Death After Life: A Zombie Apocalypse Thriller (18 page)

“She’s fine. Thank God,” Nic said, with a look to the heavens. Religion had made a major comeback in America. If it’d ever really left. In any time of war, the citizenry took comfort in their creator.
 

Once they’d gotten over Him abandoning them in the first place.

Quarles nodded. He walked over to the Interceptor with a comforting, concerned look on his face.
 

“How you doing, Lena?”

“Probably in shock,” she said with a weak laugh. “I know the symptoms.”

Quarles leaned into the open doorway, hand on the roof. “Just relax, it’s all over now.”

Right after checking the v-test display, Quarles caught Winter looking at him. This was becoming an embarrassing charade. One that could turn deadly in a moment.

Quarles gave the roof of the car a friendly tap and turned to Nic, who was poised to slide behind the wheel. “Shouldn’t we file your report?” he said, innocently. “Not like you guys to skip standard procedure.”

“We’ll file a report from the hospital,” she said.

“You’ve got your girl to worry about. Let me,” he said, pulling his smart-phone. Nic stiffened and Winter knew why.

Before testing his own blood, Winter had entered the required response to Lena’s test. It was mandatory and the only way to reset the system for another test. For a second the terminal had displayed “Euthanasia administered.” According to the nation’s virus control database, Lena Michelle Gladden, 30, was already dead.

If Quarles logged into the system, he would see it. All three of them knew that. Quarles punched in his access code, just seconds from seeing the truth.

At that moment, an ambulance arrived. The captain looked up from his phone. “She’s in shock — best thing to do is let the paramedics take care of her, Nic.”

Lena piped up. “I’m good, Frank. Just want to get home.”

“Talk to you later, Top,” Nic said and got into the driver’s seat. Quarles casually grabbed the door before she could close it.

“We’ve got rules for a reason,” he said in a gentle but firm tone of voice. “Nobody’s above the law, right? Otherwise we’re a bunch of fuckin’ hypocrites.” His eyes flicked over to Winter and noted that Winter’s hand was on his sidearm.
 

Winter couldn’t help it. He knew this was coming and he was going to be ready. Might as well let Quarles know what side he was on, in case it made him hesitate for a moment. And Winter knew better than to take his eye off the captain. Quarles might be sincere in his concern for them — in fact, Winter believed he was — but in a business full of killers, Frank Quarles was a grand champion of ending lives. He’d done more of it and for longer than either of his protégés.

The paramedics had gotten out of the ambulance and were on their way over. Nic looked up at Quarles. Winter couldn’t see her eyes, but he could hear the plea in her voice.

“I’ve got this. We’ll be fine. All right?”

Quarles slowly shook his head. “Let’s just think things through for a minute. Calm down and make sure we know what we’re doing here.”

His hand was subtly making its way to his sidearm.

That was enough for Winter to make a decision there was no going back from. He quickdrew his pistol and fired over Quarles’ head, hoping to drive him back and make the captain relinquish his hold on the car door. But Quarles merely ducked and drew.
 

Nic’s reflexes were fast too. She kicked Quarles with both feet, heels to the midsection. He fell on his ass and she got the door closed.

Winter jumped into the car. The paramedics were frozen in a frightened crouch, caught completely off guard. Quarles was aiming at the front tire as Nic reversed but his first shot went astray.

Nic fishtailed into a fleeing position and threw it in drive. Winter heard more shots — Quarles was gunning for their back tires now. The Interceptor’s supercharged 5.0 liter, “Coyote” V8 engine roared and the car sprang into action, zig-zagging away from the crime scene.
 

Headlights immediately loomed in the rearview.
 

Their superior officer was in hot pursuit.
 

“On-ramp just a couple of miles away,” Nic said, glancing at the GPS.

“He’s right on our ass,” Winter reported.

Nic took a sharp turn but Quarles knew where she was going and stayed with them. He rammed their rear bumper, jostling everyone.
 

“Shit,” Winter muttered. If Quarles timed it right, he could probably nudge them right into something large, hard and stationary. Game over.

The captain’s voice suddenly crackled over the radio. “Don’t do this, Nic,” he said. “Just let me… It’ll be quick. I know you can’t, but don’t throw it all away!”

“I truly am sorry, Top,” Nic said grimly, driving hard. The Seattle P.D. prowlers had their flashers on and weren’t far behind Quarles.
 

“You know for a fact there’s nothing we can do for her,” Quarles’ voice insisted. Now he was almost pleading. “For Christ’s sake, what do you think’s going to happen? A miracle?”

Winter considered telling him about the cure, but realized that there would be a stampede to Atlanta if the secret got out. Quarles couldn’t be trusted to keep it to himself, just to give Lena the best chance of making it there first… If he believed them, he would share the information with the world and if he didn’t believe them, it wouldn’t change anything.

Nic must have been thinking along the same lines because, impassive, she just kept driving.
 

Other tinny voices issued from the comm transmitter. “Code 14-33 in progress. Unit 16 is rogue. Repeat, Unit 16 is rogue.”

In Department of Virus Control terminology, code 14-33 was very seldom used. It meant that officers were harboring an infected person.

We’re fugitives now.

Reaching a major arterial, the Mustang swerved wildly as Nic threaded the needle between scattered cars and trucks in an attempt to lose Quarles or at least gain some distance. But he was every bit the driver she was and had been doing it a lot longer.
 

“Come on, Masakawa, what’s your stake in this,” Quarles rasped over the comms. “You gotta know how wrongheaded she’s being.”

Winter grabbed the mic. “Guess you can call this my resignation letter,” he said. “I’ve chosen to spend my retirement with these two lovely ladies.”

“Great,” Quarles said with a mirthless chuckle. “You can have a three-way and all die of the fucking virus.” Even while speaking he had gained on them. A truck belonging to some Chinese fish importer loomed before the Interceptor, forcing Nic to brake hard.
 

“I can think of worse ways to go,” Winter said into the radio. He didn’t like making their mad flight seem so nihilistic, but even if he disclosed their plan, Quarles would probably sneer at it.

Winter could hardly believe it himself.

In a quick blur of motion Nic switched off the comms and swept the wheel hard, ramming Quarles’ car. As it spun out of control, Winter spotted a station wagon pulled with a woman and children in it — a carpool picking up school-kids — double-parked in Quarles’ path. There was no time to do anything but gasp.

Even as Quarles skidded he must have seen the station wagon. The Virus Control car suddenly veered around it into the only available path. That trajectory took Quarles straight into a light post at around 45 miles per hour. With a titanic boom the car accordioned around the steel column and was instantly reduced to a crumpled, steaming wreck.

“Dammit Frank,” Winter breathed, gaze locked on Quarles’ destroyed vehicle as it receded behind them.
 

Nic checked her mirror, clocked it. Her face fell.

“He would have hit that station wagon,” Lena said quietly. “He knew it was him or them.”
 

Neither of Quarles’ colleagues could find a response. Their guilt was too crushing. For a moment, Winter wondered what the hell he was doing. The cops in the Corvette, now the captain. How many people would die trying to enforce the same laws Winter would have died for a day earlier?
 

And yet, Winter wasn’t sure he cared. At best, Virus Control cops were a necessary evil. If the system methodically wrung the compassion out of you, maybe it wasn’t a system worth killing and dying for.

All the people he’d killed (those who were alive or brought back from their eternal slumber) and all the people he’d protected combined to conjure an empty feeling in him he didn’t think he’d ever shake. Until the prospect of a cure in Atlanta rekindled something in him he’d lost a thousand discharged rounds earlier.
 

Hope.

Moments later they reached the onramp. The Seattle police cars stopped there, letting them leave their jurisdiction.

#

Quarles heard women speaking Spanish outside his window. He glanced over at them, not sure where he was. All he knew was that his hand felt pinched. Without thinking he gave it a hard yank.

Blood spurted. He instinctively rammed his hand into his stomach, trying to staunch the flow with his shirt. There was no pain. Not exactly… Dizzy, he wasn’t sure what was going on or why his body felt numb.

Then the door flew open and Garcia pulled him out.
 

“You’re gonna be okay sir, don’t worry,” the Seattle cop said.
 

Quarles didn’t know yet that he’d left his hand in the car, crushed in the pulverized steering wheel and dash. If he had, he’d take some consolation in knowing it was his left.

After all, the captain shot with his right.

#

 
“The computer,” Nic said, eyes on the Interstate. “Tear it out.”

Winter knew what she meant. They were presently linked to headquarters via satellite. GPS, records, radio and virtual communication. All of it processed by the onboard computer.

Winter put a boot on the dash to brace himself and ripped the tower — monitor, CPU and keyboard — out of the center column. He rolled down the window and chucked out the entire apparatus. This way they couldn’t be tracked. Unless, of course, the car itself was bugged… He wouldn’t put it past ‘em.

Nic’s gaze was riveted to the road. Only miles from the city limits it was dotted with brush, debris and relentless weeds. Though largely untrafficked except in emergency situations — such as when the National Guard needed to be mobilized — the Interstates had not been properly maintenanced over the last three years. Only spot repairs were made, by expensive but well-protected work crews. On the macro level, Mother Earth was quickly reclaiming possession of her land.

Nic risked a glance back at Lena. She was reclining nervously in the backseat.

“How you doing, baby?”

“Feeling strong,” Lena said, correctly guessing exactly what Nic wanted to hear. Bullshit or not. Nic smiled, her eyes watering.

“That’s right, hon. We gonna beat this. You know we are.”

“Yeah,” Lena agreed, but already she was feeling desperate guilt. These two people — and one of them barely knew her — were laying down their lives on the same ludicrous bet that Voskuil had made. It was an uncomfortable knowledge. Lena had hardly come to terms with the realities of her condition, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that all three of them were going to die.

It was too late to turn back, so she tried to do her part to be positive. “Voskuil brought all the best drugs. I can fight this to the end. The full 72 hours….”

The quaver at the end of this blurted statement betrayed Lena’s mortal dread, having seen the scenario play out so many times with her own two eyes.
 

“What else do you have in that bag?” Nic asked, intently. “Got his phone, by any chance?”

“Uh, let me check,” Lena said, rummaging in Voskuil’s bag of goodies. “Yeah, here it is.”

She handed it to Nic, who passed it to Winter.

“Check the call log. See who he’s been talking to.”

“Sure,” Winter said, tapping the screen. “One with a Georgia area code — this must be his CDC connection. ‘Wes McIntyre.’ Hitting redial?”

“Yeah. That’s our guy.”

Winter put it on speaker. The phone rang audibly. Nic and Lena shot glances at it, waiting for someone to pick up.

“Hello?” A male voice answered. The guy sounded warily alert. Winter sensed that he wasn’t even 100% on board for Voskuil, which didn’t bode well for this mad crusade.

“Hey Wes,” Nic said, throwing her most intimidating presence into that receiver. “Your frat brother Voskuil? Dead. But he passed on your little secret, along with his problem. All we want is the same deal you gave him. Otherwise, we’ll start spreading your name around, along with the miraculous news of a cure at CDC. Better get out the barbecue, because you’ll be havin’ company. Lots of it.”

There was an intake of breath on the other side of the phone. No quick, contemptuous dismissal to be had. “Fair enough.”

Nic smiled grimly. “Good. Because his phone record is proof Voskuil called you before committing a string of felonies. You must have told him something pretty encouraging.”

Another pause. “Maybe he was delusional.”

Winter had already Googled Wes on his own phone and decided to weigh in. “Wonder what the Secretary of Defense’s office would think if they heard their top guy in Atlanta leaked the discovery of a cure?”

On the other end of the line, Wes sighed. “You got the money?”

“It’s all yours. Minus a few traveling expenses.”

“Who is this generous person I’m talking to, by the way?”

“Nicolette Waters,” Nic said, without hesitation. “Feel free to run the name. It’ll only tell you I’m not someone you want to fuck with.”

Another thoughtful pause. This guy didn’t panic, he merely analyzed as much as possible and then took action. “Fine then,” McIntyre responded at last. “Get to the CDC alive, without that little newsflash going over the airwaves, and I’ll see your patient is cured. Fair enough?”

“Got it. Leave the light on for us.”

“Safe travels,” McIntyre said, and Nic hung up the phone.

#

Riding in the back of the ambulance, Quarles was still wrestling with the magnitude of his charges’ betrayal. He had split them up because he was afraid they were too decent, too loyal, to kill each other if infection occurred. But he never imagined they would take it this far. This had made a mockery of v-laws, of personal integrity, of everything he thought they stood for.