Chapter Nineteen
Field Testing
I don’t think I can describe how I feel right now. But I guess I’ll try. I suppose if I die tomorrow and someone finds my diary it might make an interesting read. Who knows, when the historians of the future, if we even have one, come to write the history of the zombie plague, they’re welcome to use it.
Maybe that’s a little more self-indulgent than I should be? I wonder if Logan keeps a diary. I doubt it. I’m sure the world, whatever messed up fractured society rises from the ashes of the zombie infection, would be far more interested in hearing what he thinks. Not what I think.
I thought I was going to die the other day. I foolishly ignored the warning signs that I was getting sick and tried to go off on my own like some hero I’m clearly not! I passed out. I’ve never been so terrified in all my life. I thought I could feel myself turning. I could feel a tense boiling sensation in the pit of my stomach. Burning aches and pains all over my muscles. Shooting pain all down my back. I thought I was going to wake up as one of them and start wandering the Earth in a loose state of consciousness and start eating my friends.
I was first up today. I couldn’t sleep for the dreams. I dreamt I was walking, more shuffling, through open wild meadows. I could feel the reeds and pretty wild flowers brush past my hands as I walked by. I was happy, in my dream, at first.
I thought it must all be over and we had escaped to a land far away where there was no infection. I thought we had made it.
I tried to run but couldn’t. I started to panic. When I looked down at my hands they were ripped and torn apart. Congealed black blood stained my borrowed clothes. I pressed my hands to my face and peeled off whole layers of skin and flesh! I screamed my lungs hoarse!
I woke up crying and sweating like a kid having a nightmare. Is that how they feel? Are the zombies awake or self-aware but unable to control their actions? I really, really hope not. That would be a fate so much worse than death. I’d rather burn in Hell.
I was thinking about all those stories I used to hear about people waking up during surgery. They were completely awake, could feel pain, but couldn’t express themselves because of the anesthetic. I can’t help but wonder if that is how the zombies feel. I feel horrible even using that word.
“Zombies”. I wonder if the people they used to be are still in there somewhere but can’t scream out no matter how much they might want to. I’m eager as anything to get going today. That dream has filled me with a renewed sense of urgency, maybe even duty, to start wiping out the zombies once and for all. I hope this plan works.
Logan’s still asleep beside me. These beds aren’t too shabby at all. I guess I’d never even thought that one day I might be sleeping in the President’s bed. It should feel different, like star-struck I guess, but it doesn’t.
I think Logan’s bull might finally be rubbing off on me. It doesn’t matter that the President used to live here now that whole system lies in tatters out there on the streets. It’s just another dead person’s house.
He and Jack shared a pretty large amount of whisky last night. I wanted to slap the two of them! They know what we have to do today. I can’t stop looking at him like I do though. I’m looking at him, thinking he should be this incorruptible, super human role model.
He’s just a man. A great man, don’t get me wrong, but he is just a guy the same as any other deep down. I can’t imagine what burdens he carries, emotionally, both things from his past and the pressures of the present. I shouldn’t think so harshly about him having a drink. Maybe he just needed to dial out for a night.
It’s not like we aren’t safe here. Cygan wanted to go with us today. I know Logan likes the guy. Maybe he even sees him as a father figure or something. Maybe that was why he stopped him. I can’t read the old guy. I hope Logan is right, and that he just tried to do what he thought was right. Maybe in time I’ll see the same old man he does.
‘Nice sleep?’ She put her diary down on the bed side table and stopped writing when she heard him stir. Logan rolled over, shook himself awake remarkably quickly, and climbed out of the warm bed. Jack was still snoring on the floor at the foot of the bed. He had used a bunch of pillows, duvets, and couch cushions to make a nice, comfortable looking den for him to sleep in. He cleared his throat.
‘Can’t complain. Nice to have a bed.’ He had slept fully clothed just in case. He grabbed his jacket from the corner post of the ornate oak bed and pulled it on. His eyes were a little bloodshot. If he was feeling hung over he was at least hiding it well. He kicked Jack insensitively in the shin.
‘Come on, things to do.’ He stumbled into the on suite bathroom to splash his face with water and get a quick drink. There was no running water but one of Cygan’s men had brought them a dish of freshly collected rainwater from the roof late last night.
Lizzie jumped eager out of bed. That fireman’s jacket she had stolen was no good. It was full of blood from the house back in Valhalla. She chucked it out first chance she got. She rooted through the President’s wardrobe for something better. She had liked the last President.
Probably the very last President and one of the first females to hold the office. She was a little bit of a tom boy too and Lizzie almost connected with her. She had always been photographed outside and loved sports like canoeing and wild camping. Those hobbies showed in her choice of clothes.
Lizzie chose a warm knitted jumper, white in color, with a turtle neck. It was warmish outside. No need for a jacket. While Logan was busy she stretched and paced around the bedroom. It had been stripped of carpet and the bare wood beneath was showing. Cygan must have done that for some reason, maybe to burn.
The bed was a beautifully carved four post piece with curtains all around. It was a little old fashioned but the mattress was firm and made for a really good night of rest. There were a few picture frames dotted around of the President and her family. Lizzie looked at them but only briefly. It was best not to dwell on those things.
Jack shuffled himself awake and rolled off the collection of pillows. He looked visibly hung over. But he was a borderline alcoholic anyway so he was used to it. He stretched so hard all the vertebrae in his back cracked in turn. He had slept fully clothed too. Black camouflage pants, plain black t-shirt, and even his gun belt. He coughed hard:
‘I really wish you’d had some whisky last night. Then I might not be so hung over.’ He smiled and started flapping his arms around to increase circulation. He was charming and Lizzie had grown to like him despite his obvious and glaring personality flaw.
‘Hey, listen pal; you knew what we had to do today. You pay your own damn price!’ She said sternly with a pointed finger.
His smile was infectious and she had to try really hard not to laugh when he started sniggering. He batted her accusatory hand out of the way gently. Logan had finished washing up and was stood in the doorway to the en suite.
‘Ah, young love blossoms at the end of the world.’ He mocked. He had such a smug smile. He stood triumphantly with his arms folded. Jack latched onto the chance to wind Lizzie up.
‘Oh imagine the kids! Your pretty face. My alcohol problem.’ He poked fun at himself. Lizzie blushed and shook her head. No way was she entertaining the two of them by biting and rising to the bait.
The door to the room slammed open violently and Cygan half entered. Still in his pressed uniform, still bolt upright with his posture.
‘Hustle you sorry ass holes, time’s wasting!’ He shouted trying to sound angry. Logan was more than used to the old man. It was just his way.
Jack, the programmed military part of him anyway, jumped to attention and was first out of the door following Cygan. He led them through a maze of hallways to some access stairs. He bounded up them and exited onto the roof.
It had rained in the night. Puddles of water had collected in weaker parts of the white painted roof. Cygan shouted at the sniper on watch.
‘You see anything last ni
ght?’
‘No sir.’ He recoiled and stood to attention. Jack couldn’t hold it in.
‘Were you awake?’ He shouted over the wind.
‘Err, yes sir.’ The guard shouted back innocently. He knew he had dozed off. Cygan cut the banter short.
‘Fact is we haven’t seen Reggie in days.’ He pointed over the green and over to the city. ‘Not a freaking whisper.’ Cygan dug into his pocket and brought out a small pack of tablets. They had, in bold black lettering, the word “Zolpidem” centered at the top of the packet. ‘But I did find these while you ass holes were drunk.’ He smiled and tossed them at Logan.
He caught them and started studying both sides of the packet. It was prescription strength. That was encouraging. The stronger the drug the better chance they would have of it working. Cygan was making a subtle point by dragging them out there to the roof. Logan hadn’t seen any zombies in Washington at all, bar the one trapped and lonely inside of the White House Museum. He stuffed the packet of drugs into his pocket carefully.
‘There has to be one or more out there. Maybe hiding in an office building or even a homeless person living rough. I refuse to believe the whole city has been abandoned.’ Logan protested. He walked over to the edge of the roof and peered down to the soggy grass below. There were a few blood pools slowly seeping into the Earth.
‘How long has it been since you were last attacked?’ He seized the opportunity to ask.
Cygan looked thoughtful for a second.
‘A few days ago I think. But it was odd. They were moving in a herd. Like freaking sheep. I decided to employ a new tactic and ordered the boys to just keep their heads down and stay as silent as possible. They just wandered on by.’ Cygan raised his arm pointing to one side of the green below and swept it across to point to the other side. That sort of confirmed a few of Logan’s own theories about the way the zombies had begun to behave.
They were being led, not by any one of them in particular, to wander the Earth like nomads looking for the next source of food. He was going to say something about it but decided not to bother. More important things were at stake. If this plan of Abraham’s didn’t work then he was officially out of ideas.
He relished the silence for a few seconds for the sake of his throbbing head but he knew he had to get his stuff together and get going soon.
‘The three of us will hit the streets dead ahead. That way, your sniper can keep us covered if we get into any bother, I’m sure there will be at least one of them left behind.’ No one objected to his plan. The sniper seemed up for it. He signaled so by tapping the long barrel of his long and powerful rifle.
‘Don’t worry sir I’ll keep Reggie off your back.’ Cygan nodded; pointed to the staircase they had just used, and led them from behind.
Logan checked his Desert Eagles one last time. Cygan told him he had only found those two clips. Lizzie had reloaded but didn’t want any other gun. The small 9 millimeter was what she was used to and it would be fine. Jack had taken the rifle that Logan had stolen unsolicited from Jake, and made sure he had a fair amount of ammunition with him. Logan pushed past Cygan and took the lead.
‘May as well leave by the same way we got in here.’ He told them and worked his way back down the characterless corridors back to the small museum. That zombie, the one Lizzie had wiped out in the entranceway, was still there festering into the already old, dated and mouldy carpet. That proved there had to be at least a few more of them hanging around. Or so Logan thought.
He and Cygan grabbed the desk they had used to bar the door the previous night and, with some strain, shoved it out of the way. He nodded to Jack, then to Lizzie. They were both focused and eager. He turned back to Cygan. He knew the old man wanted to come but it was no shock to anyone that he was past his fighting fit best.
‘Lock the place down once we leave. Then try to get in touch with Mother Russia and get them hanging on every word.’ He was brave to be the one shooting the orders around. But at the end of the day this was Abraham’s plan. A plan that Logan, the younger of the two General’s, had been entrusted to see through to the end.
There was no command structure anymore. Only natural leaders and nothing else. Cygan could have argued. He could have played the rank card and tried to make it difficult but he didn’t. Lizzie, especially, found that odd. She couldn’t shake her distrust of him or let the recent past sink into the distant and forgotten past. She still hated him for destroying her city.
They filtered out of the door behind Logan. He was checking every inch of the way, step by step. The sun had risen again in the Capital and the air was clean, fresh and stimulating. No traffic, no noise pollution, no people or zombies. On any other day this would have been a nice place and a nice feeling.
There was no clear objective and no clear direction. Heading back to the fire engine they had parked up the previous night was a decent start. They needed to stay on that side of the White House anyway in order to receive any cover from the Sniper as they had organized. There was bound to be something in that direction. Lizzie strode ahead to catch up with Logan’s brisk pace.
‘See anything?’ She nudged him gently in the shoulder with hers. Jack was focused on the road behind. Even though it was a dead end and finished with a wall of concrete. His training had kicked in and he was diligently checking the rear for any danger.
‘No.’ His one word answer stopped any chance of a conversation in its tracks. He was listening to the wind to try to hear if anything was carrying on it. Nothing. No groans or shrieks at all.
They reached the parked up fire engine in no time. They had all forgotten how beat up it had gotten. They had almost forgotten about the dents and caked on blood. The once proudly polished metallic paint had been stripped clean off in some parts. Bone fragments, torn clothing, and dark brown blood were spilled all over the powerful lights and bumper.
Logan halted at the back end to decide which of the streets behind he should take. Jack grabbed his binoculars again and zoomed in on the sniper on the roof. He was still awake this time at least. Jack waved frantically. The guard waved back with one hand.
‘Maybe we should just make as much noise as possible and see if anything responds?’ The thought occurred to Jack as he glanced over the fire engine that he had grown oddly attached to. He locked his eyes on the flashing blue lights atop the beast and thought about the siren. Nothing much else would be louder. Logan pondered the idea, noticed where Jack was looking, and realized what his plan would entail.
‘I guess we’re still in running distance of the White House in case things get too intense.’ He never looked in one place for too long. He eyed up the battered fire engine, then cast his gaze back to the White House, and then to the decimated street lying ahead.
It was risky though. A good plan that was for sure. But he didn’t like the thought of getting overrun.
‘Why don’t the two of you stay here for just a minute while I check out the forward area?’ He pointed down the street ahead and looked back to make sure it was still in the sniper’s arc of fire. ‘There’s no need to compromise ourselves just yet.’ Lizzie really didn’t like the thought of him going off alone. In fact she was surprised that he thought of it in the first place.
He was as sharp as could be when it came to reading people. She hadn’t even said anything but he sensed her worry instantly.
‘Don’t worry kid, I’ll be in eyeshot the whole time, and I’m covered by the sniper.’ He pointed back up to the roof and smiled to reassure her. She reluctantly nodded.
Logan turned his attention back to the decimated street ahead. Cars littered each side of the wide street, some of them were caved in and some of them had their doors wide open. The caved in ones looked to have been smashed by bare hands and bloodied fists. The zombies really worked themselves up frenzy once they had the chance of food.
The wind had settled a little and the smell was starting to hit him in the heat of the rising and powerf
ul sun. He slowly approached the first car on his right hand side. It was ridden up a curb and had floored a lamp post through the window of the nearest building.
The wind shield was caved in and full of dried blood and the door was wide open. It was a big family sedan. He kept his distance and circled the silver vehicle. Blood and entrails had been spilled out into the foot wells of the two front seats. He circled the car some more to find a flesh stripped skull atop a decomposing corpse in the back seat.
He didn’t dare guess the age of that victim. Loose pieces of flesh hung from the cracked bone. He got as close as he dared but the smell was overpowering. He was certain the skull had teeth marks on it. Deep gouges dragged into the soft bone as a frantic zombie had fed on the skin and brain of the victim. He had seen some horrific scenes and attended a lot of deaths in his time as commander of the WDC but that was, even for him, a little much.
He sighed and moved away quickly. He didn’t want a mouthful of that smell again when he breathed back in. The car had wiped out a lamp post. It was arched over skew whiff and had caved in a window of the third floor of the closest building. It was worth having a look.
He glanced back to his two friends. Lizzie was pacing with arms folded around the cabin of the fire truck. She was impatient and not responding to Jack’s repeated attempt to engage her in conversation. There was chemistry there for sure though.
Jack liked her. Logan could tell by the way he acted around her. Almost boyish and coy. He whistled faintly and Jack’s eyes darted over to him. He pointed to his eyes with two fingers and pointed up the lamp post. He was going to climb it and didn’t want them to panic when he disappeared out of view.
Jack shifted position and darted across the street intersection so that he could clearly see all three, Logan, Lizzie and the White House. Logan grasped the cold metal of the lamp post with all the power of his grip. He steadied his boot on the thing and kept balance. He shimmied up the steep pole skillfully and eased himself through the broken window.
Some glass snagged on his thick jacket and crashed to the floor. He closed his eyes and held his breath. Nothing stirred. He must have gotten away with it.
Some poor office worker had been killed by the falling lamp post. The skeleton, ripped clean of flesh by turned zombies, lay broken under the weight of the light. Its smart office clothes had been burned to cinders.
The light must have set him on fire. At least the office man would have been dead before he was stripped of his flesh. There was glass all over the floor. Both from the window and from the shattered lamp atop the broken post. He controlled his movement the best he could but crunching the odd flake of glass beneath his heavy frame was inevitable. Every sound seemed amplified given the deathly silence in the city.
The office was plain, well furnished, wealthy and carpeted. Logan was conscious that he was no longer protected by either the sniper of by his two friends in the street below. He started stroking the Desert Eagles again with the tips of his finger. He didn’t draw though. He was far too controlled and collected for that.
The crushed man must have been important in his previous life. He was alone in the large office. Blood stained the carpet and the door at the edge of the long thin room was hanging lose from its hinges at the top. He slowly made his way over and creaked the door aside. The glass in the centre of the door had broken off and splintered into pieces on the floor.
Beyond was a large room full of cubicles. He could see right over to the elevators at the other side. Their doors were wedged open and the shafts were exposed. There must have been at least thirty cubicles in the large white room. Each separated from the other with fake plastic walls that reached no higher than a few feet. It would be very easy to get trapped in there. Logan started making his way down the centre of the cubicles. Down the exposed walkway and towards the elevator shafts at the other side of the room.
He peered diligently into every office cubicle but found nothing but broken office equipment, torn papers and turned over seats. He was starting to get impatient. There was nothing. Every inch of the place was void of life, and afterlife too.
‘Anyone there?’ He shouted out in the silence. Pale sunlight filtered in through the large windows and the room was well lit. He was confident that nothing could sneak up on him even though his move was a little reckless. He gripped his Desert Eagles ready to draw them if needed but there was no sound at all.
He exhaled sharply in anger and impatience. He strode over the next few steps and peered down the elevator shafts. At the bottom of one was a destroyed elevator. It had crumpled under its own weight and the metal was burned and charred by a fire that had gone out long ago. At the bottom of the other were broken bodies. There was a pile of them and he couldn’t tell how many of them there were.
They had all been burned, reduced to carbon, and lay there cold and stiff. Everywhere he looked there was more death and destruction. That last scene reminded him of holocaust pictures. He thumped the metal control panel with an angered grunt.
He hated that he couldn’t do anything right. He hated that every one of the refugees from New York had been killed and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. He hated that he couldn’t control the situation.
He had to stay focused on that Zolpidem in his pocket. He trusted in Abe and in his abilities as a Doctor. If that worked he could at least try to save what was left. He made his way back down the office corridor, slid out of the broken window, down the lamp post and back over to Jack and Lizzie.
He could see the relief in her face. She rushed over to hug him. He allowed it for a brief moment but gently pushed her aside. He was angry inside and when he felt like that he just wanted his own damn space. No matter how much he cared for Lizzie and needed her, deep down, as a friend. It was nothing personal, he was just used to dealing with things on his own.
‘There’s nothing.’ He announced with a grunt. ‘Just bodies, either eaten or burned to nothing.’ He reached out a hand and propped himself up on the fire truck. Jack opened the unlocked door and pushed the key in the ignition.
‘Plan B then?’ He asked before pushing the button on the centre console that would turn on the siren.
‘Do it.’ Logan said with a new resolve. He drew his Desert Eagles sensing what might occur. Lizzie gently placed an open palm on Logan’s back. Emotion hard ball or not, she wanted to at least try to comfort him. He patted her gently on the back in what was little more than a token gesture. She sensed he didn’t want to talk and let it go.
There was nothing in the world, as decrepit as it had become, that would make her think less of him. He was just a tad complex at times. Jack pushed the button and the sirens wailed into life.
They were deafening! The blue lights caressed the walls of the nearby buildings and washed them in a mixture of blue and red. Jack pulled himself out of the cabin and broke off to watch the rear of the fire engine. If there was even a single zombie left in the distance of a few blocks it would hear the ruckus.
‘Turn it off!’ Logan yelled. He couldn’t hear himself think at all. Lizzie threw herself into the seat and turned the ignition off. The lights stayed on but the siren stopped. It left an irritating buzz in their ears.
As soon as the squealing of the siren stopped they all heard the distant moans. There was a lot more than just one! A car alarm! A zombie must have bounced off a car further down the street. That started off a chain reaction as more and more of them started going off. The air erupted in a haze of blaring, irritating wails.
The sniper on the roof was a faster thinker than any of them had assumed. He shot at the cars one by one until the alarms stopped. He could see a lot further down the street than the three of them could. But they had no radio, and therefore, no way to ask him how many of the zombies to expect.
‘Are you two ready for this?’ Logan yelled. Jack nodded with a smile. Logan was starting to wonder if that man cared if he even lived or died. Especially given that speech he had given ab
out death back at the fire station.
Lizzie was far more apprehensive but took control of her own fears and stood ready, gun drawn to eye level. The flashing lights cast deep colorful shadows down the street. The first one in a group of twenty came staggering into view. They looked like the ones back at the freeway. Old. Among the first to turn. There was no telling where they had come from or how far they had walked to get there.
‘We need one still standing!’ Logan yelled and remembered to unzip his pocket where he was keeping the Zolpidem. No idea yet how he was going to make one of the zombies eat it though. He would have to wait for inspiration. He hoped the sniper would have the self-restraint not to kill them all as well.
Jack fired first. A controlled burst of five bullets that tore through the withered, sun melted, skull of the first zombie. It hit the cold concrete with a dull thud. Its jaw fell listlessly to the ground and blood and bile oozed from its throat. Lizzie lined up five in a row, fired with a seconds break between each shot, and hit every one of her targets with precision.
Blood and skull shards splattered over the burned out and caved in cars. That left fourteen. The sniper started firing with deadly precision. Each shot of his echoes around the enclosed green of the White House and the office buildings beyond.
The powerful rifle decapitated each of his targets with ease. Heads rolled over snapped neck lines and bodies fell one after another. The sniper paused, intelligently, for Logan to act. 9 were left. He had both Desert Eagles drawn. He fired a shot from one, then the other, then back again. He hit every target too, in the head, every time.
Jack had erupted in a burst of fire again but aimed for the back of the pack. He was messy, sloppy and trigger happy. He was a pilot though so had to be forgiven.
‘Take it easy Jack!’ Logan yelled over the gunfire when he counted only three left. Lizzie had her next target lined up.
‘Which one?’ She yelled at Logan and paused before firing. Jack let up his hail of bullets to reload. Of the three zombies left, there was a big looking guy, a thinner woman and a child of no more than fifteen.
‘Make it the big guy!’ He yelled and fired at the youngest of the three. He didn’t want to have the image of someone so young, fall by his own gun, burned into the back of his iris for the rest of his life. But he felt he needed to spare the other two that same horror.
Lizzie shot the woman right between the eyes and Jack lined up the biggest of the three in his sights.
‘Say the word General!’ He shouted to let his new friend know that he had him covered. If anything went wrong Jack wouldn’t have hesitated to blow the zombie’s head off. It, despite several bullet wounds from Jack’s reckless spray, was still shuffling forward. He was within a few feet and reaching out his arms at full stretch for Logan’s chest.
‘Stay back!’ Logan shouted and holstered his Desert Eagles. The zombie was bleeding out all over the place. He walked, relentlessly, on a compound fracture to his left knee.
He took the box of Zolpidem from his pocket and held it out bravely to the zombie’s mouth. The creature continued snarling and snapping, hoping to catch Logan’s fingers. Logan kept backing away and checking behind. The creature lunged forward again and took hold of the box in its sharp teeth.
Those ghastly, exposed, rotting teeth. It bit down but quickly realized there was no flesh to be swallowed. Logan reached out, gave out a deep growl, and threw a solid right uppercut to the creatures chin. A violent crunch confirmed he had broken its jaw. Logan backed off quickly and drew his guns once again.
The zombie stumbled around for a few moments. The compound fracture on its knee eventually gave way with a snap and it fell to the floor. Every gun was trained on its skull.
‘Wait!’ Logan snapped, sensing the nervousness in his team mates, those fingers flexing closer to the trigger.
‘It isn’t doing anything!’ Lizzie protested.
The milky white of its glazed eyes started clearing as the zombie rolled awkwardly onto its side to look at the three of them. Its iris’ started to focus like the lenses of a camera. Suddenly it stopped growling, stopped gnashing with its broken jaw, and began to breathe deeply and irregularly.
It cried. So loud that it sounded as if the whole world was crying all at once. It was a shattering scream, one full of life and purpose that shook the very bones of every listener. Every breath renewed the ferocity of the scream, filled with pain and regret, until Lizzie could take it no more.
‘Stop it for fuck’s sake!’ Logan couldn’t tell if she was shouting at him or at the zombie. But she began to cry. The emotional cry of the zombie didn’t fade for a few more breaths.
Logan ignored her. He was coldly focused on the creature and its eyes. Just like he had been with Jenny back in the library. That very first example of a victim returning from death. Jack pulled Lizzie close and hugged her tight. She hated feeling like the damsel but that cry was painful just to hear. Logan snapped out of it long enough to remember how much Lizzie meant to him.
‘I’m sorry; we need to ride this out.’ He said firmly but without the coldness. He followed the zombie’s eyes. He knelt down to look closer. It had stopped reaching out for flesh.
There was something behind its eyes. Not life per se, but focus, not just with consciousness but a conscience. That glimmer faded quickly. It closed its eyes one last time and gave in, finally, to death. Logan sighed a grateful, yet deeply saddened, long sigh. He stood up, took off his jacket, and respectfully draped it over the fallen, former zombie.
He had forgotten that courtesy once before and regretted it. He leaned down and tucked the jacket around the broken body. He closed his eyes. Jack couldn’t tell from behind Lizzie’s wispy hair and floods of tears. But he was sure Logan was praying.
Maybe thanking someone above for making this the end. Or maybe quietly remembering his friend, Abraham, who had saved the world in death. Logan walked over, half glad and half embarrassed, back to Lizzie. He pulled her away from Jack and rubbed her shoulders gently. She slowly pulled herself together and dried her eyes with the sleeves of her woolen jumper.
‘I’m sorry.’ She sobbed feeling embarrassed. ‘I just…’ She wanted to tell him about that dream. The one she’d had last night. Where she felt as though a zombie might still be living inside of a waking nightmare.
She couldn’t get the words out.
‘Never apologise for having a heart.’ He said plainly, reflective, and a little ashamed of how cold he could sometimes be. Jack was gently caressing her other shoulder in friendly comfort.
‘It worked though.’ Jack said soberly. He glanced back to the White House, took out his binoculars, and saw the sniper victoriously raising his rifle above his head over and over again. Like it was a trident.
Cygan was there too but remained poised and motionless as usual. Even through the binoculars Jack could see the faintest smile though. Maybe he had been misjudged. Logan had been right about the old man after all.
‘Is it over?’ Lizzie asked longingly, almost childishly. She had changed on this journey. She no longer clung hopelessly to the mantle of being a cop.
She was a woman. A damn good fighter and strong willed too. But she had, in Logan’s eyes at least, become the conscience of a world without one.
‘We get word to Russia.’ He relaxed his tense shoulders, gripped the bridge of his nose with two fingers, and closed his eyes for a second. ‘It is not over.’ He admitted. He couldn’t lie to her. ‘But it’s a start.’
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