Five Roads To Texas | Book 11 | Reciprocity [Sidney's Way 3]

by Parker, Brian

  Taavi tapped his hand nervously on the railing and Grady prepared for him to use the distraction of his story to attack, but the strike didn’t come. Instead, he continued, “My wife and children were abducted by my own government and held in captivity along with the families of most of my soldiers. We received word that the same had happened with the North Korean’s families. They wanted to ensure we’d stay loyal and work on whatever project they sent our way. Within a few days, we began receiving scientists who’d worked on projects in Korea and they needed subjects, so we began taking people from a nearby village. Those people became the Cursed, as you know. I tried to keep the facility secure, but eventually the Cursed escaped and I ordered the facility to be abandoned. That’s when Hamid Abdullah Sari murdered my family. He killed them due to my failure to keep the facility operational.”

  “Who’s Hamid Abdullah Whatever?”

  “He is the Council’s Facilitator, the spokesman if you will.”

  “The Council?” Grady didn’t know what to make of the story so far.

  “The Council is made up of several people, including an Iranian woman named Kasra Amol. She is the leader of the group. The Cursed was the Council’s idea. They wanted to destroy the West and they’ve succeeded.”

  Grady gestured out into the night. “But at what cost? The infected overran the damn country. They’re everywhere.”

  “They will die off, eventually. The Cursed are incapable of producing their own food. They can only consume. Within a few years, they will have eaten most of everything that they can and starve to death. Then the Council’s mission will be complete. The world will be cleared of non-Believers and Allah’s children will inherit the Earth—or at least that’s how they sold it to the zealots in the Iranian government.”

  “I thought North Koreans were atheist?”

  Taavi ducked his chin. “For the most part. That is something they would deal with eventually. But for now, the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

  “Those relationships never work out,” Grady grumbled.

  “No, you are right, my friend.”

  “I ain’t your fucking friend. Your little sob story glossed right over the experiments you guys did on me. That’s what—”

  “We did not agree with the experiments in the first place, the ones that created the Cursed. Then, when it was discovered that there was a natural immunity to the virus that protected certain people from infection, the scientists were intrigued. They petitioned for greater numbers of villagers in order to identify the immune. In all, we found twelve out of a village of about a thousand people. Those villagers who weren’t immune, well, they obviously turned and we kept them in massive holding pens. When your team arrived, the decision was made to let a small number of the Cursed free to defend the facility and then we were to kill the ones that had gotten outside. But the djinn was out of the lamp at that point. It was too late. You were captured and proved to be immune. Your body was strong and able to take much more than the malnourished, weak bodies of the villagers, so the scientists focused on you. They wanted to discover a way to immunize all of Iran against the Cursed. Instead, they created something more…foul. You are an anathema to the Cursed, able to walk amongst them without fear. I do not even know what that makes you.”

  “It makes me fucking pissed off,” Grady growled.

  “Believe me, I had nothing to do with the experiments. I just provided the security for the site.” He held up his hands to stave off the comments that sprang to Grady’s lips. “I know. I know, that fact does not absolve me of my involvement in the destruction of our world. But, please believe me, Grady Harper. My family was being held hostage. When the infected in the holding pens finally broke free and we were forced to abandon Site 53, they were killed. The Facilitator shot my children in front of my wife while I was on the phone with them. Then he took my wife and said she would be given to the Army to be raped over and over until she died. In truth, I do not know what happened to her. But I have vowed to find a way back to Iran so that I may kill the Facilitator and desecrate his remains. He must never be allowed to enter Heaven.”

  So, there it is then, Grady thought. Taavi had been an unwilling pawn in the game of some mysterious multi-governmental group that he called the Council. His family had been taken hostage and held to make him perform his duties and killed when he failed. Was he really to blame? Would he have done the same thing if the roles were reversed?

  Grady searched his mind to remember if Taavi had been directly involved in the experiments in any way, but the images that flashed by were mostly of masked scientists and an occasional glimpse of Taavi walking through the area, separated from everyone by glass and metal jail cell bars. In the little bit that he remembered, Grady certainly seemed to view the man as more of a jailer or prison guard than one of the assholes poking him with needles or pushing him into a pen full of the infected to see what they would do.

  “How do you plan on getting revenge against the Facilitator?”

  Taavi shrugged. “I do not know yet. Iran is half a world away, separated from us by thousands of kilometers of ocean. Part of why I came here was to help seek a cure for the disease. If that were accomplished, then one day I could possibly find a flight that would allow me to return to my homeland. The odds are overwhelmingly against me, but I must continue to try.”

  The taller man turned, squaring his shoulders toward Grady. “The real question is what will you do with the information now, Harper? You have my entire story—the truth—of how I came to be here. What will you do with it?”

  “Almost all of it,” Grady countered. “How’d we end up in Kansas?”

  “When we abandoned the facility, we flew with the scientists and the most hopeful candidates toward America, where the Iranian Army had already begun establishing footholds. We were directed to stop at the inconsequential airport in Kansas. That was to be a small, undetectable location for a new base where the scientists we’d rescued could continue their work. We arrived before the Army did, though, and were overrun.”

  Grady scratched at the skin beneath his beard. He’d been through a lot of fucked up shit with the Iranian since Kansas, but what he’d been a part of in Brazil was unforgiveable. The man said he didn’t take part in the experiments, but he sure as hell ensured that the fucking sickos could keep at it.

  “Ahh, fuck it,” he grumbled and raised his weapon, placing the reticle pattern over the man’s left eye. “Fuck you, asshole.”

  Taavi looked at him and nodded, then turned away so Grady could shoot him in the back of the head. “Take care of David once you do this,” the Iranian said. “He deserves better than this place. The soldiers want to leave him here. Please don’t let them.”

  Grady feathered the trigger, depressing it slightly. It would be so simple to just end this fucker’s miserable existence and his conscience would be clear. The man had been a part of his capture and torture for almost a year. He’d been responsible for the death of his team when he released the infected to defend the facility. He’d taken villagers for the scientists to experiment upon.

  All that he’d done was horrible, but why had he done those things? His family was held hostage, forcing him to obey the orders of this mysterious Council. He was just a much a pawn in all of this as Grady was. Taavi had been a friend during the journey from Kansas, the two of them thrust together as outsiders by the Army platoon. They’d fought alongside one another and shared stories of their past—which were mostly true, although Taavi had amended how he’d gotten to Kansas. They both hated the infected, the Cursed as the tall man called them, and wanted to find a way to destroy them.

  “What will you do once we help Jefferson make a vaccine?” Grady asked hoarsely. He didn’t like the feelings that seemed to well up inside of him at the thought of killing his newfound friend.

  “I—What do you mean ‘after’? I believe that I am dead at that point.”

  Grady cursed loudly and dropped his rifle on the sling. “No, fucker, y
ou aren’t. I’m not going to shoot you tonight. I get it. You were forced to do those things.”

  He turned around haltingly and stared at Grady. “I hold nothing against you, Grady Harper. If you choose to end my misery, I will accept my fate.”

  “That’s just it, Taavi,” Grady said, pointing at him with a stubby finger. “If I kill you, all of your suffering ends right here. You go to be with your wife and children in the afterlife and the rest of us are left here to deal with the shitstorm you helped to create. I know a little bit about your religion, buddy. You can’t commit suicide without a bomb strapped to your chest or some shit to become a martyr. Otherwise, you go to Hell.”

  “You are correct.”

  “Then, fuck you even more. You’re gonna stick around this place, same as the rest of us poor assholes. You’re gonna give that scientist all the information that you have about the infected and we’re going to kick this disease’s ass. That will be your penance for everything that you’ve done. Then, years from now, when we’ve finally eradicated the disease, you’ll be allowed to go find this Facilitator guy and get your revenge.”

  Grady realized that he still held Taavi’s knife. He tossed it to the taller man, who caught it by the handle. “I am not your friend, you understand that?”

  “I do,” Taavi replied. “It is a meaningless statement to you. However, I want you to know that I regret what has happened. I only wanted to grow old with my Rabbia, my love, and to watch my children grow into adulthood. I am sorry, Grady Harper.”

  He wanted to scream. To pummel his fists into Taavi’s face and shatter the bones there. He wanted to take out his frustrations at what had been done to him. He wanted revenge. He felt the rage boiling inside of him once more.

  Grady grasped the pistol grip of his weapon. “I’m going hunting. I’ll be back.”

  He spun and stalked through the balcony doorway, making his way toward the apartment door. Behind him, he heard the Iranian protest that he was the world’s only hope of recovery. That he couldn’t get himself killed, and blah, blah, blah.

  Grady no longer heard the man. His blood was up, as it often was after all the experiments they’d done to him. The only thing that made the anger subside was to kill. It was time to make the streets of New York City a little safer. It was time for murder.

  19

  * * *

  MANHATTAN, NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK

  MARCH 7TH

  Jake woke feeling refreshed for the first time in ages. He couldn’t even remember the last time that he’d gotten as good a night’s sleep as he had in the apartment. Beside him, Sergeant Turner still slept soundly. They’d shared an overly-comfortable king-sized bed and neither had gotten in the other’s way.

  He rolled his ankles gently for a moment to loosen the joints and then sat up. While he felt rested, he still felt way older than his twenty-five years. His body had taken a pounding in Ranger School, then he went directly into fighting the infected before he’d even gotten a chance to go on his first field training exercise with his platoon. Nothing better than real-world experience.

  The lieutenant swung his legs over the side of the big bed. The events of the previous night came back to him. They’d accomplished the first part of their mission. They’d found one of the scientists from Columbia University. Against all the odds stacked against them, they’d actually done it. Sure, the guy was a little cuckoo in the head, but who wasn’t these days? The sun was shining outside and he had some MRE coffee in his rucksack. It was going to be a great day.

  After he relieved himself in a bottle, Jake went out to the apartment’s living area. Taavi sat at the counter, sipping on a cup of steaming liquid, which Jake assumed to be coffee as well.

  “Good morning, Taavi,” he said cheerily. He was in a great mood.

  “Good morning, Lieutenant Murphy.”

  “Coffee?” Jake asked, pointing at the cup.

  The taller man lifted a bright yellow tea kettle. “Tea. Much better than coffee. There’s a box of it in the cupboard.”

  “Huh. Guess there’s some things that get passed over, even in the apocalypse. How’d you heat the water?”

  “I made a fire on the balcony,” he replied, staring off into the emptiness of the kitchen.

  Jake looked at the glass door leading to the balcony. He saw a large metal mixing bowl with the charred, smoking remains of whatever the Iranian used to start the fire.

  “Ah… What did you use for firewood?”

  “The side table,” Taavi replied without looking back. “It was flimsy and easily broken. The wood inside is very dry. It caught fire quickly. The varnish helped to spread the flames.”

  Jake shrugged. That’d work. “Any of it left?”

  “Yes, of course. I only needed one table leg to heat the water.”

  Jake took the tea kettle and emptied a bottle of water into it, then set about the task of starting a fire in the bowl. He needed to use the serrated blade on his Gerber to make deep cuts into the wood, which then allowed him to break the table leg. He was almost finished with the task when he realized that he hadn’t seen Grady Harper.

  He stuck his head back inside and said, “Hey, Taavi. Where’s Harper?”

  The older man stared into his cup of tea as if he hadn’t heard him. “Taavi? Earth to Taavi.”

  Finally, the Iranian swiveled in his chair and looked at Jake. His face was gaunt and he had circles under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept. “He went hunting again last night.”

  Jake’s stomach dropped. “What?”

  “He left the apartment. Said he was going hunting.”

  Jake surged to his feet, letting the table leg he’d been working on drop to the balcony’s concrete floor. “What do you mean?” he demanded, stomping into the apartment.

  “He needed to clear his head. Apparently, killing things clears his head.”

  “Mother fucker!” Jake hissed. “That son of bitching piece of shit cocksucker!”

  “What’s wrong, LT?” Sergeant Turner asked from the master bedroom. Jake heard his feet hit against the floor as he rolled out of bed.

  “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

  Sergeant Turner emerged from the bedroom, M-4 in hand. He scanned the room for threats, then eased. “Where’s the spook?”

  “Hunting!” Jake replied in exasperation. “Taavi said he left the apartment in the middle of the night to go out hunting. Whatever the hell that means.”

  “It means that sonnabitch went out to kill something,” Turner said. He pointed at Taavi’s mug. “Coffee?”

  “No, it is tea. There’s a box of it in the cupboard.”

  “I’ll stick to coffee. Thank you.” Turner sauntered into the room, seemingly unconcerned by Harper’s absence.

  “He’s the whole fucking reason we’re here,” Jake grumbled. It had been an annoying nuisance while they were on the move to New York. Harper would leave and go hunting the infected at night when they were active, but he was immune to them, so Jake hadn’t worried too much after the first couple of times it happened. Now that they were in the city, though, it was an entirely different situation. There were other people around who could shoot back.

  “What are we gonna do about this?” the lieutenant asked.

  “Well, sir. I’m gonna have a cup of hot coffee—haven’t had one since we left the Strykers and their water heaters back in Jersey. Then, we’re gonna wait for the dumbass to return.”

  Turner walked out to the balcony and bent over out of sight. When he straightened back up, he held a few small pieces of wood, which he tossed into the bowl. Jake watched him for a moment as he busied himself lighting the fire before cursing and returning to the bedroom where his gear sat in the corner. He retrieved his canteen cup, a bottle of water, and a packet of instant coffee from the MRE. He would have preferred a regularly-brewed coffee, but this was just as good.

  He returned to the living area and made his way to the balcony. “Mind if I heat some water too?”

  “That’s t
he spirit, sir,” the old veteran said, smiling.

  The two of them sat on the concrete and rested the handles of their cups on the lip of the makeshift fire pit. The cups themselves were held above the flames. “You know, if he doesn’t get himself killed, he’s probably doing a good thing for the citizens here,” Turner offered.

  “He’s just one guy. What the hell can he do?”

  Sergeant Turner shrugged. “Eliminate the right guy, a gang leader or something, then you can change a lot.”

  Jake tugged his sleeve down over his palm and fingers, adjusting his grip on the cup’s twin metal handles. The damn thing was starting to get hot. “What if he does get himself killed?”

  “Then we got an all-expense paid trip to New York City, courtesy of the US Army, sir.” Turner’s fake smile soured, turning into a frown. “Look, sir, I get it. We have the potential to end this if that scientist nerd can find anything of value in Harper’s blood. But there’s no guarantee that it will work. The miraculous, walking shitshow that is Grady Harper may be a genetic fluke with no way to reproduce those results. He said they experimented on him for months to take his natural immunity and turn it into something else. If the key to ending this is that natural immunity that only, what? A tenth of a percent of people are immune?”

  “Um… I don’t know,” Jake admitted.

  “When Colonel Albrecht got bitten, he said that only one in a couple of thousand were immune, so he was positive that he was a goner—which, as you know, sir, he did turn.”

  “Saved my life before he did, though.”

  “Yes, sir. Good man…” Turner trailed off for a moment, then cleared his throat. “So anyway, if everything hinges on a natural immunity only found in a tiny handful of the population, then we may be fucked anyways. Even if Jackson Jefferson is able to create some type of vaccine from Harper’s blood, it would probably only be able to help those who are already immune.”