Night Resurrected (2 page)

liked it that way; it kept him close to the

work, reminded him why he did it. “We

all can’t wait for you to get your tight ass

out of here. You need some time off.”

“That’s the truth.” Wyatt grinned,

feeling about as happy as he’d felt the

day he and Cathy got married. The only

other times he’d felt so full of himself,

so beyond happy, was on the days his

children were born. And the day he

stepped off the plane, Stateside, after his

last tour in Iraq.

He loved his children, his wife, and

his life—but there was nothing like

being able to just be with his friends and

have no responsibility but to enjoy

himself. Every so often a guy needed a

getaway.

He gulped down a big glass of milk

and looked at Cheech. “Just so long as

Cath doesn’t hear how bad it was

tonight, okay? Tell everyone to keep it

under the hood.” He knew how close

he’d come to biting it tonight. But it was

best to keep that stuff to himself. His

wife didn’t need anything else to fuss

over. She understood why he did what

he did, but she didn’t like the long hours

and the danger that came with it.

“You got it, brother.” Cheech

nodded.

T
he next day, Wyatt kissed his wife

Catherine goodbye. He bear-hugged his

eight-year-old son David and smooched

his ten-year-old daughter Abby. Then he

got on a plane and flew to Sedona.

Chapter 1

May 2061

Somewhere in the former State of

Nevada

“W
hat are you doing here?”

Wyatt looked at Remington Truth,

who was pointing her gun at him, and

thought, Christ, sweetheart, I’ve been

asking myself that for a damn year.

If I’d never gotten on that damned

plane to Sedona . . .

Instead of answering, he walked over

to the fire she’d built for her overnight

camp in the woods. She wouldn’t shoot

him. Not yet anyway.

Not that she hadn’t already tried.

“How the hell did you find me?”

Remy asked, lowering the gun. Even in

the dim light, he could see the fury in her

eyes.

“Dantès

showed

up

early

yesterday, so I know you didn’t follow

him.”

He hadn’t expected a particularly

warm welcome. After all, it was almost

butting up to midnight. He was surprised

she wasn’t sleeping, and even more

surprised she was camping out in the

open like this. Damn good thing he’d

decided to track her down and make sure

wherever she was going, she got there in

one piece.

But Dantès was glad to see him.

Wyatt crouched by the fire as Remy’s

large dog, a German shepherd/wolf mix,

greeted him with soft, ecstatic whines

and crazy licking kisses.

“Hey there, bud,” he said, shoving

his hands into the thick, warm fur around

the dog’s neck and massaging. The dog

was so enthusiastic, there was a danger

he’d knock Wyatt into the fire, so he

shifted from his haunches onto his ass.

“Glad to see you again too.” It was true.

Dantès was one of the few things that

made his new life somewhat bearable.

He glanced over at Remy, then

around the small encampment. “You’re a

sitting duck for zombies here—or worse.

I thought you’d know better than to be

outside and on the ground at night.”

Remy shot eye-daggers at him. She

had the most incredible blue-violet eyes,

but right now he imagined they were

black with ire. He couldn’t see for

certain in the dark.

“It was only a temporary stop. I’ve

gotten pretty damn good at avoiding

getting myself killed, in case you haven’t

noticed. Besides, Dantès will smell or

hear any threat long before it gets close

enough to me. Although,” she said,

jabbing the fire with a violent stick, “he

didn’t see fit to warn me about you.”

Wyatt held back on the obvious

comment. Instead, he unhooked the pack

he was wearing and let it flop to the

ground behind him. “Did you eat yet? I

—”

“I don’t want you here; I’m certainly

not going to feed you,” she informed

him. “I don’t know why you followed

me.”

He stretched out one long leg as he

untied the boot on the other. “I have

food. I was offering it to you,” he said

mildly, pulling off his shoe.
Ahhh
. He

wiggled his toes, then went on to yank

off the other boot and sock.

At first he’d been on and off

horseback while tracking her from the

small settlement she’d left nearly a week

ago. But when Dantès took off after

finding his mistress’s scent yesterday

afternoon, Wyatt set the wild mustang

free so he could better follow the trail

on foot. He suspected once Dantès was

with Remy, she wouldn’t allow her dog

to go back and bring Wyatt to her, so

he’d moved as quickly and expediently

as he could before the trail went cold.

It had taken him a little more than

twenty-eight hours to catch up to her,

even though he could tell she’d

increased her pace. He had to give her

credit: she moved along at a good clip,

leaving only hints of her trail.

“What are you doing here, Wyatt?”

she asked again. This time her voice

wasn’t as strident. It was weary.

It’s complicated.

And even that was an understatement.

Fifty-one years ago he’d boarded that

goddamn plane from Denver to Arizona.

He’d met up with his buddies Elliott and

Quent for what the latter called an

extreme camping trip, exploring some

mountain caves in Sedona.

While they were deep in the caves

with their guides Fence and Lenny, all

hell

broke

loose.

Some

major

earthquakes caused falling rubble and

cave-ins, released poison gases, and

knocked them all out . . . or something.

When they woke up again and stumbled

out of the cave, they discovered that the

inconceivable had happened.

The earth had been changed. Most of

civilization was destroyed—people,

buildings, infrastructure.

And it was
fifty years in the future.

The year twenty-fucking-
sixty
.

And he—none of them—had aged a

bit. They looked exactly the same.

But they’d lost everything.

Wyatt reached for Dantès, who’d

settled halfway between his two human

companions. Scratching near the dog’s

tail, he tried not to remember how

devastating

and

paralyzing

the

realization had been. And still was. It

was a year since he’d walked out of that

cave, grateful and jubilant to be alive

. . . only to find himself in something

worse than hell.

He, Elliott, Quent, and the two others

who were in the cave had been trying to

accept this changed world ever since

then . . . a world populated by dangerous

crystal-wearing

immortal

Strangers,

zombies,

and

lacking

anything

resembling infrastructure. This new

environment was a strange mixture of

simple, almost third-world settlements

in overgrown buildings and empty towns

combined with glimpses of twenty-first

century America. Cell phones and the

Internet didn’t exist anymore, but there

were lights and washing machines

running on solar or wind power,

carefully maintained televisions, and

disc players for whatever DVDs

survived—or had been scavenged—

along with random books, clothing, and

even furnishings that lasted fifty years

for a variety of reasons. It was a strange

juxtaposition, almost like the Old West

meshed with a world filled with

superhero pop culture and synthetic

fabric.

Wyatt and Remy had been crossing

paths for months—she wearing her

distrust of him and everyone else on her

figurative sleeve by being secretive and

running away whenever she could. But

this time he’d followed her, because he

knew she was in danger—from the

zombies as well as the Strangers. They’d

been searching for someone named

Remington

Truth

ever

since

the

devastating events of the Change.

So far, he didn’t think the Strangers

knew that the woman sitting in front of

him

was

the

granddaughter—and

namesake—of the deceased Remington

Truth. But when and if they did, they’d

be after her just as desperately.

“Do you have a destination in mind,

or are you just running away again?”

Wyatt asked.

“It’s none of—” To his surprise, she

stopped. Clamped her lips shut and

looked at him through the fire. “I have a

destination,” she said after a minute.

“Good. I like to have my missions

closed-ended.”

“I’m not your mission, Wyatt.”

He shrugged. “Dantès is. I can’t

believe you left him behind.”
With me.

The dog was her most prized possession

. . . except for the thumbnail-sized

crystal she wore beneath her shirt. His

gaze couldn’t help but drop to her

midriff, mostly obscured by the flames

dancing between them.

She looked away, and might have

intended to respond. But whatever she’d

have said was cut short as Dantès’s ears

snapped up and he froze, completely at

attention.

They both stilled, listening while

looking into the darkness along with the

canine. Dantès gave a low growl and got

to his feet. And then Wyatt heard it. The

low moans, rumbling in the distance.

Ruuu-uuuuthhhhh. Ruuuuthhhhh.

Zombies.

Searching for Remington Truth.

He didn’t need to say a thing; Remy

was already up, kicking dirt onto the

small fire. He jammed his sockless feet

back into his boots and snatched up his

pack. She grabbed the one next to her,

shoving her gun into the waistband of her

jeans as he said, “Let’s go.”

He pointed north as she started to

head east, but he was faster and grabbed

her by the arm. “This way,” he said, and

propelled her toward the forest. “From

the shadows, looks like there’s high

ground in the distance.”

Damned if she refrained from

arguing, setting off at a good pace

instead with Dantès at her side. If they

got to the base of the hill before the

zombies found them, they could climb up

the other side, leaving the clumsy

creatures behind them. Zombies—or

gangas, as they were also called—

couldn’t climb stairs or anything steep.

But despite their awkward movements

the bastards covered ground quickly,

especially when they smelled human

flesh. They were strong. And they were

violent.

Remy moved along rapidly and with

more confidence than Wyatt expected,

being in the dark and in an unfamiliar

place.

Maybe

Dantès

helped.

Nevertheless, he stayed close behind

her, pausing occasionally to look back

and listen, then easily catching up.

They were hiking through a junglelike

forest, but threaded through it were

remnants of the world Wyatt had left

behind. Cracked and overgrown slabs of

concrete that once could have been

parking lots, building foundations, or

even roads. They passed rusted-out cars,

often sprouting the eerie shapes of trees

or bushes growing through the windows.

By the dearth of buildings, he figured

they were on an old two-lane highway in

the middle of nowhere. Fifty years ago

this had probably all been desert. But

since the Change, the climate and

environment had been altered, turning

Nevada into a tropical jungle. He

wouldn’t have believed it if he weren’t

living it.