As I was about to get into the SUV, John came up to me and, smiling, embraced me. “Thank you, Dave.”
“No need. I’m sorry about your son, John,” I said.
“I feel he was avenged. And I’m glad an old man was able to help.”
“You’d better get going before Consuelo worries any more.”
“Right.”
Maritza hugged and kissed our new friend. “God bless you,” she said.
As we left that place of Death I thought again about everything I’d gone through to get to Walt. All the things I’d arranged so that eventually I could take him out. I had been so determined, and yet when the time came I’d let the opportunity go. Whatever.
Walt was already in Hell, I decided. He would return to Washington D.C. and pick up the pieces of the project. With the IPO he would be able to secure more funding to build a new facility in some other unlucky state. God would need to sort him out—I was done. But he would never again return to California. That thought was the only thing that comforted me now.
It was five miles to the main highway. Maritza and I said little as we navigated slowly over the uneven dirt road. The sun was full up and the air was warm. After we removed our coats she checked on Sasha. I realized that I was actually looking forward to returning to Tres Marias. No, it was more than that. I felt a longing to return and help rebuild my home.
I didn’t want to think about Maritza and me. I couldn’t help it. Would she stay? Why would she? Her life was in LA. She had family and a career. Tres Marias would offer nothing to a bright, young girl with a future.
The sound of beating helicopter blades cut through the stillness of the desert air. I wondered if the Highway Patrol or Sheriff’s Department had gotten wind of the slaughter at Hellborn. The SUV began to shudder as the helicopter approached overhead. Slowing down, I peered out through the windshield and saw it—black and unmarked. It was a chopper like those that had attacked us in Tres Marias while we were evacuating the citizens.
“It’s them,” I said.
I pulled to a stop as the helicopter maneuvered in front of us, turning one hundred eighty degrees to face us and setting down in the road. Though the sun glared off the curved windshield, I could make out Walt sitting in the passenger seat next to the pilot. A grey-suit exited and aimed his AR-15 at us.
Holding a microphone, Walt spoke. Like the voice of God, his voice boomed over speakers attached to the aircraft. “We need the Russian girl, Dave. Hand her over and we won’t kill you.”
Sasha was awake, sitting up and holding herself as Maritza reached back to calm her.
“David, what do we do?” Maritza said.
Ignoring her, I stared at Walt. It had been a mistake letting him live, despite what the angel had said. Slowly, I exited the vehicle and stood next to it. Then I reached for my handgun and pointed it at Walt.
“Don’t do this, Dave,” he said. “I’ve explained everything. You can’t stop this. No one can. We need the baby.”
I’d been right—Walt confirmed it. It wasn’t Sasha they wanted—it was her child. She was the future—the edge we had over the other nations. Though they’d been experimenting on humans, trying to turn them into super-soldiers, what they really wanted to do was to breed a new super-race.
“You’ll have to kill me first,” I said.
As the grey-suit moved towards me to get a better shot, an explosion ripped apart the rear of the helicopter, sending the tail rotor flying off into the desert and the main cabin tipping forwards, knocking the agent aside. I fired several rounds at him, killing him.
Now a second explosion ripped through the helicopter’s frame, engulfing the interior in flames. I ran back to the Tahoe, threw it into reverse and made a wide berth around the burning hulk. As I passed it, I saw that the pilot was dead. Walt was pounding the passenger door—his body on fire—trying to get out.
When I reached the other side I saw Warnick’s Humvee parked on the dirt road. He stood there staring at the flames, holding the RPG. I pulled up next to him and stopped. Then I jumped out and joined him. John climbed out of the Humvee. Then Maritza joined us with Sasha, who was still wrapped in the blanket.
“How did you know?” I said to Warnick.
“It kept bugging me, him mentioning Sasha at the end. Didn’t feel right. So I turned around. When I saw the helicopter, I came a different way.”
“You’re so predictable,” I said.
As we continued towards Tres Marias, Maritza flicked on the stereo. Jose Feliciano’s “Feliz Navidad” came on, which made me smile.
“Merry Christmas, David,” Maritza said, taking my hand. “I love you.”
I kissed her hand. “I love you too, Maritza.”
“I knew it,” Sasha said and marched back to the SUV.
Maritza held me and looked into my eyes. “Say it again.”
“I love you.”
Holly would always make me laugh when she would say, “You butter.” She was the queen of malaprops. So when Maritza pressed her smooth hands to my face and spoke, I thought maybe God was throwing me a bone.
“You’d better,” she said.
And that’s when I realized that she would never leave me.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Dave’s Not Here
Sasha died giving birth to her daughter.
Isaac and Peter had done everything they could to keep her healthy and stable throughout the pregnancy. Because of her own innate ability to control the effects of the virus, they had found that she only needed a modified version of the serum we had brought back from Hellborn.
Isaac had been monitoring the health of the baby during the pregnancy. So far she seemed to be a strong, healthy girl. Peter had suggested a Caesarean to minimize the chance that the pain and trauma of labor would trigger something in Sasha. But Isaac had overruled him and, as her doctor, insisted on a normal delivery.
I can still see her lying on the bed at the hospital, crying out in agony while trying to follow Isaac’s instructions, using the breathing techniques he had taught her to manage the pain. Maritza and Peter were with me, Peter holding her hand as she struggled to bring forth life.
“I can see the head!” Maritza said.
I marveled as I watched the small pale head covered in fine blonde hair crowning. This was something I had looked forward to experiencing when Holly was pregnant—the birth of our own precious child. As the rest of the head emerged, Isaac suctioned off the blood and amniotic fluid from the baby’s nostrils and mouth.
“Push!” Isaac said and Sasha pushed. “Now, relax. Breathe.”
It went on like this for what seemed an hour, though only a few minutes had passed. The baby’s shoulders were visible and at some point, Isaac reached down and gently pulled her the rest of the way. Peter appeared with a pair of surgical scissors and cut the cord. In a final spasm the afterbirth followed and Sasha relaxed.
A nurse quickly cleaned up the baby girl, wrapped her in a sterile towel and brought her to Sasha, who was laughing and crying at the same time. Delirious, she took her daughter in her arms and kissed her. As she held her, the nurse placed drops in the baby’s eyes and administered a shot of Vitamin K.
“She is beautiful,” Sasha said.
The room was thick with emotion. Peter stood next to the bed, holding Sasha’s hand like a proud father. The rest of us marveled at this new life—something I had never expected to see when I first learned that the Russian girl was pregnant.
We knew that the forces behind the conspiracy would never stop searching for the baby, so after we arrived in Tres Marias, Maritza used her media contacts to spread the story that Sasha had given birth early to a stillborn baby. Isaac backed it up with signed fetal death certificate. The story went that the tiny body had been cremated.
Working long distance, Maritza and Karen gathered together the evidence we had uncovered—including the videos, files and blood sample—and Karen proceeded to “leak” everything anonymously to a number of news outle
ts. Because of the resulting media frenzy, the IPO was put on hold and a new congressional investigation of Baseborn Identity Research was begun. I wasn’t convinced that we had put a stop to the conspiracy, though. You can never truly destroy Evil. The best you can hope for is to slow it down.
“What do you want to name her?” Peter said to Sasha.
Sasha didn’t hesitate. “Alex. She is Alex.”
It was strange. The electronic equipment monitoring Sasha had indicated that she was fine. Respiration, heart rate, blood pressure and EKG tracing—everything was normal, according to Isaac. As we stood there chatting and making plans, the orderlies prepared to move Sasha and the baby to a postpartum room.
An alert sounded on one of the machines. Isaac rushed over and looked at the readings, then at Sasha. But she was still peaceful, holding her sleeping baby.
Suddenly she gasped, her irises turning purple. Isaac hurried to her side, took the baby and handed her to a nurse, ordering her to call a code. Sasha never made another sound. As Isaac checked her pulse, unable to determine what was wrong, Sasha exhaled softly and stopped moving. Immediately he started CPR.
The code team arrived and, forcing us out of the room, went to work. As we stood outside in the hallway, Maritza held Alex and rocked her gently. We watched as the team struggled for several minutes, doing everything they were trained to do to bring Sasha back. When the defibrillator and the injections didn’t work, they turned to Isaac, who called the time and pronounced Sasha dead.
The first thought that came to my mind was that Sasha was undead and would soon reanimate. Looking at Isaac’s expression, I knew he was thinking the same thing. But nothing happened. The Russian girl was dead.
Because Tres Marias had no cemetery, we decided to bury Sasha and her brother in Redding at the cemetery where my wife Holly was buried. Though neither Sasha nor Vlad had been religious as far as we knew, I insisted that Fr. Ullman from St. Monica’s perform a Catholic service. Sprinkling holy water on the coffins blanketed in flowers he blessed the Russians, forgave them their sins and commended their souls to God.
As they lowered the coffins into the earth, I tossed the bag of worry dolls onto Sasha’s and stood mute along with Warnick, Isaac, Peter—and Maritza, who was cradling Alex. Warnick had told me that he planned to push through the paperwork needed to make me Alex’s permanent guardian. From what we knew so far, she was normal. But whatever she was destined to become, I vowed to protect her with my life.
After the funeral I slipped away and went to visit Holly. I had thought I would never again come here—the memories had been too painful. But I was glad I came. It was summer—almost a year since the nightmare had begun. A warm breeze blew gently through the trees as I stood near her gravestone and read what was carved there. Holly Mitchell Pulaski. Wife and Almost Mother.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save Sasha,” I said, barely able to see through my own tears. “I know you wanted me to. But we have Alex now. I think you would’ve liked her.”
When I looked up, the angel was standing a few feet off, smiling at me. A brilliant light shone around her, making it hard for me to see. But I knew it was her. She raised her arms towards me like she was offering me something. Then the light intensified into a blinding white and winked out.
When my vision cleared, Holly was standing there, wearing the loose-fitting summer dress that I loved. She was radiant and smiling and at peace. I wanted so much to be with her, but I couldn’t. I had a child to look after. That was my mission.
“I love you so much,” I said, falling to my knees and weeping.
“You butter,” I thought I heard her say.
I rubbed my eyes, and when I looked again she was gone. I turned and saw Maritza standing next to me, cradling Alex in her arms. Extending her hand towards me, she said, “Come on, David. It’s time to go home.”
Dave’s not here. I call myself David now. I read once that when God decided to make Abram the father of a nation, He gave him a new name—Abraham. I don’t mean to compare myself to that guy. I’m easily one of God’s lowliest creatures with enough flaws to fill my own book. Nevertheless. He has a plan for me—that much is clear. He wanted me not to save Sasha, but her child. Alex. I need to look after her, raise her as my own and see that she thrives. And for that I need a new name.
The name Alex means “protector of men.” I don’t know what God has in store for her. I do know this. Till she’s old enough to fulfill her own destiny, I will be there.
Always.
A SIMPLE ASK
Thank you for reading my novel. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Now that you’ve finished it, I have an ask. Will you take a few minutes to write an online review?
Honest reviews are crucial for a writer. They connect us with our readers and provide important insight into how we are progressing in our craft. And don’t worry if you didn’t like the book. I’d still like to hear from you. Really.
More Fiction by Steven Ramirez
Tell Me When I’m Dead
Book One of Tell Me When I’m Dead
Thanks to his wife, Holly, recovering alcoholic Dave Pulaski is getting his life back. Then a contagion decimates the town, turning its victims into shrieking flesh-eaters. Now Dave, Holly and a band of soldiers and civilians must find a way to survive. But Dave is this close to drinking again. A woman he cheated with—and no longer human—is after him. The hordes of undead are growing and security forces are outnumbered. Hell has arrived in Tres Marias.
Dead Is All You Get
Book Two of Tell Me When I’m Dead
After months of fighting the undead ravaging the town of Tres Marias, Dave Pulaski and his wife, Holly, catch a break when Black Dragon Security suddenly shows up to rescue them. But things are about to get worse. The virus is mutating. Now, driven to discover the truth behind the contagion while struggling to protect Holly and those closest to him, Dave is pushed beyond the limits of faith and reason.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Well, this is the final book of the series and my family is still talking to me! A huge thank-you to Corinne, Gabby and Candy. I am grateful for your understanding about the crazy schedule, the frequent mood swings and the talking out loud to myself. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. If anyone out there has a writer in the family, please give them the encouragement they need. The road doesn’t get any easier—I don’t care how many books or screenplays you’ve written.
I’d like to thank Garrett Cook, who did a brilliant and insightful job of editing this book. Also, special thanks to JW Manus, who did her best to teach me eBook design skills, but ended up formatting the book herself when she realized she was dealing with a blockhead.
Major kudos to Kevin Asmus, who created the covers for the series. Previously Kevin had allowed me to use his work Last Man Standing for the original cover of Tell Me When I’m Dead. Then he created more original art for Book Two, Dead Is All You Get. To celebrate the completion of the series, I asked Kevin to create new covers for all three books. As you can see, he’s a gifted artist and a damned fine cover designer.
I also want to thank my beta readers—especially authors S.R. Mallery and Maer Wilson—who offered important suggestions and insights that helped make the book better.
The angel quotes 1 John 2:9–11. This is from the New Living Translation, which can be found at biblehub.com:
But anyone who hates a brother or sister is in the darkness and walks around in the darkness. They do not know where they are going, because the darkness has blinded them.
Dave quotes the “Angel of God” prayer, which can be found at en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Angel_of_God.
The angel quotes Matthew 24:36. This is from the New Living Translation, which can be found at biblehub.com:
No one knows the day or hour when these things will happen, not even the angels in heaven.
I dedicated this novel to David Latt and David Rimawi of The Asylum, because many years ago they gave me my first
break as a screenwriter. And we are still friends. In a town filled with liars, hypocrites and charlatans, those boys are the real deal, and I will always be grateful.
THE PLAYLIST
Okay, now for some musical fun! Here is a playlist of songs related to this novel. The ones marked with an asterisk are mentioned in the book. The rest are thematic to the story. I hope you find them entertaining.
“When You Were Young” by The Killers *
“Short Skirt/Long Jacket” by Cake *
“Are You Gonna Be My Girl” by Jet *
“Bleed It Out” by Linkin Park *
“Creep” by Radiohead *
“All I Want for Christmas Is You” by Mariah Carey *
“Something from Nothing” by Foo Fighters *
“La Cumbia del Mole” by Lila Downs *
“Welcome to Paradise” by Green Day *
“How Soon is Now?” by The Smiths *
“O Holy Night” by John Sullivan Dwight *
“Feliz Navidad” by Jose Feliciano *
“The Thing I Done” by C. W. Stoneking
“Clint Eastwood” by Gorillaz
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Here’s how you can connect with Steven:
Twitter
twitter.com/byStevenRamirez
Website and Blog
stevenramirez.com
Facebook
www.facebook.com/StevenRamirezWriter
Goodreads
www.goodreads.com/StevenRamirez
Google+
plus.google.com/+StevenRamirezWriter
Amazon Author Page
amazon.com/author/stevenramirez
Even The Dead Will Bleed Page 28
