Z 2136 (Z 2134 Series Book 3) (23 page)

Liam reached for his blaster, took aim, and fired. He missed and ripped a wide ribbon through the room’s west wall as the orb zipped upward to the ceiling.

The cannon crackled more loudly. Katrina dropped her rifle, whipped out her sword, and swung, forcing the orb to dip.

Momentum pushed her to the floor. The orb spun, turning its cannon on Katrina.

Time seemed to pause as the orb turned on her. Liam was directly behind it. Katrina was rising to her feet directly in front of the orb. If Liam did nothing, it would disintegrate her. If he fired from his present angle, he would likely miss the orb and kill Katrina himself. So he did the only thing he could think of:

“Hey!” he shouted.

The death machine spun and turned its cannon on Liam.

He lunged at it, screaming with arms raised, hoping to again scare it into moving without shooting.

His ploy worked. The cannon didn’t fire.

The orb started to move but wasn’t quick enough.

Liam’s hands seized the white-hot cannon and didn’t let go as he barreled forward, past Katrina who dodged out of the way and through the hole where a window had been just seconds ago.

Liam and the orb sailed out of the second story.

He landed hard on the orb and snowy ground. The orb’s back was smooth and round, blunting the impact.

Liam fell back, sucking wind through pained lungs. His hands and arms burned red against the cold relief of freshly fallen snow lying in a blanket across the lot.

The orb whirred to life, rising from the ground, shaky, cannon still crackling as it aimed.

This was it.

Nowhere to run.

He had failed to save Adam.

He’d never see Ana again.

A shadow fell across him. He looked up to see Katrina in a downward arc, sword in hand. She screamed.

The orb turned. It was too late, though, as she drove her sword through its front camera, then raised the blade and thrust it deeper, screaming a war cry as she brought it down hard against the ground.

The orb screeched, trying to flee.

She let go of her sword and unsheathed the wrist blades beneath her jacket, punching, stabbing, and dismantling the mechanical beast piece by piece in a frenzied attack, rabid in a way that Liam had never seen.

The orb was dead.

He stared up at Katrina. She met his eyes, then looked around, fists clenched, blades out, and eyes afire, ready to face whatever was coming.

Katrina looked like she could murder the world—and wanted to. Her expression suddenly changed and she looked ahead.

“Shit. They must’ve heard the commotion and took off. We need to find him now.”

She ran back into the hotel to retrieve her rifle, then returned armed with a blaster on her hip, sword on her back, the blades on her wrists, and the rifle in her hands.

God help the bastard who tried to stand in her way.

Keller anxiously looked back at the clock. Jacqueline was late, 14 minutes overdue to check on him, as she always did every two hours like clockwork when she was home. The last thing he wanted to do was discuss why he was in a bad mood—again. Like always, he wanted to finish with her unwanted interruption as quickly as possible.

Her being late only annoyed him further.

The door opened 15 minutes late. Keller hid the glass at the foot of his desk.

Jacqueline said, “Just checking on you, making sure you have everything you need.”

“I’m fine, Jackie.”

“You seem preoccupied, sweetheart. Anything wrong?”

“No. Nothing is wrong.”

Why couldn’t she get it: he didn’t feel like talking.

Now she’d give him that sour look full of disapproval and blame, then sigh, duck out, and close the door so she could sigh harder on the other side. Her tired, daily performance exhausted him. Once she was gone, he’d pour himself a double.

Instead, she stayed put. “Don’t lie to me.”

Keller stared up at his wife, surprised.

“You’ve been moping ever since we moved here. I don’t want you to stay in here drinking all day . . . and night. It makes you smell. And I don’t like how you’re lying, hiding your glasses when I come in the room like I’m an idiot.”

“I’m fine.” Keller ignored her accusation. “I just have a lot to do, a lot on my mind.”

“Yes, a lot on your mind. That’s what you always say. But I don’t think there’s a lot on your mind so much as that one thing that won’t go away.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean Jonah’s boy, Adam. We’ve been married for a long time. I know what eats you, even when you wish I didn’t. And not just since Joshua—before him too.”

“Please,” he said. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Then perhaps you don’t have time for
us
.”

“Come on, Jackie, don’t be so melodramatic.”

“And don’t be dismissive of me.” She glared at him, chin quivering, eyes on the verge of tears.

The very real moment unfolding with Jacquelyn sent Keller standing from his chair. He hated seeing her like this. All at once, years of guilt settled like a stone in his gut.

Keller stood straighter and walked to his wife, eyes meeting hers. He took her gently and led her through the apartment, into their bedroom in a slightly crooked but hurried line. His eyes flitted around, searching for hidden listening devices that he’d searched for many times before.

He lowered her gently to the bed. She looked up at him, sitting, puzzled as he planted a fingertip firmly to his lips. She blinked, then nodded.

Keller turned the room’s music up loud, then spun to Jacquelyn, smiled, and sat at the edge of the bed beside her.

She stared into his eyes like she wasn’t sure if he was going to try to distract her with lovemaking or to bare his soul and finally have the conversation that they’d both been avoiding for far too long.

“What is it?” She bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. He didn’t think she could possibly be ready for the truth, but he had to tell her now.

“It’s all a lie,” he whispered. “Denton Sinclair and some other Elders unleashed the zombie virus.”

He tried to keep his voice from cracking but couldn’t. His whisper grew louder, more ragged, and faster but still was barely voiced.

“They wanted to unleash the virus here too—to keep everyone in line. It wasn’t . . . it wasn’t Jonah’s fault.”

Keller started to sob.

Jacquelyn pulled him to her chest and pet the back of his head.

“I think I killed an innocent man.” He cried against her, gurgling his confession. She said nothing, just rocked him. “I put his family into The Games . . .
what have I done?
” His voice split in a deep ravine. He shuddered, then into the crack added, “I’m a monster.”

Jacquelyn pulled him tighter, then pulled away.

“You’re not a monster. You’re a very good man who has had to make some very difficult decisions, under some not-so-easy circumstances.” She kissed him hard on the cheek. “It does nothing to beat yourself up over what you have done. Tell me what you are going to do
now
.”

Keller looked at his wife. He didn’t feel angry; he didn’t feel upset; he didn’t want her to go, and he didn’t wish for her to stop talking. He just wanted something to tell her that he could be proud of. It had been a long time since he had felt anything remotely like pride, and he desperately wanted to again.

He just couldn’t think of anything that could accomplish that.

“I don’t know that there’s anything
to
do. I can’t free Adam. He did betray me and was working with terrorists. Yes, there’s corruption in City 1, but the corruption comes from the same people who are my bosses. And that doesn’t excuse The Underground or Adam’s actions.”

Jacquelyn pressed. “So, what’s the right answer?”

“Maybe there isn’t one.”

“Shallots,” she said, because Jacquelyn never said
bullshit
. Despite the bleak situation, a small smile touched his lips as he remembered how fiercely he loved this woman. Especially after what she said next.

“There’s
always
a right thing to do. You’re just not willing to see it. You do that, you know. You decide what you don’t want to see, then build your walls high and hard enough to keep it out. You always have, but it’s been worse since Joshua.”

She looked into his eyes, knowing his look. She held out her hand, an offer for bed.

“But you
can
see it. I know you can.”

He took her hand and smiled. Suddenly his com chirped.

Keller growled, “What is it?”

“Are you available, Sir?”

Kern’s voice was at a higher pitch than it should have been, tilting into the
Sir
like a child standing on his toes.

“What is it?” Keller repeated.

Kern cleared his throat. “I have something to show you . . . in person.”

No tilting that time. Definite, immediate, and secret.

“What is it?” Jacquelyn asked from behind Keller, just soft enough for him to hear but not loud enough for Kern.

Keller turned to Jacquelyn, shaking his head. Into the com he said, “Come over.”

He hung up and wondered. Had they heard him over the music, sobbing the truth to his wife?

“What is it?” Jacquelyn asked again.

“Business,” he said, then went to the nightstand. He opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a blaster. “Whatever you do, keep what I said to yourself, or both our lives will be in danger.”

Keller placed the weapon into Jacquelyn’s hand. “Use this if you have to. If anything goes wrong.”

“What’s going on?” she asked, a touch of fear in her voice. “What might go wrong?”

“I don’t know. Just keep this as a last resort.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel better? Tell me
why.
”

“I don’t know, Jacquelyn.” He pulled her into a tight embrace. “Just . . . please . . . trust me.”

She pulled back, but just enough to kiss him. It had been a long time for both of them, and it was only the nagging realization that Kern was coming over that pulled him out of her arms. He left her in the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Keller went to wait by the front door, trying his best to stay put and not pace, lest Kern notice his apprehension.

Kern knocked.

Keller took a deep breath, then opened the door.

“Come in.”

Kern nodded and stepped through the doorway.

“What is it?”

Kern held out his tablet and nodded at the screen. “We found Dennis Weaver—or Sutherland as he’s going by now. He’s in Quadrant 11.”

“Who else has seen this?”

“Only Jacobson so far.”

“Great! Thank you.” Keller gave Kern two taps on the shoulder, then went out to the balcony. Kern followed.

Outside, Keller was grateful for the fresh air, cold as it was. He looked around, up, down, and along the horizon. Seeing no orbs, he said, “Can I count on you?”

“Of course, Sir.”

“We have to do this one off the books. No one can know.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Keller smiled.
This
he would be proud to tell Jacquelyn.

“Let’s go catch this fucker once and for all.”

Sutherland loved the sound of chaos—blasters and death as it echoed around them.

He was making his way through the old train station with his six other men—all but the two who had stayed to guard the entrance—taking out hallway after hallway of surprised opposition.

He loved the looks on the residents’ faces as these men in City Watch chem suits stormed their castle. A blond man in brown robes attempted to play hero, coming at the men dressed in black with a sword.

Sutherland would’ve engaged the man in a sword fight but had no time for whimsy. Not when others in the tunnels might be mounting a more formidable defense. He fired a shot at the man’s crotch and laughed as the man fell to the ground dying, reaching for the cave of melted flesh where his dick had once sprouted.

Sutherland was scrubbing The Station. Once clean, he could decide what to do with it. For now, though, he was going through with workmanlike precision. The tunnels seemed to wind for a ways and in enough directions to keep him from boredom. The place didn’t seem nearly as large or occupied as Hydrangea, but he figured it could make a decent home.

But Sutherland couldn’t settle in until he got rid of the rats that currently occupied it.

He pulled the trigger again. Twice. Both blasts slapped a medium-sized brunette—a pretty thing with an overbite he found charming. Sutherland’s first shot was sloppy; it kicked her in the stomach and split her nearly in the middle. The second blasted the
pretty
from her face.

The other men were doing their work, though Horrance didn’t seem to be finding as much joy in the work as the others.

The ogre wasn’t just soft in the head, it seemed.

Something bristled Sutherland’s senses and sent him diving to the side. Before the shooter could pop a second shot, Sutherland pulled his trigger three times. One shot did it—enough to take out a small chunk of the top of the attacker’s head, more than enough to drop him dead.

The shooter fell and a small boy—about five years old—ran into the hall, crying for his mommy.

Farther down the hall, the child’s mother ran toward him as if she could stop the armed men marching toward them.

Sutherland darted toward the child, scooping him up before the mother could reach them.

He cradled the child in the crook of his arm, blaster to its forehead. He turned to the woman. She stopped, eyes wide in terror.

“Please don’t hurt him!” She threw her hands together in prayer as if God would care.

“Bring me to your leader, or your pup disappears.”

Three men raced up behind the mother with their guns drawn on Sutherland.

“Uh, uh, uh, boys, drop the guns or the kid dies.”

No one would risk the child. Sutherland knew he had won before they placed their guns on the ground.

“Who will take me to the leader of this . . .” He wrinkled his nose. “Does this hole in the ground have a name?”

“I’ll take you where you need to go.”

At first Sutherland didn’t see the voice, but then he looked down to find its owner—a dwarf, 30-something years old as far as he could tell. He had dark-brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Sutherland had known a few men with trimmed beards. They were always first to die—as they were usually pussies and traitors. Yet somehow, this dwarf seemed like more than a well-coifed toy soldier. The way he managed to look both up and straight at him made Sutherland wonder if he’d ever seen something with such stature in something that small. He’d have to be careful not to underestimate the little man’s threat.

“Please don’t kill the child.” The dwarf looked at him with kind eyes that—to Sutherland’s surprise—almost made him want to say
yes
.

Sutherland set the child down and aimed his gun at the dwarf. “Take me to your leader. You can tell me his name on your way.”

“
I
don’t have a leader.” The dwarf turned and led Sutherland down a hallway. “But the man you want to speak to is Egan. I suggest you remain as rational with him as you have been with me. He will try you harder, but if you resist I believe we’ll get through this. Egan means well, even when he’s foolish. Unfortunately, he’s foolish often. Hopefully this isn’t one of those days.”

The dwarf stopped at a door. Sutherland stopped him before he knocked, pushing him back and shaking his head. To his men he said, “If anything goes wrong in there, you start shooting out here. Everyone. Start with the child.”

He pushed past the dwarf, then ducked inside Egan’s office and closed the door behind him.

The leader, Egan, was staring at him openmouthed from behind his desk. He was halfway to reaching for something, frozen facing Sutherland’s blaster.

“So, this all belongs to you?” Sutherland looked around the room. “The dwarf says your name is Egan. That right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, even Jack Geralt has two names. Is Egan your number one or your number two?”

“My full name is Charles Egan. What does it matter? More importantly, who the hell are
you
?”

“My name is Sutherland. One name, thank you. I’m here for Ana Lovecraft. I know she’s here. I’ll leave once I have her. No one needs to die.”

“I don’t know who you mean.”

Sutherland mimicked him, “
I don’t know who you mean,
”
hoping he got the idiocy pitch-perfect. He then narrowed his eyes at Egan, “You are not in a position to lie. Tell me the truth or this place will be a memory of what it was this morning.”

“Why do you want her?”

“See,” Sutherland smiled, “you
do
know her.” He shook his head. “As to what I want . . . let’s just call it unfinished business. Whether she has something that once belonged to me, because she knows the ending to a flix I saw as a child, or because I desperately want the recipe to her world-famous apple pie, it doesn’t matter to you,
Charles Egan
. Now, where the hell is she?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. And in a moment I’m going to prove it by shooting your people, one at a time.” Sutherland leaned toward Egan. “Does this place have an intercom?”

Egan handed Sutherland a com.

“What do I press?”

Egan pointed to the thinner of two long buttons on the side. Sutherland pressed it.

“Ana Lovecraft, this is your old pal, Sutherland. I’m in Egan’s office. Come to me now and you will not be harmed. We’ll finish what we started; then you and loverboy can be on your way.”

He paused for effect, then continued in his most pleasant voice.

“Attention, residents of this shit hole, my name is Sutherland and in case you haven’t noticed, me and my friends are here making a rather big mess of your humble home. Now, if you want us gone and on our way, I’ve got good news. You can help us. Bring us Ana, and we’ll leave you be. Or . . . you can continue hiding her and force me to make a bigger mess.”

Sutherland paused for effect, then continued. “I’ve no doubt that you’ve all heard about the attack on City 1. That was us, and I have two men waiting at your station’s air units with enough zombie virus to make City 1 look like a nursery rhyme.”

Sutherland paused again, turned to a horrified Egan, and spoke into the com.

“I hope you’re listening, Ana. You have exactly 10 minutes, starting now.”