And there was another complication: After informing the Collective about the breakthrough, the UW lab went offline five days later. That sounded like more than a coincidence. So, we didn’t know what I’d be walking into.
No one else could do this mission. It had to be me. Connor was the only other courier with immunity from the Infection, and when he died, I was the last. For anyone else, it would be a death sentence. A simple crack in the vial, and they’d be dead. So, it was my job and my job alone. But I preferred it that way. I wanted to work alone, and work was the only thing keeping me going. Of course, I’d take the job.
I’ve been walking for over an hour with those memories heavy on my mind. Connor was right about the Infection being lab-made. When Sophia confirmed that, it was the first time I had any doubts about the Collective. Was I wrong to dismiss Connor’s suspicions? He was so sure that the Collective was in on it—part of some big cabal. But I’ve seen firsthand the power of conspiracy theories on people’s minds. And I trust Sophia and the Collective more than I trusted Connor. Especially considering what happened between me and Connor the night before he died. He broke my trust in a way that could never be repaired. I still believe the Collective is the only chance to find a cure. And I hope to hell I’m right about that.
The sun is well over the horizon now. I’d guess it’s midmorning, and the chill is starting to ebb. I pause for a moment to snack on some trail mix Zach packed into my bag. Looking at all the nice things he stashed makes me smile.
Am I heartless to leave him? He’s been so selfless and kind. And he’s clever and resourceful. Leaving felt like the right thing to do. Itisthe right thing to do.
Even so, how many gay guys are left in the world? Don’t I owe something to him from a sense of solidarity? Having more people like me to relate to in our shared common experience could only be a good thing. And I do enjoy his company. We have the same sense of humor, and I think back to some of the laughs we shared.
Okay, when I get to Seattle and finish this job, I’ll head back this way and see how he’s doing. I’ll make it up to him. If he’s not too pissed at me, that is.
Assuming he’s still alive, that is.
Mind back on the job. Find a car. Get to UW in Seattle. Find the emergency medical bunker there. Hope that it still exists. Itbetter fuckingstill exist. And drop off the vials. Simple. I laugh under my breath.Yeah, simple.
After a couple hours of walking and ruminating, a gas station appears. It has a garage and a store attached. It’s an old building, probably built in the 1950s. Faded signs and a moss-covered roof add to the run-down ambiance. Cars litter the entire lot. Some are old junkers, but several others appear newer. Maybe I’ll get lucky here.
The inside of the store is nothing but empty shelves and broken glass. Picked clean. Like pretty much everything, it has that musty smell. All man-made things in the world are in the process of either rotting or rusting.
Old broken car parts and discarded tools litter the garage. A half-disassembled car is up on a floor jack. There’s a pegboard filled with hanging car keys on one wall.Jackpot. I grab them all and head out to the yard.
Matching the keys up to the make and model of each car is a pain. Most of them don’t belong to any cars. Did this guy just collect keys? Going through them methodically is the only way to do it. I find the correct key one by one, and every single time, the car doesn’t start. All the batteries are dead. I’m sitting in the driver’s seat of the last car, crossing my fingers. I turn the key and—nothing. Zilch.
I have one foot out the door when the unmistakable sound of a car engine breaks the silence. An old Buick sedan tears into the station, brakes squealing as it stops. There’s only enough time to pull my leg in and scrunch down behind the dash. The door is still open, and it’s too late to shut it now. So I huddle in the front seat and wait.
Car doors slam, and two male voices argue back and forth.
“Well, crap, I didn’t know we were almost out.”
“You dumbshit, didn’t you check the gauge?”
“I thought you checked before we left town.”
“Well, now, we gotta siphon some gas. And guess who’s gonna be doing the sucking?”
“Shit.”
“And get at it. We gotta meet the others in less than an hour. Boss is sure he went that way.”
“What about that little fucker in the bank, though?”
“We gotta root him out and find out if he’s seen anything. He’s been a pain in our ass for a while now, so it’s about time.”
Oh, god.How did it not occur to me that simply being there put Zach in danger? I have to warn him.
But it’s too risky. The vials are too important. They could save so many lives. And they’re far too dangerous to fall into the wrong hands. That would be a disaster.
Anddon’t forget you’re doing this for Marcus.
I’m hit with this wave of guilt. These people were trying to kill me, so they won’t hesitate to kill Zach. But before that, they’ll get him to talk. I was careful not to reveal too much. But that might even make it worse for Zach if he has nothing to tell them. They won’t take no for an answer.
How do I weigh the lives of so many thatmightbe saved with the life of somebody who’s in dangerright now? I was so worried about the risks of taking Zach with me. Turns out leaving him was the real peril. He tried to tell me that, but I didn’t listen. I swore I would never take somebody with me. I couldn’t stand another life on my conscience, but inaction now would be no different.
I know what I must do.
I open the car door opposite from where the men are, taking great care not to make a sound. A quick peek around helps me plan my attack. Two men, both forty-something. Neither looks as if they’ve worked out a day in their life. A guy with a bright orange baseball cap and a beer gut is heading toward some cars on the other side of the lot. He’s got a hose and gas can in his hands. The other guy is scrawny and has a gray goatee. He’s over by a tree taking a leak. Now’s my chance.
