Surviving the Dead (Book 7): The Killing Line (5 page)

“A gift freely given, Sabrina. Do whatever you want with it.”

The steady gray eyes grew a little less suspicious, and a little more confused. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I poured both packets into my tea, stirred, held the steam under my nose to breath in the scent, and sipped. Even for someone of my means, it was a rare indulgence. I intended to enjoy it. To my amusement, Sabrina mimicked my actions.

“I see you appreciate the finer things.”

She smiled a little. It brightened her face, softened the hard eyes, and made her look more like a girl and not a world-weary woman trapped in an adolescent body. “This is really good. Better than anything I’ve had in a long time.”

I nodded. “Glad you like it. But you still haven’t answered my question.”

She put her cup down and let out a breath. “Did you have a family before the Outbreak?”

“Not really. Just an uncle I hadn’t seen in years. I have no idea if he’s still alive.”

“If you had reason to think he was, would you try to find him?”

She was touching on something I had thought about before, at length, even going so far as to make a few inquiries with some of the caravans that traveled back and forth between Colorado and Tennessee. I had a picture of Uncle Roger, but it was over ten years old. A person’s looks can change a lot in that time. So far, I’d had no luck. “I think I would, yes.”

“Then you see what I’m getting at.”

“I think I do.”

She sipped her tea again, eyes downcast. “He’s the only family I have left.”

“You’re mother, she …”

Sabrina shook her head. “She got bit protecting me.”

“I’m sorry, Sabrina. I lost both my parents before the Outbreak. I know how bad it hurts.”

She wiped a tear from her left eye as if its presence made her angry. I’d seen enough crocodile tears to know what they looked like, and this was not it. She was genuinely upset. I felt inwardly angry at myself for pushing and making her cry. Maybe after I was finished here I could find a few puppies to kick, or old women to threaten.

“So do you understand, now? Do you understand why I want to see him?”

“Yes, Sabrina. I do.”

She spun her teacup on its saucer, an absent gesture. “What’s he like?”

I leaned back in my chair. “He’s big. That’s the first thing people notice about him. Big and scary looking. And he
is
scary if you cross him, but he’s not usually quick to anger. Quick to irritation, maybe, but not anger. I’ve never seen him raise his hand against someone who didn’t earn it first. He’s also highly intelligent. And I don’t mean normal smart, I mean, like, genius smart. If you lie to him, he’ll know it. Best if you’re honest. If he asks you something and you don’t want to answer, just say so. He won’t push. But you should expect him to ask you things only someone who lived with his ex-wife should know. He’s a suspicious man by nature. He’ll want to make sure you are who you say you are, although I think one look at your face should be plenty convincing.”

“Do you … do you think he would even
want
to see me?”

“Sabrina, I know for a fact he’s going to be thrilled to meet you. In fact, I’m actually glad you found him and not the other way around. If he knew he had a daughter out there not under his personal protection, he would leave a trail of destruction between here and wherever he had to go to find you.”

The girl looked up. “You say that, and it makes me nervous. I don’t want to meet him if he’s going to be violent toward me. I’ve seen plenty of that out on the road, and I want no part of it.”

“He won’t be. He’s not like that. Maybe toward anyone who tries to hurt you, but not to you personally.”

She stopped spinning her cup. “So you can take me to him?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“I’d like that.”

I reached out slowly and patted the back of one slender, long-fingered hand. “Finish your tea first, sweetheart. This shit is expensive.”

She smiled again. Not small like before, but a full one, broad and genuine. It made her beautiful.

I walked Sabrina to my house and introduced her to Miranda. She stared at Sabrina in confusion for a moment, then realization dawned and her mouth fell open.

“Is she?”

I nodded. “I believe so.”

“But how?”

“Probably the usual method.”

A frown. “You know what I mean.”

“Sure. Is Gabe home?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“You mind waiting here a little longer?”

“Not at all.”

Sabrina looked uncomfortable as she stared at little Gabriel snoozing in Miranda’s arms. “Is that your kid?”

“He is,” I said. “His name is Gabriel.”

Sabrina looked at me. “Like my father?”

“Yes. He’s named after him.”

The gray eyes left me and settled on the baby again. “You two must be really close.”

“We are. Wait here. I’ll be back shortly.” I started walking toward the door, then stopped. “Hey, you still have that picture of Gabe from his wedding day?”

Sabrina reached into a pocket of her shirt and produced a small plastic bag. The photo was inside. “Be careful with it.”

I held the picture up and studied it. Yep. That was Gabe all right, holding the waist of a pretty young woman with a bright smile and dark brown hair. He stood tall in his Marine Corps dress uniform, hair buzzed short, face still mostly unscarred. It was hard to believe my big, gruff friend had ever been this young.

“Mind if I hang onto this for a few minutes? I want to show it to Gabe.”

“Why?”

“I think it’ll make breaking the news a little easier.”

“Fine. But I want it back undamaged.”

“You have my word.”

I walked the short distance to Gabe’s house slowly, mind racing, trying to think of what I was going to say. My feet stopped just short of his front porch. A minute or so passed. How was I going to do this? I looked up at the glass panes in the top half of the front door, rubbed a hand across the back of my neck, and took a deep breath.

“Just get it done.”

I knocked on the door.

“Hang on a minute.” Gabe’s voice was muffled. At this hour, he was probably in his office going over inventory logs and trade requests. His approach was quiet, boards creaking gently, telling me he was wearing the fur-lined moccasins Great Hawk had made for him. He had made a pair for me as well. They were warm and comfortable, perfect for wearing around the house on a cold day.

The door opened. “Hey, Eric. Come on in.”

He vacated the entrance and walked back inside. I entered and shut the door behind me.

“What brings you by?” he asked from the kitchen.

I walked into the living room and stared through the open doorway. Gabe was squatting in front of the woodstove feeding split sections of cedar into the fire.

“There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

A glance over his shoulder. “Sounds serious.”

“Yeah. It is.”

He stood up and gestured toward the table. We sat down.

“So what’s on your mind?” Gabe asked.

I removed the picture from my pocket and slid it across the table. “Recognize that?”

He picked it up and stared at it. At first his face was blank, then his eyebrows slid down and I heard him mutter, “What the hell?”
The cold eyes grew distant, as though seeing something far away, the look of someone dusting off long-ago memories. Finally, he came back to the present and stared intently at me over the photograph.

“Where did you get this?”

“There’s someone at my place you need to meet.”

“Who? Did they give you this?”

“Yes.”

Sudden hope dawned on Gabe’s face. “Is it her? Is it Karen?”

I shook my head. “No, Gabe. I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean, you’re sorry?”

“I think Karen died in the Outbreak.”

The big man’s face began to flush. “Eric, you need to tell me what the hell is going on. Who gave you this picture?”

“Come over to my place. I think all will be made clear.”

Now he looked confused. “All right. Fine.”

He followed me to my front door, where I stopped and faced him. “Do me a favor.”

“What?”

“Calm down. Try not to look so angry.”

“Eric, I’m getting real tired of this mystery shit.”

I put a hand on his shoulder. “Please, Gabe. I’m asking you as your friend to trust me.”

He let out a long breath, white mist fogging the air around his head. “Okay. I’m good. Can we get on with it now?”

“Gabe, this is going to be difficult. Whatever happens after today, don’t forget you’re not alone. You have help whenever you need it.”

The confusion returned. “I appreciate that. But right now, you’re making me nervous.”

I tried to think of something else to say, something to smooth the road. Nothing came to mind. The only thing left to do was take the leap. I opened the door and led Gabe inside.

Sabrina was sitting on the couch with Miranda, leaning over my son, face shining with the smile all women seem to instinctively exhibit around babies. She noticed us come in and stood up quickly. I stepped aside and studied Gabe’s face. First came a narrowing of the eyes, then a jaw-drop not unlike Miranda’s a few minutes ago. Sabrina pointed at the picture in his hand.

“You look different than I thought you would.”

Gabe stepped forward on numb feet. He held up the photograph. “Where did you get this?”

I winced a little. He was in denial, his mind refusing to admit what the eidetic memory was undoubtedly telling him. Sabrina backed off a step. Gabe realized what he was doing and stepped back as well.

“Mom gave it to me when we had to evacuate,” Sabrina said. “It’s the only thing I have left from before.”

“Karen gave this to you?”

“Yes.” Sabrina stepped closer to him. From my angle, the resemblance was downright spooky. Even their expressions were the same. “You’re Gabriel Garrett, right?”

He nodded slowly.

Tears stood out in the young girl’s eyes. Her voice was a whisper, hands trembling as she clasped them in front of her. “My name is Sabrina. I’m your daughter.”

Gabe reached up a gentle hand and ran two fingers down her cheek.

“But how?”

“She was pregnant with me when you left, but she didn’t know it yet. She never told you.”

“Why not?”

“She said she was afraid of you.”

Gabe closed his eyes and put a hand over his mouth. He seemed to collapse into himself. “Did she survive?”

“No. She got bit outside of Morgantown in West Virginia.” Sabrina reached up and took her father’s hand. “When it happened, before the soldiers took her, she told me to give you a message if I ever found you.”

Gabe looked up, his eyes red.

“She said she never stopped loving you, she just couldn’t stand to watch you lose yourself anymore. She was sorry she never told you about me. She told me to do whatever it took to find you. She said if there was anyone in the world who could protect me, it would be you.”

The big man blinked and tears fell down his cheeks. He tried to speak, found he could not, and reached out for his daughter. Sabrina’s hardened mask fell away and she began to sob, her arms going around Gabe’s midsection, the tension of long, painful years draining away in a flood. Father and daughter held each other tightly, Gabe crying silently and Sabrina like the child she was. Miranda looked at me, and we both left the room. Neither Gabe nor Sabrina seemed to notice. 

*****

The passage of two weeks found me muddling through December. The winter’s first dustings of snow fell on the roof of Stall’s tavern as I walked up the stairs and left the cold winds behind for the warmth of a hot woodstove.

Solar panels on the roof powered a series of fans that blew hot air from the stove through tubes located around the periphery of the tavern. The result was a comforting heat evenly applied throughout the premises. Mike Stall, owner, proprietor, and executive bottle washer, once told me his profits tripled during the winter. Judging by the crowd on a late Tuesday evening, I believed it.

At the pool tables were were the usual bachelors who would rather part with a bit of trade than cook their own dinner. They snacked on bread and roasted chicken and sips of Mike’s grain liquor between bits of conversation and whacking balls around with sticks. The tables in the dining area were mostly full, a low roar of conversation hanging like a cloud among the couples and families and the occasional loner. At the bar was the singles scene, people in their twenties regurgitating the same old pick-up lines and awkward flirtations I once reveled in but now found exhausting.

The far left end of the bar broke off in an L shape. A long table stood next to it with a sign overhead that read ‘STAMMTISCH’. A few regulars occupied the table, so I took a stool at the bar. The seats on this side were painted red to notify patrons that this area was reserved for people Mike had dubbed VIPs. I was one of them. I did not usually sit there, but it was late, cold, I was tired, and the only thing I had to look forward to was going to bed and praying my son managed a few hours’ sleep before he woke up screaming for milk. Allison and I took turns feeding him, and tonight was my shift. Being able to operate a breast pump and store milk in the fridge were two of the many unintended consequences of installing solar panels on my house.

“What’s goin’ on,” Mike said as he approached. He pronounced ‘on’ like ‘own’. He was old, tall, lean, and hell on wheels in a poker tournament. His two greatest passions were distilling liquor and his rather majestic handlebar moustache. He was never seen without his trademark cowboy boots, ten-gallon hat, and large gold belt buckle he won riding bulls back in some far distant juncture of his youth.

“It’s cold. That’s what’s going on.”

“Little something to warm you up?”

“Please.”

The old cowboy poured me a double of the good stuff—pre-Outbreak bourbon. Maker’s Mark, to be exact. It cost a small fortune per bottle anymore, but God, was it worth it.

“You’re looking a might out o’ sorts Mister Riordan.”

“You’re a perceptive man, Mister Stall.”

He leaned an elbow on the bar and pushed back his hat. “What’s botherin’ ya?”

“Lots of things, great and small.”

“Care to elaborate?”

I took a long pull of bourbon, let it rest on my tongue a few seconds, and sent it down. The burn was warm and comforting. “Well, for starters, there’s my son. I don’t think he’s capable of sleeping for more than three hours at a time. And after the sun goes down, it’s more like two.”

Mike chuckled. “I know the feeling. Had three girls, all born close together. Was about seven years there I don’t think I slept at all.”

I looked at Mike with renewed interest. One of the many unspoken rules of the post-Outbreak world was you did not ask people about their past. I’d seen fights break out over that sort of thing. So for Mike to volunteer personal information was a profound show of trust.

“Heard anything from them since … you know.”

“Not yet. But hope springs eternal.”

My problems suddenly did not seem so bad. “Sorry to hear that, Mike.”

He waved a hand. “What else is botherin’ ya?”

I shrugged. “Business stuff. The perimeter expansion is taking forever, which makes it hard for my farm co-op to get anything done. Tough to work when you have to scan the horizon for infected every ten seconds.”

“Not much farming goin’ on right now. It’s winter, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Right, but they have other projects. Clearing land, cutting timber for boards and firewood, making charcoal, harvesting eggs, building greenhouses, that sort of thing.”

“Gotcha.”

“And then there’s Allison. She’s supposed to be working part time, but it doesn’t feel that way. She’s almost never home before sundown. Seems like every woman in town is either pregnant or about to be, and they all want Allison to take care of them.”

“I have noticed a surge in the number of large round bellies and swollen bosoms. Guess now there’s no TV, folks are finding other ways to entertain themselves.”

“So it would seem. I might be the only man in town not getting any action.”

“How long she makin’ you wait?”

“At least another week. There was some tearing when the baby came out.”

Mike winced. “I’ve always been glad men ain’t the ones gotta have the babies. Don’t seem like no kind of fun at all.”

I downed the rest of my drink. “Truer words and all that.”

“How’s Miranda doin’? I ain’t seen her in a month of Sundays.”

“She’s doing busy. Between working at the shop and babysitting for me, she doesn’t have a lot of spare time.”

“Ever think maybe you’re working her too hard?”