Z 2136 (Z 2134 Series Book 3) (19 page)

Ana stood at the metal rail looking over the surprisingly large underground farm sprawled beneath the large light squares in the ceiling, marveling at what such a small group of people had been able to pull together. The farm had plenty of potatoes, with carrots, corn, wheat, and several other foods growing in neat rows around the circular room.

“What was this place before?” Ana asked Father Truth, who was standing beside her as they waited for Egan to meet them.

“It was an unfinished area when The Old Nation fell. We believe it was going to be a seating area of some sort. It took us a while, but we finally managed to get the mix of soil and light just right for each section.”

While The Station had less than a hundred people, a fraction of Hydrangea’s population, they’d managed to form a tight-knit community and truly cared for one another, and they’d created an impressive farm and water filtration system which seemed even better than the one at Sutherland’s camp. They left only to hunt, gather supplies by raiding bandits, or wage the occasional campaign to hijack shipments from outbound City trucks.

This place, Ana decided,
could be
a good home—a place where she and Liam could make a life together and finally stop worrying about all the tomorrows that would otherwise haunt them. But she had to be careful. Even The Barrens and all the unknowns outside The Walls were better than settling under another despot. While Egan had seemed nice enough, Ana had always sensed an edge: he was the sort of man who was perfectly kind, so long as you were on his side of an argument. She’d always had her suspicions, but she couldn’t imagine even looking into his eyes now that she knew he was ordering the kidnapping of innocents to inject with the virus in the name of finding a cure.

Those were the actions of a man like Sutherland. Something Sutherland certainly would, and probably had, done. She had wanted to believe that Egan was better. But faith in powerful men was rarely rewarded.

Egan finally arrived and with a few kind words dismissed Father Truth so that he and Ana could be alone.

“Thank you for meeting me,” he said, as if she hadn’t been the one to demand the meeting. He turned from Ana and cast his eyes across the underground farm. “I once held your father responsible for the death of my wife and son.”

“What?” she said, surprised.

He kept staring out over the field. “Yes, your father set me up a long time ago. His superiors had tricked him into doing so, but still, he went along.”

“What are you talking about?”

Egan finally turned to Ana, eyes wet, as if he might cry, or perhaps already had.

“I hated Jonah Lovecraft so much. A hate that festered for years. Hated him so much that when I found him abandoned and left for dead after ‘winning’ The Games, I took him, brought him here, and . . . well, let’s just say I wasn’t very nice.”

Ana felt sick to her stomach imagining what
that
meant. The thought that Egan had hurt her father, no matter what he’d done to deserve it, made her want to strike back. She imagined herself attacking him, trying to decide if she’d merely hurt him, or use the blaster. Either way, she didn’t think she’d get away with it.

He seemed to know it too. Egan was confident, or arrogant, enough to not even bring backup. He obviously felt she would do nothing to jeopardize her stay at The Station—not when Liam, Adam, and Katrina would hopefully be returning.

“Why are you telling me this?” Ana held her hands in front of her, squeezing the fingers of her left hand tight.

“Because you deserve to know the truth.”

“That my father was bad? That he set you up?”

“No, that he was mortal. That even though he was a good man, when The State required him to be bad for the greater good, he did so, without question. It wasn’t until later that he finally felt his overdue guilt. He told me.
After
he’d seen what happened to my wife and son.”

“What happened?” Ana asked, only half of her wanting to know.

Egan shook his head, “I’ll spare you the details, girl. Point is, I judged your father, like you’re probably judging me. I’m not a fool—I understand that our search for a cure has led to some less than noble means.”

“Say what you want about my father, but he never kidnapped anyone.”

“No, but he may as well have. His actions, and inactions, affected plenty of innocents. Your father
was
responsible for many infections. He destroyed families and caused death. And I’m not even talking about what he did at City 1.”

“He was forced to do that by that crazy bastard Sutherland!
That wasn’t his fault!
I already told you about that.”

“I know, and I don’t blame him for it. And while I still
do
blame him for the death of my family, he did redeem himself while here. Jonah had a chance to flee. Calla had helped him to escape, actually,” he said ruefully. “She liked your father a lot. But when she and I were in danger, he came back and saved us.”

Ana couldn’t help her swelling tears but stayed strong enough not to wipe them.

“Before Jonah came, there were only six or so of us living here at The Station. Mostly because I was bitter and suspicious of everyone. Your father’s departure changed something inside me. For the first time I decided that I would listen to my people and allow more members into our community. We’ve grown stronger and now have everything you see.” Again Egan turned from Ana to the farm. “Your father reminded me what it meant to do the right thing and how I wasn’t being a good father to Calla.”

“So why are you killing people?” Ana demanded.

“Because sometimes doing the right thing by your family means doing the wrong thing to others. It doesn’t mean those things will be easy or fill you with pride. But not wanting to do something doesn’t mean you shouldn’t. Sometimes you have to ignore the acid in your gut and do what you have to. Your father understood that more than anyone I’ve ever met. The Jonah Lovecraft you knew would have done the same to save you, and you know it.”

Ana shook her head, “He wouldn’t have done
this
.”

“Then you don’t see how deep a father’s love runs. Your father
would
have, Ana. I’m certain—the proof is in the graves of City 1, if you don’t believe me. And I won’t apologize for trying all that I can to save Calla. We need uninfected subjects, and I can’t ask our own people to do it, not without a riot. So we take them from The Barrens. We usually go after bandits and other bad people who don’t even deserve to walk our planet. But I won’t lie; sometimes, we gather cases that aren’t so black and white, like our three most recent subjects. I’m not asking for your forgiveness, but I do hope you understand.”

“Why? Why is it important if I understand why you’re killing people?”

Egan met Ana’s eyes and tilted his head, as if trying to answer that very question in his head.

“Because I hope that Calla will understand and not see me as a monster.”

“She already knows,” Ana said. “That man told us everything.”

“I suspected as much.” Egan’s sigh seemed to swell from his depths. “I do hope she forgives me, but I’m not going to stop without a cure. I can live without her forgiveness, but I can’t live without her. I’m not willing to lose another member of my family. We already lost Verosh, a woman who was like a mother to Calla, to the flu last year.”

Egan looked away, leaning on the rail and staring at nothing rather than the impressive farm before him, maybe crying. Ana waited through a long uncomfortable moment until he turned back. “So, now you know the awful truth of what we do here. Will you be leaving?”

“I don’t know.”

“I respect your decision either way but will remind you that your presence is good for Calla. Other than Verosh, she’s never connected with anyone like she has with you. Please, consider her in your decision, and try not to let your opinion of me taint your feelings for her.”

Ana nodded. With no idea what to say, she settled on, “OK.”

The sun was dipping behind The Outback’s desolate horizon as Liam trailed Katrina and Clark with no interest in catching up. They’d been walking for too long without getting far, as the path had not been clear at all, and it was all he could do to keep his anger from swelling into a scream.

Trudging through the snow along the six-lane highway because they couldn’t find a vehicle worth a damn, running through the city, carefully navigating between cars forever stalled in their spots, and the ever-present zombies, bandits, and other threats, Liam felt a deep ache of regret for having left Ana at The Station. He felt outnumbered and alone.

Katrina was clearly out for herself. Clark was there to follow Egan’s orders, and that meant doing what was best for The Station. Which probably meant bringing Liam back alive—that would make Ana happiest after all, and she was Egan’s hope for a cure—but if he got in the way, he got in the way, and he couldn’t count on Clark to have his back.

Right now, the key was that Liam didn’t trust Katrina: a horrible truth that made their danger more glaring. That fact sank into his skin like an open wound, with her words stinging like alcohol.

Katrina had said that he’d grown soft, that he
couldn’t
do what had to be done, when it had to be. She claimed that he wasn’t the same man she had met, the man who gave her hope that The State could be damaged or perhaps even dismantled.

With every step forward he knew she was right.

Liam wondered if he’d felt loyal to Chelsea because they’d been born behind the same Walls. Was it because he knew her before his world had gone to hell? If Liam hadn’t known her, if she’d just been some Darwin Games player they’d stumbled upon, would he have felt so driven to protect her, even considering the inarguable risk?

Either way, Katrina was right:
he
was a liability.

Liam wondered what he would have done if Ana
had
come with them. What if it wasn’t just he and Clark, Katrina, and Chelsea. What if Ana had been in the room—would he have been willing to let Chelsea’s bracelet scream then?

No matter how many times he asked himself that simple question, Liam’s one word answer was always the same: NO. He would have—
of course—
silenced the bracelet immediately. Not with Katrina’s stroke of almost gleeful violence, but he wouldn’t have hesitated. Ana’s life was too important. Yet, as Katrina had pointed out with a snarling smile, he’d been content to pile risk on the three of them, not just with Chelsea’s bleating bracelet but with the girl’s sprained ankle that had clearly cast them as easier targets.

He looked up, around, and behind himself, then began to stare at Katrina’s back. Clark was walking about five feet ahead of him, and Katrina was another five feet in front of Clark. The part of Liam that knew he was wrong wanted to apologize. The rest of him felt too pissed to consider.

He was wrong, but Katrina was wrong too.

It wasn’t just what she had done to Chelsea. Liam could fault her cruelty but if honest couldn’t fault her decision. Sutherland was something different, however. She
should
hate him. She
shouldn’t
regret leaving Hydrangea. The man was a maniac. Completely insane and solely responsible for Jonah’s death. She could argue that he was a strong leader and looking to demolish The State’s iron grip on its people, but what good was a leader if he was willing to do things that were as horrible as the evil he was planning to unseat—or maybe worse? Liam wasn’t sure that The State, awful as they were, would ever willingly poison a city.

It’s not victory when you’re swapping one tyrant for another.

No, he couldn’t apologize. She didn’t deserve it.

Not only did Katrina not deserve his apology, she no longer deserved his presence. She’d lost the right to enjoy his company. Once they found Adam and brought him to The Station, Liam would be done with her for good. He couldn’t see eye to eye with someone who didn’t see Sutherland as the sociopath that he was. And even if
he
could, how could he explain it to Ana?

Something bristled Liam’s senses and stopped him in his tracks. He might be seething, but his instincts—Chelsea aside—were still there. Katrina and Clark kept walking. Liam looked up and saw movement on a roof ahead of them. Then shots rang out like cracks in the darkness.

It was old-fashioned lead, not a blaster. One, two, three shots plinked into concrete, metal, and glass, sending a chunk of something—maybe the ground?—ricocheting from somewhere into a gash across Liam’s cheek.

Katrina yelled, “Shooter!” Then she dove behind a long, snow-covered car. Clark had already dodged to the left and ducked into an alley. Liam looked up toward Katrina, then over at Clark, and decided on Door Number Three—a hollowed out van about 10 feet away.

He ran to the van and ducked behind the rear bumper just as the front windshield of an ancient car exploded across the street.

He peeked around the van, just enough to see Katrina as she peered ahead trying to locate their shooter. Another bullet tagged the snow on the car’s roof, sending her back to a crouch.

Liam reached up and yanked the mirror from the passenger side door.

Another shot exploded a window that Liam couldn’t see. He heard Katrina yell “Fuck” before she returned two blaster shots from her hybrid rifle.

Liam wiped grime from the mirror with his jacket, pressed his back against the tire, then held the mirror up and scanned the street ahead of them. He saw Clark in the reflection, or at least the man’s eyes, barely visible from the side of what Liam believed was a large metal dumpster—hard to tell for sure with it covered in snow.

Liam kept moving the mirror around until he found the shooter—a gun glinting from the rooftop of a modest-sized building a half block or so ahead of them. He turned the mirror, searching for another shooter as two more shots punched holes in the snow beside him.

Liam saw no one and thanked his lucky stars that their attacker was an awful shot. He yelled at Katrina, loud enough that Clark could hear from the alley.

“Ahead of us, top floor of the building that says EATS on the front. Eleven o’clock.”

Katrina gave him a barely perceptible nod, then proved her worth as a warrior. Liam may not have trusted her or agreed with her allegiance to a madman, but he couldn’t question that she was the best fighter he’d ever known.

There was another shot from the roof. Unperturbed, Katrina readied her rifle, then rolled out from the cover of the car. In a single fluid motion she raised the weapon, found her target—while standing frozen in the snow with a bulls-eye on her chest—and squeezed the trigger before rolling back behind the car.

The gunner returned a shot into the car’s windshield, cracking it, and sending snow into the car’s interior, missing Katrina by millimeters. Then silence.

Katrina peered over the edge and looked through her scope before firing two quick shots.

“Shooter down!” she cried out as she ducked back behind the car. “Anyone else?” Katrina asked.

Liam panned the shaky mirror along the roofline where the shooter had been, “Not that I can see!”

“Clark?” she yelled.

No response.

Liam turned toward the alley, looking for Clark, but saw him nowhere. He stood and squinted into the alley, finally spotting a long tattooed arm like a dead snake slithering out from behind a mountain of boxes. Feeling as though the pile was stacked on his lungs, Liam managed to breathe, “Clark’s down.”

“Fuck,” Katrina said, walking toward Liam.

Another shot thundered in the night, this one a laser blast—bright white light streaking so close that it sent them to the ground.

They rolled behind the van. Depending on the blaster’s strength, it could quickly disintegrate their cover.

Katrina risked rising from behind her shield, narrowing one eye into her scope as she scanned ahead.

Another blast hit just past them, but Katrina didn’t flinch as she found her target, and pulled the trigger. Twice.

“Second shooter down. I think we’re clear,” she said. Then, “Clark?”

“Clark!” Liam joined her cry above a growing, biting wind. He heard a groaning that was either coming from the alley or his head.

Not quite believing they were clear of danger, but feeling that he had to do something to prove his worth, Liam cried out, “Cover me!” Then he raced from his relative safe spot behind the van over to Clark in the alley.

Another blaster shot sizzled through the air as his foot hit the curb. Again Liam felt lucky his assailants were terrible shots.

He ducked into the alley, where Clark had fallen behind the snow-covered dumpster. He was doubled over, clutching his knee where he must have been hit by the first shooter.

“I’ve got Clark. He’s OK—I think he’s been hit in the knee, but he’s definitely alive.”

He put a hand on Clark’s shoulder, hoping to help the man stand. “Come on,” he said. “We’re going to be fine.”

Clark turned toward Liam, with bloodshot eyes and a twisted face, growling as he swiped out. He knocked the gun from Liam’s hand and sent him sprawling back to the ground.

He had a choice: scramble on the ground for his gun or keep Zombie Clark from biting his face. With his back in the snow, Liam launched his legs up to batter the zombie’s chest.

Zombie Clark continued to come at him, gnashing, falling on top of Liam, pinning his arms and bringing its gnashing teeth closer.

Liam couldn’t allow infection to end him.

He wiggled and writhed, trying to push back, squirming under Zombie Clark’s weight, attempting to move a man who was a boulder atop him.

How the hell did he get so strong?

“Help!” he called out to Katrina. “Clark has turned!”

Liam reached up, trying to keep the zombie’s mouth at a distance. He slipped his other hand free from Clark’s grip, reaching up and shoving his fingers into the zombie’s neck, trying to push it back or, if that didn’t work, rip out the bastard’s larynx.

Shots were traded in the street.

And then silence.

Something told Liam that Katrina was dead and he had just seconds himself. He could practically feel Clark’s sharp teeth as he pictured them ripping into his flesh. Death, or something worse, was only moments away. His cramping arms were made of fire and his heart was a tick away from explosion.

Still, silence in the street. Katrina was dead. He was certain of it. Liam’s arms were about to give way and once they did, they’d collapse under Zombie Clark’s weight and force.

And then the monster would be at his flesh.

Liam braced himself for what was coming.

He closed his eyes, cocked his head to the side, and accepted the inevitable because he had no other choice . . .

Steaming hot blood splashed his face.

He opened his eyes to see Katrina’s sword jutting through the side of Zombie Clark’s skull. She yanked the blade, pulling the monstrosity off of Liam, then drew her sword from the thing’s head. She wiped the steel against Clark’s jacket, cleaning off the blood as Liam spit Zombie Clark’s blood from his mouth.

On his knees, Liam grabbed a handful of snow, shoved it into his mouth, swished it around, and spit it out too, hoping like hell he wasn’t infected.

Katrina held out her hand in offering. He gripped it and launched himself from the ground as the sound of too many zombies echoed around them.

“I think I got the last of the shooters,” she said. “But there’s a mess of zombies on their way.”

He didn’t need any more than that. They took off at a full sprint, running almost blindly through pitch-black alleys, hoping that they were staying relatively on path toward Adam’s location, and that they wouldn’t run smack into a wall or worse.

Liam’s lungs felt near collapse. He could barely keep pace with a racing Katrina, who already seemed like she was going slower than she wanted to. Despite that, it was clear that they had lost the zombies.

Relatively safe for the moment, Katrina ducked into a small, one-story mercantile, pulling Liam into the old store behind her.

He tried twice to speak, but Katrina shushed him, staring out into the street as if daring herself to believe in its silence. Finally, after many minutes she turned from the window and rifled through her pack.

“I’m sorry,” Liam said. “For everything. You were right.”

She grunted, eyes still in her pack, and handed Liam a bottle of water and ration. She pulled out the box screen and began to stare with a furrowed brow.

“Do you see anything?” Liam asked, knowing she was likely searching for Adam.

“No,” she said, her eyes on the screen. “Not yet.”

“I’m sorry,” Liam repeated.

“It’s fine. Now’s not the time.”

Katrina held her stare to the screen, face creasing deeper. As she studied the screen, Liam’s eyes found something out the back window of the shop.

He gently shook her shoulder, then pointed, drawing Katrina’s attention to the spired building across the street, with the giant sign at the top that read,
Apex National Bank.

“That’s it, isn’t it?”

She stared, open-mouthed. Like Liam, she hadn’t realized how close their flight had taken them to the bank. In the parking lot, they saw the ashen remains of what they hoped were zombies rather than Adam.