Night Resurrected (27 page)

convinced Wyatt he didn’t need to keep

watch any longer, and at that point he

took himself off to find a horse.

Unfortunately, it took longer than he

anticipated and he wasted nearly a day

trying to find a wild herd and then lure

one of the animals to him. Normally he

didn’t have a hard time at all—animals

were generally pretty easy around him.

But for some reason none of the horses

would approach, even when he offered a

nice brown apple.

He should have just gone on foot

from the beginning, but he didn’t.

Finally reaching his floor, he

unlocked the door to his room and eyed

the bed. Damn, it looked inviting.

But he was nothing if not disciplined.

He wanted to eat, true, but he also

wanted to find out if Remy had made it

to Envy, or whether she and Ian had gone

somewhere else. He hoped like hell

she’d listened to him and come here.

But then again . . . this was Remy.

That woman had a mind of her own, and

most of the time what went through it

was completely incomprehensible to

him.

He was going to have to venture

down into the chaos. And so he dumped

his stuff on the floor, stripped, and

headed for the shower.

A
short time later Wyatt stalked out of

his room and headed for the stairs. After

twenty flights, his damp hair still

dripping over the back of his neck, he hit

the ground floor and was immediately

assaulted by delicious smells.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after

all.

The gathering was happening outside

beneath blue and red neon lights—

remnants of the blazing Vegas strip still

hanging on, carefully conserved, fifty

years later. Braziers and lanterns also lit

the area in preparation for the descent of

the sun. Another hour at the most and it

would sink behind the city wall, and

after that darkness would fall quickly.

Two pigs were roasting, three huge

metal cans of clams and crawfish parked

amid golden coals. Unhusked ears of

corn were piled in massive tubs, still

steaming. Wyatt swore he saw a vat of

potato salad, which seemed so
not

postapocalyptic. And . . .
pies
. There

were rows of pies on a table. He could

only guess the flavors, but he figured

apple and cherry were good bets. But he

wasn’t picky. Not about pie.

The sultry voice of a woman singing

something blue wove through the

constant rumble of conversation and

laughter, helped by a good old-fashioned

mic and some amps. He thought he

recognized Jade’s voice, and a glance

toward the large brazier onstage next to

her confirmed it. She’d been singing in

the pub the first night he and Elliott and

the others had come to Envy.

Wyatt walked along the fringe of the

celebration, toward the dark and quiet.

The party went on behind him and off to

the side. When he turned, standing in the

shadows, far from everyone, he saw the

energy, the lights, the silhouettes and

shadowed forms of people. He scented

cooking food, grills, and, subtly, the salt

of the ocean.

If he closed his eyes and didn’t think

for a minute, he could open them again

and almost believe he was back . . .

Back under the stars for the blues fest or

the county fair or the church carnival . . .

Back home. The smells, the sounds, the

lights, the energy. All were the same.

But when he looked again, beyond

the glow and the people and the stage, he

saw the skyline of a ravaged city

outlined by a lowering sun. Skeleton

buildings, jagged structures, devoid of

light and activity.

Kind of how he felt, pretty much all

the time. Empty. Destroyed. Angry.

“Wyatt. You’re back.”

He turned to see Simon Japp, who’d

been one of the survivors from the

Sedona caves. Although Simon hadn’t

been in the original group on that caving

trip that included Elliott and Quent,

along with himself, and led by their

guides Lenny and Fence, he’d been

caught in this strange time lapse with the

rest of them.

“Yep,” Wyatt replied. He glanced

around; they were outliers, standing at

the far edge of the gathering. “Where’s

Sage?” The two were nearly inseparable

—at least when she wasn’t working in

the secret, subterranean computer lab

that Theo and Lou Waxnicki had built,

and when Simon wasn’t doing his part to

keep the peace in the city. Sage was a

lovely woman in appearance as well as

deed, and Wyatt had come to like her

quiet, peaceful personality. She was one

of the few people he’d actually talked to

about his past. She listened.

“Ah, she’s all busy helping with the

food or something. Vaughn wanted me

out here, watching for any security

issues. You know how it goes when you

get a bunch of people partying. Beer

flowing and all. Everything all right with

you?”

Wyatt opened his mouth to respond

with a short, no-nonsense affirmation,

then stopped. Of all of them who’d been

in the caves, Simon was the one he knew

the least. He was also the quietest, most

sober of the bunch. Kept to himself for

the most part. And from what Wyatt

knew about his background, Simon had

been in a very bad place before the

Change. Ironic, then, that he was the face

of law enforcement—such as it was—

here in Envy.

“You ever come to Vegas . . .

before?” Wyatt asked, surprising himself

by saying just about precisely what was

on his mind.

“All the damned time.” Simon’s tone

held the flavor of a Chicano accent along

with an underlying bitterness. “Too

damn often. Too much . . . shit . . .

happened here. You?”

“I came here on my honeymoon.”

“Jesus, Wyatt.”

“Yeah. What a cock-up.” But the

anger that normally edged his voice was

missing. “How the hell did you . . .” He

stopped, shaking his head. He couldn’t

even put into words what he wanted to

say. His eyes burned and he squeezed

them closed. What the hell was wrong

with him?

Somehow

Simon

seemed

to

understand. “I was the only one of us

who saw—who could see—
this . . .
as

an opportunity. An awful, horrific one

. . . but it was the chance to create a new

life in the wake of devastation. A

resurrection.”

Wyatt shook his head, still staring at

the disrupted skyline, the jagged, empty,

gutted buildings. “A resurrection.” His

breath was a little ragged. His throat

hurt. “Like a damn phoenix. Destroyed,

then rising from the ashes, pristine and

reborn. Christ, I’d just as soon have

stayed in the damned ashes. I don’t

understand
why—
” He bit off the words

sharply, curled his fingers into an angry

fist. “I just want to live again.

Goddammit, I just want to
live
. And at

the same time, I just want it to end. I

want to be fucking
done
with it.” The

guilt. The anger. The pain.

Simon nodded next to him, and for a

moment they were silent. Then he spoke,

softly. “When it all happened—just

before the cave started collapsing

around me, just before all hell broke

loose—I was praying. On my knees.

Couldn’t remember the last time I’d

really prayed. I was praying for my life

to end . . . or for some miracle to

happen.”

“Well, hell, Simon, you got your

damned miracle.”

The other man looked at him, grief in

his expression. “In a matter of speaking.

Fact is, we can’t change—nor are we

responsible for—what happened. It’s

done. It’s over. It’s gone. But there’s a

reason for all of us making it through,

you know. Elliott, me, Quent, Fence.

Even Theo. You have to find yours. You

know our being here has already made

things different.”

“Hm.” Wyatt slipped his hand into

his pocket. Felt the warm, solid weight

there. Sifted it through his fingers, then

let it slip back into the depths. He shook

his head. “No. No thanks. I’ll take the

ashes.”

Simon looked at him, his perfect,

chiseled features limned by the dancing

light of a nearby torch. “That’s what I

used to think.” His mouth twisted in a

wry, sad sort of smile. He clapped him

on the back, his hand lingering long

enough to let Wyatt know he truly cared.

Wyatt might have responded, but

before he could, something barreled into

his leg. He looked down to find himself

accosted by an ecstatic bundle of fur

complete with delighted whines and

frantic tongue. “Dantès!” He crouched to

greet the dog.

She’s here.

“You seen Ian Marck anywhere?” he

asked Simon as he stood back up, his

hand still settled on Dantès’s head.

Wyatt looked around. Where Dantès

was, she was never far away. But there

were too many people and the light was

too faulty.

“Yeah. The bastard’s here. How’d

you know?” Simon didn’t trouble to hide

an inflection of surprise.

Wyatt

shrugged.

“Just

had

a

suspicion. What’s he up to?”

“Nothing, so far.
Chavala’
s just

sitting in the corner alone. Watching.

Having a beer. Fence and I are keeping

an eye on him.”

Alone.

Wyatt

considered

the

implications. “I’m hungry,” he said,

realizing that he still hadn’t done

anything about his empty stomach. “That

pork smells amazing.”

Simon, not much of a talker himself,

seemed willing to let the conversation

drop. “There’s cherry pie too. But I’ve

got to make one more patrol around

before I can eat. And Sage said

something about dancing later.” He

didn’t sound all that enthusiastic about

the idea. “Later.”

“Thanks, Simon,” Wyatt said as his

friend disappeared into the crowd.

He turned back toward the revelry.

Back to the world. Back to his life.

I
t was about thirty minutes into the

celebration before Remy realized she

was having a good time. She was

relaxed. She laughed. She sipped a glass

of white wine studded with slices of

orange and lemon and strawberries. She

managed to navigate in the silver high-

heeled shoes Flo had fairly shoved on

her feet. A collection of wide silver

bangles clanked at her wrist. And she

couldn’t help the tingles of appreciation

when an attractive man seemed to notice

her. Particularly Vaughn Rogan, the

mayor of Envy.

Of course, the long white dress

helped. The bodice was tight, fitting her

curves through the hip and then falling in

a loose, flowing skirt that brushed the

tops of her toes. The neckline was cut in

such a wide, low vee in the front and

rear that Flo had stitched a delicate

silver chain from shoulder to shoulder

across the back of Remy’s shoulders,

connecting the wide straps to it so they

didn’t slip down. A short length of silver

chain hung perpendicular, with a pendant

on the end that bumped gently against her

bare back whenever she moved. And

because her hair had been pinned up at

the back of her head, leaving her neck

and shoulders bare, she felt every

change in the tropical breeze filtering

over her skin.

When Remy protested about the fuss,

Flo merely brushed her off, saying,

“Humor me, dearie. This is what I
do.

And how often do you get to dress to the

nines like this?”

“It’s no use fighting it,” Jade told her

with a smile, as she submitted to a new

shade of lipstick. “Flo will have her