Love in an Undead Age, A.M. Geever [best contemporary novels txt] 📗
- Author: A.M. Geever
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Mario could see part of the rear parking lot from his vantage point since the ground sloped down from the window. His car was awash in a sea of flashing lights. He shrugged out of the carriers and his coat. His arm was not as bad as he’d feared, but he had to bind the wound—they’d bring dogs out to track him. He wrapped the scrubs top around his bicep and bound it tightly to his arm with the matching bottoms.
Mario shot the window twice, thankful that he had not lost the suppressor in his tumble down the laundry chute. The safety glass stayed in place, but spider webs of cracks radiated from the bullet holes. Three quick jabs of his elbow and the glass gave way. He shoved the carriers out. One caught a piece of glass stuck in the frame and fell back inside. Mario grabbed the carrier strap, then laid his coat over the window ledge. He was just about to holster his gun and hoist himself up when a voice called out.
“Freeze! Hands up now and turn around!”
Gently, Mario eased his pistol onto the window ledge. If he could turn fast enough…
“Move your hand away from the gun. Don’t try anything smart.”
Mario turned around. A glowing red bead from a gun sight appeared on his chest. Gus stood in the doorway.
“Mr. Santorello?” the old man asked, surprised. “What the hell are you doing here?”
The red bead on Mario’s chest barely moved. “I need you to do me a favor, Gus. I need you to turn around and pretend you never saw me.”
“What have you got in those carriers?” Gus demanded, but with less conviction. “Get down from there and let me see.”
“Let me go, Gus. No one has to know.”
“You just get down,” the old man said, but his voice was filled with uncertainty.
Slowly, Mario climbed down. He leaned against the table as if he favored one leg over the other.
“Walk over here to me.”
Mario took a step, then grunted with false pain. He leaned against the table once more. “I hurt my leg.”
Gus approached Mario cautiously. “Open that thing up,” he said, gesturing to the carrier in Mario’s hand.
Mario unzipped the carrier. Gus peered in, then looked up, his expression puzzled.
“Is that what I think it is? Why are you stealing from your own lab?”
“That doesn’t matter,” Mario said. “But if you don’t let me go, I’m a dead man.”
Gus smiled like a conspirator and Mario relaxed.
“You were a dead man the minute you walked through the door, Mr. Santorello.”
Mario stared at Gus, dumbfounded for a heartbeat. The old man who had been kind to him… Jesus! How could he have been so blind?
“You’re on the Council payroll.”
“It’s nothing personal, Mr. Santorello,” Gus said, sounding genuinely apologetic. “I never cared what you did; you were always good to me. But a fella has to take the opportunities that come his way.”
“I can protect you,” Mario said. “Just let me go.”
“And who would protect my family?” Gus asked. “No, I don’t think so, thanks all the same. I don’t know what you did, and I don’t want to. I didn’t even know it was you they wanted till now. The Council guys just said to look for anyone out of place.”
Mario slumped in defeat.
“You had a good run, son. Be content with that.”
Gus stepped closer and put his hand on Mario’s shoulder. The red bead on his chest slipped and Mario exploded to his feet. He barreled into Gus with his shoulder, knocking the old man back. He pressed forward and punched Gus in the throat, felt the windpipe crunch under his fist. The old man collapsed to the floor, his gun sliding from his nerveless fingers. A strangled wheeze added its high, thready pitch to the cacophony of alarms.
Mario re-zipped the carrier, then stooped to retrieve Gus’ gun and tucked it into the back of his waistband. Gus lay on the floor like the feeble old man he was. His mouth opened and closed like a fish on a creek bank, his face already turning blue.
“That was personal,” Mario said, but his words came out as a half-smothered sob.
Mario Santorello had been one of the most powerful men in the Valley, even with the hammer of a suspicious City Council hanging over him for so many years. He had played the role for so long that at times he feared he had become a soulless monster with not one true friend to his name. Now Gus lay on the floor in front of him, suffocating. Even he, the kindly half-friend of sorts, had been a lie.
Mario scrambled onto the table. He shoved his coat and the last carrier through the window, grabbed his pistol, and hoisted himself up. He squirmed through the mud outside, half-sliding down the small hill to retrieve the other carriers. Flickers of light from search parties setting out from the parking lot winked at him. He scurried back to the window, snatched his coat, and tossed it in the direction of the parking lot.
His hand wrapped tight around the carrier straps as he set out in the opposite direction, toward the eastern edge of the GeneSys campus. The sodden ground squelched underfoot in time with his pained breath as he ran into the rainy night.
“Are you sure there’s nothing else you need?” Harold asked again.
“No. Really, Harold, this is great,” Miranda said. “More than I expected.”
“I wish you’d tell me where you’re going,” Harold said, worry plain on his face, before adding, “I understand why you can’t. I hate the idea of missing something you need because I didn’t understand all the requirements.”
“You’ve outdone yourself, Harold.”
Miranda’s long-time admirer looked at her. “Just be careful, okay?”
“I will, I promise.”
She allowed a hug, which Harold managed to make too long and completely uncomfortable. She stepped through the door into the Jesuit Residence’s underground garage, where the armory was housed. The entire garage had been turned into a staging area which bustled with activity. Harold sent so much equipment that Miranda half expected to find a box with nothing but lingerie. There were flak jackets and radios, guns and ammunition, far more than she had asked for. The empty crate for the .50 caliber gun fitted to one of the M1113 Humvee’s gun turret leaned against the wall between a box of grenades and a small pallet of C-4.
The rain continued unabated, sheeting down the garage ramp to create a shallow puddle at the bottom before running down the floor drain. The Humvees were parked at the top of the ramp, indistinct shapes in the darkness. Harold had told Miranda if they wanted a truck large enough for eight people, they would need to push their departure back a day, but they could not afford the delay.
Miranda and several helpers were only halfway through deciding what to bring and what to leave behind when Doug appeared.
“Miri!”
One look at Doug’s agitated face was enough for a dark foreboding to settle around Miranda like a cloak. She hurried over to him.
“What’s happened?”
Doug motioned for her to follow. They climbed the stairs against a tide of bodies going the opposite direction. Miranda checked her watch. It’s after ten… Something’s gone wrong. Organized pandemonium ruled the foyer. The entire building buzzed, queries and commands shouted from all directions. Miranda saw Father Al and the other elderly priests being ushered out the front door along with the household staff. As the Mission Church bell began to peal, all the pieces of the puzzle fell into place.
They were mobilizing for an attack.
She followed Doug up the stairs to and through the door to Walter’s office. Walter was on the phone, his voice insistent.
“What happened?” Miranda asked as soon as the door shut behind her.
“The Council knows,” Doug answered. “How much I’m not sure, but they know something. We were attacked by Council Security as we were leaving. We barely made it out of Palo Alto.”
“Did you get them? Are they okay?”
“Yeah, they’re fine. Connor’s getting them settled, then he’ll be right over. We had to drag her out of the house, so the kids were scared and crying, and then Council Security showed up. Palo Alto hasn’t seen that kind of shoot-out in, well, ever.” Doug laughed almost merrily, his upbeat nature refusing to surrender, even now, but his countenance sobered as he continued. “I think they figured out Mario’s connection to what happened with you on the Expressway.”
Miranda’s foreboding blossomed into full-blown dread. “He’s not back yet.”
“I know, and we have to leave. If they weren’t mobilizing before, they are now.”
Walter hung up the phone. “All the militia units have been activated,” he said, voice tense. Miranda could see the strain and worry around his eyes as he cursed under his breath. “Is there any word from Mario?”
Miranda shook her head.
He went there injured because of me.
“No,” Doug said, “nothing.”
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