Love in an Undead Age - A.M. Geever (love story novels in english .TXT) 📗
- Author: A.M. Geever
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Reluctantly, a clearly torn Finn grasped the ladder.
“Now!” Dalton shouted, giving him another shove.
Finn shot his cousin a long, filthy look, then started up the ladder.
From barely opened eyes, Mario saw Dalton turn to the pulley operator and motion to his companion as he spoke. “Michael will help with the pulley. Get him up to the village.”
“But the walk is not over,” the man said, disapproval filling his face. “I will not.”
Dalton grabbed the man by the throat and shoved him against the railing so violently that if he relaxed his stranglehold, the man would topple backward over the rail. The zombies that milled below the widow’s walk groaned even louder.
“Get him up there now or I will throw you off this roof,” Dalton snarled. He pulled the gasping, choking man off the rail and released him with a shove toward the pulley.
The frightened pulley operator mumbled something under his breath. The pulley squawked as the men began to turn the crank mechanism. Mario’s feet lifted off, leaving the noise and chaos of the Faith Walk behind.
Mario was once again slung over Doug’s shoulder. He had quit faking the sporadic shaking fits so that Doug would not stumble as they crossed the covered bridges. He had been tempted to drop the ruse the moment they reached the village but decided against it. None of the village’s children had been at the Faith Walk. They were up here somewhere, presumably being watched by someone. He just couldn’t risk it.
“I don’t know what we can do for him without Bethany-”
A guilty stab pierced Mario’s conscience. He saw Finn from the corner of his eye. Finn’s murderous expression sent a genuine tremor through him.
Finally, they reached the infirmary. Mario heard the door bang open, smelled the familiar scent of mint. Doug leaned down to lay him on the nearest cot, but Mario pushed away from him. They all startled as he raced to the drawer with the hidden compartment, their expressions ranging from confusion to shock.
“I think the Prophet knows about our stuff, Doug. You better go check.”
The color drained from Doug’s face. He bolted from the infirmary.
“What is going on here?” Finn demanded hotly.
Mario yanked the drawer so hard he expected it to come completely out, but there must have been a stop because the drawer only went so far before refusing to budge. Suddenly Dalton was dragging Mario away.
“What are you doing?” Dalton demanded.
Finn stood between Mario and the drawer, his body tensed for a fight, but a flicker of fear flashed in his golden eyes. They know about the hidden compartment, Mario realized.
It was time to stop pretending.
“Bethany was keeping something for me in the hidden compartment in the drawer. I need to see if it’s still there.”
The flash of surprise that filled Finn’s eyes was immediately replaced by wariness. Dalton’s grip grew tighter. The air in the infirmary crackled with hostility. A long moment passed before Finn said, “You got her killed.”
Mario looked Finn in the eye. Fury radiated off the young man in waves. He had been helpless to protect Tamara and Bethany from his father. All he needed was a target to unleash his anger on, but Mario couldn’t lie. After everything that had happened today, Finn deserved the truth.
“I think so, yes.”
The murderous rage that Mario had seen earlier flickered across Finn’s face, but he nodded. Dalton’s grip on Mario relaxed.
Mario knelt down and reached for the false back, pressing along the edges until he felt a notch. Heart pounding, he dug his finger into it.
Please let it still be there, please, he prayed, trying to tamp down his rising panic.
The compartment was empty.
Mario stifled the impulse to slump, to give in to the failure that felt woven into his bones. He looked up at Finn and Dalton.
“Are there any more hiding places?”
Mario rifled through the bandages and tinctures again, even though he knew it was useless. With drawers pulled open and the contents of shelves and cupboards askew, the infirmary looked like it had been burgled.
“What is in the vials you seek?” Finn asked again.
Mario didn’t answer because he wasn’t in New Jerusalem anymore. The past five years flashed through his brain. Miranda’s anguish the night he told her he was defecting. How she had begged and pleaded before finally shoving him away, screaming she wished he was dead. Emily’s awkward attempts to understand what he had done. The surprised expression on the face of the first person he killed to protect his secret, his abandoned children, the ease with which he could spot a doser from the defeated scurry of their gait. The nameless people who kept coming to San Jose for the vaccine, like a magical cup that never ran dry, only to find that they could never afford it. How many had turned into zombies? How many of the awful moans that filled his dreams were theirs?
The sound of the door wrenched him back to the present. Mario saw Doug’s ashen face and knew.
“It’s gone.”
Doug nodded, looking too stunned to speak.
“Even what was sewn into everyone’s clothes?”
“The others will have to check what they’re wearing.” Doug held out his hand to reveal a carved piece of wood the same size as the missing vials. “That’s what I felt when I checked my vest every day,” he said. Even now, his hand strayed to the side seam of his vest. “I don’t know how he did it, how he even knew.”
“What was it you had?” Finn asked again, losing patience.
“The vaccine serum!” Mario spat. “It’s taken years to get into a position to use it and your crazy father outplayed us.”
For the first time since leaving the Faith Walk, Finn seemed wholly present in the here and now.
“A vaccine? Like Bethany spoke of?” he said, his brow drawing in and down. “Is it truly a disease?”
Mario almost snapped that of course it was a disease, but Finn’s guileless face stopped him. Finn had been nine or ten when the ZA happened, then was hauled off and raised in a cult by a lunatic. He probably didn’t even know what a virus was.
“Yes,” Mario answered, “this whole thing, the zombies, it’s a disease and we can prevent it. We can end it forever, for everyone, but we need to get that serum back.”
Finn took a step back, stunned. “Bethany said it was not God’s judgment,” he began, “but the things she told me, they sounded like magic.”
“It’s science, not magic,” said Mario. “Once a person gets the vaccine, they will never turn, even if they are bitten. Infection from the bite might kill them, but they won’t turn. Do you understand? There won’t be more new zombies. We can stop it from spreading and kill off the rest. We can end this.”
“We could leave this place,” Finn whispered, his voice filling with fragile hope.
“If what you say is true, how do you explain the Prophet?” Dalton asked. “He never had one of these vaccines and he did not become a Hollow—a zombie.”
“Because he’s the jackpot,” Mario said, “that one in ten million who can fight off the disease without help. He has natural immunity. That’s how we made the vaccine. We had someone just like him, but we don’t anymore and haven’t found another. That’s why we need that serum, and why we need to get out of here.”
Dalton’s skepticism seemed to thaw. “If the Prophet has gone to such lengths to deceive you, he may have already destroyed it.”
“He hasn’t,” Mario said, emphatic. Every fiber of his being told him Dalton was wrong. “He likes to torture and humiliate. Getting rid of it quietly doesn’t let him do that.”
“Do you have any idea where he might keep it?” Doug asked.
Dalton and Finn looked at one another uneasily. Finally, Finn said, “His private quarters are where I would start.”
Outside, people were starting to trickle back through the village. They looked like refugees, dazed and exhausted.
Doug started for the door. “Let’s go find out.”
“No,” Finn said. “You cannot just barge in. You would never get past the Prophet’s Guard; you are not even armed. We cannot cast about without a plan, but you are right, we must act. Your vaccine flies in the face of his teachings. He will make an example of you. Let us see what we can discover first. There are those who hate the Prophet as much as we do, but most fear him too much to do
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