The Becoming: Revelations (45 page)

Cade pressed her lips together and shook her head, forcing herself to let go of him. She cleared her throat, determined not to cry, and shifted her gaze to Brandt. He didn’t look the slightest bit confused at the exchange. Like always, he seemed to know exactly what was going on without having to be told. Cade drew in a shuddering breath and focused on Ethan instead, trying to come to terms with the possibility that this might be the last time she saw her best friend.

Ethan’s eyes flickered up again, scanning over the other four people in the lobby before returning to the task at hand. None of them seemed willing to approach after the audible outburst between them. He stripped the cap off another bottle and wedged a cloth into it. His gaze drifted across the lobby again. Cade followed it and realized he was staring at Remy. “Fuck,” he whispered. “Definitely not something I want to do.”

“What is?” Cade asked quietly.

“Leave her. Again.” Ethan’s eyes didn’t leave the young woman. “Brandt told me how messed up Remy was after last time. This won’t help. But still.” He sighed heavily and tore his gaze away from Remy. “How many men get to say they died twice to save the people they loved?”

Tears pricked at Cade’s eyes, and she quickly banished them. “Hey, don’t talk like that,” she scolded. “You’ll be fine.”

“If you say so, Cade.”

“Well, at least let me pretend, okay?” She glanced up and realized Brandt was approaching. The look on his face was tight, worry lines creasing his forehead as he stopped in front of them and leaned against the valet counter.

“If we’re going to do something, we need to do it soon,” Brandt said, his voice hushed. “I definitely don’t like what I’m seeing outside. There are more infected out there than I could possibly begin to count. I don’t see how we’re going to make it past them, outside the grace of God Himself.”

Cade shook her head and murmured, “Ethan’s got a plan. It involves us running and him staying behind. Again.”

“Figures,” Brandt muttered. Ethan’s cheeks flushed at Brandt’s criticism. Brandt didn’t comment further; instead, he picked up one of the alcohol bottles and examined the label absently. “So when does the plan get put into motion?”

“As soon as possible,” Ethan answered. “I don’t have all that long myself. So we’ve got to get moving soon.”

“And your plan entails …?” Brandt prompted. He raised an eyebrow as he looked from the bottle of rum he held to examine Ethan thoughtfully.

Ethan waggled a bottle underneath Brandt’s nose. “Let’s just say I’m taking a cue card from your stack and leave it at that, okay?”

Brandt snorted and set the bottle onto the counter. “So long as you don’t get any of us killed, I don’t care what you do. I’m sure the world could use a few less infected in the way of its recovery.”

Ethan nodded and dug into his backpack, emerging with a pair of sturdy bolt cutters and handing them to Brandt. “Kimberly gave me these to use in case we needed them. When I give word, I want you to cut through the padlock holding the chain on the doors. The doors won’t stay closed for long after that, but we don’t intend for them to. I’m going to lob some Molotovs into them to spread them out and maybe kill a few while I’m at it. When I say go, you guys need to run for it, up to the sixth floor and down the walkway into AmericasMart, back the way we came. Don’t even worry about me. I’ll catch up if I can.”

Cade struggled past the reminder of Ethan’s impending death, and her eyes flickered up to Remy. The younger woman was attempting to entertain the two girls they’d found, trying to distract them from the horde outside. It appeared, however, that she was failing spectacularly, as the younger of the two began to cry again. Cade shook her head at the helpless look that crossed Remy’s face and sighed, thumping her hand against the counter.

“Okay, Brandt, you’re going to help keep up with the kids,” Cade said. “Carry the little one—”

“Shae,” Ethan interrupted.

“Carry
Shae,
” Cade continued with a deferential nod to Ethan. “The older one—Sasha—she can run on her own. Just make sure she keeps up.”

“And what, exactly, are you and Remy going to be doing while I’m playing kid-rustler?” Brandt demanded.

Cade gave him a slow smirk. “Why, making sure the path stays clear, of course.”

Ethan sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Shit. I don’t like this,” he muttered as he dropped his hand back down and set the bottle he held onto the counter. “Not much of a choice, though, right?” He started for the end of the counter with a shake of his head and muttered, “I need to talk to her,” before making a beeline for Remy. Cade and Brandt both watched him go, and Cade bit back a sigh.

“Think his plan’s going to work?” Brandt asked, leaning against the counter and watching her closely.

“Do we have any other options?” she asked pointedly.

“Nobody’s
presented
any other options,” Brandt replied.

“That’s because there
are
no other options,” Cade said, her voice hushed. She watched Remy and Ethan move away from Shae and Sasha. The two girls stood forlornly in the middle of the small lobby, Sasha hugging the toddler as Ethan talked to Remy in a voice that didn’t carry across the lobby.

“Hey, look,” Brandt started after a long silence. “I don’t … I don’t want to end up like those two,” he finally said. Cade gave him an odd look and raised an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

Brandt fidgeted in a way that Cade found adorably appealing, and she leaned against the counter, almost reveling in his discomfort. He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled something out, palming it and taking a deep breath, trying to steady himself, before pressing the object into her hand. Cade felt a small, cold piece of metal in her palm, but Brandt didn’t lift his hand for her to see what it was. “Look, I just … I was going to do this after Gray and I got back from our supply run in Hollywood, after you were feeling better. Alicia sort of pre-empted that plan. And we had our argument, and I just …” He huffed out a breath, and Cade raised an eyebrow.

“What are you driving at, Brandt?” Cade asked. “You know I don’t like it when people beat around the bush.”

“I know, I know.” Brandt shook his head and said bluntly, “We’re going to be parents. There’s no getting around that, right? So we should start, I don’t know, acting like parents.” He took his hand away, and Cade raised her eyebrows in surprise as she saw he’d pressed an antique gold band into her hand. “Just think about it, okay? And if we get out of this shit, we’ll talk about it.”

Cade barely stifled the smile that attempted to cross her face. “Brandt, are you seriously proposing to me in the middle of a zombie apocalypse?”

“Hey, life doesn’t stop just because people started getting up and eating other people,” he protested. “And they’re not zombies. They’re just really violent people infected with a really nasty virus who want to eat our faces off.”

Cade laughed softly and closed her fingers around the ring. “I seem to remember another time you said something similar,” she said with a smile, slipping the ring into her pocket.

“Glad to know you find the things I say memorable.”

Before Cade could form a reply, Ethan’s voice reached her across the lobby. “Let’s get this shit over with,” he said, his tone resigned as he strode back to the counter to gather some of the bottles. Remy’s dark eyes were red rimmed, and she refused to look at any of them as Ethan added, “I don’t want to spend so long debating when it’s a good time for me to die that what medications I’ve got left in me wear off before we make a move.”

Ethan wouldn’t lie; he was more scared than he’d ever been in his life. Even as he carried his armload of liquor bottles closer to the front doors, he imagined he felt the Michaluk virus in his veins, spreading and activating throughout his entire body, slowly taking control of him. He tried to not focus on it. He had more important things to worry about, things staring him right in the face, demanding his attention. He set the bottles at his feet and held the bolt cutters out to Brandt.

“Would you do the honors?” he offered with the smallest of smirks. Even he was surprised by the casualness in his tone and mannerisms. Especially since it didn’t match what he felt inside.

Brandt took the bolt cutters and stepped toward the door. “So how are we doing this?” he asked as he positioned the padlock between the bolt cutters’ blades.

“We’re going to torch as many of the mother fuckers as we can before we haul ass up the stairs,” Ethan said. “We don’t need them coming after you when we walk out the front door of AmericasMart. It’s right across the fucking street. No way they won’t notice us. Brandt, while they burn, you and I are going to hold the doors shut for as long as we can and let them fucking roast.”

Brandt raised an eyebrow and looked to Ethan, even as he grasped the handles of the bolt cutters more securely, prepared to squeeze them together. “You seem to have thought this over pretty hard,” he said. “Impressive, especially considering we haven’t been in this situation all
that
long.”

“You bet your ass I’ve thought it over,” Ethan said. He glanced at Remy; she refused to look at him, instead keeping her eyes locked onto the front doors. She was still pissed off at him. He could hardly blame her for that. He looked away from her before he started to feel too much regret over what he was about to do. If he dwelled on it too much, he knew he’d falter, and then his friends might not survive. That was, quite frankly, unacceptable.

“Well, let me know when you’re ready,” Brandt said. He shifted as if bracing himself against the oncoming assault from the infected. They had already noticed Ethan’s small group from their side of the doors and had begun making their way toward them. Ethan knew that the doors wouldn’t hold for long. He also knew he refused to let the infected come after them on their own terms. They were going to do so on
his
.

Ethan squared his shoulders and looked at Cade. She stood in front of the two children, with her rifle in hand, and the determination in her eyes was so strong and so familiar that he felt an ache settle in his chest. He gave the woman a short nod and forced his attention back to the door, hefting one of the glass bottles and testing its weight. “Brandt,” he said, his voice tight and strained. “Do it.”

Thankfully, Brandt didn’t hesitate. He gripped the handles of the bolt cutters and squeezed them with a grunt. The snap of the cutters shearing through the padlock echoed through the lobby, and Ethan startled involuntarily. He cursed himself silently and lifted the bottle as Brandt pulled the chain away from the doors. And then the doors burst open, and the infected swarmed toward them, trying to get inside.

“Ethan!” Cade yelped behind him. “This is a bad fucking idea!”

Ethan ignored her, swinging the bottle of vodka in his hand toward the infected. The bottle smashed across the faces of the nearest infected in a shower of clear liquid and glass, and the infected fell back a few inches before surging forward again. Ethan took the momentary lapse in their advance to grab another bottle and throw it over their heads. It shattered against the pavement beyond.

A burst of gunfire broke out behind him. Ethan didn’t bother to turn around as he heard the wet, meaty slap of flesh against the floor. Cade was behind him, and he knew she wouldn’t let the infected get to the children as long as she breathed. Instead, he concentrated on throwing his bottles into the crowd. Brandt caught on quickly and scrambled to help, until all that remained was the largest bottle, its rag still hanging from the top like a flag of surrender. But surrender was far from Ethan’s mind. He patted his pockets, searching for something with which to light the rag, before he swore out loud. He couldn’t believe his own stupidity. He’d come up with a workable plan, and he’d forgotten the most important part.

“Brandt! I need a light!” he called to the other man, even as he continued to search his pockets as if one might magically appear where one hadn’t been before.

Brandt’s hand disappeared into his pocket, and a second later, he flipped his wrist at Ethan. Something silver spun through the air, and Ethan snapped his hand out and caught it before realizing he’d done so. His fingers closed around the warm metal, and he glanced at it. It was an expensive-looking silver-plated Zippo lighter with “U.S.M.C.” engraved on both sides. Ethan flipped the lighter open and ran his thumb over the flint wheel. It lit on the first try, but before he put the flame to the rag, Brandt stopped him.

“Wait, I have an idea,” Brandt said urgently, swinging his bag around and digging into it. A shot rang out, and an infected man dropped to the floor right in front of the Marine. He barely noticed.

“Better be a fucking good one,” Ethan snapped. He reached for his own weapon as a hand grasped for his face. He batted it aside with a firm swat of his fist.

Brandt held two grenades in his hands like strange, demented-looking pieces of fruit. Ethan’s eyes widened. “You take the middle. I’ll handle the sides,” Brandt instructed. “If we’re lucky, we’ll have about ten seconds to get the doors shut again before the world out there goes to hell.”

Ethan grimaced and touched the flame to the rag. It quickly caught, and he hauled back to throw it into the crowd of infected. “I thought the world was already
in
hell!” he said to Brandt. He threw the bottle out, as hard and as high as he could. As it arced over the growing crowd of infected, Brandt ripped the pins from the grenades, released the arming levers, and threw them, one left and the other right. The two men moved fast, grabbing the doors and shoving them closed, pinning them there with only the strength of their bodies.