Death Springs Eternal: The Rift Book III (37 page)

Even after Billy killed Eric Calhoun, Handley hadn’t resurfaced to gloat about how right he’d been. Of course, that may have had something to do with the
Church
of
Creation
’s aggressive efforts to keep their opposition of the gay marriage initiative on the front page of national publications, but at the time, as he stewed in his cell at SCI Greensburg, Billy had silently claimed victory.

And yet now here he was—William Mathis, famed and shamed professor, living on the fringes of a society that hated him and his people, shaking with fear in the presence of the diminutive Jacob Handley, a man who looked like a ghost, his black suit hanging off his skeletal frame as if he’d been buried in it. But he
hadn’t
been buried. In fact, his ideals and way of life had been given
new
life. Billy was the outsider now, the man on the fringe, just as Handley had promised he would be that day in
Fayetteville
.

One of the men who’d come with the preacher lifted his weapon. “We gonna take ’
em
?” the guy asked.

Handley shook his head. “No need, Ray. The Professor’s gonna come without a fight. Ain’t that right,
Billy
?”

Billy chewed on his tongue and nodded.

“So let’s go.”

Cloris’s
hand slipped into Billy’s just as two of the good-ole-boys stepped to their rear to make sure they didn’t double back. Billy squeezed her hand and they walked through the trees, following the path he’d spent the last nine days marking. He said goodbye to the maples, the rocks, the stream, the gaggle of crows that always seemed to be around whenever he found a secluded spot. He whispered farewell to his notions of
future
, to his optimism, to his stringent belief in what was right.

The group exited the forest and approached twin school busses, painted gray with barred windows, packed to the brim with frightened people. An unwelcome feeling of
déjà-vu
came over him. He remembered what it was like to climb aboard a bus very much like these the day he was sentenced and sent off to prison. It was ironic. The world was whole then, trudging on the way it had for thousands of years, and yet he’d resigned himself to his fate. Now that world was on the brink of extinction, and the thought of returning to
any
sort of prison filled him with dread.

Soldiers wearing fatigues gathered around one of the busses, while the other was surrounded by more of Handley’s flock. Billy steered
Cloris
toward the second, thinking that to be their destination, but then Handley himself was there, taking
Cloris’s
other hand and tugging her in the opposite direction.

“
Nosiree
Professor,” the little man said. “You and the missus have…different paths to follow.”

Cloris
gave him a nervous look. Billy rubbed the underside of her palm and mouthed,
you will be fine.
The soldiers standing around the second bus then stepped forward, aggressively pulling her away. She glanced at him one last time, and there was terror in her eyes. Right then he wanted to cast safety to the wind, to rush those holding weapons, rip the tools of war from their hands, and eliminate as many as he could before he himself was cut down.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he lowered his head and allowed Handley’s men to shove him up the steps and into the bus. Only when he stood in the aisle did he take a moment to observe what surrounded him, gazing at a litany of dark faces, the vast majority of whom were male. His eyes scanned the frightened and angry occupants, seeking Marcy or
Leon
’s face, but he didn’t see either of them anywhere. He caught sight of Jasper Hildebrand, an old man who’d been a bartender at the Omni back before the sanity of the world took a vacation. Jasper’s eyes caught his, lips pursed while he shook his head. Billy’s heart plummeted in his chest. The man’s expression spoke volumes.

After he’d been seated, Handley and his underlings took their positions at the front of the bus and they were off. Billy gazed out the window, watching as the other bus, half-filled with lighter-skinned women, went in the other direction. A knot of dread formed in his gut.

They drove into the city, bouncing along gap-filled roads, passing crews of working men closing up shop for the day. These men gazed upon the bus and those inside with mostly indifference, though there were a couple whose hatred plainly showed on their faces. A few jutted their chins out at the passing vehicle, looking like they were above even acknowledging it. The bus then turned down a side road, and a crumbling neighborhood emerged. There were bodies strung up from lampposts, still moving, still writhing—the few remaining undead. Their eyes stared at nothing, their jaws snapped at the empty air. Below their dangling feet were youngsters—teenagers mostly—who punished them with bats, planks of wood, and other assorted blunt instruments. Even with their ghastly appearance, Billy couldn’t help but think,
Our
dead deserve better than that.

The bus swerved, taking a left turn, and they now headed down a street that seemed to have been recently renovated. The buildings here were gleaming, their newly installed windows reflecting the dying sunlight. Families gathered by the side of the road as they passed by, tossing vegetables and other assorted debris at the bus while shouting profanities. Nuance was the only thing separating these people from the defilers of the dead, for the same sentiments spewed from their mouths.

The insatiable call of the bloodthirsty.

Around the next bend, the bus came to a stop. They were escorted off the vehicle and led up the stairs into a dilapidated police station. With the sun dipping behind the horizon, the halogen lights on the building’s façade burned a hole in his vision. They walked past the dispatch desk, where in normal times there would’ve been a uniformed officer stationed, taking the public complaints of those who entered the building as well as answering phones. Now the station was empty, the phones silent. From there they marched down a long corridor, through four sets of double doors, until they entered lockup.

There were twelve empty cells in the lockup, but they didn’t stay empty for long. Men with weapons forced people into each of them, four-to-six apiece, slamming the sliding doors shut once everyone was situated.
 
They then left the area, clicking off the light behind them, leaving their quarry in darkness.

Billy stood by the slender, rectangular, bulletproof window on the door, the only way to look outside of the cell. He pressed his forehead to the cold surface and breathed slowly, deeply. His breath misted the glass below him, a fog that slowly dissipated until he exhaled again and the process began anew. It was as repetitive as his life.

Once again, Billy Mathis found himself behind bars.

-6-

Little Meghan Stoddard stood in the corner, hands over her eyes, counting. Andy and Francis crept away from her, though
creeping
was a relative term since they did a horrible job of keeping quiet. The other children seemed much more adept at the game, easily slipping behind furniture in their sock-covered feet, making nary a sound, save for the occasional, can’t-be-helped snicker. It was probably because the two boys were older…or the fact that they couldn’t stop punching each other in the arm, as if they wanted
so badly
to make the other one lose.

Josh stood by the door of the recreation room, arms folded over his chest, a smile on his face. It was yet another occasion where he couldn’t help but think of himself and Colin when they were younger. Hide-and-seek had been a game of one-upmanship for them, too. As if on instinct with the memory of his dead friend, his fingers dove into his pocket, searching for the rectangular box that would contain his nicotine fix. But it wasn’t there, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Done with that shit
, he though.
For good.

Meghan shouted, “One
hunnred
!” and turned around, her eyes darting left and right. She spotted Josh standing there and offered him a grin, as if she expected him to help her.

“Uh-uh,” Josh muttered, shaking his head. He glanced at Mary, sitting with Yvette in the corner, and she nodded an affirmative. With her permission, he slowly opened the door and slipped out of the room.

Out in the hallway, he closed his eyes and breathed in the sweet, chemical scent of freshly shampooed hotel carpet, a smell he honestly never thought he’d come across again in his lifetime. After their orientation at the museum-cum-interrogation hall, the weird guy with the ponytail had set them up at the Best Western down the street. To Josh it felt strange, having all their meals prepared, being waited on hand-and-foot, with a group of Latino women coming in to help care for the children, allowing the adults to rest their weary bones. There’d even been
manipedis
involved, which made the situation even more unreal.

Not that Josh was complaining. He could accept being pampered, even if he didn’t understand why. He just found it really, really strange. It almost seemed as if the damaged and frightening world he’d gotten used to had ended, leaving in its wake a utopian society where people
actually truly
cared for one another. Each day he silently thanked Marcy for her guidance, knowing he wouldn’t be here if not for her. He had to fight the urge to go look for her, to ask around if anyone knew where she was, but in the end decided it wasn’t time. He hadn’t even told Kyra about it yet. He was afraid that if he did she might not understand.
Her man, out looking for another woman?
Even though he kept telling himself his intentions were innocent, the contemplation of broaching the subject seemed…uncomfortable.

A scream erupted from somewhere down the hall, and those thoughts crumbled. Only one room was in use on that end of the building—the one he and Kyra shared. Josh took off, his arms pumping, the worst possible images running through his head. He was suddenly reminded of his journey home the night he found his parents butchered, the night he murdered his sister. Panic caused his muscles to convulse, making it hard to get a grip on the doorknob once he had it in hand.

Eventually he got it to turn and stumbled into the room. A quick glimpse around and he spotted Kyra, slumped on the couch, hands on her swollen stomach. Eyes closed and her mouth twisted into a grimace, she breathed hard and fast. Jessica hovered over her, holding both sides of her face, while old Emily knelt by her side, gently stroking her hand.

“What the hell’s going on?” Josh asked.

Kyra didn’t look up, but Jessica and Emily did.

Jessica kissed Kyra’s forehead and then said, “I think
it’s
coming.”

“What’s coming?”

She rolled her eyes.
“The baby, stupid.”

“Oh.”

He stood there for a moment, uncertain. “Wait,” he said. “This can’t be right.”

“Why not?”

“Well…she can’t be term yet.”

“I don’t think it matters,” said Emily.

“No, listen to me. She can’t be more than eight months.
Can’t
be.”

Jessica slapped her own forehead. “Josh,
it doesn’t matter!
If the baby’s coming, she’s coming!
Whether she’s term or not!”

“But…well I…um…” Josh stammered, unable to find the right words to say.

Emily rose to her feet and approached him. She took his hands in hers and gazed at him with her faded brown-gray eyes. They were wise and tranquil. Simply staring into them seemed to calm him.

“Joshua,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“You need to go get help.
Medical attention.
Something.
Quickly.”

“Oh, okay.”