Before I leave, he gives me an antibiotic and some painkillers that I might actually consider taking in the peace and quiet of my own home. I don’t have to worry about espionage and crazy animals there. I thank him and move to the elevator after he gives me strict instructions to follow up with him tomorrow for a recheck. I ride the lift up to the penthouse floor. I figure I’ll change into my own duds, see if I can find Mira and the others, and get something to eat. I’m famished.
Chapter 35
When I walk in the door of my apartment, I’m surprised to find it’s already inhabited. Mira sits on the couch with her legs tucked under her, wearing the blue jeans and gray thermal that she wore the first time I ever laid eyes on her. Archer and Eckert sit in armchairs opposite the couch, talking casually. From the stove, the smell of something cooking floats across the room and my stomach growls furiously as if on cue. They all look up and smile in unison as I walk through the door, and I’m struck with a strange sort of familial closeness to them all. Maybe this is what a post-Fester dysfunctional family unit looks like.
“Make yourselves at home,” I joke as I walk to the sofa, placing the small bottle of pills Doc gave me on the end table. My back is pumped full of local anesthetic from where he patched me up, but I don’t want to be too hard on the stitches, so I sit gingerly on the edge next to Mira. She reaches over and raises the back of my shirt gently, and everyone else in the room leans in to see as well.
“You’re starting to look rough, Cray,” Archer says.
I grimace. He’s not wrong about that. Mira drops my shirt and places a warm hand on my arm. Eckert’s eyes note the movement, but he says nothing. I lean back slowly, turning slightly towards Mira to allow most of my weight to rest on my shoulder.
“Maybe one day I’ll have as many scars as you do,” I reply.
“For your sake, I hope not.”
“So what are we cooking?” I ask. “Smells incredible.”
“Just a little chili recipe I’m famous for,” Eckert says, his long legs stretched out in front of him. “It was Mira’s request. Sorry, I had to raid your kitchen, but I found most of what I needed.”
“Trust me,” Mira says, “you’re going to love it.”
“I think I could eat dirt right now and love it I’m so hungry.”
Easing off of the couch, she glides to the refrigerator and pulls out a couple of sodas, tossing me one without asking if I want it, before taking the chair next to Eckert and placing her long legs on the coffee table. She watches me closely, smiling warmly, and for the first time in days, I start to relax.
Deciding I’ve had enough pain for the past week to last me a lifetime, I pick up the small bottle of pills from the end table. Unscrewing the top, I pop a couple in my mouth, open the can of soda, and take a long swig, ignoring the bitter taste as they begin to dissolve before I can swallow them. I hope they take the edge off soon. My pain tolerance is high, but I’m ready for relief.
We make small talk for a while, and after a few minutes Archer leans forward, a serious expression on his face. “Okay, kid. What happened out there?”
I go through the whole wild story from beginning to end, Mira punctuating it from time to time, adding details of her experiences with Ilana. I leave out the details of Mira’s genetic powers. Those are things private to Mira and Eckert, and I leave it up to her sole discretion what to reveal or not reveal about herself. She doesn’t offer any details, so I stay quiet about it too. By the end of our narrative, Archer and Eckert both sit in stunned silence.
Archer rubs the top of his head with both hands before looking at each of us in turn.
“It’s unbelievable,” he says. “Everything we’ve ever known about The Virus, about society after the crisis, if it could be reversed, we could have a stabilized world again.
I can see him radiating excitement, the look of hunger in his eyes. Archer has been instrumental in forming The Organization and helping to eradicate the huge population of Festers in The States. Perhaps more than anyone else, he understands the weight of this revelation. The question is, what next?
Even if we can quickly put our hands on the cure, that opens up a whole new set of uncertainties. It would seem haste would be the most logical next step, but there are a lot of problems to be worked out.
For starters, there’s the issue of The Council. They wanted what Jonathan was working on for all the wrong reasons, and they’re still in power. They are also going to be doing everything possible to find out who took him and why. Even if we get the cure, chances are not good The Council will suddenly come to a decision to behave chivalrously with it, not to mention revealing the fact that we have it would be to incriminate ourselves in the breakout.
So then what? A coup? The States might not survive it. Even if we did go that route, it would mean taking more people into our confidence, putting us at greater risk of discovery or betrayal. Now that the prize is a cure and not a new virus, in many ways we’re on more unsteady ground than when we started. It’s no longer a simple matter of making Jonathan Harbin disappear. A cure for The Virus isn’t something we could sit on indefinitely in good conscience.
Also, we now know of at least one double agent that was working in the government, and he mentioned possible multiple interested parties. Who? From where? Are there other doubles? Moles? How entrenched are they?
From the looks on all the other faces in the room, they’re weighing options as well.
Everything urges me to caution, and I keep recalling the bizarre dream where an infected Mira kept telling me to keep quiet.
It’s Archer that speaks first.
“Obviously, we’re in a very difficult situation. But my thought is, we need to go after this cure as soon as possible. We’re up against The Council in a bad way, but the cure could be the very bargaining chip we need.”
“But if we come forward,” Mira says, “what’s to keep them from just killing us as soon as they have what they want?”
Archer sighs. “It’s not foolproof, and it will take a lot of planning, but it may be the best shot we have.”
I’m not convinced.
“I’m not sure it’s that simple,” I say.
Archer huffs. “I’m not saying it’s simple.”
“I know,” I say quickly. “I didn’t mean it that way, and I didn’t mean offense. There’s just something…I don’t know. I can’t quite put my finger on it. Maybe the best thing is to…I don’t know.” Our options stink.
“Strong-arming The Council is dangerous, I know,” he says, “but I don’t see a way around it.”
“But it’s not just The Council,” I say. “Even if we can manipulate them, we have no way of knowing if there are other doubles in the government and at what level. We could be ambushed at any moment and never see it coming.”
Archer sighs. “I feel your frustration, but it’s impossible to know. I think the only thing we can do is move ahead and deal with problems like that when and if they come.”
I’m surprised. It seems Archer is being foolhardy with this. It’s not his usual way to move first and deal with issues on the fly.
Eckert speaks. “I agree with Cray. We can’t just charge off after this cure, even if we prove it really exists, without a lot of people finding out. Even if The Council came on board one hundred percent, there’s no way to keep it quiet enough if we bring it back and start testing; that’s to say nothing of manufacturing it. You’re going to need top minds for that, and we have no way of knowing if our intelligence lines are safe after seeing what Johnson did. It’s apparent that there are a lot of hidden agendas going on.”
Archer sits, thinking it over. He has to see the logic.
Again, the dream comes unbidden, and I get an unsettled feeling in my stomach. Something’s tickling my perception, peeking around the edges of my consciousness, and before I realize it, without even really knowing why I say it, I speak.
“Right now, I’m the only one who knows the location. I think maybe it’s b
est it stays that way until we can develop a viable plan.”
“Maybe he’s right,” Eckert says.
Archer gazes at me, hearing Eckert’s words, but not turning. His features are calm and collected, the perfect picture of power restrained.
“At least that way, I can try to keep the rest of you safe. If I’m the only one with the knowledge, it puts you at less of a risk.”
Archer nods, and now there’s no mistaking his disappointment. “Well, it was only a matter of time. I tried to get you to play along to make things easier, but…”
Only too late does the realization click into place – the strange response, the thing that’s been nagging me about all of this. I don’t have facts, just a disconcerting sense of pieces fitting together, something my mind has been working on, picking up subconsciously. But it fits, and a cold, instant dread fills me. Before I can move, Archer raises a concealed gun and fires.
Two shots ring out with no pause. The first hits Eckert squarely between the eyes and plasters gore all over the back wall of my apartment. In one fluid motion, Archer levels the gun at Mira and a bullet slams into her right shoulder. She screams and Archer has another gun leveled at my head before I can even rise from my chair.
“Don’t!” he says. He now has a gun trained on both of us. “Just sit back and you and I are going to have a little talk about what you know.”
“It’s been you all along.” The threat of tears stings my eyes. To my right, Mira sits holding her shoulder, quietly weeping over Eckert’s lifeless body. She raises a trembling hand to his neck and checks vainly for a pulse, her face twisting in misery.
“I’m sorry, Cray. I really am,” Archer says. An eerie stoicism has come over him, but his eyes dart back and forth between me and Mira, keeping us both under a close watch in case we try anything. “But sometimes leaders have to make tough decisions.
“Well, you see, now I will have the ultimate weapon. I’ll have the power to heal, to restore every nation if I choose. And with that power, I will ensure that the new United States of America becomes the key world power in a new world order.”
“You would use a cure as a weapon? The same as Johnson,” I say bitterly. “Seems to be a popular concept lately. Did it ever occur to you to use it as a peace offering?”
“I have no desire for that. Your childish ideas of peace are antiquated. My goal was the long-term guarantee of my people’s power and survival.”
“You really mean power for yourself,” I growl. “So you wanted it the whole time to usurp The Council and take power?”
The statement earns a hearty laugh from him.
“Son, The Council already answers to me. Always has.”
I don't want to believe it, but I don't think he's lying. What would that accomplish? I feel sick. He was the one trying to get the cure from Jonathan all along?
“You may find the idea old-fashioned, but I've always believed when one man is in charge, things get done. But Jonathan was uncooperative, so I figured if he wouldn’t tell me, perhaps he would tell his brother.”
My mind reels with the realization that bangs into agonizing place. My head spins at the revelation.
“You knew!” I scream. “You knew who I really was, and you used me to get it from him, didn’t you!?”
He sighs and almost seems sad.
“Yes. I’ve always known of your true parentage. Jonathan vowed not to give me that cure. Maybe in the end, he was an idealist. I don’t really know. But he proved quite adept at overcoming my efforts to take it by force. So I started slipping word out through the right channels that Damian’s son was alive, that he created a new virus, and The High Council planned to use it as a weapon just like the first one – a way to solidify their power.
“Once the word was out, it was easy to draw Eckert in. Did you know he had ties to Damian Harbin? I guess he thought he managed to keep that secret to himself. I figured maybe he would be of use if you weren’t. He took the bait easily enough. After all, who wouldn’t trust Cedric Archer, the mastermind behind The Organization?”
I glance at Mira. Her face is a mask of unbridled hatred. Gun or not, she's a ticking time bomb.
“I thought Johnson was harmless enough,” Archer says. “I had to use him to pass the info to Eckert. Turns out I was wrong about him. But even the best of us make mistakes, as you now know from experience.
“I knew Jonathan wouldn’t die with that secret if he believed he had someone he could trust it to, so I set up this little rescue charade. I gambled that he would tell you, my most trusted Sweeper, and I was right. I planted the sniper at the airfield, had the plane blown up, and had Jonathan shot to put him in a pressure cooker to spill the beans to you. Of course, then Johnson turned traitor and screwed it all up. But that’s been corrected now it seems. I’m sorry, my boy, but you were just a pawn in a much larger chess game. If it helps, there was no one else I would have trusted but you anyway.”
“I’m flattered,” I say biting off my words. “That was quite a gamble. You would risk the cure of all of those infected people against the possibility of Jonathan telling me the secret on his deathbed? And what if he didn’t divulge it, Archer? What if your sniper accidentally delivered a kill shot? All of those people, all the families that have had no hope, the chance for us to live in a normal world again, all of that could have been lost forever in your bid for power.”
“Kill shot,” he says. “For all your brains, you really are thick aren’t you? Simmons was tops. Only you could rival his marksmanship. Do you really think if he wanted you dead, that any of you would have made it off that airfield?”
For once in my life, I’m at a loss for words.
To my left, I see movement, and turn as Mira leans forward and suddenly vomits on the floor. Archer turns his gaze as well, keeping a gun leveled on each of us. We both watch in astonishment as she slowly reaches out with both hands, grabs Eckert’s lifeless body by the lapels of his coat, and pulls him gently, his head lolling, into a strange sort of embrace, her head cradled against his, a nauseating exit wound gaping in the back of his skull.
Tears flow like a stream down both of her cheeks, and then her eyes open and hold my gaze. The pain and heartbreak I see there overwhelms me, threatening to tear me apart. Archer looks at me, and that’s all the time it takes.
Chapter 36
In the instant his eyes turn from Mira, she screams and heaves the limp body of her dead father across the room with inhuman force. Eckert’s body blocks Mira from the gun in Archer’s left hand as it crosses the room in a heartbeat and slams into him like a wrecking ball. Eckert was slim, but tall, easily weighing in at two-hundred pounds, and the impact knocks Archer over backwards in his chair.
At the moment she releases the body, everything instinctively goes to slow motion for me, and I push with my feet, angling my body back and over the couch to take cover behind it, my stitches ripping loose from the effort. But Archer has reflexes honed by years of hunting Festers. He squeezes off a shot at my head even as he’s going down in a heap under Eckert’s body. The bullet spins slowly through the air, and I’m barely able to move my head enough that it only grazes my scalp, causing a sharp sting as it takes a bit of flesh with it, but then I’m on the other side of the couch as Mira flips over the far end and lands beside me, her teeth gritted like an animal.
There’s a scrambling sound from the other side of the room as Archer pushes Eckert’s body aside, followed by the loud thunderclap of his guns. We both dive to the floor knowing the plush couch will offer little protection against the bullets punching holes in the material. Mira rolls onto her back and pushes off of the couch with both legs, sending it racing violently across the hardwood floor towards Archer, furniture crashing as it takes the coffee table and another chair with it. But Archer’s already moving, and I catch a glimpse of him as his body snakes around the island separating the kitchen and living areas, providing cover for himself.
I hear him speaking quickly into a communicator,
low and intense, but snippets of his conversation are clear enough for me to realize he’s calling in everyone in the building for backup. I catch the words “assassination attempt” and “compromised agents”.
The seconds tick by and no one moves. Archer is shielded by the kitchen island, while Mira and I are likewise shielded by it from the other side. I try to think of something to do, but my brain feels muddled from the medication, and I curse myself, not that there was any way I could have expected this outcome.
We have no guns, and he could stand and begin to fire at any moment. I’m still struggling for a solution when something arches through the air from behind the island. I recognize the small shape of the grenade as it reaches its apex and starts its downward path to where it will land between me and Mira.
I move in her direction to shield her, but she’s a split second ahead of me and slams into me with enough force to send us flying across the room. Our eyes meet for a millisecond, and I see a knowing in the fierceness of her expression. We’re still in mid-air when the grenade explodes with a deafening boom. Several pieces of shrapnel embed themselves in my body, but not in any place vital, thanks to Mira, who takes the brunt of the explosion, her flesh shredding grotesquely from the blast.
Even through her body, the concussive force feels like a punch to the gut.
We slam into the floor, my breath puffing out painfully, as Mira’s head smacks into the hard wood, knocking her unconscious. Everything is muffled, my ears ringing and pounding. Before I can react, another grenade is coming at our new position and I have just enough time to bat it away wildly. It flies into the open door of my bedroom and the bedroom wall bulges from the second blast, protecting us from further damage.
Blood is running into my left eye from the bullet wound and blurring my vision. Mira groans weakly and remains still, but she’s alive for the moment, and a demonic, instinctual rage kicks inside of me. I push Mira’s broken body to the side and make a mad dive at the island counter top just as Archer stands up behind it, his weapons raised, but I’m on him before he can get off a shot and we crash onto the floor, punching and grappling for control of the weapons.
The Night Sweeper: A Zombie Conspiracy Novel (The Sweeper Chronicles Book 1) Page 17
