The Dying of the Light (Book 3): Beginning (61 page)

Jackson felt a surge of elation at the end to waiting, tempered by the sobering realization that his new mission would take him far from here for an indefinite amount of time. He started to speak and stopped. Then started again and stopped again. He hated not knowing what to say.

“I felt the same way before my first cruise as captain, you know,” Graves said. “Of course, I wasn’t going halfway around the world, either.”

“The crew of the
Anderson
won’t fail you, sir,” Jack said.

“Good. Zavrazhny and Fagerhölm are counting on you and your supplies to make it to the Oslo Free Zone. They’ve had a hard few years, but they’ve made something there. Not to mention the hundreds of people with them.”

“I still can’t believe they made it out of Russia. That’s what, a thousand miles or more? Tough sons of bitches.”

Graves laughed. “If you’d ever met Tatiana Zavrazhny, you wouldn’t be surprised. Make sure to give her my compliments.”

“Will do, sir.”

“The
Ramage
ready for round two yet? Where’s she going, Rome?”

“Naples, sir. She’ll be ready in about a week. Frankly, I’m amazed at the good news, given what we saw here. Thousands in Spain, holed up in castles, London’s gone but Edinburgh is thriving—more castles—and we’re going to have to get over to Japan and Australia—”

Graves laughed. “One thing at a time, Jack. You just get to Oslo and back, and then we’ll talk.”

O’Reilly smiled. “Fair enough, sir.”

Graves finally turned from the view. “I’m not looking forward to finding a new XO, you know.”

“I don’t blame you, sir. I’m pretty great.”

“Well, Captain, take your ‘greatness’ out to your ship and get the hell over there with those supplies. Dismissed!”

Jack saluted and then took the admiral’s outstretched hand.

“Good luck, Jack.”

“And to you, sir.”

The Norman Residence
New Salisbury, Pennsylvania

“And then he said, ‘Wrecked ‘em? Damn near killed ‘em!’”

The small group gathered around the porch table roared with laughter, and Ennis sat back, wiping a tear from his eye. He’d always loved that joke, and it was good to pass such things on to the next generation. He caught sight of his granddaughter chasing the dog in the yard and smiled, wondering, as he often did, about the kind of world that she would grow up in.

At least now he knew that she
would
grow up. And that he had a granddaughter to begin with. He looked over at his Madeline, his daughter and the young girl’s mom, and smiled again. He had never been happier, he thought.

His son, Michael, spoke up from the other side of the table as he took some potatoes off the plate Renee passed him. “So, Madam President, have the treatments been finished, then?”

The president set down her glass of iced tea, a luxury only recently returned to the now-bustling trade town of New Salisbury. “Michael, please, I’ve told you, it’s Angela when I’m here at dinner. No fuss, remember?”

They all laughed again, as it was about the hundredth time Michael had been reminded. Ennis sat forward and took a bite of the potatoes on his plate and marveled at how Renee and Marjorie had made them taste so good. He looked to his right at his old friend and found her looking back at him. Spooky how she did that sort of thing.

“To answer your question, though, yes, all those wanting the treatments have finished them.”

“So there are still people who don’t want it?”

Gates avoided looking at Ennis, who said nothing. “Yes. Some people have opted out for a variety of reasons, and that’s their right. We don’t force it on anyone.”

“Is it true that it changes people? That we’re not human anymore?”

Ennis snorted. “Michael, you’re twenty-nine years old. Why do you believe everything you hear?”

“People been sayin’—”

“People been sayin’ shit for my whole life, boy. Don’t make a word of it true. People like to talk about shit they don’t know a damned thing about, riling folks up and making a mess.” Ennis felt a slight tension in his chest and closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths. He waited for the tension to ease, and when he opened his eyes again, everyone was staring at him. “I’m fine,” he grumbled.

Gates continued with a concerned look at her oldest friend. “To answer your question, Mike, yes and no. It makes anyone who takes it immune to bites, but it also changes their descendants. Future generations will be immune to the prion, meaning no more zombies. It may take a generation or two, and there may be unforeseen side effects. We just don’t know yet, but what we
do
know is that it’s our only option if we want to survive as a species.”

The summer lunch had taken a darker turn with all this talk, and it didn’t help that Gates’s security detail, not to mention his own, were hovering over all of them like hawks. Renee saved the day, though, as usual, by calling over his granddaughter, Reese, and her brothers, William and Samuel. All of them were giggling, having chased each other around the yard for an hour, and brightened the mood considerably.

One of Gates’s security team leaned and whispered in her ear, and the president stiffened. “Thank you, Kelly.” She turned to the others. “Everyone, I’m sorry, I have to go. There’s a situation I have to deal with.”

Ennis started to stand up until he felt a hand on his arm. Looking down, he saw Renee looking back at him.

“It’s her job now, Ennis,” Renee said, her eyes firm but filled with love. “Your place is here.”

Ennis smiled and sat back down. He watched Gates and her detail pile into the Humvee and take off for parts unknown, then sighed and sat back as he watched his grandchildren go back out to play. Maybe this retirement thing wasn’t so bad after all.

One mile southwest of Bunker Five
Mount Davis, Pennsylvania

Gates climbed out of the Humvee as it slid to a stop in the small wooded clearing. The sun was bright, but the day was cool with a breeze, and she could smell the fragrance of a summer meadow. The peaceful, clear weather did absolutely nothing to take her mind off the scene before her, however.

Seven walkers lay in various states in a row on the ground, guarded by two AEGIS personnel from the bunker. Their clothes were tattered, and most of them were desiccated and dry, but there were a few that were… Well,
juicy
was the term that sprang to Gates’s mind, as horrible as that word was in this case.

“Any more out there?” she asked, and one of the soldiers stepped forward. Angela read the name SORRELL on his uniform and saw a captain’s bars.

“Not yet, ma’am. Still got the rest of the team looking, though.”

“This is the first attack we’ve had in, what, a year?” Gates walked over to the walkers, and the guards stood back for her. “Is that why you called the president out? For some walkers?”

“Eighteen months, ma’am, give or take. Ma’am, wouldn’t get too close.”

“I appreciate your zeal, Captain, but it’s not my first zombie.”

“Very well, ma’am.”

As she inspected them, Gates noticed the difference in the state of the walkers up close even more than at a distance. She saw one fat one, and something tugged at her memory as she examined its face. She couldn’t quite place it. “Captain, has anyone searched these walkers?”

Sorrell hesitated. “Yes, ma’am. That’s why you were called, ma’am. We found this on the fat one there. Thought you might want to see it.” The captain held out a hand.

“Enough mysteries, Captain,” Gates said as she snatched a plastic badge of some kind from the man’s hand. One side was blank and white, but when she turned it over, she couldn’t believe the name she saw there.

“Son of a bitch,” she whispered, then looked back and forth between the walker and the badge several times. “Motherfucker came back. He finally came back. Good call, Captain.”

Gates squatted down once more and looked closer at the walker, finally seeing what her brain had been telling her. She shook her head again, stood up, and walked back over to Sorrell.

“Burn them. Now.” Her tone brooked no argument.

“McAndrews, get over here!” the captain yelled, and a giant of a man sporting a flamethrower walked over. “Hose ‘em down,” Sorrell ordered, and the soldier wasted no time in making a bonfire of the corpses.

Gates gazed at the roaring fire without expression. “Welcome back, Mr. Marnes.”

Medical Bay
Bunker Seven

Adrian Masters watched on the monitors as his husband dragged himself through his daily physical therapy routine, and while he was proud of Tom, he hated to see him in such pain. He’d offered to help, but the medical staff had suggested that he simply watch and provide moral support. After all, they knew what they were doing.

But Tom had nixed that idea too. “I can’t concentrate on my work when you’re here, and sometimes I push myself too hard without meaning to,” he’d said. So Adrian watched from another room.

There was a pang in Adrian’s chest at the memory, because it had taken Tom almost a full minute to get that one sentence out. Both of them were still dealing with neurological damage from the stroke Tom had weathered. It had happened while they’d had him in a medical coma due to his injuries from the Battle of Des Moines, and they’d caught it quick. Otherwise, the damage would have been much, much worse.

Now, Adrian had to observe on the monitors in a nearby room that he’d had Ops set up for him. Tom didn’t know about them, and Adrian felt a little guilt about that, but not as much as he would’ve had he not kept up on his husband’s progress.

Tom wasn’t the man he’d married all those years ago. Some of the brightness, some of whatever spark he had in him had dimmed a bit. He was different now, slower, not as quick to laugh or joke. But Adrian still loved him and had no intention of doing anything but being by his side.

“Just one more set, Tom,” the med-tech said, and Tom grunted. This exercise—leg extensions—was particularly brutal for him, since most of the damage from being hit by the truck had been to his upper legs and back.

To Tom’s credit, he fought through the pain and finished the set. The med-tech looked at her watch and smiled. “That’s it for today, Tom. You’ve made great progress.”

Adrian smiled too as he walked out of the small storage room and around the counter to pick up his husband. Tonight marked three months of physical therapy, and they had plans to celebrate. A restaurant had opened in Angel Fire, and they’d been invited as guests of honor. He kept up the smile as he walked into the medical bay.

“I’m thinking about the roast quail,” he said to Tom as he leaned down to squeeze his hand and plant a quick kiss on the top of his head. “What about you?”

“Steak,” Tom said, and Adrian laughed as his better half licked his lips. “Steak and potatoes and wine and…”

“All right, all right, let’s get you showered first, okay?” Adrian helped Tom into his wheelchair and looked over at the tech. “Thanks. He good to go?”

She smiled at them both. “As good as I’ve seen him, Captain. He’ll be out of here in no time.”

Adrian grinned and pushed the wheelchair out the door.

“Steak it is.”

Anderson Farm
Austin Free Zone

The sound of the horses’ hooves never ceased to soothe Rachel’s nerves. Artax was a bay quarter horse, bred by the first horse farm to start up after the Free Zone was declared. He was one of the biggest, at just over seventeen hands, and Rachel and her husband often sent him out to stud. To her, he was sweet, smart, and beautiful. He was also protective, a fact her husband never let her forget after the bite he’d received. She’d tried to tell him it was just a playful nip, but Donald had never come near that horse again. She couldn’t really blame him.

The wind blew through her long hair, and as she closed her eyes, she trusted in the trotting horse to lead her safely home. She didn’t get the chance to take him out as much as she wanted anymore, but whenever she could, she let the rhythms and sounds of riding ease her tensions.

Donald was waiting for her when she returned to the barn. A glass of water in one hand and a satphone in the other, he waited until she’d dismounted and taken care of Artax before approaching.

“How was your ride?” he asked as he handed her the water and gave her a quick kiss.

“Fantastic.” The water was cold, so it hurt a little to drink the whole thing, but she gulped it down. “What’s with the phone?”

“Davison called while you were out. Said Harkness called again about walkers up near his place. And Gallows wanted to talk about moving the wall out another mile.”

“Well, we haven’t seen a walker come anywhere near the wall in over seven months. My Hunters have cleared everything for another two miles beyond it. We could use the room. Why not?” She sighed. “Harkness, again? How many times is he gonna call before we finally stop listening? Or take away his phone?”

Donald shook his head. “You know we can’t do that,” he said with a chuckle. “As much as I might want to.”

Rachel pointed a finger at him. “Look, Mr. Deputy Mayor, I happen to know just how many resources we’re wasting every time that asshole calls us because he ‘saw something moving in the trees.’ One day, we’re going to let him get eaten for real, and then we won’t have to worry about it.”

Donald laughed and pulled her close to him. “Don’t you point that finger at me, Captain Anderson.”

Rachel grinned. “What are you going to do abou—” She was cut off as Donald kissed her, and she spent the next few minutes forgetting the world around her. When she came back to her senses, the phone was ringing in the dirt where Donald had dropped it, and Artax nuzzled it.

“No, Artax!” she yelled. She broke free of Donald’s embrace and snatched the phone before the horse could take off with it like he had the last one.

“I don’t know which I hate more,” she heard Donald mutter behind her, and she smiled. “The damn phone or the damn horse.”

“Rachel Maxw—uh, Anderson,” she said as she answered the phone, not looking at her husband. She would get used to her new name… eventually.