by A. M. Geever
Adam’s voice sounded soft in Doug’s ear. “Confirmed. Good luck.”
Doug nodded to Skye, then stepped into the hallway, just like they’d agreed.
“Hey, guys,” he said.
The heads of the men guarding the north stairwell door snapped to him.
“Who the hell are you?” the bigger of the two said. He started forward, reaching for his firearm. His partner took a step forward, but stayed by the door.
Doug held his hands up. “Dude, no need to be so aggro.”
Before the man could say another word, the door behind his partner opened. Adam took one quick step and grabbed the man’s head. Doug darted back to Skye.
“Stop!”
They fell back. A torrent of gunfire erupted from the other side of the building. Their pursuer wasn’t distracted. He fired at them as he rounded the corner of the hallway,
Skye ducked into the vending room. A bullet whizzed past Doug’s ear. He flung himself against the opposite wall, adrenaline making the colors bright and edges sharp. He pressed flat against a closed door to a guest room, tried the door—locked. The guy didn’t let up, the report of his weapon getting louder. Skye fired from the doorway of vending area, hitting him center mass before his head jerked back, erupting in a spray of red.
“Are you okay?” she asked, running to Doug.
Now there was shouting at Adam and Jonathan’s position, but the comm was garbled. The gunfire hadn’t let up. A strangled cry came from around the corner.
“I’m good,” Doug said. “Let’s—”
He heard a clunk from the stairwell they had emerged from minutes ago. He grabbed Skye’s hand. “They’re behind us!”
They sprinted down the hallway.
“Stop!” a voice shouted.
They didn’t. Instead, they raced around the corner, Doug praying not into a hail of bullets. The hallway was clear of hostiles and gunfire, but not bodies. An opponent was still on the floor a few feet from them, a pool of blood staining the light-tan carpet. There were more bodies by the door to the stairwell ahead of them.
“Go,” Doug said. “I’ll be right behind you.”
He peeked around the corner from the direction they’d come. The drywall exploded inches from his face. He shot off two rounds blind, then bolted after Skye, leaping over the dead man. They were pulled up short at the end, just across from the stairwell door. The guard Adam had killed lay crumpled ahead of them. Jonathan was beside him. Bloody foam coated his lips, but it wasn’t growing or moving—he wasn’t breathing—and his vacant eyes stared at the ceiling, seeing nothing. Heavy gunfire continued around the corner, along the hall where Walter’s room was located. The glass of the mediocre hotel art exploded.
Doug fired behind them, hoping to stall their pursuers. More gunfire erupted from the direction of Walter’s room. Adam fell back to the door; his dark piggy eyes widened when he saw them. Then he was punched against the wall, bullets riddling his body.
“Jesus,” Skye said. She peeked around the corner, then jerked back.
The door to the stairwell by the bodies of Jonathan, Adam, and the dead guard’s body opened.
“Hold your fire,” the person opening it shouted.
The door opened, and Skye leaped, screaming like a wild beast. She hit the man full on, shoving him backwards. Two shots, then she whirled around to cover Doug. An explosion of sparks glittered by her head, making her flinch away. Their pursuer had caught up with them. The bullet had practically shaved her head before hitting the steel door.
“Go!” Doug shouted. “Get out of here!”
Doug threw away the Glock and fell to his stomach, hands on his head, unsure that it would be enough to not get shot. For an agonizing second, his eyes locked with Skye’s. He saw the life he wanted with her flash in front of him, vivid as the moment in The Wizard of Oz when the film changed from black and white to color. The adventures they would have had while taking the vaccine to pockets of survivors once the Council was overthrown. Lazy days spent in bed, talking and reading and making love. Children with her silvery-blond hair and tinkling, fairy-dust laugh.
He saw everything…how it could have been, how happy he could have made her, and she him, for capture now could only mean his death. The anguish clouding the kaleidoscope of her blue-gold eyes told him that she saw it, too, and knew it was slipping away, before she disappeared into the stairwell.
32
Mario stretched his neck, tilting his ear toward his shoulder. The pull of his tight muscles ached, but in a good way, as he let gravity take hold. He could feel the stretch from behind his ear to halfway up his head. He shifted his weight, the worn-out passenger seat of the beater van more uncomfortable by the second. It stunk of old cooking grease from the cheap biodiesel conversion. If he wasn’t able to catch the occasional whiff of fresh air from the two inches of open window, he’d probably have puked after sitting here for the last hour.
“We should have heard something by now,” he said, his voice hushed.
“Yeah,” said Barbie, cracking her gum.
Barbie was a sniper, and from what Mario had seen of the smooth, practiced movements when she disassembled and then reassembled her rifle before they left, she knew what she was doing.
“If nothing happens in the next five minutes, we have to assume the others were blown and move into position,” said Barbie. She raised her voice and said, “You awake, Christos?”
There was a groan from behind them in the cargo area of the van, then a heavily accented man’s voice said, sounding groggy, “I’m up.”
Mario heard Christos mutter something about regretting ever leaving Crete as he rustled behind them. They lapsed into silence again. Mario checked his watch for the millionth time, but it was still only going on five a.m. If the others didn’t get here soon, it would complicate getting out of the city. He checked the side mirror again. His pulse sped up. A figure—a woman—had turned the corner and walked up the block. She hugged the buildings, walking briskly, the only person on the street.
“Somebody’s coming up the block,” Mario said, squinting. “It’s Skye, and she’s alone. Shit, shit, shit.”
A moment later Skye was scrambling into the van by the sliding side door.
“Where are the others?” Christos asked when the door was shut.
The sky was beginning to lighten behind Mario and Barbie. He could see Skye’s huge eyes. Her face crumpled as she spoke.
“They captured Doug, I think,” she said. “And Jonathan and Adam are dead. We never even got to Father Walter. Oh, my God,” she said, looking at Mario. “They’ll kill him.”
Skye told them what happened, how they had been discovered and outmaneuvered before Doug had given her enough time to flee. Mario had never seen her so distraught.
“I barely got out of the building. They had people everywhere. I ran almost a mile and hid before trying to get back. I couldn’t get here sooner…”
Her voice trailed. She started crying again, wiping at her face. Mario tried to absorb the news. Jonathan and Adam were dead and they had Doug? Mario pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Skye. He’d never seen her this shaken up, not even after the zombie grabbed her by the hair when they’d lost Silas.
“That’s why we’re here. Let’s look lively,” Barbie said, her voice all business. She looked at Skye. “Can you pull it together? We might need you.”
Skye nodded, pressing the handkerchief to her eyes, before returning Barbie’s steady gaze. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”
Barbie nodded. She turned forward and started the van.
Still looking backward, Mario clasped Skye’s hand. “We’ll get him back.”
Skye nodded, but on autopilot. Mario turned back around in his seat as the van left the curb, more worried than ever that Dominic and the Council would win and kill his friends. If that happened, nothing would change. The pain and suffering would continue. And the years he had sacrificed, when he could have been with Miranda, would be
for nothing.
Miranda wiped her sweaty hands on her thighs for what seemed the zillionth time. She’d tied a bandana over her head to try to help with the helmet’s fit. It didn’t seem to be doing any good.
Below, California sped by—parched and brown—except for the occasional green patch where late autumnal rains had fallen. The rumble of the helicopter’s powerful engines had become a low hum in her bones, one that was not unpleasant. After the first hour, conversation had petered out. In addition to her and Victor, Sean and Phineas had come with them. Alec had volunteered, which she appreciated, but it had too much potential to get weird. Delta Force they were not, but they’d have to do.
They’d flown over San Francisco twenty minutes ago and had just passed San Francisco International Airport. She’d been surprised at the emotional wallop of seeing her hometown. The Golden Gate Bridge was mottled with rust. The Presidio, a former naval base that had always been a forested patch of green, didn’t look all that different. She hadn’t been able to pick out her street as they swung east over the city, but still found Nob Hill’s Grace Cathedral with ease, could still identify the cable car lines, Union Square, Coit Tower, and Saints Peter & Paul Church in North Beach, where she had been baptized.
She felt twitchy and anxious as she fidgeted in the co-pilot’s seat of the cockpit. She wasn’t any help to Victor with flying, but being able to see where they were going, along with a whole lot of motion sickness medicine, kept the nausea down to the level of unreliable suitor.
Victor’s voice came through the headset. “The San Jose airport is about a klick dead ahead. If there aren’t too many zombies, we’ll land. Otherwise, we’ll have to figure out an alternate spot.”
She nodded, before remembering Phineas and Sean in the cargo hold. Busy flying the helicopter, Victor wouldn’t see her nodding, either. “Sounds good. Sean, Phineas, you ready?”
“I’m always ready for you to order me around,” Phineas said.
She rolled her eyes, but also smiled. His answer had the effect she thought he was probably going for: helping her settle the fuck down.
“Ready to go,” said Sean.
“Roger that,” Victor said. “Looks clear so far. We’ll circle the airfield to be sure, but we should touch down in three—”
Miranda heard a boom and turned her head to look. “What the fuck was that?”
It only took twenty minutes to get Barbie and Christos in position on the roof of the Knight Ridder building. Barbie set up her rifle with practiced ease while Christos, acting as spotter, adjusted his scopes and settled in beside her. Mario and Skye sat next to the two RPG cases they’d lugged up from the van—weapons of last resort. Mario grew more antsy, and Skye more distraught. Barbie cracked her gum about once a minute. It grated on Mario’s ear, and nerves. Skye had pulled it together, as she’d promised Barbie she would, but Mario could see the grief in her eyes. She thought Doug was dead, or soon would be. Mario couldn’t talk himself into any scenario where she was wrong. Council Security SUVs lined the streets below along the Plaza de Cesar Chavez. The large crowd assembled in front of the gallows that had been erected over the fountain kept growing in size. Among the crowd were people on their side, including a medic, ready to take advantage of the chaos Barbie’s sniping would cause to save Walter and Doug. They’d also try to kidnap members of the Council, but that was just gravy. Mario wasn’t too optimistic about that part of the plan, but it would be been stupid to pass up any opportunity to destabilize the Council.
Mario had taken the kids to the Place de Cesar Chavez when they’d visited him at City Hall. He could still see their excited faces as they ran through the ground-level fountain on hot summer days, and hear the burble of water that spurted up from the dark, stone squares.
They murdered people there now.
“Got something,” Christos said, his voice just loud enough for Mario and Skye to hear.
Mario raised the pair of small field binoculars that Barbie had given him. Several SUVs pulled up by the fountain gallows. Burly men, in dark suits with watchful faces that screamed bodyguard, got out. They scanned the area, then opened the rear doors. Mario held his breath, waiting. Dominic climbed out of the third SUV. He limped, his arm in a sling. Mario exhaled, part of him relieved that his brother was alive, despite everything he’d done.
“My brother’s alive,” he said to Skye. He passed the binoculars to her. “The one with his arm in a sling.”
Skye held the binoculars for a moment, like she didn’t know what they were for. Face pale, she raised them to her eyes. “He looks just like you,” she said.
They fell silent, waiting, the tension as thick as treacle.
Skye made a strangled sound, then said, “I see them.”
Mario squinted, trying to see what Skye had. A second later he spotted Doug and Walter walking around from behind the gallows, two guards before and behind them. Walter’s posture was ramrod straight, as was Doug’s, as they were led through the gap between the gallows and the crowd. Their hands were tied in front of them.
Skye shoved the binoculars into Mario’s hands. Tears slicked her face again. Barbie and Christos were speaking to one another, but Mario couldn’t make out their words over the sudden rush of blood in his ears. Skye’s breathing became shallow, to the point she was almost panting. Mario wanted to reassure her, but what could he say? They had to trust that Barbie and Christos were up to the job.
Mario swept the binoculars across the gallows until he found Dominic. Discolored splotches covered his face. Bruising, no doubt, from when he leaped from the car. His lips were pinched tight. He stood stiff, like he was in pain, but his eyes glowed in triumph.
“Goddamn you,” Mario whispered.
Walter and Doug were moved into place near the waiting ropes. Barbie cracked her gum. The gallows began to jump, and Mario realized his hands were shaking.
“What are they waiting for?” Skye asked, her voice a moan of pain.
Then Barbie said, “I have Target A, two mils crotch to head.”
Christos answered, “Roger, two mils crotch to head.” Then he added, “Two point three mil up.”
“Roger, two point three mil up,” Barbie said.
“Wind full value right to left seven miles per hour. Hold half mil right.” Barbie repeated it back, and then Christos said, “Send it.”
The crack of the rifle shattered the sky. Mario whipped up the binoculars. The rifle cracked again, and again. He was vaguely aware of Skye’s hand gripping his shoulder and his heart thundering in his chest. Screams filled the air as the assembled crowd scattered. A melee of panic had engulfed the gallows. Two men were down, blood spilling across the dusty plywood of the gallows platform. A tangle of arms and legs and bodies swarmed and ran, thwarting the efforts of others who were trying to scramble to safety.
“I don’t see them!” Skye cried. “Where are they?”
The rifle cracked again and again in quick succession. Mario sucked in his breath when the man hurrying Dominic to the stairs jerked against his brother’s shoulder, his head snapping sharply to the side, as if an invisible hand was pulling him aloft by his hair. A mist of red filled the air around them. The force of the bullet sent the bodyguard spinning away as he fell to the ground.
Another crack, and another. But the next one sounded different. Mario spun around. The door that opened onto the roof was splintering down the middle.
“Behind us!” he shouted.
He grabbed Skye’s hand, pulling her with him to take cover behind the HVAC units. The door to the roof flew open. Skye popped up from behind the HVAC unit and started firing, the report of her weapon echoing off the buildings around them. Mario looked for Barbie and Christos. They had scrambled to cover, taking Barbie’s rifle with them, but he could see a blood trail. One of them had been hit.
Mario fired nonstop, trying to keep the intruders at bay. In the break from the sniper fire, men were dragging Walter and Doug back to the waiting nooses. Then Skye screamed.
“No!”
She broke cover, diving for the cases with the RPGs. She hefted one onto her shoulder. Mario knew she wouldn’t shoot the gallows and risk killing Doug. She’d try to disrupt it. Distracted by her, Mario stopped firing.
A figure darted from the shelter of the doorway, raising his gun to shoot Skye. He was so focused on her that he wasn’t paying attention to his footing, and didn’t see the six-inch step where one section of the roof met the other. He stumbled, then sprawled onto the pebbled rooftop. His gun flew out of his hand.
Gunfire came from the doorway, sending Mario diving for cover. He saw the man after Skye get back to his feet. Just as Mario heard the whoosh of the rocket propelled grenade beginning to fire, the man slammed into Skye from behind. His arms wrapped around her midsection, jostling her, sending the rocket wild.
Mario popped up from behind the HVAC. The other intruder was reloading, but hadn’t backed up enough. Mario sighted up and fired, never letting up. The man looked like he was dancing before he toppled backwards down the stairs.
An explosion—the RPG—boomed below them.
“What the fuck is what?” Phineas said, sounding alarmed.
To the southeast, a plume of black smoke billowed into the sky.
“An explosion maybe?” Miranda asked.
“What!” Phineas barked into the comm, at the same time Sean said, “Are we crashing?”
“We’re fine,” Victor said, cutting across their chatter. The helicopter changed direction, toward the plume of smoke. “I want to check that out, just in case it’s something we need to know about. We’re coming in blind as it is.”
“Okay,” she said, feeling tense and light-headed. She was sure that whatever had happened, it was bad.
The size of the smoke plume grew, deepening to a darker inky black. It could be anything, but the most likely she could think of was that a building had caught fire. They followed the path of the Highway 87 section of the Secured Expressway toward the plume.
