by Sean Platt
Liam knew what Katrina was going to say.
“That’s when I met Sutherland. He gave me the first home I had since I was thrown in a cell in City 2 and made me feel like I deserved it. He was a good man with the right intentions. His ideals were arrows through my heart. He wanted to topple The State. He spoke with passion, using words I’d never heard. I saw my hatred for Geralt and all he’d done echoed by Sutherland. He taught me to kill, and I loved my schooling. ‘Targets must be more than accidents,’ he always said, as I learned to kill with purpose. I can’t say I was happy, but I was as close as I was likely to get.
“And then you came along.”
Katrina’s anger suddenly made sense.
Still, her last sentence hurt Liam like he’d fallen from a tree. Sure, Sutherland was a monster, but compared to Geralt, he was a saint. And he cared for her, something Katrina had been sorely missing. And things would’ve kept being OK if Liam and Ana hadn’t made her see Sutherland for what he was. They’d forced her hand, and now that she found herself in an almost maternal role in their odd little family, she was beginning to long for her old life. It might have been hell with Sutherland, but it was familiar.
“I’m sorry,” Liam said, pushing words through guilt. “I was an asshole. I didn’t mean it.”
“No. Don’t apologize. I’d become blind. Sutherland wasn’t always like you saw him. You’re thinking that I could never see how evil he was, but that’s because I was with him for so long, and the change was so gradual. It was slow, like boiling water. Warmer, warmer, dead.”
“We can all be blind to things sometimes, especially when we allow our hearts to guide us. Some people may call it a weakness, and they might be right. But it’s tough to balance humanity with doing what you need to do to survive.” He wasn’t admitting that she was right about killing the girl. But he was letting her know that he understood.
“The orbs are still outside,” Liam nodded toward the window.
“I know. I’m tired. I want to give up for the night.”
Liam raised his eyebrows.
“I won’t give up on the big stuff, but I think we deserve a nap.”
“Yes, you do.” Liam smiled. “I’m tired too.”
“And cold. It’s very cold in here.”
“Freezing,” he agreed.
“Will you keep me warm? I won’t try to seduce you.”
“I couldn’t imagine,” Liam said. “You’re too good for that.”
“So are you.” Katrina lay on the floor.
“I’m sorry that you never got to kill Geralt. Maybe someday you will, assuming he didn’t die when Jonah hit City 1. Though he probably is dead, don’t you think?”
Liam lay down beside her, put an arm around Katrina, and closed his eyes trying not to think about how good it felt to be close to another in The Outback.
She didn’t answer, asleep immediately.
Liam stared out the window across the room, keeping Katrina warm. He thought of Ana and hoped she was thinking of him.
* * *
“Wake up!”
Liam shoved his way through the fog.
He remembered falling asleep and the orbs still at the bank as he finally closed his eyes and killed the moon.
“Wake up!” Katrina whispered urgently.
“Are the orbs still there?”
“No,” she shook her head. “They’re gone. But that doesn’t matter. We have something else to deal with.”
“What?”
Katrina yanked Liam to his feet and turned him to the window.
Outside, Adam was being marched beside a small girl. There was a large man behind them holding a gun.
Katrina had her rifle in hand as she looked out the window. “I think I can get a clear shot.”
“Do it.” But it was too late.
The door exploded open behind them.
An orb flew into the room, cannon spinning with blue arcs of electricity sizzling like static.
It fired a shot, barely missing Katrina, blasting a hole through the wall, and clearing glass from the frame behind them.
Liam reached for his blaster, took aim, and fired. He missed and ripped a wide ribbon through the room’s west wall as the orb zipped upward to the ceiling.
The cannon crackled more loudly. Katrina dropped her rifle, whipped out her sword, and swung, forcing the orb to dip.
Momentum pushed her to the floor. The orb spun, turning its cannon on Katrina.
Time seemed to pause as the orb turned on her. Liam was directly behind it. Katrina was rising to her feet directly in front of the orb. If Liam did nothing, it would disintegrate her. If he fired from his present angle, he would likely miss the orb and kill Katrina himself. So he did the only thing he could think of:
“Hey!” he shouted.
The death machine spun and turned its cannon on Liam.
He lunged at it, screaming with arms raised, hoping to again scare it into moving without shooting.
His ploy worked. The cannon didn’t fire.
The orb started to move but wasn’t quick enough.
Liam’s hands seized the white-hot cannon and didn’t let go as he barreled forward, past Katrina who dodged out of the way and through the hole where a window had been just seconds ago.
Liam and the orb sailed out of the second story.
He landed hard on the orb and snowy ground. The orb’s back was smooth and round, blunting the impact.
Liam fell back, sucking wind through pained lungs. His hands and arms burned red against the cold relief of freshly fallen snow lying in a blanket across the lot.
The orb whirred to life, rising from the ground, shaky, cannon still crackling as it aimed.
This was it.
Nowhere to run.
He had failed to save Adam.
He’d never see Ana again.
A shadow fell across him. He looked up to see Katrina in a downward arc, sword in hand. She screamed.
The orb turned. It was too late, though, as she drove her sword through its front camera, then raised the blade and thrust it deeper, screaming a war cry as she brought it down hard against the ground.
The orb screeched, trying to flee.
She let go of her sword and unsheathed the wrist blades beneath her jacket, punching, stabbing, and dismantling the mechanical beast piece by piece in a frenzied attack, rabid in a way that Liam had never seen.
The orb was dead.
He stared up at Katrina. She met his eyes, then looked around, fists clenched, blades out, and eyes afire, ready to face whatever was coming.
Katrina looked like she could murder the world—and wanted to. Her expression suddenly changed and she looked ahead.
“Shit. They must’ve heard the commotion and took off. We need to find him now.”
She ran back into the hotel to retrieve her rifle, then returned armed with a blaster on her hip, sword on her back, the blades on her wrists, and the rifle in her hands.
God help the bastard who tried to stand in her way.
CHAPTER 44—KELLER
Keller anxiously looked back at the clock. Jacqueline was late, 14 minutes overdue to check on him, as she always did every two hours like clockwork when she was home. The last thing he wanted to do was discuss why he was in a bad mood—again. Like always, he wanted to finish with her unwanted interruption as quickly as possible.
Her being late only annoyed him further.
The door opened 15 minutes late. Keller hid the glass at the foot of his desk.
Jacqueline said, “Just checking on you, making sure you have everything you need.”
“I’m fine, Jackie.”
“You seem preoccupied, sweetheart. Anything wrong?”
“No. Nothing is wrong.”
Why couldn’t she get it: he didn’t feel like talking.
Now she’d give him that sour look full of disapproval and blame, then sigh, duck out, and close the door so she could sigh harder on the other side. Her tired, daily performance e
xhausted him. Once she was gone, he’d pour himself a double.
Instead, she stayed put. “Don’t lie to me.”
Keller stared up at his wife, surprised.
“You’ve been moping ever since we moved here. I don’t want you to stay in here drinking all day . . . and night. It makes you smell. And I don’t like how you’re lying, hiding your glasses when I come in the room like I’m an idiot.”
“I’m fine.” Keller ignored her accusation. “I just have a lot to do, a lot on my mind.”
“Yes, a lot on your mind. That’s what you always say. But I don’t think there’s a lot on your mind so much as that one thing that won’t go away.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean Jonah’s boy, Adam. We’ve been married for a long time. I know what eats you, even when you wish I didn’t. And not just since Joshua—before him too.”
“Please,” he said. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Then perhaps you don’t have time for us.”
“Come on, Jackie, don’t be so melodramatic.”
“And don’t be dismissive of me.” She glared at him, chin quivering, eyes on the verge of tears.
The very real moment unfolding with Jacquelyn sent Keller standing from his chair. He hated seeing her like this. All at once, years of guilt settled like a stone in his gut.
Keller stood straighter and walked to his wife, eyes meeting hers. He took her gently and led her through the apartment, into their bedroom in a slightly crooked but hurried line. His eyes flitted around, searching for hidden listening devices that he’d searched for many times before.
He lowered her gently to the bed. She looked up at him, sitting, puzzled as he planted a fingertip firmly to his lips. She blinked, then nodded.
Keller turned the room’s music up loud, then spun to Jacquelyn, smiled, and sat at the edge of the bed beside her.
She stared into his eyes like she wasn’t sure if he was going to try to distract her with lovemaking or to bare his soul and finally have the conversation that they’d both been avoiding for far too long.
“What is it?” She bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. He didn’t think she could possibly be ready for the truth, but he had to tell her now.
“It’s all a lie,” he whispered. “Denton Sinclair and some other Elders unleashed the zombie virus.”
He tried to keep his voice from cracking but couldn’t. His whisper grew louder, more ragged, and faster but still was barely voiced.
“They wanted to unleash the virus here too—to keep everyone in line. It wasn’t . . . it wasn’t Jonah’s fault.”
Keller started to sob.
Jacquelyn pulled him to her chest and pet the back of his head.
“I think I killed an innocent man.” He cried against her, gurgling his confession. She said nothing, just rocked him. “I put his family into The Games . . . what have I done?” His voice split in a deep ravine. He shuddered, then into the crack added, “I’m a monster.”
Jacquelyn pulled him tighter, then pulled away.
“You’re not a monster. You’re a very good man who has had to make some very difficult decisions, under some not-so-easy circumstances.” She kissed him hard on the cheek. “It does nothing to beat yourself up over what you have done. Tell me what you are going to do now.”
Keller looked at his wife. He didn’t feel angry; he didn’t feel upset; he didn’t want her to go, and he didn’t wish for her to stop talking. He just wanted something to tell her that he could be proud of. It had been a long time since he had felt anything remotely like pride, and he desperately wanted to again.
He just couldn’t think of anything that could accomplish that.
“I don’t know that there’s anything to do. I can’t free Adam. He did betray me and was working with terrorists. Yes, there’s corruption in City 1, but the corruption comes from the same people who are my bosses. And that doesn’t excuse The Underground or Adam’s actions.”
Jacquelyn pressed. “So, what’s the right answer?”
“Maybe there isn’t one.”
“Shallots,” she said, because Jacquelyn never said bullshit. Despite the bleak situation, a small smile touched his lips as he remembered how fiercely he loved this woman. Especially after what she said next.
“There’s always a right thing to do. You’re just not willing to see it. You do that, you know. You decide what you don’t want to see, then build your walls high and hard enough to keep it out. You always have, but it’s been worse since Joshua.”
She looked into his eyes, knowing his look. She held out her hand, an offer for bed.
“But you can see it. I know you can.”
He took her hand and smiled. Suddenly his com chirped.
Keller growled, “What is it?”
“Are you available, Sir?”
Kern’s voice was at a higher pitch than it should have been, tilting into the Sir like a child standing on his toes.
“What is it?” Keller repeated.
Kern cleared his throat. “I have something to show you . . . in person.”
No tilting that time. Definite, immediate, and secret.
“What is it?” Jacquelyn asked from behind Keller, just soft enough for him to hear but not loud enough for Kern.
Keller turned to Jacquelyn, shaking his head. Into the com he said, “Come over.”
He hung up and wondered. Had they heard him over the music, sobbing the truth to his wife?
“What is it?” Jacquelyn asked again.
“Business,” he said, then went to the nightstand. He opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a blaster. “Whatever you do, keep what I said to yourself, or both our lives will be in danger.”
Keller placed the weapon into Jacquelyn’s hand. “Use this if you have to. If anything goes wrong.”
“What’s going on?” she asked, a touch of fear in her voice. “What might go wrong?”
“I don’t know. Just keep this as a last resort.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better? Tell me why.”
“I don’t know, Jacquelyn.” He pulled her into a tight embrace. “Just . . . please . . . trust me.”
She pulled back, but just enough to kiss him. It had been a long time for both of them, and it was only the nagging realization that Kern was coming over that pulled him out of her arms. He left her in the bedroom, closing the door behind him.
Keller went to wait by the front door, trying his best to stay put and not pace, lest Kern notice his apprehension.
Kern knocked.
Keller took a deep breath, then opened the door.
“Come in.”
Kern nodded and stepped through the doorway.
“What is it?”
Kern held out his tablet and nodded at the screen. “We found Dennis Weaver—or Sutherland as he’s going by now. He’s in Quadrant 11.”
“Who else has seen this?”
“Only Jacobson so far.”
“Great! Thank you.” Keller gave Kern two taps on the shoulder, then went out to the balcony. Kern followed.
Outside, Keller was grateful for the fresh air, cold as it was. He looked around, up, down, and along the horizon. Seeing no orbs, he said, “Can I count on you?”
“Of course, Sir.”
“We have to do this one off the books. No one can know.”
“Of course, Sir.”
Keller smiled. This he would be proud to tell Jacquelyn.
“Let’s go catch this fucker once and for all.”
CHAPTER 45—SUTHERLAND
Sutherland loved the sound of chaos—blasters and death as it echoed around them.
He was making his way through the old train station with his six other men—all but the two who had stayed to guard the entrance—taking out hallway after hallway of surprised opposition.
He loved the looks on the residents’ faces as these men in City Watch chem suits stormed their castle. A blond man in brown robes attempted to play hero
, coming at the men dressed in black with a sword.
Sutherland would’ve engaged the man in a sword fight but had no time for whimsy. Not when others in the tunnels might be mounting a more formidable defense. He fired a shot at the man’s crotch and laughed as the man fell to the ground dying, reaching for the cave of melted flesh where his dick had once sprouted.
Sutherland was scrubbing The Station. Once clean, he could decide what to do with it. For now, though, he was going through with workmanlike precision. The tunnels seemed to wind for a ways and in enough directions to keep him from boredom. The place didn’t seem nearly as large or occupied as Hydrangea, but he figured it could make a decent home.
But Sutherland couldn’t settle in until he got rid of the rats that currently occupied it.
He pulled the trigger again. Twice. Both blasts slapped a medium-sized brunette—a pretty thing with an overbite he found charming. Sutherland’s first shot was sloppy; it kicked her in the stomach and split her nearly in the middle. The second blasted the pretty from her face.
The other men were doing their work, though Horrance didn’t seem to be finding as much joy in the work as the others.
The ogre wasn’t just soft in the head, it seemed.
Something bristled Sutherland’s senses and sent him diving to the side. Before the shooter could pop a second shot, Sutherland pulled his trigger three times. One shot did it—enough to take out a small chunk of the top of the attacker’s head, more than enough to drop him dead.
The shooter fell and a small boy—about five years old—ran into the hall, crying for his mommy.
Farther down the hall, the child’s mother ran toward him as if she could stop the armed men marching toward them.
Sutherland darted toward the child, scooping him up before the mother could reach them.
He cradled the child in the crook of his arm, blaster to its forehead. He turned to the woman. She stopped, eyes wide in terror.
