Fall of Man | Book 4 | The Tide

by Sisavath, Sam

  But it was a moot point now. And in the here and now, Emily was missing. That was all he cared about.

  “One hour,” Cole said.

  Zoe nodded. “Maybe a few minutes, more or less, but around there. One hour.”

  One hour.

  It was more than enough time for someone to swoop in and take Emily away. Any longer, and he probably would have died of his wounds anyway had the others not shown back up when they did.

  One hour.

  It wasn’t a very long time, but when life and death hung in the balance, it might as well be an eternity.

  Emily.

  He would find her, no matter—and whatever—it took. He would scale heaven and dig into hell to reach her and their unborn child. No one was going to stop him.

  “What about you, chum?” the Voice asked.

  No one, that is, except himself. Because right now the only thing keeping Cole from flying back to the warehouse and searching for clues to Emily’s whereabouts, to her captors, was him. His wounds. His sorry physical state.

  “What about your mental state?”

  There was nothing wrong with his mental state.

  “Methinks someone’s being overly generous to himself,” the Voice said with its usual cavalier laugh.

  I’m fine.

  “So you keep saying. Or, should I say, thinking.”

  Saying he was fine and being fine was not the same thing. His body didn’t care that he thought he was in tip-top shape because it knew for a fact that he wasn’t. That was driven home when he tried to get up from the cot on his own power, only to fall straight to the floor on his face. He was still down there, almost an hour later, when Zoe came in to check on him.

  After that, someone was always with him. Zoe, Dante, and even Ashley took turns making sure he didn’t try another stupid act. Cole wondered what the teen girl would have done if he’d tried to get up when it was her shift. Probably run to tell her mom. Dante could probably physically stop him. Cole was stronger than the kid, but not at the moment.

  So he slept, took his medicine, grimaced away the pain, and waited. It was all he could do. Bide his time. And heal. He couldn’t go back to Anton’s to look for clues to Emily while bedridden, but that desire was greatly negated by his inability to even stand up.

  It sucked.

  It really sucked.

  But he couldn’t do anything about it. That was the worst part.

  Eventually, after a few days (Or was it weeks? He’d lost count of the hours, never mind the days; night and day blended in together after a while) he tried to get up again. Zoe objected, but he pressed on anyway, and finally succeeded, though not without great pain, in finally getting out of bed. After that, he climbed off the cot—hiding his pain when the others were around and letting it show on his face when they weren’t—whenever he could and took his time walking around his room.

  There was a window to one side of the office that, the first time he managed to stay on his feet for longer than a few seconds, he used to look out at the rest of the warehouse. They were inside a two-story building that housed a large number of machinery along the sides and back of the floor. Most of those bulky objects sat unattended, the last time they had been put to use weeks ago when all of this madness began. The same time the world came crashing down on Cole’s dreams of a new life.

  “No use crying over spilled milk, chum,” the Voice said.

  It was right. For once.

  “Hey. That’s not a compliment.”

  Get used to it.

  The Voice laughed.

  There were three ways into the warehouse, according to Dante—a front and side door, and a large retractable hangar door that rolled up onto the ceiling and could be opened to allow large vehicles inside for loading and unloading. Both the doors were heavy metal and were easily secured. As for the hangar door, it would have taken a tank to knock it down. All in all, this was probably the most secure building they could have found in short notice.

  Cole spent the rest of the day trying to not fall as he walked the short distance from one side of the office to the other, and then back again, to care. His legs were still weak even after a few dozen tries, feeling more like limbs made of jelly instead of strong bones and muscle. Staying upright for more than a few minutes at a time was a struggle, but Cole forced himself to do it. There was no choice. He could either lie in bed and deteriorate or get the hell up and learn to be who he was again.

  Emily.

  She was out there, somewhere. Taken from him.

  “Unless you were delusional,” the Voice said.

  I wasn’t.

  “Keep telling yourself that.”

  He did, because he couldn’t accept any other explanation. Emily had been taken, and he had to find her. It was either that or lie down and die.

  And he wasn’t about to lie down and die.

  No goddamn way.

  Time was a blur, but all Cole cared about was that he was getting stronger and could stay on his feet longer with every passing day. Soon, he was able to leave the confines of his room where he’d been cooped up for, according to Dante, the majority of two weeks. It didn’t feel all that long to him, but then again, he’d spent most of it drifting in and out of consciousness. And when he was awake, he was staring at the colorless ceiling.

  The upper floor of the warehouse was ringed by a long, continuous catwalk that joined the four rooms, one on each corner of the building. Cole had been kept toward the back, where whoever ran the place, going by the paperwork left behind, busied themselves during workdays. The cot he’d been recuperating on had been discovered inside a closet, folded up and ready for use by whoever, he guessed, decided to stay at work overnight. Cameron and Bolton occupied one of the other three rooms, while Zoe and her daughter took another one. Dante had his own place, which was the smallest by far. Not that the kid complained.

  “Better than having to roll this chair over people’s legs,” Dante said. “This way, if I fall, at least no one can see me. Now that would be embarrassing.”

  It didn’t surprise Cole at all that Dante had managed to stay alive when even the able-bodied Fiona and Savannah had succumbed. Dante just knew how to survive. He’d been doing that all his life, and this new world they’d found themselves in was just another obstacle to overcome. The kid was doing that, and then some. What Cole wouldn’t give for a Dante with working legs; the kid would have been a hell of an ally.

  After they’d returned to Anton’s, Bolton and the others had retrieved the weapons and supplies that Cameron’s fellow soldiers had brought with them. Cole stood looking at them now, occupying most of the surface of the large table he’d been walking past for the last few days.

  Two rifles, a trio of handguns, and stacks of ammo. The MREs were almost all gone, but a few remained. A knife and a machete, and a web gun belt that Cole slipped on now. He’d had one, but Emily had stripped it off while they were on the rooftop. It felt good to be armed again, even if he only had a SIG Sauer 9mm in the holster. He bypassed the rifles for now, mostly because he didn’t feel good enough about his ability to lug around the extra weight.

  A few more days…

  Over one of many quiet nights, Cameron retold the story of how he and Stoner, their impromptu leader, along with a few other soldiers, had managed to escape the bloodbath at Fort Benton. Cole tuned out most of the details, but the bottom line was that it hadn’t been pretty. Then again, nothing was since Donnie had tried to kill him in the backseat of his car.

  The ex-soldier spent most of the daytime on the rooftop, standing sentry against the sun and wind. There hadn’t been an attack by a crazy since that first night the group arrived. Not that any of them believed there wasn’t one (or two, or a hundred) in the area. That was just wishful thinking, and they were all beyond those kinds of fairy tales. The one thing that made the infected so deadly was their cunning; they weren’t stupid, and the very definition of stupid was to attack in broad daylight against a man with a rifle. T
hat, and while others lurked in the background, ready to pounce on not just Cole and the others, but other crazies, too.

  They were out there, all right. Waiting.

  Waiting…

  Luckily for Cameron, the crazies didn’t use guns, or he might have gotten picked off. The young man didn’t take any precautions against a long-range attack as he stood guard. Cole wanted to tell him they had more to fear than just the bloodshot eyes out there; there could be a survivor who wanted what they had.

  But maybe he shouldn’t have been too concerned about that, either. They didn’t have very much to take. Not anymore. Dante’s Lunchables were long gone, and by the time Cole could walk on his own power, so were the MREs that had been rescued from Anton’s. They were now down to two bottles of water, and only one was half full. Two cans of beans and one corn made up the remainder of their rations. It was slim pickings.

  “Better than starving,” the Voice said. “But they could last longer if you got rid of the others.”

  Cole ignored its suggestion.

  “I’m just saying.”

  You can stop.

  “I’m looking out for numero uno. You, me, and us.”

  You can really stop now.

  “Just saying,” the Voice said anyway.

  It could just say all it wanted, but he wasn’t about to listen. Cole owed these people. Bolton, Cameron, Zoe, and Dante. Even the kid, Ashley. They’d come back for him when they didn’t have to. Certainly, Bolton and Cameron hadn’t had to, and they could have easily overruled Zoe and Dante.

  That is, if it was Zoe and Dante that had voted in favor of returning. Cole still didn’t know, though of course all he had to do was ask. But he didn’t, maybe because it just didn’t matter anymore. What’s done was done. Decisions had been made and this was the result: Him, still alive, trying to mend up so he could go back out there to find Emily.

  “Is that what you’re going with?” the Voice asked.

  Yeah, it was.

  “Suit yourself. Ignorance is bliss, as they say.”

  It was, and Cole was fine with it. Besides, he had other things to occupy his mind, such as how they were going to survive beyond the next few days. The others hadn’t been able to locate any food in the building; at least, none that was still edible. Which left them with…whatever was out there that they could salvage.

  Before he could figure out how exactly they were going to find more food, Cole had to get a better lay of the land. That meant climbing up the metal stairs at the back and up to the rooftop. It took him two tries, but he finally reached the top without running out of breath. Thankfully, neither Zoe nor Dante were around to see him struggling with the ten or so feet.

  “You’re getting old, chum,” the Voice said.

  It’s the injuries.

  “Is it?”

  Yeah.

  “Okay, then. We’re going full-tilt with the ignorance is bliss mantra, I see.”

  It laughed, but Cole ignored it.

  Cameron was crouching near the edge of the rooftop, looking out at the surrounding town with his M4 slung over his back. The Bell chopper was parked on the south end, with the rooftop access building opening up onto the other side. Thankfully, crazies couldn’t fly, though they could climb. The only reason they hadn’t tried to, Cole guessed, was Cameron’s presence. Or, more specifically, his guns.

  The young man glanced over as Cole stepped out onto the rooftop, letting the door slam shut behind him. That wasn’t on purpose; the wind surprised him, sending the metal door into its frame with a loud clang!

  “Be a little louder, why doncha,” the ex-soldier said. “I don’t think they heard you from across the city.”

  Cole didn’t bother with a reply. He limped his way over to another side of the rooftop and glanced out, getting his first real look at the area outside the warehouse.

  Bolton had set them down in the outskirts of a small town called Sugarton, about 30 or so miles from Fort Benton, where Cameron had come from. It hadn’t escaped the ex-soldier that they were so close (though really, they weren’t that close) to his old haunting grounds, given what he’d had to do in order to survive the day of the initial infection. Maybe that was why Cameron spent so much time up here. Cole wondered if the kid was hoping to catch a glimpse of a familiar face or two running around down there. They weren’t exactly a stone’s throw away from the Army base, but you could walk from one place to the other. Of course, walking that much distance, in this day and age, was suicide.

  The warehouse was part of a local business called Johnson Steel, and it was situated in a back road. A used car lot flanked it to one side, and a series of strip malls made up another one. Tarred rooftops dotted the landscape in every direction. The reason Bolton had chosen the warehouse was its generous rooftop space and the fact it was two stories tall. Not quite tall enough for Cole’s liking, but compared to the choices Bolton had, the best he could do at the time.

  It was impossible not to smell the decaying bodies of humans and animals that littered the alleys and streets and sidewalks whenever the wind shifted. And it shifted now, blowing the stink directly to him. They were on the outskirts of the city, far from where the majority of Sugarton’s population congregated. Cole didn’t even want to think about how bad the stench was in the cities these days.

  He covered his mouth and nostrils with his hand. He couldn’t make out anything moving out there. Not that he was delusional enough to think the crazies had killed themselves off. Despite the body count—the ones he could see from up here and the ones he couldn’t, but could easily smell—there would be survivors.

  That was the problem. (One of many.) Like Cole and his companions, the crazies that had managed to stay alive since the beginning of the infection would be the toughest of the bunch. Or maybe the smartest, or the biggest, or the strongest. Regardless of how they’d survived, they had, which made them formidable.

  “Just like us,” the Voice said.

  Yeah, just like them.

  “Of course, we’ve seen better days.”

  Yes, he had.

  Cole took his hand away from his face and breathed in some (slightly) less pungent air. The wind had shifted again.

  “You’ll get used to it,” Cameron said. The ex-soldier had stood up and swung his rifle until it was in front of him instead of behind his back. His hands were on the weapon, as if he expected to start shooting at any moment.

  “Bolton told you about the food?” Cole asked.

  “Yup. Need to find more.”

  “That means going out there.”

  “Yup.”

  “That means you and me.”

  Cameron finally glanced over at him. “You and me?”

  “Yeah.”

  The kid smirked. “No offense, old timer, but you can barely stand.”

  “I can stand just fine,” Cole said.

  “Whoa. Almost believed you!” the Voice cackled.

  Cameron, on the other hand, didn’t almost believe him. “Seriously. Can you even pull that gun?”

  “You wanna find out, kid?”

  “‘Kid?’ Did you just call me ‘kid?’”

  “How old are you?”

  “Old enough.”

  “Spunky little bastard, isn’t he?” the Voice said.

  “It has to be the two of us,” Cole said. “I think you already know that. Unless you’d rather go out there with Dante and his wheelchair.”

  “Ouch. That’s mean.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “There’s Bolton…”

  “Can’t risk Bolton.”

  “How’s that?”

  Cole nodded at the chopper parked across the rooftop. “We need him for that. You, me, and the others. But we can afford to lose you and me.”

  “I don’t wanna get lost out there, man.”

  “You won’t, as long as I’m watching your back.”

  Cameron stared at him in silence for a while, looking Cole up and down and not trying to hide it.<
br />
  “I don’t think he believes you,” the Voice said.

  Finally, Cameron said, “I’m not dragging you back here.”

  “Good,” Cole said, “because I’m not dragging your ass back here, either.”

  Cameron smirked again. “They said you’re some kind of badass. Zoe and Dante.”

  “Is that what they said?”

  “Yeah. I’m wondering how much of a badass you really are.”

  “We’ll go tomorrow morning. Be ready.”

  He didn’t wait for Cameron to respond. Cole turned and walked back to the rooftop door. He could sense the soldier looking after him, maybe trying to figure out just how much of a liability Cole was going to be down there in the streets. If the kid only knew how much it hurt Cole just to walk without limping, or how difficult it was to keep himself from tipping over by the suddenly shifting winds…

  “What he won’t know won’t hurt him,” the Voice said.

  Exactly.

  “But it might definitely hurt us.”

  There’s that.

  “Not that we’re going to let that stop us, are we?”

  Nope.

  The Voice laughed. “That’s my boy.”

  Oh, shut up.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Don’t die.”

  Quiet. I need to concentrate.

  “While you’re busy doing that, try not to die.”

  I might just die if you don’t shut the hell up and let me focus.

  The Voice, of course, laughed in his ears. Or inside his skull, which was probably more likely. But it did, mercifully, go silent.

  No one had been especially enthusiastic about Cole journeying out into the neighborhood to find supplies. Truthfully, Cole found the lack of confidence a bit irritating, not to mention more than a little insulting. Not that he blamed them, if he wanted to be honest about it. He was a “walking bandage,” as Dante put it.