have all they can eat.”
