Love in an Undead Age, A.M. Geever [best contemporary novels txt] 📗

“Then we have to assume he’s been captured. Goddammit!” Walter slammed his fist on the desk so hard that Miranda flinched. Such an uncharacteristic display of anger unnerved her. “You’re going to have to go now, in the dark! In the goddammed fecking dark!”

“We’ve been in tough spots before and got through them, Walter,” Doug said. “We’ll get through this one, too. It will be all right.”

“It’s not all right,” Walter grumbled, “but there’s nothing to be done for it.” He took a deep breath, then directed his attention to Miranda. “Are the vehicles ready to go?”

“We’re getting there,” she said, “but we’re not even through everything Harold sent. Two hours more to finish and get people ready.”

“Make it an hour, a ghrá.” Walter tried to smile at her and failed.

Miranda left Walter’s office, her mind racing. If they didn’t have Mario, they didn’t have the serum, and they could not make the preventative vaccine without it. Doug had told her that Mario didn’t think Henry Chan was getting anywhere trying to synthesize it on his own.

We need both vaccines to break the Council’s monopoly, she thought, post-bite alone won’t be enough to change things.

She felt helpless. Mario had blown his cover trying to save her. She was the reason he went to GeneSys injured. If he died, it would be her fault, and if they failed, nothing would change. Instead of deliverance, humanity would still be at the mercy of the Council and it would be her fault.

“Stop it,” she said out loud. “Stop it and get a grip. Don’t crack up now, you idiot. Father Walter is depending on you.”

Miranda returned to the garage and began lugging gear up the ramp one-handed since the Humvees were too tall for the garage entrance. Even as she answered questions and gave directions, her thoughts kept circling back to Mario and what she had learned…today? Had she really only found out today? It felt like everything she had done since that moment had made the situation worse.

And then they were stowing the last box into a Humvee. She glanced at her watch, surprised to see it was not quite eleven. They were almost ready.

“You’re done?” a voice called from behind her.

Still standing in the rain, she turned back to see Connor jogging toward her. She could not believe how happy she was to see him, but guilt crept over her. She had not spared him a thought the last few hours. She had been too preoccupied worrying about Mario. That jerk didn’t deserve her worry, even though they needed what he was trying to get.

“I hear Palo Alto got a little exciting.”

Connor stopped in front of her and took her hands in his, careful to squeeze only her uninjured hand. Miranda leaned into him. She needed to feel something real, something good. She needed to feel him, even if it made her feel self-conscious to stand there in an embrace. There were people everywhere, swarming in and out like bees from a hive. It seemed like everyone at SCU knew the details of her private life, including how badly she had lost it when she learned the truth about how Mario had deceived her. She had seen the surreptitious glances at her hand and heard the murmurs when people thought she was out of earshot.

Connor made a grumbling sound of annoyance as they ducked under the overhang at the bottom of the ramp.

“I know you told me Emily never left the place but Jesus… I thought I might have to deck her. We’d never have run into Council Security if she hadn’t been such a pain in the ass.”

“But you’re okay, right?”

Connor smiled. “Of course I am.”

“Don’t be too hard on her, Connor. She can’t help it. Besides, it’s better we know about the Council.” Miranda wiped at her face as she led him to the stairs but her hand only moved the wet around. “I need to let Father Walter know the vehicles are ready and check in with Naomi and Gabe.” At Connor’s quizzical expression, she added, “Our medic and gunner.”

The door to Walter’s office stood ajar. As Miranda pushed it open, the antiseptic smell of rubbing alcohol made her nose twitch and she knew.

Mario had made it back.

The reading lamp on Walter’s desk cast a bright puddle of light that left the rest of the room in half-shadow. Mario sat slumped in the chair next to Walter’s desk. Doc Owen knelt beside him; scissors, bloody gauze, and a twisted piece of shrapnel were heaped on a tray beside him. Doc’s brow furrowed in concentration as he irrigated a wound on Mario’s arm.

What Miranda could see of Mario’s face around the ice pack he held against it was drawn and mud splattered. His filthy wet shirt crumpled on the floor atop a pile of bloody rags. The bandages around his ribs were soaked and mud-smeared, and his hair clung to his scalp.

Relief that had nothing to do with their mission washed over her.

Father Walter looked up at her. “What is it?”

Miranda looked at Walter for a second. “When did he get here?”

“About fifteen minutes ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Mario lowered the ice pack. The bruises on his face were dark smudges. The sight of them made Miranda’s stiff knuckles throb.

“Not dead yet,” he said, wincing as Doc probed his bicep. “Maybe next time.”

“That’s not what I—”

She wanted to kill Mario, but she did not want him dead.

“Get out of my light,” Doc barked, giving Walter an irritated glance. “And you too, Tucci. Are you deaf?”

Miranda realized she was standing almost next to where Mario sat, but she did not remember crossing the room. She retreated like an errant child.

“He’ll live,” Doc muttered, as if his patient’s prognosis aggravated him. “For how long I can’t say but this won’t kill him.”

Doc applied a topical medicine and began wrapping up Mario’s arm. The bandage glowed like a star against his iodine-stained skin. Doc retrieved a syringe and an antibiotic from his bag and gave Mario a shot in his other arm.

“That should be all the antibiotics you need unless you do something stupid again. Your ribs need to be rewrapped but someone here can do it. I need to get back to the health center.” Doc looked at Walter. “Call if you need me,” he said, but it sounded more like a threat than an offer. He took his leave, barking at Connor for good measure as he passed him.

Miranda saw four small red carriers on Walter’s desk. “That’s the serum?”

“Yeah,” Mario said, his voice so low it was almost a whisper.

Miranda looked at him. Mario had done it again, something only he could do, to save the human race. If by some miracle their mission succeeded children everywhere would be raised on tales of his bravery. Reduced to a bedtime story, he would become a noble, even tragic, figure. That she had borne so much of its brunt would never be mentioned.

And what if it was, she thought. What could describe the pain of believing the lie and learning the truth? A sour acid taste filled her mouth as a wave of nausea hit her. She looked at Connor. He still stood by the door, his mouth twisted by a frown.

“Looks like we’re in business,” she said.