After The Virus (15 page)

“I got that the first time you told me.” Will heard the growl in his voice; it was pretty permanent these days, but still, he didn’t like it. He always figured losing your temper, yelling, throwing things and punching people, meant you lost a bit of your power as well. Not that he’d never punched anyone. He just preferred to be cool-headed, so he knew he could think himself out of — not just into — a situation. ‘Course, now the more he thought, the deeper he got.
 

He’d mistakenly thought he could ignore the disintegration of society. Go it alone. Then from the moment he laid eyes, he didn’t need to share blood or vows with the girls to know he’d die — hell, even kill — to see them safe. He didn’t take the thought of killing lightly; wasn’t like he’d forgotten who he was, like so many seemed to since 99.9 percent of the world died. He’d been raised by the Ten Commandments; you didn’t need to be Christian to know it was a good set of rules to live by. Seven out of ten at least.

It was pretty damn obvious people paid no heed to those rules now, but with Snickers just a child, he thought she’d be precious to all. He’d maybe seen a dozen children, including the boy in Big’s group, since the plague, and he’d pretty much traveled all of North America.

Sure, some places he’d passed, he knew there were people. The ability to feel the sight of a rifle was pure instinct now. These Uncounted, who were too scared or just content alone, didn’t offer tea or join the group as it passed, but they were few and far apart. Most people ran out the moment they figured they’d found a safe haven. The few groups he’d followed weren’t killers, at least not indiscriminately.

Humans are social animals; at least that’s what the leader of the second to last group had said to him the day he’d parted ways with them. But being a nomad didn’t suit him. He wanted roots. He wanted to grow them himself.

He hadn’t counted on needing, wanting people too. Though obviously, Snickers and Rhiannon weren’t just any people. He hadn’t felt compelled to go to war for anyone else, not even himself. ‘Course, now that he thought about it, these tiny groups of Uncounted might have had something to protect, like he had Snickers and Rhiannon. Just like he’d turned away Big’s group that night, and would have rebuffed anyone who jeopardized him carving out a peaceful life with his girls.

He watched One Ear light another cigarette as the tense silence stretched between them. One Ear never talked unless prodded anymore. Will never did like doing all the talking, but he needed to know what to expect, what they were walking into, and One Ear was his only source.

As if absentminded, he touched the gun on his leg — he wore it strapped there like Rhiannon— and One Ear’s eyes darted to follow his gesture.

Farther up the road, the guys, Dale at the wheel, winched a car on the tow truck. He’d only cleared a few miles in this direction beforehand, but now the tank needed space, both lanes, so the tow truck drove point. They also had trucks, five in total, heaped with more guns than he’d ever seen in his life, even counting action films. Among the guns, they also carried cans of gas and diesel. He didn’t want to stop and siphon fuel if he could help it.

One Ear ground out his unfinished cigarette and lit another.

“Will they kill her then, if she’s of no use?” Will finally just asked One Ear outright.

One Ear watched him out of the corner of his eye, and seemed to be calculating his response. He nervously flicked the cigarette away. “Nah… no point. They’d have a hard time controlling the bait, if they did, wouldn’t they? And the Boss will take her as bait, that he will, but on his own terms, whatever they’ll be.”

“Alive, then?” Will double-checked.

“And kicking,” One Ear snorted, but not in an amused way. “He always likes them alive, to begin at least.”

He got that One Ear was trying to needle him, but still couldn’t help bristling at the threat.
 

“Until what?” he growled. “He likes them alive until?”

“Till they don’t give him what he wants; till they don’t spark, as he calls it. He’s repopulating the world, just him, just his seed. Except…” One Ear trailed off and fumbled with his cigarette pack, which being empty, didn’t offer any distraction. Before this, One Ear had never spoken against his Boss.

“Except…” Will prompted, getting a bit fed up. Conversation should be easy, though this was more of a constant interrogation, he supposed.

“Except,” One Ear continued, “Except no one ever has, with him. There, ah… some of the others have… have contributed without him knowing… to save specific women, ‘cause once they’re knocked up, he ignores ‘em, but it’s risky. Men have died for it.”

“He kills all the women he can’t impregnate?” Will didn’t really need clarification, but asked for it anyway.

One Ear nodded an affirmation.

“And he has never successfully impregnated any woman?”

Again, though he couldn’t maintain eye contact, One Ear nodded confirmation.

“How many women has he… has he killed? How many women have you captured and allowed him to kill?”

One Ear responded with that shrug again.

He was beginning to really loathe shrugs.
What kind of answer was a shrug, anyway? What the hell did it even mean?
 

One Ear stumbled back from what he saw grimaced across Will’s face.
 

“He… he… she… she… she’s a prize, he won’t kill her,” One Ear stuttered.

“What about all the other women?” Will was roaring, and nothing about yelling made him feel like he was losing any power over the situation. One Ear actually cowered at the side of the road.
 

The constant beeping of the tow truck was overridden by the blood rush in his ears. He rode the rage of his frustration: his inability to fix all, to move this ragtag army at pace and, always nagging, his fear for the girls. Tension ripped across his face. He glared at this cowering pile of weakness before him, this soulless piece of dirt, a man by dick only. A man who barely deserved the oxygen he stripped from the atmosphere; oxygen he poisoned just by breathing —
 

The crunch of gravel announced Big’s presence. In fact, all work clearing the road seemed to have stopped to watch him with One Ear.

He was pleased to note he hadn’t pulled his gun, and when he looked from One Ear to Big’s grinning face, he felt he’d passed some test. He wasn’t some rabid killer; he wasn’t changing into the man he felt haunting his every choice. He’d do what was needed, but not needlessly.

Big gave One Ear a nudge with the toe of his boot. One Ear, in his unbalanced cower, tipped right over and took the tension with his fall.

B.B., who never left Will’s side these days as if afraid of losing him too, pounced on One Ear, ready to tear his throat out, but playfully.

“We need to move faster, Big,” Will complained, not for the first time. But Big, as always, was patient on this point.

“I know, Tex. I know.”

One Ear twisted away from B.B., whose growl rippled like laughter. He scrambled to right his dignity, of which there wasn’t much to regain.

Rav, one of the many men with them on this strike, who liked to wear multiple ties, lured One Ear away with a fresh pack of cigarettes.

“It’s my turn in the tow truck,” Will offered as terse explanation before he headed off without waiting for Big. “We’ll be at the tunnel tomorrow if we work straight through.”

They all had, in fact, worked in shifts every day since he’d lost the girls. He found he could get by on two hours sleep no problem. He hadn’t heard one complaint, and not just because they treated him with deference, but also because they wanted something they could fight. They’d lost to the plague without even attempting to mount a defense; at least he didn’t know if the governments ever managed any. They’d lost wives, children, everyone. You couldn’t shield a loved one from a virus, or pummel it with your fists, or even reason with it.

It wasn’t natural for a man to just sit and let trouble stride through his door. A man needed to be in action; otherwise, he wasn’t a man.

The world had measured him by how far he could throw a ball, or run, or degrees he could get, but now he wielded a different ruler. And anyone who didn’t measure up wasn’t going to make the cut. That wasn’t just his decision; they were unanimous in their support.

If order was achieved though dictatorship in this world, it was going to be his for a while; and thank God, he now knew he’d be benevolent.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

RHIANNON

She checked her reflection in comparison to the cover shot in the mirror.

“Mandy,” she snapped, “this lipstick isn’t the right shade!” Mandy double tripped in her effort to cross to her side.

“I… I… It was the nearest match I could find.”

“Mix something,” she demanded. “I thought you said he’d only accept his ideal of me?” She had her signature sneer back in place.
 

“Y-yes, y-you heard right.” Mandy butterfingered the lipstick tubes.

She locked eyes with Grunt in the mirror; he hadn’t stopped staring since she put on the dress.

“If you’re going to force me to do this… I’ll do it my way… as close to perfection as I can get. Snickers doesn’t need any amateur effort.” Rhiannon directed that last sneer at Mandy. She felt back in charge and on solid ground. Well, as solid as one could feel in a room full of people who were about to sacrifice you.

She could see the thoughts flitting across their faces, especially the Doctor’s: better her than me, than my mother or daughter or… but the big flaw in that logic was that no one had mothers or daughters to defend anymore, so what made her and Snickers so easily sacrificial?

Yes, women were being exploited here, so save them, heal them, get out of town — the world was a big empty place — take over your own city.

Anyway, it was stupid of her to spend any brain matter on untangling their logic. Rational reasoning wasn’t high on their to-do list.

“You’ll take me to the place we last saw Snickers,” she demanded again.

“We already said that, Rhiannon.” Mandy was getting testy.

“I’m ready now.” She turned to stride to the door. Grunt woke out of his staring stupor.

“Wait, tracking devices.” Grunt nodded to Shriller.

“You… you don’t even know where to find this Boss guy?” Rhiannon’s belly bottomed. Snickers was on the block and they hadn’t even figured out their entry plan.

“Told you, nobody ever sees him except his inner circle,” Mandy reminded her. “And he doesn’t give a shit about them, no matter how many we kill.”
 

“Yeah, you didn’t actually mention that, Mandy. How do you even know he exists then?” Rhiannon didn’t fancy dying or losing Snickers for nothing.

“People talk.” Mandy shrugged, and tested a shade of lipstick.

Shriller kept trying to slip his hand and some device up Rhiannon’s skirt. She batted him away.

“Not there,” she snapped. “If he’s the romantic you make him out as, the garter is the first thing he’ll go for; with his teeth, probably.”
 

Shriller looked to Grunt, who seemed be thinking; it looked like hard work for him, so she turned to Mandy for more answers.

“Talk doesn’t make a person real,” she prompted.

“No?” Mandy retorted sweetly, with a raised eyebrow. Good point. Celebrity was all talk.

“Sew it in the dress,” Grunt finally offered.

“No! No! You’ll ruin it.” Mandy practically shrieked, causing Shriller to back off.

Who the fuck was in charge here?
Rhiannon didn’t like being trapped in some power struggle, ever — same as not mucking in the middle of a marriage.

“She’s got to have more than one on her, Mandy.” Grunt was running out of patience for all this girly shit.

“But, Dean, babe,” Mandy cooed. “On this dress it’ll stand out like a lump, anywhere. What about her shoe, can you tape it to the bottom?” Mandy fluttered her eyelashes.

Seeing this misuse of female power made Rhiannon a bit gaggy. Some women didn’t get that you chose your battles and you made them mean something. You didn’t just give it away every time you opened your mouth. Men weren’t that simple.

“Yeah, try the shoe.” Grunt gave in.
 

“Fuck, watch any movies lately? They’ll find it right away,” Rhiannon griped. “It’ll just tip them off.”

“That’s why you’ll swallow the other one.” Grunt bared his teeth in what she took to be some sort of flirty grin; like they were cohorts. She couldn’t totally hide the distaste she felt at this bonding attempt, which didn’t smooth anything with her and Mandy, who had hawk eyes. She tried to be pleasant, she really did — no — that was just a blatant lie.

“My stomach acid won’t work well with any tracking thing —”

“We tested it.” Grunt approached with an object in his pudgy fingers. She was surprised he had the motor skills to grasp something so small.

“It works for about an hour.” He held the chip, or whatever the fuck it was, close to her mouth. “And you’ll sure keep him occupied for a lot longer than that.”

Hmmm, a threat, but not really, because he spoke the truth; but he was trying to threaten, so he’d taken exception to her distaste as well. She opened her mouth as little as possible and attempted to keep edge out of her tone.

“What if it takes longer than an hour to get to him?”

Grunt paused, his hand at the back of her neck, and looked to Mandy, whose eyes were actually glittering at seeing Rhiannon physically threatened.

Man, these people were seriously fucked up.

Then he just grunted, grabbed her jaw, and shoved his stubby sausage fingers down her throat. She would have swallowed it, if asked nicely.

Afterward, she thought about throwing up on him, but she didn’t have anything in her stomach to project. Mandy had to fix her lipstick.

She figured Grunt redeemed himself in Mandy’s eyes with that show of brute force, and she wanted to get out of there before he got his reward.

She grabbed the clutch purse — she figured it probably held a tracking chip as well — and the shawl — for show, not warmth, and headed for the door. They seemed a little dumbfounded at her brisk movement, her willingness to get on with it, but what else was there to talk about? Or maybe they were expecting reprisal for the fingers in her throat bit? She was more interested in exacting revenge after she got Snickers.