William Weber - System Failure

Nate extended a hand and introduced himself properly. “I wanted to thank you for everything you did in helping Amy and I.” Even as he spoke, he felt there was something unusual about this woman. She was pleasant-looking with a small scar on the upper right side of her forehead.

She took his hand. “I’m Holly and this is Dillon. I know this might sound strange, but I think our parents might have known each other. Dolly and Brian Andrews. That ring any bells?”

Nate’s forehead furrowed in thought. “Can’t say that it does. But right now, I probably wouldn’t know my own folks if they were standing in front of me.”

Holly let out a nervous little laugh and waved her hand. She was thinking about the letter. That it would explain everything. At least she hoped it would.

They both stood there smiling awkwardly for a moment before Nate excused himself. He gave Amy and the baby another kiss before heading back out to check on the others. When he arrived at the mezzanine he saw the sweater laid over Colt’s head and heard the sound of a commotion nearby.

Brooks was trying to prevent an armed Walker from shooting Sergei in the head. For his part, the Russian mobster was begging for his life, promising millions of dollars to anyone who would free him.

A crowd began to gather. Brooks stood between Walker and Sergei.

“Move outta the way, Brooks!” the old soldier bellowed. The howl of pain in his voice was unmistakable.

“Not like this,” Brooks said, his hands up.

A new voice called out from the crowd. It was Ash, a bandage covering his collar bone where the bullet had gone straight through. “Stand down, both of you. That sorry excuse for a human being doesn’t deserve a firing squad.” Two civilians helped him through the survivors, who watched the scene unfold. “Last I heard this man and his goons killed seventy innocent people, not to mention our brother in arms and members of Nate’s family. No, a single bullet’s far too good. What Sergei needs is a different kind of justice. Something more… poetic.” He used his good hand to pull out a thin-bladed hunting knife. “Sergei, you are charged and convicted in the taking of innocent lives. I hereby sentence you to death by a thousand cuts.”

The crowd grew silent, forming into a solemn line. One by one they would deliver a single, non-lethal stab wound. Those at the back could only hope he wouldn’t die too soon.

In the old world, this might have seemed barbaric and monstrous. What many of the survivors now understood was that civility was a luxury this new world could no longer enjoy.

When it was Nate’s turn, he delivered his blow for Lauren, Carl and Liz.

“My people will avenge my death,” Sergei said, grimacing, his voice reduced to little more than a whisper.

“If they dare,” Nate replied, his own voice calm and filled with assurance, “they’ll meet you in hell.”

Holly was packing when she came across the letter her mother had asked her to give Nate. She had hoped he might recognize her parents’ names. But sadly, that hadn’t been the case.

“Hey, people are leaving soon,” Johnny said, not wanting to startle her.

She quickly stuffed the letter into her pocket. “Yeah, I’m just getting my things together.” She zipped up her suitcase and rose to her feet. “Listen, I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done. I won’t lie. I was convinced you were a class-one asshole, but now I’m not so sure.”

Johnny chuckled. “I’m happy I was able to plant some doubt in your mind.”

“Where will you go?” she asked.

He rested his hands on his hips and sighed. “Hard to say. For obvious reasons nobody really wants to stay. But they’re also uncertain what the alternative is.”

“There are too many bad memories here,” Holly said. “Too many ghosts.”

“All I know is somehow I need to get back home to San Francisco.”

She nodded, knowing it was the right thing to do, but feeling, in a way she’d never expected, like she might actually miss him. They hugged and wished each other well and Johnny disappeared back into the gloom.

Holly removed the letter from her pocket, staring at it for a long time. She would walk up to Nate, hand it to him and face whatever the resulting fallout might be. It had been her mother’s dying wish.

Then again, hadn’t she come all this way for a fresh start? She stood torn—no, paralyzed—her thoughts bobbing and weaving like the candle flame illuminating the space she was in.

At last she bent down and held the corner into the open flame. Quickly the letter caught, orange and yellow fingers licking up the sides. Eventually, when her fingers couldn’t take it anymore, she let it fall away.

After they said a few words for those who had died, the Citadel crew told a few stories about the kind of guy John Colt had been. It seemed a terrible tragedy for the world to lose such a man, especially at a time when they needed him the most. But Nate knew no matter how bad things got, some good could always be salvaged. As Walker said in his own fumbling way, Colt had been a role model for many and would be greatly missed.

When they were done sealing most of the bodies in the last two northbound subway cars, the few who remained assembled near the turnstiles. Sergei’s body was one they would leave behind, taped to the same pillar where he had died, the blood dripping from his slack features already starting to ice over. Above him was a sign that simply read: ‘Criminal.’ For as long as it remained, it would serve as a monument to how evil would be dealt with from now on.

The other body was Colt’s, wrapped in a large American flag one of the refugees had been kind enough to offer up.

Standing a few feet from Nate was Holly, her arm around Dillon.

“So you gonna give it to him?” a voice asked her for everyone to hear.

“Johnny? I thought you left?”

“I was on my way out when I suddenly remembered the letter. The one you told me your mother wrote.” Johnny’s twinkling eyes were darting between Nate and Holly.

Those standing nearby were noticeably confused.

“Did I miss something?” Brooks asked, as he and Walker exchanged a look.

“I burnt it,” Holly said, waving him away.

“Burnt what?” Nate asked.

Holly glared at Johnny, wondering if looks really could kill. “Remember I asked you earlier if our folks knew one another?”

Nate nodded. “Yeah.”

“Well, before she died, my mom wrote a letter and asked me to hand-deliver it to you. Insisted it couldn’t be mailed. She said your parents had passed away and it needed to find you. Made me swear I wouldn’t read it before I’d placed it in your hands. I held onto that letter for a few years after she died. Finally, when Dillon and I left Seattle, I decided to take it with me. I figured Chicago was as good a place as any to start a new life. Especially if it would allow me to fulfill her dying wish.”

“So, what did it say?” Nate asked, blown away by the strange twist, but also suddenly worried by what it might say.

“Well, that’s the thing,” Holly tried to explain. “I never found out. But here’s what I do know. You’re a good person, Nate. Part of a dying breed. I was gung-ho to get it to you, come hell or high water, right up until we actually met. Then I suddenly wasn’t so sure. The letter was thick enough that it couldn’t have been anything good. So it’s going to remain a mystery forever, I’m afraid.”

A heavy, stunned silence hung in the air for several seconds, broken only by the sound of Johnny clearing his throat. “Well, that last part might not be completely accurate.”

Holly stared at him.