Stage 3 (Book 3): Bravo Read online

  “Alright asshole, you've seen her,” he snarled. “Now, how about you do her a favor and get your ass out of here?”

  With that, he ran from one of the youngsters to the other, whispering to each of them in turn, with a calm hand on the shoulder or a confident pat on the back. Then, he ran off after his daughter. Mason had a full second or two to decide his next course of action. Really, though, he didn't need those seconds. Not where Becks was concerned. And in any event, the decision was made for him when both vehicles emptied out and seven more bodies rushed to join him.

  Without any instructions from Mason, the group immediately fanned out to all sides.

  Mackenzie gave Mason a tiny fist bump and cautioned him, “Watch your back, Mace.” Then, she sprinted off after Sarah, Clancy in tow.

  The last to go was Addison. He handed Beverly's shotgun to Mason with a petulant sneer, corralled the woman to his side, and dashed off with his Nut-Buster in hand.

  Mason tossed the weapon in the truck, grabbed his rebar from its sling, and ran to join Becks and her father.

  By then, Becks was armed with some kind of spear, the freckle-faced girl had a homemade crossbow up and ready, and Hansen had assumed point position halfway between the buildings, brandishing what looked to be a baseball bat studded with spikes. Perhaps, thirty feet separated the two buildings, but someone had driven or pushed several cars across the far end to block it off. One of the cars looked suspiciously like an unmarked police cruiser. Mason had to offer at least a tacit salute to the bull-headed prick in charge of the place.

  As inevitable as the tide and as relentless as time, echoes had already gathered two-deep on the far side of the barricade. They pressed up against the cars and pawed at the glass and clawed at the air in the silent scream they all shared. But with no active brain function beyond that which steered them toward humans, they were like insects stuck in amber. Still, Mason had seen firsthand how the laws of physics worked. Pile enough water behind a dam, and the dam eventually breached.

  But the reason for the freckle-faced girl's whistle wasn't the echoes. The arrival of two new vehicles at Skyline hadn't exactly gone unnoticed. Only a sliver of the surrounding area was visible from this vantage point, but in that narrow rectangle of space, he could see as many as a dozen alphas closing in. And worse, two of the creatures were tearing across the parking lot in full charge, directly towards the barricade. Presently, they slammed into the echoes and proceeded to tear them apart, but in their fury, they actually succeeded in lifting two of the dead things off of their feet and throwing them bodily over the hood of one of the cars. Mason immediately charged in, weapon at the ready. But in the few seconds it took him to cover the distance, the job was already done. Both invading echoes were down, and Hansen's baseball bat dripped gore from a dozen bloody spikes.

  Even so, the alphas continued to rage, and one of them was beginning to claw its way across the hood of a rusty old Honda pinned against the police cruiser. Hansen took a step toward them, but then he seemed to have second thoughts. He lowered his weapon to the ground, leaned his weight fully upon it, and made a grand gesture of sweeping his arm from Mason to the alphas, as if inviting the newcomer to come join the fun. It was an utterly derisive display, but Mason wasn't interested in playing games. He launched himself onto the hood of the Honda and set to work.

  One swing of his fifty pounds of rebar cracked the closest alpha's head open like a walnut, another swept two echoes aside, and a third skewered the second alpha straight through the heart. With both alphas down, another man might have ended it there. But fired up by a flood of emotions he would have had a tough time even putting a name to, Mason was nowhere near done. He took one more swing to open up a gap between the echoes. Then, he vaulted off the far end of the barricade and took the fight to the swarm. He swung, he hammered, he pummeled, he kicked, he stabbed, and less than a minute later, the last creature crumpled to the ground in a tangled, bloody heap. Mason took one last look around, then he planted a hand on the hood of the Honda and vaulted cleanly over it without so much as a laboured breath.

  He didn't know quite what response he'd expected from Hansen, but he wasn't at all surprised when the man spat on the ground and growled, “If you're done showing off, asshole, now's a good time to brighten our day by fucking off.”

  Before Mason could respond, Becks appeared between them, planting the back end of what he now realized was a javelin into the ground.

  “Daddy, why don't you give us a minute...” she said. When the man looked about ready to explode, she pursed her lips and added a rather more petulant, “In private, Daddy...”

  The man scowled daggers at Mason, but he left without another word, and Mason finally found himself in a place that he'd never allowed himself to truly believe he would ever see.

  He was with Becks. She was alive! She was here! She smiled at him, and it was real! And then her eyes misted over, and that was real too. He half-expected her to dismiss it all with a look to the sky and a whorl of hair as she walked away, but she didn't. She stood there at arm's length, and she smiled at him.

  “It's good to see you, Mace,” she said at last. “I'm glad you're okay.”

  “Me, too,” Mason managed, but then he fumbled for the words to correct himself. “I mean, I'm glad you're okay too. I almost feel like I should take back some of the shit I said about your old man. I mean, he got you all here safe and sound, so...”

  Aww, damn...

  Becks' look said it all. Something was missing. Or rather, someone.

  Barbara. Becks' mom. She should be here, but she wasn't. And now he could see it in Becks' eyes and in that single tear rolling down one delicate cheek. And for perhaps the first time since all of this madness descended, Mason knew what it was like to feel genuine sorrow. He'd only met Barbara twice; once at the Thanksgiving dinner from Hell, and once again when she'd come to the city to visit her daughter and insisted on Mason joining them for dinner at Fisherman's Wharf. Unlike Detective Sergeant Pain-in-the-Ass Hansen, Barbara had been a warm and loving person. He'd liked her. He'd genuinely liked her. She had been a sweet and gentle woman, every bit like the daughter she'd raised.

  “I'm sorry─” he started to say, but Becks cut him off.

  “It was quick,” she said, wiping away that one tear and allowing no others. “That's all a person can ask for these days, isn't it? I've seen a lot of death recently, Mace, and quick ain't bad. It might be the best any of us can ever hope for, right?”

  On a wild sea of emotions, he took the only safe tack. “Probably,” he said. Then, he looked back to the little freckle-faced girl with the homemade crossbow, and he had to ask, “Is that all there is here? Kids? No army? No FEMA? No other cops?”

  Becks shook her head. “You're seeing it all, Mace. Seven in total. The school was on summer schedule as it was, and most of the students and faculty had taken off long before things got bad. There might have been sixty or more when we got here, and Daddy tried his best to get them into some kind of order. But most didn't listen. They were all spread out in this building and that, hunkering down like they were waiting for someone to come and rescue them all. Daddy finally convinced twenty students and one teacher to come with us, and we barricaded ourselves in the Science Building. And from there, we had a front row seat as the '50s tore the rest of the place apart.”

  Mason knew the term. '50' was short for '5150,', a section of the California Welfare Code dealing with involuntary psychiatric holds. '50' was also California cop slang for a crazy person. But beyond this other term for alphas, he picked out one considerably more pertinent word and echoed it back with a wince.

  “Twenty?”

  “Twenty students and one teacher. But most got stupid,” Becks snorted, sounding far too much like someone Mason knew all too well. “Some got scared and ran, others just got scared. And now we are seven. But every death taught us something we didn't know before. We learned early on that if we were very, very quiet, most of the '50s went away on
their own, mostly chasing after someone else to rip apart. They're attracted to human sounds, you see? So, once we figured that out, some of the boys began to sneak out and scrounge for supplies while the '50s were... uh, otherwise occupied. We used chains and ropes to seal the doors of the buildings that were overrun. After that, a few of the more creative kids hobbled together a few weapons. We fortified our little Alamo, and we were doing alright. At least, for a while. But then the other things came.

  “We didn't get it at first,” she said, hardening her expression. “We just didn't understand. We thought that maybe the worst was over. That the virus was running its course and making the infected sicker and slower. But then, we saw it with our own eyes, and there was no denying it. Dead people were coming back to life. Hundreds of them, all around. At first, we fought them the same way we fought the others. But they didn't die... because they were already dead. So, a few more of us were killed before we figured the rest of it out. Tell me, Mace, how does a sane person wrap their head around dead people coming back to life? And if they can somehow manage that impossibility, how the hell do they remain sane?”

  To that, Mason could only shrug. “Maybe the only way we to survive an insane world is by embracing the madness.”

  The sound of metal-on-metal made them turn as one to the barricade. Another echo had arrived. The first in the next wave of a sweeping tide that would never end. But wait... No, he recognized the gold watch on the creature's wrist, the one now rattling against the side of the police cruiser. It was a Rolex. Ten grand if it was a penny. And the suit. Armani. Tailor made. He recognized the dent in the side of the thing's head, too. He'd put it there not two minutes ago. Well, apparently, he'd gone a little light on Armani, but he'd soon fix that. He took a step toward the barricade, but Becks stopped him.

  “My turn,” she said simply enough, and in one quick, fluid movement, she brought up the javelin, drove it through the creature's eyeball all the way to the back of the skull, and drew it back before the thing had even begun to fall.

  “Two weeks ago, I didn't have the stomach to put a worm on a hook,” she said without a trace of emotion. “Now, I can do that and not feel a thing. I guess I'm embracing the madness after all.”

  CHAPTER VIII

  The middle of the courtyard was a battlefield of its own, but one that might have played out in the mannerly confines of a public library. Mason's people were mixed up with Hansen's underage army, and all of them were arguing and cursing – but every single bit of it was being done in a hush. For all the world, they resembled an irascible and belligerent group of parents having it out while their children were asleep in the next room. So hushed were they, that all of their voices together barely rose above the background hum of flies buzzing around the body wall.

  Sarah was at the front of the pack, face to face with Hansen and making up for the lack of volume by gesticulating wildly in the air. Mack was at her side as usual, but when the girl saw Mason reappear, she and Clancy broke away and went to him at a run.

  “That mean man says we have to go, Mace,” she whispered up at him. Then, she had her first real look at who he was with and she asked, almost in a huff, “Are you Becks?”

  Predictably, Becks dropped to a knee and beamed a smile at the girl. “My name is Rebecca,” she said, holding out a hand, “but my friends call me Becks. So, you can too. And by the way, that mean man is my father.”

  Mackenzie took the hand, but only fleetingly. When she failed to offer her name, Mason obliged.

  “Becks, this is Mack. I can honestly say that she's saved my ass more times than I can count. And this big beautiful mutt is Clancy, and I can say the same thing about him.”

  “Well then I owe you, Mack,” Becks' smile widened, “and you too, Clancy.”

  At the sound of his name, Clancy rushed into her arms and happily exchanged kisses with this woman he'd just met. But Mackenzie spoke up to set the record straight.

  “Only Mace and Sarah call me that.”

  An ordinary person might have been offended, but not Becks. Mason knew how much she liked kids, so he wasn't at all surprised when she stopped fussing over Clancy long enough to say, “I'm sorry, Mackenzie, I truly am. I didn't mean to be so forward.”

  Mackenzie sized up this new woman, and she reacted exactly as Mason had predicted. “That's okay,” she said, cracking a smile at last. “I guess I don't mind if you call me Mack.”

  And just like that, with so many big, beautiful hearts coming together, the three of them couldn't help but be instant friends. But not so the others, apparently. One or more of the voices rose above the background buzz. Mason hurried over, bearing the others along in his wake.

  “It's a big place!” Sarah was trying to stand nose to nose with the man, but it was more like nose to clavicle.

  “And in this big place,” Hansen answered back, “we occupy precisely one building. One! We don't have room, we don't have supplies...”

  “Chido!” Alejandra growled from somewhere around his sternum. “We'll make our own room!”

  “With guns?” Hansen growled back, “You'll win the battle and lose the war!”

  Before things could get any more heated, Mason and Becks stepped between the warring parties.

  “Now, listen...” Mason hushed, surprised as hell to be the voice of reason for once. “It seems to me that we have three options here. One, all of you can come with us. It'll be a little cramped, but we'll manage.” Several people on both sides voiced their objections, but he ploughed on. “Two, we can all go our separate ways and take our chances. We've made it this far, so maybe we'll make it for another week or so. Or maybe not.” Again, a voice or two rose up, but not nearly as vociferously. “Or three,” he said at last, “we can work together. We can share our food and share our weapons and share our know-how, and maybe, just maybe, we can keep from beating the crap out of each other long enough to survive.”

  Having said his piece, he kept his mouth shut and prepared for the fur to fly. But, it didn't. In fact, there followed a long pregnant silence broken only by one voice... that of the twenty-something punk.

  “And then what?” the punk huffed, hoisting something that looked suspiciously like a farmer's scythe to his shoulder.

  “Then, we'll decide what to do next,” Mason told him, matter-of-factly. “We'll go through our options, discuss the pros and cons of each, and everyone will have a vote.”

  “A vote?” Hansen snapped. “Listen, asshole, there won't be any votes here. I'm in charge, and what I say goes!”

  “Say what?” Alejandra sneered up at him.

  “Uh, that's not how we do things, Officer Friendly,” Addison said, thumbing his glasses high up his nose.

  “That's never gonna happen,” Sarah told him outright. “Most of us have been down that road before, and we're not about to go down it again.”

  “Not for nothin',” Christopher seconded.

  “We'd rather die...” Beverly concluded for them all.

  Hansen targeted his glare at each and every one them in turn. “Well then, by all means, get back in your vehicles and vote on which way you're going to haul your asses away from here.”

  “Daddy...” Becks purred, and as it was with every father facing down every daughter since the beginning of time, there was never a doubt as to the outcome.

  He huffed and he puffed and he scowled and he snorted, and then he relented. But only just.

  “Fine!” he growled. “The damage is done, so you might as well stay the night. But you will do exactly what I tell you, exactly when I tell you, and exactly how I tell you, is that clear?”

  “Daddy...” Becks tried again, but this time, her father was resolute.

  “No, Rebecca! That's the way it is! My house, my rules!”

  “Oh, I've heard that one before,” Christopher mused under his breath, earning him a gentle cuff on the back of the head from his mother.

  “Mace, we don't need this... this tamarindo,” Alejandra said, sheathing her mac
hete. “You wanted to find your bomboncita, and you did. Good for you. Congratulations. She's alive. So invite the pretty girl along, and let's get the fuck out of here, huh?”

  Becks looked at Mason as if she'd never seen him before. “What? You came all that way just to find me?”

  “I had to know,” he told her, honestly.

  “Yeah,” Alejandra snorted. “He had to know if you'd been eaten... yet!”

  “Ally!” Inez tsk-tsked from the sidelines.

  “And we came with him,” Beverly chimed in.

  “Because that's what friends do.” This from Christopher.

  Becks took it all in, and she came close to reaching out for Mason's hand. But ultimately, she didn't. She looked to each new face in the crowd, her back stiffening ever so slightly at the sight of the beautiful young woman holding the equally beautiful girl to her side. Then, she turned back to Mason. “You have some incredible friends, Mace.”

  “Yes, I do,” Mason agreed without reservation, his eyes wandering over her shoulder to the image of Sarah and Mackenzie huddled together with Clancy.

  Apparently, this was all Hansen could take.

  “Alright, alright...” he growled. “Dark's coming quick, the natives are getting restless, and you're breaking my fucking heart. You say you have food and water in that monster truck of yours?”

  “Enough to fill that fat donut-hole of yours, tamarindo,” Alejandra snarled at him, apparently still itching for a fight.

  Hansen glared down at the Latina spitfire, and there was something almost akin to a glint in his eye as he snarled back, “Cuidado, peleonera. Sigue hablando de esa manera, y podríamos ser amigos...”

  For the first time since Mason had known her, Alejandra was at a loss for words.

  Fortunately, Sarah filled in. “We have more than enough, and we'll gladly share. But about this whole 'my way or the highway' bullshit...”

  Hansen cut her off with an upraised hand. But even as he responded to Sarah, his eyes never left Alejandra's. “Fine. For one night only, I declare this a democracy. Esta bien, peleonera?”