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

>Mario’s astonished face looked into her own when he whirled around to face her. “What?” he croaked.

“You hardly knew her. If you’re going to pretend you care, at least pick an audience that might believe it.”

Mario’s eyes narrowed. His mouth settled into a hard line. “There always has to be an angle I’m working, is that it? Seeing as how I’m such an evil bastard?”

Miranda’s body thrummed with barely suppressed rage. Mario had not acknowledged the hell he had put her through but had the nerve to stand in front of her misty-eyed over a virtual stranger? She spat her reply as if the words burned her mouth.

“Something like that.”

The ripple started at Mario’s feet and raced up his body. A ripple, a blip, an insignificant thing. It was the only way Miranda could describe the motion that unleashed so much fury.

“Have you thought of anyone but yourself for even a second since you learned the truth?” he snarled. “Have you? Has it even occurred to you to think of anyone but yourself?”

The force of his words felt like a physical attack, sudden and violent. Miranda took a step back, but now Mario was an inch away from her, their noses almost touching.

“Do you know how much blood I have on my hands?” he demanded, eyes blazing. “Do you know how many people died to keep my cover? I killed some of them with my own hands,” he said, raising his hands in front of her face so fast that Miranda flinched away. “They had children, families, and I killed them because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Do you know how many executions I ordered, how many people I let turn into zombies so you can stand there and hurl this bullshit at me?”

Miranda wanted to defend herself from Mario’s censure, but instead, she stood frozen. Helpless.

Mario’s voice became a low growl. “What do you think it did to Walter and Doug, watching you self-destruct? When one word could have ended it all, but they couldn’t say it?”

A strangled gasp escaped Miranda’s lips. She stepped back again, tripping over a discarded shoe. Mario must have thought she was trying to leave, for he grabbed her wrist and held her in place.

“What do you think it did to me? I had to let you think everything about us was a lie, that you were only a means to an end! You were all I ever wanted and instead—”

Mario’s voice broke. He took a shuddering breath, his eyes burning with reproof. “You are not the only one who suffered, Miranda. Quit acting like you’re the only one who paid the price.”

Mario released her wrist as if it were radioactive. Miranda sank against the wall, shaking uncontrollably, as Mario’s footsteps stomped down the stairs. She shook her head, trying to dislodge his accusations from her brain.

“You idiot!” she hissed. “You stupid fucking idiot!”

She opened her eyes. Naomi lay on the moldered bed, unconscious. Blameless. Dying. Shame overwhelmed Miranda. It snatched at her ankles, filled her lungs, shoved her shoulders under its heavy waves.

Then the knife was in her hand, the cool, sharp blade against the soft skin of her inner forearm below the pushed-up sleeve and chain mail.

No, she thought miserably, I’ll put the others in danger.

She pressed the knife against her skin. A tiny bead of blood appeared. Her hand began to tremble. She could feel it just under her skin, scratching against the surface, howling to be let out. All the misery, all the pain. It only needed a cut, just one little cut.

Her hand shook harder. Tears ran down her cheeks, sticky and hot. She imagined the bright-red blood, slipping down over the bones of her wrist to drip on the floor. Her whole body shook.

She dropped the knife as a silent, tearing sob clawed its way through her throat. A moment later she snatched the knife up and stabbed it into the floor. The soft wood yielded under the force of the blow.

You will do your job, she told herself with a ruthlessness she never directed at others; you will fucking get on with it.

She grabbed her rucksack and knife and stumbled out of the room. She walked down the stairs in a daze and stepped through the creaky screen door to join the others.

Mario hunched against the sagging porch rail. Connor sat on the top porch step with Seffie, a forgotten cigarette burning to ash between her fingers. She glanced up at Miranda, but her eyes immediately slid away. It was then that Miranda saw Gabe and Doug at the bottom of the porch steps. Gabe’s upturned face glared at Doug. Delilah stood between the two men, her fur bristling as she growled at Gabe. Miranda dropped her rucksack as she rushed down the steps to grab the dog by the collar.

“Gabe, you need to get out of my way,” Doug said.

“We are not leaving her here! You stay away from her!”

Mike stepped beside Doug. Where Doug was willowy, Mike was broad. Doug’s pale complexion melted into the fog, but Mike’s dark skin stood in stark contrast to the gray vapor.

“She’s your friend, Gabe, I get it,” Mike said. “But she’s not going to make it. She’s not going to make it another hour. There’s no point moving her.”

“Stop saying that,” Gabe snapped. “Naomi’s tough, she’ll pull through.”

Doug shook his head. His face was etched with sympathy, but from the set of his jaw and the tension around his eyes, Miranda could also see his resolve. “She’s not going to pull through this.”

Gabe started to shake his head in denial.

“I’m sorry, Gabe,” Doug said, gentle but insistent, “but she’s going to die any minute. You need to get out of my way.”

Gabe’s hand moved to his hip where his knife was sheathed. Quick as a striking snake, Mike reached out and grabbed it. “Don’t be stupid, man.”

Unable to break Mike’s grip, Gabe twisted toward the rest of the group. “Are you really going to let them do this? Am I the only one who thinks this is wrong?”

A board creaked under Mario’s foot as he stepped away from the porch rail. “We should bring her with us.”

Miranda’s head snapped to the porch where Mario stood.

Connor spoke next. “I think we should bring her, too.”

Miranda could not make sense of what she was hearing. Mario wanted to bring Naomi with them? He knew she was dying. And why was Connor, of all people, backing him up?

The look of surprise on Doug’s face matched her own. “What?”

“Leaving her here to die alone is wrong,” said Connor.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Miranda sputtered. “You want to put the rest of us at risk because she’ll die alone?”

“See,” Gabe said, freeing himself of Mike’s grip, “I’m not the only one!”

“Some of you seem to be suffering from the illusion that this is a democracy,” Doug said, his voice flint hard. His eyes raked over the small assembly. “Our mission is to get the serum to Santa Cruz so Mario and Henry can make the vaccine and get out of here. Anything that compromises that goal is not part of the plan. This is my call, not yours.” He looked at Gabe, his eyes alight with anger. “We are leaving in five minutes and Naomi will not be with us. Get out of my way.”

Gabe threw a punch. Doug neatly sidestepped and caught his elbow. Two seconds later Gabe was on the ground, whimpering in pain, his arm twisted high and Doug’s knee on his back.

“Naomi is going to die, Gabe. There’s nothing we can do about it. Turning her into zombie bait that gets the rest of us killed won’t bring her back. You will get up on that gun and do the job you were brought here to do,” Doug growled, his mouth close to Gabe’s ear. He released Gabe’s arm and stepped over him. “Connor, Mario, do not pull this shit again.”

Gabe cried, anguished. “You’re supposed to be a priest!”

Doug stopped mid-stride and turned back. “And you think I don’t know that?” He stood, momentarily suspended, fists clenched, then turned on his heel and stalked into the house.

Everyone stood frozen until Mike reached down to give Gabe a hand up. “You heard the man, we’re moving out. Let’s go, people.”

Gabe picked up his pack. He wiped his tear-stained face and walked slowly toward the Humvee, slumped and broken.

“He’s not, you know…” Seffie asked. She had stayed so quiet during the argument that Miranda had forgotten she was there.

“What? No, no…the Anointing of the Sick,” Miranda said. At Seffie’s blank face, she added, “Last Rites. He’s giving Naomi the Last Rites.”

“Oh.” Seffie looked at Miranda, Connor, and Mario. “I’ll see you at the Humvee.”

Connor and Mario stood on the porch steps. Two sides of a coin, the good and the bad of the men she had loved, still loved… She wasn’t sure anymore. Mario saw her looking at them and scowled with such venom that Miranda looked away, unable to meet his eyes. He grabbed a rucksack near the bottom porch step and left for the Humvee. Miranda watched, helpless, as Delilah trotted after him.

“You could have backed me up, Miri.”

Miranda whirled about, startled by Connor’s accusation.

“I could have backed you up? Do you have any idea how out of line you were?”

“I’m out of line?” Connor flared, indignant. “We’re leaving her to die!”

“Grow the fuck up,” she said, her shame and fury welling up, seeking a target. “This isn’t the first time I’ve left someone behind, and it won’t