Deadly Hearts: A Post Apocalyptic Romance Novel

by Priscila Santa Rosa

  “Have you seen Isabel?” he asks, breaking the beautiful silence we had going.

  “No.”

  “She took my backpack.”

  “She did?”

  Our back and forth is snippy and done while I focus on taking his pulse and not looking at his soap-opera-leading-man face. I hate that face.

  “She took my gun too.”

  “I haven’t seen her.” Not a lie. Isidor saw her, not me.

  Rather patiently, Vargas waits until I’m done with the checkup before speaking again. Once I place my thermometer back into one of my pockets, he tries again.

  “Isabel asked you about my son, and you told her where he was, didn’t you?”

  “So she hides stuff from you too, huh?” It’s petty, I know. It’s petty and horrible, but I can’t help myself. “Welcome to the club.”

  Vargas narrows his eyes at me, unimpressed. “Where’s my son, doctor? Where did Isabel go?”

  “Maybe she had a good reason not to tell you.”

  “And what about you? Do you have a good reason to get in my way?”

  We glare at each other. I would like to think that if this man was anyone else—not a drug lord, not a criminal—I would be a gracious loser and not feel jealous at all. But since he is a menace and a manipulator, I’m letting my worst instincts loose.

  “Is that a threat?” I finally answer him.

  Vargas snorts. “You are easily scared. No, it’s not a threat. I’m here to save my son, not threaten gringos. So, where is he? Where did you send Isabel?”

  Before I can answer him, the door swings open and Isidor hurries inside, bringing with him a kid. It takes me a moment to recognize the boy, but when I do, my jaw hits the floor. She did it. Isabel actually did it. She rescued Vargas’ son. Somehow. Relief floods my veins. I risk a smile.

  Immediately, Vargas jumps out of bed and swipes his son into his arms. While they hug, I meet Isidor’s eyes, and then glance at the door, hopeful. Where is she?

  Father and son trade fast words in Spanish, but I can't understand them as my attention drifts away. I stare at the door, my heart suddenly beating fast. Why would he appear alone? Why would Isabel not come back with him? What happened?

  I shouldn’t have told her where the kid was. I let anger get the better of me and forgot myself. Now she’s … she’s gone again. And this time, it’s my fault.

  Shit. I shake my head and focus on following the conversation between them. I need an explanation.

  “Are you okay? Are you hurt, Alex?” For the first time, Vargas’ voice has some genuine emotion in it. Or, at least, it seems like that. He touches the boy’s cheeks and neck, searching for any injuries.

  “He’s unharmed,” Isidor chimes in. “I checked.”

  Today is not my day. Everyone is doing my job better than I am.

  “Alex, tell me what happened. How did you get here?” Vargas asks with both hands on the boy’s shoulders.

  “A girl found me, Dad. She helped me escape the base, but … stayed behind. The guards came for us, so she gave me a gun, and I ran.” He offers the gun to his father. “I thought she would follow me. She said she would, but she didn’t. She said she knew you.”

  “She does.” He sighs, gently ruffling his son’s hair. “I’m glad you’re safe. I’m sorry it took me so long to come.”

  The boy sniffs away tears. “I thought you forgot me.”

  “Never,” I hear him whisper.

  They hug again. Vargas holds his son tight, a hand on the back of his small head and with his eyes closed.

  When he opens them, Diego stares directly at me. I have the feeling our conversation from before is about to continue. Finally, he lets go of the kid.

  “Are you hungry?” The boy nods. Diego glances at Isidor. “Do you have food to spare? Isabel took my supplies.”

  Not one to miss subtle clues, Isidor takes Alex with him, leaving us alone in the room. After the door is closed, Vargas stands straight, now holding a gun in his hands. He stores the weapon on his belt holster, then turns to me.

  “What can you tell me about the men who have Isabel?” he asks.

  I take a deep breath. “You know more about them than I do. They’re your type of people.”

  “You’re being awfully antagonist toward me, Doctor. This tells me you either have a bruised pride or you’re an idiot. I hope it’s the first because I can make a deal with a prideful man. I can’t do that with an idiot.”

  “Well, I don't make deals with criminals.”

  “I’m a criminal, and you’re a saint. Fine. Too bad for you, the old world has been pretty much destroyed. There’s no police to arrest me, no court to determine my guilt, no prison to hold me. General Ortiz is as bad as the cartel, and nobody is coming to rescue you. Do you really think it’s a good idea to play the moral card right now? It’s time to check your priorities, Doctor.”

  His little speech just annoys me even more, but before I can argue, he keeps talking.

  “Bottom line is … do you want to save Isabel and make a powerful ally on this island or do you prefer to let her die just to piss me off?”

  My anger cools down. Lack of sleep and lack of proper food has turned me into a petty monster incapable of thinking about anything but the next five minutes. Whatever my personal feelings about Diego, he seems to be Isabel’s best chance of surviving.

  “Of course I want to help Isabel. She doesn’t deserve this. In fact, she shouldn’t have come back at all. I don’t understand why she did. It was a mistake. This place … Those men … They have no mercy.”

  He crosses his arms over his chest. “And who are they?”

  “Ex-prisoners. There was a rumor the disease started in their prison, so General Ortiz and the Army brought them to Bonita first. A test run to see if this place was secure enough to hold infected. By the time everyone else came, they had total control with a guy named Ezequiel as their leader. He’s a nasty piece of work. They quickly made deals with soldiers to smuggle things in and out of the island. They also bullied and threatened everyone to do their bidding. Once people succumbed to the disease and the chaos started, they were the ones with the guns to keep people protected from the infected. There was no way of avoiding working with or for them.”

  “Isabel as well?”

  I nod. “She was quick and a good climber. She would get to supply drops before anyone else. She was Ezequiel’s best looter. When she tried to leave, he tortured her. She was terrified of him.”

  Vargas grimly nods. “How many are there? Do they have guns?”

  “He has about twenty men who came with him from the prison. Others joined later. They have guns, but not many. It’s expensive and dangerous to smuggle them in.”

  “What about his territory? How accessible is it?”

  I shake my head. “He chose the furthest apartment building of this complex. It’s surrounded by barricades to stop the infected. People enter by the front gates. They only let strangers in if they have things to trade, mostly.”

  “Security measures?”

  I frown. “Armed guards at the front of the building. They check people for weapons too.”

  “Do they check you?”

  Slowly, I shake my head. “Not usually. Not recently.”

  “Right. Thank you for the information, Doctor. I have a proposition for you if you’re willing to listen.”

  I narrow my eyes, expecting some shady offer. “I am.”

  “I can give you monthly access to medicine and supplies. Not a whole lot, but a considerable amount. Isabel showed me a way to the island, a path General Ortiz isn’t aware of. I could send these supplies to you if you help me get inside Ezequiel’s building. They seem to trust you, and as a doctor, you won’t raise suspicion. You would need to lie too, and say I’m a doctor as well. Are you up for this?”

  My first reaction is to balk at his suggestion. Not only do I have dozens of patients to see, but going inside Ezequiel’s base is also asking never to see the ligh
t of day again. At the same time, if I have access to medicine from outside, I wouldn’t need to take orders from him anymore. We would be free to do what we wish, provide care for everyone without worrying Zeke will take them away. Perhaps even receive proper tools and other essentials. Like toilet paper. Socks. Gloves.

  And there’s Isabel. He’s giving me a chance to rescue her. To see her again, safe.

  I offer him my hand. “Okay. But I want a month’s worth of supplies or twice a month deliveries instead.”

  Vargas smirks, and we shake hands. “We have a deal, Doc.”

  “I can get you inside, but leaving will be impossible. I hope you have a good plan. Otherwise, we’ll die in there.”

  Diego shrugs. “Let’s just say it involves cartel politics. Don’t worry about it too much. I’ll handle it.”

  The fact that he’s asking me not to just makes me worry more. ‘Cartel politics’? Why do I have the feeling that means a bloodbath?

  “When do we leave?” I ask.

  “Now. After I say … goodbye to my son.” He sighs. “I didn’t want to do that ever again.”

  And he didn’t need to either. As much as I suspect his intentions and question his morals, at least he’s willing to put himself in danger for Isabel. I guess she has her reasons to be with him. The loyalty of a drug lord might count for something after all.

  He puts on his shirt, still bloody from yesterday’s injury, wincing at the movement. Looks like I’m betting my life on a man weakened by blood loss.

  Yet, I can’t bring myself to back out of our agreement. Ever since Isabel left, I stopped believing I was going to leave this island alive. Back then, I was tired and stressed, yes, but hopeful. Now, it’s clear to me that every day I’m alive is a luxury and any injuries I heal or diseases I treat mean very little. I’m just prolonging these people’s misery. I don’t like thinking like this. In fact, I push away all these thoughts during my waking hours.

  But being confronted by my possible death brings these depressing thoughts to the surface.

  We leave the room, and while Diego speaks to his son, I check on as many patients as I can before telling Isidor of my plan. His reaction is not positive.

  “Are you crazy? Have you lost your mind? You’ll die.” His voice is actually shaking. It has been a long time since I’ve seen Isidor so openly distraught.

  “Maybe not. Maybe we’ll come back alive. And if we do, he promised we’ll get supplies, Isidor. We won’t have to beg and crawl for them anymore. Think of what we could do with that.”

  My German friend sighs and ruffles his own hair, obviously conflicted by my proposal. “But if you die … I can’t do this alone, Brown. I can’t … There are too many people. I’m barely holding it together. Without you? I’m done. I’ll go to Ortiz. I’ll give up.”

  The general had indicated multiple times he would be more than willing to take us away from Bonita and back to our respective countries if we promised never to speak of what goes on in here. But that was a year ago when international pressure was still a thing. I have the suspicion that offer is off the table by now as nobody is left out there to care about a couple of crazy doctors.

  “That’s okay. You should think of your own survival too. As much as I would like the clinic to keep going, I understand. What we have now it’s not sustainable; we both know that. Sooner or later, Ezequiel would shut us down, or one of us will die. At least if this works, we might have a shot.”

  We fall into a heavy silence. Hesitantly, I place a hand on his shoulder. He does the same with me. We nod.

  “Good luck, Dr. Brown.”

  “You too, Dr. Berger.”

  I meet Diego at the front of the building, holding a white coat for him to wear. After so many doctors died, we have some to spare. It smells of sweat and vomit. He doesn’t complain.

  Before I help him get over our makeshift barricade to access the street outside, his son appears from the corner of the hallway, racing toward us.

  He stops in front of his father wearing a frown so deep, his nose is wrinkled.

  “Don’t go,” Alex says in a quiet voice at first, and then he starts shouting. “Don’t go! Just don’t!”

  The father drops on one knee, placing his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “I have to, Alex.”

  “You’re going to disappear again. You’re going to forget me. Just like Mom said you would. Please, just don’t go.”

  “I never forgot you. Or your mother. I … I’m sorry for taking so long. I promise I’m coming back, and then we’ll never be far from each other ever again.” Vargas smiles. “Unless you want us to. I’m sure that will happen in a few years. But, for now, I promise we’ll be together.”

  Not convinced, the kid shakes his head. “We’re together now. Why can’t you stay?”

  “The woman who saved you, she’s very important to us. To me.”

  “Why?”

  “We have a deal. I gave her my word. You understand that, don’t you, Alessandro?”

  It takes a second, but the son finally nods. Meanwhile, I frown. A deal? What kind of deal? Is that an euphemism?

  “Now go back inside, stay safe. I won’t take long.”

  “Dad …”

  “It’s okay. I’ll be back.” He pats his son’s head and gently nudges him to leave.

  Once outside, Diego looks back at the building with a frown. I can’t tell if he’s regretting his decision or praying his son will be safe. Either way, we silently leave the clinic behind. I find myself kind of feeling bad for assuming he was scum like Ezequiel. He might belong in jail, but he’s not completely heartless.

  Vargas’ condition slows us down considerably. I also don’t push him too much because I know what it means to lose so much blood. It’s a miracle he’s able to stand without becoming dizzy or fainting. The doctor in me can’t help but study his midriff to check if his stitches have opened. Fortunately, I’m pretty good at what I do, and the wound hasn’t opened.

  The narrow streets and passageways between the buildings are awfully silent. A good sign. The silence means there are no infected nearby. It also means I’m very aware of how awkward it is to walk side by side with this guy, a stranger who has managed to melt Isabel’s heart and will most likely die with me in an hour or so.

  As his breathing becomes haggard, I convince him to stop. We find a corner surrounded by debris and fallen blocks of concrete that provide some cover and protection in case either Ezequiel’s men or infected pass by. Vargas rests a hand on a block while the other hovers above the spot of his injury, careful not to touch it.

  “It’ll be sore for a while,” I tell him.

  “I figured out as much,” he answers but not with the expected sarcasm. “The stitches haven’t ripped open. So thanks.”

  Uncomfortable, I turn to watch the street while mumbling, “Just doing my job.”

  He laughs. “Job? What kind of job is that? Helping every soul who shows up without receiving anything in return? Seems to me, that’s more like a hero complex. One that gets you killed.”

  Is he mocking or complimenting me? It’s hard to tell.

  “Yet, you offered me a deal to save Isabel instead of appealing to this supposed hero complex. Are you that cynical?”

  Vargas rubs his chin, and then smiles. “No. Just moving a piece on the chessboard, that’s all.”

  I frown. “What? What chessboard?”

  “I don’t like bringing you in on this rescue mission, Doc. I don’t like that Isabel talked to you before making a decision without me. Do the math.”

  It takes a few seconds before I understand his meaning. He’s jealous, so he manipulated me. I laugh. “You offered the supplies, so I can’t be the hero. If Isabel asks, I’m here because of the deal. A good one you offered out of the goodness of your heart.”

  “And it isn’t a lie, is it?” The corners of his mouth shoot up as he contains a smirk.

  Bastard. And here I thought he had a heart. “That’s low.”

&nb
sp; “That’s life.” He shakes his head. “But don’t worry, Isabel won’t ask. She’ll assume the best of you. And the worst of me.”

  “Yet, somehow, she’ll still choose you.”

  “Hopefully.” He sighs. “Let’s go. I’m feeling less shitty now.”

  After that, I’m okay with the silence.

  We cross the island without any incidents and arrive twenty minutes later at the front of Ezequiel’s gate. I look at Diego for a second, and he nods. I steady my hands before knocking on the metal.

  We hear the rustling of chains. A guy with a nasty black eye pokes his head out from a small gap.

  It doesn’t take long for him to recognize the gringo in front of him. “Yeah? What’s the problem, Doctor?”

  I gulp and clear my throat so my voice doesn’t shake. “I’m here to see Marcelo. He missed his checkup.” I show him a small bag where I carry my supplies. Today, it’s empty. I wouldn’t want to waste anything. If I die here, no one will give them back to the clinic.

  “So?” The guard snarls.

  “So if I don’t see him today, he might develop an infection and die.”

  “And him?” The gatekeeper nods toward Diego. “What’s his deal?”

  “He’s here to help me, of course.”

  The man narrows his eyes. Not good. “Yeah? Well, I’ve never seen his ass around and he doesn’t look like a gringo. No way he’s getting in. Either you come alone, or you turn around and leave.”

  I open and close my mouth, struggling to find an explanation for Vargas’ presence, but my mind goes blank.

  Noticing my hesitancy, Diego places a hand on my shoulder and yells, “O que se passa? Esse idiota não vai me deixar entrar? Que absurdo!”

  The gatekeeper and I share a confused look. Vargas starts acting erratically, screaming in another language, gesturing wildly and pointing at the gate. The gatekeeper’s shock becomes annoyance very quickly.

  “Tell this stupid gringo to shut the hell up, or he’ll attract infected!”