Monument 14: Savage Drift (Monument 14 Series) (16 page)

O, O, O—I recognized it.

“Shoot him!” Astrid screamed, screaming to Jake.

But the O man had his hands around the woman’s throat, crushing the life out of her. Crushing her throat.

Her eyes bulging and it was awful, awful, awful.

I cried out in anger and wanted to fight him, then, but Niko was pulling me back.

The man got a hold of the lady’s knife and stabbed her in the chest.

He stabbed her again and again, like a kid lost in play.

Niko dragged me away, Jake was helping him now, and they got me back to the woman’s Mazda.

The man looked up at me. He was grinning madly, licking at his chin, where some blood had sprayed.

Astrid revved the engine of the car and then Jake pushed me into it as Niko hopped in the front passenger seat.

Astrid put the car in gear and we drove away.

Jake struggled to pull the door closed.

We were sitting on the woman’s stuff. Crammed in on top of piles of odd items.

I looked out the rear window of the car and saw the man resume stabbing the woman with her chef’s knife.

I shouted in despair.

CHAPTER TWENTY

JOSIE

DAY 33

I stumble back out into the hallway filled with the waiting sick.

A cut across the face. A woman holding a sprained arm.

Human beings, needing help. Dirty and scared and beaten down.

Locked up because of a blood type.

Mario is going to be okay. That’s good. I don’t know what I will do if Mario doesn’t make it.

What are his chances? Alex could tell me. Alex could calculate it for me if he were here.

I cross through the courtyard, going back to our room.

The thirty or so bodies at the gate are laid out in rows now, sleeping it off. A guard stands leaning against the gate, making sure that no one robs the bodies of the sedated prisoners.

They will wake up in three or four hours, eyes dried and bloodshot, heads pounding.

They’ll drink lots of water and feel groggy for the rest of the day.

Tonight they will go to sleep and have wild, vivid dreams. We will all hear them hollering in their sleep tonight.

The day I got shot—the same day I blocked the blow Venger meant for Mario, Mario and the kids dragged me inside. They babysat me in the rec room until I woke up.

That night I dreamed I was waiting for my parents in a train station.

Vaulted ceiling, marble hall—a classic train station. And I was skulking about, trying to stay hidden as shop vendors, with their little stores set into a colonnade against a wall, set out bottles of water in trays of ice and placed food in display cases—pastries, scrambled eggs, yogurts.

In my dream I stole a bacon, egg, and cheese on a roll and I was eating it, ducked down behind a trash bin and then there were these loud train whistles and suddenly the station was full of busy, bustling crowds.

I saw my parents there, dressed up for traveling like from a black-and-white movie. My mom wore a long coat with velvet buttons and my dad had on a suit and a fedora.

And I wanted to call out to them.

But I was so dirty and I had stolen food—I was ashamed of myself.

And they had Gram with them, and she was shuffling along as fast as she could. She walked like Mario walks. Mom and Dad were patient, as they are, but I could tell they were all in a great hurry.

I couldn’t go to them. I knew they wouldn’t want me anymore.

*   *   *

I enter the downstairs hallway of Excellence. I know the kids will be waiting in the room to hear about Mario.

I hurry through the Men’s hall.

The last thing I need is to run into one of my attackers from the night before.

I am relieved that I don’t.

I push open the door at the end of the hall, leading to the stairs—unlocked during the day.

Stepping in, I hear movement. Clothing rustling, breathing.

It isn’t unusual to see people making out in the shadows sometimes.

But I stop.

Looking down the stairway leading to the basement, through the slats of the stairs, I see a familiar body—a familiar sweater.

It is Mario’s sweater and it is Lori down there.

I freeze.

“Nice,” says a voice. Brett. “You’re so pretty. Don’t be scared.”

She has her hands up and he is putting them down, kissing her. Making her shut up by kissing her.

“Hey!” I say.

I am down the half a flight in a heartbeat.

“It’s okay, Josie,” Lori says. “I’m fine.”

I see tears on her cheeks. Fine?

Her shirt is messed up and her hair, too, and she is crying.

And I see Brett is not alone. ANOTHER Union “Man” is with him.

That makes me so angry I can barely breathe as VRAAAAAAAUGH my blood ramps up.

“You had your chance, Josie.” Brett says. “Lori understands a good deal when it comes her way.”

My blood is pounding in my ears and making it hard to hear. Hard to think.

“They’re going to protect us. All of us,” Lori tells me. “It’s okay.”

“IT IS NOT OKAY,” I shout.

The squat, pug-faced teenager with Brett pushes me.

“Keep it down, Rabbit,” he sneers. “This is a private party.”

God help me, I can’t stop myself.

I slam the heel of my right hand into his nose.

Blood sprays and the kid squeals.

“Jesus Christ!” Brett yells and I grab him by the hair and throw him into the cement wall.

He is down and I am kicking.

“Stop!” Lori screams. “Stop it, Josie!”

I am O. God help me. Full blown and I will kill them. Attacking a fourteen-year-old? Molesting a girl? Little Lori? I will kill them.

“STOP!” Lori slaps me.

I turn on her.

“Breathe, Josie,” she says.

She wraps her arms around me.

“Shhhhhh,” she says.

Pug Face moans.

Lori hugs me and drags me up the stairs, away from the fallen Union Men. One step at a time.

Brett curses at me.

“We’ll get you, Josie Miller,” he says. “You’re as good as dead.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

DEAN

DAY 33

The wind had shifted and now the drift was hitting the windshield.

Astrid turned on the windshield wipers.

The black grit lay like a film on the glass, then was wiped away. Clung, was wiped, clung, was wiped.

I looked at the particles of drift that had clung to the side window. Each was tiny. Dust-speck tiny—and each a little perfect square. Much smaller than a grain of sand. Not cubic, but flat. Flat black death, particled out.

Beyond the window, we were passing through the streets of Vinita. We saw fires, people coming, screaming out of their homes.

Through the dark, sifting sandstorm people were dying and trying to save each other on every street.

“You’ve got to turn around,” Jake said. “Get back on the highway.”

Astrid pulled over abruptly, driving the car up onto the sidewalk.

“I can’t breathe,” she said, her words coming thickly through her mouthpiece. “Gonna throw up.”

Within the zipped suit, she popped out her mouthpiece.

“That’s not a good idea, Astrid!” Niko said, sharply concerned.

“I’m gonna hurl!” she wailed. She started to unzip her suit.

I leaned across, into the front seat and stopped her hand.

“Astrid!” I said. “Look at me.”

Her body and face were completely sealed within the suit.

She looked up and through the clear visors of our two suits, she locked into my eyes.

“Breathe,” I told her. “It’s okay. There’s enough air in the suit. Breathe.”

“Don’t let her take the suit off!” Jake added.

“She’s gonna be fine, Jake,” I said without breaking eye contact with her. I kept my voice steady. “Just breathe, Astrid.”

Maybe it sounds dumb, but this space, right here, this connection between us, was the foundation of our relationship. She knew that she could count on me to be there. Yeah, I had been a total nerd who had a crush on her and we were an unlikely pair. But she knew I was there for her and that meant something.

What were we saying to each other, through the plastic?

Her: I’m scared.

Me: I know.

Me: I love you.

Her: I know.

Then: And it’s going to be okay.

Astrid put her mouthpiece back in and settled back into her seat. She tried to swipe at her tears, using the gloves of the suit, but it didn’t really work.

“You’re crushing my leg, man,” Jake complained to me.

I shifted back into the backseat.

“Somebody else should drive,” Astrid said. And Niko and she climbed over each other to switch places.

We didn’t dare to open the car doors—not with the drift still peppering the car when the wind changed.

*   *   *

Niko got us on the highway, headed north.

When the air was clear, we felt it was safe to take off the masks.

Astrid put her head in her hands. I didn’t need to see her shoulders shaking to know she was crying.

She was sitting in front of me so I put my hand over the seat back and patted her on the shoulder.

“That was horrible,” I said.

“That poor woman,” Astrid choked out.

“They should be warning people!” Jake said, struggling to keep his voice even. “Everyone thinks they’re rumors, but the drifts are real!”

“It’s the military,” I said. “They must be keeping the story quiet. But why?”

“To keep people from panicking,” Niko said, his eyes on the road. “To keep them from evacuating.”

“Why would they do that?” Jake asked.

“I don’t know,” Niko said. “Maybe because there’s no place left to go.”

*   *   *

Jake and I had to do some moving around and reorganizing to get comfortable in the backseat.

“That poor woman was nutso,” Jake said. And it was true. She had loaded a totally bizarre selection of household items into her backseat.

There was:

An oscillating fan.

An industrial-size carton of Goldfish crackers, which Jake started to eat immediately.

Four giant photo albums, dated 2019–2023.

A set of jumper cables and, man, she was thinking ahead, snow chains for the tires.

A large makeup box/kit kind of thing.

A six-pack of protein shakes and a variety of snack foods.

Two unopened canisters of tennis balls.

A houseplant.

A box of dishes that had broken when she threw them in the car.

“And lookee, lookee!” Jake crowed. “Mama was planning ahead.”

He brandished a half-full bottle of scotch.

He uncorked it and took a swig.

“Jeez, Jake,” I said.

“Is that really a good idea?” Niko asked.

“We just saw Rocco Caputo die. We almost got shot and then blown up by a truck. We saw some poor crazy woman we don’t know die. We saw a man hacking her body to bits with a kitchen knife. I think getting wasted is a GREAT idea. I really do.”

And he chugged. Straight scotch. Ugh.

“That’s enough,” I said. “Give me the bottle.”

“You want some?” he asked.

“No, I’m going to put it away.”

“You’re not my freakin’ nanny, Geral
dine
!” Jake yelled.

“Quiet!” Astrid snapped.

“You heard her!” I said, making a snatch for the bottle.

“Both of you shut up!” she yelled. “I HEAR something.”

All four of us fell silent.

All I could hear was the engine droning and the thud of my own heartbeat.

“Never mind,” she said. She relaxed into her seat.

Jake took another drink from the bottle and then munched on a handful of Goldfish.

“You don’t care that Jake’s getting drunk?” I asked Astrid. “That doesn’t bother you?”

“I wish I could get drunk myself,” she said. She sounded miserable.

“I wonder if we can make it to Missouri on this tank of gas,” Niko said. “We have three-quarters of a tank.”

I sat back and looked out the window.

Miles of drying farmland blurred past.

“I wish we could have saved that woman,” Astrid said.

“I know,” I told her.

Astrid reached over and turned on the radio. FM and XM stations were all down, but there was some of that funny, fuzzy AM radio to be had. There was nothing on the radio about the drift.

“Hey, Astrid,” Niko said. “I know it’s probably pointless, but would you try the GPS?”

I shifted around in my seat, getting comfortable.

In my lap I held what looked like an empty fishbowl. Seemed like the floor mat was damp—something wet pressing against my leg, though the moisture didn’t seep through the leg of my safety suit.

Maybe there was a dead fish down there somewhere.

I stared out the window and after a few minutes I realized my hands were still shaking.

“Don’t you think we should try to warn people?” Astrid asked Niko quietly.

Jake took another swig of the whisky.

I could swear his eyes were red. I could swear he was crying there, looking out the window.

“We can’t save everyone,” Niko said. “But we can still get Josie out of Mizzou, if we’re lucky.”

*   *   *

I knew I should sleep but I couldn’t.

We drove for a couple hours, putting mile after mile between us and Vinita, Oklahoma. The roads were clear—not much traffic at all.

We rolled down the suits, knotting them at the waist as the soldiers had done.

We caught part of President Booker’s weekly address:

My fellow Americans, history will judge us by how we handle this series of devastating crises. Those of you in a position to help must ask yourselves: Am I doing enough? Can I stretch out a hand to one more survivor? Can I make do with less, so that those in dire need can live? And to those of you who have found yourselves homeless, and have lost beloved family and friends—I tell you this: Your government has not forgotten you. Medical care. Food. Water. Shelter. We are working to provide these for you. And once we have regained stability, we will begin to rebuild. Housing. Industry. Purpose. We will overcome this disaster, working together, sacrificing much, never forgetting that America is stronger than ever, united we stand. Divided? Never!