Dead of Night (Dead of Night 1)
What really kept him going was Dr. Volker’s voice. He had his earplugs in and as he walked he listened to the recording Billy Trout had made at the doctor’s house. It had scared him then and it scared him worse now.
When he finally reached the highway he thumbed a ride with a guy driving a semi from Akron to Baltimore. Goat spun a story about his car breaking down. The driver didn’t care and seemed disappointed that he wouldn’t have company for longer than the five miles it took to get to Bordentown. The trucker had the radio tuned to Magic Marti, who said that the storm showed signs of weakening. From where Goat sat it was hard to tell. Well … maybe the rain was a shade less intense.
The trucker dropped Goat at the Starbucks, accepted a coffee for the road, and left.
Goat brought his coffee with him as he searched out the most isolated corner of the coffeehouse. He opened his laptop and went to work.
The first thing he did was to download the files from Volker’s flash drives and e-mail them to himself at several accounts. He copied the e-mail to Trout and their editor, Murray Klein. Then he updated his Twitter account with a “Breaking News Coming Soon” post. With that done, he downloaded the interview as MP3 files.
Then he waited for Trout to call.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
STEBBINS LITTLE SCHOOL
Billy Trout had rehearsed this moment fifty times since bypassing the National Guard out on the highway and sneaking back into town. Not this exact moment—in none of his fantasies did he imagine that he’d swoop in and rescue Dez Fox—but the moment where they’d meet again. In most of his scenarios, Dez’s mouth would soften from the angry stiffness it wore since the last time they’d broken up; her eyes would glisten with unshed tears, and the two of them would fly into each other’s arms, realizing the rightness of them here at their darkest hour. He knew it was a chick flick ending, but he secretly believed that such tender moments could happen. In each scenario they would kiss. The kind of kiss Bruce Springsteen could get a number one record out of.
So he was already smiling and reaching for her when Dez stared up as he looped the equipment bag over his shoulder and got out of the Explorer.
“Billy—”
“Hey, Dez,” he said warmly. “I knew you’d be here … I knew you’d still be alive. ”
She said, “What in the deep blue fuck are you doing here, you asshole?”
Trout’s smile faltered. “What? Um … I’m … rescuing you?”
“Oh, great. So what am I supposed to do now? Swoon into the arms of the big, strong ‘Fishing for News with Billy Superman Trout’ hero of the day? Give me a fucking break. ” She dropped-out the empty magazine and slapped a new one angrily into place.
“Huh? No, Dez, I—”
“You should have gotten your ass out of town, Billy. ”
“I was out of town,” he snapped, his own anger flaring, “but I came back for you. ”
“Oh, please. With all this going on? You expect me to buy that shit? You came back for a Pulitzer and a ticket out of this shithole. The only thing you care about is your next byline. ”
“You know that’s not true, Dez. ” He shook his head in disgust. “Where’s JT?”
“He left me. Just like the others. ”
“Left you? You mean he was infected?”
Her eyes shifted away from his. “I don’t know what happened to him. He just left. ”
“Just like that? No mitigating circumstances?”
“No, not just like that, okay? They arrested us and put us in separate cruisers. His crashed. My driver got attacked. JT never came back to look for me. ”
“Did you look for him?”
“I tried. ”
“You try his house?”
“No … there wasn’t time. ”
Trout took a step toward her. “Dez … JT didn’t abandon you. You do know that, right?”