"How far away is the safe house?" Owen asked. They were standing in the lobby again, debating on their best course of action to get out of the city.
"It's on the edge of the city. Maybe forty-five minutes by car. A lot further if we walk…" Curt trailed off.
"It's also a lot more dangerous if we walk." Owen said. "We need to find a car. We don't know how many Infected are out on the streets, but we need to move fast and draw the least amount of attention to ourselves as possible."
"There's a cool Benz in the garage." Curt suggested. "It's flashy, but it rides silent. We use it for tracking people who are on foot. It's nearly imperceptible."
Owen smiled. "I've always wanted to drive a Benz."
"Keep wanting, Carvour." Curt said. "I know where the safe house is, so I'll be driving." He pulled the axe out of his belt and caught the handle mid-air. "You'll just have to be along for the ride."
Owen rolled his eyes. "Just lead the way."
Curt turned towards a nearby hallway and began to walk down it. His axe was raised, and he was moving slowly, as the hallway was dimly lit and he wasn't sure how many Infected were hiding in the shadows.
It was quiet, then Owen whispered, "Two o'clock." He was so close to Curt, that the hair on the back of Curt's neck stood up as Owen's breath rolled past.
"I see them." Curt spotted the two Infected against the wall to his right. They hadn't noticed the spies yet, and they were swaying slightly as they stood lifeless in the hallway. "On three. One…two…three."
The two men silently rushed the Infected. Curt's axe connected with one as Owen's bat took down the other. Blood sprayed the walls and Curt caught a spatter on his shirt. "Aww. I liked this shirt." He mumbled.
"Keep moving." Owen said, slightly out of breath from the exertion of swinging the bat.
The hallway ended in a door with a keypad. "The door's closed, which means that no one went down while the horde was swarming the building." Curt said. "So hopefully, that also means that the garage won't have any Infected in it. But, it for sure means that the door's locked. The keypad is the only way to open it, and the power's out."
"Step back." Owen said, pulling the crowbar from his belt loops and hooking it into the door jamb. He grunted with effort, and the door strained for a moment before it popped open with a metal clanging sound. "After you." He huffed.
Curt paused for a moment to dig through his bag. He pulled out one of the flashlights that he'd found in the evidence room and flicked it on, illuminating the staircase. Then, he began to slowly descend.
Once in the basement, they discovered that Curt's hunch was right: The small garage was empty of Infected. Windows near the ceiling of the cement garage lit up the area, and there were fourteen cars parked around the perimeter. A glass garage door led out to the street on one end, and a reception kiosk stood in the center.
Curt strode over to the kiosk and began to rifle through a drawer. "Ah. Here it is." He held up a remote key for a car, and when he pressed the lock button, a small beep sounded from a sleek black Benz near the stairwell.
"How are we supposed to get a car out of the garage if the power's cut?" Curt asked. "We can't open the door."
Owen opened the passenger side door and tossed his backpack on the floor. "We're going to have to ram the door, Mega. It's glass—it won't hold up against a car." Owen got in and shut his door. He made a gesture that Curt interpreted as 'come on!'.
Curt shrugged. "Sounds like a good plan to me." He opened the driver's side door and handed Owen his backpack. "Put your seatbelt on." He said as he turned the ignition and revved the engine. Owen did as he was told and grabbed onto the door handle to brace himself. "Ready?" Curt asked.
"Punch it."
The Benz shot forward and barreled towards the garage door. When it connected with the door, there was the sound of cracking glass and crunching metal, and suddenly, the Benz was out on the street, swerving widely to turn onto the main road and avoid crashing into the building across the street from the agency. It rolled to a stop.
"Woo!" Curt yelled. "We're out!"
"Save your celebrations for later, Mega. We're not out of the woods yet." Owen pointed to a small group of Infected that had heard the crash and were turning towards them. "You keep us moving; I'll keep an eye out for Infected." He dug a gun out of his backpack and began screwing a silencer onto it. Then he silenced and loaded a second gun and set it in the cupholder. "In case you need it."
"Thanks." Curt said, swinging the car around in the right direction. "We'll be out of the city in no time." He punched the gas, and the Benz sped along the city streets.
Owen scanned the intersections and sidewalks as they sped past. The streets were suspiciously empty, save for a few Infected that hadn't seemed to notice their presence. After ten minutes of silence, he began to relax a little. He watched Curt out of the corner of his eye; the hard set of the American's jaw, the slight stubble appearing on his face, the way his shirt clung to his chest…
Owen shook his head and forced his eyes forward. Now was not the time for that, nor would it ever be. Curt was just a colleague. That's it.
They rode in silence for a few more minutes, slowly approaching the edge of the city. When they reached the bridge that would take them out into the woods, Curt slammed on the brakes. "Shit." He said.
The bridge was covered in Infected—a whole swarm about a half mile in length covered the bridge with a thick sea of bodies, blocking their way out of the city.
"Fuck." Curt said. "Carvour, what do we do now?"
Owen thought for a moment, then took off his seatbelt said, "Pull up close to the edge of the swarm and park. I've got an idea."
"Are you insane?"
"Trust me, Mega. This is going to work."
Curt hesitated, then he slowly rolled to a stop about five feet from the edge of the swarm. Once the car was in park, Owen pressed the button for the sunroof and pulled himself up to stand on the center console. "What are you doing?" Curt hissed.
"Saving us." Owen whispered back. He straightened out to stand up through the sunroof and aimed his silenced gun.
A few of the infected had noticed the car idling and had begun to turn in their direction. "Carvour, they see us." Curt whispered, grabbing his gun and tugging on the leg of Owen's pants to get his attention. "Whatever you're about to do, do it now."
Owen made a few minor adjustments to his aim, then fired the gun. The silencer did its job, and the bullet whizzed quietly through the air and connected with a light post at the end of the bridge behind them. A loud clanging noise reverberated around the empty streets. Owen landed back in his seat in the car and closed the sunroof again.
The horde, excited by the noise, all turned in the direction of the sound. They began to move slowly towards the other end of the bridge. Curt and Owen froze in their seat, neither breathing as the Infected began to amble past the car. The growling, moaning sounds that the Infected made were amplified as hundreds shambled past, and Curt felt like his heart was going to burst.
"Carvour." Curt whispered.
"Not now." Owen whispered back.
As the horde thinned out towards the end, Curt began to relax, and he went to put the gun back in the cupholder. The movement caught the eye of one of the Infected, though, and it slammed itself up against the window of the car. Curt jumped in surprise and reached out to grab Owen. Curt's hand gripped the other man's arm, and he yelped in surprise.
"Just drive, Mega!" Owen said, prying Curt's hand off of his arm.
Curt pressed on the gas and the car shot forward again. Curt tried to swerve around the remaining Infected on the bridge, but several of them slammed onto the hood as Curt hit them head-on.
Finally, the car passed through the horde and over the bridge, and the spies were back on solid ground, racing into the woods outside of NYC.
Curt and Owen sped along in silence for what felt like ages. Finally, Curt said. "That was really smart. Shooting the light pole like that."
Owen shrugged. "I had to draw them away, and that seemed like the best option." He was quiet for a moment. "Good driving." He winced slightly at how awkward it sounded; his arm was still burning with excitement from where Curt grabbed him.
"Uh, thanks."
They were quiet again as they wound through the trees, and finally, Curt put a CD in. Rock music fell softly through the speakers and settled around them. It was an album of Queen's greatest hits, and out of the corner of his eye, Curt watched as Owen nodded along to Somebody to Love.
"I like this song." Curt said, in an effort to make conversation.
"Me too." Owen said. "I liked Freddie Mercury a lot. He really loved his cats." There was a beat of silence, then Owen exclaimed, "Fuck! I forgot about my cat! Who's going to feed him?"
Curt looked surprised. "Um, was he staying with anyone while you were here?"
"My sister."
"Then, I'm sure your sister will take care of him." Curt smiled a little. "I wouldn't worry about it."
"Yeah… I guess." Owen relaxed again, but still had a look of sadness. "How much further?"
"We're pulling in now."
Sure enough, a small home appeared out of the trees. It was modern, with two floors, a garage, and bullet-proof windows. Standard-issue safe house, and the best that the American Secret Service had to offer.
Curt pulled the Benz into the driveway and killed the engine. "Let's scope the perimeter, then head inside and regroup." The two men stepped out of the car and raised their guns. They began on the driveway and moved around the house in opposite directions. Both moved slowly, sweeping the area as thoroughly as possible to make sure there were no threats on the property.
When they met once more in the backyard, they deemed it clear and began to walk back towards the front door. When they reached the front yard, Curt went up to the front door and pressed the doorbell. Silence answered.
"Looks like the power's out here, too." Curt knocked on the door. "Ma? Mom!" He knocked louder. "It's Curtis. Open the door!"
The woods were silent.
"Maybe she's in the bunker downstairs." Curt said. He gestured to Owen. "We'll need the crowbar to get in."
Owen eyed Curt. He doubted Mrs. Mega was in the bunker, and he was worried about what they would find inside. "Mega, what if—"
"Just use the crowbar, Carvour. We don't have time for this."
Owen hesitated, then took the crowbar out of his belt loops and braced it against the lock on the door. After a few seconds of strained effort, the wood frame cracked and they door swung open. Owen stood back away from the door.
Curt led the way into the house. "Ma?" He called out. There was only silence. "Let's split up." Curt raised his gun. "I'll check the basement and first floor, you get the second."
Owen nodded, raised his gun, and began to walk upstairs. Meanwhile, Curt opened the door to the basement, flicked his flashlight on, and started to descend. The basement was cold and damp, but quiet. "Mom?" He called again, quietly. At the bottom of the stairs, he swept his flashlight around the room. Boxes of rations and water bottles were stacked in the corner—enough to hide out here for months. In another corner, the door to the bunker was wide open and empty. "Dammit, Ma."
Curt climbed back up to the main level, intending to begin searching it. Before he could, though, he heard Owen call down the stairs. "Mega. You should come up here."
Curt took the stairs two at a time, and found Owen standing in the doorway of the guest bathroom. His back was to Curt, but Curt could tell that something was wrong. As he got closer, Owen stepped out of the way.
Inside the tub, Mom Mega was Infected and staring at Curt with a glassy look. Her Infected brain could not figure out how to get up from the tub, so she merely reached for the two men as she growled and clawed the air.
"Here." Owen handed him a scrap of paper. "This was on the counter."
"Curtis," The note read. "I got bit by a crazy man at the grocery store, and with all of those reports of attacks and people being infected…I don't think I'm going to make it. I love you so much, schmoo. You're a good son."
"Fuck." Curt said. Then he reared back and punched a hole in the dry wall near the bathroom door. "FUCK!" Tears were welling-up, and his vision blurred as they spilled over.
"Look away." Owen said, raising his gun.
"No." Curt grabbed Owen's arm.
"Mega, we can't leave her like this." Owen said carefully. "It's dangerous to us. And… it's not kind to her."
"I know." Curt said. "But I have to do it. It has to be me."
Owen hesitated for a moment, then said. "OK. What do you need from me?"
"I just need to do this alone."
Owen reached out to pat Curt on the shoulder, then changed his mind. "I'll be in the living room if you need me." He slowly descending the stairs.
Curt shut the bathroom door, locking himself inside with his mom. He slumped on the floor against the door, put his head in his hands, and began to sob softly. He cried for Cynthia and his fellow spies at the agency; he cried for being still alive while his loved ones were dead; he cried for his inability to save anyone. "Mom, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I didn't get here in time." He wept for several minutes, then he stood up slowly and wiped the tears and snot from his face. Through the window above the toilet, Curt watched the wind move through the tress behind the house. Then, leveled his gun at his mother's head.
"God, please forgive me."
He pulled the trigger.
"Here, drink this." Owen said handing Curt a tumbler of whiskey and sitting down next to him. "You'll feel better."
This was the first that the two had spoken since Owen left Curt to take care of his mom. Once the deed had been done, Curt has spent the afternoon digging a grave in the backyard and burying Mrs Mega. Owen had worked on carrying their food and water upstairs, as well as sorting through Curt's clean clothes in the house and claiming everything he thought would fit his taller, thinner frame. He also found a small generator in the basement and hooked it up so that the two men could shower for the first time in several days.
Now, it was night and Curt was sitting in front of the fireplace in the living room while picking at a can of cold Spaghetti O's. The fire danced off of the two men as they sat side-by-side in front of it—their shadows dancing and overlapping behind them.
"Thanks." Curt said, taking the glass and draining it in one swallow. He held the glass out for a refill, and Owen poured him another drink.
They were silent for a moment, watching the fire and sipping their drinks. Finally, Owen said, "I'm sorry, Curt."
Curt nodded. Then, he turned to Owen, a puzzled look on his face. "You never call me Curt."
Owen shrugged. "I think we're well past the formalities of last names. Wouldn't you say?"
Curt smiled a bit. "I guess so… Owen." They sipped in silence again.
"Tell me about her." Owen said, shifting his position on the rug so he could see Curt better.
Curt shrugged. "She was my mom, and she was a good mom. Not much else to tell."
"I don't believe you." Owen said. "What was she like? What was her favorite color? What'd she think of you being a spy?"
Curt drained the rest of his glass and held it out for another pour. While Owen topped him off, Curt began to talk. "She was great. My dad left when I was a baby, so she raised me on her own. Mom used to say 'he was a deadbeat and a criminal, so good riddance'." He sighed. "She was overbearing at times—me being a spy made her worry a lot about my safety. That, and she was always hounding me to find a girlfriend and get married and have kids. I never had the heart to tell her that wasn't going to happen."
Owen watched Curt's eye flick nervously to him and back to the fire. "Just not into the whole marriage scene?"
"Uh, yeah. Plus, it's hard to meet people that aren't also spies working for a non-ally agency. And when you do meet a nice, non-spy…partner…it's hard to keep them because they don't understand what the lifestyle is like." Curt shrugged. "But, that didn't stop my mom from wanting to talk about it."
"She sounds great."
"Yeah." Curt said, smiling to himself. "She was." A comfortable silence settled over them again for a few moments. "What about you? What's your family like?"
"Small. Just like yours." Owen said. "My mom died last year, and my dad died when I was ten."
"I'm sorry." Curt said.
"Me too." He shook his head. "About my mom, that is. My dad was an alcoholic and an abusive asshole that used to kick the shit out of my mom and us kids. He drove home drunk one night and crashed into a light pole. And just like that," Owen snapped his fingers, "We were free." He swirled the ice in his tumbler. "My mom died of cancer last year. It's just my sister and I left."
"What's your sister like?"
Owen's face lit up into a smile. "Emily's amazing. She's a lawyer who fights domestic abuse cases for a non-profit in London. She has a nice husband, Mark, and they're going to have a baby in June." His smile wavered and fell. "If she survives this, that is."
"Owen," Curt put a hand on the other man's shoulder. "You can't think about that. Remember the motto? The one every fucking agent at the American Secret Service recites on almost every mission?"
"Considered alive until proven otherwise."
"Exactly. I bet Emily and Mark are alive and holed up somewhere just like this with your cat." Curt smiled.
Owen very much doubted that was the case, but he appreciated what Curt was doing. "Thanks."
"No problem." Curt's hand was still on Owen's shoulder, and suddenly as they locked eyes, they both became acutely aware of this. Curt lingered for a few seconds, and he swore Owen leaned in closer to him. But, before he could determine whether or not that was real or just his imagination, he dropped his hand. "There's three bedrooms upstairs. I'd like it if neither of us slept in the master—that was Mom's room. You can take the guest room, and I'll take my room."
Curt stood up and set his glass on the coffee table. "Goodnight…Owen."
"Goodnight, Curt."
