Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

The Real Peril

AIDEN

I wake up before the first light of dawn brightens the night sky. Moving as quietly as possible, I grab the backpack filled with the supplies Zach gave me and tiptoe toward the door. He’s sitting awkwardly in the chair, sound asleep. With a delicate touch, I lift the beam of wood barring the door and sneak out of the bank.

He took me by surprise last night, not only in asking to go with me to Seattle, but also in coming out to me, a leap of faith on his part. There have been awful stories about how racism and homophobia have run rampant since the Great Collapse. I feel a little guilty not coming out to him, but what would be the point? I’d be out of his life before he knew it.

Him traveling with me is out of the question. I work better on my own, and I know the risks. Maybe in a different life, I might have let Zach tag along. He’s a good guy. He’s industrious, funny, and creative. All excellent skills for a travel partner. But it isn’t going to happen. As certain as the sky is blue. People are literally trying to kill me, and I could never forgive myself if he ended up dead because of me, adding to the list of other unforgivable things I’ve done. I have a track record of people ending up dead around me.

I remember working at the local community center when I was fifteen. It was only a field trip to the local park with a group of fifth graders. Those kids were my responsibility. We were only going to be gone for, like, twenty minutes. Little Noah Lopez was only ten years old, with the cutest smile and big brown eyes. Bobby Wheeler, the troublemaker in the group, was whacking a tree with a stick. I went over to make him stop just as he struck a hornet’s nest. There were hornets everywhere. Everybody got stung, but Noah was allergic. He was supposed to have his EpiPen, but he forgot it. I should have checked before we left. That was on me. His throat closed up, and he couldn’t breathe. We called 911, but the ambulance took forever. I held on to him as his life drained away. By the time the medics arrived, little Noah was gone. I never forgave myself for that.

When Connor died on our mission, all those old memories bubbled to the surface again. Yeah, so people tend to die around me. It’s why I work alone. Why I am alone.

Before leaving town, I make a quick sweep for anything useful to scavenge. The entirety of Elk Springs consists of five blocks. It takes almost no time to search every street. Half of the cars are burned out, have flat tires, or smashed windshields. And none of them have any keys. Like Zach said, people looted the cars long ago. One bag of spoiled potato chips in a glove box is all I find.

“Not a total waste, at least,” I say to nobody. And nobody laughs at my joke.

So, time to leave Elk Springs behind. These supplies will have to last me. I’m bound to find something in a week. What kind of courier would I be if I couldn’t do that? It’s what I’m trained to do.

I hike along the side of the road, staying close to the forest in case I need to take cover. White mileage post markers, nearly lost in the weeds, mark my slow progress. It gives me time to think. A lot has happened in the last few days. That car crash and flight through the woods almost feels like a dream. And I still haven’t figured out who was after me.

Sophia Hughes, the director of our bunker, is the only other person aware of my mission. Unless, somehow, somebody overheard our conversation or Sophia told somebody else I don’t know about. But that doesn’t seem likely.

Either way, it means there’s a spy in our midst. It’s hard to wrap my head around that. Everyone in our bunker is dedicated to our common goal. It’s the single driving force keeping us all going. The thought that somebody is working to subvert that goal means we’re in a whole new dangerous ballgame.

I think back to before my trip when Sophia called me into her office, asking about the brutal cross-country courier job I’d been assigned, checking that I was still up for leaving right away and that I understood the dangers.

What she revealed that day shook the foundations of my beliefs, and I still haven’t fully processed it. I’d be transporting vials that could lead to a cure for the Infection. The UW Medical Bunker in Seattle had discovered the ability to synthesize a powerful medication—effectively, a cure. But they needed something only we had—a sample of the original Infection called XT58, a bioweapon engineered in a military lab. The military had stockpiled XT58 around the world. One such place was in Boston.

“What are you saying?” I asked Sophia, almost mechanically, still absorbing the implications.

“I’m saying what you think I’m saying,” Sophia said after telling me the news. “The Infection was man-made.”

I felt ill. Connor had tried to tell me about this on our last mission together, but I didn’t believe him. To me, it sounded like some wild conspiracy theory. When he died the very next day, I’d already put it out of my mind.

I flew into a rage, knowing everyone I loved, including Marcus, had died because the military decided to play god. When my anger faded enough to talk, I turned to Sophia. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because this knowledge is very dangerous,” she’d answered in a calm, level tone. “XT58 was initially designed to control people, even though most died who were exposed. In the wrong hands, anything is possible. They could fix the flaws of the original XT58 and build an army of subservient people. It could be altered to get around people’s immunity. Get around your immunity.”

She’d assured me the Collective had nothing to do with the creation of XT58, and she’d only learned of it recently through a contact in the military. That was important to me. I needed to know I was working for the right people. Connor had believed otherwise, but Sophia convinced me.

And there was another complication: After informing the Collective about the breakthrough, the UW lab went offline five days later. That sounded like more than a coincidence. So, we didn’t know what I’d be walking into.

No one else could do this mission. It had to be me. Connor was the only other courier with immunity from the Infection, and when he died, I was the last. For anyone else, it would be a death sentence. A simple crack in the vial, and they’d be dead. So, it was my job and my job alone. But I preferred it that way. I wanted to work alone, and work was the only thing keeping me going. Of course, I’d take the job.

I’ve been walking for over an hour with those memories heavy on my mind. Connor was right about the Infection being lab-made. When Sophia confirmed that, it was the first time I had any doubts about the Collective. Was I wrong to dismiss Connor’s suspicions? He was so sure that the Collective was in on it—part of some big cabal. But I’ve seen firsthand the power of conspiracy theories on people’s minds. And I trust Sophia and the Collective more than I trusted Connor. Especially considering what happened between me and Connor the night before he died. He broke my trust in a way that could never be repaired. I still believe the Collective is the only chance to find a cure. And I hope to hell I’m right about that.

The sun is well over the horizon now. I’d guess it’s midmorning, and the chill is starting to ebb. I pause for a moment to snack on some trail mix Zach packed into my bag. Looking at all the nice things he stashed makes me smile.

Am I heartless to leave him? He’s been so selfless and kind. And he’s clever and resourceful. Leaving felt like the right thing to do. It is the right thing to do.

Even so, how many gay guys are left in the world? Don’t I owe something to him from a sense of solidarity? Having more people like me to relate to in our shared common experience could only be a good thing. And I do enjoy his company. We have the same sense of humor, and I think back to some of the laughs we shared.

Okay, when I get to Seattle and finish this job, I’ll head back this way and see how he’s doing. I’ll make it up to him. If he’s not too pissed at me, that is.

Assuming he’s still alive, that is.

Mind back on the job. Find a car. Get to UW in Seattle. Find the emergency medical bunker there. Hope that it still exists. It better fucking still exist. And drop off the vials. Simple. I laugh under my breath. Yeah, simple.

After a couple hours of walking and ruminating, a gas station appears. It has a garage and a store attached. It’s an old building, probably built in the 1950s. Faded signs and a moss-covered roof add to the run-down ambiance. Cars litter the entire lot. Some are old junkers, but several others appear newer. Maybe I’ll get lucky here.

The inside of the store is nothing but empty shelves and broken glass. Picked clean. Like pretty much everything, it has that musty smell. All man-made things in the world are in the process of either rotting or rusting.

Old broken car parts and discarded tools litter the garage. A half-disassembled car is up on a floor jack. There’s a pegboard filled with hanging car keys on one wall. Jackpot. I grab them all and head out to the yard.

Matching the keys up to the make and model of each car is a pain. Most of them don’t belong to any cars. Did this guy just collect keys? Going through them methodically is the only way to do it. I find the correct key one by one, and every single time, the car doesn’t start. All the batteries are dead. I’m sitting in the driver’s seat of the last car, crossing my fingers. I turn the key and—nothing. Zilch.

I have one foot out the door when the unmistakable sound of a car engine breaks the silence. An old Buick sedan tears into the station, brakes squealing as it stops. There’s only enough time to pull my leg in and scrunch down behind the dash. The door is still open, and it’s too late to shut it now. So I huddle in the front seat and wait.

Car doors slam, and two male voices argue back and forth.

“Well, crap, I didn’t know we were almost out.”

“You dumbshit, didn’t you check the gauge?”

“I thought you checked before we left town.”

“Well, now, we gotta siphon some gas. And guess who’s gonna be doing the sucking?”

“Shit.”

“And get at it. We gotta meet the others in less than an hour. Boss is sure he went that way.”

“What about that little fucker in the bank, though?”

“We gotta root him out and find out if he’s seen anything. He’s been a pain in our ass for a while now, so it’s about time.”

Oh, god.How did it not occur to me that simply being there put Zach in danger? I have to warn him.

But it’s too risky. The vials are too important. They could save so many lives. And they’re far too dangerous to fall into the wrong hands. That would be a disaster.

Anddon’t forget you’re doing this for Marcus.

I’m hit with this wave of guilt. These people were trying to kill me, so they won’t hesitate to kill Zach. But before that, they’ll get him to talk. I was careful not to reveal too much. But that might even make it worse for Zach if he has nothing to tell them. They won’t take no for an answer.

How do I weigh the lives of so many that might be saved with the life of somebody who’s in danger right now? I was so worried about the risks of taking Zach with me. Turns out leaving him was the real peril. He tried to tell me that, but I didn’t listen. I swore I would never take somebody with me. I couldn’t stand another life on my conscience, but inaction now would be no different.

I know what I must do.

I open the car door opposite from where the men are, taking great care not to make a sound. A quick peek around helps me plan my attack. Two men, both forty-something. Neither looks as if they’ve worked out a day in their life. A guy with a bright orange baseball cap and a beer gut is heading toward some cars on the other side of the lot. He’s got a hose and gas can in his hands. The other guy is scrawny and has a gray goatee. He’s over by a tree taking a leak. Now’s my chance.

My training has taught me to move in near silence, one of the required skills for a courier. Without a sound, I’m right behind the scrawny guy. In a flash, my arm is around his neck, and a hand is over his mouth. I pull hard, cutting off his airflow. He tries to fight, but he’s off-balance. His arms flail in the air. The critical moment when his body goes limp from lack of oxygen is an unmistakable feeling. Consciousness gone. He’ll have one heck of a headache when he wakes up.

With him on the ground, I root through his pockets but find no keys. But I do find a .45 caliber pistol tucked into the back of his pants, which I grab.

The other guy is even easier. He’s crouched and distracted by siphoning gas. It’s a compromising position, and he goes down with almost no struggle.

Still no keys. Shit.

When I see the keys in the ignition of their car, I laugh. Guess I could have run up to the car and driven off. But better to have a head start. And better that they don’t know what I look like or what they’re up against.

I pour the siphoned gas into the tank. It’s not much. I hope it’ll last all the way to Elk Springs. The tires kick up gravel as I race out of the parking lot. My mind is playing out the different scenarios I may face. If I get there first, I’ll warn Zach and convince him of the danger. Get him away and find a safe place to drop him off. Then continue on without him.

But what if I get there and people are already outside the building? Shooting from a distance is an option. Knock them off one by one. But I don’t kill people. Never have. That’s not a line I’m willing to cross lightly.

The last option I don’t want to think about. They’re already there, and they’ve taken Zach prisoner. Forced to choose between the importance of my mission and Zach’s life, would I mount a rescue? I won’t think about that one unless it comes to it.

After a few miles, the engine makes a sputtering sound. Damn it. The guys weren’t lying about the state of the gas tank, and the extra didn’t help much. The car rolls a few hundred more feet until the engine cuts out, the tank empty. I pull off to the side of the road and continue on foot.

It takes over half an hour to make up the distance. I run the entire way. Lightning bolts of pain shoot from my ribs with each foot strike on the road. I only stop once to empty the contents of my stomach onto the pavement.

When I enter Elk Springs, everything looks calm. But while running down Main Street toward the bank, my worst fear plays out before me. Two pickup trucks pull up a few blocks down the road. Thugs armed with rifles step out.

I dig deep and sprint the rest of the way to the bank. When I get there, I bang hard on the door.

“Zach, let me in! It’s Aiden! We’ve got to go now!”