And that, coupled with their primal desire to do nothing but kill, made them almost…
“What?” the Voice prompted.
Scary.
“Hey, we’re not chopped liver ourselves, you know.”
No, we’re not.
“We can handle this. All you have to do is dump the cripple and the women. We can use the kid Mark. Sorta like a pack mule.”
No.
“Okay. Keep the kid and the woman, then. It can get lonely out there at nights, you know.”
“Shut up,” Cole said out loud.
Cole put his hand on the AR lying across his lap and flexed his fingers to get the blood flowing. He wanted to doze off in the worst way, and the only reason he didn’t was because he’d laid off the painkillers. Not that the meds made him drowsy or anything, but he needed the pain from his injuries to stay awake. And every part of him still hurt, from his toes to his legs to his waist to his chest to his head. If anything, they’d gotten worse since this afternoon, almost as if his body were trying to punish him for putting it through its pace before it was ready.
“Take the meds,” the Voice said.
No. I need to stay awake.
“You can stay awake and still take the meds.”
No.
“You want to.”
No.
“Who are you kidding here? It’s gonna be a long night, chum.”
Cole sighed before reaching into one of his cargo pants pockets and taking out the bottle of painkillers. The container had been pretty light earlier in the day, but was full again now after he’d inventoried the APC.
“You mean plundered?”
Cole ignored it and downed one pill.
“Just one?”
He took a second one.
“That’s my boy,” the Voice said.
Cole sat back and closed his eyes for a bit. He was fully awake still, but the Voice was right; it was going to be a long night. But that was okay. He would rest when they were on the road and safe in the confines of the APC. The best-case scenario would be to do what Deke and the others had; travel by day and find shelter at night, while staying inside the vehicle for extra security. He could do that all the way to Anton’s, and then beyond.
It was a good plan.
“We should thank Deke,” the Voice said. Then, with a chuckle, “Oh. Never mind.”
Cole sighed, and whispered, “God, I hate you,” to the cold darkness around him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Thump!
It wasn’t very loud. In fact, it was very soft. Like someone hitting a part of their body against something metal. Something unyielding. Coming from below him.
The first floor? No. There was no one down there. Not out in the open, anyway.
Clang!
Again, coming from beyond the first floor.
What was beyond that?
Underneath it.
This time it wasn’t flesh, but metal on metal. And it sounded way louder and even echoed for a bit.
A second. Maybe half a second. Long enough for Cole to know he wasn’t going to get through the night undisturbed.
“We got company!” the Voice shouted in a singsong voice.
No shit, Captain Obvious.
What was under the first floor? A sewer system? Of course. Where else would the bathroom water go? It would have had to be connected to some kind of pipe that fed the waste to the city’s sewers.
He should have realized that before now.
“Shoulda, woulda, coulda,” the Voice said.
You’re not helping.
“I beg to differ.”
Stop begging.
“Haha, funny guy. Not.”
Whoever was down there wasn’t being very subtle. Either that, or they were making a lot of noise on purpose. But he didn’t think so. More likely whoever or whatever was making their way underneath the warehouse was doing it in the dark. Could the crazies see in the dark? Probably not. Or, at least, not any better than they could before the infection.
“You’re assuming,” the Voice said. “And we both know what happens when you assume, don’t we?”
No. What?
“I’m not falling for that one. I was born at night, chum, but not last night!”
The others were back in the APC, sound asleep. Or they were the last time he checked about an hour ago. That left Cole alone with his thoughts…and the crazy moving around underneath the warehouse.
Of course it had to be a crazy. Who else—what else—would be skulking around down there at this hour?
“Whoever it is, it’s doing a pretty bad job of it.”
Maybe that’s the point.
“Come again?”
Maybe they want me to notice.
“And why would they want that?”
Cole shrugged. To himself.
The Voice laughed. “Watch yourself. You’re starting to physically respond to an imaginary voice. That’s the second sign of dementia right there.”
What’s the first?
“Talking to yourself.”
Shit, Cole thought even as he rose from the rocking chair. He stretched his legs, slapping at his thighs to get the blood flowing again, all the while staring through the holes in the catwalk at the floor below.
He couldn’t see anything down there except darkness, with the big, squat APC near the front. The metal beast was easy enough to make out even without lights. There were no high windows for moonlight to fill the spaces, but his night eyes had adjusted enough for Cole to make out what he needed to.
Not that he could see much of anything down there, much less the hidden intruder’s position. But they were down there, and on the move. If he was right about the sewer system, then they’d be headed for the bathroom at the back.
“They got Bolton and Cameron,” the Voice said. “There’s just you left now, chum.”
You forgot the others.
“No, I didn’t. I’m just counting the useful ones.”
What about Mark?
“You trust that kid?”
No, but…
“But what? He saw you shoot his friends in cold blood. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s not thinking about ways to pay you back right this second.”
The Voice had a point.
“Of course I have a point. You best sleep with one eye open when he’s around, that’s all I’m saying.”
The others…
“Are useless. Let’s face it, you’re the only reason they’re still alive now. And you’re gonna be the only reason they stay alive. The kid, Mark, on the other hand…”
Sleep with one eye open, Cole thought.
“Exactamundo,” the Voice said.
Cole flexed his fingers again against the smooth side of the AR that hung from a sling across his body. It was cold. Colder than it should have been. The whole building was.
He glanced down at his watch, the hands glowing in the semidarkness.
3:11 a.m.
He hadn’t realized it was that late when he opened his eyes to the sounds.
Cole would have rather been inside the vehicle on the first floor than up here by himself. Hell, he’d rather be in there than anywhere by himself, but especially surrounded by the spacious warehouse. But he couldn’t, because the crazies had found their way onto the rooftop more than once now. And while the APC was safe, its tires were vulnerable to an up-close-and-personal attack.
Besides, Cole clung to his advantages.
“Advantages? Since when do we have those?”
The biggest one, perhaps, was the proven knowledge that the crazies didn’t cooperate with one another. They were loners. Killers at the purest level. If they ever found themselves in the same room, they were as liable to hack each other to pieces as they were him.
“And what’s the other one?”
He could always retreat into the APC. Yes, he might lose the tires, but he wouldn’t lose his life.
“Good point.”
It happens.
Cole ignored it and focused on listening for sounds from below him.
He couldn’t hear anything anymore. Which meant…what? Either whoever was down there had realized how loud and clumsy they were being and went quiet. Or maybe they’d already reached their destination.
Again, that would be the bathroom. It was the only possible way in or out of the warehouse that didn’t involve doors.
But how?
“Maybe you should go find out,” the Voice said.
That was a good idea.
“I know. That’s my job.”
Cole smirked as he moved, as quietly as humanly possible—which wasn’t very quiet at all, given that he was moving on metal catwalks—toward the stairs. He went down on tiptoes, very aware of every clang the metal made as his boots touched down.
One after another, after another…
“As quiet as a mouse in a whorehouse,” the Voice said with a laugh. “Or is that a church? I get the two establishments confused sometimes.”
He was much quieter now that he was on the solid first floor and didn’t have any trouble staying silent as he made his way toward the bathroom in the back corner. The door was open, and the toilet was visible from his approach. A sink to one side and not much else. The room was the size of a small closet and that was probably being too generous. It wasn’t exactly the cleanest part of the warehouse, but it served its purpose.
The smell got to him first as he moved closer. That was unavoidable. They simply couldn’t afford to flush the toilet after using it, so everyone just had to deal with the stench.
“Better stinky than dead,” the Voice said.
That’s one way to put it.
“What’s the other?”
Better not stinky and not dead.
“Well, you can’t have everything, can you?”
No, Cole guessed not. So what else was new? He thought he’d gotten everything he wanted, and more, when he found Emily. And then—
“Hey, pay attention, chum!” the Voice shouted.
Cole did.
He was almost at the open bathroom door—breathing through his mouth as he neared it—when one of the tiles in the middle of the room began moving before suddenly popping loose from the floor.
“Bingo!”
A darkened blob of something appeared, rising out of the square hole like a submarine’s periscope breaking the water’s surface. At first, Cole thought it was some kind of human-size potato—a Mr. Potato come to life—but minus all the details like a nose, eyes, and hair.
Then the “potato” turned, slowly, in Cole’s direction. Cole saw light-blue eyes widening as they locked eyes on one another.
Cole almost pulled the trigger, but didn’t. At the very last millisecond, he jerked his finger away from the trigger but didn’t take it out of the trigger guard.
It wasn’t a crazy. He could see the white scleras around the eyes staring at him. It was impossible to miss. They were the only white things in the entire darkened bathroom.
“Oh, shit,” Mr. Potato said.
Cole didn’t answer. He also didn’t lower the rifle and kept it pointed at the man’s face. He might not have been a crazy, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a danger, either.
“Like Deke and the others?” the Voice asked.
Not exactly.
“I know. I was being sarcastic.”
The blue eyes stared back at him, the mouth slightly agape.
“Well?” a voice whispered. Not Mr. Potato. It had come from somewhere below him. “What’d you Oh shit for?”
“There’s a guy,” Mr. Potato said, still staring back at Cole. Even in the dark warehouse, he wouldn’t have been able to miss the AR pointed at him.
“What guy?” the voice said.
“I dunno. A guy. He’s pointing a gun at me.”
“Oh, shit,” the voice said.
“That’s what I said.”
“Is he gonna shoot you?”
“Well, he hasn’t shot me yet.” The man continued to stare at Cole, before saying to him, “You gonna shoot me, dude?”
“Maybe,” Cole said.
“That’s not a yes,” the man said.
“It’s not a no, either.”
“Point taken.” Then, looking around the room, “Dude, it’s rancid. What’s the stench?”
“You’re in a bathroom.”
“That explains it,” Mr. Potato said.
“Get up here,” Cole said.
“You might shoot me.”
“I might do that anyway.”
“True.” Mr. Potato sighed. “Let’s make a deal.”
Cole hadn’t stepped into the bathroom. He remained where he was, a few feet from the open door. It was close enough that he wouldn’t miss if he decided to pull the trigger after all. “What kind of deal?”
“You don’t shoot me, and I tell you what’s going on out there.”
“I know what’s going on out there.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
The man shook his head. He also might have grinned. “Trust me, dude. No, you don’t. I know what’s really going on out there. Question is: Do you wanna know? If the answer’s yes, don’t shoot me. If it’s no…” He might have shrugged. “Oh, well. I’ve lived a pretty good life.”
Cole thought about it. The “truth?” He already knew the truth.
Didn’t he?
“Don’t we?” the Voice chimed in.
He thought he did, but maybe he didn’t.
Cole lowered the rifle.
Mr. Potato sighed with relief.
“Well? Did he shoot you yet?” the voice below Mr. Potato asked.
“Not yet,” Cole said. “Get up here, and let’s have a chat.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“So what’s going on out there?”
“End of the world.”
“Besides that.”
“That’s not enough for you?”
“I already know it’s the end of the world. I can see that just by looking outside the window. But you said you knew why it’s the end of the world.”
“Did I? I don’t recall that.”
“Don’t fuck with me.”
Mr. Potato, whose real name was Jason, swallowed. Cole saw the lump go up and down his throat, a sure sign that he’d realized his wit—such as it was—wasn’t going to get him through this conversation. If he didn’t know he was already wasting Cole’s time, the man did, now.
Jason hadn’t come out of the bathroom floor alone. He’d been accompanied by a woman named Elle. She was, according to Jason, the reason why Cole had heard the sounds earlier—Elle, not accustomed to moving around in total darkness (unlike Jason), had bumped into a loose pipe; then, when turning, struck that same pipe with the metal wrench she had stuffed into her front waistband like some kind of sword.
Not that Cole feared the 20-something woman and her choice of weapon. She was a small, frail thing; barely five feet, if that, and looked malnourished from the top of her blonde-haired head to her oversize army boots. Cole wanted to tell her that if she wanted to stay quiet—which was a good idea these days, especially out in the open—that a heavy pair of boots was probably not the best of ideas.
Jason had the better sense to trek in some Air Jordans and a windbreaker. The man had come out of the sewer system below the warehouse with a machete that looked as if it’d gotten plenty of use recently. Jason was just slightly taller than Elle—though not that much taller—and definitely wider than he was tall. Not muscular, but just on the right side of the not-quite-a-slob scale. How both of them had managed to survive this long was a mystery to Cole. Neither one looked especially good in a fight.
The two of them were wearing black camo paint that they’d salvaged from a store a few miles back during one of their trips. They still had those on now as they answered Cole’s questions, looking like stage actors in terrible blackface.
And they stank. The sewage radiated from their heads all the way down to the toes of their shoes. Neither one seemed particularly concerned about that, so Cole guessed they must have gotten used to the stench by now. He wasn’t, and neither were the others who had come out of the APC to join him in the interrogation.
“We only move at night,” Jason had said. “It’s safer.”
“Safer?” Dante had said. His voice was slightly muffled because he had a handkerchief wrapped around his mouth as he talked.
Zoe and Ashley were similarly covered up. Mark had gone back into the APC in a hurry, as if he didn’t want to remember Jason’s and Elle’s faces too closely.
“Can you blame him? After what you did to his friends?” the Voice said.
Cole didn’t answer that one.
“You don’t have to. The silence says it all, chum.” Then it laughed mockingly.
The fact that Jason and Elle had found a way into the warehouse from below made Cole realize the building wasn’t nearly as secured as he’d first thought. Or as Bolton and Cameron had initially assumed, either. Of course, the attacks they’d suffered by way of the rooftop had attested to that. Cole just didn’t know there was another potential point of entry.
Even though Jason swore they didn’t see a single crazy down there tonight, or indeed on any other nights he and Elle had gone about their scavenging adventures, Cole didn’t feel like taking the chance. He couldn’t afford to. To nip that potential problem in the bud, he’d replaced the tile in the floor and dragged a heavy shelf to place on top of it. He’d added about 300 or so pounds of weight by way of power tools to keep it in place. Not the most foolproof plan, but enough to give him the early warning to hightail it back to the APC should the need arise. The tile Jason had popped loose was some kind of façade to cover up a manhole-size opening in the floor. Cole wasn’t entirely sure why it was there, and didn’t particularly care.
Now, he sat around the first-floor warehouse watching Jason and Elle closely. They stood shoulder to shoulder, as if afraid they’d get separated. Jason was a good 10 years or so older than the woman, but it was pretty obvious they’d been together long enough to trust one another with their lives. In terms of time—a few weeks, tops—it wasn’t much, but then, these weren’t normal days.
Fall of Man | Book 4 | The Tide Page 17