Radio Hope (Toxic World Book 1) (25 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The crack of the shot echoed through the pass, a forlorn sound in the silent mountains. Through the sniper scope she saw Mitch jerk, his hands and face raised to the sky. He took two more unsteady steps before he fell on his face and lay still.

That was murder
,
Annette told herself
.
It was necessary, it was the right thing to do, it kept Pablo and me safe, and it’s still murder.

She kept looking through the sniper’s scope. She didn’t want Jackson to see her face.

I hate the wildlands, and I hate that I’m so good at living in it.

She moved forward to the shade of a large rock and lay down again. She could still see the stretch of road but this spot was less exposed.

“Shouldn’t we get going?” Jackson asked.

“No, we’re going to wait.”

“Why?”

“Old wildlands trick.
I want to see if anyone’s around. A scavenger won’t pass up the chance to see what’s in his backpack. If we wait long enough they’ll show themselves.”

“How can you be sure there’s anyone around?”

“I’m not. Just a feeling. Keep a lookout while I watch Mitch.”

They settled into
silence and waiting. The sun sank low over the distant sea, turning a deep red before finally winking out under the horizon. Shadows fell over the land.

Annette watched the body of the man she had killed. Mitch Evans. An asshole basically, one of Abe’s crowd, but he had done nothing to her that could justify taking his life.

He would have, though. He would have told Abe about Radio Hope and that might have led to its eventual shutdown. She couldn’t have that.

She remembered when she was pregnant, back when she still wandered the wildlands. She and her lover and their gr
oup had settled in a little concrete garage next to the ruins of a motel. It was rainy season and they didn’t want to keep moving when she was so close to her time. They’d found a good spot, with a clean stream nearby and wild berries in abundance. They fashioned rabbit traps and scavenged through the debris of the motel and discussed names. Everyone ate better than they had in weeks and people were in good spirits.

One of the older women had a
radio with a windup battery. Every night she’d crank it up and they’d listen to Radio Hope. Back then it was the only radio station on the air, and the only one they needed. They’d huddle all together to keep warm, buried under their blankets and coats, Annette leaning against her lover’s shoulder and rubbing her belly.

They listened, rapt with attention, as the announcers told them how to treat burns or fashion a slingshot to hunt squirrels with or how to make shoes. It didn’t
really matter what the subject was, they’d listen as those calm, confident voices gave them information to help them survive. Those voices lulled them to sleep every night and wafted into their dreams, whispering advice and telling them everything could get better.

One night the vo
ice of a woman came on. It was time for the medical show, but this wasn’t the woman who usually did that show. Her voice was different, older and more forthright.

“
I’m taking over the show tonight because our medical announcer, while a fully trained doctor, has never had a child. I’ve had three and they’ve all grown up healthy. Tonight we’re going to learn how to deliver a baby. . .”

Her lover pulled out the stub of a pencil
and a book Annette had scavenged and started writing everything down on the flyleaf. As he scribbled away she sat back and listened, thinking that mysterious woman on the other end of the airwaves was speaking directly to her.

The instructions were
clear and simple enough for everyone to remember them and carry them out two weeks later as she lay on her back hyperventilating and grimacing in pain. Pablo was born in the wreckage of an old motel, alive thanks in part to a woman she had never met.

Or had she? Could that woman in the mask have been the very same person she heard ten years ago?

She looked again at Mitch’s prone form, now blending into the deepening shadows.

“Sorry, Mitch,” she whispered.
“Nothing personal, but it’s bigger than you. Much bigger.”

Movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. Someone was scuttling out of the shadows, moving fast and low on his hands and k
nees. The person stopped, looking around like a startled rabbit. Annette caught a glimpse of white at the center of the person’s face. It looked like a bandage.

A bandage on his nose.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she whispered.

Jackson peered over her shoulder.

“Who is it?”

“That guy who was trading the receivers, the ones that pick up Radio Hope.”

“Coming back home?” Jackson asked.

Annette shrugged. Maybe.

The scavenger hunched over Mitch, the two figures becoming one in the dim light. After a few moments they became two again. The scavenger hurried away, Mitch’s backpack on his back. Through her sniper’s scope Annette could just make out the silhouette of Mitch’s binoculars swinging from the scavenger’s neck. He headed into the rocks and disappeared.

“Do you think we’ll run into him tomorrow?” Jackson asked.

“No, he’ll make sure of that.”

Annette’s prediction proved correct. They walked in silence all that day, the only person they
saw being Mitch. They buried him under a cairn of stones and moved on.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The makeshift hospital was a nightmare of blood and screaming. A pair of stretcher-bearers was just bringing in Kelly Blackwell, the city’s best plumber and one of Marcus’ good friends, with a gunshot through the jaw. Marcus ran past her and found The Doctor, who looked more dead than alive as he tied a tourniquet around a severed finger of the woman lying moaning on a blood-drenched blanket.

“Pablo’s dying!” he shouted.

The Doctor looked at him through bleary eyes.

“Huh?”

“Pablo, Annette Cruz’s kid. He’s staying with us and he’s dying of the flu,” Marcus said.

“Who? What?” The Doctor looked confused.

Marcus grabbed his friend by both shoulders.

“That blanket antiviral. I need it to save a child’s life.”

“Yeah,” The Doctor sighed. “Hand me that roll of gauze. It hurts to move.”

Marcus did as he asked.

“So I can have it?”

“What? The medicine? Yeah, it’s in my medical cabinet. Top shelf. Bring some stims too.”

Marcus was off like a shot. As he climbed the stairs, sweat dripping from him, he knew The Doctor had probably already forgotten the conversation. That man was going to collapse any minute. Did getting a yes from him in those circumstances even count? Well, it would have to count. And Clyde was right, The Doctor would have said yes not matter what his state of mind. That was the kind of man he was. That’s why his rule was undisputed by almost everyone.

Still, he felt bad railroading his friend. As he opened the medicine cabinet and found the precious vial he shoved those feelings aside. He could feel bad later, assuming any of them survived the night.

Grabbing the vial, a hypodermic needle, and the packet of stims, he hustled back downstairs. He dropped the stims into The Doctor’s lap without even stopping and ran to the other side of the room to get Ahmed.

“You need to come with me,” Marcus said as he hauled him to his feet.

“Why? What’s happened?” the nurse asked.

“Pablo needs and injection and I don’t trust myself to do it right.”

“Who’s Pablo?”

“Move!” he shouted, pulling him out the door and to his house.

Marcus waited only long enough to see Ahmed give Pablo the injection and then he was back out to the wall. The shots along both shores had died down but there was still a blaze of gunfire going on in that direction.

He arrived just in time to see it finish. The starving men with the ladders, reeling from terrible losses, ran back for the safety of the Burbs. The line of riflemen fired a few shots into the crowd t
o make them turn back, but couldn’t stem the tide. They soon retreated too.

The riflemen regrouped around the machine gun in the marketplace. Their leader was there, clearly visible in the dim light with his white robe and flowing beard, arms gesticulating as he gave a sermon. The men with the machetes and spears fanned out into the Burbs.

For the next few hours no attack came. Scattered gunfire crackled through the Burbs, though, once erupting into a crescendo near the marketplace.

“They got a mutiny on their hands,” Clyde said, peering through the darkness. “Should we send out a counterattack?”

“No,” Marcus replied. “We’ve lost enough people.”

Clyde looked relieved.

After a while Marcus excused himself and went back home. He found Jessica and Rosie sitting by Pablo’s bed. The boy was sleeping with a peaceful look on his face. For a moment Marcus stared at that face without speaking.

“His fever’s down
already,” Rosie whispered. “Ahmed said he’ll be just fine by morning.”

“Remember when you could just walk into a pharmacy and buy that stuff?” Marcus said.

Jessica looked up, “Really?”

Marcus nodded sadly. “Way before your time. Almost before ours. You young folks don’t even realize how much we
’ve lost. Doc and me and the rest of us are trying to get back to that.”

“Father says that’s why you need to be helped.”

Marcus studied her a moment. “I’ll need to talk to you about your father sometime.”

Then he sighed and rubbed his eyes. He was so tired.
More than anything else he wanted to curl up beside Pablo and snore for the next twelve hours. But the night wasn’t over yet.

He trudged over to the warehouse. He hadn’t heard a gunshot for more than an hour. The citizens and scavengers slumped at their posts, resting but still vigilant.
Older citizens moved along the line serving hot tea and bowls of stew.

Inside the warehouse the wounded and dying lay in miserable, groaning rows. A couple of assistant medics did what they could. The Doctor and Ahmed were nowhere to be seen.

“Where are they?” Marcus asked one of the medics.

“Upstairs,” the woman said, her eyes wide with fright. “The Doctor collapsed.”

All fatigue gone, Marcus shot up the stairs. He found The Doctor unconscious in his bed, Ahmed leaning over him listening to his heartbeat with a stethoscope.

The nurse looked up. He was crying.

“He fell unconscious half an hour ago. His heartbeat’s irregular and he has a fever. His immune system is wrecked, and with all the stims and stress and overwork he couldn’t take it. His bullet wound is getting infected. I’m treating that but I think he’s got the beginnings of that flu that’s going around. Even fully rested he probably couldn’t handle that.”

And I took the only medicine
,
Marcus thought.

“How long?
” Marcus managed to say.

“A day, maybe two or three. There’s nothing I can do.”

Marcus knelt down by his friend and took his hand. He touched his brow and felt how hot it was.

Oh
, please don’t die.

Please don’t leave me in charge.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Their march through the wildlands was uneventful. They made good time, anxious to get back and check on their loved ones. They had no radio and had no idea if New City still stood. Only when they approached the ruined city on Toxic Bay did they slow down and proceed carefully.

They didn’t need to. Scattered along the roads lay dozens of tweakers, shot in the head or hacked to pieces with machetes. Jackson’s heart raced. So it was true, the Righteous Horde was annih
ilating anyone they thought impure. He yearned to run through the city to the bay, shouting for Olivia, but caution held him back. For a tense two hours they crept from building to ruined building, on the lookout for the cult.

They saw no one. Could they have really killed off every tweaker? Jackson discarded the idea. There were too many, and there were a million places to hide in the ruins. No, the Righteous Horde had themselves a righteous slaughter and moved on to more important pickings.

Like New City, and Olivia’s village.

At last they crept down to the crumbling esplanade. Jackson squinted and studied the opposite shore. The village looked intact, yet
he saw no movement.

Jackson pulled a white cloth out from his pack. Olivia had given it to him so he could signal for a boat. Frantically he waved it over his head for a good ten minutes. Then they settled down in the shelter of a building to wait.

To Jackson’s profound relief a dugout nosed its way out of the swamp. He wanted to leap into the water and swim out to meet it. They had barely made it within hailing distance when Jackson ran to the edge of the esplanade and called out.

“Is Olivia all right?”

“Yes,” came the reply. It was the same two boatmen who had taken them across the first time. “An advance party came on our village by surprise. We fought them off but lost a few people. Olivia wasn’t hurt. Then we headed out into the boats and waited until the siege was over.”

“How is New City?” Jackson asked.

“It got hit bad,” the boatman replied as he and his companion steered the dugout to the side of the esplanade. Annette and Jackson climbed aboard. “They fought off those bastards, though. Slaughtered them. Most of those cultists were half-starved. Only the leader’s bodyguard had guns. You know what he did? Took his guards and some of the women they had and ditched everyone else. The countryside on this side of the bay is thick with starving refugees. You got to watch yourself.”

Jackson only half listened. Olivia was all right. The rest of the world could take care of itself for a while.

She was waiting for him at the shore. He leapt out of the boat, not caring that his boots squelched in the toxic water, and hurried over to her.

They embraced for a long time. At last sh
e pulled away and put a hand to his face.

“You’re hurt.”

“Oh, I just got my ass kicked by some of the Righteous Horde. We won, though.”

She looked around. “Where are the other two?”

“They got killed,” Jackson said. Annette looked away. “But what happened here? Why didn’t you go into New City?”

“I tried. That man you said was going to sponsor me wouldn’t even see me.”

“Damn it!” Jackson said. “I should have known he was going to double cross me.”

Which means he was going to have me killed.

Jackson exchanged glances with Annette. It looked like she understood too.

Feel better about Mitch?

Jackson kissed Olivia. “I have to go to New City. We have something to deliver. I’ll be back later.”

“Can’t I come?”

“Of course! Glad to see you’re getting over your fear of going over the hills.”

They set out arm in arm.

“The Burbs wouldn’t be so bad if you’re going to stay there,” Olivia said, smiling.

“Been doing some thinking I see,” Jackson said, giving her a squeeze. “Well
, I’m going to trade my shack and these two rifles I got from the cult. That should be enough to get building material for a proper house for the both of us. I used to work construction with my father.”

As they walked to New City they twice passed patrols. One was made up of citizens and the other was under the command of something called the Burb Council.

“There have been some changes while we’ve been gone,” Jackson shook his head. “Maybe things are starting to move in the right direction.”

But at what cost
?
He thought a moment later.

They were rounding the cove
and came upon a large funeral. A mass grave filled with bodies was being given last rites in several different faiths. They paused to pay their respects.

Passing through the Burbs they saw the wreckage left behind. Several houses had been partly dismantled and were now being
rebuilt by their occupants. New City’s wall was pitted with dents and bullet holes. Jackson could see a work crew adding extra steel plates. When they came to the gate the guards barred Jackson from entering.

“You know you’re not welcome here, Blamer!”

Annette interceded.

“H
e has something that has to be delivered to The Doctor personally, let us in,” she said.

The guards face fell. “Well if you’ll vouch for him, Annette, I guess it’s OK, but you’re too late. The Doctor is dying.”

They hurried on through to the warehouse with one of the guards. After a brief consultation with another guard at the warehouse door, they were ushered inside and straight to The Doctor’s quarters.

They found him unconscious in bed, his face and hands pale and skeletal. Clyde, Marcus, and Ahmed stood around the bed. Ahmed had just finished taking The Doctor’s pulse and gently laid his hand back down on the blanket. He looked to Marcus and Clyde and shook his head.

They turned when they heard Jackson and Annette entering. Annette gave Marcus an anxious look and he nodded and said, “Pablo’s fine.”

Annette let out a sigh of relief.

“And him?” Jackson motioned to The Doctor.

“He’s dying,” Marcus said, frowning at him. “Who let you in?”

“We were given some medicine for The Doctor,” Jackson handed over the pack to Ahmed.

The nurse’s eyes widened. “Allah be praised! Where did you get this?”

“Um. . .”

Ahmed wasn’t even listening. He opened the pack and exclaimed again. “A full medical pack! Everything in place! This should be in a museum
. No, this should be in his blood stream! Wait, what’s this? Blanket antivirals? White blood cell rejuvenators? All the latest. . .”

Ahmed looked at Jackson, stunned.

“This isn’t just your standard medical pack, that would be miracle enough. This has the very medicine he needs. This was tailor-made for him.”

Jackson and Annette looked at each other, mouths hanging open. Everyone knew that The Doctor was sick, but neither knew just what kind of illness he had.

Radio Hope knew, though.

Ahmed prepared a hypo and injected it into The Doctor’s arm.

“This was just what he needed. He’s pretty far gone but he’s a tough old guy. He may pull through. All we can do now is hope.”

“Yeah,” Jackson laughed. “Annette and I know a thing or two about hope.”