The Last Peak (Book 2): The Darwin Collapse (25 page)

He rushed through their tiny living room. The futon couch that also served as his bed at night was in the upright position. He glanced at the kitchen to the left and there wasn't enough room to miss her. He ran into her bedroom and then into the single bathroom.

That's all there was. It wasn't like you could miss another person in less than five hundred square feet of space.

Elio sat on her bed as his shoulders crumpled forward. "She's not here. I should've come sooner." A hollow ache in his chest reminded him of the place where his heart had once lived.

"Maybe she left a note or something to tell you where she went."

Hope sparked in his chest once again. Maybe she wasn't gone forever. That single candle of burning possibility was everything. But he hesitated getting up from the bed to go check. Because what if there was no note? What if she really was gone forever?

He wanted to stay seated forever so that the possibility of seeing her again couldn't be extinguished.

As he set there paralyzed with hope and fear, a scream from outside the window jolted him to his feet.

“Help! Help me! Help!”

He jumped to the window and looked out at the street four floors below.

Halfway down the block, an overweight man wearing only one sneaker fled down the middle of the street. A short sleeve button up shirt clung to his shoulders and trailed out behind as he ran. The grubby white wifebeater stretched around his belly flopped up and down with the rhythmic motion of his legs pumping on the pavement.

“Help me!” he screamed as he ran.

Behind him, several deltas pursued. All men. They shouted meaningless gibberish, only the sounds didn't need to form words for the communication to be clear.

Theresa joined him by the window, and they watched in grim horror.

The deltas caught the doomed man less than twenty yards from Elio's apartment building. They pulled him down and attacked without hesitation. One bit into his neck and tore out a chunk of flesh. Blood spurted out and arced over splashing little puddles on the pavement.

“No! No!”

Another bite and the man’s struggling limbs went limp. His resistance weakened as the deltas began to devour him. They each took their share of the prize with a quiet cooperation that was unsettling.
 

Elio turned away and pulled Theresa with him as the beasts began to tear the body apart.

They hunted, killed, and ate human beings.

Elio realized they weren't zombies like you always read about. They weren't one giant, homogenous mass of flesh-eating idiots. They were smarter than that. The incident on the highway yesterday meant they had tribes or groups that stuck together and were willing to battle outsiders for resources.

They were like cavemen. Or monkeys or something.

Human, but not quite human.

Elio held his arm around Theresa’s shoulder as he walked them both back into the living room. "We couldn't have done anything for him."

Theresa stared at the floor in silence.

Elio squeezed her in a side hug. "Are you okay?"

She didn't blink. "They eat people."

He didn't know what to say. What could he say?

Yeah, no big deal. Or yeah, that's so messed up.

He didn't know what to think about it himself, and so he had nothing to offer for support. He was grateful to have his attention drawn away as he spotted a piece of paper on the kitchen counter with a can of his favorite soup, chunky clam chowder, anchoring it down. He picked it up.

"Theresa! Look!" He flapped the sheet of paper wildly in the air. "Come on!”

Theresa stared at him blankly, still overwhelmed at what they’d just seen.

Elio grabbed her hand and dragged her toward the door. "The note says my mom is on the third floor at Ms. Garcia’s!”

Hope once again flared in his chest. He raced down the hall dragging Theresa along. He took the stairs two at a time and got to Ms. Garcia’s door in record time. He pounded on it yelling for his mother, utterly oblivious to the danger so much noise created.

“Mama! It's me! Open the door!"

The door swung open and there she was. Looking skinnier and dirtier than he'd ever seen. But she was alive!

“Mijo," she said as he collapsed into her open arms.

When Elio finally stopped crying, his mother’s shirt was as soaked as his own. Part of him had never believed he would see her again. That the odds were too long and his hope a childish rejection of cold reality. Like closing his eyes would make the bad things disappear.

But she was alive!

She kissed his forehead and then turned away as another coughing spell quaked through her small frame. After it subsided, she drew the handkerchief away from her mouth. Bright red speckles dotted the white cloth.

He listened and finally tuned in to the rattling sound her lungs made as she breathed in and out. "Are you sick?"

Maria shook her head and smiled as if his concern for her was foolish. "I'll be fine, Mijo. Don't you worry about me."

Ms. Garcia brought a plate of saltines and hard cheese from the kitchen. "You are sick, Maria Lopez. Don't try to play your boy the fool."

Maria raised her eyebrow at their neighbor. "I don't recall asking your opinion on the matter, Isabella."

Ms. Garcia placed the tray on the small coffee table in front of them and wagged a finger at his mother. "Good friends don't require permission to speak the truth."

Elio clasped his mother's hands in his. "Mama, you have to come back with us. Theresa’s family has a secure house and plenty of food and water. They’re even getting medicine.”

His mother's lips pursed together and curled into a grimace. Elio was well aware of her resentment towards Mason and the blame she laid at his feet for not bringing his father home from the war in Iraq. But she didn't know the whole story. Not the truth that Mason had spoken while he thought Elio was sleeping.
 

Did Mason kill his father? Yes. But did that make him a murderer? His heart told him no. He’d never personally been in a war, but he was old enough to realize that mistakes could happen when death lurked around every corner.

Elio hadn’t tried to discuss it with Mason since the night of the revelation. He wasn't sure he ever wanted to discuss it again. And yet, he knew that someday they would. And maybe that someday would be a chance at healing for them both.

As ill-defined as his own feelings were, he knew without a doubt how his mother would take it. It would only confirm the grudge she’d nursed for so long. And it would only make it worse.

"You have to come with us, mama. It's the only chance we have."

His mother shook her head. "No, I can't go. I can't leave Ms. Garcia alone."

"She can come too," Elio said, without knowing how all of them would get back on the bike or whether inviting another person was a decision he could make on his own. It didn't matter. He'd say whatever he had to say to get his mother to a safer place.

Ms. Garcia folded her arms over her ample chest and shook her head. "I will be going nowhere. This has been my home for many years, and it will be my home to the day that I die."

"Isabella," his mom said, “you can’t stay here alone.”

Ms. Garcia looked at her like she was crazy. "If I remember correctly, it was I that knocked on your door bringing frijoles and tea. I've got quite enough stored up to outlast this little spell of confusion."

"Mama," Elio said, "you need medicine and Theresa's mother has it."

Theresa nodded. "It's true. My mom is the chief veterinarian at the Los Angeles zoo. Or at least she was. She brought home enough medicine for any of us that need it."

"I'll pack you some food for the trip," Ms. Garcia said.

Maria stood up and swayed a little bit until she rested her hand on Elio’s shoulder for support.

Ms. Garcia wagged a finger in her direction. "Don't make me kick you out of my home. I would prefer we part on good terms." With that, she turned back into the kitchen as if the matter was settled.

Maria stared into the air and then nodded. "Okay. I'll go. Let me gather up a few things."

A few things.

It wasn't a figure of speech. His mother had always spent every extra dime on him. His needs came first and even his wants when there were enough dimes to cover them. But for herself, there was never more than a little.

As Elio had grown older, he’d noticed the disparity more and more and he burned with guilt that she’d sacrificed so much for him while he'd always demanded more.

He would change that. He didn't know how exactly, but he would. It was a promise he’d made to himself and one he meant to keep.

Ten minutes later, the three stood at the open door and each exchanged a warm hug with Ms. Garcia. His mother trembled as she thanked the older woman for everything. Her fingers shook as they pulled away and they all said goodbye.

As dangerous as the outside world could be, Elio longed to get back on the road. The sun was climbing into the sky and more than anything Elio didn't want to spend another night outside.

He considered dropping by Ms. Kaminsky’s to see if she really did make cookies. The thought of a freshly baked cookie, even one with walnuts, made his mouth water. But in the end, he decided that if they did get made, the elderly woman needed them more than he did.

He guided his mother down the stairs and stopped at the back door to the building.

“Wait here,” he whispered. He turned and eased the door open, peeking through the widening crack for any sign of danger. He slowly emerged and looked around.

Nothing to worry about.

He opened the door and helped his mother outside. They crowded onto the cargo bike with Maria sandwiched between them. Theresa thumbed on the battery lever and the bike lumbered forward with noticeably less pace than before. He kept his feet down on both sides letting the pavement skid under the rubber soles of his sneakers while Theresa worked to get the pedals going.

They came to the end of the alley, turned right, and headed back in the direction from which they’d come. With the help of Theresa's constant pedaling, they picked up speed. Not as fast as before, but decent nonetheless.

Elio tried to judge if they were going fast enough to outpace a pack of deltas.

It didn’t feel like it.

November 2004

Fallujah, Iraq

MASON
rolled to the side and the body tumbled off. The head smacked the floor next to his own. The face of a dying man inches away.

“Remember your promise, Sarge.”

Lopes blew a last breath across Mason’s face and his eyes went dim.

Mason swiped at the gunk clouding his left eye. The right eye was swollen shut and useless. His vision cleared somewhat and he stared into the lifeless face inches away from his own. His best friend in the world.

David Lopez.

Blood spilled from the corner of Lopes’ mouth like a trickle from a faucet. Grime and infected cuts covered his face. His hollow cheeks testament to the toll Operation Al-Fajr had taken on every man in third squad.
 

Mason knew the nightmarish truth even as he refused to accept it.

He’d shot one of his own men. He’d killed a man he’d sworn to protect.

He’d seen the soul leave the body. The instant the spark snuffed out.
 

It was in the eyes.

The transition from windows to the soul into glassy orbs that transmitted nothing.

Mason pulled Lopes’ forehead to his own. “No! No! No!”
 

The screams choked out of his lungs. Sound may or may not have accompanied them. The air sirens in his head deafened all else. He rolled to his back and stared at the thick layer of roiling smoke above. It blacked out the ceiling, creeping closer and closer to the floor. Incandescent flames licked up the walls making the scene flicker like a disco party in hell.

CREAK.

KOOSH.

The center section of the ceiling collapsed. Flaming beams hit the floor exploding in bright orange embers and a searing wave of heat. He coughed out the super-heated air, but the soot coating the inside of his mouth remained.

Mason rolled to his side and pulled the lifeless body of his best friend near.

The fire swept closer, licking at his backside.

Let it all come down.

He was ready. He wanted to die. Wherever Lopes was in his journey on the other side, Mason looked forward to not being far behind. He prayed they would find each other, and that he would have a chance to explain. To accept the burden of whatever judgement this tragedy earned him.

Mason deserved the punishment.
 

He longed for it.

The blurred world went black as he closed his one good eye. He coughed and choked on the toxic air suffocating his lungs. He wondered in a vague way if death by smoke inhalation would be better than being burned alive.

He was about to find out.

“Sarge!”

The name sounded familiar.

“Sarge! You alive?”

The voice sounded familiar too.

Familiar, but unimportant because it belonged to
that
place. The place he no longer wished to be a part of. The place he longed to leave behind. Whoever Sarge was and whoever wanted him didn’t matter.

It was all too far away to matter.

A gasp of thick smoke sent a wracking cough echoing through his chest. The pain was a reminder that some part of him remained tethered back there. Hopefully not for long.

“You are! Come on! Don’t quit on me, Marine!”

Strong arms lifted him up and threw him over a shoulder. Mason’s arms and legs dangled as he was hustled down the collapsing hallway. Higher up, the thicker smoke choked his lungs completely. His body tried to take a breath and then spasmed in agony at the result.

The shrinking rectangle of the hall ahead transformed into a wall of flames as the ceiling came down. The man carrying him leaped over the beams and wreckage. Another few seconds and they burst out of the flaming house and into the open courtyard beyond.