I was dirty, tired, and emotionally drained, but I lingered outside, delaying the inevitable. I didn’t have the energy to face what awaited me. Finally I climbed the front steps and entered my new home.
It was a typical two-story suburban home with a lawn, a wooden porch, and a garage. The interior was welcoming and spacious, with expensive furniture that was too ornate for my tastes. On one wall hung an autographed photograph of Charlton Heston addressing the National Rifle Association, a gun raised over his head.
“You’re finally here,” Pritchenko said, sticking his head out of the kitchen door. “We were worried. What happened?”
“Long story short, Prit: this afternoon I saved fifty people from dying at the hands of religious fanatics.”
“Well, at least you did something good,” the Ukrainian said sadly. “You’d better talk to Lucia. She’s really angry at you.”
I sighed, downhearted. I couldn’t put off that conversation until the next day.
“I’ll talk to her.” I patted my buddy on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, old friend.”
I went into the living room. Lucia was sitting on an overstuffed couch. The cat was playing with a sock at her feet. She had a book in her lap, but hadn’t read past the first few pages. She scowled and said in an icy voice, “You’re home.”
I dropped into one of the chairs. “I was at city hall with Greene until a half an hour ago.” The sooner you tell her, the better. “He offered me a job.”
“What’d you say?” Lucia stared at me, stunned.
“He needs an intermediary with the helots who live in the suburb of Bluefont. It’s across the river, inside the Wall, but surrounded by barbed wire. Over half of those people are Hispanic, but no one in Gulfport speaks Spanish.”
“You said no, of course.”
I took a deep breath. Here goes. “Actually, I accepted his offer. I start tomorrow.”
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Lucia, I saved a lot of lives today.” Although, I thought bitterly of Mendoza’s comment about Lucia, if it were up to me, they could’ve shot one of them. “If I take the job, I can at least look after the helots’ interests and improve their living conditions.”
“Look after their interests? Improve their living conditions? Are you going to get that loony preacher to stop treating them like second-class citizens so they don’t have to risk their lives anymore?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ll figure something out.” I tried to stand my ground. How could I tell her that, as I’d headed off the slaughter in the Bluefont ghetto that afternoon, the old euphoria I’d felt for years as a lawyer rushed back over me.
Before the Apocalypse, I’d had a real talent for closing deals and negotiating impossible terms. I’d felt invincible. Settling a dispute was like a powerful drug that had driven me for years. When the Undead arrived, all of that ended. I’d dragged myself halfway around the world, surviving by some miracle. It was quite a blow to discover that all my knowledge and skills were worthless in a society in ruins. But that afternoon, the old magic came rushing back. I’d done it again. For the first time in a very long time, I felt useful.
I knew Lucia wouldn’t understand that. At least not right then. But I had to make her see that I was also revolted by Reverend Greene and the hate-filled racist society in Gulfport. And I was furious with myself too. I felt dirty for pandering to Reverend Greene.
“Lucia, for better or worse, we’re here. We have to try to fit in.”
“Why?
“Gulfport may not be our permanent home, but we’ll probably be here for a while. If we leave, we’ll have a really hard time out there.”
“Maybe.” Lucia took my hands and looked me in the eye, pleading. “But we’d land on our feet, like we always do. This place is sick—these people are sick—and you know it. Gulfport isn’t for us. We’re not like them. Let’s leave. Today. All three of us.”
“Where would we go? We can’t just start walking. This is America, damn it. It’s huge. There’re millions of Undead out there. We have no choice. We have to stay.”
“Well, if we stay, let’s confront Greene about the prophesies he rants on and on about!”
“How do you propose we do that? He offered us his hospitality! He saved our lives! We owe him!”
“We don’t owe him a thing! Are you blind? Do you see the way they treat those people?”
“Lucia, you’ve seen the world out there! Haven’t you had enough of blood, death, and destruction? Aren’t you tired of sleeping with one eye open, always cold, afraid, and hungry? Aren’t you tired of being on the run? This is a safe place to live. They offer their hospitality and you spit in their eye!”
“What’s the price of that hospitality? Living in an apartheid like South Africa? Watching them exploit those helots?”
“It’s the price of staying alive!” I shouted, my face twisted. “Of having a future!”
“I don’t want that future,” Lucia shouted back. Tears shone in her eyes.
“We don’t have a choice.” I stood up and stretched out my arms. “Look around! We’ve got squat! Even your clothes were a gift, for God’s sake!”
“We have the three of us: Prit, you, and me.”
“Apparently you have someone else,” I said, jealousy gnawing at me. “A certain Carlos Mendoza said hello. You just got to Gulfport, and already you’ve got an admirer.”
Lucia turned pale; her eyes glowed like embers. I instantly regretted what I’d said. It was unfair and mean, but I was tired and angry. The trouble with words is you can never take them back.
“At least Carlos Mendoza has the self-respect to despise Greene to his face,” she said slowly.
“That’s because he doesn’t have to worry about keeping a woman, a cat, and a crazy Russian safe.”
“Don’t worry about the woman. I’ll take care of myself from now on.” She stood up, picked up the cat, planted a big kiss on his forehead, and then plopped him on my lap. Without a backward glance, she walked out of the room and slammed the door.
Lucullus looked surprised—his face was wet with Lucia’s tears. And I was miserable.
18
Colonel Hong stretched. He had a throbbing headache. The Ilyushin-62 was one of the most uncomfortable aircrafts ever made. The engine noise filtered through the fuselage. It was so loud, he had to wear headphones during the trip. The only way to have a conversation was to yell, and even then it was difficult.
After thirteen hours in the air, the colonel felt as if someone had stuffed his ears full of cotton. When he stood up to stretch and clear his head, a folder slipped off his knees and fell to the floor. Hong picked it up and locked it away in a steel case. Inside were an envelope with detailed instructions and cyanide pills to pass out to the men when they landed.
As Hong walked slowly down the center aisle of the plane to the flight deck, he thought about the report the commander had shown him. He hadn’t been allowed to bring it along because they couldn’t risk it falling into the wrong hands, especially the Yankee imperialist enemy’s.
“The Undead are dying,” the defense minister had said at the meeting. Hong thought he’d heard wrong. But the generals sitting around the table hadn’t flinched when the minister repeated that statement, so it must be true.
When he asked if they’d found a way to kill them, the minister replied, “No, it’s not that. You can’t kill something when it’s already dead. Every effort we’ve made to develop an antidote or vaccine for the TSJ virus has been a failure. The thing’s a marvel of genetic engineering. However, the virus’s success has become its downfall.”