After: Dying Light (AFTER post-apocalyptic series, Book 6)

by Nicholson, Scott

  DeVontay gave an affectionate tug on the bill of Stephen’s cap. “Nobody’s blaming you, Little Man. We’ve all done stuff we didn’t want to do. And I understand better than anybody. Hell, I just gave Kokona the woman I loved.”

  “If the Zaps are armed, then Hilyard’s going to need every warm body he can get,” Franklin said. “And I don’t think we can hold off a bunch of them from here.”

  “But from what that soldier told you, we can’t really trust Hilyard,” DeVontay said.

  “He didn’t sound like a liar,” Stephen said. “But it was hard to tell from all the blood in his mouth.”

  Poor little guy. Even if we all make it through this, that boy’s going to have nightmares for the rest of his life. But I’ll make sure he gets a chance to find out, no matter who has to pay.

  “Either way, we’ve got others to think about,” Franklin said. “Jorge and Marina, and all those survivors who got dragged into this war.”

  DeVontay shook his head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were becoming a humanist.”

  “Well, now I finally have the alternative shoved in my face. But if we make it, please don’t ever bring it up again. I’ve got a reputation to protect.”

  “You got it, Franklin.”

  “So we go back to the stronghold? Lay low until we figure out what the Zaps are up to, and where Kokona is keeping Rachel?”

  “Either that or we take on Zap Nation all by ourselves,” Stephen said. “If this was a comic book, I’d already be out there in body armor and a cape.”

  “And I’d have to set aside one of these caskets for you,” DeVontay said.

  “So you’ve appointed yourself the official undertaker of After?” Franklin said, giving the street another round of surveillance. “You’re going to be a busy man.”

  DeVontay cracked the front door and a gunshot blasted from several blocks over, followed by a muffled scream. “Whatever it is, it’s getting closer.”

  “We know the Zappers’ telepathy won’t work with the dead ones,” Franklin said. “Even Kokona won’t know the babies are here.”

  “How will we negotiate if she has a whole army trying to kill us?” DeVontay asked.

  “Once she finds out the hospital is burning, it can only go two ways: either she thinks the babies are dead and is so angry she wants to wipe out every human within a hundred square miles, or she’ll think Hilyard has them in the center of town. She’ll attack either way.”

  “Between Hilyard and Shipley, that’s fifty people against who-knows-how-many Zapheads,” Franklin said.

  “Don’t forget they can come back from the dead, and we can’t,” Stephen said.

  “Hey, I’m the doomsayer around here,” Franklin said. “Don’t go trying to steal the crown.”

  “No problem. I like my cap better anyway.”

  “So we throw in with Hilyard until we figure out the next move?” DeVontay asked.

  “Sounds like the best option. I don’t trust him, but it’s probably the best way to find Kokona,” Franklin said. “Get her to come to us.”

  “And Rachel,” Stephen said. “Don’t forget her.”

  “Nobody’s forgetting her, son. That’s what this is all about. We don’t know who she is or what Kokona has turned her into. She might even want to kill us. But we’re not leaving Newton until it’s settled.” Franklin eyed Stephen and DeVontay. “Agreed?”

  “I’m in,” DeVontay said, and Stephen added a “Damn right.”

  “No cussing until you’re old enough to shave,” DeVontay said, easing the door open wider. “Let’s do this.”

  DeVontay led the way, crouching low and sprinting despite his aching legs, glancing back once to make sure Stephen was right behind him. Franklin brought up the rear, sweeping the barrel of his rifle back and forth. DeVontay’s palms sweated around the stock of his own weapon, but he was glad for its weight now. More gunshots popped in the distance, and the brusque stench of the burning hospital hung in the air despite a breeze.

  When they were within sight of the first barricaded street, DeVontay stood and waved a hand over his head. Something chinged to the left of him, near his feet, followed by a metallic clap and a brief puff of smoke from among the carefully arranged vehicles.

  “Hey,” he yelled, waving frantically. “Humans here. Don’t shoot.”

  And I hope that’s not something Zapheads learned to say while we were gone.

  A head appeared over the barrier, and someone shouted back, “Hurry up then.”

  DeVontay reached the barricade and squeezed between the vehicles, followed by Stephen and Franklin. A little old lady with wispy white Einstein hair and glasses grinned at him with crooked teeth and patted her bolt-action rifle. “Sorry about that. Thought you was a Zap. Good thing my aim’s as bad as my eyesight.”

  “Who’s in charge here?” Franklin asked.

  “My eyes ain’t so bad that I don’t know handsome when I see it,” the old woman said. “Where you been all my life?”

  “Racking up divorces and IRS notices. So I’m kind of off the market right now.”

  “Playing hard to get, huh? Well, come find me after the battle and we’ll just see about that.”

  One of Hilyard’s soldiers came out of a whitewashed stucco building that bore a painting of a hairstyle above the door. “What’s going on out there?”

  “We were foraging and heard the war break out,” DeVontay said. “Any news?”

  “Enemy to the north, east, and west, probably engaged with Shipley,” the soldier said. “We don’t have an estimate of their strength, but one of our scouts said they’re carrying small arms.”

  “Bastards finally figured out the Second Amendment,” Franklin said. “Where do you want us?”

  “Report to Hilyard at TOC. He’s got lanes set up.”

  Franklin flipped a salute. “Gotcha.” Then he saluted the old woman and headed toward the bank in the town square. DeVontay checked the barricade and saw only two more armed civilians among the array of vehicles. If the Zapheads made any kind of concentrated assault, this position would crumble like a sand castle at high tide.

  If the other fronts are this weak, we’re in even worse shape than I figured.

  They were crossing the square when Sierra dashed from the drug store to join them. Charcoal smears adorned her face like barbarian makeup, and a bandolier of gleaming brass bullets crossed her chest. She had a pistol holstered on the hip of her camouflage trousers and her ponytail was bunched in a severe knot. DeVontay could see why Brock was so smitten with her. Just as he could clearly see Brock was out of her league—as was pretty much any other man on the planet.

  “Where’s Marina?” Stephen asked.

  Brock’s not the only one with a crush.

  “She’s inside with the other kids. Why don’t you stay with them?”

  Stephen jutted out his chin. “No way. I want to be where the action is.”

  DeVontay thought about ordering Stephen to obey, but realized none of them were really his parent. Hadn’t the boy proven himself over the last four months?

  Besides, his experience with Kokona would come in handy if they managed to force a standoff with her and her bottomless mutant army.

  Gunshots came from a rooftop a block away. Someone leaned over the square from three stories above and waved. “Zappers in sight.”

  “Where did you get the extra gun?” DeVontay asked Sierra.

  “The armory. In the headquarters building.”

  “The bank, you mean.” DeVontay gave Stephen a gentle slap on the back. “Come on, Little Man. You’re in the Army now.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  When they entered the bank, the first thing Stephen noticed was the smell.

  There was no death, and none of that stale, rotted-food stink that plagued many houses and buildings in After. This place smelled kind of like comic books. He guessed it was from all the paper, although banks had pretty much stopped using cash during the Twenty-First Century. Bu
t there was another odor beneath that, like hot metal or old sweat.

  While he and DeVontay waited in the bank’s lobby, which was nothing but counters without chairs, Franklin headed down a hallway and turned the corner out of sight. DeVontay tried a door with an electronic keypad beside it, yanking hard as if he expected it to be locked. Instead, it swung open easily and he almost fell on his butt.

  Stephen could see the man lying on the floor inside the dim room. His head lay in a thick puddle of blood, and flies swarmed around it. That meant he’d been dead for a while.

  He could also see the rifles leaning against the wall. “Looks like we found the armory.”

  “Looks like somebody else did, too.” DeVontay stepped into the room, and Stephen followed. The man had a little round hole in the center of his forehead.

  How can such a little hole leak so much blood?

  “Why would anybody shoot him? It’s not like you have to try real hard to steal a gun these days,” Stephen said.

  “We’d better go tell—”

  “Don’t bother,” Hilyard said from the doorway.

  Franklin stood behind the lieutenant, pulling on his unruly gray beard and frowning. “Looks like you’ve got a rat in the shithouse.”

  “If Shipley has infiltrated our unit, we’re in serious trouble. With the Zaps on the offensive, we can’t afford to watch our backs and our fronts at the same time.”

  “We need to load up on ammo and get Stephen outfitted,” DeVontay said to the grim-faced officer. “We need every warm body we can get.”

  Hilyard bent and picked up a clipboard, then placed it on the desk beside the handguns. “Just sign for whatever you take. Situation grave, but we’re sticking with protocol.”

  Hilyard gathered an M-16 for himself and tucked a couple of magazines under his armpit. He fished a pen from his shirt pocket and made an elaborate show of filling in the form, then tossed the pen on the clipboard. “See you gentlemen on the front lines.”

  “Where do you want us?” Franklin asked.

  “It’s not going to matter one way or another, but you might as well take the hospital side. That smoke’s bound to draw most of them. Brock’s over there, so just tell him you’ve been assigned to his squad. He’ll get a kick out of that.”

  Stephen didn’t like the vacant gaze in the officer’s eyes, as if he was looking through the walls. “So what gun should I use?” Stephen asked him.

  Hilyard plucked an AR-15 from the sofa and handed it to Stephen. It was lighter than he would have thought, and shorter than the guns DeVontay had taught him to shoot with. It almost looked like a toy.

  “That’s the same as Franklin’s, so if he goes down, you can scavenge his ammo,” Hilyard said.

  “I’m not going down,” Franklin said. “I’m watching my back. Because I don’t trust anybody. Served me well for more than sixty years, so why stop now?”

  Hilyard studied him a moment, and then nodded down at the corpse. “You think he picked the wrong side?”

  “I’m just wondering why Shipley’s out there fighting Zapheads on his own when we could join forces and at least have a chance.”

  Stephen could tell Franklin was agitated by more than just the muffled shots at the edge of town. But he was busy concentrating on Hilyard’s shoving a metal sleeve full of bullets into the empty slot in the gun stock, and then showing him how to flip the safety. “Semi-automatic, so every time you pull the trigger, it fires,” the lieutenant said. “The magazine has twenty rounds.”

  DeVontay gathered some more magazines for his M-16, as well as a holstered knife that he attached to his belt. He grabbed a pair of binoculars hanging from a coat rack and slung the strap around his neck. Stephen was about to ask for a pistol but decided his hands were full as it was. Besides, he was eager to get away from the dead guy, whose body was making gurgling noises as gas escaped from his orifices.

  “So, what about Shipley?” Franklin asked. “How come he ended up with the bunker and you were the one that got kicked out?”

  I can’t believe he’s going to tell him what that dying soldier told us about Hilyard. Even Franklin’s head is not THAT hard, is it?

  But apparently Franklin was just hinting around, teasing him like you’d poke a snake with a stick, staying just out of reach.

  Hilyard said, “As far as I’m concerned, the people within these walls are the good guys. And if anybody happens to get caught in the crossfire between us and the Zaps, well, that’s just the price you pay for treason.”

  “How come you didn’t tell us the U.S. government is still intact?” Franklin asked.

  That got him. Knocked him between the eyes, just like you do with the snake when you’re done playing.

  “That’s classified information,” Hilyard said. “Who told you that?”

  Stephen noted the officer was so surprised by the revelation that he forgot to pretend it never happened. Any fool who’d ever read a comic book or seen a war movie knew that the best secrets weren’t even on the radar, and that nobody knew anything. Or that the people who knew stuff ended up dead. Hilyard’s weak denial was all the proof they needed of the truth.

  “It just might be in the public interest to know we have some help on the way,” Franklin said. “Might take months or even years, but it’s out there. No way that yours is the only shielded bunker the military ever built and stockpiled.”

  Hilyard pursed his lips, his face like a cliff. “That’s a false hope, Franklin. There’s no way we’ll be able to re-establish a country, and right now, this is all we have. And it sounds like the Zaps are getting closer. Even if you think the U.S. military is going to swoop in and save us, they’re probably not going to get the job done before sundown.”

  DeVontay collected an extra magazine for his M-16 and headed for the door. “He’s right. We’ve got to take care of our own.”

  Stephen knew he meant Rachel, but nobody could mention her name—since everyone else in Newton thought she was dead.

  Talk about your secrets that never happened.

  Stephen turned to follow him but Hilyard barked at his back. “Son, you need to sign for that.”

  “He’s not signing anything. We’re pretty much seceding from the union.” Franklin laughed despite the gravity of the moment. “Hell, I’ve been dying to say that for years.”

  “Don’t laugh too hard,” Hilyard said, nodding at the dead man. “Whoever did that took a grenade launcher and a case of grenades. That’s a whole lot of killing power.”

  Franklin draped an arm around Stephen’s shoulder and ushered him out of the armory. “Then we just have to hope it’s one of the good guys, right?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Rachel prayed, and whether God existed or not, the very act reminded her she was human.

  And that was enough to keep her self-aware as she transported Kokona from one skirmish to another, reviving dead mutants as fast as they fell. Some were merely wounded, and Kokona would heal their afflictions and send them back into action. Others took several seconds to restore to functional capacity.

  The enemy seemed to be retreating toward the center of town, toward the burning hospital. Rachel didn’t recognize any of their attackers as members of Hilyard’s unit or Brock’s militia, not that it would have made any difference. Despite her deep personal revulsion toward violence, the New part of her took a grim satisfaction whenever one of them dropped dead, either from a bullet or a mass mutant attack.

  When a human fell, a mutant would collect the weapons and distribute them, and although the mutants had little capacity for individual thought, they seemed to understand the nature of their work. Of course, each of Kokona’s commands reverberated through her head, and she found herself repeating certain phrases that roared louder than others.

  “Go there,” she called, in unison with half a dozen other mutants near her. Kokona waved her little arm toward the center of town. They moved forward in a herd, neither hurrying nor taking advantage of the concealment offe
red by vehicles and buildings. A burst of bullets raked through them and a mutant fell on each side of Rachel.

  “Make New,” Kokona ordered, and the familiar twitch and tension of muscles swept through her and she found herself lowering Kokona to them one by one, repeating the ritual that stirred sparks and reignited electrons and sucked heat and vigor from her body and gave them to another. And each mutant rose afterward, wiping away the last of the wounds that marred its flesh, Rachel felt a piece of her go with each act.

  “What happens when I’m used up?” she asked Kokona.

  “I’ll have to go back to human carriers, I suppose,” the baby said.

  “And if you’ve killed them all? Who will carry you then?”

  “You’re not the only we brought over halfway,” Kokona said, although Rachel detected a hesitation. Rachel suspected there were others like her, but they were few and scattered widely across the world. Kokona was nearly helpless without a carrier, and it was unlikely she’d be able to get near a human without killing or being killed.

  If I get the chance, I should kill myself.

  But that wouldn’t work, because Kokona would simply bring her back over and over again until she was drained and discarded for the final time.

  She could see humans atop the buildings ahead of them, popping their heads over the parapets and squeezing off a few rounds, and then ducking back down as the mutants returned fire. The New People possessed poor aim, but the sheer numbers of guns and shots increased dramatically, which also increased the odds that they would eventually hit a target. Rachel sensed more mutants approaching from farther away, an outer ring that encircled the first, so that there were two waves rolling toward the human defenses. But there were humans caught between the first ring and the stronghold, and right now they were suffering severe casualties. Rachel had counted eight dead, and no doubt more had fallen in other parts of Newton.

  Another volley of bullets strafed their tribe, and a handful of mutants collapsed in front of her. Without being told, she bent to her task, even as bullets glanced off the pavement and vehicles around them. She helped Kokona revive a teenaged girl in a royal blue wool coat with silver hoop earrings, and blood pulsed from the side of the girl’s neck. After Kokona jolted the girl back to life, she opened her burning eyes.