Love in an Undead Age by A.M. Geever (good non fiction books to read .TXT) đź“•
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“He went to GeneSys?” she cried. “But they might already know he’s involved!”
“There’s no one else who can do it, Miri.”
“Did I really break his ribs?”
“Fractured. Mario’s going to make it back, Miranda.”
Beneath her fury at how Mario had deceived her, an unwelcome pang of regret took hold.
What if I never see him again?
“He’s going to make it back,” Doug said again, as if reading her mind. “He will, Miranda. He’ll be back.”
Miranda wanted to believe him, but Doug did not sound like he was trying to reassure her. He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
Her hand felt a bit better, thanks to the ice pack and aspirin. Connor had been waiting with both. The cuts on his face had been cleaned up and swabbed with iodine. The big cut on his cheek had three stitches. Miranda sat on the love seat in Walter’s office. Delilah had squirmed her way between Miranda and Connor, crowding them both. Doug and Walter bickered in circles.
“Homing pigeons?” Doug said, incredulous. “You want to send it using pigeons? In this weather? That’s a stretch, Walter, even for you.”
“How do you propose we get the serum there?” Walter challenged. “The Navy has the bay shut down tighter than a drum, by sea is a nonstarter. The drones are unreliable in heavy rain and you can’t just fly off in a helicopter.”
“It’s not going to get there using pigeons, for crying out loud.”
“We take 17,” Miranda said, raising her voice to be heard.
“Seventeen what?” Walter snapped.
“Highway 17,” Miranda clarified. “We take Highway 17 to Santa Cruz.”
Everyone, even the dog, stared at her.
“Do you have a better suggestion?” she asked. “You just said so yourself. We can’t go by sea and we ran out of aviation fuel years ago. It’s the only other way to get there, and it won’t be on anyone’s radar.”
“Because it’s suicide!” Walter sputtered. “Those mountains are full of zombies. There’s a reason no one goes that way!”
“Connor made it here from Santa Barbara on foot,” Miranda said. “We’ll have transportation. It’s only thirty miles.”
“That was a fluke, not proof it can be done!” Walter countered.
Doug’s expression became thoughtful, then he started to nod his head. “The road will be trashed,” he said to Miranda, paying Walter no mind. “We’ll need a Humvee or an APC.”
“Connor started with fourteen people and three made it!” Walter fairly shouted.
“Harold can get us vehicles,” Miranda said to Doug.
“Will you listen to yourselves?” Walter implored. “What you’re proposing is madness. No one has ever made it over 17! You might as well shoot yourselves in the head.”
“It’s a little late to start playing it safe, Father Walter,” Miranda said. “If you hadn’t kept me in the dark all this time, maybe I could come up with something else. I don’t hear you coming up with better.”
Miranda’s rebuke transformed Walter’s look of dismay into indignant anger. “I know you’re angry with me—”
“Don’t even go there,” she snapped, surprised at the ferocity of her anger.
Miranda and Walter glared at each other. Connor spoke into the uneasy silence. “Are you sure about this, Miri?”
“No,” she said, tearing herself from Walter’s glare. “But what other option do we have?”
A shiver ran down her spine. Her response to Connor’s question was too similar to Doug’s explanation about why they had deceived her about Mario.
Miranda stood up. She winced as she peeked at her hand, then reapplied the ice pack. “I’m going to call Harold and see what vehicles he can manage on short notice.”
“See what kind of arms and ammo he can get us,” Doug said. Then he smiled at her. “Lingerie is a bonus.”
Miranda sighed and could not help but smile. He was back to giving her the business already.
“I’m going to get Emily and the kids. I told Mario I’d handle it myself,” Doug added.
Connor jumped up. “I’m coming with you.”
“Me too,” Miranda said. “It’ll only take me a minute to make my call.”
“You’re staying here,” Doug said. “Round up a gunner and a medic. And keep that ice on your hand. You’re no use to us gimpy.”
“We can’t really change anything if we don’t have the preventative vaccine,” Walter said. “But half a break on their stranglehold is better than none. And we still have Henry. He’ll figure out the preventative serum eventually. Even if Mario doesn’t make it back, we have to try.”
Walter’s words made Miranda sick to her stomach and furious. If Mario didn’t make it back, it would serve him right, but there was more at stake than his life. Fractured ribs could slow him down just enough… It would be her fault if he was captured. If he was killed, she would never be able to forgive herself, which made her so angry she wanted to murder him. Why should she care after what he had done to her?
But she did care. Whether she liked it or not, Mario had become very important to her again.
Mario walked across the darkened GeneSys parking lot, head ducked against the rain. He had pulled around to the back of the building so he could use one of the service entrances. He would not go unnoticed, but there would be fewer people compared to the main entrance. He keyed a generic maintenance security code into the keypad by the door. A determined enough analyst would be able to track it back to him, but by then, he would either be long gone or already captured.
He wiped his forehead and pushed his hair back from his face before approaching the security desk. He tried to take a deep breath, but Doc had wrapped his ribs so tight he felt like he could barely breathe.
“Mr. Santorello,” a friendly voice exclaimed.
A few feet away sat Gus, the first security guard GeneSys had ever hired when the company was still small enough that security had been a one-man operation.
“It’s nice to…” Gus’ voice trailed off as Mario came closer and his bruised face became evident. “Sir, are you alright?”
Mario opened his mouth to speak, then stopped, wincing. His jaw and cheek throbbed. She knows how to throw a punch, he thought.
Aloud he said, “You should see the other guy.”
“I’m pretty sure I don’t want to if he looks worse than you,” Gus said, his blue eyes beginning to glint with mischief as a smile spread across his thin face. None of his colleagues would dare smile in Mario’s presence, let alone tease him, but Gus had known Mario before the ZA. Before the vaccine, before the betrayal. Gus had always treated him, in the face of all evidence to the contrary, as if he believed Mario was not a terrible person.
“I’ll go get some ice for that,” Gus offered, beginning to rise from his chair.
“Don’t bother, Gus,” Mario answered, waving him back into his seat. “If you can think of something to tell the wife, let me know.”
“Better you than me, boss,” Gus said. “If you change your mind and want some ice, just let me know.”
Mario entered the stairwell that led to the Biosafety Level 1 lab in the basement, wincing with every step. He fumbled with the thumb drive in his pocket, nervously anticipating the moment he would execute the computer virus that would cover his tracks—or not.
The door at the bottom of the stairwell opened to reveal a long white corridor illuminated by bright fluorescent lights that reinforced the sterile atmosphere. To the left was the BSL-4 lab, where they worked with the live ZBZ-1 virus. By the time the process got to serum synthesis, the BSL-1 lab to Mario’s right was more than adequate. Even so, he still had to pass through three manned checkpoints of reinforced steel doors and floor-to-ceiling bulletproof glass. The gray uniforms of the two-person security details at each station were the only relief from the stark white landscape.
Mario passed through the three checkpoints before arriving at the BSL-1 lab’s only door. As part of his role as a Prince of Darkness, Mario made a point of never speaking to the security personnel unless he was giving an order. Except for Gus, of course. From the way they straightened up, it was obvious the men working the night shift knew who he was.
“Good evening, sir,” one of the guards ventured.
Mario did not answer.
He punched in his access code. His hands felt clammy. His heart threatened to thump its way out of his chest as the door shut behind him. He had to use his own access codes because biometric scans were part of the security protocols. Nothing short of an appropriate hostage, or a clever computer virus, could assist him in covering his tracks.
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