The Becoming: Revelations

by Jessica Meigs

  “What’s going on this evening?” Cade asked. She gripped the staircase railing and felt sweat trickle down between her shoulder blades at the stuffy, humid air of the stairwell.

  “Derek and his friend have escaped from Alicia’s compound at the Westin. They’re bringing along what, to my understanding, is a very important prisoner,” Isaac explained as they reached the next level. “Derek’s choice of words, not mine. One more flight down and we’ll be where we need to go,” he added. “We’ve got some lookouts scattered around the path between here and the Westin, and they picked up the three of them and passed on word that the escape was successful. Derek is bringing all the information he has. Maybe we’ll be able to put it to good use.”

  “Any idea who these people are that your brother is bringing with him?” Cade asked.

  “I don’t know them personally, no,” Isaac admitted. “Just two people he insists are trustworthy—his assistant and someone else. I’m just going to have to roll with that for now.”

  “You know, for someone living in the situation you do, worrying over what Alicia is going to do next, it’s surprising you’re willing to trust so quickly,” Cade commented. She rested a hand against her side as her gunshot wound throbbed.

  “Hey, he’s my brother. I trust him as a matter of course,” Isaac protested. He paused at the door on the third-floor landing, knocking and rocking on his heels as he waited for someone to answer. “Besides, if Derek says something’s true, then it tends to be true more often than not.”

  “And when it’s not?”

  “Then it’s simply because he was mistaken.” Before Isaac said anything else, the landing door was pushed open from the other side by a short man. Isaac didn’t bother to introduce Cade as he beckoned her forward. “Come on. There’s an empty room on this floor, I believe. I can get you some food and water, and there’s a clean place you can sleep. Maybe even a shower.” As she followed him into the hall, Isaac added, “What kind of guns you got?”

  “A Beretta and a Glock, plus an FNH shotgun,” she answered. “But I don’t need ammo. I have enough to hold me over for now, and I don’t want to take what you probably can’t spare.”

  “You have enough to last you until what?” Isaac asked pointedly. He stopped outside a door labeled 3C and tapped on it with his knuckle before resting his hand on the doorknob. “It’s pretty likely the ammunition will run out eventually. Especially with the way the bastards in the Westin take every fucking thing they get their hands on, the rest of us be damned.” Isaac’s tone was bitter as he pushed the apartment door open. “You can rest in here. I’ll send someone up with some dinner and a couple of bottles of water for you in just a bit. There’s also running water. Took us ages to get it going, and the water only comes in cold, but who’s going to complain about a shower?”

  Cade gave Isaac a grateful smile. “Thank you,” she said. She stepped into the apartment’s entryway and faced him. “For, you know, all of this. Taking me in, even if just for a day or two. God knows I can use the rest.”

  “You look like it,” Isaac acknowledged. “Get in there and get some sleep, okay? I’ll wake you up when my brother gets here, and then we can all have a powwow, find out what each of us knows, and maybe put it together into something coherent.”

  “Sounds good,” Cade agreed. She gave Isaac another smile and retreated into the apartment, shutting the door behind her with a soft click. Once she was alone, she immediately tracked down the bathroom and turned on the camping lantern on the back of the toilet. She propped her shotgun against the wall near the bathtub and leaned into the bath, turning one of the knobs and watching as water spurted and began to spray, weakly at first but then gaining strength and power. She grinned happily and began to offload her weapons onto the counter by the sink.

  It took several minutes to remove all the weapons and ammunition and to get her clothes off, and she didn’t spend very long under the water—it was far too cold—but after she washed her hair with shampoo from a bottle already in the shower, she felt a little more human than she had before. Once she’d dried and dressed, she scooped up her Kevlar vest, flannel shirt, and jacket, carried them and her bag and weapons to the bedroom, and dumped it all on the floor beside the bed. Then she collapsed face down onto the bed with a groan and knew no more.

  “Cade. Cade.”

  A voice intruded on Cade’s heavy sleep, and a hand touched her shoulder, jostling her gently. She moaned and rolled over, burying her face against her forearm in her desire to stay asleep, and swatted at the hand trying to shake her awake. Somewhere in the sleep-fogged haze of her brain, Cade realized it was Isaac trying to wake her. She flopped onto her back and dropped her hand onto her face, rubbing her eyes. Then she forced them open.

  A dark figure loomed over her. As she blinked heavily, forcing her eyes to focus, Isaac backed off a couple of steps. “Sorry I had to wake you up. Hated to do it. You looked like you were sleeping so well.”

  Cade pushed herself up onto one hand, rubbing her eyes again. She glanced toward the windows and saw that early afternoon had given way to late evening, and the sun was slowly setting, casting the room into shadow. Isaac held out a bottle of water to her, and she accepted it, taking a long swallow before she spoke. “So why did you wake me up? Is something wrong?”

  “Oh no. Derek’s here,” Isaac said. “I told you that I’d wake you up when he got here.”

  “Mm, yeah, that’s right.” Cade slid off the bed and felt at her tangled hair with a grimace. “I hate to ask, but do you have—”

  Isaac held out a small travel bag in offering. “A hairbrush?” he finished. “There’s one in there. Unopened, if you’re worried about that kind of thing. Toothbrush and toothpaste too. Take some time, get yourself together, and meet us in apartment 2E.”

  “One floor down?” Cade asked. She unzipped the bag and freed the hairbrush.

  “One floor down,” Isaac confirmed. “See you in just a few minutes.”

  It didn’t take Cade long to work the tangles from her hair and to brush her teeth and wash her face. She glanced at the Kevlar vest on the floor, debating whether or not she should wear it downstairs. Instead, she simply strapped the Glock to her belt, slipped an extra magazine into her pocket, and shrugged on her flannel shirt before she tucked her bottle of water under her arm and stepped into the hall. She made her way down the dark hallway and descended the stairs to the second floor.

  The door to apartment 2E was propped open with a chair, seemingly inviting her in. Cade heard the low murmur of voices inside and hesitated. She wasn’t sure if she should interrupt, but Isaac had told her to come down here. She drew in a slow breath and shook off the odd hesitance she felt, a sensation unusual to her. She sidestepped the chair and entered the apartment.

  As Cade entered the living room, the voices inside the apartment ceased. Isaac rose from the chair across from the couch. “Cade,” he greeted her with a smile. He motioned to the three people in the apartment with him. Cade’s blue eyes skimmed over a blond woman sitting on the windowsill as Isaac introduced her, lighting onto the older black man on one end of the couch—Isaac’s half-brother Derek, presumably—before settling onto the blond man at the other end. The man lifted his head to look at her. As their eyes met, the bottle of water Cade held slipped from her hand and thudded to the floor.

  “Ethan?” Cade whispered. Shock invaded her body, flooding her limbs. She took a hesitant step forward. He rose slowly from the couch, extending a hand to her.

  “Cade,” Ethan breathed in relief. He caught her hand in his own and pulled her close. Cade gasped and threw her arms around him, burying her face against his shoulder as he looped his own arms around her. They both stood like that, clinging to each other, Cade’s fingers digging into his shirt as she sobbed with relief into his shoulder. She clung to him, and she could only manage to dredge up one thing to say in her shock.

  “Oh my God, you’re alive!”

  Chapter 37

  T
he intersection of Central Park Place and Ralph McGill Boulevard wasn’t what Brandt had expected, he realized as he took in the sight of the evening-lit street before him. He’d guessed they would see car wrecks, debris, and maybe even signs of infected, sure. He hadn’t realized they’d face a veritable pile-up of vehicles in the street, creating a potentially impassable wall in places. Brandt gripped his M-4 Carbine tighter and eyed the dark spaces around and under the vehicles, trying to see if any infected hid there. He didn’t see anything, so he slid his brown eyes to Remy and Gray, who stood close by.

  “What do you think?” Brandt asked, even as a movement in the corner of his eye snagged his attention. He jerked his head around, ready to lift his rifle, but it was only a piece of paper pushed around by the breeze. He took a deep breath and tried to steady his racing heart, even as he shook his head ruefully; it was the second time in the past three days he’d been startled by a piece of paper of all things.

  “I think I really don’t like this,” Remy admitted. Her eyes narrowed as she, too, examined their surroundings. She already had her bolo knife in her right hand, its tip pointed at the pavement.

  “Me either,” Gray added. “It’s too quiet. Like the last time we came into Atlanta. That shit gave me the willies then, and it’s giving me double that this time.”

  Remy smirked. “The willies?” she repeated, biting back a laugh. “Really, Gray?”

  Gray gave the woman a sidelong look of annoyance. “Yes, the willies,” he said emphatically.

  “My mamère would say this place gives me the fremeers.”

  “Mamère? Fremeers?” Gray repeated.

  “Oh, I forgot, you’re from Bumfuck, Mississippi,” Remy retorted, much to both Brandt and Gray’s amusement. “My grandmother. She still used all sorts of Cajun slang, right up to her death. I always liked some of it. Fremeers is basically when something makes you feel grossed—”

  “Can we save the family stories for some other time?” Brandt interrupted. “I don’t think this is the time or place for a discussion on regional slang.”

  Remy smirked at him. “So, fearless leader, what do you propose we do?”

  “I propose we look for any sign that Cade has been here,” Brandt said. He took a step toward the jumbled mess of cars. “She might be somewhere out here, and she could be hurt. We have to act as if she is until we know otherwise.”

  Remy gave Brandt a mock salute and split off from the two men, heading toward the right into the maze of cars. Brandt followed, cutting left, as Gray took the area around the center of the highway. Brandt focused on the cars before him, searching inside and under them one by one, hoping Cade had taken refuge inside one of them.

  Brandt was so focused on his methodical search that he almost missed the sound of a nearby struggle. He’d leaned partially into a vehicle—a bad position to be in, really, but he’d spotted a knife inside and had wanted to get his hands on it—and nearly struck his head on the doorframe as Gray’s voice met his ears. Gray’s tone was hard and belligerent, not unlike the tone he used to take with Ethan. But this time, it had something more underneath it, a harder layer of anger more serious than anything he’d thrown at their deceased friend.

  “Let go of her, you stupid bastard!” Gray shouted. Brandt heard the sound of a fist striking flesh, and Remy yelped in alarm. Brandt ducked lower, shielding himself behind the car, and taking a knee to get a glimpse of what was going on through the car’s dirty windows.

  Brandt could just make out Gray as the younger man was grabbed by the back of his shirt and hauled off of a Hispanic man Brandt had never seen before; though Brandt couldn’t see Gray’s assailant, he had a clear look at the Hispanic man in question, who had his hands wrapped around Remy’s upper arms. Brandt gritted his teeth and clenched his fists as a surge of anger rushed through him at the sight of the infuriated yet helpless look on Remy’s face as she struggled to break free from the man’s clutches.

  Remy growled wordlessly and thrashed in the man’s grip so violently she lifted herself off the ground. She braced her boots against a nearby car and pushed back hard, trying to throw the man off balance. He laughed, and another man came into view, his jet-black hair shining in the failing sunlight as he grabbed Remy’s legs. The two men swung her around and slammed her down onto the trunk of a car.

  “We’ve got a fucking wildcat, guys!” the Hispanic man called over the steady stream of profanity coming from Gray’s mouth. Fist met flesh again, and Gray’s swearing ceased. “Alicia’s going to have a blast interrogating this one!”

  At the mention of Alicia’s name, Brandt’s anger flared to a crescendo. But he remained still, gripping the car’s door handle with one hand; the other started to ease the barrel of his M-4 over the edge of the car. He had to stay calm. He had to bide his time, had to collect whatever information might be useful, and then had to get them out of there. And he’d have to do it with his mind steady and focused. There was no room for mistakes.

  Remy lashed out with a foot and caught the black-haired man across the head with her boot. The man fell to the pavement, dazed. Remy lunged forward, trying to break free from her captors. The Hispanic man grabbed her by the shoulders and slung her to her knees on the pavement before striking her across the face with the back of his hand. Remy fell forward onto her hands with a groan of pain.

  That was enough for Brandt. He couldn’t take any more.

  Brandt lifted his rife and, in one smooth movement, rose from his hiding place and aimed it directly at the Hispanic man’s head. “Let them go,” he ordered, his voice steely. As the man turned to face him, Brandt adjusted his aim to point the barrel between the man’s eyes.

  “I told you there was another one around here!” the man pinning Gray down barked out. “I told you I saw him!”

  “I get the point, Craig!” the Hispanic man snapped. He put his own foot against Remy’s back, pushing her down on the ground, and then lifted his own gun to point it at Brandt in return. “And if I don’t let them go?” he asked, addressing Brandt. “What are you going to do?”

  “Pull the fucking trigger.” A slight smirk tweaked at the corner of Brandt’s mouth. “And I don’t miss.”

  “Yeah? What a coincidence, because neither do I,” the man replied.

  A cool, round metal object pressed against the back of Brandt’s neck, right at the base of his skull. Brandt stiffened as he realized what it was. The object nudged firmly at his skin, and a woman’s voice, cold and hard, spoke up behind him.

  “Put the rifle down.”

  Brandt sucked in a slow breath and hesitated, his palms sweating against the rifle. He raised his eyes, and they met Remy’s. The young woman, pinned as she was against the pavement, looked infuriated, but Brandt could see the uncertainty and fear in her gaze. It churned up a sick feeling in his gut. He shifted his eyes to Gray, but the other man’s face was mashed into the pavement by the man who practically stood on his back, so Brandt couldn’t glimpse his expression and assess his feelings on the situation. He was sure they weren’t very good ones.

  Brandt hesitated and glanced at Remy once more. Then he slowly lowered the M-4, letting it hang loosely in his hand. The woman behind him snatched the weapon from his grasp and slammed it onto the trunk of a car. She dislodged the Beretta from the holster at his hip and tossed it down to join the rifle before shoving at the back of his head with her own gun again.

  “Move it,” she barked. “Now.” Brandt scowled and started forward to join Remy and Gray. “On your knees,” the woman ordered. Brandt sank to obey, gritting his teeth and looking to Remy again as she was dragged up to her own knees. As the woman behind him searched his belt for more weapons, removing whatever she found, Brandt’s mind scrambled to come up with a plan to get them out of the trouble in which they’d landed.

  As the man on Gray’s back hauled him onto his knees, the woman circled around Brandt, and he finally got a look at his assailant. He took in her red hair and pale skin, and his eyes narrowed. “You
,” he breathed, anger flooding into him again.

  Alicia Day narrowed her eyes back at him and pointed her weapon at his head once more. “Hands on your head,” she said. Brandt grimaced and, seeing no alternative, obeyed. Alicia paced in front of him, her combat boots thumping the pavement; then she stopped and crossed her arms, pistol dangling from her fingers. Her posture was infuriatingly casual, and Brandt clenched his teeth in a vain attempt to suppress his anger. “Do you have any idea how fucking hard it is to find you?” she asked, almost snarling the words.

  “Obviously not hard enough,” Brandt retorted. “Where is Cade?”

  “I would think Cade Alton should be the least of your worries right now,” Alicia said.

  Brandt gave her his best shit-eating grin. “She kicked your ass, didn’t she?” he asked knowingly.

  “I hardly think that’s relevant.”

  Brandt nearly laughed, but for the sake of Remy and Gray’s safety, he bit it back. “That means she did,” he said. “And judging by the size of the bruise on your face, she kicked your ass good.” Before Alicia could respond, Brandt shifted gears, hoping to throw her off track. “So what do you want with me? What’s so fucking important that you feel the need to antagonize my friends, threaten their lives, and kidnap Cade?”

  Alicia ignored his question and looked to Remy, raising an eyebrow. Remy, for her part, shot Alicia the dirtiest look Brandt had ever seen on a person’s face. He was, admittedly, rather proud. “I thought we killed you.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m like a fucking cat,” Remy snapped. “Nine lives, and I’m still on my first one.”

  “More like a cockroach,” Alicia replied. “Disease-ridden and impossible to kill.”

  The sound of a scuffle met Brandt’s ears. His eyes flickered from Alicia long enough to look past her. Gray had lunged toward Alicia at her words, and the man who’d guarded him dropped his gun as he grabbed Gray’s biceps and hauled backward, wrenching his arms back. The Hispanic man behind Remy swung his pistol around to point it at Gray, but Gray only had eyes for Alicia.