Jeremy Robinson - SecondWorld

“George Washington University Hospital.” Brodeur sat on the bed. “The National Guard picked you up at the redline—that’s what they’re calling the border outside of Miami. On account of the sky being red.”

“I get it.”

“How’d you survive?”

“Long story.”

“S’pose it is.”

“How many others survived?”

“The ones that thought to leave the affected area right away pulled through fine. Just over two hundred thousand people. The rest either never made it out or left after the iron had already poisoned their bodies. Nothing to be done at that point.”

“How many?”

“You really should be resting.”

“How many?”

“Two point two million dead. The affected area in the U.S. stretches from Miami to the Keys. Tokyo and Tel Aviv were hit too. We don’t have the numbers, but the population of Tokyo alone is nearly thirteen million. If you apply the same survival ratio that we have in Miami…”

Miller shook his head. “Why?”

“No one knows.”

Miller lowered the gun down and took a seat. He rubbed his forehead with his free hand. Two point two million people dead in southern Florida. It didn’t seem possible. But he, perhaps more than anyone, knew it was true. He’d seen the bodies.

“Far as anyone can tell, you and the girl are the only survivors.”

Miller shook his head. “No, we’re not.”

Brodeur’s eyes went wide. “There are others? Where are they?”

“Right where I left them, would be my guess. Maybe forty in Miami. Another five in Hell.” Miller stood. “Take me to Arwen.”

“You’re saying they’re hostile?”

“I’ll tell you everything I know just as soon as I confirm that the girl is safe.”

Brodeur looked at the gun in Miller’s hand. “Gonna shoot me if I don’t?”

Miller turned the gun around and handed it back to Brodeur, who holstered it.

“You fight something fierce for an NCIS man.”

With a grin, Miller said, “You know who I am?”

“Course,” Brodeur said, motioning to a file folder sitting on top of the dresser. “Been here for ten minutes is all. Washington P.D. was guarding you until I got here.”

“You’re supposed to be my guard?”

Brodeur’s face reddened. “Yeah, well, you kind of caught me with my pants down.”

Miller looked down at his hospital gown. “Speaking of which, can I get some clothes?”

Ten minutes later, Miller was dressed in new jeans and a T-shirt. The hospital didn’t have shoes, so he’d been given back the boat shoes he’d taken from Dave’s Scuba back in Key Largo. He’d stared at the shoes for a moment.

“You okay?” Brodeur asked with a tone of genuine concern.

“They’re not my shoes,” Miller said.

“The nurse says you came in with them on.”

“Took them from a dead man.”

“Oh.”

Miller stared at the shoes and then slowly slid them onto his feet. For a moment he felt the hot Miami pavement pounding beneath his feet as he pushed Arwen to the Tesla dealership, the tingle of his foot after he’d slammed the car’s accelerator to the floor for an hour, and the slip of the dirt beneath his feet when he fought the sniper.

Brodeur’s next words erased it all. “The girl—Arwen—she’s in the burn ward.”

Miller pushed past him, exited the room, and headed for the elevator. Brodeur did nothing to stop him. He knew better than to get in the way of a Navy SEAL, especially one tough enough to survive what Miller had.

With his finger hovering in front of the elevator button, Miller froze.

“Sure you don’t want the doctors to check you out again, first?”

“Nothing’s wrong with my body. I’m just not sure I can face her again.”

Brodeur didn’t ask, but the question hung in the air regardless—why not? He looked at Brodeur. “If she’s there. If she’s real. Then it’s all real.”

“Then let me be the one to spoil things for you,” Brodeur said. “It’s all real.”

Miller grinned. He was beginning to like Brodeur. The man didn’t mince words. He pushed the Down button and said, “Well, then that sucks for you.”

“Why’s that?”

The doors opened and the pair stepped in.

“Because things are going to get worse.”

The doors closed.

“A lot worse.”

Miller found Arwen in a hospital room very similar to the one in which he’d first discovered her. The only real difference was the number of windows and the view through them. The oxygen tent was clear plastic now, instead of opaque like the one she’d had in Miami, and he could see her lying there, looking toward the window. He imagined she felt skittish and afraid after everything they’d been through.

“How long does it take to get some pudding around here?” she said.

Or not.

“Sorry,” Miller said. “I’m all out of pudding.”

She turned toward him, smiling with her eyes, but not her hurt mouth. “Linc!”

“They didn’t even offer me food,” he said.

“You should have asked. Seriously. They’ll get you anything you want.”

Miller had no doubt she was right. They had survived the impossible, and she was a pretty girl with extensive injuries. If she asked for the moon it’s likely someone would try to find a way to deliver it to her.

She lifted the tent up. “Better come in. They told me I needed to keep this down most of the time. Guess my skin didn’t like all that time out in the open.”

When Arwen scooted over, Miller noticed she wasn’t wincing in pain. The burns still hurt, but the experiences of the last few days had toughened her. He could see it in her eyes. He climbed under the tent and lay next to her on the bed.

They stared at each other for a moment, for the first time without the fear of death between them. Arwen began to cry. “They asked about my family. Said I’d eventually have to go live with someone because they’re all dead.”

“No aunts or uncles?”

“They all lived around Miami.”

Damn.

Miller searched his mind for something to say, but came up blank. He wasn’t always great with emotions, and certainly not with expressing them—except maybe for anger. But then he understood what she was looking for. “I’m going to be here. I’ll help figure things out, even if you have to come live with me.”

She relaxed and laid her head on the pillow and wiped away her tears with her good arm. “Thanks.”

“Okay,” said a woman as she entered the room. “Pudding time.” The nurse holding a pudding cup saw Miller and her face transformed from bubbly happy to righteous anger. “Hey, what the hell are you—”

Arwen leaned up. “It’s okay. I want him here.”

The nurse was confused by Arwen’s defense of the strange man in her room. She was about to ask Miller to leave again when Arwen continued.

“Do you know who he is?” Arwen asked. “Don’t you recognize him?”

The nurse looked from Arwen to Miller. Then her eyes went wide. “Oh… oh, I’m sorry.”

Miller said nothing. He was too confused.

“No one offered him a pudding. Can he have one?”

“Uh, sure. What flavor?”

“Chocolate,” Arwen said.

“Sure. I’ll—I’ll be right back.” The nurse left.

“How’d you know I like chocolate?”

“Who doesn’t like chocolate?”

Miller grinned.

Arwen frowned. “She didn’t leave my pudding, did she?”

“Nope.”

Arwen rolled her eyes, and said, “Some people, I swear.”

Miller thought she must have been quoting one of her mother’s catchphrases. All parents have them. The facial expressions and mannerisms were too adult. He knew he was right when fresh sadness crept into her eyes.