Love in an Undead Age by A.M. Geever (good non fiction books to read .TXT) 📕

Prairie tiles that Emily always admired, praying that no one walked into the lobby below. One glance up and he would have to wait.

The small second floor restroom was secondary to the main bathroom on the first floor. Hardly anyone used it, which was why it worked. He pushed the restroom door open, squinting his eyes against the brighter light inside. Father Walter stood at the sink, drying his hands. He regarded Mario impassively in the mirror.

“Do I have the room to myself?”

Walter said, “Yes.”

Mario crossed to the row of sinks where Walter stood. He turned on the hot and cold spigots of the sink in front of Walter, as well as the two sinks next to it, just in case. The water splashed against the porcelain with a noisy hiss.

“I’ll make it quick.”

“What is it, Mario?” Walter said, eyes darting to the door.

“Has Henry made any progress?”

“No,” Walter said. “But he insists he can—”

“He’s a Nobel Prize winner. From Stanford. His ego is getting in the way. He needs the serum.”

“Henry assures me—”

“We don’t have any more time, Walter. I’m going to get it.”

“Absolutely not,” Walter countermanded, his eyes going wide enough for a moment that Mario could see the whites around the entire hazel iris. “It will blow your cover. They’ll be onto you almost at once.”

“I think I have a way around that as long as we do it the first week of next month,” Mario said. “You’ll have to go two weeks early but that can be managed. Once they’re gone, my cover won’t matter.”

An anxious scowl twisted Walter’s features.

“We don’t have anyone else who can get in there like I can, Walter,” Mario pressed, needing Walter to agree. “It’s not that Henry’s idea is bad, but he’s not going to crack it in the next six weeks. If we have the serum, then we don’t have to engineer another strain. We go straight to synthesizing more and have the preventative vaccine within months. Then the scouts can get out of here and set the plan in motion. I know it’s a risk, but playing it safe isn’t working anymore.”

“And what happens to you?”

“I get out if I can.”

Walter opened his mouth to object, but Mario cut him off. He had never let himself think this far ahead, but as he spoke, he knew what he was saying was true.

“We’ve always known how this would play out. Forget the rest of the Council, the people here want my head on a pike. You coming out to say I’m not the bad guy, after all, won’t change that. It won’t bring back their children who turned or their loved ones we disappeared in the night.”

How many, he wondered. How many people had died while he wormed his way into the graces of the Council, getting them to trust him enough to loosen the reins so that he could betray them? How many times had he needed to go along with it, to inure himself to the suffering as he played out their long con? How many times had he instigated the cruelty himself to prove his loyalty and protect his family? Once was too many, and a thousand would never be enough to satiate the Council. Its power was built on blood and there was still so much of it left to spill.

He felt the weight, like a blanket of lead, descend. He would never get out from under it, no matter how pure his motives. He could never undo the damage he had done.

Indecision showed plainly on Walter’s face. Poor, dear Walter. Before, he had embarked on a life that suited him: unassuming service to others. Walter had done the things that no one noticed, the things that, in aggregate, made the difference between existing and living, but that life of quiet service ended when the dead began to rise.

“We’ll bring Emily and the children to SCU, of course,” Walter managed, tripping over the words. “We’ll keep them safe.”

“I know you will,” Mario said, surprised by the tears that prickled at the corners of his eyes.

To the outside world, he had everything: wealth, power, a fine house, and a beautiful family. As he and Walter looked at each other, the Rubicon finally forded, he realized that Walter could see what the outside world could not: a weary man, a fraud, racked with guilt and self-loathing. A man who couldn’t take much more.

“I’ll be off,” Walter said, checking the door again.

“Yeah, me too.”

Mario shook himself to cast it all off, to get back into character so he could take Emily home while she could still walk.

“You’re a good man, Mario.”

A low chuff of disbelief rumbled in Mario’s throat. “We both know that’s not true.”

He stopped just short of the bathroom door and turned back to face Walter. In the mirror, he saw a bleak resignation settle in the lines around his eyes.

“If there had been another way, I would have taken it. Will you tell her that? Will you tell her I’m sorry?”

Mario knew that Walter had disapproved, long before his so-called defection. Walter had always acted as if Mario had hoodwinked her, had coaxed her somewhere she had not wanted to go. He would never believe that she had joined him willingly, without hesitation, that doing otherwise would have been like deciding not to breathe. It was as if Walter was heaping his own guilt about what happened after onto him. It was probably easier than admitting that he had let her down, too.

What a mess he had made of everything, not least this request. Why would Walter do anything that implied it had been real? Whatever anyone thought, it had been real, but Walter would never acknowledge that. Mario even understood why.

“I’m sorry, forget it. I shouldn’t have asked.”

Mario pushed the door open and stepped into the hallway. As the door sighed shut behind him, he heard Walter say, “I’ll tell her, Mario. You have my word.”