Empire's End

Twenty-Nine / The Good News

The British were coming.

They had agreed only to send one plane, carrying an assessment team, but it was enough. Gillies only hoped that the weather wouldn’t get any more severe.

The airfield was close enough to completion. The workers had been sent home, and the plane would be touching down at dawn. The senator already had his affairs in order, and was ready to bid farewell to the Great Cities.

He’d always known that collapse was inevitable, with the military having lost the war in the badlands and the undead multiplying every day. They had maintained the cities long enough to get the airfield done and get the British on their side. And Britain was the Promised Land.

In their radio communications, the Brits reported that “the others” were all but extinct, and though the casualties had been steep, they’d won their war. So they would send their team across the Atlantic to see the so-called Great Cities, and the senators would return with them to Britain, under the premise of studying their strategies against the undead.

Then they would seek asylum. Forget about America. Leave it to the rotters.

He loved his country, he did, and by God he had tried to save it — but that was just it, wasn’t it? By God, by His will, a nation of sin and excess had been condemned and there was nothing any man could do about it. On to greener pastures.

“We’ll be leaving on the plane tomorrow,” he told Ian Gregory as they rode to the airfield in an armored Humvee. “I should like you to accompany me. You’ll be the only member of my detail to do so.”

Gregory stared at him in confusion. “Leaving…?”

“It’s over here, Ian. You and I are men of God. We understand. You do get it, don’t you Ian? He’s already left. Anyone in their right mind would. Our work, yours and mine, isn’t done.”

“We’re going to England? We’re staying there?”

“That’s right.”

“What about the cities? The people?”

“A day won’t go by that I don’t mourn them,” Gillies intoned, hands clasped. “But I’m not going to sacrifice myself for a failed cause.”

Gregory sat back, a frown creasing his brow. This didn’t make sense, not at all. To run from the battle… it went against every instinct in his body. He couldn’t do this. Yet he felt he had no choice; he was already hurtling down the course, hurtling towards a dark end.

Halstead knocked on Tripper’s door. Voorhees pressed the muzzle of her.45 into her back.

Tripper opened the door. “What are you doing here?” Then he saw the balled scarf gagging her mouth.

“Inside,” Voorhees said, revealing the gun, and pushed his way in.

He slammed the door shut, holding onto Halstead’s arm, then positioned himself behind her and pressed the barrel of the gun into her throat. “Don’t try anything. Either of you.” He’d heard a chair scrape when they entered, meaning there was a second person in the room; and as Tripper said, “Okay, okay. Stay there Cam,” Voorhees knew his bluff had worked. They didn’t know he couldn’t see. He’d be goddamned if he couldn’t still do his job.

“Calm down, man,” Tripper said. “You a cop?”

“That’s right. And who are you?”

“I’m nobody,” Tripper said.

Voorhees scowled. “Are you the one behind this? Or are you just another hired killer? Answer me!”

Halstead struggled against him. He pressed the gun hard into her neck. “TALK!”

“Mister Voorhees?”

The girl. Lily. What…?

He was distracted for only a second, but it was all Halstead needed. She slammed her elbow into his ribs and spun away from him. Grabbing the gun with one hand, she tore the scarf from her mouth with the other and spat “He’s blind!”

They fought for the gun. She slugged him in the head. He groaned, crashed against the wall; then the gun slipped from his grip. He threw his hands out and yelled, “No!”

Halstead clipped his temple with the butt of the pistol. He slumped to the floor.

“No! Don’t hurt him!” Lily again. It was the last thing Voorhees heard before fading out.

The Humvee stopped at the fence surrounding the airfield. A plainclothes guard nodded to Gillies and waved them through.

A cadre of vehicles was already gathered at the edge of the landing strip: the other senators, all having abandoned their posts to await escape.

As Gillies got out of the Hummer, he saw a young man and woman walking across the tarmac. He didn’t recognize either of them. Security? No. Trouble.

“Senator?” The man extended his hand. “Jack Calvert.”

“How did you get in here?” Gillies snapped.

“I was part of the construction crew,” Calvert said. He hugged the woman against him. “This is Molly.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Well Senator, see, the thing is — I know why you’re here. I know there are planes coming. And we’d like to go too. We have credits — ninety-five hundred credits. Our savings.”

The Calverts looked hopefully at the Senator; a young couple trying to make it in a brutal world, willing to surrender all they had for a second chance.

Gillies laughed.

“You must be joking. Credits don’t mean a thing where we’re going.”

Jack Calvert’s face went white. “But…”

“Have you told anyone else about the airfield?” Gillies asked.

“No, no!” Jack insisted. “It’s just me and Molly.”

Gillies nodded and turned to Gregory. “Kill them.”

“What?” Gregory held out his hands. “Senator—”

“Somebody kill these trespassers!” Gillies shouted. The other senators and their people looked over. Jack and Molly Calvert began to back away, sputtering. “We’ll go. We’ll just leave. We won’t tell anybody.” Jack shook his head frantically. Molly was clinging to him, wide-eyed.

One of Senator Cullen’s bodyguards drew a gun.

“Run, Molly!” Jack screamed.

They took off across the tarmac, hundreds of yards from the fence, nowhere to hide, just running and screaming, still begging for their lives even as the first bullet punched through Jack’s leg. He kept running, told Molly to keep running, saw her head jerk forward and blood arc through the air.

He broke down in sobs as he limped past her, straining every muscle in his body, and still hundreds and hundreds of yards from the fence.

Jack turned. He started back toward Molly. He cried her name, though he knew she was dead. He just wanted to pick her up and take her away from this. He wanted to undo it all. He’d take poor Lily back, he’d go home. He was willing to take it all back — couldn’t he take it all back?

The guard shot him in the throat. He slumped to the ground and crawled toward Molly. He could no longer speak her name. His strength was leaving him in gouts. If only he could touch her again, her face, her hair. If only he could tell her he was sorry.

He almost made it.