Four (Their Dead Lives,1) (33 page)

Don’t give me your fake pity. You hate me like everyone else.
“Thanks.”
 

“Well, can I get you anything?”
 

Kale rolled over, flinching from a short burst of blinding pain, then rested his stub on another pillow. “Silence, Jimmy, silence.”
 

The deputy dragged his stool to the corner of a room and flipped open a magazine. He started to whistle.
 

“Jimmy,” Kale groaned.
 

“Right, silence, sorry.”
 

“Are you here to keep watch over me?”
 

Miller quit flipping the pages. “I’m here to keep us all safe.”
 

He’s my prison guard.
The others had nothing to worry about. Kale would not try anything stupid again. He was always one to quickly learn from his mistakes.
Losing a hand is a good lesson.
“Can I ask you something?” he moaned, lips hanging open on the pillow.
 

“Shoot,” said Miller.
 

“Remember, remember that day in high school—”
 

“You mean when you guys ran off into the woods and got yourselves nearly killed?”
 

“Yeah, that day.”
 

“What about it?” Miller dropped the magazine.
 

He won’t have an answer, but might as well ask.
“How did you know to check in the woods? How did you know you were right?”
 

“Ha! Kale, I had no idea. That was a crazy coincidence. Though I gotta say, being right about my hunch gave me the push I needed to join the force.”
 

Coincidence? No. Fate led us to that well. Fate saved my friends. Fate gave them their powers. If only they would use them.
His eyes grew heavy with his thoughts.
 

“Why do you ask, Kale?”
 

Kale’s voice slurred. Weak and tired, he wanted sleep. “You always wanted to go to space, Jimmy,” he said, remembering all the times Miller celebrated the idea of being an astronaut.
 

Miller let a long, quiet breath out. “I still do.”
 

“Let me dream in peace.” Kale drifted off, head spinning as his eyes shut. He relived that day in high school but he forgot about the chaos, the tragedy, and the two dead brothers who had helped him save his friends. Instead, he was on the hospital steps, embracing all the camera flashes and all the glory.
 

Before he fell asleep, Miller whispered to him, “All you do is dream, Kale.”

EVANS
 

Someone is following us.
 

A speedboat had appeared on the horizon an hour or so after Kale’s operation.
 

Evans’ uncle had informed him Kale was in stable condition after they cauterized the wound.
He deserves more than losing a hand,
Evans thought several times as he dumped Erica’s body over the edge.
The girl should mean nothing to me. She was a casualty of war, like my team.
Perhaps it was the kiss that made him miss her.

Over a year had passed since his last physical encounter with the female species.
That kiss.
No matter the kiss, he’d not shed a tear for her or anyone else.
 

The speedboat had been trailing them for several hours. He would lose sight of it once night fell, and it was quickly falling. He wished a VTF sniper, perhaps Marshall Grange, were with them. Grange could’ve taken the speedboat’s navigator out with a single shot.
 

Who was following them? Why? There were only a few possibilities. First, the navigator could be cautious, surveying the yacht for a threat, and end up being a friendly. Second, the navigator could be cautious and dangerous, planning his first strike. Third, the navigator could simply be heading up north like themselves.
Unlikely.
They were moving slowly and the speedboat could’ve easily passed them by now.
 

They
were
being followed, and Evans was glad, because boredom lurked behind every minute, and he longed for excitement.
 

The sky flushed orange when Howard came to him. “What’s going on?”
 

“Nothing.”
 

“Cool, cool.”
 

They stood in silence for half a minute before Howard spoke again. “So...”
 

Evans kept his gaze on the speedboat in the far distance, hoping Howard would get the hint he wanted to be left alone. No such luck.

“Did you kill anyone before? I mean, a living person that is.”
 

A stone, unwelcoming face. “The other night.”

“Oh. Right on, that’s cool, cool.” Howard’s voice faded away, his nose twitched under his glasses, and he left.
 

Solitude brought Evans great joy. He leaned over the white railing, intertwining his fingers. His M4A1 carbine was strapped over his light armor. The vest could take a weak bullet or two. Anything strong would pierce. But he wasn’t worried about bullets at a time like this. Unless of course the navigator following them was heavily armed and heavily dangerous.
 

Teeth worried him more, but he knew a zombie was not in their neighboring speedboat.
They can’t navigate.
He felt sickened at even contemplating the idea.
No wonder
I was transferred from the Marines.
 

No one in the VTF knew the reason for his transfer, except Colonel Hutton, and he wanted to keep it that way. Not even his uncle knew the real reason.
There is no point in telling.
Flashes of his fallen Marines tore through his mind but he shook them away.
It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault.
 

He had to shoot something.
 

Steadying his carbine over the white railing, aiming at their following
friend
, Evans knew there was no chance of hitting the target from this distance, especially with the wind. But he pretended he could anyway.
 

“Everything okay?” Uncle Dylan stepped to his side.
 

“We’re being followed.”

“Ah. Never a dull moment. Who is it do you suppose?”
 

“Not sure. Someone in a speedboat.” He looked up from the reflex sight of his weapon.
 

His uncle’s brown and gray hair flapped around as he played with his beard. “Jonny, if you want to talk—”
 

“Talking is a luxury we don’t have.” He moved away from the railing, heading for the bridge.
 

“I’m here, you know.” Uncle Dylan wanted to follow. “For anything, kid. I’m here.”
 

Evans found solitude once more on the bridge. He wanted to put the yacht in full speed. The sooner he got to Camp Numark, the sooner he had his next orders. Maybe the Colonel had answers. Maybe he didn’t. None of that mattered to Evans.
I need an order, nothing but smokin’ and jokin’ right now.
 

When night arrived, Evans went back to the white railing he’d stood at earlier. Unfortunately, there was no chance of seeing the speedboat, and if the navigator were going to attack, he had the perfect chance now. But Evans would be ready.
 

If he doesn’t attack tonight, tomorrow morning will confirm if we truly are being followed.
 

He was thankful for a warm night. Warm nights were better for staying awake, and everyone else was inside the yacht.
I’m the only one out here to protect us.
 

Except Howard, who’d found a champagne bottle, finished most of it, then passed out on a lounge chair behind Evans. The bottle stayed in Howard’s lap and Evans thought about finishing it.
A useless action.
Howard occasionally mumbled during his sleep, usually about animals.
I give my life to protect people like him.
 

Evans would keep these people safe at all costs, for he had to honor Lt. Sampson’s death.
 

Jeff
. He needed his squad mate back. All these civilians knew nothing about anything, and Jeff was usually good conversation.
Get here, brother.
 

“Porcupine, why you in my igloo?” Howard mumbled in his sleep.
 

Evans kept his eyes on the dark sea until he heard an approaching footstep. He swung his carbine around, and through the moonlight, recognized the man.
 

Pat. Shorter and pudgier than Uncle Dylan, and he had a clean-shaven head. Pat said, “Mind if I join you?”
 

What is this, my social gathering spot?
“Sure.”
 

“
Dylan said you think we’re being followed.”
 

Evans had expected Pat to start this conversation differently. “There’s a speedboat out there in the dark. It’s been heading our way for hours now.”
 

“Should we accelerate? To see what it does?”
 

“I think we should stop. Either he will come, or he will pass.”
 

“Sounds risky.”
 

“I don’t plan on missing,” he said, tightening his grip around his weapon.
 

Pat laughed. “Dylan told me you’re funny.”
 

“Yeah? How long have you two been fucking?”
 

No laugh that time. “
And
there
is the other part of you.”
 

“Relax. I don’t care where my uncle sticks it.” Evans created more awkward silence.

“The giraffe! The giraffe ate my jelly beans!” Howard slurred sleepily. He twisted and turned on the lounge chair, knocking the champagne bottle over. Pat went to pick it up, then returned.
 

Pat said, “Has he—”

“Yes.”
 

“All night?”

“Yes.”
 

Pat took a sip of the champagne then offered it to Evans. He politely declined. So Pat sipped some more. “It’s quite warm.”
 

“The night or the drink?”
 

“Both.”
 

I’m ready for this conversation to end.
So he sped things along, bluntly asking, “Did you need something?”
 

“As you so eloquently put it, yes, your uncle and I are fuh-fucking.”
 

“Only a word, Pat.”
 

“A crude one.”
 

“If you let it be.”
 

Pat sipped again. “Anyway. I have yet to meet his family. So I wanted to spend some time with you.”
 

“Little busy right now, Pat.”
 

“Yes, with our follower, who we can’t even see.”
 

“What’s your point?”
 

“Honestly? I don’t have one.” He left the champagne bottle with Evans and went for the lower deck. But Evans stopped him, putting a hand on his arm.
 

“Pat.”
 

“Yes?”

“When this is all over, how about the three of us get a beer?”
 

Pat’s smile shone through the night. “I would love that.” And he left.
 

I can finally focus.
 

“Piggy, hi, piggy!” Howard flopped on his stomach, still sound asleep. “I love piggy. Ooo...Salmon.”
 

Help me.
The navigator of the speedboat never came that night.
 

Evans had moved to a lounge chair to keep watch and by morning, the speedboat was only slightly closer to them.
Enough of this.
He went to the bridge.
 

The yacht ceased to accelerate.
 

Back at the railing and behind his reflex sight, Evans readied for their follower.
Come at us.
The speedboat, still a mere speck in the distance, moved closer.

“Albacore tuna!” Howard jolted awake this time. His dry lips clapped together. Groggy, he asked, “What—what time is it?”
 

Evans gave him no answer.
 

Howard went to his side, like everyone else had before. “Who is that?”
 

“Not sure.”
 

“It’s coming for us?” Howard’s voice shook with anxiety. The speedboat, approximately a thousand feet away, accelerated closer.
 

Evans’s finger twitched behind the carbine. “Looks like it.”
 

“Speeding, it’s speeding up?” Howard took a step back.
 

Evans hovered his finger over the trigger.
Not friendly.
 

Seven hundred feet. Faster.
 

“Too fast, it’s too fast.” Howard took another step back.
 

Five hundred feet.
 

“Get to cover,” Evans growled through clenched teeth.
 

“Why is it coming so fast?”
 

Three hundred feet.
 

“GET BACK!” With a biting shout, Evans opened fire. Bullets ripped through the speedboat’s windshield. The navigator, masked in a black cloak, never flinched. A bullet scathed him but nothing slowed the speedboat down.
 

Mother fuh—

Evans fired two more rounds, swung his carbine, and leapt for safety. A giant fireball ignited and black waves of smoke rushed across the yacht. The blast had thrown him down the staircase to the main deck. A sharp crack erupted painfully in his ribs. He clenched his side and cursed to the skies. Tiny flames ate at his arm but he brushed them off, his skin only lightly burned.
 

Sprawled against the wood, Evans’ ears rang as he heard a girl scream hysterically.
What the hell was that? Where the hell is he?
 

Someone kept calling for the screaming girl: “Nicole! Nicole!”

The specialist struggled to his knees, armed himself when he could. Smoke rushed at his face, causing him to choke. His eyes watered. He pushed to his feet, clenching his carbine.