Night Beyond The Night (11 page)

“Is that so?” His eyes gleamed sharp and black, boring into her for a moment as he yanked the second lace into a knot.

Jade swallowed, her heart pounding, and she was reminded suddenly how powerful this man was. How he’d beaten back
gangas
and pummeled them so thoroughly last night, then returned with hardly a mark on him. Yet, beneath the dark glitter there, she read anguish in his eyes, anguish and emptiness. And grief. Deep-seeded, heavy grief.

What had happened to him?

“Let’s go,” she said, turning away from that inscrutable gaze. “I don’t want Lou to worry.”

“Worry? Sending you unescorted into a man’s room in the middle of the night? He
should
worry,” Elliott muttered. But he started for the door, leaving her to follow in his wake.

“He didn’t send me,” she retorted, pushing past him so that she led the way down the hall. “I decided to come myself.”

“And it was only convenience that had you breaking into my room first?”

“I didn’t break in,” she began, but he frowned so darkly she clamped her lips shut and strode on ahead of him.

He let her get all the way to the end of the hall before calling quietly after her. “Jade. My friends are down this way.”

She spun and stalked back to the corridor that branched off. Just great. One kiss from this guy and she was all discombobulated.

For the first time, she hoped she was wrong about him and that he would soon be on his way. Somewhere else. Far away.

Lou Waxnicki’s face showed every bit of his eighty-odd years, though his gray eyes were still bright and sharp. The original color of his hair, which was worn in a ponytail that stretched longer than Simon’s, was indistinguishable, for now it was silver. Not white, not the dirty pale yellow of aged locks, but pure silver—and the same wiry hair grew in the form of a neatly trimmed goatee. That, combined with the faded
WarGames
T-shirt and a pair of trendy wire-rimmed glasses that sat on the bridge of his nose—at least, they’d been trendy fifty years ago—made him look like a nerdy hippie with a hint of Asian heritage around the eyes and cheekbones.

He certainly didn’t look like a guy who was a little “off” as Sam Pinglett had indicated last night. In fact, as he found the man’s eyes searching his gaze, Elliott had a feeling this guy’s brain never rested.

He caught himself just before he reached for Mr. Waxnicki’s hand. Instead, Elliott merely nodded and said, “I’d shake your hand, but I think I’ve got something contagious. I don’t want to give it to you.” A little something he’d just recently picked up, so to speak, since leaving his room with Jade and stopping off to collect Simon.

The elderly man looked at him keenly, withdrawing his hand. “You’re a doctor. A healer.”

Elliott nodded. “Yes, I am. I have to take care not to pass on illnesses that I might have been exposed to.”

What a load of crap
, Waxnicki’s eyes said, but they also glinted with curiosity. He turned away. “I trust the rest of you don’t have the same problem?”

Glancing curiously at Elliott, Wyatt nevertheless extended his hand. As their palms touched, Elliott saw Waxnicki’s eyes widen just a bit. The older man gave Wyatt a knowing look, a little nod, and a bit of a smile tipped his lips. “Sit down, please,” the older man said after he’d shaken the hands of the others.

Elliott chose a seat where he could eye Jade without appearing obvious, then he instantly regretted the blatant move. Especially when Fence gave him a knowing grin.
Christ
. Was he in fucking high school again? No . . . that was more like a middle school move.

He and his hormones still hadn’t fully recovered from that long, lush kiss in his room. Nope, even a quick glance at Jade had him thinking about the taste of her, the feel of her fingers closing over his shoulders, even the innocuous lemon scent that wafted from her hair. Her wide, sensual mouth had the sexiest little curl at the edges when she smiled, and he well knew exactly how soft it was.

Probably had been a stupid thing to do, but even though he’d seen her apprehension, he figured he’d better take the opportunity to touch her when he was certain he wouldn’t be passing on some illness or injury. Extenuating circumstances and all.

And the feel of her soft mouth, which turned up at the corner when she smiled—as she did now, at Lou Waxnicki—had been worth the chance.

Problem was, he wanted more. A lot more. And he still didn’t know what was up with the Marlboro Man. Nor was he going to be able to touch Jade—or anyone—again for a while.

A painful twinge in his chest and over the top of his shoulder confirmed that train of thought, and Elliott resisted the urge to touch it. He’d expected this to happen after healing Simon’s
ganga
scratches this morning.

When he and Jade had gone to waken the others, Elliott decided it was time for an experiment he’d been considering during the night, when he was trying, in vain, to sleep. Which was why he’d sprung fully awake the moment he heard the door from the adjoining room scuff quietly open.

So, a short time ago, he’d checked Simon’s gashes, which had begun to heal very well, thanks to some natural salve Elliott had given him to spread over them.

Until today, Elliott had been afraid to touch Simon himself, until he learned more of how his weird ability worked. But this morning, the scratches were no longer puffy or oozing blood, and had started to form the shiny covering as a precursor to scabs. “I’m going to heal you,” he told Simon after Jade had left the room to knock on Wyatt’s door. “At least, I’m going to try.”

He placed his hands over the thick gashes that curved from the top of Simon’s right shoulder down over the top of his chest and closed his eyes, concentrating on the spark of energy . . . that same spark he’d felt when he healed Jade’s broken ulna . . . and let it flow through him.

The scratches had healed under his very hands, under Simon’s very eyes, as a low throb of pain settled over Elliott’s own chest and upper arm. And when he pulled his fingers away, Simon’s tanned skin was as pristine and smooth as—albeit darker than—a baby’s. Even a few blemishes from earlier injuries had been healed.

“What the fuck. . . .” Simon had breathed. It had been more of an exclamation than a question, and Elliott hadn’t bothered to answer.

But he’d taken care not to touch anyone since then, and he noticed that the dull pain he’d absorbed when he’d healed Simon had begun to twinge more sharply as time went on. Gathering at the top of his shoulder, the discomfort radiated down over his chest and centered right where Simon’s gouges had been the deepest.

Pulling his attention from the nagging pain, Elliott glanced up as the others took their seats. Jade was looking at him with curiosity . . . and something else that he hoped was interest.

Elliott smiled back, trying to keep his cool when his pulse was suddenly trammeling through him at warp speed. Yeah. It had been fifty years since he’d had sex, and his body was definitely reminding him of that lapse. Right now. Because of a single kiss. Well, a kiss, and that particular slanted look.

Hoo-boy
. He was completely screwed.

Or, at least, he’d like to be. Long and slow and easy. His mouth dried and he felt his smile falter.

“We’ve been looking for Envy for months,” Wyatt was saying, and Elliott realized that everyone had settled in a group of chairs. They were in a small room near the restaurant where they’d eaten last night. It might have been one of the administrative offices or even a small gift shop when the hotel was in operation. Now, with its array of sofas and low coffee tables, it appeared to be a sort of communal gathering place. But since it was closing in on four in the morning, no one seemed to be around.

And Lou had closed the door, affording them a little bit of privacy.

Why had Jade been so insistent that they speak to Lou—and in secret? It must have something to do with her being a Runner—whatever that was.

“And now that you’ve found Envy,” Mr. Waxnicki said in reply to Wyatt, but he looked at all of them in turn, “do you find your curiosity assuaged, then?”

Considering the fact that their curiosity—hell, it was fucking desperation—burned like a never-ending flame, it was a ridiculous question. But then, of course, Lou Waxnicki could have no idea what had happened to them.

Nor could he be expected to believe it.

“Our curiosity might be assuaged if we could get some details about what happened fifty years ago. From someone who was actually there,” Elliott said, plunging right into the reason
he
’d wanted to speak to Waxnicki. He wanted some answers before he learned what the old man had on his mind.

“The Change, we call it. Or, simply, ‘After.’ ”

“You were there when it happened. Was it everywhere?”

“Everywhere.” Mr. Waxnicki’s voice dropped, roughened. The sharpness in his eyes lessened as though he focused on something far away. Fifty years away. “So few of us remained.”

“How few?” asked Elliott.

Mr. Waxnicki’s gaze focused again. “Hundreds, perhaps.”

Hundreds?

“You mean here in Las Vegas—Envy.”

“Yes, in Las Vegas.” Mr. Waxnicki shot Elliott that keen, considering look he’d given Wyatt earlier, then continued. “The survivors came here after, drawn by the lights. The only lights in a dark, changed world.”

“But what happened? Nuclear war? Global warming? Crazy weather?” Elliott pressed, even as the thoughts echoed in his mind.

Hundreds of survivors . . . instead of thousands? Millions? Mr. Waxnicki had to mean here in Vegas. Not . . . not the whole world. How could they know anyway, as isolated as they must be?

Then he remembered the ocean—apparently the Pacific Ocean—now sitting where Harrah’s used to be, and he felt like vomiting all over again. He hadn’t felt this sick since his first sight of a cadaver in med school.

He’d gotten over that. Would he ever get over
this
? Could he?

Would he ever sleep again? Feel normal? Have a life?

The very possibility seemed inconceivable.

Surely if there had been more survivors, if this had been just an isolated geographic area, there would have been some rescuers or explorers to find them in the last fifty years.

“The annihilation of humanity happened in a variety of ways,” Waxnicki replied. “It started with simultaneous massive, 9-point earthquakes throughout the world and from what we can tell, and what we experienced here, that in turn caused tsunamis and nearly a week of other natural disasters and devastation. Raging fires, mighty storms, aftershocks. We didn’t have a chance.”

“So everyone’s really gone.” Wyatt’s voice was quiet, dead with pain.

Mr. Waxnicki nodded slowly but firmly. “Fifty years ago, there were few survivors. And of the few that survived the physical devastation, the majority of them literally collapsed, dead, in the days following. We don’t know how or why some people simply died, and others, like me, didn’t. There was no explanation for it. They just dropped dead.”

Silence reigned for a long moment as Elliott and his friends tried to assimilate this information.

Impossible to believe. Simply impossible that most of the human race had been destroyed.

After a moment, Mr. Waxnicki spoke again. “Where are you from?” His expression had altered and now he was looking at Elliott more intently. “And you’re a doctor?”

Dare he tell him the truth?

Something about the elderly man with the sharp eyes, who didn’t seem the least bit senile or “off,” tempted Elliott to trust him. “Chicago,” he replied, holding the man’s gaze . . . and his breath.

There was silence as they waited for Mr. Waxnicki’s response.

“Chicago.” His eyes gleamed with fascination, and Elliott fairly felt the electric energy snapping in the air. “I wonder how that can be.”

But before they could respond, the old man stood with a surprising agility. “Will you all come with me? I believe we have things to discuss that might best be done privately.”

Elliott glanced at Jade, whose eyes held the same note of enthusiasm as Mr. Waxnicki’s. That was all he needed to agree.

He hoped he didn’t come to regret the decision later.

Mr. Waxnicki led them through what had been the lobby of New York–New York and down a hallway that once might have led to the catering and housekeeping staff areas. Elliott noticed that this building, which seemed to be a central point of the settlement of Envy, was in almost normal condition as compared to the other structures they’d seen in their other travels.

Mother Nature might be a ball-buster, but man could hold her back if he put his mind to it. Obviously, that was the occasion here. He saw a few cracks that had been patched, signs of normal wear and tear in the carpet, and scuffs and dents in the walls.

He could imagine how they’d done it—scavenged to find unbroken lightbulbs and perhaps window glass from other areas of the hotel.

They followed their guide, along with Jade, deep into the building, and as they proceeded, saw that the area showed more and more disrepair. In fact, the further they went, the darker it was. Perhaps only one out of every five lightbulbs worked, showing sagging doors, animal nests, rubble, and dust. They passed no one during their walk down the hallway, but Elliott could hear the faint sounds of life in the distance. And as he walked, Elliott felt the twinge of pain radiating over the top of his shoulder with the movement of his arm.

He slipped his hand beneath the collar of his shirt and touched the area . . . and felt the ridges of
ganga
gouges. What the . . . ? Not only had he healed Simon, but he’d taken on the cuts as well?

That was different. When he’d healed Jade, he’d simply felt the pain in his arm.

And moments later, had given the actual fracture to Linda.

Elliott frowned. He’d touched Simon and healed the deep cuts—fortunately, they’d already started to scab over and begun to heal on their own—and now he not only had the pain, but he’d also accepted the actual injuries.

Elliott kept walking and, as inconspicuously as possible, simply felt around beneath his shirt. The gashes hurt like a bitch, pounding and throbbing through his body, but he knew the injury wasn’t serious. With care, it would simply heal, just as it would have on Simon if Elliott hadn’t interfered.