Breathless - Swarm Book 2: (An Epic Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller), page 40
Mary laughed. “I don’t think he’ll cause any more problems. Will you, dear leader?” She laughed again, then kissed David.
Émile waited for David to exit the café. “I’m a good man, Mary. I only wanted to look out for my people. I never wanted to divide or cause harm.”
“Émile, I’ve known you a long time. I know why you did it. Why you attacked us. You have this vision of yourself as a benevolent dictator trying to protect everyone. Your heart is in the right place, but you keep going about it all wrong. When that poor boy, Mark, finished off two freeze-dried meals and a can of peaches without so much as taking a breath between bites, I realized that your plan had been to try and get him some food. And that David had taken over the railway car making it impossible. Or at least seem impossible.” She placed a handful of seasoning jars on the counter. “Why you didn’t just ask for some instead of sending in your people like it was Omaha Beach and climbing over the roof and attacking like a ridiculous commando, I’ll never know.”
Émile opened his mouth, and she waggled her finger at him. “I’m sure there was some ulterior motive for your little attempted coup d'état. It was pretty obvious you couldn’t stand to see David in charge. You’ve always been threatened by him.” Mary came around to the other side of the counter and unplugged the panini press that was there and the induction cook top set. “Shall we collect some supplies?”
With his good hand, Émile flipped the top of the press. It was like the rest of the store. Spotless. Mary added several pans and spatulas to the pile of hardware, as well as cooking oil and other odds and ends. She took what supplies she could, then turned to go. “I know you’re always fighting some demon from your past, Émile. We all have at least one. But some of us conquer them. Or at least learn to live with them. Figure that out, and maybe you’ll be able to be the man you so desperately want to be. Now get that box for me, will you.” She nodded behind him.
With the pilfered supplies from the café, the pair headed to the train. Mary’s words stung, and Émile couldn’t get them out of his head. She was dead on target about his inner demons. He did need to get them under control. But how? And when? They met David and Kevin at the boxcar. David took the supplies from Mary first and Kevin from Émile, piling them in with the rest of the goods the crew had scavenged. He closed and locked the door, then motioned for Émile. Timid and wary, Émile shuffled over.
Kevin grabbed Émile’s left arm and David latched onto his dislocated right side. David grinned. Émile shuddered. Oh shit, they’re going to dismember me. Émile jerked his left arm, hoping Kevin would lose his hold, but just like the back slap from what seemed like so long ago, Kevin proved his strength by holding Émile in a vice-like grip. There was no way he was breaking free. Suddenly the world stopped. A nuclear explosion of pain started at the center of his dislocated shoulder and radiated out toward his extremities, igniting all his nerves. His body felt like it had spontaneously combusted and the world gone dark.
When he came to, David, Mary, and Kevin were peering down at him like some sort of strange animal.
David swatted Kevin’s arm. “See, I didn’t kill him.”
“I’ll be damned if you didn’t. His shoulder popped back into position just like you said it would.”
Émile reached behind him. Yup. Gravel. He was on the ground. At least his shoulder pain had gone from an eleven to about a three.
Kevin helped Émile stand. “Yeah well,” he said to David, “let’s get his ribs wrapped or else your good deed will have been for nothing.”
Émile wobbled as he was led to the engine and sat on the stairs. “What good deed?”
Kevin wrapped Émile’s chest with a gauze bandage. The more ribs that were covered, the tighter his chest got, and the more the pain disappeared. When he finished, the engineer went into the cab. Mary watched Kevin go, then turned to Émile. “My husband thought that in order for you to be useful, he’d put your shoulder back together. It was his way of inflicting more pain while doing something helpful.”
Émile rubbed the dressing and flexed, testing his mobility. Yes, the pain had lessened. The level was at a two. “If it weren’t for me, none of us would be in this mess.”
“You’ll get no argument from me on that one.”
Kevin took two steps out of the cab and knelt down, motioning for the two to come closer. “We need fuel or we’re not getting to Phoenix.”
Émile squinted down the tracks. “I thought David was helping you fill up.”
The engineer hopped down to the gravel and ushered them halfway down the engine to a black cylindrical tank bolted underneath the train. He patted its side. “Hear that? Almost empty. We’ve traveled five hundred miles and were supposed to have filled up before we left the port. The cicadas didn't give us the time to.”
Émile stared at the train, then turned to the engine opposite them. The blue beast had a gas tank half the size of the engine that had brought them from Redwood City. It wasn’t going to be enough diesel to top their tanks off, but it was something. He walked to the blue locomotive and knocked on the gas tank. It rang hollow. Dammit. Dusting off a metal cap he found on the ground, he located the notch at the entry port where the tank would be filled with gas. Someone had siphoned off the diesel.
When he looked back, Mary and Kevin were shaking their heads. He raised his shoulders and winced. “What?”
Mary glanced at Kevin and then back at Émile. “Do you want to tell him, or should I?” Kevin disappeared into the cab. Mary crossed her arms. “That was the second place they looked after checking the station’s pumps. Everything is empty. Mary pointed north toward a locomotive sitting by itself about two football fields away. David went to check that other engine.”
“When did you find this out? You’ve been with me the whole time.”
She laughed. “You know how much information can be relayed in a couple of minutes? They told me while you were out cold on the ground.”
Émile walked away, cheeks flushed and hands sweaty, embarrassed because he’d passed out in front of people, because they didn’t have the proper amount of fuel, and the fact that he’d lost more than half of the workers at the port. He climbed onto the platform and wandered into the parking lot, mumbling to a passing dockworker as he went. “I’m going to check the cars for diesel.”
A handful of vehicles were parked at the station, but their gas tank doors were open and the plastic gas caps lay on the pavement. They all ran on unleaded anyway. Most of the cars had broken windows. He kicked at tires and tested door handles as he kept an eye on the horizon. Whoever siphoned the gas from the train must’ve thought it great sport to destroy whatever they could and might come back.
Following the trail of damage, he saw his first glimmer of hope—a Ford half-ton covered with dings and scrapes. One tire had been replaced with a spare, and the tailgate was missing, but the gas tank hadn’t been messed with. He swept the seat clean of broken glass and took a seat. There was no key in the ignition and he had no clue how to hot-wire anything. Strike one. The glove box was empty. Strike two. Sitting in the pickup, surveying the damage on the asphalt, his eyes settled on the café. The café should have been ransacked as well, but it hadn’t been touched.
Determined to find out why the store was still intact, he entered and walked its inside perimeter. As the sun glinted off the glass refrigerator doors, he jumped at his reflection. He didn’t recognize his own face. It was dirty and bruised, with sunken eyes and cheekbones.
As he neared the improvised mirror, admiring his new edgy style in the reflection, another head appeared over his shoulder. There was someone behind him. He reached for his belt, but the hammers were gone. Click click. Strike three.
Chapter 40
DR KEIKO SATO. BRECKENRIDGE TO EL PASO
Keiko arrived at the chairlift terminal with Maiko. She tilted her watch to wash away the reflected colors of early dawn. 5:34. Netsy lagged behind, staggering and slipping. Christopher and Raoul were due in three minutes, assuming they had survived the three a.m. descent into a blacked-out, corpse-stuffed, cicada-infested Breckenridge.
“Don’t be late”—that was the last thing Christopher had said to her before he left to go down the mountain.
“Lady, we will meet soon, wish us luck,” Raoul had said with a bow.
Then the men had left, two diminishing silhouettes punched out of the deep indigo sky, and Keiko and the kids had started their trek an hour later, hiking down the scree, past the horror-show of blood-drenched bodies scattered beneath the chair lifts. She’d slipped, torn up her hands, but they’d made it. They’d survived. But if Christopher didn't show? There was no back up plan.
Headlights appeared and flicked back and forth between high and low beams as the SUV parked. Keiko squinted. Something didn’t smell right. It looked like Christopher’s SUV, but the headlights—the way they spasmed between state—Christopher was too laid back for all of that.
Keiko turned her back to the SUV. “Go wait on the other side of the building. Stay there until I tell you to come out.” She drew her SIG from the holster below her arm, keeping the gun hidden behind her hip. She turned around to the SUV.
Her disadvantage was clear. Whoever was in the vehicle had a clear, well-lit view of her, but all she saw were flickering, blinding lights and the SUV’s dim outline. She sidestepped out of the direct beam of light.
The driver’s door opened. A man stepped out. “Keiko?”
“Christopher?” She holstered the gun with as much stealth as possible, easing into the physical release of tension and the realization that it had been a looong time since she’d been glad to see her ex.
Christopher didn’t look glad to see her, though. He looked insane, scowling and blinking several times—hard—but making no other movement. She took a step back.
Christopher blinked again—several times in a row, squinching his eyes, glaring at her, then blinking again. Something was 100% not right.
A massive human emerged from the passenger door—a human far too broad to be Raoul. He stepped around Christopher. Keiko grimaced. It was the guy who’d thrown her out of her lab in Boulder. One of Bryce Matreus’ thugs.
The man drew his gun and pointed it at her. “I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but enough.” The thug waved her toward the SUV with his gun. “Move it, sunshine.”
Christopher cocked his head and stared at her as she passed him. “What’s wrong with you?” he hissed. “Why didn’t you run?”
“You could have said something,” she whispered. “What was with all the weird eye blinks?”
Christopher followed, continuing the conversation in a hushed voice. “I distinctly remember teaching you Morse code.”
“Is that what that was? I thought you were having seizures.”
“It was SOS.”
She drew her cardigan close and crossed her hands over her front.
The thug grabbed her elbow and pinched hard. Excruciating, sharp pain twisted her around. “Sorry about that radial nerve, sunshine. I know how much it hurts. Now give me the weapon.”
With her free hand, Keiko drew the SIG, fantasizing about a Tarantinoesque shootout with blood erupting from shredded torsos while surf music played. Her stomach sank as she handed the weapon to the thug, who popped the mag out and tossed the gun onto the SUV’s center console next to what looked like Christopher’s M45 MEUSOC.
The thug spun her around to face him. “You move, she dies,” he said to Christopher. This was it. She braced herself for the beating—or the bullet—that was coming.
The thug raised her chin with a finger until their eyes met. “Where’s the black girl, sunshine?”
You mean the bravest person I’ve ever met, the one limping down the mountain? She repressed the smirk threatening to turn up the corners of her lips. She was not going to out Netsy. “What black girl?”
A shock of pain raced from her gut to her brain, shearing every nerve along the way. Everything went black. She doubled over, retching and wheezing. She couldn’t breathe. There was no air no matter how hard she gasped. The thug grabbed her shoulders and slammed her against the SUV. Another shock of pain coursed through her as her head banged against the metal.
Someone roared. There was a sickening thud and a rattle. The thug was on the ground. Christopher pulled at her hands. “C’mon, let’s go!”
But movement was impossible. She couldn’t move, and before she could say so, cold metal clicked.
“Easy, now, jarhead.” This wasn’t Gut Punch. “You’re 90% expendable at this point. Let’s not go hog wild and push it to 100%.” Jacob Horowitz? Of all the rotten ways this night could have turned out. He must’ve been in the back of the SUV.
Keiko rubbed the throbbing at the back of her skull. “Horowitz,” she wheezed. “I should never have let you into my lab.”
Jacob made a face, part grin, part sneer. “Surprise, surprise!’ He waved his free hand in the air like a magician. With the other he kept the gun trained on Christopher. “The fun never stops for us, does it, Sato?”
For the third time, a savage jolt of pain ripped through Keiko. The entire left side of her face felt like it had just been smashed by a truck. She staggered and fell hard on the gravel parking lot. Tears obscured her vision.
“It was never your lab to begin with. But do feel free to ask for a reminder whenever your widdle bwain might forget. As you can imagine, the pleasure to remind you is always mine.”
Gut Punch hauled himself to his feet and rubbed his jaw. He looked Christopher up and down, then drove his handgun into Christopher’s gut. He fired twice, the sound muffled by Christopher’s body. Keiko screamed. Christopher collapsed. Jacob disappeared around the SUV and Gut Punch grabbed Keiko by the hair and hoisted her to her feet.
“You killed my husband!”
“Well, not yet. But give him a few minutes, then yes, he’ll be dead. Now, I’ll ask one more time, sunshine. Where’s the black girl?
There was no reason to play dumb. Gut Punch knew she knew about Netsy. The best she could do was buy Netsy time to see what was going on and run the other way.
Keiko stared at Christopher’s motionless body. “You mean the young woman who shot that jerkoff in Boulder?”
Gut Punch pinched down on the nerve in her elbow again and wrenched her around to face the SUV’s open door. “I see we’re finally parlez-vousing the same language. Yes,” then added in a mocking tone, “the black girl with the black eye and the jacked-up ear. She’s an armed enemy asset. It’s our protocol to identify, locate, and liquidate such assets.”
“She’s a babysitter, for god’s sake!”
The thug spun her and backhanded her across the face, exactly where Jacob had hit her. For the third time the world went black. She tasted the salty iron of blood in her mouth. “I don’t know where she is.” This much was true. Netsy was limping behind with Maiko. She could be anywhere on the mountain. She might not even be close to the chairlift terminal. “She didn’t come here with us. She stayed with her family in Boulder. She’s still there as far as I know.” Shit. Jacob was there when Netsy returned to the lab after finding her family murdered. He would know that was a lie. But maybe he’d forgotten…
Jacob’s voice came over the top of the SUV. “She’s lying, Stuart.” Dammit, he hadn’t forgotten. “The sitter’s family was zipped up in body bags on the front lawn the last time she saw them. But forget her. Sato’s the one the boss wants. We can demonstrate the repercussions of needless prevarication while we drive.”
Gut Punch leered at Keiko. “This’ll be fun.” He grabbed her arms and heaved her onto the far end of the bench seat behind Jacob. Jacob started the SUV and pulled away.
“You’re just going to leave Christopher there?”
Jacob sighed. “No one dealing with Cicadageddon is going to notice one dead guy at a ski lift. So unclench yourself, sister.”
Keiko watched the chairlift terminal recede, hoping against hope that they’d all survive whatever horrors Breckenridge would reveal when full daylight came. She promised herself she’d get back to Breckenridge and get Maiko safely to El Paso. She wouldn’t abandon her little girl the way she’d abandoned everyone else—her colleagues, her husband, herself. Maiko was stuck with her, and she was stuck with Maiko. Anyone who messed with her daughter would get the claws. Come hell or high water, she would not fail.
Somewhere along Highway 24 Jacob cursed and smashed his hand against the steering wheel. “Son of a…”
Gut Punch scooped up both guns from the console and set them in his lap. “What’s the matter?” He turned back in his seat and waggled his gun at Keiko’s face. The hair on her arms rose.
Jacob pounded the steering wheel again. “That idiot told me he filled the tank before we left, but he didn’t. We need gas.”
Gut Punch turned back around. A sign flashed past showing Colorado Springs was fifty-six miles away. “There’s a lot of places before we get to the Springs.”
“This pisses me off. Remind me to wring his neck when we get back.”
“Duly noted.” Gut Punch turned around in the seat to face Keiko again. “Your friends from Boulder are here too.”
“What friends?”
“That douchecanoe your babysitter executed?” She’d never thought of McCarty’s death as an execution, but it was. “His buddies are in Breckenridge. Seems they like you as much as I do.” He licked his lips. “Probably for the same reasons, too. You oughta be grateful you’re with us and not them. A, we’re gentle with our toys. B, with us you’ll have a quiet interview with Mr. Matreus, after which, C, things will proceed quickly and professionally and relatively painlessly. With them? Well, you know.” He let the inference hang in the air, worse than words, harsher than facts.
