Surviving The Virus | Book 7 | Reinfection

by Casey, Ryan

  That’s when he heard it.

  That’s when he knew.

  A scream.

  A high-pitched scream, somewhere in the distance.

  A child’s scream.

  Chapter Seven

  Noah heard the scream in the woods and froze.

  That scream. It sounded like a girl. A kid. Infected? Possibly.

  He should just ignore it. He should just pretend he hadn’t heard a thing. Every instinct told him to get the hell away from here. It told him to go back to the caravan. Because this wasn’t his business. His business was finishing Barney’s grave. His business was keeping himself to himself. Not involving himself in the business of others.

  He heard a few shouts. A couple of blasts, far away. Another scream, louder this time.

  And as much as he wanted to go into those woods, go beyond the perimeter, go well beyond where he was allowed to go… he knew he couldn’t risk it.

  He turned around and walked back to the caravan.

  He tried to forget about that scream. Tried to stop the thoughts filling his mind, the thoughts of the screaming child. Thoughts that someone was in harm. In grave danger.

  It wasn’t his business to get involved with shit like that.

  It wasn’t his responsibility.

  Responsibility only ever got him one place in life. Closeness with other people—other beings—only ever got him one place in life.

  Alone.

  Hurt.

  And yet... that feeling just nagged at him.

  A feeling that made him feel deeply uncomfortable.

  He kept on walking until he reached the caravan. He looked to the left, over at that grave. Over at the hole he’d dug in for Barney, which needed a gravestone.

  Then he looked at the grave beside it. Edward’s grave.

  Another scream. Sounded closer.

  He clenched his fists. Tightened his jaw.

  He wanted to lay low. He wanted to keep his head down.

  But he couldn’t ignore those screams.

  There was just something about them.

  “Fuck it,” he said. “Fuck it.”

  He rushed over to the caravan. Grabbed the pistol from under his pillow. Turned around and looked at Bruno, who stood there, wagging his tail, tilting his head.

  “You stay here, lad. I’m not losing two dogs in one day.”

  He closed the caravan door. Then he ran out towards the woods, towards those screams. Someone was in danger. Someone was hurt.

  He slowed down when he reached the black and yellow markings of the initial warning perimeter, sprayed across the trees. A warning that No Man’s Land was close. That if you stepped beyond this level of the perimeter, there was still a chance to turn back—but you were still risking it regardless.

  He knew he should heed their warnings. He knew he should stay put. He didn’t want to die, at least not yet anyway. And especially not at the hands of those Society fuckers. He still lived in hope that he’d be able to hold on to his caravan, and maybe if he behaved, they’d let him stay, at least a while longer.

  But that scream.

  And that shout.

  He tensed his jaw.

  Clutched his pistol.

  There was no holding back.

  He had to go across that initial warning perimeter.

  He had to figure out what the hell was going on.

  He took a deep breath, and he crossed the markers.

  Right away, he felt he was in uncharted territory. It looked the same, of course. Trees all around him, swaying in the breeze. Foliage growing wildly out of control. Fungi and mushrooms creeping out of the earth, some delicious, some poisonous. Always had to be careful with shit like that.

  He jogged. Stayed low. Kept on looking from left to right. He got the sense he wasn’t alone. Someone else was out here. Something else was out here. He had a good intuition for danger. A heightened sense of uncertainty when infected were around in particular. Maybe it was to do with his abilities. Or maybe it was just a byproduct of living in a world like this for nearly ten years—which was a fucking eternity when he thought of it like that. He wasn’t sure. He didn’t even know if he still had those abilities. After all, they hadn’t worked when he was with Kelly and Edward that last time.

  He tried to stay out of the way of any infected for that exact reason.

  He took a left, and he saw something.

  First, the blue clothing of a guard.

  Mask over his face. Rifle in hand.

  And…

  He held the hand of a girl. Young girl, probably in her teens. Thin, thinner than anyone he’d ever seen. Wearing this weird blue gown, like a hospital patient. Marks around her head, bruises and scratches, and cuts.

  Crying.

  Begging.

  “I won’t come back with you!” she screamed. “I won’t!”

  Noah lowered his pistol and sighed. Whatever was going on here, it wasn’t his business. The girl, whoever she was, she’d crossed the perimeter. She’d breached the law. Laws were laws for a reason. This wasn’t any of his business at all, as much as it pained him to accept it.

  But then as he went to turn around, he heard something that made him freeze.

  “Please,” she cried. “Don’t make me go back there. They test on me. They test on me, and they’ll kill me like they kill all the other kids. Let me find my parents. I just want my mum and my dad. Please. Don’t make me do what you know I can do.”

  He froze.

  Clutched the pistol.

  Then he turned around.

  The guard held tightly onto her already bruised arm. He’d gone from looking somewhat bemused to slightly pissed.

  “Don’t make this hard for yourself, kid,” he said. And then he lifted his radio to his mouth. “Folkesmithe Labs? Yeah. Gordon here. Think I’ve found your stray. What d’you want me to do with her?”

  Noah didn’t know what this was. He didn’t know what any of it meant.

  But instinct drove him.

  He stepped out and lifted the pistol.

  The man—Gordon—saw him right away.

  “Put the radio down and let the girl go, or I’ll put a bullet between your eyes.”

  The man froze. His eyes widened. That look of bemusement returning to his face. “Noah, right? You’re not supposed to be here—”

  “Put the radio down. Now.”

  Gordon rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, boss. Just know you’re making a mistake here. A big damned mistake.”

  He dropped the radio to the ground.

  “Good,” Noah said. “Now the…”

  It all happened so fast.

  Gordon lifted his rifle.

  Pointed it at Noah.

  Went to squeeze the trigger—

  Noah pulled the trigger of the pistol.

  Shot Gordon right between the eyes—as promised.

  Gordon fell back, blood spurting from his face. Hit the ground, still clutching on to the girl’s arm.

  That radio still crackling by his side.

  “Gordon? Do you copy, Gordon?”

  Noah swallowed a lump in his throat.

  And then he stamped on the radio, smashing it to pieces.

  He looked down at the bleeding, twitching body of Gordon, and he knew he was fucked.

  But then he looked at that girl beside him. Tear-stained cheeks. Gaunt face. A look like she hadn’t seen sun in years.

  He wanted to take her back. He wanted to help her.

  But then he felt that rival urge.

  That push, forcing him away.

  He handed the girl the pistol.

  And then he looked away.

  “Go on. Get out of here. Get where you need to go. Run, and don’t stop running. But be careful. You’re close to No Man’s Land. You’re in deep shit here.”

  He turned around and started walking back to the caravan. A few specks of rain falling.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Noah stopped.

  Swallowed
a lump in his throat.

  Nodded.

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “My name doesn’t matter. Get yourself away from here, kid. Before it’s too—”

  “My name’s Iqrah. I’m trying to find my parents.”

  Noah stopped again.

  Looked around at Iqrah.

  Saw her staring back at him with those big, brown eyes. Long hair trailing right down her back.

  He wanted to ask where she’d come from. He wanted to know where she was going. He wanted to protect her. To help her.

  But in the end, he just swallowed a sickly lump in his throat and nodded. “Run. And don’t look back.”

  He turned around and walked back towards the caravan.

  The next time he looked back, Iqrah was gone.

  Chapter Eight

  Noah walked back towards the caravan and thought of the girl, Iqrah.

  It was a grey afternoon. The specks of cool rain made a nice change to the blistering heat of the last few days. All around, trees. Noah made his way back to the initial warning perimeter. He’d gone too far beyond it. Taken too much of a gamble, a gamble he knew he couldn’t afford to take right now.

  But that girl. Iqrah.

  Being dragged away by that guard. The one he’d killed. Shot between the eyes. Fuck. That was going to come back to bite him. What the fuck was he thinking? At least he’d managed to ditch the pistol. He just wasn’t sure if it was enough.

  He thought about Iqrah.

  The shit about a lab. About testing. About more children suffering; children like her.

  He didn’t know what went on in other parts of the country. He knew there were plenty of districts like the one he was in. And it stood to reason that scientific research was going on in the background. Efforts to hold the virus back. To halt it spreading any further.

  And in a new world without regulations, Noah knew there’d be some pretty shady practices going down. Who was he to stand in the way of progress?

  But Iqrah. Her desperation. The eagerness to find her parents.

  He should be worrying about the body of the guard showing up dead right now. Sure, it wasn’t beyond the question that the girl escaped and shot him somehow, but it wasn’t a story without flaws, either.

  And he should be grieving Barney, too. Focusing on finding a gravestone for him. Focusing on his own shit instead of being drawn into the problems of others.

  But something kept drawing his attention back to Iqrah.

  Something made him feel guilty for walking away.

  He snapped that thought from his mind immediately. He couldn’t go getting attached or feeling guilty, especially about a kid he didn’t even know. In all truth, he’d fucked up by even helping her out in the way he had. He should’ve just let nature take its course. She was some kind of prisoner for a reason. Maybe she was important. Maybe she was special. Maybe there was something different about her. He knew enough about being different himself to know not to meddle in that kind of shit.

  He’d let himself down, in a way. Screwed up. He shouldn’t have killed that guard. And he shouldn’t be acting so fucking chilled about it now, either. He was in trouble. Big trouble. And if he wasn’t careful, he was going to get dragged into something he had no business being dragged into.

  He saw his caravan up ahead in the distance. Took a few deep breaths. He just had to focus on getting back there, and all would be good. Just him and Bruno. Poor little dog. Older bro dies, then his owner disappears on him and leaves him all alone. He’d done it for his own safety, but he felt pretty terrible about it now. The sooner he could get back and smother him with attention, the better.

  He picked up his pace. That sense someone was out there, watching. Probably was someone, in all truth. He’d gone over the perimeter, and someone had seen him. They’d seen him kill the guard. He was going to pay for it. They were going to make him suffer. He was…

  Footsteps.

  Over to his left.

  He turned. Looked beyond the trees.

  Not in his imagination this time.

  No, sure as hell, he’d heard footsteps.

  He crept over into the trees, knowing full well he was an idiot for doing so. Should just get back to the caravan. Get back to his normal life instead of constantly involving himself in shit like this.

  He crept further through the trees when he saw them.

  Movements.

  Flashes of movement between the trees.

  Figures racing in the direction he’d come from.

  He watched them, one by one. His heart started to race. For a moment, he thought they were just guards. He thought they were members of the Society. Closing in on the girl.

  But no.

  These weren’t guards.

  He saw another figure race by.

  Then it stopped.

  Turned around.

  Looked right at him.

  It was a man. Dark hair. Skinny. His eyes were bloodshot. His cheeks were pale. He looked like he’d been dead a long time, as slugs and worms clung to his body.

  He was quite clearly infected.

  He looked at Noah with these bloodshot eyes. With this decaying skin.

  Tilted his head.

  And then he ran at Noah.

  Noah turned around and ran. He had to get back to the caravan. He didn’t have his pistol anymore. He’d left it with Iqrah. What the fuck was he thinking? He kind of just hoped it’d mean he didn’t get the rap for the murder of the guard. But now he needed to defend himself, and he didn’t have anything to defend himself with.

  He looked over his shoulder.

  The decaying infected closing in.

  The rest of his companions still racing on, back in the direction Noah came from.

  “Fuck,” Noah said, turning back around. “Why today? Why today?”

  He felt the infected’s hand so close to his back.

  Heard his rotten teeth snapping together.

  And then he saw it.

  A long piece of wood rested against the tree beside him.

  Solid. Thin. And sharp on one end. Very sharp.

  He grabbed it and swung around.

  Held it up against the infected.

  He didn’t even have to do anything.

  The infected slammed against it.

  The sharp piece of wood buried into its chest.

  The infected wriggled, writhed. Pushed against it. Dragged its softening body against it as dark, putrid blood seeped out. As green innards split, letting out a ghastly smell.

  It kept on dragging itself against that wood until it was just inches from Noah’s face.

  Then it stopped, its eyes cleared, and it went limp.

  Noah pushed the infected back. Pressed the cross into the ground, so that its body was wedged in.

  He stood there, blood covering his hands. The smell of rot in the air.

  And as much as he knew he needed to get back to the caravan, he couldn’t help watching the dust rise in the air as that small group of infected went racing off in the direction he’d come from.

  And the one thing in his mind, all this time?

  It was the direction Iqrah was running.

  He gritted his teeth.

  Looked over his shoulder, back at the caravan.

  And then he turned back around and looked ahead at the direction he’d come from.

  He knew he shouldn’t.

  He knew it wasn’t any of his business.

  But fuck it.

  He took a deep breath.

  Yanked that piece of wood back out of the ground.

  And then he went running in the direction he’d come from, towards the infected, towards Iqrah.

  In for a penny, in for a fucking pound.

  Chapter Nine

  Noah raced through the trees after Iqrah and wondered what the fuck he was playing at.

  Specks of rain fell from above. Branches scratched his face. His mouth was dry, and hunger gnawed
at his stomach. He knew he should just get back to the caravan and get on with setting up Barney’s grave. He knew he needed to lay low in there, and certainly not go stepping beyond the confines of the perimeter, that was for sure.

  But he couldn’t leave that girl to die out there.

  Not while she was being pursued by infected.

  He ran along the solid ground. Tightened his grip around that bloodied, sharp piece of wood in his hand. It wasn’t a bad melee weapon, but it wasn’t exactly the strongest thing, either. He certainly wasn’t going to kid himself into thinking he could fight the infected all off with a piece of wood.

  Which meant he knew deep in the back of his mind that he was going to have to harness another kind of weapon.

  A weapon he didn’t want to accept even existed.

  A weapon deep within him.

  Fuck. He sounded like some wacky superhero. Imagine what Eddie would say about that. Probably be obsessed.

  He saw the marking of the initial warning perimeter. Knew there was still time to stop. To turn back. It was probably too late for the girl. She was probably already long gone. He hadn’t heard any shots fired from the pistol, and that didn’t bode well at all.

  He ran further along when he saw the body of the guard, Gordon, lying there.

  He stopped. Dropped the piece of wood and lifted the rifle in his one hand, using his other arm for support at the elbow. It was a rather awkward process, but one he was adapting to over time.

  He looked down at the blood smeared across Gordon’s head. Leaking from his skull. And Noah knew he was going to be in deep shit if there were any trace of him found out here. He’d be taken out. Executed. Bumped off, once and for all—probably something they were looking for an excuse to do all along anyway.

  He still had a chance to turn back. To walk away from all this. It wasn’t his problem. He had no business getting involved. Not really.

  But then he heard the gunshot, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

  There was no holding back now.

  He ran. Ran quicker than before. That gunshot, that unmistakable sound of a pistol. But also the fear of what it might attract. The fear that the gunshots that’d rung through these woods would already be drawing attention. Especially since the guard had gone silent on his radio.