The Night Sweeper: Assassin: A Zombie Conspiracy Novel (The Sweeper Chronicles Book 2) (14 page)

I sit in a chair beside Toby’s bed in one of the old
patient rooms. Streaks of light stream through the window, enhancing how pale
he looks lying there. He makes no sound and blood still oozes from the terrible
wounds in his abdomen. It’s amazing he’s lasted as long as he has, and I feel a
rising, torturous helplessness, because I know he’ll be gone soon. Like me,
this kid was thrown some bad breaks, but unlike me, he hadn’t had the
opportunities for survival I had. And now, just when things might have been
looking up for him, a bunch of rogue military gunmen soar in from the sky and
put a few bullets into his belly.

I feel the beginning prickle of tears and wipe them
away furiously, surprised by the strong connection I feel to this child after
so short a time. Instead, I channel my feelings into hatred. Hatred for Cedric
Archer, who would send men that would kill a child with indiscretion. Hatred
for my father, who is the ultimate cause of all of this nightmare world we live
in. Hatred for myself, for not saving Toby from a painful death, especially
when he looked up to me so much.

Haley walks up from behind me and approaches the bed,
wiping a cool, damp cloth over Toby's forehead. When she turns, I can see hot
tears streaming down her cheeks, the look of abject hopelessness distorting her
features.

“He's just a little boy,” she says, stating the
terrible truth, and I have no response, so I just stare back at her. After a
moment, she walks silently from the room. In the hallway, before the door
shuts, I catch a glimpse of the preacher and several others, hands joined and
heads bowed, their mouths muttering whispered prayers.

After another twenty minutes, Toby's right hand
twitches, and he suddenly pulls in a long, ragged breath, as if fighting to
hang on to the little life left inside, but the breath comes back out with a
wheeze, and his chest stops rising and falling. This time, I don't fight the
tears. Instead, I take his small hand in mine, and let them flow freely for a
very long time, the pain greater than anything physical I've endured. I allow
the bad of my life and Toby's to pull me into a dark abyss, made all the worse
by the crushing fact that I could very soon be facing this same moment with
Mira.

I throttle up, the blades spinning like a cyclone above
my head, and we rise slowly into the sky, the garden deck dropping away below
us. The preacher raises his hand to wave, his face reflecting my own somber
mood. I nod my head, and silently renew the promise I made to him. Whatever I
can do to help his group, I'll do. I owe them my life, and the chance to save
Mira.

I look away as we rise higher into the night sky, stars
sparkling overhead like glittering diamonds. The moon is full, the sky
cloudless. Far below, between the trees and buildings, I can make out the
quick, jerky movements of Festers, drawn by the noise of our ascent.

At least one problem was solved. Upon inspection, the
helicopter proved to be in surprisingly good shape. Despite the crash, it
sustained no real damage other than to the landing struts, which thankfully are
still intact enough to support a landing, if somewhat lopsided. Of course, it's
pretty foul on the inside from where Ming blew a massive hole in the head of
the pilot once the chopper was downed, but I can live with that. I'm no
aircraft mechanic, but I know enough from my readings and studies to tell there
are no major mechanical problems. That, and the fact that it still has plenty
of fuel, will get us back to the Wraith, and subsequently, Damian's fortress,
far faster than I could have hoped.

Then, the real challenge begins. But after what
happened to Toby, my resolve to save Mira has tripled. Toby's death gave me a
boost of adrenaline laced intensity to get back and do whatever it takes to
make sure my father does everything he can to save her.

I glance beside me at Ming, who sits quietly. She
catches my gaze, and leans over to place a warm hand on my arm.

“It's going to be okay,” she shouts above the noise.
“We're going to save her and find that cure for everybody else.”

I wish I could share the optimism, but I know we're
fighting an uphill battle. I'm in a bad place and my options are crappy at
best.

I can't figure the best way to try to save Mira. At
first, I considered charging into the fortress, guns blazing. I would send Ming
to Mira to watch over her while I hunted down Damian and threatened to torture
or kill him unless he saved her. The problem with that is I know very little
about his personality other than the fact that he seems like a cold-hearted
snake. But for all I know, no amount of threatening or violence will work.

Of course, there's always the possibility that Damian
knows of my failure and Mira is already... I stop myself. I can't even think
the thought. No, I refuse to even consider that possibility.

There's another problem as well. Even though I hate him
and would love to put an end to his miserable existence, Damian is very likely
the only person in the world that can combat this new strain of The Virus being
carried by animals. As much as it makes me want to scream, I can't justify
killing off the only man who may be able to truly save humanity from this hell
we're living in.

I shake my head in frustration for the thousandth time
since waking from my recovery. I may only have one true option, and I can only
pray that Damian will be reasonable enough to consider it. I can go to him and
plead and beg that he save Mira with my promise that no matter what it takes or
how long, I will track down Archer and finish the job. Even the thought of
subjecting myself to him makes bile rise in my throat and engulfs me with a
feeling of strangulation. The idea of being at his mercy is completely and
utterly repulsive, but what better choice do I have. I know in my heart I'll do
whatever it takes to save Mira. Even if it meant my own life, I'd do it without
a second thought.

The surly man from the run-down townhouse was good to
his word. We found the Wraith fully fueled and prepped for the return
flight to Santa’s shop of horrors.

When I first brought the helicopter over the field to land,
I had a few moments of panic. The jet was gone, or so I believed.
But upon closer inspection, as we loomed nearer to the ground, I could see that
it was still there, only covered by a massive camouflage tarp.

This time there was no Fester attack. We quickly
stripped the tarp from the jet, climbed aboard, and were in the air again
within fifteen minutes.

Now the Wraith streaks across the night sky, the moon
looming large and foreboding outside my canopy. On occasion I catch a
glimpse of the ocean far below, but it’s difficult to see. It’s desolate
and dark, much like my state of mind. It stretches on seemingly without
end, but before long, we’re over the ice shelf, and the waves fall behind us.

Ming speaks for the first time in a long while, her voice
crackling over the headset in my helmet.

“What are you going to do?” she asks.

I say nothing, ashamed to say it, but I know what I’ll
do. I know what I must do.

“Cray?” she says when I don’t respond.

I take a trembling breath and hold it in, trying to
quiet my nerves. I swallow hard. “I’m going to beg,” I say, the
words distasteful. “I’m going to promise I will keep going until I kill
Archer as long as he saves Mira.”

I expect her to say something along the lines of how
begging is beneath me, that I should have more pride than that. Instead,
she speaks softly, and what she says tears at my heart.

“There’s no shame in that.” Her voice is gentle,
kind. “In your position, I would do exactly the same thing – whatever I
had to. I don’t know what I can do, but you don’t have to go through this
alone.”

I don’t say anything. I can’t. Not without
breaking down. After everything that’s happened, I feel like I’m losing
control. My mind is exhausted, my body wracked with pain and desperate
for rest. But there’s no end in sight. There’s nothing but to push
through the agony.

I think of Andrew, and find myself again whispering a
prayer of desperation.
God help me. Don’t let me lose her.
I don’t think I could survive it
.

Beneath me, the giant bird continues on through the
night, every second drawing me closer to the inevitable confrontation.

“Roger black bird, you’re cleared for landing.”

I pilot the Wraith over the arctic landscape, the
fortress growing ahead, larger and larger, a black smudge on the pure white of
its surroundings. To the north, the gargantuan hangar door rolls upward to
reveal the chasm leading to the underground runway, and I angle the fighter
towards it.

I hear Ming's voice crackle over the headset. “We're
landing in
there
? You've got to be kidding me. Uh, can I just get out
now?”

I don't bother to answer. This is easy for me, even if
my mind is sluggish and filled with thoughts about Mira and convincing Damian
to save her. I'm almost working automatically as I steer the jet through the
maw, expertly touching down on the runway mere seconds after clearing the
hangar door. A minute later, and we're climbing down from the jet, three of
Damian's guards forming a welcoming committee in front of us.

“Good to have you back,” one of them says. He doesn't
sound convincing.

“Who's the girl?” the man in the lead asks.

“She's a friend. She's been helping me. She's not a
threat.”

Despite my assurances he brings his machine gun up to
bear on Ming who immediately raises her hands innocently.

“I'll let Damian be the judge of that,” he says. “Until
then, she stays here under guard. You're free to go, Cray. He's been notified
of your arrival and is waiting for you in his office.”

I turn to Ming. Her face shows concern, but no fear
that I can discern. She's definitely a tough girl.

“Don't worry,” I say. “You'll be alright until I get
back.”

“I'm fine. Do what you need to,” she says giving me a
pointed look. “I'll just be hangin' with the boys here.”

I turn to walk away, but my feet get tangled and I fall
to one knee. Ming and one of the guards are there in a flash pulling me
up.

“Are you okay?” Ming says.

“I’m fine. I’m just tired.” It’s a
lie. I feel like death.

Ming isn’t convinced, but she knows what I’m facing and
doesn’t protest.

I move to the elevator, but not before giving “the
boys” a look that says if Ming comes to any harm, it'll be the worst mistake
they've ever made.

The elevator ride from the hangar bay to the main floor
feels interminable. I tap my foot, my thoughts screaming through my brain
in near incoherence. Exhaustion threatens to overwhelm me, and I feel
faint, sick, addled.

I’ll go to Damian as quickly as possible to plead my
case, but first I have to check on Mira. I have to see that she is still
there, still okay.

The elevator door opens and I stumble out, forcing my
feet to move, but feeling like they’re as heavy as stones. I pass through
the dome. The people there stare at my haggard, beaten appearance with
open mouths, but I ignore them and keep moving.

Someone breaks off from the crowd, a massive man with
rippled muscles, and comes up beside me.

“Cray!”

“Not now, Graelin,” I say.

He grabs my arm and pulls me to a stop. “Please,”
he says.

I reach out and close my fist around his throat,
leaning into his face, my voice a menacing snarl.

“I said,
not now
!”

He stares back at me, but not with anger. He
nods, pulls my hand away, backs up, then turns the other way and runs off.

Nobody else approaches, and I leave.

Minutes later, I walk into the room where Mira’s
metagenic chamber is and stride over to it, dizziness engulfing me. My
legs feel like jelly. A distant warning bell chimes in my head.
I’ve pushed myself too hard for too long. My body is fighting against me,
my mind dulled. But that only reminds me of Mira’s body short circuiting,
and I shake my head angrily to clear it.

I lean over the tube, and my heart stops. She’s
not there! Oh God!! Please, God, don’t let her be gone! Don’t
let her be…

With a surge of adrenaline, I run, crashing through the
hallways, toppling people in my way, my emotions stretched beyond their
breaking point. The world becomes one long, dark tunnel of misery.

If she’s gone…

At last I reach Damian’s office. The automatic
door slides open at my approach, and there he is. He rises quickly from
behind his chair and circles around his desk.

“Cray…” but I grab him, pushing him back against the
desk, the things on top sliding off and hurtling to the floor.

“Did you kill her?” I growl. “Did you let her
die?”

He shakes his head vehemently.

“No, no. She’s fine. Listen, just calm
down.”

Alive?! I feel a trickle of hope, but can he be
trusted? I have to trust him. I can’t deal with the other
possibility. I’ll break.

I release him and back up a few steps and point a shaky
finger in his face.

“No you listen. Make no mistake about it. I hate
you. I will always hate you. I hate that you're my father, and I hate that
my...”

“Cray...” Damian begins again, but I cut him off.

“No! Just listen.” My voice threatens to crack, and I'm
not sure if it's with emotion or disgust, but either way, I know what I have to
do, so I swallow hard and continue. “Whatever it takes, I'll find him. I'll
track Archer down and kill him, if I have to hunt him to the ends of the
Earth.”

“Alex...” he tries again, the first time I've ever
heard him use my real name.

“Please, let me finish. I'll do whatever I have to,
just don't let her die.” I suck in a long, ragged breath. “Please.”