Killshot (Icarus Series Book 1) (42 page)

              “What?” I pushed against his chest, pissed off and completely mystified. “What in the
hell
are you laughing at?”

              “I just…and you…epic!” He clutched at his gut as he stumbled over to the bookcase and scooped up the rifle. “That was just…Liv,
oh my god
.”

              “What’s so goddamn funny, huh?” I felt my face heat, crossing my arms over my chest as he sidled back over to me.

              “
Drop the gun…or your girlfriend…springs a leak
? Oh, God,” Zander laughed, wiping a tear from his eye.

              “Nice. Glad I could make you laugh,” I said, mortified. I turned to walk away, muttering under my breath. “Excuse the hell out of me, but it’s not like I’ve ever taken a hostage before.”

              “Hey,” he laughed, grabbing my hand before I could get too far. “Come back, Liv.”

              “Go to hell, Alexander James,” I growled, trying to pull my hand free.

              “I’m sorry,” he said, laughter bubbling just under the surface, as he pulled me against his chest. “Really, Liv, you were amazing. I shouldn’t have laughed at you, and I’m sorry.”

              “Whatever,” I said, rolling my eyes.

              “Liv, please?” he said, finally calming.

              “It’s fine. Whatever,” I said, lowering my eyes. “Let’s just find what we need so we can get out of here.”

              Zander’s hand slid under my chin, gently raising it until our eyes met. My breath came in ragged shallow spurts, my skin heating beneath his touch as my irritation melted away. I pressed my hands against his chest but averted my gaze so I wouldn’t sink into him.

              “No, Liv. It was perfect,” Zander said, his voice a gentle wisp against my face. He licked his lips and gently lowered them to mine. “
You
, were perfect.”

***                

              “So, where is this super-secret office, anyways?” I asked, tightening the ropes we had used to bind the two soldiers’ hands together. Metz was still unconscious, but we weren’t taking any chances.

              “You’re looking at it,” Zander said, gesturing toward a ransacked set of built-ins that lined lime green wall of the dining room.

              “I don’t get it,” I said, staring at the empty shelf in front of me.

              During their hasty search, the soldiers had done a real number on Zander’s house. All that had once lined the shelves had been carelessly tossed into a heap on the floor. Books and magazines were piled high, scattered among the broken knick-knacks, family photos, and Zander’s high school diploma. He kicked it all to the side as if it were nothing more than a pile of dead leaves. Zander grabbed on to the trim that ran the length of the glossy, white built-in unit in his blackened hand and ripped it clean off.

              “Guess this thing is good for something.” Zander shook his head and tossed the board aside. “It’s like having my own built in sledge hammer.”

              “Hammer hand,” I snorted.

              “Right? Can you help me with this quick, Liv?” Zander grabbed onto one side of center bookcase and braced himself.

              “Okay?” I arched a brow at him, but got into position on the other side.

              Between the two of us, the bookshelf slid away from the wall with very little effort. Zander knocked it to the ground and climbed right over it. Behind the shelf was nothing more than a blank green wall. With a smile, Zander cranked back his so-called hammer hand and slammed it straight through the drywall, easily creating a gaping hole the size of a cannon ball.

              “Nice,” Zander said, looking down at his fist. “Didn’t even hurt.”

              Again and again he bashed it into the wall until nothing was left but dust and paper. He peeled away the last bit of drywall, revealing an old wooden door.

              “You know, after they took him away, I spent hours removing all the locks from this door,” Zander said, staring at the doorknob. “After all that, I couldn’t even bring myself to go in there, so I just dry-walled over it like never existed.”

              I didn’t know what to say, so I just smiled at him and shrugged like a moron.

              “It’s dumb, I know,” he said, shaking the drywall dust from his hair. “I guess I thought that I could just bury that part of him. You know, like if I covered the crazy, then all I would remember was the good stuff.”

              “Makes sense to me.” I pulled a large chunk of plaster from his hair and then waved him toward the door. “Shall we?”

              “Here goes nothing,” he said, taking a deep breath as he reached for the doorknob.

              It groaned in protest but gave way with a firm shove from Zander’s shoulder. Dust and mold billowed out through the open door on a cloud of stale air. Zander flicked on his flashlight, and stepped forward but hesitated just outside the door. I slid my hand into his and squeezed. He squared his shoulders and stepped into the dark room.

              The dimming circle of light from his torch cast its glow on a very small area, but eventually it landed on a large kerosene lantern. Once the wick was lit, Zander turned the dial to increase the flame, filling the small room with a bright yellow glow.

              “Wow,” I whispered, as my eyes wandered around the room

              “Yeah,” Zander said, shaking his head. “That pretty much sums it up.”

              The room had clearly been a closet or pantry at one point. It was just big enough for a clunky metal desk, some filing cabinets, and a row of shelves containing a random collection of odds and ends. One was full to bursting with books and loose files, old newspapers, and stacks of what appeared to be photo albums. The next contained cans of food, most of which had long since expired by the looks of them. The last held unidentifiable engine parts and old hand tools, along with a broad sword, an empty box that had once contained a large hunting knife, and an ancient-looking gas mask.

              “I told you,” Zander muttered, shuffling through a pile of loose papers on top of the desk.

              “This is incredible,” I said, struggling to absorb it all.

              The large map of North America that hung above the desk drew my eye. It appeared to have been hand-painted, with each color representing the various land masses and bodies of water— from the hunter-green forests of Wisconsin to the warm brown desserts of Arizona. Each state, as well as most major cities, had been added in with a black sharpie. Two jagged routes, one in red and one in blue, dissected the country. Each path had stars at various points along the way. The blue line went north into Canada while the red one zigzagged down into Mexico. Both began in the same spot— Rockford, Illinois.

              “I’ve never seen a map like that before,” I said, pointing over his head.

              “Wow, I haven’t seen this thing in forever. We bought at a flea market in Northern Wisconsin, that summer my mom left,” Zander said, running his fingers over the painted surface.” Not sure what all these markings are about, though. Dad must have added those.”

              “Yeah, and look at this,” I said, pointing to a black star that marked where the red and blue lines converged.

              “Rockford?” Zander put his hands on his hips. “What the hell is so important about Rockford?”

              “I don’t know. I’ve only been there once and I didn’t see much of the city.” I shrugged, staring up at it. “My parents took us there to go to Magic Waters a couple summers ago. Beans were going to ride the Double Dare Drop over and over again, to see who gave up first. Would have been awesome, but he had an asthma attack like a half hour after we got there and we spent most of the day at the Rockford Memorial Hospital. Anyway, we should take the map with us. Seems like it might be important.”

              “Agreed,” Zander said, gently removing the pins that held it up and handing the map to me. “We should probably look for Dad’s journal. If anything in this mess will have answers, it’d be that book.”

              He handed me the map and went back to searching. I carefully folded it along the original creases, shoved it into one of my cargo pockets, and buttoned it up tight. I headed over to the row of filing cabinets. The first one opened easily, but it contained nothing more than cobwebs and an empty can of soda. The second was locked.

              “Little help?” I said, waving Zander over.

              He pounded at the lock and the drawer wrenched open in one shot. Inside were rows and rows of old newspapers, manila file folders, and spiral notebooks. Some of the files held loose sheets of paper scrawled with endless lines of nonsensical notes. Others held newspaper clippings that dated back as far as the late sixties.

              “Look at this, Zan,” I said, reading the headlines aloud as I thumbed through the delicate slips of newsprint. “Local hospital baffled by mystery virus off the coast of Greenland; World Health Organization declines to comment on Plague concerns. President Reagan appoints Greenly to Committee for the Protection and Preservation of Endangered Plant-life. X-class flare disrupts NASA Satellite, grounding today’s scheduled shuttle launch. Famed CDC immunologist, Doctor Elias Given still missing, police have no new leads. There’s hundreds like this, Zan. What is all this stuff?”

              “I have no idea,” Zander scratched his head. “I am sure it all meant something to my dad, but I couldn’t tell you what that was.”

              “Okay, new plan,” I said. I slammed the drawer shut, and the gas mask clattered to my feet. “Let’s just find your dad’s book and get the hell out of here. This stuff is starting to creep me out.”

              “I’m on board with that plan, but look around you, Liv,” Zander said, kicking the desk chair out of his way. A rusty saw blade toppled to the floor, and he scowled at it. “This place is a cluster of crazy, and I am not entirely sure how safe this stuff is. We’re looking for hay in a needle stack, here.”

              Our search became frantic and we gave up on being careful. We tore books and boxes from the shelves, digging through drawers as we tore the room apart.

              “Seriously?” Zander grunted, rolling his eyes. “I mean,
really
.”

              He held open a shoe box full of Campbell’s soup labels, then shook his head and thrust it back onto the shelf. As he did, a pile of photo albums toppled to the floor. One crashed into the corner of the desk and flew open. On the first page, was a picture of a Zander’s dad; in one arm he held a newborn baby. The other was wrapped around a beautiful woman with long brown hair.

              “That’s an old one,” Zander said as I bent down to pick it up. “That’s probably the last time my parents were happy, actually.”

              “Do you maybe want to—?”

              “Don’t bother,” Zander said, shaking his head as he turned his back. “It’s not important, let’s just keep looking so we can go.”

              I tugged the picture free of its clips and slid it into my pocket with the map. I flipped past the first few pages of thick backer stock, hoping to catch another glimpse into a happier time in his life. Instead of photos, I found a hollowed out section sliced into the pages behind it. Inside the cutout, was a small, brown, leather-bound book. I ran my finger over the dusty yellow ribbon that tied the binding shut. I carefully removed it from its home and held it out for him.

              “Zander,” I said. “Is this it?”

              “Oh my God, you found it,” he said. I held it out farther, but he backed away from it, staring down at the book as though it were a ghost. “I don’t—why don’t you hang onto it for me?”

              “Are you sure?” I asked, cradling it to my chest as he walked over to the door. “This was your dad’s Zan, and it looks really old. I’m not sure I should be the one to keep it.”

              “We should go,” Zander said, ignoring my protest and holding the door open for me.

              “What about the rest of your dad’s stuff?” I said, climbing to my feet. I stepped through the door and out into the dining room. “We can’t take it all with us, but we can’t just leave it here for the military to get their grubby hands on.”

              “We’ll burn it,” Zander said.

              “We don’t have time to drag everything out of here and build a bonfire,” I said. “We need to get to the hospital. Who knows what kind of trouble those two might have gotten themselves into, by now.”

              “Burn
all
of it, Liv,” Zander said, his eyes sad. “His stuff, the house—everything.”

              “Zander, no,” I gasped. “This is your
home
.”

              “No, it’s not,” Zander said. “It’s just a house, Liv. It stopped being a home years ago. There is nothing left here but bad memories and leaky pipes. The rest is all just stuff.”

              “You’re sure?” I asked though I could see in the set of his shoulders he had already made up his mind.