Redemption Trilogy (Book 2): Penance Read online

  “He don’t…” Pivowitch said.

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “Tucker. Heard them call him Tucker. He don’t…he’s the one…did this—”

  Another spasm sent Pivowitch’s head rocking back on his neck, flexing his shoulders. In that position, Jed couldn’t keep his hands tight over the man’s wound, but a second later that didn’t matter. Pivowitch flopped onto his side and went limp against the asphalt.

  Jed sat with the dead soldier for a while, just staring at his face and the creases around his eyes and mouth. With a sigh that he felt all the way to his toes, Jed gently closed Pivowitch’s eyes and rolled him onto his back. He set his hands over his heart and said a silent prayer for his soul.

  Taking his time, forgetting about the monsters and half-wishing they would show up and take him, too, Jed went to each of the dead soldiers around him and performed the same act of last rites. He set them into a pose of peace and calm, and whispered prayers for their salvation. He may not have been a priest and may not have done much in his life that could be called holy, but for these seven men, Jed felt it was his duty to help them to the next stop on the road.

  As he knelt by the seventh body, he noticed the butt of an M4 underneath the car the soldier had been sheltered behind. He did a quick scan of the area, suddenly snapped from his sense of sacred duty. What if the monsters were out there and were just watching him? Or what if whoever had killed these men was still nearby?

  He’d thought his courage had abandoned him ever since he washed out of the corps. And the past three weeks hadn’t done much to change his mind. He’d run from the first battle and was ready to keep running until…

  For her. For Meg, you gotta be a better man now, Jed Welch. You gotta do what’s right instead of what’s easy. You couldn’t help her, and you couldn’t help these men here, but you know there’s people who need you in this city still. Somebody needs your help.

  Jed performed the final prayer before snatching up the M4 from beneath the car. It still had a magazine in it, and from the weight Jed guessed it was about half full. He popped it out and confirmed he had close to ten rounds left. Jed went around to the other bodies, hoping to find more ammunition.

  “Y’all don’t need it where you’re going. But I might.”

  None of the soldiers had anything on them. Their ammo pouches were empty, except for Pivowitch’s. He still had one magazine. Jed took it, then the man’s weapon sling, and his helmet. He strapped the brain bucket over his CBRN hood, and thought about putting Pivowitch’s tactical vest over the suit.

  He looked at the dead soldier’s face again. His unmasked face.

  None of the men had any protective gear on. So whatever had turned the people of New York City into monsters, it wasn’t happening any more.

  That stuff the Air Force dropped must have killed the virus.

  Jed set his M4 on the ground by Pivowitch’s body, removed his helmet, and slowly lifted his hands to the CBRN hood. He took a deep breath and broke the seal, then removed the hood and let it fall to the ground. Letting his air out, Jed breathed in and nearly heaved up his guts. The city stank of death and ruin, and a sickly sweet stench of rotten fruit cut through everything. The reek of old hooch drifted from the liquor store, too. Jed took a minute to calm his gut and then, with rapid movements, he stripped out of the suit. He wadded it up and stuffed it under the car near Pivowitch’s body. He looked at the dead man’s vest again, but couldn’t bring himself to take it off the body.

  Strapping on his helmet, and taking up his M4, Jed set out in a crouch going up 99th Street. He followed the path of the heavy vehicle that had been there earlier. It was easy enough to spot the wide tracks of a dual-wheel truck in the broken glass and rubble. Whoever was in it had a few crimes to answer for, at least seven by Jed’s count, and probably more than that.

  At the end of the block, he found three more soldiers who had been shot in the back. They’d probably been part of Pivowitch’s platoon, maybe the first to get taken down by the people with the truck. Jed performed a quicker version of his ceremony for the three men, pausing every few seconds to scan the area with his weapon at the ready. From this point on, he wasn’t taking his finger away from the trigger guard. Not until the weapon was taken from his hands.

  And they’ll be cold and dead before that happens.

  After finishing up the last of his prayers for the fallen men, Jed did a quick recon of the area. Another M4 was lying on the sidewalk, half under a car that had run over the curb and wrapped around a tree.

  Jed wondered whose weapon he’d found. Nobody had been sheltering behind the car, at least nobody that had died there. Then he spotted streaks of blood, where someone had been dragged away. The stains abruptly ended at the sidewalk.

  They’re killing soldiers and taking prisoners? What the fuck is this all about?

  Jed’s mission changed in his mind then. He would find the people who had been taken, and whoever or whatever was responsible for these soldiers’ deaths, Jed was going to call their asses to account.

  ***

  The dual-wheel tracks led up 99th and around the next corner. Jed kept to his crouch and moved as quickly as he could. The monsters weren’t around as far as he could tell. Their stink lingered in the air, but he hadn’t seen or heard a sign of their presence. The truck tracks continued onto Lexington Avenue, but disappeared shortly after the intersection. Jed crossed Lexington and paused by the entrance to a bus depot. Two busses were turned on their sides in front of the building. They’d been knocked over as barricades. Their roofs were peppered with bullet holes and one had a hole that looked like a LAW rocket had been fired into it.

  “The absolute fuck is happening?” Jed said to the empty street. He put his hand up to the hole in the bus roof, fingering the ribboned metal like it might help him unravel what had happened here. From what Pivowitch told him, he knew the monsters weren’t the only threat he had to worry about. But why was this Tucker guy doing it?

  Maybe the dude was a banger, just going back to his old roots since law and order didn’t exist on the streets anymore. If that was the story, then Tucker had nothing to lose and everything to gain. All it would take is enough guys with guns and ammo and he could be the sheriff with his posse ruling the town.

  Jed still couldn’t accept that as the reason. Who would help what was left of the world die only to become kings of the aftermath?

  Kings of what? Fucking monsters own this world even if they are hiding underground.

  The roar of a heavy truck engine set Jed on alert. He dashed around the bus and into the shattered ruin of the depot, stepping through shattered glass and stains of dried blood. He had a good view of the street, but stayed as hidden as he could. One beat later, a black dual-wheeled truck raced by the front of the depot and peeled off down Lexington. Jed ducked down and stayed hidden until the sounds of the engine faded from his ears.

  Creeping out of his hiding spot, he examined the depot, looking for anything that might help him survive. Ammunition, food, water.

  Hell, some new drawers would be nice.

  Desks and waiting room furniture had been shoved up against the windows of the depot, but the front door had been left clear, almost like whoever was in here had wanted to keep it that way. The service counter near the back of the room was smashed up and wouldn’t provide much cover at all. At first Jed thought it had been destroyed by the monsters, but even from his position across the room he could tell it had been chopped up on purpose.

  Everything else showed signs of the monsters having attacked before. Claw marks covered the floor and the chairs and couches. Even the ceiling tiles, what few remained, showed slash marks. Jed could picture the monsters hanging up there and dropping on people who were in the room below. He turned in a circle, curious about where the monsters came in from and why the front door had been left unblocked.

  The floor was awash in sprays of blood and giant dried puddles, like a massacre had taken place.

  Then Jed realized what he was seeing. The busses had been used to barricade the depot, but that barricade didn’t hold. Whoever had wanted in had been armed for battle, so they’d gotten in.

  And they’d let the monsters in after them.

  He didn’t want to believe it, but he couldn’t ignore the signs everywhere he looked. Most of the blood was in the center of the room, except for where it had splashed onto the walls and ceiling. Somehow, for some crazy reason, this room had been used like a fighting ring. But why?

  The barricade at the front door wasn’t forgotten or ignored, it had been moved. Streaks and scratches on the floor showed where two heavy desks had been shoved aside. They were piled up with the furniture in front of the windows, but he could tell they’d been moved by a human. The monsters would push things aside, but only enough to make a gap for them to crawl through.

  Jed turned in place again, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. He stopped mid-step when the shadow of a human figure darkened the windows. He could just make out a helmet before the figure disappeared from view, ducking down below the stacked furniture.

  With his weapon at the ready, Jed paced back, deeper into the room, eyeballing the front door. His boots scuffed through debris as he moved and he winced, hoping whoever was outside hadn’t heard him.

  ***

  Gallegos watched the guy creeping around in the entryway. He’d tried to hide when the collaborator’s truck went by, so maybe he wasn’t with them.

  Or maybe he was. Maybe he got kicked out or bailed out.

  Whoever he was and whatever he was doing, Gallegos couldn’t afford to let him discover her hiding place.

  “That’s far enough, chump,” she said, leveling her M9 at the guy’s back. He froze with his weapon at the read
y.

  She could tell he was eyeing the front door. He kept his weapon up, like he was ready to run for it or maybe try to spin around and take a shot at her. Gallegos pulled back the hammer on her pistol, hoping it would put the guy off his game.

  If he’s got any game. Dude looks ate up.

  “Set down the weapon and turn around, hands in the air where I can see ’em,” she said.

  Gallegos felt her heart settle when the guy’s shoulders drooped and he let his M4 hang loose on its sling.

  “I’m bending over to put it down,” he said.

  “Muzzle first. Keep it aimed at the ground, hand away from the trigger.”

  He repositioned his right hand to hold the weapon by the buttstock while he unclipped it from the sling and set it on the floor.

  “Now turn around, hands up.”

  He slowly turned where he stood, lifting his hands level with his ears. He was a young white kid, but she had to look at him for a few beats to make sure. His skin was covered in dirt and probably blood.

  Not much different from me. And the col-labs wash their faces. At least the ones I’ve seen so far.

  “Who the fuck are you?” she demanded. She kept her weapon on him and stepped to her right until the remains of the service counter were between them.

  “Welch, USMC. Who—”

  “I ask, you answer,” she said, tightening her grip on the gun in her left hand. She lifted her shoulder mic and told her team that it was okay to come in.

  The sound of boots on glass and debris broke the tense air. Reeve and Mahton moved into the depot lobby, stepping past the new guy until the three of them had him in their sights. The other Marines trained their M4s on him. Gallegos kept her pistol leveled at his face.

  “You with Tucker’s crew?” the new guy asked, apparently no longer caring if Gallegos capped him. But he’d said a name, and it was one she hadn’t heard before. Maybe this guy did know the col-labs and could give them some info before they dumped his dead ass back on the street.

  “Who’s Tucker?” Gallegos asked. She pinched her eyes into slits as she spoke, and kept her sidearm pointed right at the guy’s face. He held her gaze for a second, like he was taking her measure. She gave it back to him, but he didn’t flinch or open his mouth to answer her question.

  “Hey, motherfucker,” she said. “I asked you who Tucker was.”

  His face went slack, like he’d given up, but then his lips curled and he seemed ready to fight again.

  “Tucker,” he said. “You know, the guy who runs your little gang, killing soldiers and taking their gear. Why? I don’t fucking know, but it’s what you—”

  “Hold up,” she said. “You’re with those guys? The ones in the truck?”

  “No,” the new guy said, shaking his head and then snapping it left and right to look at Reeve and Mahton. They were in full gear, too, and their faces were just as filthy as his. He couldn’t possibly think Gallegos and her team were part of the col-lab shitshow.

  But if he’s not with them, where the hell did he come from?

  — 4 —

  “We’re hunting the hunters,” Gallegos said. “If you’re trying to distract us, then you had better start praying. Collaborators are enemy number one. If you’re with that bunch of assholes, we will rip you a new one and sew it back up so we can do it again.”

  “He’s a deke. Gotta be,” Reeve said.

  “A deke?” the guy asked, twisting his head side to side and taking in Reeve and Mahton’s stance. “I’m not with them. I’m not with those guys. I just—”

  Before Gallegos could get a word in, Mahton lowered his weapon.

  “I believe him. He’s no deke. He might not be a Marine, but he’s not a col-lab shitbag either.”

  “How do you know?” Gallegos asked. “And who told you to stand down?”

  She was relieved when Mahton lifted his weapon again and held it at the ready. He wasn’t drawing down on the guy anymore, but Reeve still had him dead to rights.

  “Mahton,” Gallegos said. “Why do you think he’s legit?”

  “He doesn’t act like any of them. Look at his face; he’s scared to death.”

  Gallegos stared into the new guy’s face, searching his eyes for the truth. She kept her M9 out, but lifted the muzzle so it wasn’t aiming at his forehead any more.

  “You say your name is Welch, and you’re USMC?”

  The guy nodded, and his fear came through this time. His mouth shook around his words.

  “Yeah—I’m Jed Welch. USMC.”

  “I don’t see a name tab on your uniform, or any rank. You got three real Marines here cleared hot and with every reason to light your ass up. Prove we shouldn’t.”

  Welch paused for a second before lowering his hands. Gallegos let him relax, but signaled Mahton with her eyes to keep his weapon up. Not surprisingly, Reeve just tucked the butt of his M4 a little tighter against his shoulder and maintained his aim on Welch’s center mass.

  “Bet he’s a stolen valor shitbag,” Reeve said.

  “Could be, or he could be a col-lab. What’s the story, Welch?”

  “I’m not with them,” he said, half choking on his words. “And you’re right. I’m not really a Marine either. I used to—five years ago, I washed out for bad conduct. Then all this shit went down.”

  ***

  Jed told his whole story, about getting conscripted into the Civil Affairs unit, and finally teaming up with other Marines on the way into Manhattan. After that, the woman seemed like she trusted him, too. That got Jed on a roll. He told them everything he could remember, how the monsters attacked him and the Marines, and the other units converging on the fire station. Then how the firefighters had come out to rescue them all and it only ended up being Jed, Meg, and Rex who survived.

  “Where are they? The firefighters?” the woman asked him.

  Jed’s throat seized up. He couldn’t tell them what happened to Meg.

  What I let happen.

  He opened his mouth, and tried to get the words past his tongue, but the woman interrupted him.

  “Never mind,” she said. “How’d you get here? You said the fire station was in the Upper East. This is Spanish Harlem.”

  “We left the station this morning. After the Air Force did their last runs, it got kind of quiet. Whatever they dropped, it killed most of them things.”

  “But not all of them,” she said.

  “No. There’s plenty left. Underground.”

  “We know,” said the guy on Jed’s left. He had a heavy beard along his jaw line, heavier even than Jed’s, and it had been two weeks since his face had last seen a razor’s edge. Jed let his eyes wander over the man’s uniform until he spotted his name tab under the grime. He could only see a few letters.

  M-A-H-T-

  “You keep staring at me like that, I’ll ask you for a cigarette when you’re done.”

  Jed laughed, remembering all the trash talk from boot camp and his old unit. He stopped laughing just as fast, because nobody was laughing with him.

  The guy on his right stepped a little closer, still holding his weapon aimed at Jed’s chest. He narrowed his eyes at Jed and stayed coiled up like a serpent ready to strike.

  “Hey,” the woman said, snapping Jed’s attention back to her. “What do you know about this Tucker asshole? He sounds like the guy who’s been handing soldiers over to the sucker faces.”

  Jed staggered back a step and the guy on his right followed him with the muzzle of his weapon.

  “I don’t know who he is or why he’s doing it,” Jed said.

  “Bullshit,” said the guy aiming his M4 at Jed’s heart.

  “I ain’t lying. Tucker killed a bunch of Army guys over on 99th below 3rd. I got there right after it happened. One of the guys was still alive. He told me it was a guy named Tucker doing it.”

  “Where’s this Army guy now?” the woman asked.

  “He’s dead. He asked me to pray for him and I did. Him and the rest of his squad. That’s where I got all this gear. But Tucker took almost everything else. All their weapons and ammo. He missed the one I have because it was under a car.”

  The others all stared back at him, like they were waiting for him to admit he’d been part of Tucker’s crew.