by Stark, Ken
“Well, that's encouraging,” Hansen gruffed, looking not at all encouraged. “Does it involve getting more people killed?”
Mason said nothing, and his expression didn't change, but Hansen immediately attempted to wave the harsh words away.
“Bah! That was a stupid thing to say.”
“Yes, it was.” This, in no uncertain terms, from Addison.
“Damn fuckin' right, it was,” Alejandra growled at Hansen from point blank range.
“I apologize,” Hansen told Alejandra. Then, he repeated it to Mason. “I'm sorry, Mace. I'm not exactly a morning person, and I believe I might have mentioned something about my mouth running faster than my brain.”
“S'alright,” Mason lied, eager just to be shut of the whole thing.
Alejandra looked like she might have a few more choice words to say, but Addison steered the conversation elsewhere.
“Okay, the way I see it, we can't go down the way we came up. And without a Batwing,” he stressed the word pointedly to Alejandra, “we'll have to scale thirty-plus feet of sheer wall.” He crawled the few feet on hands and knees and hung his head over the side. “Gouge hand and foot-holds as we go? If we had a hammer or pickaxe, maybe. Drive in some kind of spikes to hang on to?” He looked around the roof and finally picked at a loose bit of aluminum flashing where the tar and gravel ended. “Naw. Glider? Big-ass suction cups? No, you know what? What we really need is...”
He stopped talking, and his face gradually contorted into a mask of horror. He looked up at Mason, and Mason nodded.
Yup, Addison was a smart man, alright. That big nerd could do the math every bit as well as him. Apparently, though, Alejandra was a step behind.
“Someone wanna fill the rest of us in?” she said, scowling from one of them to the other, and back again.
Addison and Mason shared an awkward look, and Addison shrugged. “It's your plan. You tell her.”
Mason hemmed and hawed for as long he dared, then he came clean.
“Ally, we need a rope,” he told her and Hansen both. He took a beat before adding the rather more pertinent, “Or at least something like a rope.”
It didn't take long. They'd both been there for the preparation of Plan C. Mason gathering up the odds and ends that'd made up the makeshift beds. Him, tying them together. But with that particular something-like-a-rope currently hanging from a window one building away, there was only one option left.
“Shit!” the girl cursed, horrified. “Our clothes? You want our clothes?”
Before Mason could answer, Addison confided to him, in what was undoubtedly supposed to be a whisper, “Dude... just FYI, I'm kinda goin' commando here...”
“Oh, fuck that, man!” Alejandra howled. “No way! No way, Mace. I don't mind showin' what I got, but I ain't hanging on for dear life to somethin' that's been soaking up Addy's ball-sweat for who knows how long. No way!”
“Hey, it's been like a day!” Addison tried to defend his honor, but then he thought it over and had to admit, “Alright, maybe two. Three, tops.”
“Dude,” she screwed up her face at him, “don't you chafe?”
As Addison turned a brilliant shade of red, Mason stepped in.
“It's the only way, Ally. Four pairs of pants will get us close, and your leather jacket will help. Your shirt won't help much, so you might as well keep that.” He ran a calculating eye up and down Addison's pudgy body, adding, “Maybe you can do something with your sweater-vest, Addy. You know, to cover your, uh... your...”
“Oh great,” Addison harrumphed, deadpan. “I'm going to fall to my death from the roof of a college wearing a diaper. Awesome.”
Alejandra hid a cute little laugh. “Suddenly, the issue of ball-sweat doesn't seem like such a big deal!”
Through it all, Hansen remained silent. Under normal circumstances, Mason would have welcomed that silence with open ears, but these were not ordinary circumstances, and his silence was deafening. He regarded the man closely. As old as he was, Hansen looked as if he'd aged twenty years overnight. He was exhausted, laboring for breath, and though the sun had barely risen, his pale skin glistened with sweat.
Mason began to feel an all too familiar churning is his belly, and he lowered himself to Hansen's side so that he might look the man square in the eyes.
“You don't look so good, Gary,” he said, outright.
“S'pose not,” Hansen replied.
The two men looked at each other, and whether they'd seen something in one another's eyes, or in their hearts, or in their souls, it was clear that they both understood it all.
“When?” Mason asked, just that plainly.
“Basement,” Hansen replied, just as plainly.
“I thought we had a deal about being completely honest.” Mason feigned scorn.
“I lied,” Hansen said, forcing a crooked smile.
Mason's shoulders slumped, and all he could offer was a hushed, “Well, shit.”
When Hansen was done muffling another cough in the crook of his elbow, he gave Mason the barest of nods. “Shit, indeed.”
It didn't take very long for the others to catch on. With all they'd been through and all they'd seen, it didn't take long at all. But there was no lamenting, no donning of sackcloth and throwing of ashes, no offering of words that would mean less than nothing. They simply gathered closer around Hansen and gave him what little they could.
In her best impression of a head nurse, Alejandra said, “Show me,” and Hansen dutifully gave her his hand.
It was the smallest of scratches. No bigger than a paper cut. But it was there.
“I fell over one of the fuckers and landed hard,” he told her. “I tried to break my fall, and something stuck me. I don't even know what.”
Alejandra inspected the wound closely, holding it right up to her eyes. It was so minor, so inconsequential. The kind of wound that might not even have bled. But it wasn't the blood getting out that did the damage. It was what got in.
“It looks like nothing! Are you sure? How can you be sure?”
The question didn't need answering. They'd all seen the signs before. Hansen was ashen grey. Sweating. His breathing growing rougher by the minute.
She took one last shot at it. “It could be the flu or something. You don't know.”
“I do,” he told her plainly, turning his injured hand around to take hold of hers. “I wasn't sure at first, but I am now. It feels different. I feel different. I started to feel it last night, but by the way our... friends downstairs kept trying to murder my ass, I held out a tiny bit of hope that I was wrong. But I wasn't. I guess it just took a little longer for the fuckers to work their way through an ornery cuss like me.” He attempted a wink and added, sweetly, “I knew you'd wake up if anything... happened.”
“So, what? You expect us to just leave you behind now? Sarah's a nurse. Maybe she can...”
Hansen stopped her right there. “Not a chance, peleonera. And no, I don't expect you to leave me behind.”
She spared a quick glance to the gun on his hip and looked him square in the eye. “What are you thinking of doing, tamarindo?”
Hansen sucked in a shallow breath as if he was inhaling glass shards. “I'm thinking that I have to go. I left my car double-parked.”
“And what then?” Ally stuck out her chin.
“Then... you can all keep your pants on,” he said.
It was a poor attempt to lighten the mood, and Alejandra was having none of it. “And what then?” she asked again, her chin quivering ever so slightly. “You just gonna drive off into the sunset like some kind of big fucking hero or something?”
“Something like,” he said, simply.
Even with his body stiffening and wracked with pain, he managed to lean forward and give her a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Otro lugar, otro tiempo,” he hushed in her ear. “Larga vida, peleonera. Have a long, happy life.”
She rested her forehead against his, and whatever else they had to say passed silently between
them.
Alejandra swept back an errant lock of hair as they parted, but it didn't fool anyone, especially when she used the ruse to draw a thumb across her eye and it came away wet. She looked to Mason in desperation, and he let his expression confirm the inevitable.
She looked back to Hansen, and her eyes suddenly filled with tears. “I don't want you to.”
“Hey, kiddo,” he cooed to her, “shit happens. Just promise me that you'll do what you can to keep these idiots safe, okay? Whatever it takes, querida, that's what you do.”
“Claro,” Alejandra said, sucking back her tears and sticking out her chin. “I promise, tamarindo.”
He laid a gentle hand on her cheek. “My name's Gary.”
“I promise, Gary,” she said, sweetly.
“Gracias, Alejandra,” he said back, every bit as sweetly, and perhaps even more so.
Another cough boiled up from deep within his chest and exploded out, wracking his body from top to bottom. He muffled the cough as best he could in the crook of his elbow, and when it finally subsided, Mason could see that his sleeve was soaked through to the skin.
“I can feel those little fuckers setting up their little fucking factories,” he managed, barely.
Mason said nothing. It wouldn't be long now.
“Help me up...” Hansen panted, and immediately, three pairs of arms came to meet him.
They hauled him to his feet, and Alejandra propped herself under his arm to steady him. He patted her on the shoulder, and she flashed him a sad smile.
“I don't want you to,” she said again.
“I know,” he told her through a throat full of gravel.
They all helped to keep him upright as he led them to the hatch. Then, Mason put the toe of his boot to the thing, and they all peered down into bedlam.
“Mierda...” Alejandra gasped.
“Si. Mierda,” Hansen echoed, barely above a hush. “Mace, try to explain it to my little girl?”
It was in the form of a request, but it wasn't, really. It was a demand, and it encompassed so very, very much. He wasn't telling him to explain to Becks how her father died or that he loved her or that he was doing this for her. He was telling him to explain to her why her father couldn't say goodbye to the one person he loved with all of his heart. Mason understood completely. That hard-assed son of a bitch might have guts of steel, but one look at his daughter's tear-stained face would destroy him.
“Alright.” Mason nodded.
Yes, he would explain it... after. Another after to pinpoint another moment in time when someone died.
And that was it. No last words, no more goodbyes, no more anything.
They helped him step into the hatch and find his footing, and then they let him go. He felt his way down the ladder and reached the bottom with no reaction from the alphas standing vigil...
And then, he was gone.
No one said a word. They all padded slowly across to the front of the building and waited, and a few short minutes later, Hansen emerged. As far as the swarm was concerned, the man was invisible. But instead of just weaving his way through them, he was doing so much more. With a click of a cheek here and the barest whisper of a human word there, he was playing Pied Piper, leading the swarm out of the building to clear the way for the others. It was one final act of bravery, and it didn't surprise Mason one bit.
The man didn't look up. He didn't dare. He simply made his way around to the far side of the building, leading the bulk of the swarm to the battered and beaten car barrier.
Only one creature came close. It was Mason's old friend with the Armani suit and the Rolex. Hansen planted a hand on its chest and shoved it back, and Armani didn't so much as gnash its teeth. The old man crawled over the barricade on his belly, slid awkwardly through the open window of his cruiser, and took the precaution of rolling the windows closed before keying the ignition.
The car started on the first crank, and the swarm went crazy. They howled and they raged and they charged the car from every direction. But Hansen sat in place for the better part of a minute and let them claw away.
At last, he pulled the car forward and headed off, just like that.
Most of the creatures were elbowed aside by the reinforced bumper. Some fell under the wheels, and a few intrepid alphas managed to claw their way onto the hood of the cruiser. But Hansen pulled away from that last bastion of humanity, as easily and casually as a man on a Sunday drive through the country. He bounded over the curb and hit the road. As the car chugged away from Skyline at an alpha-friendly ten miles an hour, he finally hit the siren.
It was the dinner bell to end all dinner bells. Alphas came out from every corner of the complex and from everywhere else, tearing after the cruiser, and Hansen led them on their not-so-merry way. The car finally rounded the football field and hit Skyline Avenue, and with one quick double-tap on his horn as a final farewell, Hansen wheeled left, leading the swarm north into suburban Hell.
Mason ushered the others down before the siren faded away completely. A few alphas had been left behind, but they were so broken and wasted that it took little to finish them off. Mason reclaimed his cannon of a pistol from the floor, Addison and Alejandra slung their empty rifles across their backs and gathered up all of the other discarded weapons. Then, they each spared a few moments to gaze upon the bodies of their fallen.
He hadn't known Sk8rBoy William for long, so his torn body didn't mean much. But Inez was another story. He'd gotten to know her, and he knew he would feel her loss deeply. But now was not the time for such things. He turned his back on what was left of them both, and without a word or a tear, the three of them passed down the stairs and through the shattered doors, out into the Quad.
Gloria hadn't moved an inch, even with the swarm gone. Sarah was too smart for that. None of them could have witnessed the exodus, and they mightn't have been able to detect the starting of a car engine from so far away. But none of them could have missed the wailing of a police siren. Still, Sarah had kept the Peterbilt exactly where it was, as the Quad emptied out around them. She was far too smart to let Gloria's roar compete with the siren.
At last, the doors opened and seven people piled out to meet three others, weaving a cautious path through a battlefield strewn with bodies and parts of bodies.
Becks arrived first and threw her arms around Mason. Then, she looked beyond him, and her chest heaved.
“Mace?” she asked, and with one last desperate look for the man she knew would never come, she buried her face in his neck and cried without making a single sound.
“He saved our asses,” Addison told her in a hush.
“Damn straight he did,” Alejandra said, patting Becks on the shoulder as she passed by.
Mason stroked her long, black mane and told her honestly, “He was a good man, Becks. I know that now. You were right to be proud of him.”
She released him, wiped one last tear away, and managed to fake the semblance of a smile. “Gee, Mace,” she said, her voice hitching once and only once. “And all it took was the end of the world.”
Mack and Sarah approached with Clancy at their side, and Becks welcomed them in with a hand on Mackenzie's tiny shoulder. Mason gave Clancy a scratch between his ears and found a spot between a flurry of curls to kiss Mackenzie on the top of her head. Then, he took Sarah into his arms and hugged her as tightly as he ever had. Behind her, Christopher was standing at arm's length from the others. Richie, Teddy, and Diego were close by, but they were giving him room. Mason shared a look with Christopher, and whether that look said it all, or they were both afraid of where words would lead... it was enough.
The siren continued to fade away to nothingness, but just as the last faintest whisper of the wail hung in the air, Mason either heard or imagined he'd heard the short, sharp crack of a gunshot.
With that, he reeled Becks in, and the three of them clung to each other as if they'd never let go.
Without a word, the entire group started back to the Peterbilt
. But just as they neared that big beautiful truck, Alejandra and Addison corralled Teddy and little Diego under their arms and peeled away, picking their way through the minefield of bodies toward the Mustang.
“Too crowded in there,” Ally called back. “And ain't no way I'm leaving my ride behind!”
They watched them all the way to the Mustang, and only once all four were safely inside with doors closed and locked, did they turn back to Gloria. Mason climbed in behind the wheel, Sarah took her usual spot in the co-pilot's chair, Mackenzie and Clancy squatted between them, and Becks, Richie, and Christopher took to the sleeper cabin. For the first time since they’d crossed into San Bruno, Mason took a deep breath, and released it in a hush.
When they'd first arrived here, there had been only the stains of old blood to mark the struggle for survival. Now, the place was a charnel house. Hundreds of bodies occupied the place now, with four of their own among the number. So, what had they accomplished? Trading a few lives for a few others? They'd come with eight, and now they were ten. So, was that it, now? Was it all about the math? Was the sum total of their existence going to forever be measured by a body count?
Was it worth it? he heard Hansen ask again.
Becks leaned forward and rested her hand on Mason's shoulder, and just as the last time, the question didn't warrant an answer. As for the rest of it, he could only replay some song lyrics he might have heard a lifetime ago.
There ain't no time to wonder why, Whoopee! we're all gonna die...
He keyed Gloria to life, and still he sat there, looking out at the tangles of bodies all around. But then one of the bodies stirred and began to crawl its way back its feet, and then another, and another still, and Richie said from behind, “Uh, Mace? Maybe we should go, huh?”
Mason couldn't agree more. But just as he shifted into gear and spun the truck around, a familiar figure stumbled into view, directly in front of the Peterbilt. It was Armani – one side of its skull caved in, one cheek stained an ugly black with the goo that had oozed from a destroyed eyeball, and that damned gold Rolex still dangling from its wrist.
