Dizzy, but with returning lucidity, the details of the previous days began to trickle into his brain. His hand went to his face, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can't believe he did that,” he croaked. His tongue felt fat and dry. “Should have followed, damn it. Should have helped. They should have been with us.”
“Who?” Eve asked. “Who should have been with us? Who are you talking about?”
“My dad. Henderson. They, they—”
“Cory's gone.”
Gone? What? His mind shifted again. Who's gone?
“Wake up. He's gone. Cory is gone,” she repeated.
Cory? The guy with the sword? The leather jacket? Why? Why was he—?
“He's gone?” Jesse asked, still unable to focus.
“Yes, that's what I've been trying to tell you. Wake up, will you?”
He pushed himself to a sitting position on the mattress. A fierce stabbing pain rippled through his shoulder, going straight down to his thigh. Groaning, he scooted off the mattress, and propped himself up on the edge. He rolled his left arm and examined the angry red blisters and cuts and scrapes on his forearms. Most of the hairs there had been burnt down to sharp black nubs, but the cuts had all been tended to. When the raptors had attacked him, he thought their hooked claws had sliced deeper, into muscle, but they had barely broken through the skin. It should all heal just fine, he thought. He'd been cut much worse and survived.
When he raised his head, the room tilted. First to the left then to the right. He lifted his good arm to stabilize himself. Bad idea. Nausea suddenly threatened to expose the contents of his stomach. He made a fist to cover his mouth and motioned Eve to get out of the way. Warm acid rose in his throat. “Give me a sec,” he belched. Then the sudden bout of nausea passed and left behind a loud humming in his ears. He was still confused, disoriented, but things were beginning to make sense.
“Cory left? Why?”
“Left because of you,” she said.
“Me? Maybe he is—”
“Yes, you.”
“What?”
“He left because you said we would be safe here.”
What? Jesse shook his head then suddenly wished to God he hadn't. “When? When did he leave?”
“I don't know. I just woke up, and he was gone. I knew it. I knew he would leave me behind first chance he got.”
“Hold on. Let me think.” He placed his head in his hands and held it there to stop the room from spinning.
Eve rose from a slatted wooden chair, shoving it backward, hard, noisily. The chair hit the table behind her and jostled glasses, plates, and silverware. Jesse squeezed his head, trying to block out the pain-amplified sounds.
Cory.
Who was he, really?
Jesse remembered some of what the man had said the previous night, but not all of it. Something about the south. A bunker? They had talked about a virus that could kill the raptors.
Was that it?
Staggering from the bed, he unbent and came to his full height. The room swayed.
“You all right?” Eve asked.
“I'm fine. Have to—”
“Have to what? No. I think not,” she said sharply. “You need to stay in bed.”
“I still have to.”
She looked confused, but when he took a step and tottered like a child, she ran to him and caught him before he fell.
“Thanks.” He pointed where he wanted to go.
“Oh,” she said. She grabbed a ceramic bowl from the table. “You sure you don't want to use this?”
“No. Please. No,” he said. He shook his head, too. “I eat out of that.”
She helped him walk the forty steps to the men's restroom and stopped just outside the door.
“You going to be okay in there? Or am I going to have to help?”
“I'll be fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yes,” he said tersely. He pushed the swinging door open, all on his own, and stumbled inside. An LED lantern was set on the countertop between two cream-colored porcelain sinks. He clicked the light on and entered one of the three stalls, the only one with a working toilet.
When his necessities were finished, he flushed using a plastic bucket filled with rainwater from the rooftop cisterns. He then zipped up and went to the sink. There, he opened the valve on a garden hose and let icy water pour over his head. With the coldness, came sobriety. Hair dripping, he glanced at the mirror. The cool-white light from the LED lantern made the abraded skin on his face appear honey-yellow. An ugly series of cuts marked his left cheek, and he had a single deep scratch on his right. His chin looked as if the flesh had been rubbed raw with extra-coarse sandpaper.
“Not bad,” he told the mirror. “You've been through worse and lived.”
He began pulling and prodding his skin with his wet fingers, touching each wound in turn. Everything felt tight. And—as expected—new scabs had formed over the cuts. His normally thick beard was already showing signs of regrowth. Soon it would cover the patchwork of wrinkles and scars he called a face.
His wounds were healing just fine. But now he had other problems. Eve? What could do about her? And Kate? He knew he could go out on his own to look for Cory. If he brought them along, they would only get in his way. He began to think if he even should try to find the guy. What if he didn't want to be found? What if he left because he figured Eve and Kate were safe? And, really, so what if he left? The guy seemed like a real asshole.
He leaned forward to get a closer look at his eyes. They appeared sunken, haunted, and scary as shit. He thought he looked like a small-town undertaker in one of those old western flicks.
“Hannah,” he said to the mirror. He cleared his throat and repeated, “Hannah?” He turned in a circle, half-expecting her to appear. She did not. Gone? Was she finally gone? Really? Then he started worrying she might be somewhere else in the city.
She could be trapped and need him.
He no longer wanted to leave the city. He had so much going for him here, too. The rooftop gardens, the water supply that had taken weeks to set up properly, the remaining foodstuffs left over from winter, the fuel, blankets, and of course, toilet paper. He had plenty of that. More than he would ever use. So, why should he go? Why go chasing after some guy who thought the raptors could be destroyed? Was that even possible? It seemed possible, but he was pretty banged up and probably not thinking clearly. It all seemed a little silly now.
No, he finally decided. If there had been a virus capable of wiping them all out—every last stinking, goddamned, filthy piece of shit one of them—then it would have been used long ago.
It was far better to stay right where he was and keep looking for Hannah.
-6-
STAGECRAFT
SEBASTIAN STOOD BEFORE the horde, knowing that any kindness he showed them was, in reality, a cruelty. They needed him. Needed. He would lead them. He would deliver them from darkness. He would bring them into the sunshine of a new day.
Chin held high, he smiled and waved with both arms outstretched then made fists and began pumping those fists in crisp, efficient snaps above his head.
The volume of the crowd grew.
His gaze lowered with his arms. Within seconds, the noise level dropped to near silence. They were all staring at him—every vile, reeking, degenerate one of them.
At the front of the stage, in what would have been excellent seating for any show, a section had been cordoned off with yellow tape. This was an area reserved for those special few who had survived a recent engagement with the Solar Nation's most elite soldiers—Gold Team. The dispirited survivors from that engagement, which consisted of a rival gang, sat handcuffed together on a long plank bench.
Cowards, the lot of them.
He considered how little they amounted to. How little they mattered. Some could be redeemed, yes, but as a whole, they were a sorry bunch of rejects.
Why do you bring such pathetic rejects, Ryder? He wanted to ask the leader of Gol
d, but there was little time for that now. He inhaled and held a hand out. David filled it with a wireless microphone.
With an outward confidence that did not display his inner fears, he began to pace the stage, considering just what the crowd wanted to see. He mostly knew already, but he was always willing to change his delivery to meet their needs. They wanted action? They wanted boldness?
That, he could deliver.
He raised the microphone to his lips and began. “My friends.” He paused to let his voice echo from the distant buildings and blanket his audience. “How we have worked. How we have fought to wrestle a few square miles of hard fought soil. How we have rebuilt that which was once lost.”
He waited for the booming echoes of his voice to trail off.
“It is not because of me we have what we have now. It is because of you, my brothers.”
He stopped and pointed the microphone at the crowd. Cheers came back. While they were cheering, he paced the stage and let the moment play out.
“But the territory we control now is small and this country is vast. Vast! There are other, much larger territories to be had. Areas to be conquered. If we controlled the deserts to the south and what is left of the former cities, we could be the ones who rebuild it all!”
The crowd cheered.
“But, sadly, what do those who live there do now? They refuse us. Imagine that? Refuse to join our brotherhood. Refuse to rebuild with us.”
The crowd booed.
“A newly rebuilt America is our plan, and while it is hard to construct a new life when so many others control it all, it is what we must do. People here complain of shortages of this and that. Petty squabbles, all. We must think to the future, not of our present circumstance. The beasts. The raptors. Yes, they hamper us, but not so much as the men who do not join with us in our common cause. Our primary desire is to grow, expand, and protect those less fortunate than ourselves. Am I right?”
The crowd roared.
Sebastian glanced at David. The man had once been his enemy. Now, David was his most senior advisor, trusted friend, and second-in-command. Burns marred his hands and face, but those same burns were what had bonded the two of them together.
With a brief nod of respect to David, Sebastian again brought the microphone to his lips and glanced away, gesturing to the man chained to the equipment crate onstage. “Here we have the latest such example. With us today is the misguided brother who led the fight against us.”
Boos came from the crowd.
“What shall we do with him?”
“Death!” a solitary man shouted up at the stage.
“Death!” the audience repeated.
The word then became like a drumbeat, and the volume rose. Sebastian mocked the crowd on one side of the stage by gesturing in surprise. He then moved to the other side and repeated his exaggerated action. Finishing, he returned to center stage.
“Calm, my brothers. Calm. Death? You wish death on him? Is he not our brother? Are you so sure he was not led here to help us? Is he not another with hands, a strong back, and coursing blood?”
The crowd stopped chanting for the man's death. Some cheered. Others continued to yell in anger, only with much less verve.
Sebastian knew he was walking along the razor's edge with his current line of reasoning. But it had to be done this way. As much as he wished it were so, with a mob it was never simply, hey you there, how about you go die for the greater good? No, they had to be slowly worked into a frenzy. They had to believe it was their own idea to start with. And this brought him to what he needed to do next. He sensed the crowd was ready.
Eyeing the prisoners near the front of the stage, he said, “Hey, you there.” He pointed to a gangly looking man. “Are you ready to join us, brother?”
The man pointed to himself. Slowly, his head bobbed up and down. Then the bobbing increased and the man tried to stand. Another in the group yanked on the nodding man's chains and pulled him back down onto the bench. Sebastian quickly identified the culprit, a bearded man with long curly black hair. Turning to David, he snapped his fingers once, and David signaled offstage. Guards rushed into the prisoners and unchained the bearded man. They dragged him kicking and squirming onto the stage and set him before Sebastian.
Speaking into the microphone so the crowd could hear him clearly, Sebastian addressed the much older man, asking, “What's your name, son?”
The man's eyes burned with disdain, but he did not look away. The bearded man spat in Sebastian's face and glanced at the chained leader onstage behind him. The leader nodded in approval.
David punched the bearded man in the stomach, causing him to double over and fall to his knees. Sebastian used his fingertips to wipe away the sputum in a way that appeared like he was considering what he would do next. He already knew what needed to be done, and these two idiots had played right into it. Although, the man standing before him had been brave enough to disrespect him. That showed balls, but it could not go unpunished.
He held out a hand. This time David filled it with a wicked-looking knife. Pivoting to the crowd, Sebastian said, “What am I to do with those who do not wish to join us? Those who do not want to be our brothers? Those who do not understand the distinct difference between the victor and vanquished?”
“Death!” the crowd roared.
Sebastian shook his head and indicated for the bearded man to rise. The man did not. Instead, he remained on his knees wearing an expression of smug condescension on his grime-covered face.
“Raise him,” Sebastian said.
David and two other men lifted the bearded man to standing.
Sebastian set the microphone down on the stage. “You should reconsider joining us,” he said. “There is no reason to die so needlessly. We are all brothers here. We will be your brothers if you ask us to be.” He paused, watching for a reaction. Seeing none, he continued, “We have plenty to offer you. Safety, food, women. Whatever you want. We do not quarrel here. We protect and comfort each other. We are our brother's keepers. So, which is it to be? Stay and earn your place with us, or die here and now?”
The bearded man opened his mouth to speak then closed it as if he were reevaluating his loyalties. He glanced at his leader. The leader was shaking his head.
Sebastian noticed this. “Ignore him,” he said. “This is your decision, not his. I'll give you time to think about it.”
He held up three fingers and began counting quickly. “Three, two, one.” He smiled. “Time's up.”
It was time to do what any good leader would do. It was time to give the crowd a taste of what they wanted. He stepped forward and placed the gleaming knife blade against the man's throat.
Tensing his arm, he prepared to make the cut.
-7-
STAY OR GO
JESSE RETURNED TO find Eve waiting for him. A brown knapsack rested on the table beside her. She was ready to go. His head hurt like hell, but he was lucid enough to know that any thoughts of going now were suicide.
“You leaving us then?” he asked.
“Yes. Whether you decide to come along or not. I have to find him.”
Jesse shook his head. “Listen, it's too damn dangerous. You'll never make it out there alone.”
“Why not? I made it this far.”
“Alone? No, you had him.”
“I can take care of myself.”
No, no, you can't, he thought, bitterly remembering what had been done to Amy, the woman he had saved in the desert. She was raped, beaten, and left for dead on a picnic table at a rest stop.
“You can't do it alone. You can't go south. That whole place is crawling with not only raptors, but the other kind of two-legged vermin, too. They'll rape you. Beat you. Then if you are lucky, kill you.”
“I have to go.”
He sensed her determination. Or was it fear?
“Bad idea,” he said and started searching for a towel to dry his hair with.
“I don't care. He's my fiancé.”
/> “Fiancé?”
That was new. Fiancé? Huh. Jesse wasn't sure how to process this. “It's still too dangerous.”
“Then help me. You heard what Cory said about the raptors.”
He had, and it didn't matter. “If he left, then maybe he thought he'd be better off on his own.”
“You don't know that. No, you don't know that. You are wrong to say that.”
Jesse dried his head and tossed the towel at an overflowing laundry basket. He missed and the towel landed on the floor. He grunted and made a mental note to get everything washed in the next few days.
“How long ago did he leave?” he asked.
“I don't know.”
“If he is only out exploring, then maybe—”
“Maybe what?”
Jesse went to a footlocker, removed a pair of binoculars, and hung them around his neck.
“Ready?” he asked.
“For what?” She seemed confused.
“Roof. We might be able to spot him from up there.”
“Oh? You can do that?”
“If he's anywhere close there will be signs. Birds, raptors, something.”
She nodded but didn't seem quite convinced.
With her assistance, he limped up the three flights of stairs. They paused every few steps for Jesse to gain enough strength to go a few more.
They emerged on the rooftop after going through a heavy steel door that Eve had struggled to open. The sun was low in the eastern sky. To the west, white clouds touched the mountain peaks. Jesse squinted to block the harsh morning sun. He was stiff, his legs ached, and his shoulder burned. And, although he had consumed nearly a gallon of water, his throat was still raw. But once he tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and let the sun warm his skin, the pain began to fade. He sucked in a lung full of the chilly morning air and watched as red and yellow spots drifted across his vision. He then opened his eyes and gazed over the city.
What little that could be seen from the rooftop was quiet and calm. A soft breeze carried the faint odor of burnt oil and plastic, reminding him of their frantic escape. Coming out of the towering building across the street was the cable they had used to cross. What the hell had made him crazy enough to try that? He shivered at the thought. Was it worth it? He did not yet know. He also didn't know whether he could trust Eve. Since Cory had already run off, there was no way he could ever trust that guy again if their paths crossed. Kate, though, was different. He wasn't sure what to think of her, but deep down inside, he knew he would do everything he could to protect her. Something told him he could trust her completely. Trust her with his life if necessary.
Red Asphalt: Raptor Apocalypse Book 2 Page 4
