The Night Sweeper: Assassin: A Zombie Conspiracy Novel (The Sweeper Chronicles Book 2) (15 page)

Now that I'm through it, Damian stands there looking at
me as several seconds pass. I try to gauge what he might be thinking, but I
have no way to know for sure. Everything inside me wants to scream, to lash
out, to retch at the torment I feel inside, but instead, I stand quietly,
exhausted, waiting for his verdict, my head hung low, my desperation almost
tangible.

Finally he speaks, taking a small step towards me, then
stopping as if he's uncertain.

“You don't understand, son.”

Something snaps. Something elemental. Son.
I feel something rising in me at the sound of the word, something dark and
horrible and violent and foul. Despite everything I've felt to this moment, my
grief and hatred multiply to a new level. I have a vague awareness of my body
starting to tremble with rage. Before I know it I'm on top of him, slamming him
to the ground. He's crying out in fear and pain as I bring my fist down onto
his face once, twice, three times...and in that instant, I know, I can't stop
myself. Logic screams at me to spare his life, this man who could save the
world, save Mira, but something wicked and mad drives me...four....blood covers
his face and my fist, I’ve completely lost control of reason...he chokes out
something unintelligible...five...!

The door explodes inward like it's been smashed with a
battering ram. Whatever hit it was moving too fast for the sensors to
have time to react. I turn, startled, and I barely have time to look up
before the name leaves her mouth.

“Cray!!”

Mira stands there in the doorway, her eyes filled with
horror at the scene before her. Suddenly, I feel light headed, and I slump
backward off of Damian's chest, only now aware of the burning tears coursing
down my face. I sit there looking at her, dumbfounded. I can't make sense of
what I'm seeing, can't process it.

She stands there, silhouetted against the bright lights
of the hallway beyond, lovely as an angel, and I almost start to believe I'm
hallucinating. The beautiful creature before me is nothing like the one I left.

Her face is the same, radiant and perfect, green eyes
glittering in the lights like diamonds, her jet-black hair pulled back in her
requisite ponytail. But that's not what leaves me breathless, because there's
been a transformation.

She's wearing a tank top and loose fitting shorts,
looking for all the world like a runner going out for a jog, except her feet
are bare, like they were that night on the roof of the Soho so many months ago.
I can see the change due to the fit and reveal of her clothes, but even if she
were wearing a trench coat, I would know the difference immediately just from
the change in her stance.

The backs of her calves and thighs are partially
visible from my angle, and I'm stupefied. The gouges are gone, the nasty
trench-like scars that marred her body have disappeared, her muscles and sinews
smooth like a living sculpture.

I'm still sitting on the floor when she moves first,
like a flash, and pulls me up and bodily into a crushing hug. Fresh pain shoots
through my own battered body, but I don't care. I'm already running my hands up
and down her back, her shoulders, her neck. Nothing. No wounds. No damage.

“I don't understand,” I stammer. “You're
alive. You’re okay.”

“Yes,” she whispers gently into my ear, squeezing me
tighter. Her body is warm against mine, and I feel like I have no strength
left, but she keeps me up, her arms powerful, yet gentle.

I'm dimly aware of movement behind me as several people
rush into the room to Damian's side. I feel like I'm coming out of a haze, but
the pieces start clicking into place, and I'm even more confused than before.
Despite the fact that Damian forced me to try to kill Archer at the expense of
Mira's life, he did the opposite of what he threatened and repaired the damage
to her body. Or he cloned her. That thought makes me sick.

“Are you a clone?” I say. My speech is slurred,
my tongue thick, uncooperative.

“No. It’s me.”

A fresh wave of tears pours from my eyes. I lean
back to look at her.

“Mira…” I say the name, then agony hits me. My
chest constricts. It feels like something is crushing me.
I…can’t…breathe. I fall.

I stand over Cray, wires and tubes snaking from his
body. Like me before, he lies in the restoration tube. Damian said it would be
best to incubate him. He’s been through a terrible ordeal, and his body is a
mess. I’ve been worried sick about him, but nothing compared to the fear
I felt when that stricken look twisted his face as his heart gave out.

For the hundredth time I think about what his mental
state must be, and I force the thoughts from my head. I can’t dwell on it long
without breaking down. I can’t imagine the stress and mental suffering he
experienced on Damian’s mission. Damian thought he could handle it. I on the
other hand, am a little more concerned with Cray’s ongoing sanity. Bodies heal.
Sometimes psyches don’t.

The tube itself is a scaled down version of the cloning
chambers that Damian uses. Though unable to produce a clone from conception to
full growth, it
is
able to restore tissue and correct damage.

Cray’s eyes are closed in an induced coma while his
body heals.

My thoughts go back to the snow, the day I was going to
tell him everything, the day I collapsed and nearly died. At the time, I
thought it best to tell all, but now I’m not so sure. Cray is one of the
strongest, most resilient people I’ve ever known, but looking at him now, he
seems so fragile. Perhaps Damian was right. Perhaps some things are better left
unsaid for a time. It can be overwhelming to suddenly have everything you know
flipped upside down.

Ming has been checking in on Cray periodically while
learning everything she can about the fortress. I’m thankful for her. Without
her help, Cray would probably be dead. She seems nice enough, if a little
stand-offish. She has a tough exterior, and from what I can make out, she’s
even tougher on the inside.

She told me how Cray found her and about her history as
a Sweeper and faking her own death. She told me the way Cray’s attempt on
Archer’s life failed miserably. I’m glad. Even though he’ll have to live with
the fact that he tried to do it, at least he won’t have to live with knowing he
killed him in cold blood.

Also, she’s had several conversations with Damian
behind closed doors, but I haven’t been privy to them and neither one of them
are wanting to share it seems.

And so I spend the next several days in the same way,
standing vigil over Cray, and thinking, always thinking. After three days, it’s
safe for him to come out of the incubator and he’s moved to our apartment. As
Graelin and I move him from the stretcher to the bed, he stirs and opens his eyes,
his consciousness slowly coming back.

I smile, and lay a hand gently on his forehead.

“What happened?” he asks, his voice husky and dry
sounding.

“Your heart failed.”

“Sheesh. Are you serious?”

He tries to sit up, but falls back onto the bed.

“Easy. It takes a while for the weakness and grogginess
to wear off.” I can see the question in his eyes. “You’ve been in the same type
of incubator Damian put me in to heal my wounds. You were pretty beat up.”

He manages a frown. “How long?”

“Just a few days.” I can tell he’s not happy about
that, but I don’t really care. “You needed it.”

Cray spies Graelin standing on the other side of the
bed and offers a weak smile. Graelin smiles and nods in return, then
excuses himself.

“He came to get me,” I say. “When you came back
intent on killing your father.”

Cray has to clear his throat several times before his
voice will work again.

“I didn’t intend to attack him,” he says. “I lost
touch with reality.”

I lean over and snuggle close to him, wrapping my arm
over his waist and pulling him into myself. He turns his head and meets my
eyes. I can see the swirling confusion behind his stare, the burden of things
he wants to say, but I place my finger softly on his lips.

“Shh. We’re both safe now. There will be plenty of time
to talk later. For now, just rest.”

And in that moment, he relaxes. I feel the remaining
tension leave his body, and he lets out a small sigh. He musters his strength
and nestles his head under my chin, and after a couple of minutes, he begins to
snore.

A small insect skitters across my toe, and I flick my
foot, tossing it aside to relieve the tickle. Say what you want, I love going
without shoes. It makes me feel connected to the world around me. Even as
a child, I hated wearing shoes. Eckert was always getting onto me for running
around barefooted.

A sad smile stretches across my face at the thought of
Benjamin Eckert, my father, brutally murdered by a man we thought to be our
friend, Cedric Archer.

I understand why Cray was willing to kill him. I’m
glad he didn’t, but I understand. I know what it is to kill in cold
blood. I know how it feels to sit in a hide, bear down on someone through
a telescopic lens, pull the trigger, and watch their head explode. It was
part of the job, but it haunts me every day. I would never wish that on
Cray, even for someone as evil as Archer.

Damian came by earlier to check on Cray, who is
sleeping the sleep of the drugged. Even though he’s out of the chamber,
he’s been asleep for twelve solid hours.

Damian wants me to be the one to tell Cray
everything. He thinks it will be best coming from me. I am sure of
it. I assured him I would when the time is right. He also
apologized again for the fifteenth million time since I came out of the chamber
myself. I’m still angry at him for manipulating Cray the way he did
instead of being honest, but even that I understand, even if I don’t like it.

Movement catches my eye, and I shake off my dark
thoughts, again entranced by the new changes in my perception. Like my sense of
smell, and everything else, my eyesight is as sharp as an eagle's. I wonder if
this is how Cray perceives things. He doesn't have my strength, but his senses
were always far above mine. Since Damian’s patch up, I’m better than ever
before.

Through the thick trees covering the floor of the dome,
I catch a faint glimmer of movement again, easily three hundred yards away. I
continue to watch, just enjoying my new abilities, when a face becomes visible
for a fraction of a second. Ming.

I take a deep breath, suddenly feeling a little
annoyance. I know it's stupid, but I’m finding I can't help feeling a pang of
jealousy every time I see her. It’s subtle. I didn’t notice it at
first, but the more I’ve been around her, the more awkward I’ve felt.

I'm angry with myself for being so petty. It's not like
me, and I try to “think” my feelings away. It's not that she's pretty, which
she is. I believe the way I feel unsettled around her has more to do with the
fact that she and Cray have been through a deep, profound experience together.
They fought together for life. Struggled against death and overwhelming odds.
That always creates a bond between people. She was there for him when I
wasn’t.

I know instinctively, intuitively, that it has nothing
to do with romance, but I'm just jealous of the fact that such a bond exists
between them. I'm reminded of the same bond Cray and I share due to our
experience on the island. I guess I just feel like it's a part of him that
someone else has that I never will.

I realize my fists are clenched, and I again want to
kick myself. I glance over my shoulder into our room where Cray sleeps
peacefully. I make a quick decision. Rather than stew about something so
ridiculous, I'm going to face it, and the best way I can think to do that, is
to go to Ming and offer my sincerest thanks for saving the life of my love.

Throwing another quick look at Cray, I grab the
handrail with my left hand and vault easily over the side, dropping thirty feet
to the ground below, landing silently. I can't lie. After months of being for
all intents and purposes crippled, it feels good to revel in my strength and
agility again.

I move off at a quick jog, my feet padding silently on
the ground of the dome, still damp from the watering sprinklers an hour or two
before. The freedom is liberating, and I giggle stupidly like a child and do a
couple of cartwheels and handsprings. One thing is for absolute sure, Damian
knows his craft.

“Hey.”

I half jump out of my skin and turn to see Mira striding
up to me. I swear she moves like a ghost. I had no idea she was close. I
nonchalantly try to move the small box in my left hand behind my back without
drawing attention to it, but can't help feeling like a kid caught with my hand
in the cookie jar.

She gives me a slightly funny look, and I try to smile.

“Sorry, Mira,” I say chuckling nervously. “You startled
me.” Well, that's true enough.

She makes a small laugh and I relax a little. Perhaps
my ruse worked.

“So, what are you doing out here?” she asks. The
question seems innocent enough.

“I wanted a little fresh air,” I say, making a pretense
of rolling my eyes. “If such a thing as fresh air exists in a place like
this.”

She looks around us at the trees. My eyes follow her
gaze and I see that we're close to the main clearing in the center of the dome.
Not ideal, but time is ticking, and I have to work with what I have to work
with.

She speaks. “I know what you mean, but it's kinda
growing on me.”

Behind my back, I click a few buttons and enter the relay.

“So how do you feel?” I ask as she turns back to me.

She starts talking and I'm suddenly starting to sweat
despite the chill in the air. I try to pay attention to what she's saying, but
my mind is wandering.

Mira is several inches shorter than me and has the
physique of a high-school cheerleader, but I know the truth. She's extremely
dangerous, and not just because of her deceptive strength and speed. No, she’s
also an excellent agent, extremely lethal, and smart.

She gives me another quizzical look, and I realize I
must have missed something in the conversation.

“Are you okay, Ming?”

“Um, I'm sorry. I'm not feeling too well.”

“Oh.” She says. I try to read her expression, to figure
out what she's really thinking, but if she's hiding anything, she's really good
at it. “Well, I won't keep you,” she continues. “I...uh...” now she seems
genuinely nervous and the change in her demeanor throws me off a little.

She takes a quick breath. “I just wanted to say thank
you. For Cray, I mean. You were there for him when I couldn't be. You saved his
life. That's something I could never repay you for.”

“You’re welcome,” I say, resisting the urge to
fidget. I’m going to have to act. It’s coming any second, and if I
don’t surprise her, I may never make it.