Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Six

Black Sun

ZACH

Cough…cough…cough…

I wake up with a start, hacking. For a moment, I forget where I am. But a quick look around reorients me. I’m lying on my old bed in my childhood bedroom. Posters of Tom Holland as Spider-Man and classic movies like Star Wars and Jaws fill my walls. Then, the fate of my parents and Felix returns, and the pain comes rushing back.

But another fit of coughing interrupts my thoughts. There’s a tickle in the back of my throat. I’ve learned through the years that I’m a hopeless hypochondriac. Every sore throat and cough doesn’t mean I’m sick. I shake off the worry and get out of bed.

I’m glad I have a purpose today. Find James and deliver Curtis’s letter. Retracing my steps, I head to the sailboat moored to our half-submerged beach staircase and start on the trip back across Puget Sound.

Overall, I’m finding the effort of sailing much more taxing today than yesterday. I probably needed a better breakfast. I’m winded and sweating a bit when I finally get to shore. The breeze blows through and gives me the chills. I rub my torso to warm up but find it doesn’t help much, so I put on a light jacket from my pack.

My destination is Capitol Hill, just east of downtown Seattle. I weave the bike through back roads and side streets, trying to find a way free of water and obstructions. It takes some time, but soon I’m heading north on I-5.

As I approach, the devastation of downtown becomes more apparent. Seeing how fragile these giant skyscrapers are is startling. Toppled buildings have flattened entire city blocks, and towers have collapsed into each other. Some stand precariously as if a strong enough wind could knock them over.

I scan the freeway ahead. One building has fallen onto the lanes, forever blocking the progress north. I take the next exit and head the rest of the way via surface streets.

I’m thankful for the motorcycle. In remote rural areas, the Infected are rare. But driving through the city, it’s not uncommon to see movement on either side of me. The occasional figure chases after me down the road. Quick acceleration is all it takes to lose them, but it still makes my pulse skyrocket every time it happens, and I keep a vigilant eye.

When I finally arrive on a tree-lined street in front of a classic craftsman house, I double-check the address in Curtis’s letter. It matches up.

I’m hit with a pang of sadness as I head to the porch. Aiden and I had planned to deliver this note together. It feels wrong doing it without him. I miss him deeply.

I knock on the door. No answer. Reaching for the knob, I find the door unlocked. The air is stale, but there’s no hint of death. I spot some old mail on the dining room table. The letters are addressed to James Nguyen. This confirms I’m at the right place.

Searching for any signs of life, I spot framed photographs on the fireplace mantle. Many are of two elderly men. Some with their arms around each other, some surrounded by other people. In all the photos, they are smiling and happy.

And then, one photo catches my eye. I recognize a familiar face standing with one of the two men from the other photos. Both are considerably younger in the photo, but one is unmistakably Curtis. He looks so happy. They both do. A tear streaks down my cheek, and I wipe it away.

After searching the entire house and finding nothing, I head out to the backyard. There, I find what I was worried I might discover. In the middle of the lawn, there’s a mound of dirt. Grass grows over it, but it’s clearly a grave and, at the top, a makeshift cross. Somebody has written James across it. I let out a deep sigh as more tears flow down my cheeks. I so hoped I might find James alive.

All I wanted was to deliver this letter for Curtis. To do this one thing he asked me to do. James and I could have shared memories of Curtis together. And there might have been one person I’d have some connection to. Instead, like everywhere else, I only find death.

Tears drip on Curtis’s letter, making the ink run in black streaks. I contemplate burning it and spreading the ashes over James’s grave. That would be the respectable thing to do, but I miss Curtis too much. With some trepidation, I open the envelope and read it, hoping to have this one last connection.

It’s a beautiful letter filled with loving memories of a better time between James and Curtis. As I read the words, I’m overcome with melancholy joy at their wonderful life together, but a life that was interrupted. When I get near the end, a particular passage stands out.

As I recall all these beautiful memories with you, James, I have only this one regret. I couldn’t find it in my heart to forgive you in time, even though I knew you did what you did from a place of love. Forgiveness is a cornerstone of love. By not understanding that soon enough, I lost you. But I never stopped loving you. And I hope you can say the same about me.

As I read the words, it’s as if I’m reading about Aiden and myself. There’s a lump in the back of my throat.

Oh god.

I can’t make the same mistake.

I love Aiden so fiercely it hurts, and having him gone only amplifies that hurt. I reread the letter he wrote at the dam.

Why do I keep torturing myself like this?

As I read the letter, I’m hit by longing and anger. But when I get to the end, my jaw drops open.

PS: If we both make it through this, I’ll wait for you every Sunday in Volunteer Park in Seattle. At the Black Sun statue at noon.

Oh, my god. Aiden left explicit instructions for us to meet if we got split up. It was under my nose the whole time, and I forgot about it.

My watch says 1:29 p.m., Sunday. Crap. I’m an hour and a half late. But Volunteer Park isn’t far. Maybe I can still catch him. I run out of the house, jump on my bike, and race to the park as fast as possible.

*

AIDEN

I’ve been waiting for Zach all day.

I woke up this morning at first light and stared at the statue from on top of the water tower. By 9:00 a.m., I’d packed up camp and waited nearby, alternating between standing next to the statue, sitting at a park bench, and pacing around the area. I spent the whole time poring over my maps and trying to make sense of the encrypted writing. I have some leads but no breakthroughs yet.

Noon came and went. Then one.

Now, it’s one thirty, and I’m fighting despair. Zach hasn’t come. He either doesn’t remember the note or hasn’t forgiven me. And if his symptoms haven’t progressed enough for him to realize he’s sick, he’ll die before next week. Or worse, he’ll go on living as one of those things. I’m a total wreck.

I want to stay longer, but this place weighs on me heavily. This statue now symbolizes Zach’s rejection of me—a monument to my failure. With a heavy heart, I walk down the tree-lined path back to where I parked.

As I approach the car, I become aware of a rumbling sound in the distance. It’s getting closer. It’s the sound of a motorcycle engine. I jump in the air, pumping my fists.

I spin around and sprint back to the statue. My lungs burn, but I keep going the whole way. As I reach the statue, a motorcycle approaches with a lone rider.

It’s Zach. He made it. He’s alive.

Zach parks the motorcycle near me and hops off it. He doesn’t even set the kickstand, and the bike hits the ground with a nasty crunch. But neither of us cares as we both run toward each other. Zach leaps up and jumps into my arms.

I lift him and spin him around. We’re both laughing and crying at the same time. I squeeze him tightly and whisper into his ear. “Zach, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you about the vials, and for wanting to leave you. I should have trusted you. Let you take your own risks. I never want to be gone from your side again.”

Zach chokes out a response between sobs. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you enough to tell you about my uncle and ran off like I did. You were trying to protect me, like always. I should have waited to hear you out.”

We both hold on tight. And then Zach starts coughing. Not a short cough or two, but a full coughing fit. I set him down, my heart wrenching. I put my hand on his forehead. He clearly has a fever.

“I think I might be coming down with something.” Zach’s sad eyes gaze into mine.

I’m wracked with unimaginable worry and guilt. I have to tell Zach about the broken vial, but I fear he’ll be so upset that he’ll hate me and run off again. But I have to do it.

“Aiden, what’s wrong?”

“In the tunnel—” My voice is shaking, and I barely form words. “A bullet hit my aluminum box. One vial was smashed.”

Zach takes a step back from me. His mouth falls open, and his eyes are wide. He backs into the base of the statue and sits down with a blank expression. He says in a totally flat voice, “Did you find the lab?”

I take a deep breath. “The lab is abandoned. But I think it’s just moved. I have a lead.”

“How long do I have?”

“Zach, let’s concentrate on trying to find the—”

“How long?” he says forcefully.

“It’s been twenty-six hours since you were exposed. In the next twelve hours, you’ll be going downhill fast. By tomorrow, you won’t be able to move much.”

“And after that?”

I’m unable to meet his gaze. “Nobody makes it much past day three.”

Zach stares past my shoulder off into the distance. “Everyone’s dead. Mom, Dad, Felix, James, Curtis.”

“I’m so sorry, Zach.”

“And now I’m dead.”

“You aren’t dead yet!” I take him by the shoulders. “There’s still hope.”

Zach’s face crumples. “I don’t want to die.”

I pull him into a hug. “You’re not going to. Not if I can help it.” I rock him back and forth in my arms, rubbing his back. “It’s okay, Zach. We can beat this.”

He looks at me and nods, his face an iron resolve. “I’m not going down without a fight. What do we do now?”

I let out a long breath. He’s trying to be so strong. “Now, we get to work. At the lab, a code was spray-painted on the wall.” I point to the piece of paper where I copied it down.

VXTZ UAR +11

“Next to that was a red 3D rectangle,” I say. “It’s standard practice for the Collective to encrypt messages. The plus-eleven is half of the key. It’s a simple Caesar Cipher. The other half of the key, I have committed to memory.”

Zach nods. “That makes sense. I learned about ciphers in my comp-sci class in high school.” The gears in his head turn. Now that he has something to focus on, he looks more hopeful.

“Yeah, but the results don’t mean anything to me.” I point to more scribbles below the original code. “When I decode it, I come up with this.”

AGXN VZB

“It looks like the decryption didn’t work,” I say. “Does that make any sense to you?”

Zach scrunches his face up. “No, not really. Here, let me see that code again.”

I hand Zach the note, and he stares long and hard at the original letters. Then his face brightens. “Wait. You said the first part of the encryption was a Caesar Cipher, right?”

I nod.

“Are you sure that’s a plus-eleven?”

“I think so. What else could it be?”

“Are those capital I’s, maybe? Instead of ones?” Zach asks. “As in Roman numerals. Get it? Roman and Caesar?”

I drop my jaw. “You mean like Roman numeral two. So, the first part of the key is a two!”

I use the number two in the key, work out the new solution, then write it on the paper.

PSNS DD4

Zach points at it. “PSNS. Puget Sound Naval Shipyard. That’s in Bremerton, Washington, right on the other side of Puget Sound.”

“Oh, my god, Zach! You’re a genius!” I hug him so tightly that he grunts a little. “What does the DD4 mean, do you think? And the red rectangle?”

Zach shrugs. “Not sure. Guess we’ll have to go there and see.” His whole demeanor has changed. He’s filled with hope. And so am I. He gets up and heads toward the bike. “But not sure how we’ll get there. The bike is running on empty, and it kinda got smashed when I jumped off it.”

I walk in the other direction and gesture for him to follow. “C’mon Zach. Our chariot awaits.”

When I approach the Audi and make it chirp with a click of the key fob, Zach’s face lights up. “Wow. I’m impressed.”

I tell him all about how I found the car as I enter our destination into the navigation system.

“It’s sixty-six miles to the Puget Sound Naval Shipyard,” I say. “We still have one hundred and three miles of electric range left. That should get us there with miles to spare.”

Zach slaps the dashboard. “Let’s see what this baby can do.” His resilience is astonishing. Even sick and staring down death, he’s still his same wonderful, quirky self. I’ll never take him for granted if we somehow make it through this.

With all the ferries gone, the only way to get across Puget Sound is to go south, around it. From Capitol Hill, we get on Interstate 5 heading south, which will take us to Tacoma and then across the Tacoma Narrows Bridge. Bremerton is just north of that. We’re making good time. The freeway heading south out of the city is seven lanes wide. I weave the car back and forth like a skier on a slalom course, navigating around the wrecks while going nearly eighty.

After about a half hour of uneventful driving, we race past downtown Tacoma and take Highway 16 toward Tacoma Narrows Bridge. Soon, we’ll cross Puget Sound and onto the Kitsap Peninsula. Just a few more miles, and we’ll be home free.

We’re cruising around the last bend before the approach to the bridge. The Audi is cruising fast along the wide-open freeway. And then I slam on the brakes. We come to a shrieking stop, leaving a dark streak of burned rubber on the road. I step out of the car and gape, trying to process the sight before me. A massive twisted hunk of metal, concrete, and wire sits where two massive suspension bridges used to stand tall, built side by side, spanning the Tacoma Narrows waterway.

Zach walks up to my side. He looks onward at the carnage before us. “I can’t believe what I’m—”

But he can’t complete his sentence as he doubles over and lands on his hands and knees, overwhelmed by a fit of coughing.