Authors: David Wellington
Chimera (58 page)
“IâI don't know what to say,” Chapel said. “I
thought, coming here today, you were going to have me arrested. Or killed.”
“Hardly. In fact,” Hollingshead told him, “if
you're willing to put up with me awhile longer . . . I'd like to offer
you a job. A permanent position. The Cold War was a long and dark time, full of
secrets. There are plenty of skeletons in that particular closet I'd like yanked
out into the light of day. Assuming I still have a job tomorrow, I promise
you'll have one, too. Oh, and I'll see about getting you a replacement for that
arm of yours. Least we can do, really.”
Chapel put a hand over his mouth. He couldn't help
it.
He laughed long and hard.
WASHINGTON, D.C.:
JUNE 5, 14:28 EDT
“So it's official? You're working for
Hollingshead now?” Julia asked
“I'm getting a W-2 form and everything,” Chapel
told her. They were walking down a Washington street on a sunny day and no one
they saw was armed, no one was looking to kill them. “I get two weeks' vacation
a year, though, and I'm starting my first one immediately.”
“Maybe we can go someplace quiet,” Julia said,
taking his arm.
Neither of them was exactly sure what they were to
each other, now. For a while he'd been scared their relationship would be over
before it started, until Hollingshead had called Chapel one fine morning and
given him one piece of excellent news.
Both of them were negative. There was no trace of
the chimera virus in either of their systems. They'd caught a real lucky break
there. They wouldn't have to be quarantined. They wouldn't be separated by
medical necessity.
They would always be buddiesâbut now, maybe, they
had a chance to be something more.
Not that he could exactly come out and say as
much.
“How's your dad?” Chapel asked, to keep his mind
off the question.
“They say he'll make a full recovery. The bullet
pierced his jugular, but my field dressing held.” She shrugged. “I don't know
what to make of things, yet. He told meâwell. He told me why he did it all. I
hope someday I can forgive him. I'm going to try.”
Chapel nodded. He hoped she would find some peace
there, eventually.
“What about Samuel?” she asked.
His eyes widened. He'd barely thought about the
last living chimera. Already they were receding behind him, like a bad dream.
“He's going to get new hands, for one thing. I can vouch for what they can do in
that line, these days.”
“But what is his life going to be like?” Julia
asked. “Where will he go?”
Chapel shrugged. “Back to Camp Putnam, if he wants
to. Or maybe he can go live with Ellie. Try to find a place for himself in the
human world.” Ian had realized at the end that was impossible. But maybe Samuel
was different. “I don't think his life will ever be what we think of as normal.
But it will be what he chooses.”
“That's nice,” Julia said. “It's nice somebody gets
that. After all the people who got hurt. Who didn't get to choose.”
“You're thinking of the women. Olivia Nguyen and
Marcia Kennedy and Christina Smollett. All the others.”
“I think about them a lot,” she said.
“Hollingshead told me that he's taking personal
responsibility for what happened,” Chapel said. “He's setting up trust funds for
them. All of them. They'll never need to worry about medical care or rent or
anything else as long as they live. And the president's going to give them an
apology.”
“I guess that's something,” Julia replied.
“Hollingshead's trying to do the right thing. I
guess that's all we can do now.” He looked up. This wasn't the time to dwell on
the past. “Are we close?”
“This looks like the place,” Julia said.
They were standing outside a little café with an
open air seating area. It looked like a nice placeâwhite linen tablecloths,
waiters in bow ties. “Do you see her?” Chapel asked.
They were finally going to meet Angel.
Chapel had begged her to let him buy her lunch. He
wanted to thank her for saving his life so many times. He wanted to see what she
looked like, too. He'd cajoled and pleaded and bargained with her and finally
she had relented. She'd sent himâand Juliaâan e-mail telling them to be at this
restaurant at this time.
There was a woman sitting alone at one of the
tables. She had on a floppy hat and sunglasses and she was studying a menu. A
waiter poured mineral water from a sparkling decanter into her glass.
Chapel walked across the seating area with a smile
on his face. His new arm was still being fitted, so he had pinned up one sleeve
of his uniform tunic. He'd put on his best dress blues for this. He walked up to
the table and clicked his heels on the pavement. “Ma'am,” he said, “may I have
the pleasure of introducing myself?”
The woman looked up with one arched eyebrow. She
lowered her menu and looked him up and down.
“What are you supposed to be? Some kind of war hero
who picks up random women when they're trying to enjoy a drink?” she asked.
Chapel's face fell. Was this some kind of joke?
A waiter tapped him on the shoulder. “Sir,” he
said, “I think you're mistaken. You're looking for Ms. Angel, yes?”
Chapel blinked in surprise. “Yeah,” he said.
“Right this way.”
The waiter led him to another table where two
glasses had been set on the tablecloth. Another waiter emerged from the
restaurant with a pair of beer bottles on a tray. He poured the drinks, then
departed. The first waiter held Julia's chair while she sat down. Then he
produced a piece of paper from his apron and handed it to Chapel. Without a word
he walked away.
“Only two glasses,” Julia said.
“Yeah,” Chapel replied. He unfolded the piece of
paper. It was a letter written in a loopy cursive hand. “ âSweetie,' ” he read.
“Umâ”
“Go on. Read the whole thing,” Julia told him,
grinning.
Chapel read it aloud:
Sweetie:
Sorry to disappoint you.
I'm afraid that's as close as we're going to get today. If you and I are
going to keep working together, we have to keep things a little
professional.
Enjoy the drinks. They're
already paid for. Enjoy each other's company. Get to know Julia a little
better. Find out if the two of you still like each other when nobody's
trying to kill you. Enjoy this beautiful weather.
Maybe someday the three
of us will get together. One way or another. But for now, just raise a glass
for me. And know I'd be there if I could.
Hugs and
kisses,
Angel
Chapel set the note down on the table. He grinned
sheepishly at Julia. “You think she's watching us right now?” he asked.
“I'd count on it,” she replied.
They raised their glasses and clinked them
together.
The weather that day was, indeed, beautiful.
I'd like to thank Diana Gill and Will Hinton, as well as everyone at HarperCollins who worked tirelessly getting this book ready for publication.
Russell Galen, my agent, deserves special mention, as this book would not have happened without him. He inspired its immediate creation, and then for years he worked with me, refining and exploring the possibilities of this book, shaping its content, and helping me rein it in when it got out of control. Russ went above and beyond his job description on this one.
Most important, though, I'd like to thank the men and women of the U.S. armed forces. This book was written because as I watched them come home from Afghanistan and Iraq I couldn't stop thinking that these young people had been given a hellish job to do, that they had done it extraordinarily well, and that they never complained. They worked and fought not for glory but for their country, and every single one of them deserves our gratitude.
This is a work of fiction. The prosthetic arm I describe in this book does not currently exist. Although it is based on real technology, I have in many cases exaggerated its abilities. However I do not wish to take away from the incredible strides made in prosthetics in the last fifteen years. Largely as a result of the high and terrible number of amputees coming home from our wars, hundreds of scientists and engineers have done Herculean work creating new and (much) better prosthetic limbs than existed previously, and the results are simply staggering. The DEKA “Luke” arm in particular is a miracle of design and technology, and it has improved immeasurably the lives of many people who deserve it most. I would be remiss if I did not offer my deepest respect to its creators.
DAVID WELLINGTON was born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, the city where George Romero shot his classic zombie films. The acclaimed author is most famous for his online zombie serial, the Monster Island trilogy, which was later published by Three Rivers Press. In 2006 he began serializing
13 Bullets
, a vampire novel, at www.thirteenbullets.com. He lives in New York City.
www.davidwellington.net
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Monster Island
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99 Coffins
Vampire Zero
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Cover design by Richard L. Aquan
Cover photographs: man © by Franck Camhi; background © by Benjamin Harte/Arcangel
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
CHIMERA.
Copyright © 2013 by David Wellington. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
ISBN 978-0-06-224877-0
EPub Edition AUGUST 2013 ISBN 9780062248794
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