The Bar at the End of the World Read online

  “I’m a rebel with a cause,” said Uriel, wearing a wry grin.

  Nobody reacted.

  Uriel slumped her shoulders. “Come on,” she said in disbelief. “Nobody? Nobody knows that one? I know it’s an arcane reference, but, Zeke, as much as you love hot rods, I would have thought for sure you—”

  “Enough!” Louis barked. “It doesn’t matter who you are or how you’re possibly here. No more tricks. All of you are coming with me.”

  Louis turned to motion to the half dozen Marines who flanked him. He said something to them about restraints. He seemingly wasn’t aware that Uriel’s body tensed, that her eyes glared at him with ill intent, and he surely didn’t see the faintest hint of a blue glow throbbing at the ink on her skin.

  “All right now,” said Louis. “This is—”

  The knife hit him in his throat. He never saw it coming. His mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air as he dropped the weapon and sank to his knees. His girth rippled with the movement. Simultaneously, Li sprayed the M27 to the dying lieutenant’s left and Uriel disarmed the men to his right.

  The trio to Louis’s left were down within a second. They’d not had time to take aim before they were on the ground. The ones to the right likely would have preferred the quick dignified death of a cluster of high-powered projectiles. Instead, they took a brutal beating from Uriel, whose body was a constant blue. She finished the last of them with a solid heel jab to the center of a Marine’s face.

  Louis grabbed at the knife, at the handle. Eyes wide with fear, with the shock and recognition of what was happening, he tried to free the blade.

  Instead, Zeke wrapped his own hand around Louis’s. He took a deep breath, exhaled, and tugged. The knife slid from Louis’s throat with a slurp and the man was done. His body hit the ground with a sickening thud. Blood pooled around him as if poured from a full glass.

  Li stared at Uriel. “What the hell was that?”

  Uriel’s body was dimly blue now. Still, she stood there, fists clenched, body tensed and ready to strike. She shook her head.

  “Hell hath nothing to do with it,” she said.

  Li looked to Zeke. “What was that?”

  “We can explain later,” said Zeke. “Now we definitely need to get out of here. Can we get back to my car?”

  “The Superbird?” asked Li.

  “How many cars does he have?” snarked Uriel.

  Zeke sighed at her then shifted to Li. “Yes,” he said. “The Superbird.”

  “Where is it?” asked Li.

  “The tunnel,” he said. “Near the Tic’s underground entrance to the city.”

  “We can’t get to it,” she said. “We’ll need to take a transport.”

  Zeke checked over his shoulder. “You sure?”

  Uriel interjected, “I hate to say it, pretty boy, but skinny mini has a point. More of these soldier dudes are going to be here in minutes. Then they’ll be swarming the city looking for us.”

  “But the car is in the smuggling tunnel,” said Zeke.

  “They’ll have the tunnels blocked,” said Li. “Remember, they knew you were coming.”

  “Then how do we get out?” asked Uriel. “Assuming we’re still helping you.”

  Uriel shot Zeke a pleading glance. She raised her eyebrows. The blue glow was gone now.

  “We’re still helping,” said Zeke. “I told you I was coming back to right my wrong. It’s not right until Li’s safe.”

  Li’s face flushed pink. Zeke’s chest tightened. Uriel groaned.

  “We bust through the gate,” said Uriel.

  “Then where do we go?” asked Li.

  Uriel shrugged. “I think we worry about that once we bust through the gate and get clear of this place. What’s it called?”

  Li and Zeke answered in unison. “A protectorate.”

  The two locked eyes and smiled. Zeke missed her. Despite everything, he missed her. He still loved her. And he was sure that she loved him too. A true relationship isn’t measured by the effortless times, he thought. It’s measured by the struggles overcome. If that was true, then what they had was real. It had to be.

  “Sheesh,” said Uriel. “Get a room.”

  Zeke’s smile flattened. In that instant, he was reminded of the room in which he’d awaken not that long ago. He was reminded of sitting at the bar with Pedro, of the mission, of his own redemption. He was reminded that he was dead.

  That was a struggle over which they couldn’t climb. But he said nothing about it. Instead, he nodded.

  “We need to go,” he said. “Let’s find the closest gate.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Guilfoyle put his hand on his stomach and belched. He could taste the steak he’d had for breakfast half a day ago. It felt like a week. He wanted to throw up. He spoke through his teeth, seething and fighting back the nausea.

  “What do you mean there’s more?” he asked. “Isn’t it enough that your trusted spy is gone, in the wind, doing who knows what to undermine us?”

  Frederick and Archibald stood opposite their commander, at attention. They were stone-faced, aside from the twitching at the corner of Archibald’s mouth.

  Guilfoyle’s eyebrows arched. “Well?” he demanded. “What is it?”

  The lieutenants exchanged glances. They swallowed hard at the same time. Finally, Frederick fell on the sword.

  “Your nephew, Commander,” he said in a tremulous voice Guilfoyle almost didn’t recognize as belonging to the man who led the protectorate’s surveillance and spy networks. “He’s dead.”

  Guilfoyle flinched, but said nothing. The nausea in his gut swelled. Images of his sister flashed in his mind. He remembered his promises to her. A knot thickened in his throat and the emotion surprised him. He considered that it wasn’t for his nephew, but rather for his own failure to protect his nephew.

  “He and his entire protective detail were killed,” Frederick continued.

  “We found additional casualties at the Tic bunker as well,” added Archibald. The TMF was his purview. “There are Tic casualties too. Graham is among them, we believe.”

  “How?” Guilfoyle asked.

  Neither of them answered. Archibald ran his swollen knuckles across the top of his cropped, silver hair. He sniffed. His warped nose twitched.

  Guilfoyle’s face and neck reddened as his muscles tensed. A thick vein strained against the side of his forehead.

  “How. Did. He. Die?” he spat venomously.

  Frederick’s shoulders slumped and he lowered his head. He took a step back from his commander.

  “A knife wound,” he said softly. “Maybe also M27 high-velocity rounds. There’s so much blood and too many bodies. It’s hard to know at the moment.”

  Guilfoyle sucked in another weary breath and held it. His jaw flexed. He turned from the men and stared out the window of his suite toward the city-state he commanded. Beyond the glass stretched the brown, dusty collection of run-down buildings.

  He regretted popularizing the M27 now as his body shifted and bounced. It was a holdover from the end days of the United States military. The M27 Infantry Automatic Rifle had been in large supply. They were reliable. And there were unmanned warehouses full of the weapons and their ammunition.

  Had it not been for that ten-pound weapon, his nephew, who’d masterfully handled their water supply, would be alive. His promise to his sister would be unbroken.

  Yes, the fat man was a pest. He was a glutton. He salivated at both fresh meat and the taste of power. But Louis was family and he was, above all else, loyal to the protectorate and to his commander.

  Guilfoyle’s distant gaze focused and he turned from the glass to face his lieutenants Archibald and Frederick. Could he say the same for them? Were they loyal? Or were they what Louis had claimed they were?

  His eyes shifted between the two of them. Both men held his stare for a moment and lost the contest, instead looking to the floor. There was a way, Guilfoyle decided, they could prove thei
r loyalty.

  “Go find them,” he said flatly.

  Archibald was the first to lift his head. “Go find who, sir?”

  A wry smile spread across the commander’s face. “The spy,” he said, “and anyone who is with her. Find them. Bring them to me alive or bring me their heads. I want something to hang from the front of the Fascio.”

  “Yes, Commander,” both men said in unison. They saluted and spun to begin their task. But before they reached the door, the commander called to them.

  “Wait there,” he said. “You’re not going alone.”

  The men shot him confused looks. Neither said anything. Neither questioned him. They stood silently while awaiting, the commander assumed, an explanation.

  As if on cue, Theo emerged from the kitchen. He strode confidently across the floor. His polished black shoes gleamed against the overhead light. His cufflinks sparkled at his wrists. The man walked with his chin up, his eyes fixed on the commander.

  “I’m ready, sir,” said Theo. “We can depart immediately.”

  The commander nodded at Theo and addressed the befuddled-looking lieutenants at the entry to his suite. He noticed the color was drained from their faces.

  “Theo will accompany you,” he said. “He is a skilled man and very loyal. He’ll be certain to report back to me exactly what—”

  “But, sir,” interrupted Frederick. “I don’t think we need—”

  “Do not interrupt me,” said Guilfoyle through clenched teeth. “I will tell you what you need. Is that understood?”

  Both men quieted. They were at attention now, but there was something weak about their stature. A hint of defeat in their shoulders, of chastisement in their chests.

  Guilfoyle cleared his throat. “Now,” he said, the anger gone from his voice, “you will take Theo with you. He will do as he sees fit. He has my blessing.”

  The room filled with a heavy silence. Nobody spoke for several seconds. Then Archibald raised his hand.

  Guilfoyle jutted his chin at his TMF lieutenant. “Yes?”

  “What about our men?” he asked.

  “What about them?” asked Guilfoyle.

  “Does Theo have a say in how—”

  Guilfoyle shook his head emphatically and waved a hand at Archibald as if to tell him how ridiculous he sounded. He stepped forward and motioned toward Theo.

  “Theo is his own man,” he said. “His job is to…”

  “Bring balance to the operation?” interjected the servant.

  Guilfoyle nodded. “Yes,” said the commander. “He’ll operate independently. You’ll command your men as you’ve always done.”

  He waved them away and the trio left him alone. Guilfoyle then returned to his window. He moved close to the glass. Each breath produced a puff of condensation and evaporated.

  A haze lingered on the horizon. Dust hung in the air like a thin veil. It was thick today and made it difficult to see the people on the streets below. He knew that somewhere down there, his loyal nephew was dead. Many of his men were dead. And a traitorous spy was on the loose.

  Guilfoyle’s chest tightened as he considered his nephew’s murder. He could almost hear his sister chastising him for not having done a better job of keeping Louis safe. He tried pushing the thought from his mind, tried to reason with himself.

  Louis was his own man. He was responsible for his own choices. He was arrogant and stubborn.

  Guilfoyle’s guilt dissolved into anger. He was angry at Frederick and Archibald, angry at the turncoat, angry at the Tic, at the Badlanders, at everyone who’d either failed him or who couldn’t appreciate what he’d done for his people. They threatened the balance of things. They didn’t understand the weight of his responsibilities.

  Difficult times called for decisive leaders. And he was decisive, as his ancestors had been. Because of their actions, because of his actions, his people had food and water. There was relative peace. He’d found a balance, he thought, between wielding an iron fist and providing an open bosom.

  Through the haze below him, a convoy of TMF transports emerged onto the streets closest to the Fascio. He told himself he could feel the rumble of their engines, the push of their tires against the gritty earth.

  They would find this spy, he assured himself. They would find her, and they would hurt her, and he would hang her from the Fascio for all to see.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Zeke imagined himself behind the wheel of his beloved Superbird. He cursed that it was stuck underground in a Tic tunnel on the other side of the protectorate, and he hoped it would be there when he returned. Would he return?

  His sweaty hands gripped the large wheel of the TMF transport they’d stolen. His body bounced gently in the straight-back seat as he navigated the streets. Li was in the back seat next to Uriel.

  Zeke wasn’t sure what was more dangerous, the prospect of getting caught or Li and Uriel within strangling reach of one another.

  They’d behaved themselves so far, and Zeke focused on the challenging path in front of him. There were small miracles that didn’t involve reincarnation and glowing blue weapons of mass destruction.

  “The gate is up here,” said Li, pointing to ten o’clock, “on the other side of this checkpoint.”

  Zeke was familiar with the gate, and the checkpoint, which he’d successfully avoided by the use of the tunnels plenty of times. He’d have preferred using tunnels now, but Li was probably right. It would have trapped them inside the walls.

  Two guards manned the gate. One of them leveled his M27. The other raised a hand to slow them to a stop.

  “Don’t stop,” said Uriel. “Just go.”

  Zeke took his eyes off the gate and the threat ahead, glancing in the mirror at Uriel with concern. His expression spoke for him.

  “If you hit ’em, you hit ’em.” She shrugged.

  Zeke pressed forward, barreling toward the guards, who both now unleashed volleys of gunfire at them. The rounds smacked the windshield but didn’t break through.

  And, as Zeke hoped they would, the guards jumped out of the way at the last second. The transport roared through the gate and out into the open expanse of the Badlands. The truck bounded on a rut, its suspension responding with a dip and recoil as they sped into the desert.

  “Which way?” he asked.

  “Left,” said Li. “Turn left.”

  Zeke took his foot off the pedal and swung the wheel to the left. The back end of the transport slid across the sand covering the packed earth, and the harness strained against him. It dug into his ribs and hips until he’d straightened the behemoth and found his new path.

  He glanced in the side-view mirror and did a double take. His muscles tensed and he tightened his grip on the wheel. He pressed down on the accelerator, expecting the heavy transport to respond like his muscle car. It lurched, hesitating, and then surged.

  “What?” asked Uriel, apparently sensing something.

  “They’re already onto us,” he said.

  Uriel twisted in her seat and leaned against her side window. Zeke couldn’t tell if she could see what he did.

  In the distance, maybe a couple of hundred yards back, was a transport clearly giving chase. Dust billowed from its sides in heavy brown wakes as it followed them. Zeke wasn’t sure yet, but he thought he saw at least one more transport. They were coming for them.

  “No doubt,” said Zeke. “They’re chasing us.”

  “Their top speed is our top speed, right?” asked Uriel.

  “Maybe,” said Zeke. “I guess. I don’t know.”

  Li leaned forward in her seat. She pointed through the windshield.

  “Head to the far western protectorate,” she said. “Maybe we disappear into the mountains. If we keep enough distance, we could lose them on the winding roads.”

  This was good and bad. From memory, Zeke knew the trip was long, and it wasn’t easy.

  “All right,” said Zeke. “I’ve got a plan. Hang on.”

  Zeke jerk
ed the wheel right and headed north. The digital compass on the display in front of him made it easy to know his direction. That was an advantage he didn’t have in his Superbird. When driving his car, he relied on the occasional landmark, the position of the sun, or the stars, to navigate his way from origin to destination and back.

  “What are you doing?” asked Li. “Why are you—”

  “I know what I’m doing,” he said. “I think this will work. If I can keep them at bay for a little bit, we’ll be good.”

  The truth was, he wasn’t positive. There was always the chance that landslides might block them, that dead nonengineered wild animals could slow them. It wasn’t a sure thing. Zeke wasn’t about to admit that.

  Rather, Zeke Watson did what he did best. He drove. Increasingly comfortable behind the wheel, he cut corners. He drove at speeds at the top end of the transport’s ability. While his pursuers might drive fast, they wouldn’t push the vehicles’ limits. Driving with more caution saved fuel and wear on the engine. He’d seen the transports before. Their drivers, even when giving chase, didn’t take chances.

  Zeke checked the digital readout on the dash in front of him. He had three-quarters of a tank. It was more than enough to get him all the way to the mountains and likely through them. It wasn’t enough to get all the way to the next protectorate. But they weren’t headed that far. If all went as planned, they’d disappear into the woods, and Li would be free to roam, to reinvent herself, to start a new life. If she could find water, she’d be golden.

  He couldn’t tell her that it was virtually impossible for them to be together. At least, he thought so, being dead and all. He still wasn’t quite sure how it all worked.

  Could I disappear with her? Could we start over?

  They drove like this for more than an hour. Zeke headed north, and he’d put more distance between himself and the transports. They were content, he decided, to keep him in sight. That was good. It fit into his plan.

  He checked over his shoulder and saw Li had passed out from exhaustion. Her head was leaning against the doorframe, bouncing with the suspension. Zeke missed watching her sleep. Yeah, maybe it was creepy, but he’d always enjoyed lying next to her, listening to her breathe while she dreamed.