“Ah, yes. Derek.” I had a sneaking suspicion that Pastor Bill had never met Pastor Derek. “Sadly, the Lord did not see fit to spare him from the flu, nor any of the other former staff members at the camp. The Lord had other plans for them. For this facility. For all of us.”
His callous indifference to the deaths of so many people—cloaked in pious words—really rubbed me the wrong way. Bossy. Affected. Unfeeling. Pastor Bill sunk even lower in my estimation. My headache returned with a vengeance.
“The flu has scrubbed the world clean, clearing the way for a new, more godly order.”
Despite my weakness, my temper flared. “Are you telling me that God killed billions of people on purpose, in order to pave the way for some rosy new future? You think only bad people died? Looks like Pastor Derek was a great guy. Why did the flu take him?”
“Who are we to question the ways of the Almighty?” Pastor Bill said airily.
I shifted in my chair. You can’t argue with stupid, Aunt Debbie used to say. Besides, whatever time I had left, I didn’t want to spend dwelling on Pastor Bill or his cockamamie ideas. Every second of clarity was precious.
“You’re right,” I said dismissively. “Who are we to question God? That’s waaay above our pay grade.”
Pastor Bill frowned. He didn’t like that, did he? Didn’t like being excluded from God’s inner circle. I’d dissed him by being agreeable. Score.
Pastor Bill stared at his steepled hands, his forehead furrowed. After a long moment, he unknit his brows and raised his eyes to mine.
“Have you considered your role in the new world?”
“My role?” I shrugged. “I don’t have a role. I have the flu, remember?”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Let’s say you don’t have the flu, or that God answers my prayers and cures you. What role do you see yourself playing in the new world?”
Heat flooded my face and red-hot anger pounded through my veins. He had told me that I had the flu—a literal death sentence—and now he wanted to play what-ifs with my life, dangling an impossible future in front of me?
“I know exactly what I’d do if I didn’t have the flu,” I said. “I’d spend every day and every night with Ripper. We’d make a life together. A life we’d share with our friends. We’d build something good.”
“Ripper? You’d choose to be with Ripper? With the man who brutalized you?”
Brutalized me?
“What the hell are you talking about?” I demanded.
“A lady does not swear.” Pastor Bill’s temper flashed.
“A woman gets to speak any way she damn well pleases.” Sharp pain spiked through my head, and nausea made my hands tremble. My weakened body couldn’t sustain these violent emotions. I was burning through all my reserves. I didn’t have much time left, but dammit, whatever time and energy I had, I’d use to defend Ripper.
Deacon Morris cleared his throat, a clear warning to his superior. Pastor Bill swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. He folded his hands together on the desk.
“I saw the bruise on your neck. I saw what that animal did to you.”
My fingers flew to my neck, and I palpated the bite mark. Tears filled my eyes. I remembered those last moments of perfect happiness, of connection with Ripper before...before the bad thing happened. Before I got sick.
I didn’t have time for subtlety or subterfuge, for dancing around the truth, and I wanted to rub that truth in his face. “You want to know how I got this bruise?” I leaned forward. “Ripper and I were fucking—doggy style—and I pushed my hair off my shoulder and pressed my neck against his mouth until he finally got the idea. I wanted him to bite me. I liked it.”
“You liked it?” Pastor Bill repeated. His cheeks flushed pink. He tilted his head, his eyes gleamed, and his expression took on an unsettling intensity. “Do you like it rough, Mackenzie?”
Shit. Shit. Shit. I should have thought this through before opening my mouth. My blood chilled at his rapt expression, until I remembered my condition. Who would have believed a terminal case of the flu could protect me from anything?
“I like it any way that Ripper gives it to me.”
He chuckled. “God has a purpose for you, child. In his wisdom, he has seen fit to put you into my hands, to deliver you from evil. Ripper was a bad influence on you, and it’s a blessing that you’ll never see him again.”
“Wait. You won’t keep him away from me, will you?” I asked, panic clawing at me. “You’ll let me see him before I die?”
Pastor Bill’s face took on an expression of exaggerated sympathy. “Oh, my dear, I’m afraid that won’t be possible. I sent Ripper and your friends to hunt down the man who blew up The Dalles Dam. The bomber booby-trapped his cabin with explosives, and your bumbling friends managed to detonate them. Your boyfriend’s dead. Ripper, Kyle, and Sahdev, they’re all dead.”
TWELVE
Kenzie
I rolled on my side and turned my face to the wall. If I refused to talk, maybe she’d go away. Hannah was a sweet girl, but I couldn’t bear to speak to anybody, couldn’t bear to engage with the living. Talking, moving, thinking—shit, even breathing—felt impossible when everybody I cared about was dead.
The veil between life and death had grown gossamer thin, and shadowy figures moved behind the sheer curtain. Ripper, Kyle, Sahdev, Miles, Ali, Jake. I could see their faces in my mind’s eye, all the people I’d loved and lost, but most of all Ripper. My brain balked when I imagined him dead, his voice silent, his powerful body still and cold. How could the most vital man I’d ever known be gone?
If I cried uncle, would the universe take pity on me?
Maybe it already had. I’d thought the flu was a spit in the face from a cruel fate. Maybe it was a gift, not a tragedy, a coup de grace, a mercy killing that would tear down the veil and reunite me with the ones I loved. All I had to do was bide my time until the virus took me.
“Kenzie.” Hannah was relentless, her voice urgent. “I need to talk to you.”
The mattress dipped when she sat on the edge of my bed. She touched my shoulder. I almost shrugged off her hand, but couldn’t quite bring myself to reject the friendly teenager.
Taking care of the living takes precedence over everything else. Sahdev was right.
With a sigh, I rolled over to face her.
Hannah looked over her shoulder, then leaned down close to my ear. “I overheard Nicole talking to Pastor Bill this morning. She was upset with him for telling you that you have the flu.”
“He was right to tell me,” I said. “I needed to know.”
“No, you don’t get it. You don’t have the flu. The dickwad made it up.”
I stared at her blankly. “What?”
“He lied. Nicole was upset with him for lying to you,” Hannah whispered.
That made no sense. “But...but...I have all the symptoms. I’m nauseated and weak. Dehydrated. And I have a killer headache that won’t go away.”
“That’s right.” Hannah nodded. “But your symptoms weren’t caused by the flu. They’re from the accident.”