After The Virus (16 page)

It wasn’t like they were going to give her a gun, even if she asked nicely, so she’d improvise; plus, their dynamics were just a headache.

She longed for the peacefulness of just a moment with Will, but then shook it off with a promise to herself:
Save Snickers and get Will — if
 — if she could pull it off.

She pivoted at the door to look back. They gaped, of course. She might as well have been on a red carpet lit with thousands of flashes.

Action had been called.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

WILL

Time, and his endless tracking of it, had tuned down to the step-by-step moving of the next car or truck, though not all needed to be towed.
 

Wedge the tow truck near the obstacle, hitch it, winch it, and move it to one side. Zero in on the next flagged vehicle; and so on, and on.
 

Teams led by Dale or Rav fanned out in front and went from car to car to see if they’d move on their own steam. A surprising number did. Some were empty, like the owners just abandoned them out of hopelessness, not lack of gas; but most cars were still unfortunately occupied. These corpses were dried, husk-wrapped skeletons. The plague had been all phlegm and fluid, but these victims — after death, Will supposed — had slowly baked in their cars. Many cars were filled with families, who he thought might have been on their way to a major city for medical help, and not all had died from the virus.

He wondered at a father’s ability to watch his loved ones die, to stand strong as all was failing, but then be unwilling to go on alone. It wasn’t a choice he’d ever been faced with, and honestly, under the circumstances of everyone else dying, life was the only thing.

It was ironically amusing that, even if he were unwilling to take his own life, he’d take another’s if it meant saving Rhiannon and Snickers.

They laid the dead to the side of the road with — if they had it — a blanket or something to cover them, but they didn’t have time for burials. They had discussed leaving the bodies in the cars; it wasted precious time to move them, but it didn’t hurt to be respectful, even in these days.

They finally got by a sharp corner and the six-car wreck piled there, and Will could see the outline of the tunnel with the late-afternoon sun beyond. They had widened it to four lanes, and not even knowing his own doubt, he suddenly felt like this plan might actually have a chance of working.

‘Course, from here it was impossible to see if even two lanes was wide enough for a tank, let alone high enough for it to pass through.

Like his Mom had always said — though years after her death, he realized she’d been paraphrasing Scarlett O’Hara —
 
he’d worry tomorrow. Tonight, he’d comfort himself in the thought that the rays of the ready-to-set sun that blurred his vision also shone on Snickers and Rhiannon.

He didn’t think that was overtly romantic; just a matter of weather and geographical proximity. Still, it lightened his soul.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

RHIANNON

She stepped into the street and instantly knew by the goosebumps on her arms, that this was not an evening for which this dress was intended.

A city should never be this silent… buildings like jutting bones of a rotting skeleton…
Suddenly claustrophobic, Rhiannon struggled to breathe. This, she quickly informed herself, was silly, and she never did think silly looked good on her; but the country —
Will’s country
 — had never felt this dead. A city needed people. Earth needed nothing but the elements.

She shook off these uncharacteristically deep thoughts and focused:
Snickers
.

She oriented herself, and then stepped into the center of the street to where she thought might have been the very spot Snickers had knelt. She’d been hoping for some trace of the child here, but what could she manage to leave behind being gagged and bound?

She felt the clustered Red Jackets behind her and wished she could kill with a look; but she couldn’t, so she didn’t bother looking back.

“We’re going to leave you now, Rhiannon,” Mandy peeped.

“Here I was hoping you were already gone,” she answered, but didn’t put much weight behind it. She was conserving energy. Still, even without turning to see, she felt her words slap Mandy mute.
What did the bitch think, that they’d been bonding at gunpoint?

She stepped forward. Her three-inch-heeled sandals didn’t like the cobblestones, but she’d walked in worse. Farther along, the street was paved.

In the end, she left them behind, not the other way around.

She walked half a block, not interested in waiting for the second set of bad guys, before becoming aware of a hot, pressing energy. She wasn’t particularly in tune with that sort of thing, but if enough people stared at you, you’ eventually felt it. These stares burned.

Then suddenly, people were just there — in the alleys, slipping out of doorways. So the city was dead despite being inhabited —
haunted
?

They wore pieced-together clothing — black, gray, brown — so that it was difficult to distinguish them from the buildings, which, she guessed, was the point. With 99.9 percent of the world dead, you’d better believe better clothing choices were available, so these were definitely uniforms of choice.

They watched her as if she were a ghost.
An apparition of the past, maybe
? Then she realized what she must look like. The green silk of her dress trailing, sun-kissed hair that framed her practically flawless face… She looked like… a… goddess — or rather — a movie star. They were following her now; slowly slipping along the edges of the buildings… and —
 

Was that a child who was quickly thrust from view by a protector who wouldn’t meet her eye, but whose own gaze burned the second she turned away?

The street in front remained empty, and remembering the role she was to play, she stifled a growl of frustration that bubbled in her throat.

A brisk, salty wind — they must be very close to the ocean here — blew through the buildings and billowed around and beyond her. The dress was instantly slicked against her. She could feel the light fabric lift about four feet behind her, her hair setting a similar sail. Her silk-sheathed nipples rose in protest of the chill, and a murmur, punctuated with gasps, rustled through the following crowd. She gritted her teeth at the exposure, at the perceived sexuality, at the perceived vulnerability of an involuntary bodily function.

They reached for her then.

Lining the sides of the street, suddenly as far as she could see, they reached fingers for her but didn’t touch.

She walked like that for a full block, so close she could feel the brush of energy from each fingertip; thousands of fingers.

What was she to them? The time before? Whatever it was, it wasn’t a role she was willing to accept, or that she was even qualified for.

Having a pretty face, a sleek body, and the ability to recite lines didn’t make you a god. Didn’t they know what the perfect façade, which took three hours to apply, hid underneath? No, they didn’t see beyond the billboard image.

Will had never mentioned her past, even when she’d left openings like conversation bombs for him to detonate. And Snickers? Snickers didn’t care who she’d been; just who she was, how she protected and loved. Of all the things she would choose for herself… maybe…
mother
… she hesitated even within her own thoughts…
wife
 —
 

Tires screeched and pulled her attention out of her ass and back to the road in front. Ah, here are the bad guys she’d been expecting.

The crowd peeled back a bit, but then waved forward as if it might swallow her rather than let her go.

Still they didn’t touch her.

The machine guns, fired just over their heads, made them duck but not run. Their murmur took on an angry tone, but it was Buddy she watched.

Buddy, sans machine gun, swung down from the Jeep and crossed to her. The not-so-stupid hick hovered behind, wanting to approach but holding off the crowd.

She bared her teeth in a pseudosmile as Buddy reached for her, and he thought better of it. His hand hovered in the air by her bare shoulder.

The crowd pressed, and she suddenly realized she had an army behind her; she could take what she wanted by force. She wasn’t sure what played on her face, but Buddy didn’t look so happy.

“Where’s your asshole friend?” Her voice was crisp in the damp air.

The crowd swelled in response to her aggression.

Stupid stepped closer, but Buddy waved him back like they’d already had a discussion.

“He didn’t make it back,” Buddy begrudgingly offered. She couldn’t quash a real smile, and Buddy, taking exception, added, “He’s not dead.”

“Not yet.” She narrowed her eyes so he’d see the predator behind the threat, and he did, but seemed to be deliberating over his next move.

“You’d like to hit me?” she aloofly queried.

“More than hit,” he spat. “You’re a package of chaos, all right, and not worth it, far as I can see.”

She acknowledged his summary for the truth it held. A truth it normally took those close to her — once they were tired of fucking her — to see.

The crowd disagreed.

“You want to control your pack,” Buddy ordered, referencing the crowd, but she remembered his run-in with B.B. and smiled. He handily wiped that smile off with the next threat.

“How many more people need to die for you?”

She was so done with him for now. She stepped by him, felt him stumble backwards as the crowd tried to follow, and climbed gracefully into the back seat of the Jeep.
 

Buddy’s machine gun goons, who she noted hadn’t been present when they grabbed Snickers, slowly tightened the perimeter and jumped in cars.
 

Stupid quickly claimed the passenger seat and urged the driver to, “Hightail it outta here.”

The driver was only too glad to take this order.

Meanwhile, Buddy was having a bit of an issue getting into the other side of the back seat without being ripped apart by the crowd. A couple of machine gun and goon-clad cars came to Buddy’s rescue, and he pulled himself, panting, into the seat beside her. Though it was petty, his struggle amused her. She was going to pay for her smugness later; she usually did, but still she enjoyed the moment.

The crowd pressed the Jeep, and for a moment, she thought,
they aren’t going to let me go
. But then the machine guns offered their opinion.

“It’s a balance of power,” she mused. “You can’t kill them without inciting a revolt.”

Buddy snorted. “They are us, lady. We’re the same.”
 

“Really? Let’s see.”
 

A few people were actually clinging to the back and sides of the Jeep. She pressed her hand against the side window.
 

The grubby man by her window blinked in shock, and then, with a wide grin, pressed his hand to the opposite side of the glass.

“Stop that!” Buddy barked.

The Jeep lurched as the driver, following soft-spoken instructions from Stupid, tried to negotiate the crowd.

Grubby’s smile spread through the crowd, and more hands were pressed around his against the glass. Their exuberance rocked the Jeep.

Rhiannon laughed and the crowd laughed with her.

“Stop, stop it!” Panic edged Buddy’s demand, and then she heard him check the ammo in his gun.

Grubby croaked out a joyful hooting tune as if pied-pipering the others, who then took up his song as they kept pace with the Jeep. Through these window-pressed bodies, she caught a glimpse of the massive crowd following. She didn’t know this many people were still alive. Then she saw that they too had guns, and were in fact passing them hand-to-hand as if readying some plan.

Buddy started cursing and mumbling about an escape route and plans into a walkie-talkie.

The Jeep couldn’t move any farther.

More people were about to die, all because she had a point to prove. And all she really wanted was Snickers, Will, and a warm place to sleep.
 

She stopped smiling.

Grubby, thrown by this abrupt change, stopped smiling.

She shook her head, deliberately.

Grubby looked sad.

She waved goodbye, and Grubby reluctantly let go of the side of the Jeep.

She continued to wave; the crowd — excepting Grubby who just looked forlorn — waved back, still following but not at such an intense pace.

“Package of chaos,” Buddy muttered under his breath, but he kept his gaze firmly fixed away from her. He was still white-knuckling his gun.

“Well, that was a ride,” Stupid declared, and she could hear by his accent she was right about his heritage. “At least nobody bit anybody.” Stupid lobbed a laugh Buddy’s way, and then she noticed the bandage on Buddy’s forearm. When she looked up, she caught Stupid watching her.

“The girl’s got a set of teeth, don’t she?” Stupid asked. “I bet she gets that from you.”

“Movie Stars don’t bite,” Rhiannon answered archly.

Buddy snorted and then sneered. “You do what you get paid to do, like any old whore. That’s all movie stars ever were, high-paid whores.”
 

“Was I?” Rhiannon answered pleasantly enough, still watching Stupid, who was looking at Buddy like he might do him some imaginative harm.

Buddy caught this and said, defensively, “Ain’t no reason to speak to her. Plus, the Boss wouldn’t like it.” They held a manly staredown.

Then Stupid turned up front and started chatting with the driver. The Jeep had picked up so much speed that buildings were beginning to blur.

“I remind you of someone?” Rhiannon asked Buddy. “Your mother? Men are so simple sometimes. You hate the part of me that reminds you —”

“You ain’t nothing like my mother, rest her soul,” Buddy snapped. “You shut your mouth about it.” Stupid looked back over his shoulder.

She didn’t want to talk to him anyway; she was just distracting the nerves with garbage instead of dwelling on what was to come, except —

“The girl… just tell me, if…” she stumbled to speak her fear out loud, but Stupid answered willingly enough.