Viral Airwaves

by Claudie Arseneault

  “You did,” Galen said. Then he chuckled. “You think you’ve won, don’t you?”

  The sneering undertone sent a chill down Andeal’s spine. They had won, yet Galen managed to instill doubts with a handful of words and the proper inflection. Andeal’s fingers tightened on the gun’s handle. He let the scientist go on. Something about his easy certainty fascinated Andeal and kept him from putting an end to this.

  “If I haven’t given you this marvelous new plague yet, it isn’t because I want to keep you alive as long as possible. Though that certainly is an added bonus. It’s because it’s already out.” Galen squirmed and straightened into a more dignified position. His lips parted into a predatory smile. “Your old college friend—Treysh, was it?—she shouldn’t live much longer. It doesn’t matter how things unfold now. At least she’ll pay for shooting Omar. And she’ll transfer my gift to everyone around her. I wish I could see your face when you hear Maniel’s first cough.”

  Andeal shook his head. It wouldn’t be like that. They already knew where to look for a cure this time, and they would find it.

  Three gunshots echoed through the labs, cutting through Galen’s monolog. Andeal’s heart sank as the scientist laughed. What now?

  “That must be my guards. I guess your Henry Schmitt wasn’t all that miraculous.”

  Andeal snapped his eyes shut. No, no, no. There would be another explanation. Henry hadn’t seemed nervous at all about searching for the keys, and he was Henry. If there was the slightest chance of him being in danger, it would’ve been written all over his face. Galen was trying to manipulate him, to make him believe it was over. And it was, but not for Andeal.

  “Congratulations on making this Union’s Day very disagreeable,” the scientist went on. “But I’ll heal. I might even be able to put the blame of this strange new epidemic on your little group and prove my goodwill by working out a treatment. This is how it goes, you know. If I get out of here alive, I write history. The Clarins’ name will be marked down alongside those of other great names, as it should be.”

  For a moment, all Andeal could do was stare at the scientist. Galen Clarin was tied by a belt, slowly bleeding out on the floor of his labs, unarmed and defeated. Yet he spoke of glory and victory like they were right within his reach, like he just had to stretch his fingers to achieve them.

  It wasn’t terrifying anymore.

  It was ridiculous. Disconnected.

  Andeal laughed, and though his voice was rough and broken, though there was no real joy to it, he was mocking the man who’d haunted him for the last six years, and that felt great.

  “You’re wrong,” Andeal said. “I might have no idea what’ll happen to any of us if Henry is dead. We might die—blood loss, contamination, executions. But even then, we’ve won. We have brought together thousands of people, more than you ever killed, and they all know the truth about you. It is nestled in their hearts and guts. Things started changing the very first night I gave my name on the National Radio’s broadcast. They will continue to do so whether or not any of the White Renegade’s rebels survive the day. But that’s not even the best!”

  Galen sneered. “What would that be?”

  Andeal shifted his grip on his firearm, setting the ring finger over the trigger. One working digit was more than enough. He felt lightheaded, a step removed from the world. Part of him wanted to laugh again. Galen had killed Lenz Schmitt, tortured Maniel and him, even made Treysh his patient zero. He had exterminated thousands years ago, was trying to do the same again. Yet he couldn’t imagine what would be ‘the best’ for Andeal, here and now.

  “You’ll be dead.”

  Galen’s eyes widened as Andeal raised the pistol and squeezed the trigger. The bullet pierced the scientist’s chest and Andeal shot two more. Just to be sure. Galen thrashed at the first hit, twitched at the second, stopped moving at the third. Blood pooled under him, dark and oozy.

  Andeal dropped the gun and leaned his forehead on the tank, eyes shut. He should be angry and relieved and worried and lots of other things right now, but all he had was this cold emptiness. Was that how Seraphin had felt when he’d taken out Vermen’s brother? He shivered, fought against the rising nausea. Warm tears flowed down his cheeks, uncontrollable. He had no idea what was wrong with him, why he cried. Galen was dead. He’d shot him. At last. The thought spun in his mind and he wished Henry would come back. No, he wished Maniel was here, with him, that she’d hold him close. Safe in her arms he could cry until the tears dried, then fall asleep from exhaustion. But only with her.

  * * *

  Henry found Andeal pressed against the tank, crying. He stopped in the doorway, cutters in hand, and watched as silent sobs shook his friend’s shoulders. Every sniffle tore a shred of his heart. Andeal had gone through so much, the release must’ve been too much for him. The faster Henry got him to Maniel, the better. As he stepped into the room proper, he noticed Galen’s weird position, the extra bullet holes in him, and the pool of blood. The pistol he’d given Andeal was on the floor at his friend’s feet, covered in red smudges. Guilt pressed against Henry’s lungs. Why had he left them alone? He should have known Andeal was in no state to handle Galen alone.

  He hurried to Andeal’s side and stretched to set the cutters against the shackles. Andeal’s sobs subsided when he approached and he turned his head to Henry.

  “I couldn’t let him…” Andeal glanced at Galen’s body and started crying again. He wiped the tears away but couldn’t stop the flow.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  He snapped the manacles open and Andeal collapsed into his arms with a moan, his legs unable to carry his weight. Henry caught him and held him tight, running a hand through his hair as he would a child. After a moment Andeal’s breathing calmed. He pushed himself away and straightened up, but Henry refused to let go of his arm. He didn’t seem strong enough for that.

  “The gunshots?” Andeal’s voice was strangled and raw.

  “Must have been Lungvist.” He read the passing confusion on Andeal’s expression. “Vermen’s lieutenant. He led us here. We can explain all that once we’re out.”

  Henry slid under Andeal’s shoulder and led him out of this horrible room. Andeal’s feet scuffed against the floor as they moved and soon he began crying again, but this time Henry remained silent. He suspected his friend would weep a lot in the next few days—or weeks or months—and there was nothing he could do about it but be there.

  They would all be there for him.

  Even Treysh, he hoped.

  * * *

  When Vermen came to this time, no one was arguing above him. They were no longer moving, either. He opened his eyes and found Joshua’s unconscious body next to his. Bad contusions covered the side of his face and part of his torso. Fresh bandages were wrapped around his belly and Maniel was working on his leg. From what he could tell at this angle, the skin had been sheared off by a long slide. It didn’t look good. He wondered if it was as painful as the growing flare in his knees.

  Vermen groaned but refused to look down at his own leg. He did not want to see. It no longer mattered. Not if they brought Andeal back. Hans took a deep breath. He hoped they still had more painkillers.

  “I did it,” he said, still staring at the ambulance’s roof. “I shot Omar.”

  “Treysh told me,” Maniel answered, “and it allowed us to get into the Radio Tower. You were great, Hans.”

  He managed a crisp smile. Great would not save his leg or bring Seraphin back. Vermen shuffled on his stretcher, trying despite all to put his leg in a more comfortable position. He was hot, and cold, and while the world seemed so distant, every sensation was intense. He reached for his burning forehead, closed his eyes. He’d need a hospital soon.

  “Sitrep?”

  Maniel wasn’t one of his soldiers—he wasn’t even a captain anymore—but asking for a situation report as a commanding officer would gave him a sense of stability. Like he still had control over what would happen. She put
a cool hand on his before she answered.

  “David came back with some powerful drugs. They knocked Treysh right out, but I have no idea if it’ll be enough. She was pretty far out when he returned.”

  “Gives us some well-deserved silence,” Vermen muttered.

  Maniel chuckled and let go of his hand. She started checking his knee wound. He could feel her fingers and the occasional jolt of pain, but the entire area was numb beyond that.

  “You’ve been sleeping off the pain and fever,” she said.

  “Perhaps. What about Andeal?” A pause. All he needed to draw some basic conclusions. “He’ll be fine.”

  “Your lieutenant said he’d heard screams, then two separate salvos of gunshots. He had no idea what it might mean, if it was Henry’s gun or another. He went back.”

  “Andeal will be fine,” Vermen said again, because what else could he tell her? That it had all been for nothing? He refused to believe it. And for all his mocking of Henry Schmitt, the Noodle Man tried really hard. He even succeeded at times. Without him, they wouldn’t be at the labs.

  Then he heard Maniel’s loud gasp and she let go of his knee. Vermen frowned and propped himself on an elbow when he heard her jump out of the ambulance. She had thrown herself into the arms of a thin, blue-skinned man, his blond shock of hair matted with blood and his face streaked with tears. Henry and David stood two steps behind, silent. The former had the largest of grins as Andeal held his wife tight. Andeal kept one bloodied palm outstretched. They parted after several minutes, and the engineer wiped his eyes.

  “Fine isn’t how I’d define myself. But I’m here.”

  Maniel grabbed his chin and kissed him. Poor Andeal seemed to have trouble standing and she wrapped an arm under his shoulder to help. Hans’ gaze met his lieutenant’s and David smiled before climbing into the ambulance besides him. His mirth vanished after a glance at the leg.

  “That bad?” Vermen asked.

  A slight nod. David turned back to Andeal and Maniel. “Forget your leg,” he said in a soft, wheezy voice. “Look at them.”

  Hans did, for another few seconds. As heartwarming as it was, however, it didn’t wash away the pain in his knee, and it reminded him of another pain, one that went far deeper. Vermen set his hand on David’s. “Think you can get them to do it in the ambulance? I’d still very much like to get to a hospital.”

  Lungvist squeezed his hand with a soft chuckle. “Yes sir.”

  He held onto his hand just a moment longer, long enough for Vermen to regret him letting go a moment later, then slid back out of the vehicle. A few minutes later they’d all hopped inside, squeezed upon each other. Maniel kept Andeal close to her, bandaging his pierced palm. For the longest time he only looked at her, as if entranced, but eventually his gaze met Vermen’s.

  “You look like shit,” he said.

  Vermen laughed—a sharp, pained bark. “So do you.”

  They would have time to get better now, though. As the ambulance jaunted to a place where they could finally heal, all sirens blazing, Vermen thought of the one person who’d never get that chance. Seraphin was gone. He would never see Andeal again, hadn’t even lived long enough to know he was safe. Despite the seven of them crammed in this ambulance, it felt empty, like the Regarian’s absence occupied more room than anyone’s presence.

  Hans Vermen stretched his fingers to touch the skeptar and closed his eyes. He had already lost something far more important than his leg.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Henry wished he could stop time and not have to live through the sad part of this day. It had all started so well! He’d gotten up early and picked up Treysh at the hospital, where she had finally received her leave from the Rebels’ Quarantine—that’s what they called it on the radio. It wasn’t the only sealed zone in Reverence, all aimed at containing the handful of outbursts of Galen’s Plague, but it was the one they’d all been housed in, and it seemed to have gained a certain level of fame.

  Henry could barely contain his excitement. Since they’d thrown him out of the quarantine two weeks ago, he’d visited every day. Sometimes they allowed him to put on a biohazard suit and sit by her bed, but most of the time he had to watch and wave from afar. Everyone but her had made it out of the hospital by now—Vermen just three days ago, Andeal a week before that. The latter had his parents waiting at the exit.

  Sofia had hugged him so tight Henry had almost expected to hear bones crack. “Nice radio work,” she’d said.

  Andeal had laughed, but he’d seemed on the verge of crying. His father couldn’t help himself and was doing just that, two steps behind.

  “Of course that’s the first thing you’d tell me,” Andeal said. “It was nothing. I just took the best of each of you.”

  “Liar,” his mother answered. “I bet you still don’t cook at all.”

  That was true enough, Henry knew, though he had no idea why she’d bring it up. Probably a reference to Adrian. He’d ask later. At that point he hadn’t wanted to leave Treysh’s side at all.

  She’d spent several days hovering close to death, plugged into an artificial breather while they saturated her blood with drugs he couldn’t name. The doctors said her lungs were shot. She shouldn’t do anything involving smoke or dust or fumes and avoid strenuous exercises. Henry had nodded along with the recommendations. He knew she would follow none of them. She’d already muttered to him that no doctor would stop her from crafting more fireworks.

  Her stay had lasted long enough that the natural roots of her hair had regrown, a deep black. Henry had hunted down green dye for her. They’d spent the day redoing her color and eating a bunch of noodles and he’d finally gathered enough courage to ask her out, at which point she’d laughed and given him far more than a peck on the cheek, and the dizzying feeling had carried him through the day. The kiss had sent his head spinning. He hadn’t believed anything could be better than flying a hot air balloon. He had been wrong.

  Henry’s euphoria vanished as he stood on the side of the road, watching Andeal and Maniel load the electric truck borrowed from Kinsi. They had provisions for a long voyage to Regaria. Vermen had tried to help, only to be promptly shooed away by Andeal’s mother. Hans hadn’t protested. They all knew his prosthetic leg still hurt by the end of the day. He sat on a large rock and tried to readjust it. Lungvist, checklist in hand to make sure they didn’t forget anything, kept throwing worried glances his way. Others joined them as they completed the preparations. Joshua hobbled on his crutches under the attentive gaze of Martin, his boyfriend, while Alex chatted with Adrian. Stern carried a fair-sized box with a grim expression.

  Seraphin’s ashes.

  When he’d learned almost all the rebels were trapped in quarantine, Kinsi had made arrangements to cremate the Regarian’s body and kept the ashes safe. It was long past time to bury him with his ancestors. They had waited for Hans and then, learning she ought to be out soon, waited for Treysh. Both were here, now.

  Which meant that soon enough, Andeal, Maniel, Alex and Vermen would be gone.

  Henry didn’t want to see them leave. He knew he wouldn’t be in Reverence forever, either—he was working on permits to rebuild the Annual Mount Kairn’s Race path and would one day return to Ferrea and breathe new life into it—but he clung to the little bubble of peace they had. Like life had forgotten about them at last and everyone was allowed to take a deep breath and recover.

  Their departure popped that bubble. Not unlike Seraphin’s arrival had, that very first day. Henry guessed it was proper. It didn’t make it any easier.

  When they were all done and Andeal approached, Henry threw himself into his arms and hugged him, drawing a surprised exclamation from him and amused chuckles from his family.

  “Promise you’ll visit,” Henry said.

  Andeal smiled. Large bags decorated his eyes and he was exhausted most of the time—Maniel said he barely slept because of nightmares—but he seemed more content than ever before to Henry. He had his family now
, would find a place to live, just like he wanted. Galen had left him a lot more scars than partial paralysis in his right hand, most of them invisible, but there was something peaceful about the way he teased his parents or held Maniel’s hand, like he knew he could work through it.

  “Of course, Henry. When I finally get my degree, I won’t miss my chance to celebrate with Treysh and you.”

  “You’d better not!” she said. “We haven’t drunk to mine yet, either.”

  “Make sure you don’t kill your lungs before I’m done, then.” He gave a friendly tap on her hat as she protested, then turned to Henry. “You should come instead. Dad’s a great cook.”

  “I will.”

  Andeal knew he couldn’t refuse good food. Well, food of any kind, really. His friend chuckled and stepped back, glancing at Vermen. His eyes widened ever so slightly and they all followed his gaze. Hans was standing very close to his lieutenant, on the tip of his toes, whispering in his ear. Judging from the way he held David’s thigh, the light blush on the lanky man’s cheeks, and their general proximity, Henry doubted there was anything platonic about that whisper. And if he, of all people, could see it…

  Treysh whistled loudly at them and burst out laughing as David pulled back, turning a deep red. He glared at her and struggled for a retort, which only amused her further.

  “Don’t be ashamed,” she said. “I’m lucky my man isn’t going on a month-long trip to bury his first love.”

  Audible groans welcomed her comment. Vermen shook his head, his expression stuck somewhere between anger and amazement. “Sometimes I think I should’ve left you in that cell.”

  She answered with a proud, wide grin, at which point Hans chose to ignore her and direct his attention to Stern. They stared at each other for a long time, neither saying anything, then Seraphin’s old friend handed Vermen the ashes.

  “Take care.”

  “You know I will.”

  “And tell him I’ll visit as soon as I can.”