Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Five

Best Laid Plans

ZACH

The sailboat cuts through the waves of Puget Sound with ease. My sailing technique comes back to me quickly. A northerly wind blows, and I need to head southwest, so I’m doing a lot of tacking and jibing.

Despite constantly adjusting the sails to catch the wind, I’m making good time. I’ve already crossed the channel from the mainland to Vashon. Now, I’m following the island’s perimeter until I reach my parent’s home. Nearly there.

I’ve waited so long for this moment, and now that it’s upon me, a horrible dread fills me. I don’t think I’m ready to find out the answers I’m about to discover. If only Aiden were here to help me through this. I expected him to be here with me. But the kindness and empathy he’s shown me are replaced only by emptiness. How could we have both been so stupid, clinging to our secrets? Protecting them until they tore us apart.

I round the last bend in the coastline. A little cottage sits up on the ridge. The place I grew up. It’s an unsettling mixture of familiar and foreign. The house looks in good shape, but the landscaping is unkempt. Ivy and morning glory grow up the side of the house and extend to the roof. Our little beach is gone, submerged beneath feet of seawater. The zigzagging staircase that used to lead down to the shoreline is halfway into the sea.

Normally, I’d have to anchor the sailboat offshore and ride a dinghy to our beach. Instead, I pilot the boat up to the stairs, rising from the water. The wood is slippery and unstable, covered with algae, and never intended to be submerged. I climb the steps with care.

When I reach the top, it’s clear the house has been untouched for months. A nervous pit forms inside me. This could mean they abandoned the house and fled elsewhere. Or it could mean the worst.

The house is secure, all the doors and windows locked and intact. The overgrown garden is a maze of weeds and overgrowth. I find a flat rock etched with the phrase Garden of Weed’n, and under the rock, the spare key. Still there after all this time.

But something else gets my attention as I turn around to unlock the house—two large stones, deep in the garden. These are new. I’ve never seen them before. Written across the stones are the names Martha and Frank. My parents’ names. The pain of seeing them overwhelms me, and I drop to my knees and start weeping.

Despite what I hoped, this is what I expected to find. But that doesn’t help much. Expected or not, their deaths hit me like a sledgehammer as I sob over their graves.

I hoped that somehow, against all odds, fate would reunite me with them. I’d come home, see their smiling faces, and run up to hug them. I’d take in the scent of my mother’s hair, with her back from the garden, smelling of flowers and earth. My dad would get a hug so strong I’d never let him get away. Instead, this place is like everywhere else in the world. Dead. Empty. Alone.

After a long while, when my sobs have subsided, I go through the house and find any belongings of theirs to remember them by. I only take a few items. Some family photographs, my dad’s watch, and the golden necklace my mom’s worn since I was a child.

When I’m done, I let out a long, drawn-out breath. There’s one more task on the island—another piece of my past to reconcile. I have to find out Felix’s fate. My parents’ burial gives me a glimmer of hope that maybe he’s alive. Maybe he did it. Felix loved my parents and treated them like his own.

The path from my house to his is forever etched into my memory. I’ve hiked this route a thousand times. Before we fell in love, we were best friends. We’ve known each other since the sixth grade.

His family’s old farmhouse looks similar in condition to my parents’ house. Unscathed but overgrown. As I approach the front door, two wooden crosses staked into the yard come into view. When I get closer, a chill goes over me; I’m afraid of what the markers will reveal.

Scrawled across one is Allison, Felix’s mom. And on the other, Felix.

I’m numb. I have no more tears left to shed. They’ve all been spent.

For the last year, getting back here was the only thing I wanted. It was my singular focus. And now that I’m here, I’ve found nothing to return to. It was a fool’s errand. All that’s left here are the empty shells of my childhood memories in the form of graves. I shouldn’t have expected anything else.

And the only thing left in this entire world that I care about is somewhere out there, but I don’t know where. Aiden. I’m hollowed out and filled with regret and loneliness.

It’s too late to return to the mainland before nightfall, and I’m unsure where I’d go next even if I could. So, I return to my parent’s home in stunned silence, barely looking where I’m going.

With so much loss in the last twenty-four hours, my mind can scarcely contain it. I’ve lost Aiden, lost my parents, lost Felix, and had to witness Curtis’s horrific death.

Wait—Curtis’s letter.

I reach into my pocket for the envelope Curtis had tasked me to deliver. But as I take it out, another piece of paper drops to the ground. A lump forms in my throat. It’s the letter Aiden wrote me the night he left me at the dam. I read through half of it and get swept up in conflicting emotions. It’s the closest thing to a love letter that Aiden has ever written me. But it’s also a stinging reminder of his repeated betrayal. I shove it back in my pocket, not wanting to relive those memories any longer.

Then I refocus and inspect Curtis’s letter. The name James is written in careful cursive, with an address below it. It’s in the Capitol Hill neighborhood in Seattle. I know that area well.

I’m relieved I have something else to do—a new goal. Maybe if I find James, we can have some common ground with our connection to Curtis.

Tomorrow, I’ll work on heading back to Seattle.

*

AIDEN

There’s no being discreet or careful now. I put the Audi in gear, then tear out of the driveway and head straight for the interstate. Carjackers and Connor be damned. Bring them on. See if they can mess with me when I’m trying to save the guy I love. The guy I love. I love him. The feeling has been simmering for a while, but now it’s a full boil. I have to find him.

The Audi responds with precision. I’ve never driven an electric car before. The smooth, linear acceleration is a kick. Heading onto the freeway entrance, I’m thrust into my seat as I push the accelerator to the floor. The freeway is clear. Only the occasional wreck slows me down as I navigate past. But the road is wide, so I cruise as fast as possible, teetering on the edge of control.

The onboard navigation still works. The car has all the map data downloaded, so I’m not reliant on a nonexistent Internet, and the GPS satellites haven’t malfunctioned yet. My destination is the UW Medical Center in the middle of Seattle. I enter it into the navigation system and blast down the road.

The outskirts of Seattle don’t seem that bad. No worse than many smaller towns I encountered across the country. Run-down, but not destroyed. But the deeper I get to the middle of the city, the more the apocalypse is apparent. Entire neighborhoods are burned down. Graffiti is everywhere. And Mother Nature seems to be especially eager to swallow up the city, as many structures are covered by vegetation.

After such a long journey with so many obstacles, it’s remarkable how fast this last leg goes. I cruise through Seattle’s University District in less than an hour. My final destination is minutes away.

I pull the Audi up to a massive complex of buildings and get out. The UW Medical Center appears to have been built over many decades, with each new architect taking their inspiration from whatever drab, institutional buildings looked like at the time.

I wind through the maze of towers, outbuildings, and parking garages. But I know exactly where I’m going. I’ve studied the maps and the pictures extensively. Finally, I find a nondescript door on the side of an unremarkable building. A tiny camera protrudes from the building’s facade.

I wave to the camera and speak clearly so the mic will pick up my voice. “Emergency Medical Bunker Gamma-six, this is Aiden Torres, courier from EMB Alpha-one, with a priority one package. Please acknowledge.”

Nothing.

I wait for a moment, then repeat the message and wave to the camera again. Still no response.

This bunker was offline when I left Boston over a month ago. This was always a worry, but I’d kept it tucked into the back of my mind, never wanting it to stress me too much or let it cloud my judgment. Now, it’s hitting me over the head.

The door should have been locked, but the doorknob turns freely.

Shit.

With pistol in hand, I ease the door open to reveal a large cement room and a freight elevator shaft, very similar to the one in Boston. But the inside is trashed. The biometric scanner next to the elevator, has been smashed beyond recognition. The metal gate that should guard the elevator shaft lies in a heap in the corner, ripped from its hinges.

I’m hit with a wave of panic. Any hope of finding the cure and saving Zach took a major blow, but I still need to press on. Maybe something down there will provide a hint to what happened.

I peer down the deep hole, which descends over a hundred feet. I shine the flashlight down it. Even the powerful beam cannot penetrate the darkness at the bottom. To my right, a metal access ladder descends the entire length of the shaft until the shadows obscure it. A narrow ledge, no wider than six inches, provides access to the ladder.

I press my body up against the side of the shaft and shimmy my feet along the ledge. My pulse rises as I shake off a minor spell of dizziness. Now is not the time to freak out. I grab the ladder rungs with all my strength and descend into the darkness.

My forearms, shoulders, and back muscles scream, but I continue downward. After over a hundred feet, I finally reach the bottom.

I’m standing on the top of the elevator car. Pointing my flashlight around, I find the access hatch into the cab. But it’s already been opened. Someone has been here before me.

I poke my head down through the hatch to see what I’m getting myself into, shining the flashlight around in the darkness. Beyond the elevator car a large concrete room opens up, and a massive circular metal door provides access to the bunker. The door is ajar.

After gently descending into the elevator car, I creep toward the bunker, pistol in one hand, flashlight in the other. Large chunks of cement debris litter the floor and rest against the bunker entrance. The massive door won’t open any further, with just enough room for me to squeeze through.

Inside, tables are overturned, smashed lab equipment is strewn about, and shattered TVs line the walls.

I search the large main room, shining my flashlight, looking for any signs of what might have happened here. I come across a series of letters and numbers spray-painted along the wall.

VXTZ UAR +11

Next to the text is the three-dimensional drawing of a rectangle in red paint. It almost looks like a shoe box.

I recognize the text immediately. This is cyphertext. An encoded message. Hopefully, it’s a hint about the lab’s new location.

Thank god. There’s still hope.

Encoding is standard procedure for the Scientific Collective when leaving a message in the open. The plus-eleven is part of the key to unlocking the message, but we also use a private rotating key that changes weekly. Luckily, I have them all committed to memory—part of my training. I take a pen and paper from my backpack and jot down the writing.

A quick peek at my watch shows 7:38 p.m. Less than seventeen hours until the meeting time. That’ll be cutting it close if Zach turns out to be sick. By then, he’ll have a terrible fever. But at least it gives me more time to decipher this code and hopefully have a clue for what to do next.

I turn to search the rest of the bunker for more clues when a faint noise off to my left breaks the silence. It’s quiet but unmistakable. Something down here moved.

I spin around on my heel, shining the light and pointing the pistol in the direction of the noise. “Who’s there!”

A moment later, three figures holding guns walk into the beam of my flashlight. I don’t recognize them, but their combat gear and how they carry themselves scream militia. One turns on a flashlight and points it at me, shining it in my eyes and obscuring any more details.

“You with the other one?” a woman calls out.

“I’m alone. What do you mean, other one?” I keep my voice calm.

“Blond bastard. Tall,” she replies.

Fuck. Connor’s been here. But I play ignorant. “No. Just me.”

“Good answer,” she says in a level tone. “If you said yes, we’d shoot you on the spot. He killed two of our men. But nobody has to die here. Just drop your gun and your backpack, and you can walk away.”

That’s not going to happen, so I say nothing.

“Drop the damn gun!” a man yells cocking his pistol.

“I’ll be on my way,” I reply, my voice firm. “But I need my supplies.”

“I think you’ll find we need them more,” the woman says. “Is what you’re carrying worth dying for?”

I sigh. “Yes,” I say quietly.

My instincts kick in at the sudden movement from the three armed people. I dive for the cover of an overturned lab table to my left. Gunshots ring out, and a strobe of muzzle flashes brighten the room as I hit the floor hard. Dust rains down as the bullets impact the cement wall behind me, creating large divots.

Footsteps head toward me, closing the distance between us, so I act quickly. I pull the pin of the last grenade and throw it over the desk. It clatters along the floor. “Better run!” I shout.

“Shit! Grenade!” one of them yells, and there’s the sound of frantic footsteps running away. I plug my ears.

A concussive blast fills the entire bunker. The table I’m behind, which has a soapstone top and must weigh several hundred pounds, slides back a few inches. The sound of metal shrapnel embedding into the overturned tabletop makes a staccato rhythm inches away from my head.

Wasting no time after the blast, I jump up and race for the door. I shine my flashlight around the bunker as I run but see no sign of them—just a big cloud of dust. But then gunfire erupts out of the darkness. I crouch down. With the door only feet away, I shoot several times for cover, then sprint toward the entrance. After sliding through the narrow opening of the circular bunker door, I shove it closed with all my might and drag a large chunk of broken concrete against it.

I race up the ladder as fast as possible, going two rungs at a time. Every ten or so feet, I peek back down but see nothing. When I reach the top, I shine my flashlight down into the abyss. No movement.

Without looking back, I run to the Audi and drive off as fast as the electric motor will go. My destination is Volunteer Park on the top of Capitol Hill, a neighborhood in the middle of Seattle. There, I’ll wait at the Black Sun statue and hope against hope Zach remembers the rendezvous details I wrote in my letter.

When I get to the park, I leave the car a short distance away, not wanting to attract attention. I head directly to the statue, hoping to see Zach’s warm smile. The rendezvous isn’t until tomorrow, but maybe he got here early.

But he’s not here. I miss Zach so much. I miss his smile, I miss his humor, I miss his smarts. I even miss his tendency to panic sometimes. I miss him. I desperately want to find him. And I’m worried beyond belief that when I find him, he’ll be sick.

Or that I’ll never find him.

I shove that thought away and continue on.

The statue is a black, round disk about ten feet in diameter with a hole through the middle, standing on top of a pedestal. It resembles a large misshapen doughnut. Through the hole, the Space Needle is framed directly in the middle. Clearly, this was the intent of this statue.

With no Zach in sight, I search for a place to set up camp. Nearby, an old stone water tower from over a hundred years ago rises up. The tower is no longer in use, but its doors are open. Plaques on the wall make it clear this is a historical marker.

Spiral staircases wind their way up to the top of the tower over seventy feet above the ground. At the top is a large flat surface. It’s a good spot to set up a tent. Windows line the perimeter of the wall, providing an excellent vantage point for the entire area.

With my camp set up, I settle down with the pad of paper, the encrypted code, and local maps, and I try to find some clue or pattern to reveal the bunker’s new location.

Zach’s life depends on it.