Night Beyond The Night (9 page)

As one might expect, guards tended the entrance of the enclosure. Although they didn’t have gates blocking the way, ready to be raised if those who approached were deemed worthy, it was clear that permission needed to be gained before entering.

But before anyone spoke, Geoff pushed his way forward. “It’s us. Let us in.”

“Geoff Pinglett? Linda Royce?” One of the men standing guard obviously recognized them, and with undisguised relief and delight. “You’re back! Grady!
Grady!
They’re back! They’re here!”

Everything happened very quickly after that. The next thing Elliott knew, his group was welcomed in amid shouts and exclamations of joy. Apparently, some of the teens’ parents, led by a fellow named Grady, had just returned from a search trip of their own, seeking the shelter of the walls when darkness fell. The reunion was joyous and raucous, filled with embraces and cries of delight, but Elliott knew admonishments would follow in the privacy of their homes. But for now, everyone seemed happy and relieved.

“They saved us,” Linda, the one who reminded Elliott of his niece Josie, was saying. She looked worshipfully up at him from the safe embrace of her mother, her broken arm tucked protectively against her chest. “From the
gangas
. And they brought us back.”

“Thank God,” said one of the mothers, tears glistening in her eyes, and a father reached out to clasp Elliott’s hand, shaking it firmly.

“We’re greatly in your debt,” another parent said, as Elliott, Wyatt, Quent, Simon, and Fence were urged beyond the entrance and into the safety of a well-lit city—no questions asked. Not even their names.

Yet the gates and guards left Elliott to wonder uncomfortably whether they’d have gained entrance if it had only been the five of them and if they had not done anything to render themselves heroes.

But why would they not? The walls and gates were to keep the
gangas
and wild animals out, not people.

Unless they were also meant to keep people
in
.

Elliott shoved away the dark thought. There was no reason to think that. But he would keep his eyes and ears open, and pay attention to their surroundings. He still didn’t fully understand this world—how it worked, who lived here, why it had all happened, and what the Change meant to society.

Nevertheless, Elliott tried to absorb every detail as a group of ecstatic parents escorted them down a very different Strip than the one he’d visited once with a bunch of ski buddies. He avoided the cracks and buckles in the sidewalk and the avenue itself, noticing that there wasn’t as much natural growth here in this inhabited area as in other abandoned cities that had little or no population. Obviously, the presence of man had kept Mother Nature in check.

He saw people too. More people than they’d seen in any one place—and more than they’d seen in total—since coming out of that cave. How many people lived in Envy? A couple thousand? The other settlements they’d found had consisted of forty or fifty people at most, some with only a dozen or so. Envy was definitely the bastion of civilization.

As they walked, Geoff slipped away from his parents and sidled up to Elliott. “Dude . . . don’t mention Jade, okay?” he said in a low voice.

Elliott read concern in the boy’s eyes and didn’t hesitate. “I won’t.” Of course he wanted to know why, but this wasn’t the time or the place to interrogate the boy.

Hm. Well, at least Jade was known here in Envy. Which meant that he might just see her here.

The thought lightened his step and caused him to look around even more closely, as if he might catch a glimpse of her.

They hadn’t gone far from the main gate of the city before they veered off their path toward the damaged Statue of Liberty, and turned down a walkway onto the Vegas version of the Brooklyn Bridge. The copy of the New York skyline was no longer intact, though parts of it remained erratic and dark, looming above their path. Obvious care had been taken to maintain what parts of the resort remained.

Beginning to feel more and more like an errant knight seeking entrance to a medieval keep and being ushered in by a man-at-arms, Elliott glanced at Wyatt. Their eyes met, and he read the same alertness there. Elliott had a knife in his belt, and he felt his hand straying toward the leather sheath.

But once inside, instead of being confronted by a dais sporting some sort of enthroned ruler, they found themselves in nothing more than a functioning restaurant.

The smell of food, cooked food,
real
cooked food, had their eyebrows rising and mouths watering.

“Is that steak?” murmured Quent. “I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

The next thing they knew, they were seated at a table in the middle of the room and food, drink, and rambunctious gratitude for saving the teens were pressed upon them. Names and faces blurred in upon each other, interspersed with tears and reprimands from parent to wayward teen.

Elliott looked up and caught Fence’s eye. The other man grinned and began to whistle the
Cheers
theme under his breath. It did feel as though everyone knew their names—or at least, everyone else’s names. And the atmosphere was one of congeniality and familiarity.

Elliott thought this might be what it had been like in small towns before the Change, where the central gathering place revolved around food and comfort. And perhaps that instinct of people, to gather together to eat and gossip, to have a hub for social outlet, had been a saving force in this new world.

Perhaps later, specific names and faces and people would separate from this whirlwind, and there might be something resembling real conversation—and some of the answers they needed to have—but for now, it wasn’t worth fighting. They were fed, and safe, and as comfortable as they’d been since leaving Sedona.

Maybe he’d even sleep in a real bed tonight.

Quent had indeed smelled steak—real beef, not the venison they’d had a few times—and along with that were potatoes and tomatoes, oranges, apples, and even beer. And not Budweiser or anything else in a can that might have survived the calamity, but a home brew.

And a damned good one too. Heavy and dark and nutty.

As they ate, feeling somewhat as if they were in a fishbowl—but the food was too welcome for them to care—Elliott observed the people. These residents of Envy. He noticed that hardly any were overweight, most were younger than forty, and there were a lot more crooked teeth and overbites than he was used to seeing. And there were so many pregnant women the restaurant looked like an ob/gyn waiting room.

There was, to his disappointment, no sign of Jade.

And there was also no one who looked older than fifty. No one who would have been here when the Change happened.

No one who could help them understand what had happened between the time they entered that cave and the time they came back out.

Elliott asked Geoff’s father, who was sitting next to him drinking a beer, whether there was anyone old enough to remember the Change.

Sam Pinglett shrugged. “Not really. Not anymore. There’s an old man named Lou Waxnicki, but he’s a little . . . off. Guess I would be too if I’d lived through something like that.” He gave an uneasy laugh. “Technically, he was around then, but I’m not sure how much of what he remembers is real and what isn’t, you know. Only other person I ever talked to who was around died three years ago.”

“Where would I find Waxnicki?” Elliott asked, meeting Wyatt’s glance.

Sam shrugged again. “Have no idea. He keeps to himself, comes out for a meal once a day, I guess. Usually I’m busy working, don’t see him much.”

“Working? What do you do?”

“Help keep the power supply running. Electricity.”

Elliott nodded, trying, and failing, to imagine going “off to work” in this strange world. How did one make a living? “From the Hoover Dam?”

“Naw. That failed ’bout twenty years ago, I guess. We get most of our power from wind and water. Some solar. A bunch of different things they set up years ago, and we just keep ’em running. Say, why don’t we go on over to The Pub for a drink? Sometimes we got some entertainment there too. At least the waitresses are cute.” He glanced over to see if his wife had noticed. She was petting Geoff’s cowlick, which appeared to be a losing battle. Sam looked back at Elliott with an abashed smile, but before he could repeat his invitation, his wife stood.

“I think it’s time we went up and had a family chat,” she said meaningfully. “You too, Sam.” Maybe she
had
heard his comment. Or maybe it was just time to lower the boom on Geoff for his little stunt.

“Nice meeting you. And thanks again,” Sam said as he stood. “Pub’s down that direction if you guys want to head there anyways.”

“Did I hear someone mention a pub? Getting pissed sounds like a great idea,” Quent said, standing. “Since no one’s got to stand guard for
gangas
tonight, and they’re giving us real beds, I say we all go for it.”

Sure. What the hell else were they going to do?

The five of them stood, and one of the other parents offered to show them the way to The Pub. As they followed him from the restaurant and down a wide corridor, Elliott noticed a neat sign on the wall by the door.
Tonight’s Feature: The Bourne Supremacy
.

Huh. A bit of normalcy in this fucked-up world.

He thought about how the setting of that movie must seem so foreign, so outlandish to the people of Envy. Cars, planes, cell phones, huge cities with millions of people . . .

The reality staggered him as he recognized once again that that world—the world he knew—existed no longer.

God. How? Why?

He swallowed hard.
Get a fucking grip. You’re alive
.

And you’re a doctor. A fucking healer
.

Think what you can do for these people
.

If you don’t kill them by accident
.

Elliott took a deep breath. Yes. He could make a difference. Save lives. Be a miracle worker. If he could figure out how to use his power . . . and if he didn’t lose his damned mind first.

Why would he be given a gift that he couldn’t use? A gift that only taunted him?
Why, dammit?

He blinked, shook his head to clear it, and realized he’d lagged behind.

“Yo, Dred, you coming? There’s entertainment,” said Fence. “Sounds good too.”

Elliott heard it then . . . music. And a low, smoky Sarah Vaughan voice. He might have walked right past if he hadn’t caught a phrase of the lyrics . . . something about a man waking to find he had no one.

That sounded just about right. He’d awakened to find he had no one. And nothing.

Talk about hitting a guy right where it hurt.

He followed the others in, glancing toward the stage automatically to see what the woman who sang like that looked like. The bottom fairly dropped out of his belly. Jade. Up there. Singing.

Not sure whether he should be elated or simply shocked, he managed to keep walking, suddenly a ridiculous, pubescent bundle of hormones.

Here she was, just as he’d hoped . . . but not exactly what he’d expected. Standing there up on a stage, dressed in a low-cut, shiny dark red shirt, accompanied by a single keyboard player. She looked long and lean and confident, her dark hair glowing mahogany from the lights, her eyes dark and smoky. Her lips full and glistening, the cuts and scrapes unnoticeable.

Christ, were his palms sweating?

“Is that Jade?” Fence muttered in his ear. “Man, she musta ridden like a mother to get here before us. And what a voice.”

What a voice, indeed. She sounded like sex and promises.

Elliott moved into the club, felt Quent and Fence behind him, and selected a table off to the side. Off to the side, but where she could see him when she looked over.

For a moment, he felt as if everything were normal. He sat with two of his buddies, he ordered a beer from a server who approached, he looked up and saw a beautiful woman singing in a bedroom voice. And he hoped like hell she’d be leaving with him.

And then reality, the bastard, reared its monstrous head. The beer was placed before him, and he realized he had nothing to pay with. He had no idea
how
to pay, even.

Unpleasant shock settled over him as he reached for the wallet that had been—fifty years ago—in his back pocket. Oh, he still had it, tucked away with his other belongings, but it held nothing but worthless credit and debit cards. Maybe a crinkled bill or two—would they take that? Probably a long-expired condom, which was no doubt as brittle as the smile that he knew was on his face.

“Don’t worry about it,” the server said. As she told them her name was Trixie, her sloe eyes lingered on his face. “You’re heroes . . . it’s on the house, according to Mayor Rogan.” She smiled, then walked away.

Okay. Good. But. . . .

What
did
they use for money now? Regular U.S. currency? It wasn’t that much of a long shot—since they were in Las Vegas, there had to have been a supply of cash somewhere. But how would they have divvied it all up among the survivors? Did it even mean anything anymore? After all, there was no backing by the full faith and credit of the U.S. government.

Because it was clear the U.S. government no longer existed.

Elliott took a long drink from the beer mug, glad that Trixie had left even though it was obvious she’d have liked a reason to loiter, glad to have something cool and smooth going down his throat that might just give him a bit of a buzz.

The song was ending, Jade’s voice, sultry and clear as she finished the ballad about a lover who should have come over, about a tear hanging in someone’s soul. He watched as she reached out, stepped near the edge of the stage and gestured to a rangy-looking man sitting there, front and fucking center.

What passed between Jade and the man in that moment was little more than an exchange of glances, a brief flutter of her fingers over the shiny red blouse, a nod . . . but there was no misreading it. The familiarity, the connection. The intimacy.

Well, didn’t that just suck.

And then as the last notes from the keyboard filtered away, she released the mike and stepped offstage to join the guy, who looked like a Marlboro Man wannabe.