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* * *

  Harman didn’t want to think about the accident. Even though Sheyna slept and the wind in the car drowned his words, he started telling her about Luca.

  “My brother, Luca, was the first person in our family to graduate from high school and go to college. I could’ve but—man—I hated school. We’re Romani, from Slovakia originally. You’ve probably never heard of the Romani; most people in the U.S. call us gypsies, though that’s actually an insult.”

  He looked off to the right where the Hudson River flowed. More black, oily smoke rose in a fat column. Was the whole country burning?

  “Anyway, we got bullied in Slovakia because we’re Romani. And then our mom was killed, so our Uncle Marko brought us to the U.S. when we were, like, your age. And growing up here was pretty cool, but my uncle couldn’t afford to send Luca to college, so I decided I’d pay for it. Truth is, Sheyna, I’m not a very good person. I stole cars and stuff and sold drugs for the mafia to help pay for Luca’s schooling.”

  Harman rubbed the back of his neck and looked in the rearview mirror. The girl slept, her head lolling gently with the car’s movement and her mouth slack.

  “I guess I just figured that if I did bad things to help my brother do good, my crimes would be justified.” He shook his head and muttered, “Stupid, I know. But when you grow up in slums where everyone hates you and says you’re nothing but a lazy crook, well—it just made sense to me. When I was young.”

  Harman checked the map as they crossed Rondout Creek and muttered, “Left on Garraghan Drive then right on Broadway.” He rotated his shoulders and yawned.

  “I was so proud when Luca got his Ph.D. I mean, jeez, that made him a genius in our family. And then he got hired by PFD and ended up leading his own virology team. I thought he was gonna save the world.”

  Harman turned left and slowed down. He scanned the street and sidewalks, turned onto Broadway, and then circled the block checking addresses. Until—

  He found it.

  With its high windows and arched, aluminum roof, the hulking, red brick building looked the part of a bunker to Harman. It was attached to a much older building and, if he’d had the time, he would’ve admired that building’s carved, concrete edifice. He liked historical architecture. But he was out of time.

  He parked and turned off the engine. Sheyna still didn’t stir. Harman sighed. “My brother was supposed to fix people, not destroy them.” He gripped the steering wheel and rested his forehead on his knuckles. “I was the angry one. I was the troublemaker.” He glanced at the Colt on the passenger seat and whispered, “Not Luca.”

  Harman straightened and stared at the brick building then scrubbed his palms over his face and nodded. He cleared his throat and said, “Sheyna, wake up. We’re in Kingston.” He stashed the Colt in his jacket’s inner breast pocket. The car door groaned as he opened it. “C’mon, chajorije.”

  Sheyna sat up. Her cornrows stuck out at odd angles. She yawned and rubbed her eyes then grimaced and pushed her palm against her temple. “My head still hurts, and I’m thirsty.”

  Harman pulled open her door. He smoothed down her hair and grunted, surprised. No fever. Her face and scalp were cool. Her eyes weren’t bloodshot. “You’re probably dehydrated. You’ve been drinking soda and eating crap for days. There should be some good food in here.” Maybe Sheyna wasn’t sick. “God knows you need a lot more sleep.”

  She put on her jacket and grabbed her Happy Meal box. Harman shrugged on his backpack and picked up her paper bag.

  Sheyna slipped her hand into his. “I hope they have hotdogs.”

  Harman grinned at her. “Me, too, Tough Nut.”

  Her face screwed up. “Why’d you call me that?”

  “’Cause you don’t crack easily. You ever hear that phrase? ‘Tough nut to crack?’ That’s you.”

  She stared at him then snorted. “You’re weird.”

  “Takes one to know one.” They set off toward the brick building’s entrance.

  They’d gotten up a flight of concrete stairs when a deep, masculine voice boomed from nowhere.

  “Stop!”

  The order echoed off the surrounding buildings. Sheyna’s grip tightened as she and Harman did as commanded.

  “Password?”

  Right. The code. Harman fished a piece of paper from his jeans. “HFD0002. Harman Ferenc Džugi.”

  There was a pause. “What about the girl?”

  “She’s with me.”

  “She needs a password.”

  Harman put his arm around Sheyna’s bony shoulders. “She’s got no family. I found her in Newburgh. I’m not going to abandon her on the sidewalk.”

  “Then you can stay out here with her,” the disembodied voice said.

  Sheyna looked up at Harman, tears in her eyes.

  “Fine. You tell Luca that Harman said, ‘Thanks for the crappy vacation. I’m going back to Venezuela.’ He’ll love that.”

  There was a muttered curse then the voice said, “Wait here.”

  “Harman?” Sheyna asked.

  He rubbed her arm. “Don’t worry. I know the guy who runs this joint.”

  Long minutes passed, and then they were ordered to go around to the Andrew Street side of the structure. Once there, a door clicked open at the top of a set of covered stairs. Inside they faced a long, lit hallway that was enclosed with translucent plastic. The entry door closed behind them and locked with a series of whirs and clicks.

  Sheyna clung to Harman’s hand and stared, wide-eyed, down the hall as a door at the far end opened and a man in a white HAZMAT suit stalked toward them. His fogged mask hid his face, but what he said as they met in the middle of the hall made his identity clear: “You look like khul, Harman.”

  “Thanks, phral.” Harman used the Romani word for brother. He turned to Sheyna. “This is Sheyna. She’s uninfected. And she’s got no family.”

  Luca peeled off his mask, mussing his thick, black hair. He sported a neat beard and moustache. “Well, everyone who’s not a confirmed carrier or confirmed immune, goes into quarantine.” He looked down his nose at the child. “Sorry, kid.” He led them further into the bunker. “There are sixteen or seventeen other people in there right now. Three children, I think. That’ll be nice, huh? To be with other kids and not my smelly big brother?”

  Sheyna stared at him.

  Luca shrugged and turned to Harman. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  * * *

  “Don’t start that B.S. again, Luca.”

  “It’s not B.S. I see what’s happening worldwide every day, Harman. And you’ve seen it, too. Remember the viruses in Amazonia? All the slash-and-burn exposing jungle and releasing diseases? What about the Yanomami dying from malaria? And now we’re seeing rapid mutation among the filoviruses.”

  “No one’s doing it on purpose.”

  “No?” Luca folded his arms. “Well maybe they should.”

  Harman stared at his brother. “Jeez, Luca. Go see a shrink before you sprain your brain and end up in a geodesic dome in the middle of Nowheresville eating Spam and canned beans.”

  Luca laughed. “Hey, nothing wrong with Spam.”

  * * *

  The surprise was their cousin, Tsura. She was helping in the quarantine room.

  “Is this your daughter?” she asked in Romani, her eyes wide and her bright smile wider.

  Harman shook his head and replied in English, “No. This is Sheyna. I found her in Newburgh.” He helped the girl get settled on a cot. “Sheyna, this is my cousin, Tsura. She’ll take care of you, and she can’t get sick.” He met his cousin’s dark gaze. “Am I right?”

  Tsura nodded. There was terror in those brown eyes. “Right.” She sat beside Sheyna and gestured at the Happy Meal box. “Did you bring lunch?”

  Sheyna shook her head and opened the box. She pulled out two small plastic ponies, three equally tiny stuffed bears, and a little plastic fairy. “My toys.”

  “Even better.” Tsura smiled and stroked the girl’s han
d. “Let me get you some food. Do you like Cheerios and bananas?”

  Sheyna nodded.

  Harman stood. He touched the top of the girl’s head. “Get some sleep, too. You’ll be in here for a day. I’ll make sure Tsura takes care of you, okay?”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I need to talk to Luca.” He crouched to be eye-level with her. “You see he’s my baby brother. And now that I’ve gotten you to a safe place, like I promised, I need to go take care of him.” He tugged one of her cornrows and added, “I may not be around much. Okay?”

  “Oh. Okay.” Then she threw her arms around his neck. Harman returned the hug, relieved to know that he’d done something very right for her. Then Tsura returned with food, and Sheyna snatched up the banana. Harman headed for the door.

  “Harman?” Tsura caught up to him in the hall. “You’re immune, too?”

  He nodded. “Luca made sure of it.” Tsura’s black hair was streaked with gray; a year ago she’d had none. How much of that had appeared during the last week?

  “He’s enjoying this.” She gripped his arm and glanced up and down the empty hall. “He scares me.”

  Harman squeezed her hand. “I know. That’s why I’m here, Tsura. I’ll take care of Luca, like I always have.” He stepped away from her. “Where can I find him?”

  “Down two levels.” She gestured toward a stairway. “Turn left and keep going. His room’s at the end of the building.”

  “Nayis-tuke.” He thanked her. “Promise you’ll look after Sheyna?”

  Tsura nodded. “I will.”

  Would her eyes ever lose their haunted look?

  * * *

  “Hello?”

  “Luca, it’s Harman. I got a message that you needed to talk to me right away. You okay?”

  “Yeah. Well. Everything’s going to hell, just like I promised it would.”

  Harman frowned. “What do you mean?” Luca sounded happy, which didn’t make sense if his life was falling apart.

  “I need your help, Harman. I can’t do this without you. I need you to come to Kingston before it’s too late.”

  “Too late for what? Tell me what’s going on.” Why had his brother become so strange?

  “What’s going on? Don’t you watch the news in the jungle?” Luca laughed. “Just come here and you’ll be fine; I’ve seen to that. I’ve taken care of everything. The people with me will be fine.”

  “Luca, I don’t get what you’re talking about. You’re not making sense.”

  “Promise me you’ll come to Kingston. I already bought your ticket. You’re flying out of Caracas on a chartered flight.”

  “But—”

  “Promise, Harman. Brothers take care of each other no matter what, right?”

  “Okay, okay. If you need me that much, I’ll come to New York. Where should I meet you?”

  Luca gave him an address and a code. “Don’t lose the code. You’ll need it when you get here.”

  “Luca, you’re being as clear as mud.”

  “Just trust me, Harman.” Luca laughed again. “And Merry Christmas.”

  “It’s June.”

  “I know.”

  * * *

  Harman knocked on the metal door.

  Luca grinned as he opened it and grabbed Harman in a bear hug. “Mishto avilan.” He welcomed him.

  The room’s furnishings were meager—a single bed, a desk, a lamp, a shelf with some reading books. A blue, green, and red Romani flag decorated the wall above the desk, and a laptop displayed a world map. Beside the computer sat a bottle of Double Cross vodka and a set of mismatched glasses.

  Luca released Harman. “I didn’t know if you’d come.”

  “I didn’t want to, but I said I would. We’re family. I can’t ignore that, even if you are nuts.”

  Luca laughed; he had their father’s laugh, their father’s voice. “It’s unhealthy to argue and never act, Harman. I realized that ten years ago,” he gestured at the map, “and here we are.” He poured two drinks.

  Harman accepted a glass of vodka. “Yep. Here we are.” The map was more red than blue and, as he watched, the world bled more. “You’re tracking the outbreak?”

  “Of course. Gotta watch my masterpiece do its job.” Luca knocked back his shot. “Honestly, I didn’t think it’d spread so quickly. Pretty amazing, ei?”

  Chills crawled across Harman’s scalp and down his spine. “Yeah. Amazing.”

  Luca eyed him. “Don’t look so freaked out. I told you everyone here’ll be fine.”

  Harman looked away, and his gaze settled on the computer once more. “What are the green dots?” His finger hovered over the largest one on the map; it was on New York.

  “Confirmed reports of immunity; in case I need to make more vaccine.” Luca poured another shot and capped the bottle. “I have the only supply, but it’s a limited amount.” This time he sipped the vodka. “I’m glad you’ve decided to see things my way.” He nodded toward the door. “Everyone here does.”

  Harman grunted. “Do they?” Luca was lying; Tsura’s fear and caution proved it. He perched on the edge of the desk and crossed his arms. “Do they know you released AVHF, Dr. Death?”

  “Funny, phral.” Luca snorted. “But you’re the one who’s been living in an exotic location.” He grinned and added, “I bet you’ve got a secret lair, too.” Then he sobered. “Don’t make me out to be another Hera Volopoulos.”

  “Who?”

  “She’s a James Bond villain; you really should read the books.” He gestured toward his bookshelf.

  “Yeah, maybe.” Harman looked up at the low ceiling. All those trusting people in the bunker, they believed his brother was thinking only of their safety. That always had been Luca’s gift, that ability to convince people to follow him blindly. “How’d you get this place?”

  “I had help. Preppers will fork over lots of money if you sound like you know what you’re talking about and promise to save them from the apocalypse.”

  Khul.

  Luca lifted his shot glass. “To brothers reunited at the end of the world.”

  Harman raised his glass too, and then downed the shot, welcoming the liquor’s heat as it seared his parched throat.

  Luca took Harman’s glass and put it beside the Double Cross bottle. “We’re familia.” He turned and gripped Harman’s shoulder. “And we take care of each other.”

  “Yes.” Harman caught the back of his brother’s head and pressed his forehead to Luca’s. He swallowed. “I’ve come to take care of you.” He pulled the pistol from his pocket. “I’m sorry, little brother.” As Luca’s eyes widened, Harman fired point blank into his chest. Blood splattered Harman’s jacket and face. His ears rang. He let go as his brother went to his knees and then slumped to the floor.

  Feet pounded overhead. Muffled shouts grew louder.

  Harman locked the door. He sat at the computer and pulled up his email account. Ignoring the efforts of the preppers to force Luca’s door, he composed a letter that he’d been writing and rewriting in his mind for days.

  The doorknob rattled. The frame creaked. Something heavy hit the door.

  Harman addressed his email to the CDC’s New York office and hit Send.

  Then he sat back in the chair and raised the gun to his temple.

  * * *

  But there’s hope in that bunker for all of you. Luca stole the AVHF vaccine from PFD’s labs before he released the virus. I’m sure the preppers don’t know about that either.

  I’m not a good person, but I’ve always taken care of my brother. For a long time that meant dealing meth and robbing people. I’ve caused a lot of pain over the years, but even I can’t accept what Luca’s done. And I’ll die regretting that I didn’t see what was happening and stop him.

  So by the time you read this, I’ll have taken care of him, and we’ll both be dead, punished for our crimes.

  For all the suffering my brother and I have caused, I’m sorry.

  Regretfully, />
  Harman Ferenc Džugi

  Learn more about Monica Enderle Pierce

  Garrison Kane fought the urge to burst through the thin door separating him from one of the most horrific scenes he’d ever encountered in his seventeen years of service. Standing in a rundown apartment, he stared through the peephole into the apartment across the hall. A woman screamed as her husband used a fistful of her hair to drag her away from the open door, through which she’d been trying to escape. He threw her down beside a deceased, bloody toddler with matted hair. Something about kids being involved always crushed Kane.

  He threw the deadbolt in the door, still panting from his scuffle in the hall with the same man he was watching now. He looked again and tightened his grip on his gun when he saw the blood-covered, infected man grip a hatchet and threaten his wife. She squalled and fought like crazy to get free of her husband, causing him to lose his grip on his would-be weapon, igniting even more rage on his part. He caught her once more and slammed her body against the wall.

  Kane was helpless, his entire body tense as he watched. His job was to protect people. In any other circumstance, he would have intervened. He wanted to now, but there were two problems. Kane pulled away from the door, his gaze traveling across the living room to take in the small frame of problem number one. A boy who stood all of four foot nothing. No mask, uninfected, with an unknown immune status.

  Problem number two was on the floor at Kane’s feet—his gas mask. Kane had been in the hall on his way to the stairs when the dying man who was now hurting his wife had caught him. He launched a homemade flame weapon at Kane’s face, burning through the mask. When Kane realized his mask was compromised, he had broken into the nearest apartment not knowing the child was inside.

  See, problems were usually just obstacles, and obstacles came with the territory, but what they amounted to today was simply this: if Kane opened that door and engaged the boy’s neighbor again, he risked infecting himself and the boy.

  “You did this,” the man roared. Kane’s new friend squealed in response before sinking into a trembling ball by the window.

  “Shhh.” Kane brought a finger to his lips.