Jackson drowsily raised her rifle but Lucy batted it down.
“No shots – the birds!” Lucy hissed.
“We’ve gotta climb,” urged Lopez, taking Jackson’s other arm as they rushed towards the rocky hillside.
Lucy scrambled up onto the first ledge, then pulled Jackson up after her.
“Follow my path,” whispered Lucy.
They struggled up the steep rock face, clinging to the sides, hampered by the wet violet moss growing on it. Each ledge was covered in snow, masking the loose rocks which shifted perilously underfoot. As they gained height, the reptile reached the base of the hillside. Lucy’s heart froze as she watched the creature hesitate, hindered by its withered leg. Using its thick tail for stability, it clawed its way onto the first ledge.
The group redoubled their escape efforts.
“This way,” urged Lucy, picking out a route to the top. She hauled herself up to the next ledge, then reached down for Jackson. Lopez gave Jackson a leg up, while Lucy pulled. Together they heaved her onto the higher tier.
There was a clattering of rocks and a stifled yelp. The Canadian had slipped, and skidded several feet down the slope, towards the oncoming creature. Lopez rushed back down and grabbed him, hauling him back as the creature crawled onto their level. Its scaled feet and sharp nails slapped and scratched against the rock for purchase, as its muscular limbs dragged its diseased leg forwards. A forked tongue stretched before it, trying to reach the two men.
The Canadian scrambled upwards, shoving past Lopez and sending him off balance. Lucy watched in horror as the Major skidded further down the slope towards the creature.
Lopez landed just yards from the advancing reptile. He scrambled to his feet and backed away, missing the upward path and retreating along a ledge which quickly narrowed into nothingness. Tearing off clumps of moss, he clung to the bare rock face as he realized his mistake.
The creature had halted, sniffing. It swiveled around and clambered onto the ledge above, picking up the scent of the Canadian. But Maurice, in his panic, had deviated from Lucy’s route, and was struggling to find a way upward.
The reptile closed in. Maurice jumped, grabbing the ledge above. But there were no footholds to be found, and his legs dangled helplessly as he kicked wildly around the smooth rock.
The creature lunged upward at the Canadian. With an almighty wail, Maurice swung his legs out of the way.
“Shit!” cried Lucy, as startled birds fluttered off their branches in droves. A hissing sound filled the air as dozens of black-feathered hunters spotted the new arrivals.
Jackson swung her rifle round and fired six rounds at the creature, but the bullets made little impact on its tough armor.
“Target the leg!” cried Lucy.
Jackson fired on the creature’s withered limb. The bullets tore through the bleached scales, causing the reptile to screech in pain and jerk backwards, revealing a softer underbelly. Jackson fired into the creature’s exposed underside and the bullets punched through the scales. The creature fell away from the rock face, crashing into the snow below.
“We’ve got incoming!” cried Lucy, as she reached the summit. She knelt down and pulled Jackson up. The first birds were flying directly towards them. Jackson took up position and fired upon the birds, killing several and dispersing others, while Lucy helped Maurice over the edge. The Canadian staggered to his feet and immediately ran for the cover of the trees, while Lucy waited for Lopez.
She heaved the Major onto the hilltop and the pair ran for the fresh forest, followed by Jackson, who provided covering fire as she ran. With a yell, Jackson emptied her magazine at the birds as the group fled deep into the new forest level. They ran for several minutes until the hissing was no more. Panting, the four regrouped amidst the wispy canopy and dry leaves.
“You’re amazing, you’re magical, the creature didn’t even go near you!” cheered Maurice, panting, and patting Lopez on the back.
Lopez grabbed the Canadian by the throat and pinned him against a tree.
“You shove me down a hillside and think we’re all G just because I made it back up alive?” he growled.
“I panicked! I’m sorry!” the Canadian rasped.
“Twice we’ve saved you, and twice I’ve asked myself why. Now give me a reason not to kill you,” said Lopez, his eyes just inches from the other man’s.
“Guys, help,” said Jackson, from the back.
She was knelt down, head bowed, one hand clutching her flat leg. Sticking out of her calf was a needle.
“Shit,” said Lopez, relinquishing his grasp on Maurice, who fell to the ground spluttering.
The top of the needle was fading in color as the oily liquid inside drained into Jackson’s leg. Lucy yanked the needle out and tossed it aside, scattering oil and blood among the leaves. Jackson yelled in pain.
“Press down,” said Lucy, placing Jackson’s hand over the wound. Lucy whipped off her back pack and pulled out a dressing strip, which she wound tightly around Jackson’s calf. Then she grabbed her water bottle and unscrewed the cap.
“Drink. It’s like Camp Oscar. Do you understand?” said Lucy, thrusting the bottle into Jackson’s hand.
Jackson nodded and took a swig of the white powder.
“I could go for some water,” said the Canadian.
“Go to hell,” said Lopez.
“We need to get moving before the infection takes hold,” said Lucy, pulling Jackson to her feet.
“How long does she have?” said Maurice.
“One more word from you and I will end you right here in this forest, you understand?” said Lopez, grabbing his knife and pointing it at Maurice’s throat. The man gulped and nodded, hands raised.
“Which way, Major?” said Lucy, re-fastening her backpack.
Lopez consulted his compass and took a bearing.
“East is this way. If you see any creatures, shoot the Canadian first.”
***
Welcome to Karen’s Mobile Home Park, read the large rusty sign by the side of the highway, and not a moment too soon – Jackson was deteriorating. They’d left the forest some time ago and picked up the highway, having seemingly evaded the birds. But during that time Jackson’s complexion had greyed further. She was groggy and swayed as she walked, and looked to be running a fever.
They approached the park entrance – it was the first of four lanes which flowed from the highway like fingers. Each lane hosted a few bungalows of varying size. The row nearest them was bearing the brunt of the snowdrift, which had piled against the rear walls. As they crept through park, Lucy spotted algae growing on the shaded walls between the bungalows. She directed them onto the second row, which looked healthier – a single bungalow with no external growth. Lopez banged on the door and called out several times, but there was no answer.
“I kick, you cover,” said Lopez.
Lucy raised her gun. Jackson leaned against the wall, summoning her strength, and also raised her rifle. Lopez kicked the door, hard, breaking the cheap lock and sending it flying open. He sprang back to let Lucy and Jackson cover the entrance. Jackson stumbled forwards, rifle raised. Lucy stayed close behind, as they entered the gloomy abode. Their boots tapped against the vinyl floor as they crossed the short hallway. Lucy’s shoulder brushed against the wallpaper; cream with a pattern of lilac buckets. Jackson swung left into the lounge-kitchen area and Lucy followed.
“Clear!” Jackson shouted.
“Clear,” came Lopez’s reply, from the right hand wing.
He joined them in the lounge.
“Good. This will do. I want a secure base established well before sundown. That gives us thirty minutes, tops. Canada, you’re on fuel for a campfire. Jackson, stay here and check for supplies. Young, you and I will do a recce of the other houses for food and water. You take lane three, I’ll take four.”
“You mean, raid them?” said Lucy.
“Do you have a problem with that?” said Lopez.
“I’d r
ather not do it alone,” Lucy replied, blushing slightly.
“Ditto that. I’ll stick with you,” said the Canadian.
“There you are, Young, the golden ticket. Don’t slow each other down. Clock’s ticking people, let’s go,” said Lopez.
***
Jackson sat slumped on the sofa. She was upright but her eyes were closed, and her ashen cheeks were sagging. Maurice sat across from her, reading a glossy magazine. Lucy was sat on a stool by the fireplace, stirring the pot of simmering pasta. She seized the moment of privacy to capture the tumult of the last two days.
Feb 21st (est.) – I told you about the beast capture mission going wrong, and Rangecroft dying. Well, it turns out Major Lopez blames me, even though it was a joint idea. The fact that we were trying to harvest and grow white powder – the very thing that let Lopez, Jackson, and me escape* – seems to be lost on him. *Escape from Camp Oscar, I mean. The convoy was ambushed, and as far as we know, everyone was killed. The camp had already been attacked – the company we were supposed to rendezvous with had been killed by the time we got there. The creatures had piled up the bodies – presumably to stockpile the Gen Water that would follow. Whatever the impetus, it shows they’re capable of complex, goal-oriented tasks.
We’re still trying to get to DC to find reinforcements – our truck was destroyed by a colossus, so our progress has been drastically slowed while we’re on foot. The colossus was the third of its kind that I’ve encountered, and it had been blinded by birds. They’ve evolved projectile needles between their tail feathers. They got Jackson this afternoon. I’ve given her more white powder but the infection looks terminal. She was only hurt because a stranger made us vulnerable. That’s my fault. I thought I was doing the right thing, but now she might die. Another person dying because of me. These people are all I have left. I have to protect them - it can’t happen again, I can’t be alone again.
Lucy snapped the notebook shut as Lopez’s footsteps approached. He was carrying four bowls. He knelt down by Lucy, beside the fireplace, and turned his back on the others.
“How bad is it?” he whispered, checking over his shoulder to be sure Jackson and Maurice weren’t listening.
“I don’t know. I thought the extra white powder would stabilize the infection, but it’s not working,” said Lucy.
“What are we talking, days, weeks, hours?”
“Hours,” whispered Lucy.
She ladled piping hot pasta from the pot into the bowls Lopez was holding. He passed them to Jackson and Maurice on the sofas, then took a seat as Lucy joined them and passed over his portion. For several minutes the four squatters blew, slurped, and chewed in silence, gobbling the hot food down.
“Man, I could go for some more. That was on point,” said Maurice, setting his fork down with a clatter.
“You want breakfast tomorrow?” said Lucy.
“Hell yeah!” said the Canadian.
“Then there’s no more,” she replied.
The Canadian chuckled. “You remind me of my father. He used to say that kinda stuff all the time when I was growing up. He was a real asshole.”
“Like father like son,” grunted Lucy.
“Am I sensing some hostility?” said Maurice, running his hand through his greying, backcombed hair.
“No hostility, just facts,” said Lucy, chewing.
“Wanna tell me about your family? No doubt they were kind-hearted people full of humor,” said Maurice.
“Enough of the crap. It’s high time you told us who the hell you are, and what you were doing in Cincinnati. Why were you running away from your car?” said Lopez.
“I was out of fuel,” shrugged Maurice.
“You were being chased,” said Lopez.
“I used up all my fuel trying to get away,” said Maurice.
“Away from where?” said Lopez.
“Boston,” replied the Canadian.
“Boston?” said Lucy, clattering her fork against the bowl.
“Yeah, good ol’ Beantown. Why?” said Maurice.
Lucy’s mind flashed to her bedside drawer, back in San Francisco, which contained the life-changing letter. After months of searching, the agency she’d hired had finally tracked her estranged mother down. The woman who’d walked out on her childhood, whom she hadn’t seen in years, was living in Boston. With her father long dead, Cassie gone, and Dan’s loss achingly raw in her mind, Lucy longed for her mother in a way she hadn’t before the disaster. She had become her only living relative.
The thought filled her with longing, anxiety, and hurt all at once. Guilt, too, took hold. She’d never had a chance to tell Dan about the agency’s findings. She was going to ask him to come with her, to meet her mom. She’d promised Cassie she’d tell him. Then the satellites failed and everything changed.
“Hello? I said why d’you care about Boston?” said Maurice, snapping his fingers at Lucy.
Lucy blinked sharply and abandoned her ruminations.
“Never mind why she cares, we’re interested in what you were doing there,” interjected Lopez.
“I was getting the hell out of there,” said Maurice.
“Why?” said Lucy.
“Because it’s off the chart. You think Cincinnati was bad? Boston’s unreal. Apparently there’s some doctor trying to fix them, but it’s gotta be too late for them. I’m pretty sure they’re screwed.”
“Who?” pressed Lopez.
“The people. The infected ones,” said Maurice, scratching his stubble.
“The virus is still there?”
“Define virus,” said Maurice.
“The spores,” said Lucy.
“Pff, no – those were months ago. This is way different. Like, zombies different.”
“Zombies?” said Lopez, alarmed.
“Not actual zombies. No-one’s eating brains – those were strictly off the menu. The infected folk just got weak. They’d look like hell for a time, maybe get weird patches on their skin, and then they’d just die.”
“They had skin lesions? Are you sure it’s a new disease?” said Lucy.
“No idea, didn’t stick around to find out,” said Maurice.
“And you ended up in Cincinnati?” said Lopez.
“I went via NYC first. Terrible call.”
“More of the disease?” said Lucy.
“Nothing like that – not in New York.”
“What, then?” pressed Lopez.
“That city’s being run by a psychopath. Calls herself ‘The Queen’. I got picked up and ended up working for her for a bunch of weeks until I escaped. I was heading for the West Coast when you guys found me.”
“There’s nothing for you on the West Coast, I promise you that,” said Lucy, darkly.
“You guys are from the West?” said the Canadian.
“Lights,” interrupted Jackson, pointing outside.
A truck pulled into the mobile park and made a beeline for their bungalow. Lopez grabbed Jackson’s rifle and headed for the door. “Young, on me.”
The pair of them stepped out into the freezing night. Lucy squinted as the truck approached. Snowflakes danced in the headlights as someone climbed out.
“Who are you?” called Lopez.
The stranger walked closer, into the illumination to reveal a military uniform. He had thin lips, glasses, and bore a sergeant’s insignis.
“Five Marines looking for shelter,” said the man, assertively.
“Christ you’re a sight for sore eyes. Get on in,” said Lopez, beckoning them inside.
Five soldiers spilled out of the truck. The driver slung a chain around the steering wheel and locked it in place, before catching up. The soldiers traipsed into the house, not bothering to kick the snow off their shoes. They fell on their knees by the fire and stretched out their hands. The Sergeant – Adler – introduced himself, and the rest of his troop: Willis, Brown, Li, and Peters.
“Told you they was cookin’,” said Willis, pointing to the simmering pot. The soldiers�
�� eyes panned hungrily to Lucy and Lopez’s brimming plates of pasta. Lucy followed his gaze, which moved from her plate, to her pistol. Her eyes darted to his rifle. She glanced at the other marines. Two more had rifles. All had pistols. The other soldiers’ eyes were beginning to wander. Lucy looked at Lopez – he was seeing it too.
“Let’s make you and your boys up some pasta, Sergeant, water’s still hot,” said Lopez.
“Much obliged, Major,” said Sergeant Adler.
“Real good of you Major,” said the soldier beside him – Willis – who was stroking his thick, unkempt black beard.
“You guys can have the sofa, I’m gonna lie down,” said Jackson, shuffling to the edge of the seat.
“Canada, see that our guests are fed. Young, gimme a hand,” said Lopez.
Lucy and Lopez helped Jackson down from the sofa onto the floor mattress, while Willis, Peters, and Li all slumped onto the couch.
“What’s up with your girl?” said Brown, who had taken the wooden seat by the fire. His lips had a pronounced natural downturn, which gave him a permanent look of depression.
“Fever,” said Lucy.
“What kind of fever?” said Brown.
“The kind that makes people sweat,” said Lucy.
“Is it contagious?” said the Sergeant, who had remained standing.
“Yes, that’s why we’re all hanging out together. So we can all catch it,” said Lucy, sarcastically.
“No offence, lady, but I ain’t sleeping here. I’ve not made it this far so I can get sick off some stranger,” declared Brown, rising from his chair.
“Respectfully, Major, I have to agree with Private Brown here. Brown and I will scout out one of the other houses,” said Adler.
“Can us three stay by the fire in the meantime?” asked Li, from the couch. He had a round, child-like face and rosy cheeks to match.
“Fine. But you’ll be sharing night watch, so enjoy yourselves while it lasts,” said the Sergeant.
Brown tipped his vacant chair over, placed a boot against the frame, and sheared a leg off. He dipped the lower half of the stick into the pot of boiling water then shook it out. He grabbed an empty bowl, threw a tea towel in it, then poured cooking oil over the towel – folding it over several times until it had soaked the load up. He wound the tea towel around the dry end of the chair leg, mopped up the excess oil, then ignited the tip on the fire. Clutching his hand-built torch, he moved towards the doorway.
Convulsive Box Set Page 35