Immortality (52 page)

Sarah reached down to the keyboard for the car’s computer. She typed in the code for going off duty. The all-clear response came back. Her fingers lingered on top of the display. She thought about the kill zone in Virginia Beach and all that had happened since then. She felt like a survivor cursed by God for failing to die. Virginia Beach had become a recurring feature of her thoughts and dreams. She shivered thinking of all the images of death that had been projected into her mind on that day. The experience had been a kind of mental rape – a sense that she’d been abused by something that was far more powerful then anything had a right to be.

She wanted to doubt her own memories, to explain them away as a mental breakdown of some kind; but she knew the experience was real, all of it. That day, she’d known even before radioing in from her car that hundreds of thousands were dying; and more, somehow deep inside, she had sensed that this time the destruction was spread across the entire globe. She had known when another zone had hit just before the computer display in her patrol car reported it. The names of cities scrolling up had become like some crazy Wall Street ticker tape announcing the crash of the world. The time between kill zones had been erratic; sometimes seconds and other times minutes. Each premonition would start as a little ball of fear inside her; then just as the feeling reached a crescendo, a new name would appear on the display. Sometimes she even knew what the name would be. She was horrified by her accuracy. She had gone beyond the rim of sanity that day and glimpsed a darkness that was waiting to claim her.

The premonition feelings at Virginia Beach were the same as what she was experiencing this moment, and had experienced so many other moments between then and now. She was a raw nerve that had been teased to the point where a kind of numbness had set in, a detached dread. Somewhere a kill zone was about to happen; somewhere people were about to die. She didn’t want to know this. She didn’t want this curse.

Alex was deeply affected by her premonitions, as they had both started to call them. Since Virginia Beach, he’d made her jot down in a notebook the time and date she had each of her feelings. Every day, he checked her notes against the official reports. So far, every one of her premonitions had been linked to the exact time a kill zone had happened somewhere in the world. At some point which Sarah could not precisely remember, Alex had started treating her differently. She could tell he was becoming scared of her. She was sorry she’d confided anything.

The computer display posted a report. A kill zone located near Leipzig, Germany had just occurred. The little ball of fear began to dim inside her.

“Why me?” she cried.

Sarah pulled her car into the parking lot of a twenty-four hour diner named the Twilight Café and killed the ignition. There were several other patrol cars in the lot. The diner was a hang out for cops. Taking deep breaths, she tried to settle her nerves. Tears were running down her cheeks. The windshield was quickly obscured with drops of rain. She began to sob uncontrollably.

A large clock on the outside of the diner showed almost an hour had passed. Headlights washed over her from a car pulling into the lot. Sarah cleaned the tears from her face, then fixed her makeup and went inside. She spotted her friend Theresa sitting at a table with two other cops, Bobby Williams and Sergeant Hunt. Sarah said hello to Bert, the owner, and then made her way to the table. Theresa’s eyes had a glassy look. Something was wrong.

“What’s up, guys?” said Sarah.

“Just eating breakfast,” said Theresa.

The other two said nothing. A waitress came over and took Sarah’s order.

“I’ve gotta go,” said Bobby Williams.

“Me too,” said Sergeant Hunt.

They got up. Their food was half eaten. Sarah looked across the table at Theresa. There was something very wrong with her expression.

“I’ve gotta go, too,” said Theresa.

“What’s going on?” said Sarah. “None of you have finished eating.”

All three of them exchanged glances. A girl from the next table mumbled, “Leper...” Sarah felt her chest empty of all feelings. They couldn’t mean her. She glanced around the room. People she knew looked away instead of meeting her eyes.

“People are saying things,” said Theresa. “Everyone’s talking about how you were at Virginia Beach and weren’t killed. They’re saying you could be carrying the bug.”

“That’s crazy,” said Sarah.

Theresa looked down at the table. Sarah was fighting back an ocean of feelings. She stood up. She started to move toward Theresa. Her friend backed away.

“You know me.” said Sarah. “All of you know me. Has anyone I’ve hung out with gotten sick?”

“What about New Jersey?” yelled a faceless voice from somewhere in the diner.

Sarah had difficulty piecing time back together after that. She kept seeing Alex’s face drift up in her mind. He was the only one she’d told about Jersey but he couldn’t have betrayed her. Captain Dupont must have found out somehow and poisoned everyone against her. It had to be Dupont… It just had to be. Alex wouldn’t have told anyone.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Sarah.

“Go on, Alex,” yelled the faceless voice. “Tell her!”

The world stopped moving, stopped working. Sarah felt tears gushing from her eyes. Before she knew what she was doing, she was running from the diner. Alex was at the doorway. His skin looked drained of color. His expression was unreadable as she stopped and stared into his eyes. He began to say something.

“You bastard!” she shouted.

Sarah pushed past him out the door. Rain spattered her face. She ran across the parking lot and into a neighboring field. A tree loomed out of the pre-dawn to block her flight. She collapsed against its trunk. She clung to the tree to hold herself up from the ground. Enveloped in the sounds of the field and the patter of rain, she cried.

Artie had been hiking with Suzy for hours before a passing trucker had given them a lift. The westbound side of I64 was wide open and divided into two-way traffic. They were cruising at sixty miles per hour heading into the Blue Ridge Mountains. He and Suzy were sharing the passenger seat. She was in his lap. Air rushing though the partially open window smelled of pine and freshness. The landscape was spectacular. The tree covered mountains were blanketed by mist and fall colors. Artie was starting to think their luck might be changing.

The trucker’s name was Quade. Almost an hour ago, they’d pulled out of a truck stop after buying Quade lunch to thank him for picking them up earlier in the day. Everyone at the stop knew Quade and said hello. He seemed genuinely friendly, but Artie still kept his gun within easy reach inside his coat. Quade had curly red hair and a full beard of the same color. His rig was a brand new Cummings. The trailer was decaled with the Bayer logo.

“I’ve been making this same run for six weeks,” said Quade. “Richmond to Lewisburg, Lewisburg to Richmond, twice a day with thirty thousand pounds of fuck’n aspirin. Man, what do you think they’re doing with all that aspirin? I can’t even look at the stuff anymore without getting a headache.”

“Someone must have one hell of a migraine,” said Artie.

Quade smiled while nodding.

“Hey, if you want any aspirin, say the word. They’d never miss a case or two falling off the back of the truck.”

“Can I ask you something, Quade?”

“Sure buddy; shoot.”

“Have you ever heard of cops letting folks cross for money?”

Quade turned and looked Artie in the eyes for a moment and then returned his gaze to the road. Maybe Quade did know something? Artie felt Suzy’s alertness. They both were waiting for something to happen.

“So have you heard of cops doing that?” asked Artie again.

“Yeah, who hasn’t?” answered Quade. “They’re Border Czars, man. Cash or favors for passage across the line. I’ve heard other things too – things like a lot of those who pay end up crossing a different line, the one separating the living from the dead.”

Quade had taken them as far as they wanted to go down the highway. Artie and Suzy watched as he pulled back onto I64. His rig made a slow right-hand turn out of the rest stop. Artie looked around taking his measure of this place. The parking spaces were empty. Across the highway, a long coil of razor wire hung loose from the top of the I64 line. The damaged wire was the first sign of disrepair that he’d seen. They were in a heavily wooded area of National Forest which Quade had said was deserted this time of year and a safe place to camp. Since starting out on foot days ago, they’d collected everything needed to live off the land. He and Suzy each had backpacks and sleeping bags. They also owned a brand new tent that had a price tag of over eight hundred bucks on it when Artie had liberated it from a sporting goods store along with a handheld GPS and a supply of freeze dried food.

At the back of the rest stop, the highway’s deer fencing had been cut and peeled back at the entrance to a trail. If Quade was right, the path led off to an idyllic spot. The map showed a small lake five miles in from the highway with no roads leading to it. The idea of camping there appealed to both of them. Artie imagined waking up in the morning and sipping coffee at water’s edge.

The trail quickly narrowed into something used more by deer than by people. Artie pushed another branch out of the way and made sure Suzy had a grip on it before letting go. The woods seemed like it belonged to them. With every step, he felt they’d found a good place to rest for a few days and make new plans.

“So, what do you think about raising a family on the Gulf of Mexico?” he asked. “We can get a grass hut on the sand. You can make clothes for us out of palm fronds while I fish for shrimp and lobster. What do you say?”

“I think you’re nuts but I love you.”

“Would you still love me if all I ever caught was a cold?”

“A girl has to draw the line somewhere.”

The lake turned out to be just as Artie had imagined it. The landscape was so familiar he wondered if he’d been here before. The water was a deep grayish blue. Tree covered hills on the opposite shore were reflected in it as streaks of color. He ran his fingers through the water. It was cold and clean. They pitched the tent and then fire-roasted a dinner of hot dogs and corn on the cob.

As the sun went down, Suzy toasted marshmallows and forced him to try one. Her lips followed and were sweeter than the marshmallows. Soon they were wrestling and laughing and losing their clothing. The outside world was too far away to cast its shadow.

An owl called from somewhere in the night as wind rustled through the trees. Inside their tent, Artie and Suzy were curled up with one of the sleeping bags wrapped around them. The campfire was well stoked, throwing off a warm orange light that glowed through the tent’s fabric. Artie was thinking about tomorrow. The new flannel shirt felt luxurious against his skin. Suzy had on a matching shirt. He noticed her drifting off and soon followed.

Artie dreamed of ice. It was odd that there was a piece of it pressed against his face. He swam out of the haze into the real world and opened his eyes. Something cold was still pressed against his cheek. His heart began beating wildly. He blinked but it was still there. The barrel of a machine gun was right next to his eye. He strained to look up without moving. The firelight gave everything a hellish tone. The tent flap was open. A hand was attached to the machine gun and a face was attached to the hand, a tattooed angry face.

“You’re dead!” said man.

“Take anything you want,” said Artie. “Just don’t hurt us.”

Artie strained to look through the corner of his eyes at Suzy and saw a second man and a second machine gun. These were definitely gang members and definitely killers. Where had they come from? Artie slowly inched his hand down the side of the sleeping bag reaching for the handle of his revolver.

There were odd smears of red light. Artie felt a throbbing pain in his skull. Blood was in his left eye. He didn’t remember being clubbed or shot but knew that’s what had happened. He felt a warm liquid running down the side of his face. He was lying outside on the ground. He heard angry words and a soft thud and looked toward the sounds. His eyes swam into focus. In the firelight, he saw one of the men kicking Suzy.

“Give... me... the... necklace... bitch...”

Suzy’s eyes were squeezed shut. Dirt was smeared across her cheek. She was curled in a ball. Her fingers were wrapped tightly around the locket. Artie went mad with grief. The other man’s back was to Artie. He had Artie’s gun stuck in his belt and a machine gun over his shoulder. The creep was staring at the action which Artie knew would soon be rape, then murder.

Keeping perfectly still, Artie furtively looked around for a weapon. All their belongings were scattered on the ground. A multifunction camping tool was in his hand a moment later. The tool was twelve inches long; part shovel, part wrench, and part hammer. He pounced on the one who was just watching the action, striking him full swing in the side of the head. The tool’s wooden handle broke off with the impact. The man crumpled to the ground. Artie knew he had just killed. The other animal was slow to respond; he was busy pawing Suzy. Without slowing, Artie was on him an instant later, head-locking him from behind, he pulled the scum backward off Suzy using a twisting-hip-throw meant to fracture the neck. Every memory of street fighting and Tae Kwan Do returned to Artie in a violent rush. The man’s neck held. He was heavily muscled and managed to shake Artie off.

“Bring it on!” growled the man; his face was a twisted sneer.

The bastard wasn’t as lucky with the three kicks to the face which followed. He went down. Artie jumped on the animal and pinned him with his knees. Focusing all his strength, using the heel of his hand, he viciously struck the man in the nose with a single blow. The move was a Tae Kwan Do technique designed to kill by splintering and driving the nose bone into the brain. The man stopped moving, but Artie didn’t care. He hammered the man with his fists. He couldn’t stop. Tears of rage and pain flooded down across Artie’s cheeks, burning his eyes. He screamed obscenities while pummeling the still body. He spied his handgun which had fallen into the dirt. He retrieved it, tumbled back the hammer, and blew a round into the man’s chest. He turned to the other man and did the same.