RecruitZ (Afterworld Series) (19 page)

The gate was wide open, which allowed us to walk right up the cement sidewalk leading to the front door. The sidewalk was covered with cracks and weeds as if this was a trail not often used. There were bars on the two front windows and a storm door covering the entrance.

Preston banged on the frame and waited. I heard a shuffling in the home and glanced at Preston.

“What do you want?” a man’s voice boomed through the door.

“We want to talk to you about the coffee shop,” I said, hoping my female voice would diminish the fears of whoever was on the other side of the door.

“Talk with my lawyer,” his voice gruff.

It was him!

“We aren’t with the authorities,” I offered.

“The press can go to hell,” he snarled.

“We aren’t with the press either. I was hoping to ask you a few questions about TRAC.”

The front door flew open, and he unlocked the storm door, pushing it forward. And there in front of us stood Terrence, holding a shotgun by his side. A known criminal, who looked utterly beat down by his own world. He was heavy-set, in his mid-thirties with black hair and pockmarked skin. He wore an oversized button-down shirt and sweat pants.

“If you try anything, I’m not promising I won’t kill you,” he threatened, gesturing us inside.

“I won’t promise that either,” I said, Preston following behind me.

We stepped into a small entry, which was painted red with the underlying white color beneath exposed in many places from chipped paint. There was a shelf hung on the far wall filled with trinkets. Not very gangsterish of him. He led us through the small space to a great room, exposing a cluttered living area. It bordered on filthy with leftover food cartons tipped over on the coffee table and stacks of newspapers, magazines and empty beer cans piled high. Regardless of the toys I saw in the front yard, I was pretty confident he lived alone.

“So what do you want to know about TRAC?” he asked, sitting in a recliner. I glanced at the couch nearest us and thought better of sitting down.

“We know you had nothing to do with the events at the coffee shop. We were both there and saw members of the TRAC team attack the customers,” I began.

“Why should I believe you?” Terrence asked.

“Because they were after us, and we’d have no reason to lie to you,” I paused. “At least about that.”

Terrence seemed to appreciate my honesty and nodded. “So why do you feel it’s important to come tell me this? I already know I’m innocent.”

“Yeah, but the rest of the world doesn’t.” I folded my arms and waited.

He took a sip from one of the beer bottles he had lined up, and I wondered how he even knew that one was full.

“Do you know Marcus?” he asked, a cynical look coming across his face.

“I know of him,” I said.

“And I know him, from a distance. I worked at Shackles for a few months,” Preston said.

“Ah, one of his many enterprises,” Terrence laughed.

“So what can you tell us about him and TRAC?” I asked. “He’s obviously been able to wrangle some power within the private sector that others haven’t.”

“The best criminals are the ones who wrap themselves in the camouflage of the flaws around them. Marcus is an expert at that.”

“Meaning?” I asked.

“He’s got everything covered. First, he’s got a private security company that exposes the imperfections of the government’s own ability to protect its citizens. Second, he’s got a network that’s tapped into the underground gambling scene, allowing him to have direct access to various criminal organizations, and he even uses his own security forces to manage everything. Third, he understands how vital zombies are to the afterworld.”

My blood chilled. I felt the pressure of his statement squeeze me from the outside in as if I might implode with the implications.

“The new economy depends on zombies in one form or another, and he’s been able to exploit that,” Terrence said. “He’s an opportunist in the highest sense, and he won’t stop until he gets what he wants.”

His words worked into me, embedding another layer of desperation through me.

“Which is what?” Preston asked.

“If I knew that, do you think I’d be in this situation? As of now, I have no negotiating power with him or the people he controls. And to be honest, it’s of no concern to me.”

I realized that while he was willing to give us information, he had no intention of helping us beyond relaying the facts. Because he didn’t care. The lives in jeopardy meant nothing to him. But someone had meant something to him at one point, or he wouldn’t be in this stalemate with his own life. I noticed a doll’s leg underneath the couch.

“How old was your daughter?” I asked.

Terrence stiffened and he took another swig of beer.

“What happened to her?” I tried again.

“They took her,” he growled. “My bitch of a wife didn’t know how to deal with her after the outbreak and reported my baby as—”

“Unfit to rejoin society,” Preston said.

“I haven’t seen her since,” Terrence replied. “I know he’s part of that too.”

“Marcus?” I asked, bewildered.

Terrence nodded and I glanced at Preston. His expression didn’t change at all.

“Those asylums are dangerous places. The entire public is so scared of ‘em, they’d rather act like they don’t exist. Let that agency run quietly and without disruption on its own. But I’m telling you, if there’s danger, Marcus is somehow involved.”

He was right. And I didn’t understand why I didn’t see it until now.

Camouflage. The best way to divert attention for whatever Marcus was doing was to seep into a system that no one wanted to be involved in or even acknowledge that it existed. He would be able to blend in and distort or replicate the problems of others while appearing to fix the problems that arise. Once we could find out what made him connected in the MHA, which oversaw the survivors’ mental health administration, we might be able to pin down what his motive was. What his involvement with the zombies really was.

TRAC had to be the private security company monitoring the facilities. Had to!

Terrence narrowed his eyes at me. “There is no beating Marcus at whatever game he wants to play. There’s no point even trying to figure out what it is because he will win. I owned these streets before the war and after,” Terrence said, working his hands alongside the chair cushion.

He pulled out pictures and shoved them toward us. Preston grabbed them, and his body stiffened.

“Until Marcus arrived to play in my world, I had hope. I have none now,” Terrence replied coldly.

I looked over at the pictures Preston was flipping through. A teenage girl stared back at the lens, lifeless. She had hung herself in whatever institution she was placed at. The last photo in the pile documented it and I felt a shiver pass through me.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

Preston handed the photos back to Terrence, and he pointed toward the front door. It was time for us to leave. As I followed Preston down the hallway, I thought about what kind of person would send pictures like that to another human being.

Preston opened the front door, and we walked outside, closing the door softly behind us.

“You were right about coming here to visit him,” Preston whispered.

“Never miss a chance to get in close with the enemy because the opening might never reoccur,” I said, shaking my head. I felt a shiver run up my spine and hugged myself as I glanced at Preston.

We took a step forward and heard the single gunshot.

Terrence joined his daughter.

“I worked for the MHA and didn’t see what was right in front of me,” he said, more to himself than to me.

“We can sit around beating ourselves up or we can be useful,” I said, touching his cheek softly, bringing his eyes to mine. “Everything happens when it should as it should. For instance, those facilities are hidden. The locations aren’t known by the general public, but I bet you know exactly where they’re located because you worked there. And it’s not the agency. Only the organization that protects the facilities. There’s no reason why you would suspect a security firm in the disappearance of your sister.”

Preston let out a sigh. “You’re right. I’m just—”

“Human,” I whispered. “You’re just human. Unfortunately, I’m afraid Marcus might not be, which means we’ve got to change how we go about things. We need to think like a killer, like an evil dictator, like someone who doesn’t know what it’s like to love, to live, to care, to feel…”

We were sitting in the truck outside a café right off the highway. We had just grabbed a bite to eat, even though neither of us wanted food, and had made the decision to go check out one of the MHA facilities that was only an hour away.

“We’re dealing with a psychopath.” I pressed my head against the neck rest and let out a sigh.

“If we can shut down TRAC, I think the world has a shot at experiencing decency once again,” he said, rubbing his fingers along his neck.

“The problem is that the majority of citizens think everything is fine or as fine as it can be after an outbreak. Somehow we’ve got to find like-minded people who we can trust,” I said. “Take my friend, Abby. She’s pinning her entire existence on normalcy and getting back into the groove at college. I don’t think there’s much of anything that would change her mind, and that’s the popular way of thinking. I was like that when Gavin was around. I felt alive with the thought of making it through the outbreak. For the first time I’d felt hopeful again. It was a brilliant time. Unfortunately, it ended for me fairly quickly. Everyone else is still living in that high and they don’t want to come out of it.”

Preston had turned on the main highway, heading south toward the country, as he discussed a few places where he’d run across survivors with similar experiences. I mostly listened and tried to place the likelihood of experience with the stories that the survivors relayed to Preston.

“Do you worry some of the survivors you ran into are just crying wolf? There’s always conspiracy theorists,” I said, glancing out the window. The area we were driving through was completely rural with fir trees lining the narrow stretch of highway. Every so often a mailbox and an overgrown dirt driveway would appear, but that was seldom.

Preston began laughing and laughing.

“What?” I demanded.

He shook his head, laughing more.

“Seriously. What?” I drilled my eyes through him.

“We’re getting close,” he said, ignoring me.

I looked out the window and saw a large concrete block wall along the perimeter of some property just ahead of us.

“What was so funny?” I asked, snapping my attention back to Preston who was still grinning.

“I find it hilarious that a woman who is teetering on being reported to the MHA and who’s been accused of conspiracy theories herself is so quick to judge others?” His brow arched and he waited patiently for a response.

“Point taken,” I muttered. “I just like to be cautious.”

“Right. That’s definitely a trait you’ve exhibited thus far.”

“Whatever.” I felt my cheeks ignite.

He was completely right. I’d been accused of being a wacko conspiracy theorist myself, but the difference was I knew I wasn’t.

I guess that was what we all thought. I started laughing and looked back out the window. The concrete wall looked endless. I couldn’t see any structures on the other side because the wall was so high, but I assumed there had to be quite a few. I saw a stop sign up ahead and Preston came to a slow stop and turned the corner, following more of the concrete wall.

There was a gap up ahead in the wall, and as we drove closer, I spotted a large bronze plaque that read ‘MHA FACILITY 21SWA’. There was a gate joining the two sections of concrete wall and a guard station. We drove right on by.

“What does 21SWA stand for?” I asked Preston.

“It’s the twenty-first facility in the state of Washington located in the southern quadrant.”

“Huh.”

“And I don’t know if you caught it, but the guard in the booth was most definitely armed and wearing a TRAC uniform,” he said.