The Land of the Shadow (34 page)

His eyes were red. Carly frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Something we’ll talk about later,” he said. “Concentrate on getting better.”

“How’s Dagny?” She gripped his hand. Surely if there were something wrong with the baby, he’d tell her right away.

“I’m sure she’s fine. I haven’t seen her today, though.”

“Why not? Justin, she needs to see us. This has to be so hard on her. Please, take time for her. Don’t—”

“Don’t what? Neglect her?” His eyes flashed like black lightning. “Are you saying I’m—” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Fuck. I’m sorry. It’s been a tough day and I’m taking it out on you.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “I need you back, Carly. I’m making shit decisions and causing more trouble than I’m fixing. If I don’t get you back in action soon, we’re going to have a revolt on our hands.”

“How long does this stuff take to work?”

“You should be right as rain in three days,” he replied. “Assuming Stacy diagnosed the right parasite. If she didn’t, we’ll have to start over with a different drug, and that will be a seven-day regimen. I had Pearl go ahead and get those meds, too. Just in case.”

Carly pulled the blankets up to her chin. “I’ll never complain about being hot again once I get this chill out of my bones.”

“I’ll go make you some soup,” Justin said.

“That’s something else I won’t miss.”

He chuckled, but it was dry. He headed up the stairs and grabbed the first can of soup that came to hand. He dumped it into a pot on the camp stove and turned it on. He didn’t notice his hand was shaking until he’d sloshed out half of the water he meant to pour into the pot with the soup. Putting the can down, he took a deep breath. He had to get a grip.

He remembered being a little punk who thought he was a hardass, looking across the desk into Lewis’s eyes and seeing what a
real
hardass looked like. Over the years, he’d thought Lewis had no conscience, no mercy, and no qualms at doing what had to be done for the security or interests of the United States. But he’d at least thought Lewis had loyalty to his nation and its people.

What did it mean that he’d tried to ensure Justin would survive by sending a shipment of the vaccine to his doctor’s office? He ran through his contact list in his mind and didn’t find more matches with locations where the vaccine had been sent, so he hadn’t been trying to save all of the men in the Unit.

Or was he thinking the wrong way? Had Lewis merely been trying to spread the Baker-Lewis vaccine wide to cover Cederna’s tracks? But why interfere in the shipment process at all and direct shipments to be sent to those very specific locations? What had been in Juneau, Alaska, that Lewis wanted to protect with the handful of doses sent to that city?

And then he recalled his dream where Carl Daniels’s photograph stood on Lewis’s file cabinet. Carl Daniels, living in Juneau, Alaska, with his family when the Infection struck. But Carl hadn’t gotten vaccinated that year, and Lewis hadn’t called Carl and suggested—or ordered—him to do so.

What about the survivors in France? He’d talked to his friend Carter, who had been immune, though Carter’s wife had become Infected. Carter reported encountering other survivors, but Justin hadn’t seen any orders for shipments of vaccine overseas. Was there some level of natural immunity, even without the vaccine? Or had there been a French company making the same formulation? That last thought was unsettling, because of the amount of advanced planning it would have required. Justin preferred to believe the Infection and the immunity conferred by the vaccines had been accidental.

These were all questions Carly had asked, but ones Justin preferred not to ponder too much. He knew they were unlikely to ever find any answers, and so it seemed pointless to dwell on it. Now he had answers to questions he would never have wanted to ask, and they had shaken him to the core.

Drawing the paper from his pocket, he stared at it. The words seemed tangled together, the letters an unreadable jumble. The one thing that remained solid was that signature.

The soup had begun to boil. He turned off the burner and poured it into a bowl, then fished a spoon from the drawer. Carly was dozing when he entered their bedroom. She opened her eyes and smiled at him sleepily. He helped her stack the pillows against the headboard and then positioned the tray over her lap before plunking the bowl of steaming soup on it.

“
Bon appétit
,” he said, remembering his surprise when he’d learned she spoke fluent French.

“
Merci beaucoup, mon amour
.” She took a sip of the soup off her spoon and told him it was good.

He sat down on the edge of the bed below her feet. “I have to tell you something,” he said, before he could chicken out.

She paused with the spoon halfway to her lips. “What’s that?”

Now that he was committed, he felt almost relieved to tell her. “Baker-Lewis . . .”

“The vaccine-maker? Yeah?”

“Lewis.
My
Lewis. My commander was the Lewis of Baker-Lewis.”

She dropped the spoon, and a spatter of red tomato soup appeared on her pajama top.

“Eat,” he said, picking up the spoon again and handing it to her. Slowly, he told her about the memo, directing the vaccine be sent to specific locations, including the handful of doses sent to Juneau and to his own doctor’s office.

“He meant for you to survive,” she said.

“Eat.” Justin gestured to her spoon, and she scooped some soup into her mouth. “He sent the vaccine to my doctor, but he couldn’t be sure I’d get it. What if I’d been late getting my physical or I’d already gotten my flu shot elsewhere?” But even as he said it, he heard Lewis in his mind:
You’re predictable, Justin. A creature of habit.

He cleared his throat. “Carly, do you remember your dad saying anything about Lewis? Kirgan Lewis?”

She frowned as she thought. “No, I don’t remember ever hearing that name. He mentioned his commander once or twice, but I don’t think he ever named him.”

“Do you know if he was in contact with him?”

“I don’t think so. If he was, Dad never mentioned it. Why?”

“Just something I thought I remembered, but I might have been wrong.” Justin shook his head. His dream must have been just that—a dream and nothing more.

Carly put the tray aside and scooted down to pull him into her arms. He laid his head on her shoulder.

“You knew all along it was intentional,” she said. “The Infection wasn’t something natural, you told me. You said the lethality rate alone was enough to tell you it couldn’t be a natural virus. And it broke out in the world’s most populous cities simultaneously, so the release had to be intentional. So if it was intentional, it had to be done by someone high up in the government. Someone with access. And I don’t think they did it on a whim. There was a reason. Maybe we’ll never know why. We probably won’t, and even if we did know, it probably wouldn’t make sense to us.” She brushed the hair back from his forehead and drew back to look into his eyes. “But he wanted you to survive, Justin. Maybe he knew the world would need people like you.”

Justin gradually reentered the life of the town, staying out for longer periods as Carly grew stronger, but he always tried to be home by dark.

Justin was back at the fishpond. Beside him, Stan rattled on about breeding cycles and stock levels. Justin just nodded, because most of it was going in one ear and out the other. The gist of it was the fish seemed to be doing well and could start providing food for their community.

Justin watched as Miz Marson instructed Kaden, Kross, and Madison in the fine art of filleting fish so the meat could be dried. Each of them wore an identical expression of disgust as they pulled out fish guts. Veronica had a small container of them at her side as she cast her line into the pond. She hooked a fish almost before the lure had stilled.

“Kid is like the damn Fish Whisperer or something,” Stan said. “Either she’s very lucky or skilled in some subtle way I can’t discern, because she catches three times as many as the rest of us in half the time.”

“Everyone has their own special talent,” Justin said, clapping him on the shoulder as he turned to head back into the town.

“How’s she doing?” Stan asked him, following.

It was a question Justin got dozens of times a day, but one he didn’t mind answering now the news was positive. “Much better. She’s on the mend, and the hard part is keeping her in the house now. She wants to get back to work.”

Stan chuckled. “Only so many times you can re-alphabetize the cabinets, Justin.”

Justin laughed. It wasn’t that the comment was particularly funny. It was that it felt great to laugh again.

They strolled around the perimeter, and Justin felt proud as he saw the Watchers and their diligent efforts at fortifying and preparing for attack. The swamp barriers were complete. Sandbag firing posts had been built in strategic locations to protect the entry points into town. They’d constructed barriers of sharpened poles nailed together. The shape of the things made them extremely difficult to climb, because of their tendency to tip over, and since they were sharp from all sides, a very dangerous thing to attempt. Anyone attempting to approach the fence line would have to try to pick up the things and carry them out of the way, which would be a very laborious and difficult task in the swampy perimeter. Justin stopped to admire one. He’d mentioned the things in passing during one of his classes. It amazed him they’d remembered.

“Nice!”

“Kaden called ’em something French. I can’t remember the word.”

“
Cheval de frise
,” Justin said. “Portable antipersonnel barriers that work in any direction you tip them.”

“Kross wanted to put some of them thorn brambles through the branches, like barbed wire,” Stan said with a grin. “I told him I didn’t think that was necessary.”

“It’s not. But I like the way the kid thinks.”

Kaden ran up from behind them. “Hey, Dad, did you see—” He stopped, his eyes widening as he realized what he’d called Justin.

A lump formed in Justin’s throat, but he was careful not to show any reaction. “Yeah, I saw them. Did you help with that?”

Kaden nodded. A bit of a flush was creeping up his neck. Justin slung an arm around his shoulders. Except for the first time Carly told him she loved him, he couldn’t think of a time when words had meant more to him.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, and Kaden’s smile told him he understood Justin meant more than the barricades.

Carly brushed her hair in front of the mirror, the lantern on the table the only light. She hummed softly and smiled to herself as she thought about how Justin used to sing eighties power ballads for her to make her smile.

She hoped he’d be home soon. His dinner was still sitting on the table, another plate over the top of it to keep it warm for him. She understood that he had a lot of catching up to do since he’d spent so much time with her while she was sick, but she knew he had to be exhausted.

He wasn’t sleeping well and hadn’t since he’d read those documents. Carly wished sometimes Pearl had just walked away and left them on the desk where she found them. Some things it was better not to know. She understood now why Justin had been so reluctant when Carly started investigating the cause of the Infection. He’d told her it wouldn’t do her any good to know. It would just cause her anger she couldn’t resolve.

And now to find out Lewis had something to do with it. He was devastated. He didn’t say much—that was his way—but she could see it in his eyes, hear it in the soft sighs he made as he tossed and turned beside her. And she had no idea what to say.