Night Resurrected (36 page)
David’s
expression
was
still
shocked, but now a veil of sadness
slipped over it. He shook his head.
“Abby and Mom . . . they didn’t make it.
They
survived
the
storms,
the
earthquakes—I’m sure you’ve heard
about it all. They were some of the many
who died suddenly days later, for no
apparent reason. It was quick and
painless,” he added quickly, with a
matter-of-fact air. “They didn’t suffer. It
wasn’t until two weeks later that we
figured out why some people survived
and others didn’t.” He’d probably said
these words countless times. Made the
explanation simply and smoothly, as if
he were teaching a history class talking
about the Holocaust or the Civil War, or
recounting a family story about walking
five miles to school in a snowstorm.
But Wyatt saw grief still there, and
he clenched his fingers tightly into his
palms. Rage and black fury roared
through him, tempered by a surge of
nausea. He wanted to scream and shout
and hit something . . . some
one
.
Yes, it might have been quick and
painless. But David was left alone. An
eight-year-old boy.
Alone.
In the middle
of
inconceivable
destruction
and
devastation.
The end of the fucking
worl d.
Losing his mother. His sister.
Wondering where his goddamn father
was. Wondering and wishing and
waiting and hoping
every single fucking
day
. For fifty years.
Tears burned his eyes and Wyatt had
to squeeze them closed to keep from
sobbing. How could he have failed them
so? How could he have been absent
during the most terrifying, desperate time
of his family’s lives . . . especially when
he’d been a savior for so many others?
Someone touched him—a gentle hand
on his shoulder. Wyatt looked up,
blinking, and realized he’d retreated into
the darkness of despair once again—
even in the face of what should have
been happiness. But David was there,
rubbing his shoulder, his face sober and
his eyes hopeful. And glad. There was
joy in his expression. Joy and sorrow.
Wyatt didn’t think any longer, he just
pulled
his
son—his
son!
—into an
embrace. And he let the tears leak from
his eyes, felt David’s trickle against his
cheek, and they held each other for a
long time.
When they pulled apart, clearly both
filled with infinite questions and things
to say, Wyatt realized the room was
empty. The others had left them alone,
and he was grateful for it.
“I can’t believe it,” he said, looking
at his fifty-nine-year-old son, unable to
keep from staring at him.
“You?” David said, and chuckled
with happiness. Wyatt saw Cathy there
in that moment, and he felt the pang of
grief . . . but it wasn’t as deep or sharp
as it had been. “Here I am, old and
wrinkled and worn out . . . and my father
shows up and he looks half my age.” His
laugh rang out in jubilation. “If only I
could look that good at . . . how old are
you now? Ninety-eight? It’s like a
Benjamin Button thing.”
Wyatt laughed too. The first time
he’d really laughed, really felt pure
happiness in a year. “I don’t think it’ll
happen that way for you, Davey.” Then
he sobered, took his son by the shoulders
and looked him in the eye. “I’m sorry,
David. I’m so sorry.” Grief welled up in
him again, mingling with the beautiful
happiness, making him feel as if he were
in that murky Jell-O again . . . but at the
same time, looking at a ray of sunshine
he knew he could eventually reach. “Can
you ever forgive me?”
David was shaking his head, his old
eyes filling with tears. “
No
, Dad—”
“I should never have left you and
your mother and Abby. I shouldn’t have
gone to Sedona. I should have stayed
home.” Wyatt’s throat burned, his voice
was dry and rough and he could barely
force the words out.
“No, Dad,
no
. You can’t do that to
yourself.” David was earnest and intent.
And he spoke like an adult. A
man
.
Good God, his son was a
man.
“No one
could have known. No one could have
prevented what happened. And even if
you hadn’t gone to Sedona . . . what
would you have been doing anyway?
Yes, you’d have been out there, pulling
people out of the rubble, putting out
fires, helping them . . . and you would
have died three days later anyway.”
Wyatt shook his head hard, trying to
clear it. Trying to make sense of
everything. Every un-fucking-believable
thing that was happening right now.
“What do you mean? Who knows if I
would have died? I might have been one
of the few who survive—”
David shook his head. “No. Dad.
Trust me.” He covered Wyatt’s strong,
tanned hands with his own, older, veiny,
age-spotted ones. Surreal. “The people
who survived . . . they all had something
in common. We figured it out. All of us
who lived, who didn’t suddenly expire,
had had a tetanus shot two days earlier.”
Wyatt stared at him, waiting for the
information to filter through and into his
brain. “You’re telling me that the people
who survived did so because they’d had
a tetanus shot?”
“Two
days
earlier,”
David
confirmed. “It’s true. Trust me,” he
added with a wry, sad grin. “When
you’re eight years old, you remember
shots. They’re almost as bad as—well,
no, forget it. In the grand scheme of
things, they aren’t that bad. But as it
happened, my friend Johnny Raybourn—
do you remember him?—we’d had shots
on the same day. I remember, because
we were complaining about it at school.
He survived too. We found each other at
the school, where people went after
things . . . got crazy. And from there we
got to talking to people and realized that
everyone who was still alive had just
had the shot.” He shrugged. “I can’t
explain it any more than I can explain
you being here . . . but, Dad, it’s a
miracle. And I’m sure as hell not going
to question it.”
“I know.” Wyatt closed his eyes.
Tried to push away the images of his
young, bewildered, grief-stricken and
frightened son.
“It was
fifty-one
years ago,” David
said, as if reading his mind. “It was
beyond terrifying. It was . . .
unbelievable darkness and fear and
devastation. But it was a long time ago,
Dad. I’ve accepted it and built a life—a
good life—with that in my past. And
now . . . the most miraculous thing has
happened. Something I could never have
imagined. You’re here.” His eyes filled
with tears again, but they were joyful
tears. “And I can’t wait for you to meet
your granddaughter.”
Granddaughter.
Wyatt’s heart nearly
stopped. “I have a granddaughter.” He
tried out the words, listened to them as
they seemed to float in the air between
them, and let them sink in. “I have a
granddaughter
.” He felt his lips stretch
in a smile of wonderment.
“You actually have two of them,”
David said with a grin. “And a
great-
granddaughter. But only Cat is
here.”
“Cat?” Wyatt said, looking at him.
David nodded. “Catherine Michelle.
After Mom. Of course.”
Tears gathered in his eyes and he
blinked hard, harder. “I can’t wait to
meet her.” Something warm inside him
flowered,
expanding
warmly
and
sweetly through his body. After a year of
cold and emptiness, of battling back any
possibility of
feeling
again, he was alive
again.
He’d been reborn. Twice in one day.
“You’ll meet her as soon as
possible,” David promised. Then his
expression became sober once again.
“But it seems that right now, there’s a
sort of crisis happening We’re on a
countdown.”
“Yes,” Wyatt said. Some of his joy
melted away as he remembered the far
more urgent problem of Remy and her
whereabouts. He was going to find
Vaughn and make him tell him where she
was. “Right now we’ve got a nasty
situation.”
“I’m here to help. And I should
probably tell you,” David said as they
both stood, “that I’ve known Lou and
Theo Waxnicki for years. And I’ve been
a part of their . . . network . . . for the
last three of them.”
Wyatt felt a rush of surprise tinged
with pride. “You’re part of the
Resistance?”
He nodded. “That’s why I’m here.
I’ve never actually met Sage, but I’ve
been in touch with her via the network
for years. She can vouch for me. And I
mainly know the Waxnickis through the
same interface, although I met Theo in
person a few times when he first came to
set up the network access point near
where Cat and I lived.”
“How did you get here, now?”
“I found something in Glenway that I
thought George should see, and I brought
it here. Now that I’m here, I want to help
—with whatever you’re going to do
regarding this threat about Remington
Truth. That,” he added, looking at Wyatt
steadily, “is what George and I assumed
this big meeting with Mayor Rogan was
about.”
Wyatt nodded slowly. “Yes. I want to
tell you more, but I have to get the
agreement of the others to do so.”
“Absolutely.
I
understand
completely.” His smile was one of
chagrin. “I made the mistake of
mentioning to Cat—and Yvonne, my
other daughter—that I was sort of
involved in a resistance group, trying to
explain to them why it was urgent that I
get to Envy. And now Cat wants to join
. . .” He shook his head. “She’d jump in
feet first if she could.” Then he looked
up at Wyatt and a proud smile curved his
face. “She takes after her grandfather.”
T
hirty-three hours.
Tomorrow night at ten.
Remington Truth.
Everywhere she went, Cat heard
people whispering about it. Or arguing,
with desperation and panic rising in
their taut bellows. They gathered in
groups and every pair of eyes turned to
watch whenever anyone new walked by.
She wandered, feeling lost and
impotent. She wanted to be doing
something
, but she knew no one but Dad
and Ana, and they were nowhere to be
found. She suspected they were meeting
with the others in the resistance group
. . . but she hadn’t been invited.
Remington Truth. What did that
mean? Was it
the
Remington Truth . . .
like some sort of book or document? A
canon or writ or something? Or was it an
object? A statue?
Could it be a person? Remington
Truth. A little tingle, a little
pop
in her
thoughts told her that made the most
sense. But that would be like finding a
needle in a haystack.
And if I were
Remington Truth, I’d be keeping way
out of everyone’s way.
“Come on, Jason. We’re leaving.
We’re getting out of this city!” The high-
pitched, strident voice of a woman
filtered through the constant level of
noise to Cat’s ears.
She turned to look and saw the
woman rushing along with a large pack
over her back and another slung over a
shoulder, crosswise over her chest. She
held the hand of a small boy whose legs
pumped to keep up with her determined
strides, and an older child followed.
There were others too. Groups
