Assumed Dead, page 25
“Think they’re out just for us?” asked Stav, who was in the pickup with him and had also clocked the guards covering the road into the town. Many were half-hidden in trees that lined the road.
“We’re a big group,” Matt said. “I’d expect them to be cautious. Look friendly.”
“I always look friendly.” Stav smiled, but he mostly looked tired and wan from two days and nights on the road. His eyes were dark-circled and his thick hair limp. His chin bristled with whiskers. Matt knew he looked the same.
They were directed into a parking lot at the end of the main street where a tall, short-haired woman in jeans and a khaki T-shirt came over as they began to pour off the buses and other vehicles. She had a sidearm, but it stayed on her belt. A smaller, dark-haired woman, who looked barely twenty, stood by her side, a rifle in her arms, watching the newcomers carefully.
“Hi!” the tall woman called. “Wow, look at all of you. They said you were a big group, but I don’t think we’ve had such a large group arrive all at once since we set up here. I should have brought a megaphone. Okay, is that all of you? Right. My name is Brenda Kominsky, but everyone calls me Bren. I’m head of the ruling council of the town, so theoretically that puts me in charge, but mostly it means I take care of organizing where everyone goes and what we do with the assets you have. A condition of coming to live here is that all vehicles, weapons, ammo, food, and medical supplies you have become part of the central supplies of the town, to use as needed. Don’t worry,” she said, raising a hand. “Nobody wants to take your guns off you. Only a fool would go anywhere without a gun. Since it looks like you don’t all have guns on you right now, we’re more likely to give you guns than take them away. After suitable training.”
“Miss…ah, Bren,” R.J. said. “How safe is this place? How do you keep the zombies out? We’re nearly all vaccinated, but the baby…”
“Most people here are vaccinated too, but of course nobody wants zombies wandering around anyway. The location helps us keep them out. Zombies mostly don’t try to climb the hillside. It’s too steep. They tend to drift back downhill. We have perimeter patrols day and night and have installed CCTV cameras. The roads are easier for them, but barriers and roadblocks on all roads take care of any approaching that way.”
“We’ve been told there are problems other than zombies,” R.J. said.
“Yes. Hostile human groups are a much bigger threat. The same security helps. Dense woods on steep slopes are hard to mount an attack through. The roads are all covered, as I said. So far, the groups are small and mostly hate each other too much to band together. They’ve done no more than a lightning raid or two. Okay, that’s enough talk. You folk look tired, hot, and thirsty. Follow me across the road into the school gym. We’ve set up a reception center for you. You can get something to eat, and we’ll find out what skills you all have and get you all billeted. I understand some of you have come a real long way to get here. You can all tell me later. Meanwhile, welcome to Vaccine City. We’re real glad to have you.”
* * * *
Late that afternoon, after food and rest and interviews with Bren to see what everyone could do, Bren and her ever-present bodyguard took the group’s medics up to the highest building in the town, right at the top of the hill whose summit the town circled.
“This was a TB sanatorium for a while,” she said as they climbed the steep road to the front door. “Then a general convalescence home. We’ve turned it into partly a clinic and partly a research-and-production center for the vaccine. We’ve scrounged lab equipment from lots of places over the months. There is an OR, though anything but fairly straightforward surgery is still out. Dr. Burnett, who developed the vaccine, is in charge. We have a few other doctors, a dozen or so nurses, and we’re training more. It’s great to add you folks to the staff, especially another doctor. Doctors are in real short supply.”
The group arrived at the door, the two retired nurses from Moosonee panting a bit. The door was standing open but guarded by two armed men, albeit ones who were lounging pretty casually. An attacker would have to fight their way through the whole town and climb the steep road to the door to attack the clinic.
“Hi, fellas,” Bren said to the guards.
“Hey, Bren,” one of them answered. They straightened up smartly into a stance that spoke of being military back when there still was a military.
“Sarge,” the other one said.
“These folks will be working in the clinic, so remember their faces.” Bren led the group inside, the two guards studying them carefully as they passed. The entrance hall was marble-floored, cool and airy despite the building’s position on the hilltop with no shelter from the sun. Dr. Burnett waited for them. An elderly black lady, past retirement age, who used a stick to get around. She shook each of their hands and hung on quite a long time to Peter’s as she asked him where he’d trained and worked and his specialties. Once that was out of the way, Bren and her bodyguard left again, and Burnett led the newcomers on a tour of the building. They saw two wards at the front of the one-story building, facing south, with tall French windows leading out to terraces with beautiful views. A couple of patients were in beds in there. At the back of the building on one side lay various other treatment rooms and on the other a kitchen and dining room.
“The lab is downstairs in the basement,” the doctor said. “Do you mind if we use the lift? My knees don’t like the stairs.” The all rode down in that. The basement was not as gloomy as Matt had feared. It was well lit and cool. Burnett showed them a room where people were busily filling vials of vaccine and packing them up in boxes.
“We make it and store it down here,” Burnett said. “It doesn’t need refrigeration, but too much heat will degrade it. So if we lose power—and we still do sometimes if the substation for the wind turbines goes offline—we stay cool by being underground.”
A door opened behind the group. Matt glanced around as a man came in. A black guy in scrubs and a white lab coat. Matt turned back to Burnett but then whipped around and stared again at the man who’d come in.
No. Oh hell no.
“Dr. Burnett,” the man said, “Could you take a look at…” He stopped when Peter spun with a gasp. Matt wasn’t imagining it. It wasn’t only a resemblance. Peter was staring, quite literally, as if he’d seen a ghost.
“Peter?” the other doctor said.
Peter’s voice came out as a whisper. “Harrison?”
Matt said nothing. He was too busy screaming internally.
* * * *
After a couple of extremely awkward explanations that yes, they knew each other, Burnett let them go back upstairs to talk, while she continued the tour. Harrison nearly ran up the stairs ahead of Peter, who hurried to keep up. Matt pounded along behind. Harrison went into the empty ward and spun around as Peter and Matt followed him in.
Peter didn’t know quite what to expect, but he didn’t expect the tackle-hug, Harrison barreling into his arms and nearly lifting him off his feet. He felt stronger and bulkier than before. He didn’t kiss Peter, which Peter was glad about, since Matt was already making choking noises behind him.
“Peter, my God, I thought you’d frozen or starved on that damn island years ago.” He let Peter go and looked him over. “You look good, man.”
Peter didn’t think he looked that good. He needed a shave and a shower, and his clothes were creased and dirty. He almost laughed, thinking that you always met your ex when you looked a mess.
Ex? Was Harrison his ex?
“Harry, I was sure you must be dead. You were on the front line in the ER.” He stopped, throat closed, unable to speak, but he swallowed down the lump and forced himself to go on. “How could you have survived?”
“I was lucky. We figured out a good protocol fast for dealing with what was coming in. Since then…” Harrison shrugged. “I’ve been with various groups. They took care of me. A doctor is valuable. I guess your people made sure to take care of you.”
“Yes.” Matt came to Peter’s side and took his arm. His face was flushed and his frown enough to incinerate a man. “We took care of him.”
Harrison saw the touch, and understanding crossed his face.
“Right, I see the way it is.”
“Harrison, I held on to hope for as long as I could, but I…couldn’t make myself believe any longer that you were alive.”
“I get it.” He was closing off, his face hardening. “Yeah, that’s the thing. I’ve…got someone too. I’m sorry, Peter. I thought you were dead. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
“But now…here we are,” Peter said. “We have to…figure this out. You’re still my husband.” Matt’s grip on Peter’s arm tightened until Peter winced. He turned to Matt. “Can you give us a few minutes, Matt, please. We have to talk alone.”
Matt looked as if Peter had punched him in the gut and followed with a shot to the balls. But he nodded without a word and stalked off out of the French windows onto the terrace.
Peter waited until he closed the door behind him and turned back to Harrison, who was watching Matt, frowning. He turned back to Peter.
“So how long did you wait before you started doing the Aussie twink?” He sounded like he wanted to make it a joke, but couldn’t quite pull it off.
“He’s not Australian, and he’s no twink,” Peter said, folding his arms. “And it was, is, only recent. A couple of months. Because I waited for you. Every night I went to sleep thinking I’d wake up in the morning to see you arriving to find me. You knew where I was, Harry.” He couldn’t keep the note of accusation from his voice.
“You’re saying I was supposed to get to northern Canada and then out to that island? Are you mad?”
“I’d have done it for you,” Peter said. “If I’d known where you were, I’d have done everything in my power to find you. Two days ago I was still planning to go home, in case by some chance, you were still there.”
“Then why didn’t you?” Harrison asked. “Because of him?” He nodded at the terrace where Matt had gone.
Was that the reason? He’d said it was because he’d finally accepted Harrison was dead. But he hadn’t. He couldn’t, not without seeing a body. He’d changed his mind because he wanted to be with Matt. But that was when he’d been 95 percent sure Harrison was dead. Not when Harrison was standing in front of him alive and kicking.
“I don’t know,” Peter said. “Seeing you here. It changes everything. I don’t know what the hell to do.”
“Me neither. I missed you, Peter. So much. I still have…” He reached up and drew a chain from under his scrubs. His gold wedding ring turned and glinted in the sunlight pouring in through the windows. Peter reached under his shirt and drew out the cord with his matching ring on it.
“Same.”
He’d taken it back off before they left White Lake. But he couldn’t part with it. He couldn’t even shove it deep in his backpack of belongings. Before either could speak again, the door from the lobby banged open, and a man stood there. A white guy, younger than them, about thirty, nice-looking with rich, reddish-brown hair and a lot of freckles on his tanned face.
“Harry,” he said. “Someone said… This is him?”
“Yes. Ah… Peter, this is Craig. My boyfriend.”
* * * *
Matt heard raised voices in the room behind him and smirked. That had to be good. He debated going back in there, but before he could, one of the French doors opened and a stranger stepped out. A red-haired guy in scrubs. He slammed the door behind him and stood scowling at Matt.
“Who the hell are you?” the stranger demanded.
Okay, rude. “I’m Matt Warner. I’m with Peter.” He’d kind of meant that as he was one of the group with Peter, but the way it came out clearly said more to this man. His scowl disappeared, and he stepped forward and offered his hand for a shake.
“I’m Craig Jones. I’m with Harrison.”
“You mean with as in…with?”
Craig smiled a bit grimly. “With for a year. You mean with too, right?”
“Yeah.” Matt didn’t say how long, feeling mildly defensive about it.
“Then I guess we have something in common. One half each of a married couple and a strong interest in breaking them up.”
Matt was taken aback by this straightforward assessment of the situation. But he liked it. “Yeah. A strong interest. How were…how were things going in there?”
“When I walked in, they were waving their wedding rings at each other.”
“What do you think they’re going to do?”
“I doubt they’ll turn around to us and say they’re getting back together. Harry doesn’t talk about Peter much, even to me. But I know he took that marriage very seriously. He said they fought for a long time to be allowed to marry. So he didn’t throw it away on a whim.” Craig leaned his elbows on the parapet around the balcony. Matt joined him. The stiff breeze ruffled their hair. “He still keeps a picture of Peter. He takes a peek at it sometimes when he thinks I’m not looking.”
“Peter has a picture too. He brought it with him from the island.” Matt hadn’t seen him sneaking a peek at it, but he definitely still had it. “He held on to hope for so long. I guess they really loved each other.” Could someone wave good-bye to that and love again if the other person was still alive? “What if they still love each other? And now they’re with each other again. God, and they’ll both be working here. Fuck.” He dropped his head into his hands.
“How do you feel about sharing?” Craig asked.
“I’d rather be dead,” Matt said. Melodramatic, but a ménage with Peter and his husband and his husband’s boyfriend was not what he’d call his ideal solution to this problem.
“Yeah, same,” Craig said. “Then we’ve got a project, Matt. Operation…no, not quite a breakup. They are broken up. They both have someone else; they haven’t seen each other in three years. We have to make sure that breakup sticks. Make them get a divorce, essentially. They’re going to be full of nostalgia for each other. A desire to get back to at least part of the good old days before the world went to hell.”
“Yeah.” Matt feared he was right. The two of them leaned on the parapet for a while, gazing silently and gloomily over the town. Something not far away caught Matt’s eye. “Craig, is that a baseball pitch over there?”
“Field,” Craig corrected. “Um, yeah, looks like it. Why?”
“I’ve got an idea,” Matt said. “Which I’d appreciate your help with, as part of Team Divorce.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“How about this one?” Matt nodded at a house with a red cloth tied to the doorknob, a signal it was up for grabs for the newcomers looking for a roof. Peter shrugged. A house was a house.
He followed Matt up the steps and inside. The key was in the lock. Matt shifted the bag of food he carried, which they’d collected from a central store for the whole colony, to his other arm and unlocked the door. The inside was hushed with the quiet of many months empty. It had polished wood floors rather than carpets, blinds instead of drapes. Some furniture might have been taken away. There were darker patches of paint on the walls where they had been protected from the light that streamed in through large windows.
“Kind of minimalist,” Matt said. “But I like it. No carpets means no vacuuming.”
Speaking of which… Peter tried a light switch, and the overhead light came on.
“I’ll check the water,” Matt said, leading the way into the kitchen. He put down the bag of food and turned on a faucet. The water ran brown for a while but then cleared. “Looks good to me. You want to stay?”
“It’s fine,” Peter said.
“Let’s check the bedroom before we decide.” Matt went upstairs. Peter watched him go and followed slowly. The house was fine, but did he want to move into it with Matt?
He found Matt in the master bedroom, stretched out on the king-size bed, doing his starfish act as he’d done in Moosonee. But this wasn’t a temporary stopover. Matt scrambled up and started rummaging in cupboards to find sheets for the bare mattress. Peter sat on the bed.
“Matt, sit down. Let’s talk for a minute.”
Matt looked at him worriedly but came over and sat on the bed. “It’s about Harrison, right?”
“You know we can’t avoid the subject.”
“I know. Are you…” His voice hitched, but he regained control and went on. “Are you going back to him?”
“If I was, I wouldn’t be here with you, would I?”
“I figured maybe you wanted to break it to me in private.”
“I haven’t seen him in three years. He has someone else. I have you. Do you really think we dealt with all that in a twenty-minute conversation?”
“I guess not. But that means you still haven’t decided, doesn’t it?”
“No. I did decide, several days ago. You know that. I chose you.”
“That was when you thought he was dead or at least that you’d never see him again. You can’t tell me having him alive and right here doesn’t make a difference.”
“No, I can’t. I have to process that. We both do. But I’m here in this house with you. Doesn’t that tell you how I feel?”
“Maybe. And maybe it tells me that you’re too nice a guy to dump my ass cold. That you maybe do want to break it to me gently. Not tonight, but in a few days, a week, when you two have gotten over the shock and talked properly with each other.”
