This place in enormous, not like any of those ghost towns I passed through on my way to the mountains. Along the InterSector—what was left of it, anyway, twisted out of shape—there were blown-out remains of diners and motels and border stations, but nothing like this. I gaze up at the deformed skyscraper skeletons, giants without internal organs. This must have been a big city before D-Day, but which one was it?
The others have already started out, so I hurry to catch up. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Samson following me close enough to make it clear he's keeping an eye on me. I wouldn't mind killing him. He reminds me of Jackson. Maybe they were brothers.
I've seriously got to clear my head.
"Where-uh...Where is it we're headed exactly?" I ask Luther.
His goggles pan the hills of rubble on either side of us as if he expects mutant cannibals to come popping out. He holds his rifle ready, but not with the same ease as Samson.
"We need a vehicle to take us back."
"Back? To the caves, you mean?"
He nods.
"But... There's nobody left." What didn't he understand about They're all dead?
He faces me. "That remains to be seen."
He doesn't trust me. None of them do.
Kill him now, before it is too late.
"What do you think we'll find?" I manage.
"I suppose it will be just as you say. But we must be certain. There may be survivors." He glances back to mark Samson's position. "They would need our help."
What if there are survivors...and they saw me run away?
More crazy thoughts. With all those hungry cannibals around, no one could have survived that onslaught. Let this bunch find their vehicle. Hell, I'll even help them. I don't have to be afraid of anything or anyone ever again. They can't do anything to me.
I'm too fast.
"I mean, do you think any vehicle we find is still going to run? It's been twenty years, right? The batteries would be dead."
He acknowledges me with another nod. "Perhaps. But our friend Samson may be able to work a miracle."
I doubt that.
"Do you believe in miracles, Milton?" Luther's goggles are trained on me, their black lenses reflecting my sand-caked face shield.
"I-uh..." What does he mean? "I really doubt anything can be brought back to life."
He watches me for a moment, then returns his wary eye to our surroundings. "Stranger things have happened, my friend."
That's true enough. And he hasn't even heard the voice in my head.
Where the hell did it come from? One minute, I'm following that guy with the super-spit through those cave tunnels. The next minute, I'm waking up in the middle of Attack of the Killer Mutants, and I've got a voice in my head—unlike any voice I've ever heard in my life. It's more like a whole crowd of voices blended together, rushing through me as strong as a river in the Preserve. It could be coming from my own thoughts, yet I know it's not.
Or have I finally lost it? I've snapped. And this is what schizophrenia feels like.
Daiyna gestures to Luther up ahead, and he nods. We've arrived at an underground parking structure, several sublevels below a skyscraper skeleton. The concrete looks stable enough, and the gnarled steel frames of the floors above don't look like they've shifted much in the past decade or so. It's a little eerie, though. Dark and silent like a tomb.
Our pace slows noticeably as we draw near.
"What do you see?" Luther asks the women as they both peer down inside.
How can they see anything in there? Beyond the first fifty meters or so—littered with the molten remains of several abandoned, long-forgotten vehicles—it's pitch black.
Then I remember. She can see in the dark. I guess the other one can too. How special.
"Nothing we can use, not on this level." Daiyna turns toward him. "We'll have to go farther down."
Nobody says it, but I know what they're thinking. Not really—I don't have that ability yet. But I can guess: It's dark and spooky down there, and it's likely we might bump into a clan of inbred mutant cannibals. A reasonable concern. For them.
I don't have to worry. I just have to outrun the rest of this bunch.
She is important.
"Right." I wince. This time the voice brought a little friend: a splitting headache. "I won't leave her behind. Happy now?"
Samson shoves me aside as he passes by. "Talking to yourself?" He joins the others above the concrete ramp that once served as an entrance to this garage.
Resisting the urge to kill him, I follow.
"We can look elsewhere," Luther suggests, offering an alternative in light of everyone's uneasiness.
Daiyna shakes her head. "It won't be any different anywhere else. The only vehicles left intact would be parked in the lower levels. This structure or the next, it doesn't matter."
"Daiyna and I can go ahead," the smaller one adds quietly.
"You're not going without us, Small Fry," Samson rumbles. "I don't care if I'm blind as a bat. I'm not waiting around out here."
"Agreed." Luther nods. "We go together."
Daiyna seems a bit reluctant. She glances at me, then turns to lead the way. The other girl follows her with Samson close behind. Luther beckons me to join him at the rear, and we descend the cracked incline. No one speaks as we enter the garage.
It's more like an auto morgue with all the wreckage in assigned parking spots. These vehicles were people's prized possessions at one point in time. I'm sure they were either sleek and fuel-efficient or solar-powered. Difficult to tell one from the other now. They all look the same: frozen puddles of plastic and steel.
The sunlight quickly dissipates, and we're covered in shadow. Goggles come off and head wrappings drop to their shoulders. I remove my face shield and toss back my hood. It smells bad in here, like tires were cooked in motor oil, then baked into the concrete. Instinctively, I cover my nose. Hope we don't plan on staying long.
Daiyna gestures this way and points out a stairwell on the opposite side of the sublevel. It should lead us down into the depths of this place, where I'm sure it'll smell even better.
The tension among the others is palpable as we move forward. Even with their special abilities and weapons, they still fear the unknown—though none of them would admit it. Strangely enough, it doesn't affect me. I don't feel the least bit nervous.
Shouldn't I? Just a little? Yet I'm completely at ease, and it's exhilarating.
The shadows loom darker as we reach the doorway at the foot of the stairs. Our boots scuff across the floor and echo against the concrete walls. The smaller girl shoots furtive glances to and fro. Luther and Daiyna are more guarded in their expressions, but they don't fool me. They're just as nervous as she is. Samson's focus is set straight ahead. His eyes flick from side to side as he holds his weapons at the ready and does his best to cushion his oversized footfalls. I don't see the point. If anybody's down here, they would have heard us already.
Images from a zombie film I saw as a kid pass through my mind. It was made in one of those Eurasian countries, centuries before my time. Four people were riding in a little car, and they ran out of gas under a long overpass. Or it was some kind of tunnel. No, the car had a flat tire, and the people had to change it as fast as they could. The zombies were coming, running full-tilt, not staggering stupidly like in older films. They ran like the devil was chasing them. The infected.
Wouldn't it be funny if that's what we find down here? Forget about mutant cannibals armed to the teeth. We've got a new monster in town, folks: your friendly garage-dwelling zombie! Be afraid.
I almost laugh out loud.
What is fear, really? Where does it come from? Is it rooted in our mortality? What if we could live forever—would we fear anything?
This sense of total freedom flooding through me is enough to make me giddy. I have nothing to fear. It's amazing.
No, there's still one thing I'm afraid of: That the voice will speak to me again.
"Watch
your step," Luther whispers over his shoulder as we enter the stairwell and head down. "Try to feel your way along."
That's about all I can do. Unlike the two women, I can't see my own glove in front of my face right now. Reminds me of when Daiyna first found me and we tried some informal spelunking together. I had to feel my way down a ladder in the dark. She could see fine, but I was completely blind.
She sure is keeping her distance. It's like she doesn't want to be anywhere near me. I'm trying not to take it personally. Probably just the smell of my suit.
You are not alone.
I brace myself against the wall as my knees go weak.
"What do you mean?" Are there really zombies down here?
Kill them. Before you are discovered.
I can't even see them. How am I supposed to kill them? If I start moving around at the speed of sound, what will keep me from planting my face in a wall?
Kill them!
A searing pain knifes through my skull. A wimpy cry escapes me as I collapse, cradling my head. Whispers assault me, jumbled, too loud. Hands grasp at my arms, but I pull back, retreating up the steps one at a time.
What's happening to me? What are they doing to me?
"Milton." Luther's voice comes through clearly, and I stop moving. "Milton, you're not alone."
I know. The voice told me the same thing. But what does it mean?
"Milton. Focus on my voice." Luther crouches down beside me. "I know you're in pain. You feel alone. But we're right here. We won't leave you."
I grunt. It's all I can manage. I cower, cringing against the wall. Make it stop!
Kill them.
Why? Haven't I killed enough people already?
Then a few more should not matter.
Luther is whispering. What's he saying? He's not talking to me or Samson or anyone else here. He's praying. For me. I don't know if I should laugh or cry. Isn't God dead?
The pain subsides instead of increasing in intensity. My eyes open, but all I see is black. I take a deep breath, and my body relaxes. My chest wound stings like multiple bees are having their way with me, but it's nothing compared to that barrage of cranial agony I've just endured.
Luther squeezes my shoulder. "Are you going to be all right?"
Is there something living inside me? If it wants me to kill these people...will it hit me with killer headaches until I do it?
It should take over my body and be done with it. No, this is crazy. I don't want them to die—most of them, anyway. I just want to be left alone. But I don't want to be alone. I want this voice out of my head. That's what I really want. It scares the living hell out of me.
This is what it's like to lose your mind. Weird.
"I'm fine." I get to my feet and keep my hand on the wall for support. "Thanks."
"We need to keep moving," Samson half-whispers.
Does he know what's coming? I bet he does, the bastard. He's probably in league with them. In league? Who talks that way? I'm thinking, not talking. Does he know what I'm thinking? Does he know I want to kill him?
I could kill him. I killed Jackson. Same size.
"We can wait here, if you need to," Luther suggests.
I shake my head. I don't want to be alone with him. He might pray again or do something else equally bizarre. "Let's go."
We follow the sound of the footsteps from our seeing-eye women. I almost laugh at that. Why don't we light a glowstick or two so the rest of us can see where we're going? It's not like we're making a silent approach here. Not now. Our clomping boots echo throughout this level of the parking structure despite our best attempts to quiet them.
The zombies are waiting for us. They're probably watching us right now. They can tell that three of us are blind. What are they waiting for? Jump us already! Get it over with!
The footsteps ahead of us have stopped. Luther and I approach the whispers and Samson's blundering attempts at keeping his voice down. I bump against the smooth steel body of a vehicle. We've found one. So now what?
"Talk us through it," Daiyna says.
Samson grunts negatively. "I've got to see what I'm doing. We need some light."
"Well, unless you brought a glowstick—"
"I've got one." I reach into the leg pocket of my suit and retrieve it. I hesitate before cracking the light. "Shall I?"
Silence holds the moment as indecision weighs heavily on them. Then Luther says, "Do it."
So much for the element of surprise—or what little we have left. I snap the stick across the middle, and instantly we're washed in its green glow. It takes a few moments for my eyes to adjust after the initial blast of light, but when they do, blinking overtime, I can read the bold lettering stenciled on a nearby support pillar. We're on the garage's third sublevel. There are enough parking spaces down here for hundreds of vehicles, but the only one left intact stands alone in front of us. It looks like a utility truck. The others are skeletons, stripped for parts long ago.
"What do you think, my friend?" Luther asks.
Samson doesn't look optimistic. "This one will need fuel just to get it started. And to keep it running." He surveys the remains of the other vehicles. "Solar panels and battery cells are missing on those. Somebody's already been through here. And they knew what they were doing."
"So what are you saying?" Daiyna stands on the other side of the vehicle with a hand on its hood. "We need to find gasoline? Or look for another one?"
He shrugs and tries the handle on the driver's door. Unlocked. He reaches under the steering column, and the hood pops up slightly with a thud that echoes like a gunshot. Daiyna backs away. He steps around the front of the truck and releases a latch behind the grill, then lifts the hood with ease, propping it up with one hand. He looks over the engine with the focused intensity of a medic gauging injuries, touching things here and there.
"A little light." He gestures for me to move closer with the glowstick. I toss it to him instead, and he catches it in one hand with quick reflexes. "Thanks," he mutters. The hood remains steady in his grip as he leans close to the engine. An ancient circus performer sticking his head into a lion's gaping mouth. "Yeah, it'll run if we get some gas," he says at length.
Luther nods. "We should find enough in these other vehicles."
Samson shakes his head. "They're all solar-electric. Or they were, before the vultures got to them."
"Daemons?" the small girl asks in a whisper.
"Doubt it. Like I said, whoever did this had skill. What we need are earlier models—hybrids, anything that ran on fuel. We can siphon it out of their tanks. They would've been air-tight to prevent the gasoline from oxidizing. Most were, back then." He looks at Daiyna. "We should try the next level down."
None of them want to admit their fear at the idea of going deeper into this crypt, but I know they feel it. I can almost see it emanating from them like an aura. But their faces are brave. Impressive how they're able to keep it together.
So I encourage them with: "Anybody else feel like we're not alone?"
Daiyna turns away. The girl next to her stares at me. Samson mutters something under his breath and drops the truck's hood, shutting it as quietly as possible. Luther turns to me with an uncertain look in his eyes.
"Have you heard anything, Daiyna?" he asks calmly.
She doesn't turn around. "No."
"We have nothing to fear," he says half to himself, like he's said it before. His mantra.
"Just trying to lighten things up a bit," I offer with a lame shrug. "Sorry."
Samson tosses the glowstick back at me with a glowering look and I catch it against my chest with both hands. I could run behind him and cram it up his ass before he has a clue what's going on. Now that would be funny.
Daiyna meets Luther's gaze, and he nods. How cute. They're telepathically linked.
She checks her rifle and leads the way, the other girl close behind. Samson follows, then Luther. I stand there holding the glowstick, not knowing what to do with myself. There's
no way to turn off the light, and I don't know if they want me to bring it along. I have a fresh one in my pocket, so I could leave this one by the truck to burn itself out.
But they're already across the sublevel, approaching the door to the stairwell. So I stuff the glowing stick into my pocket and hurry to catch up. I come alongside Luther with a bright green bulge in my pants.
"So much for a miracle, huh?" I say.
"How's that?" he asks, his face in shadow.
"The truck. Samson couldn't work his magic."
"Don't count him out yet. He'll come through for us. We need fuel, that's all."
"Gasoline. Right. I'm sure there are barrels and barrels of the stuff hidden somewhere below, just waiting for us."
My sarcasm isn't lost on him. "What would you suggest we do instead, Milton?" He sounds genuinely interested.
It's a good question, but unfortunately I don't have much of an answer. "I guess I don't see the point in going back. To the caves, I mean. We've managed to escape from those cannibal freaks, and going back seems like suicide."
He's quiet for a moment. "We left our friends, Milton. If there's even a chance one of them is still living, it's worth the risk. You haven't had the opportunity to get to know us very well, much less our other brothers and sisters, but surely you can understand." He pauses. "You had friends in your bunker before things went badly, yes?"
How does he know about that? I must have told him. How much did I tell him? I can't remember. Does he know about Julia?
I nod mutely. Of course I understand. I'd go back for her. But not for the rest of them. They don't matter to me. She's the only one who matters.
I look down at the bobbing shapes in the dim glow cast through my pocket. I can vaguely make out Daiyna's form, farthest from me. What would she look like with long, flowing hair instead of stubble? Would she look like Julia? Would her bare skin be just as soft?
I need to be alone with her. And I would be, if I killed the others.
Are these my own thoughts? I can't tell anymore. They sound like the same ideas that came from that voice in my head. But the voice has been silent ever since that last killer headache.
Spirits of the Earth: The Complete Series: (A Post-Apocalyptic Series Box Set: Books 1-3) Page 17