After the Dark (6 page)

“And . . . nothing, so far.”

“Yes. And I began to ask myself—had Kelpy somehow died in my place? When he took on my physicality, he obviously became subject to the virus . . . otherwise, he wouldn't have died.”

Nodding, she said, “You passed that capacity to Kelpy, Logan—but
I
passed the virus to him!”

“Yes. Now stay with me . . . I hacked into Manticore records and learned more about Kelpy. Seems when he ‘blended,' some of the changes took place on a genetic level, as well.”

Again Max frowned in thought. “A kind of biochemical morphing?”

Carr picked up the thread. “In a manner of speaking,” the doctor said. “It wasn't true morphing—he stopped short of that, most of the changes physiological but not genetic. He essentially assumed the shell of whoever he was trying to blend in with.”

“All of which means what?” Max asked.

Logan said, “That enough of his changes
were
genetic to fool the virus.”

Slowly, as if repeating a child's ridiculous assertion, Max said, “Fool . . . the . . . virus?”

“Yeah. The virus thought Kelpy was me.”

“The virus . . .
thought
. . . ?”

Carr said, “That's just a convenient way of expressing the concept that this virus was ‘programmed' to kill Logan. It recognized Kelpy as Logan and that's why the virus attacked him. When its target was dead, it became inert.”

“Is that even possible?”

“Very much so,” Carr said with an assertive nod. “The scientists at Manticore were operating on the highest levels of genetic engineering . . . but I guess I don't have to tell you that.”

“No,” Max said dryly.

“The irony is, two of their creations—one of which was designed to take you down, Max—collided, and inadvertently destroyed each other . . . and saved you and Logan from what we now know would have been an inevitable tragedy.”

“Even with all our precautions,” Logan said, “we were kidding each other that we'd never touch . . . but we couldn't stay apart, could we?”

She just looked at him.

Logan reached out to put his arm around her. She jumped up, away from him.

“This is whack,” she said. “Doctor, tell him not to touch me—we can't be sure, we can't know . . .”

Carr said, “Logan, she's right. We need—”

But Logan was on his feet, clearly irritated. “Damnit, Max—sometimes the news is
good
. . . It's over. That goddamned virus is out of our lives.”

Max looked past Logan at Carr. She felt irritated, too—though she knew she should be happy. Wasn't this the news they had been waiting over a year to hear?

“Dr. Carr,” she said evenly, “I want to believe it, but I can't. I'm afraid that this thing will come back, that this . . . this remission is just a fluke. You said I was right to be careful. What do we need to do to make sure?”

Logan, frustrated, turned to Carr and said, “You agree, Sam, that—”

Carr patted the air. “Logan, Max is skeptical and she's cautious—traits that have served her well.” Now the doctor spoke to Max: “We'll do a blood test on you, and
then
we'll have an answer.”

“A definitive answer?” she asked.

Logan was shaking his head. “My God, Max—you can see the dark cloud in every silver lining.”

“Very little is definitive in this world, Max,” the doctor said. “Particularly in this post-Pulse world . . . Now, if the virus is still inside you, it might be inert or it might merely be dormant.”

Hands on hips, she asked, “And your little black blood-test box can tell us?”

“Yes.”

She shrugged. “Then let's do it.”

“Bedroom,” Carr said, gesturing.

Moments later, Logan and Max sat on the bed, somewhat apart, as Carr went to work. First, he swabbed her arm with alcohol, then with a needle removed a few CCs of blood. He gave her another swab to press against the wound.

“Take just a minute,” he said reassuringly.

He inserted the needle into a rubberized receptacle in his black box and pumped in the blood. Carr's fingers expertly touched various buttons on the front of the box, and then paused, as if he'd dialed a cell phone and was waiting for a response. Carr studied the box's small LCD screen, then he pushed another button.

“I'm printing a readout,” the doctor said. “I know you like things in black and white, Max . . .”

A moment later a slip of paper, like a gas station receipt, came rolling out the bottom of the box. Carr tore it off and handed it to Max. Down the left side were abbreviations, down the right side numbers. She read the list but it meant nothing to her. She held it up, her eyebrows rising in question.

“See any zeroes?” Carr asked.

She looked at the list again. “Yeah. Fourth one down.”

“What's it say in the left column?”

“V.I.”

“Viruses,” Carr said. “V.I. stands for viruses . . . and you're reading zero. You don't even have a mild flu bug, Max.”

“I'm . . . clean.”

“The virus is out of your system.”

Max just sat there—she felt numb. It was as if Carr were suddenly three rooms away. “No virus?”

“Apparently Kelpy absorbed it out of your system. It's possible his capacity to blend, to morph, went slightly haywire when, in his Logan phase, you and he touched and instinctively he began to take on some of your characteristics—suddenly the human chameleon was the carrier
and
the recipient.”

Logan said, “So, then . . . the virus killed Kelpy . . . and itself.”

Carr sighed, shrugged. “Without both of you entering into a lengthy research program at some top facility,” the doctor said, “we will likely never know for sure.”

Logan smiled. “Maybe it was magic.”

She turned to Logan, and he was grinning like an idiot; then she looked at Carr, and he wore a big smile, too.

“Really . . . gone?” she asked.

Carr nodded slowly. “If I might prescribe something? Allow yourself to feel relieved . . . and happy.”

Max turned to Logan, wrapped her arms around him and kissed him hard and deep and for a very long time. At first surprised, Logan got into the swing of things quickly.

Finally, Carr said, “Hey, you two—get a room!”

They broke their kiss off, and Logan said, “This
is
my room. You're the sicko voyeur, Sam.”

Carr seemed about to make a potentially amusing remark, when Max bounded off the bed and grabbed the doctor by the elbow and started leading him out of the bedroom.

“Whoa, whoa,” he protested. “My bag!”

Behind them, Logan picked up the bag, put the black box inside, and followed them into the main room.

Logan said, “Sam, I don't know how to thank you.”

“I do,” Max said.

And kissed him on the cheek.

Carr looked at her, apparently amazed that this tough little woman could be so tender.

“Thanks, Doc,” she said. “You're a lifesaver—literally. It really is a shame you have to leave so soon.”

Carr was chuckling as Max—maintaining a fast pace—helped him into his parka and Logan handed him the Gladstone bag. At the door, Max gave him another quick kiss on the cheek and said, “Thank you, Sam.”

“You're welcome,” he said.

He was only halfway through “welcome” when she shoved him outside into the night and the howling wind, and Carr managed to say, “Name it after me,” before she shut the door in his face.

Twisting the dead bolt into place, Max turned to face Logan. “I thought he'd never go.”

But now that she was happy, his smile had disappeared; suddenly Logan looked serious.

That was okay—what was about to happen between them
was
serious . . . the consummation of a love that had been forced into a state of limbo by that dead virus. She crossed her arms at her waist and grabbed the hem of her shirt, about to pull it over her head.

Stepping forward, he put his hands on top of hers to stop her. “We have to talk.”

“That's usually the woman's line.”

“I know.”

“Your timing is kinda lousy, don't ya think?”

His eyes were filled with love, but also something else—sadness? “Max . . . nothing means more to me than you . . . and loving you. But there's something . . .”

She sighed. “Did I ever tell you about the tiny bit of cat DNA they slipped into me? That sends me into heat three times a year?”

He nodded.

“Well, it's about that time . . .” She raised her eyebrows. “What's wrong, Logan? We've been waiting—”

“I know, I know. But we have to be honest with each other. This isn't just animal magnetism, Max—if we're going to be together—and I don't mean just
that
way . . . well . . .”

He took her by the hand, led her to the sofa and gestured for her to sit.

The mood had shifted, and Max was bewildered. Sitting, she asked, “What's the matter?”

He removed his glasses and rubbed a hand over his face. Then he said, “This isn't easy, Max . . . but I need to tell you something.”

“You slept with Asha,” she said matter-of-factly.

She meant Asha Barlow, the slim blonde S1W revolutionary Logan had teamed up with when Max had been presumed dead.

“Don't care,” she said. “Old news.”

This sucker-punched him. “What are you talking about?”

“You mean, you
didn't
sleep with Asha?”

“No! Hell, no.”

“She's very beautiful.”

“Max, please. I was . . . mourning you . . . Why would you even think that?”

She shrugged. “Sounded like you were going into confession mode . . . Just thought I'd hurry things up, so we move this along, and could get back to more important matters . . .”

But Logan, brow furrowed, was a step behind. “You thought I slept with Asha?”

“You believed I was dead, you were lonely . . .”

“I
didn't
.”

She smiled. “Cool. Even better, now . . .”

“But I do have something . . . something to confess.”

She sat back, crossed her arms; there was no turning him back now. He was going to get this out in the open, whatever the hell he was yammering about.

“Okay,” she said, “spill your terrible secret. Bisexual? Don't care. All your family money's gone? So what.”

His eyes met hers. “Max . . . it's about Seth.”

She tensed. “Seth . . . my brother, Seth?”

“I knew him, Max.”

One of the X5s who had tried to escape that night back in Wyoming, Seth had been caught by the Manticore guards. He escaped at a later date, and Max—living in Los Angeles at the time—had tracked him to Seattle. They were reunited at the top of the Space Needle in 2019, ten years after Max split from Manticore. The reunion had been short-lived: Seth died that night, plummeting from the top of the Needle.

“When we first met, Max, you'll recall I knew a lot about the X5s and Manticore . . . Not information the average guy on the street is privy to.”

“What do you mean . . . you ‘knew' Seth?”

“On the needle that night—those people you interrupted . . .”

“The bad guys.”

“Bad guys, right—they were involved in criminal activities that Eyes Only wanted to stop.”

“
You're
Eyes Only, Logan.”

“. . . Yes.”

“You mean . . . Seth was working for you that night.”

All Logan could do was nod.

“I wasn't the first X5 you recruited, then.”

“No. Seth.”

She felt tears welling. “That night at the Needle, taking on Jared Sterling and all those Koreans—Seth was on a mission for Eyes Only.”

Logan's voice seemed small. “Yes.”

“And he died. He got killed. You got him killed.”

“. . . I know. I've had to live with that a long time.”

Something burned in her stomach and rose to the back of her throat. Swallowing hard, she got it down, but just barely.
This couldn't be happening—not now, not when the virus was vanquished and nothing stood between their love . . .

Except betrayal.

And lies.

She rose and her eyes locked with his—his had a terrible softness, while hers blazed. “There were nearly a dozen men there that night—the Koreans, Sterling and his own thugs—and you sent Seth in there
alone
.”

“I did.”

She glared at him, her lips curled in anger. “And you never
told
me? Not until
now
?”

He shook his head and gave her a pathetic little shrug. “We all have our secrets, Max. You didn't tell me everything, not at first.”

“You've known all there is to know about me for a long, long time. I've leveled with you; I've opened myself to you in a way I haven't to anybody, ever.” Her voice was rising in pitch and intensity, but she couldn't seem to stop it. “You don't
not
tell someone something like this by . . . by accident. This was no oversight. It's willful, Logan—you
lied
to me.”

He swallowed thickly. “In a way.”

“For what?” She was almost shrieking now. “Why? Why would you lie to me?
Me?
”

“At first, you were . . . how can I say this?”

“Find a way.”

“You were just the second recruit . . . and if I told you what had become of the first X5 I'd taken on, you might . . .”

“Hesitate to get my ass killed for you?”

Logan winced. “Something like that. And then . . . as we grew close . . . I just couldn't find a way. You made it clear how deep your love and commitment for your siblings ran . . . and for me to admit causing the death of one of them, I was afraid . . .”

“Afraid of what I'd do to you?”

“Afraid you'd hate me.”

“Good call.”

He stood staring at her as if she'd punched him.

Her tears ran now—hot tears of sorrow-tinged anger as she thought about Seth, and the man she loved who'd got him killed, this man in front of her, the man who was supposed to love her. “Were you
ever
going to tell me?”

“Max . . . I just did.”

“Oh, so better late than never?”

Logan said nothing.

“You kept me dangling,” she said, “so I'd continue to do your bidding—serve your various self-righteous agendas . . . same as you did with Seth. You couldn't tell me because you might lose a valuable resource in Eyes Only's crusade.”