Skye's Sanctuary (The Sanctuary Series Book 5) Page 9

  I stand and walk to the door where Kingston is standing sentinel. He’s been here almost as often as I have.

  “You will not leave this room until I come back.” I glance back at Hannah, who is now sitting in the chair next to the bed. I drop my voice. “Watch her. Watch them both.”

  He nods. "Yes, Commander."

  I leave without another word. There’s nothing left to say. Either she lives, or she dies. If she dies, my life will come to a standstill, and I will lie down alongside her.

  This isn’t how my Warlord is meant to die. She is glorious, young, courageous. She should die in battle. Perhaps, if it comes to it, I will take her feverish body out into the desert, and we will die alone together. The elements can take us. The way it’s meant to be.

  Almost as soon as I pull my car out from the underground parking lot, I’m surrounded by citizens. I’m confused by their presence as they’re supposed to be on lockdown, until I listen to their shouts. They’re worried about Skye, they want an update.

  Already, she’s had an impact on the people of our Sanctuary.

  I nod at them, but don’t stop to speak to them. I rev my engine, encouraging them to get out of the way quickly, then I take off down the road, uncaring if they’re still in my way. They’re breaking lockdown, anyway.

  Picking up my radio, I contact Rodrigo, my second-in-command while Kingston is watching over Skye. I don’t know the man well, never got to know any of my men, but he’s been consistent, which earned him the position. He doesn’t flinch at the difficult tasks, and he interprets orders well.

  “Yes, boss?” he answers me.

  “I need the crowd out front of the palace cleared. Send them home with a warning.” I pause, trying to decide what Skye would want. Then I add, “Let them know she’s alive.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  This is why I get along with Rodrigo. No extra words, no clarification. Always a ‘yes boss’ when given orders. I know he will complete them to my satisfaction, which frees me up to inspect the city, rather than deal with a few rebels.

  I stop my car outside the hospital and climb out.

  While Skye is out of commission, I need to check on the sick and the zombies we’re attempting to ‘cure’. I’m sceptical of this so-called miracle, but curious as to the outcome.

  I don’t believe that we will be able to bring the victims of Necrotitis Primeval back any more than I believe we can raise the dead. Even if a treatment works, they will always be left fighting the base instincts brought to the surface by their disease. They could remember the things they’ve done, and the things done to them when they were zombies. That kind of thing could fuck up a person’s brain. There’s no coming back from that kind of trauma.

  The world would be better off if we give all the survivors the vaccine, then eradicate the infected. Then, there’s a reason I made Skye Warlord rather than myself. I’m a man of war, a sceptic, and an anarchist. Not in the same way the people we jailed are anarchists.

  I believe the world should burn in a fire of its own creation. Humans have been warned for centuries that a pandemic would come. That climate change would run rampant without a global effort to make change. Nothing changed. We chose a way of life that wasn’t sustainable, now we’re reaping our rewards.

  That doesn’t mean the apocalypse can’t be a good place. I am content to ride out my time here with the woman I love at my side, our Sanctuary at my feet. If I’m honest, this is why I took Sanctuary and laid it at the feet of my lover. She may believe this Sanctuary is the hope for our future. I believe it is a place to live and die in relative comfort.

  The duty nurse hands me a cloth mask and radios Dr. Summers, letting her know of my arrival in the hospital. She is striding toward me within two minutes of her summons. I notice she’s wearing as mask and I put mine on before she greets me.

  “Wolfe, how is Skye?” She reaches a hand out and after a moment’s hesitation, I take it in mine and give it a brief squeeze. She flinches and removes her hand. Did I hurt her?

  I dislike touch unless it’s my blade doing the touching. In a long life of blood and death, Skye is the only human I’ve found that I wish to touch. She is my peace. And I know I won’t break her with my large, war-torn hands. She can withstand my version of love.

  Her words on the night I found her in the mountain encampment echo through my mind, “Do you think we’ll ever have sex without a battle?”

  No, my Skye, our love was always and will always be a battle. It is our fate. We have fought for our survival and we will now fight for our love.

  “Show me your captives.”

  Dr. Summers looks at me blankly, then nods. “The Primitives? Follow me.”

  I walk through the hospital with Dr. Summers, and she updates me on her progress with the flu. Patients are being kept in a separate, locked-down section of the hospital and everyone entering the hospital must wear a mask.

  “In the past week we’ve had seventy-five sick, eight deaths and about thirty recoveries. Probably a lot more sick in the city that haven’t been reported. It’s not great, but it could be worse.”

  We all lived through the flu that ripped through Sanctuaries fifteen years ago. The flu that killed Skye’s family. The death rate for that flu was closer to 60%. The survivability of this one is a lot higher, giving me hope that Skye can pull through. She’s young, strong and determined. She won’t die this way.

  The doctor escorts me into her secure lab. The guard nods at me as he steps to the side. I recognize him as a former palace guard and stop.

  I don’t remember him as one of the survivors who travelled with us to the Tucson Sanctuary. “You stayed in the city during the fall of Sanctuary.” It’s not a question. The man would have no other place to go.

  He nods.

  “Where did you hide?”

  He clears his throat. “Several citizens had bunkers built under their houses. They invited survivors in. I was one of the lucky few.”

  A piece of information I hadn’t known. Bunkers. It makes sense. During the Great Fall, many of the first wave of survivors had hidden in bunkers and caves to escape the enormous hordes of newly created Primitives.

  I file the information away for later. I will discuss this development with Skye… when she wakes. Perhaps we can use it to strengthen our Sanctuary, keep it safe from another mass attack. Buildings and walls can be fixed, people can’t.

  “I assume you want to see Silas?” she asks, shaking her head. “It’s a shame. He gets all the visitors while the other two are alone.”

  “It’s for the better,” I grunt, approaching the cage. “Tell me about them.”

  Dr. Summers picks up a notebook and glances at it as she gives me a rundown. “Two males, one female. It’s been two weeks since injection and the Primitives are improving at the same rate as the woman from Tucson who was bitten. An interesting development, since she was given treatment directly after the bite, whereas my three have been Primitives for much longer.”

  “How long?” I ask, curious if she can tell.

  “Well, based on the rate of Primitive deterioration, which I must admit, I’m not an expert at since there has been very little detailed research done on turned Primitives, I would say Silas was turned a year ago, the other male was turned a few years ago and the female was turned approximately eight months ago.”

  The rate of deterioration is how we’ve determined to age zombies. Once they’ve been bitten, Necrotitis Primeval rips through their bodies at a rapid rate, killing tissue. Then the rate slows down, so the host doesn’t die quickly. The flesh of humans is what both sustains the virus in their system and keeps them alive. An efficient if gruesome way for the virus to survive.

  “What is the expected outcome of this experiment?”

  She looks at me sharply. “The expected outcome is a treatment that can bring back some of the people affected by Necrotitis Primeval.”

  “That is not the expected outcome,” I correct her. “That is your hop
ed-for outcome. I want the realistic version.”

  She nods her understanding. “I suppose, given what I’ve seen so far, they will follow the same outcome of the Primitive from Tucson. They will recover at a slow rate before reaching a point where their bodies are too damaged to fully recover. One at a time their organs will fail until they pass.”

  It sounds like an excruciating way to go. If I turned, I would rather die quickly by gunshot or sword, over being returned to human only to experience my own death slowly and with cognition of what’s happening to me.

  “I’m trying to increase their survivability by treating the organ failure before it happens. They are being given a series of drug treatments meant to prop up their kidney, liver, intestinal and heart functions.” She looks down at Silas, pity bright in her eyes. “Their bodies burn off the painkillers I attempt to administer so they feel everything. He screamed for days before settling into this semi-comatose state. It’s almost like his body has gone into hibernation mode.”

  Or shock.

  Perhaps he couldn’t take the pain anymore and his brain checked out. A more human response than I thought Primitives capable of.

  “What are you feeding them?”

  She looks a little green as she admits, “They’re not as hungry as a fully diseased Primitive, but when they need to eat, we feed them live animals.”

  I nod and turn to leave. Dr. Summers is nervous around me. Her hands twitch and her lips compress before she speaks. She won’t look me in the eye.

  Most people have this reaction to my presence so I’m not insulted. I’m a huge, ugly soldier who lives, breathes and eats death. The only people who are comfortable around me are like myself. Warriors.

  And Skye.

  My beautiful bride.

  I’m eager to get back to her, to lay eyes on her, to see the rise and fall of her chest as she pushes for survival.

  I must go to the wall first though and make sure construction is still on track. We’re working with skeleton crews who have orders to stay apart while working until the flu is no longer a concern.

  It occurs to me that people who have recovered from the flu may have immunity. If they are well enough, they could be of use while the rest of the city is in quarantine.

  I turn back to the hospital. I will ask Dr. Summers while I’m still here and see what she thinks. She’s a competent doctor and I trust she will keep in mind the safety of Sanctuary while making decisions.

  Before I reach the hospital, my radio squawks with an incoming message from Rodrigo.

  “Boss, there’s a woman at the gates asking for entry into Sanctuary.”

  I frown. My soldiers know they are to turn away people begging for Sanctuary. We’re locked down. No one comes in and no one goes out. Then a flash of intuition hits me. Rodrigo wouldn’t bother me with something this trivial unless there’s a reason.

  I lift the radio to my mouth and growl, “Who is she?”

  The answer is swift. “Taran of Tucson Sanctuary. Sister to our Warlord.”

  “Is she alone?”

  “Yes.”

  Motherfucker. When her husband finds out where his wife has gone, there will be hell to pay.

  Fifteen

  I watch Skye’s sister as she gets clumsily out of her vehicle to greet me. I think about closing the doors and leaving her outside of Sanctuary. It would serve her right for making a stupid decision. Skye will gut me if I do it, though. And if Skye doesn’t get to me, Taran’s husband will. I have no fucking choice but to offer this troublemaking woman Sanctuary.

  Maybe I can put her in a jail cell until her husband arrives.

  Heavily pregnant, she’s wearing a flowing dress that hugs her swollen belly. She’s wearing a scarf wrapped around her head to protect her from the dust that would have flown up as she drove. The car she’d chosen looks like it won’t make it another two feet, let alone from one Sanctuary to another.

  “I know you don’t want me here,” she starts, “but I have to see Skye.”

  I’ll be having a talk with the person tasked with sending reports to the Tucson Sanctuary. Whatever he said to Taran about her sister has caused this.

  “You shouldn’t be here.” I look pointedly at her belly.

  She automatically wraps her arms around her middle protectively. Too bad she didn’t think about that before she went harebrained and drove across the damn desert.

  “Can I see my sister?” she pleads.

  Damn it. Skye would want to see her sister. I have no fucking choice but to let this woman into my Sanctuary.

  I jerk my head toward my car. When she looks helplessly back at her own vehicle, I say impatiently, “One of my men will move it.”

  She looks relieved. “Thanks. It belongs to Grayson and he won’t be pleased if it doesn’t make it back to Tucson in one piece.”

  Together we walk to my car. I adjust my stride to Taran’s.

  “Your bodyguard won’t have to worry about the car when your husband gets his hands on the man for allowing you out of his sight.”

  Taran blanches and looks guilty but defends herself. “Diogo won’t let me cross the street in this condition, let alone come to see my sister. I didn’t have a choice. He’ll understand.”

  No, he won’t, but it’s not my problem. Or it won’t be once I hand Taran back to her Warlord and expel the couple from my Sanctuary.

  “Besides, Grayson was out with a hunting party when I borrowed his car, so he won’t get in trouble.”

  I grunt as I open her door, waiting impatiently for her to climb clumsily into my vehicle. It takes her a moment, but she settles. I stride around to the driver’s side.

  “When did you learn how to drive?” Last I checked, Taran didn’t know how to drive and had no interest in learning. It’s a specialized skill that seems to be growing more scarce as vehicles die off.

  She flashes me a half smile. “I learned on my way here.”

  Stupid, but also brave.

  She has similar characteristics to Skye, but my woman is more intelligent and less impetuous.

  The two women look alike, though Taran, when not pregnant, is smaller, more delicate. Skye is tall and robust, capable of taking on a man like me. I wonder how Taran copes with her warrior husband. The guy is huge, demanding and possessive of his small wife.

  “How… how is she?”

  I shake my head. I don’t want to lie to her, but I don’t want to tell her the only family she has left in the world is critically ill. Her luminous eyes fill with tears, and I find myself softening toward her.

  I can’t blame her for riding hell-bent to her sister’s bedside. Maybe not smart, but it shows a loyalty to my woman that I can’t fault. Skye would do the same for her sister.

  Pulling into the parking garage, I help Taran from the vehicle and lead her into the palace. I opt for the lift, rather than the stairs. In her condition, it would take us weeks to get to the top. She stares in open fascination as the lift arrives.

  “How does it work?” she murmurs.

  “We use an upgraded version of the original mechanics, but with additional pulleys and manpower. It’s slow going as it doesn’t get the power it had before the Great Fall. We use it sparingly.”

  She looks at me blankly, and I wonder why she asked if she can’t understand the answer.

  “You live in a similar building in Tucson. How do you get up the stairs?” I look pointedly at her belly.

  Again, her hand strokes the bump. She smiles slightly. “Diogo carries me. He always has, even before I was pregnant. I tell him I can walk, but he insists on carrying me.”

  I shake my head at the infantile relationship this woman has with her husband. I can’t imagine Skye wanting me to carry her everywhere. It would undermine her authority.

  I nod at Kingston as we enter the Warlord’s chambers. He looks grim, and I wonder if Skye has taken a turn for the worse.

  Taran gasps as we enter the bedroom, immediately rushing to her sister’s side. “Oh my god, l
ook at her!” She turns her accusing gaze toward me. “Why wasn’t I told sooner?”

  Taran climbs awkwardly onto the bed and reaches for her sister.

  I lunge forward and snatch her hand.

  She stares up at me in surprise. “I’m not going to hurt her.”

  “She’s sick and you’re pregnant,” I growl, then reach for her, grabbing her beneath her armpits, and hauling her off the mattress. She squawks as she’s momentarily airborne before I set her on her feet. I let go of her and take a step back in case I’ve also been infected.

  She whirls around, glaring up at me furiously. “You’re being unreasonable.”

  “You’re being stupid.” When she opens her mouth to say something else, I cut her off. “You’ve seen your sister, now you will leave.”

  She turns scathing eyes on me, glaring for all she’s worth. She looks like an angry kitten about to take a swipe at a wolf. Skye knows how to make her ire count. When she’s angry, the entire palace knows. She’s more of a tiger or a panther than a kitten.

  “I came here to take care of my sister and nurse her back to health. I most certainly won’t be leaving.”

  I shake my head. “You are pregnant, woman. You need to leave this room immediately before you become sick, too. Though there haven’t been many deaths, there have been enough that we all must take care.”

  She deflates, her anger leaving her. She knows I’m correct.

  “I came all this way,” she says quietly. “What am I going to do?”

  I’m tempted to tell her that this is her fault, not mine, and that she can find her own damn way home. Looking at her, I’m reminded that she’s Skye’s sister. The same auburn streaks that run through Taran’s hair run through Skye’s as well. The same stormy grey eyes, sharp nose, and full lips.

  If our positions were reversed, I would stop at nothing to reach my beloved’s bedside. Taran was simply answering a familial call when she found out her sister was sick. I can’t turn her away, but I can’t allow her to stay, either.