Daiyna and Milton? "You've found them?" I step forward, my pulse racing.
Willard chuckles and shakes his head. "Not exactly." He pauses as a loud commotion echoes outside in the dome—tires squealing, orders barked over loudspeakers, boots pounding to and fro. "It's the mutos. They're back. All of 'em." He turns to wink up at Samson. "You'll be needing that gun in your belt."
Part IV
Origin
9 Willard
Six Weeks after All-Clear
We have to kill them. Every last one. It's the humane thing to do. Something's in the ash out there, and it's messed with them—altered their genetic makeup somehow. It's so bizarre, I can't really wrap my head around it, but it's happening. That I'm sure of. We've got to do something before it's too late.
And we've got to get the hell out of here.
We've managed to extend life support since All-Clear these past few weeks, but we're engineers, not miracle workers. It won't last. We'll have to go outside eventually...but not here. Dust and ash as far as the eye can see, like a desert wasteland from a Dali painting. There has to be another way out, somewhere, kilometers from here, and we've got to find it.
I blow out a sigh, and it hisses loud against my O2 mask. I'm stressing again, losing my cool. Just one step at a time—that's the mantra. I've got to take it easy, keep a level head here. Can't change a thing by worrying, and that's a fact.
Tucker joins me at the bunker's exterior door. He's got his mask on and the same government-issued jumpsuits we're all wearing now. I hope it's enough to keep out the ash if there's another freak sandstorm on the horizon. Fortunately, the door mechanisms still function, thanks to our tender loving care. Any swirling dust devils amble our way, and we shut it. I don't care who's still out there.
"Any sight of 'em?" He leans against the thick steel door frame and gazes out across the barren plain before us, a sickly grey in the fading light.
I shake my head and curse. "They take much longer, they'll be running on reserve power." I gesture toward the sinking sun. "We'll give 'em half an hour, then lock up for the night."
"I could go after them." They took a jeep, but we still have one down below. "They went south this time." Tucker nods. "I could track 'em easy enough."
"It was her idea to go. She can find her own way back."
"I'm sure she will."
Silence. Everything is so quiet out there, so dead. If we could make it work, I wouldn't mind spending a few more decades in the bunker. It has all we've needed for twenty years now: food, water, entertainment. Plenty to keep us busy. Unlike those poor bastards in Sector 51, we weren't segregated by sex. Sure, they sterilized us for obvious reasons—a limited food supply doesn't allow for babes in arms—but that didn't interfere with our coital recreation. It kept us busy, inspired us like nothing else. Some of my best ideas always came after a good orgy.
But that was before.
It's been twelve days since I first noticed the change in them. I've been counting. And I'm not letting a single one of them near me ever again.
"You think they found anybody?" Tucker sounds hopeful.
Survivors. Would they be ash freaks, too? Or did they have the presence of mind not to come into contact with the stuff? "Going by the maps those government geeks left us, there should be bunkers to the southwest, but who knows? Nothing looks right out there. You'd think there would be ruins, some sign this used to be a major city. But after two decades, the desert has reclaimed everything that used to be ours."
"She said they found an InterSector coming from the east. Mounds of sand covering what's left of all the vehicles, frozen like statues. Maybe some things are still there. All we need to do is find 'em and make 'em right again."
"Silk purses from sows' ears, eh?" I give him a half-hearted grin.
He laughs and nods. He's right, though. It's what we do. We have all the tools, materials, manpower, and know-how. But I don't have a mind to.
It isn't safe on the surface. We have to stay underground. It's the only way we'll survive.
"We can't assume the other sectors made it. So far, there's no proof we aren't the only ones left."
Tucker sniffs. "I can wait for 'em, if you want to go below."
Will she be wearing her O2 mask? Probably not. The others will follow her example, sucking down all that particulate matter in the air, letting it infest their lungs.
"It's all right." I cross my arms and widen my stance. "I'm as eager as you to hear what they've found. Must be something. She doesn't usually cut it this close."
The sun sinks into the west as a rippling crimson orb. I take a deep breath, feel the brief chill in my lungs. I hate wearing this mask. Give me a room full of filtered air over this any day. But anything is better than the alternative. I can imagine the dust particles from the infected ash and sand out there finding their way into my respiratory system, taking root, changing my DNA, mutating me into something unnatural.
Like she is. Like the others are. Bastardized children of God.
We should shut the bunker door and seal it, once and for all. There has to be another way out. The UW geeks would have planned for every contingency. They had no way of knowing that two decades, on-the-dot, would be enough time for the nuclear winters to end and all that ash to dissipate, for the atmosphere to replenish itself. Our rations and our air weren't intended to last forever. The geeks must have designed an alternate exit somewhere in the bunker below, some kind of underground passageway. We just haven't looked hard enough for it.
We're not rats in a maze with only one route to the cheese. And once we've found our emergency exit, we'll go as far away as it takes us—hundreds, thousands of kilometers away from this alien world and its mutant dust.
"Maybe they got caught in a storm or something," Tucker offers with a shrug. "Like that other time."
I clench my teeth and attempt a smile, acknowledging his remark.
That other time. Two weeks ago. She came back from scouting with three of the other women. The jeep was caked in dust so thick the vehicle didn't even look like one of ours anymore. They were covered in it, too. Every centimeter of their jumpsuits, their O2 masks, their gloves, their boots—the stuff clung to them like paste. She said a sandstorm had come out of nowhere as they were driving back to the bunker. The dust engulfed them, and despite cowering in their seats and covering their heads, the stuff had managed to get into everything, even through the impenetrable polymer of their masks.
That's when I knew something wasn't right. Wasn't natural.
"There they are." Tucker points, moving to step outside.
"Wait."
He halts, glancing back at me with a frown behind his clear face shield. I squint into the weak light. The jeep should be sending up a plume of dust behind it, enough to turn us all into mutants. What did Tucker see?
"There." He points again.
I see them. Four small shadowy figures heading toward us. On foot.
"Where's the jeep?" I curse. If she's left it behind, there will be hell to pay.
"Must've run out of juice."
"The sun just went down." I shake my head. "They would've had reserve power."
He steps outside, the sole of his boot landing with a puff of dust.
"Get back in here, Tucker."
He glances over his shoulder at me. "They might need some help."
Clenched fists tremble at my sides as fury boils in my belly. "Get in here," I grate out.
He hesitates, and for a moment it looks like he's going to try his luck with me. But then he drops his head a little and steps back across the steel threshold. Dust sticks to his boot like fungus.
"You'll need to clean that off." Just the sight of it turns my stomach.
What was he thinking? What's gotten into him lately? Maybe he's gotten into her, and she's turning him into one of them.
I'll have to keep an eye on him. Might need to put him down for his own good.
The shadow-figures enlarge, taking shape as
they approach, their waving locks of hair caught in the cool breeze. Their O2 masks are off, swung down at their sides with every sauntered step. She knows I'm watching. She's rubbing my nose in their blatant insubordination.
I curse under my breath. How much has she inhaled by now?
"What's that?" Tucker turns toward me as if I said something.
"Get the hose. Take care of your boot first."
He nods, heading down the corridor to the elevator like a good lap dog. He'd better stay that way if he knows what's good for him.
"Well look here, ladies. Willard's come up to welcome us back. How sweet!"
She struts toward me like the leader of a wolf pack. The other three chuckle, their faces cracking with the dust covering their skin.
"Where's the jeep?" My jaw muscle twitches.
"What's that?" She cups her ear. "I can't quite hear you with that stupid mask on. You know there's O2 out here, right?" More cackling from the others.
"The jeep. Where is it?"
They approach within a few meters and stop. Only then do I notice the wet splatters across their jumpsuits.
"Let's see. How do I put this?" She bites her cheek, hand on her hip. "We ran into a little trouble, you might say."
"Not much," adds one of the others. They all laugh.
I don't have time for this crap. "If you've damaged it, you'll pay with your rations."
"You hear that, girls? Willard's gonna put us all on a diet." She turns and pushes out her posterior. "You think I'm fat, Willard?"
I grit my teeth and wait. After she's had her fun, she'll tell me. I have to be patient—and not react.
She moves toward me, her hips exaggerated in their movement. "You never used to complain about my fat." She gropes herself suggestively. "We always had a lot of fun, you and me. Isn't that right? A lot of fun." She winks suggestively.
"Don't come any closer." I swallow. She's covered in dust, and it doesn't seem to bother her one bit. But what's this other stuff splattered all over her? "Tucker's bringing the hose."
I yell over my shoulder to hurry him up.
She snickers. "Paranoid as ever."
"What's that on you?" If only there was more light. It looks like—
"Yeah. About that." She takes a deep breath, sober now. "We're not alone, Willard."
What the hell does that mean?
"Got the hose," Tucker mutters, trudging up the narrow hallway from the elevator.
"Let 'em have it." I gesture toward the women, and they brace themselves.
Tucker grimaces, twisting the valve at the end. The hose bucks in his hands as the air blasts outward, but he's got it under control. With a short warning, he turns it on the women.
Water would be more ideal, obviously, but this is the best we can do for now. They'll need to scrub their skin down with a few hydropacks before we let them inside. And we'll need to wash out the suits. Tucker can't do anything about the stains, so I send him below after he's done with his part.
"You know the drill," I tell her. Now they have to strip down.
"Gonna watch?"
The thought of it repulses me.
"What's come over you lately, Willard?" She frowns as she pulls the zipper down her torso. "Used to be you couldn't keep your hands off me."
"Is that blood?"
She stops and looks at her suit. "We-uh might've run into some...creatures."
"Animals?" I didn't think there were any left.
She shakes her head, shrugging out of the upper portion of her jumpsuit. Her bare skin is flecked with dust.
The suits are a useless defense against it. I will never set foot outside.
"Not animals." She gives me a direct look.
"What then?" My mouth is dry. "Mutants?" I scoff.
Survivors from another sector? Infected by the dust as she is, but changed to a greater extent? Creatures?
"I wouldn't know. But they came out of nowhere—a dozen or more. Armed to the teeth." She drops the suit to her ankles and pulls her legs free, one at a time. "Guns, believe it or not, and plenty of them. They wanted the jeep, and they took it."
I toss her a limp hydropack and lob three more at the others. They tear them open and begin to wash themselves, pouring the synthetic water across their bare skin and rubbing the stuff around.
"You let them take it." I can't believe I'm hearing this.
"We were otherwise occupied." She closes her eyes as she cleans her face. "Managed to kill half of them, but the other ones piled into the jeep and took off."
"Kill them? How?" Did she manage to wrestle away their guns?
"Funny thing, Willard. It didn't really matter that we were unarmed. Those creatures were too slow for us. I don't know what it is exactly, but this planet isn't the same Earth we used to know and love. We feel different out here now. Can't really describe it." She chuckles, cracking one eye open. "We killed them with our bare hands."
Wonderful. They've tasted blood. Now it's only a matter of time before they turn on us.
"But I almost forgot. We brought you back some souvenirs, just in case those creatures decide to head this way, and you need to defend the homestead." She turns to the other women. "Ladies."
They reach into the pockets of their crumpled jumpsuits and retrieve a small arsenal of handguns and knives. I can only stare.
"Picked 'em off the ones we put down. Military-issue, by the looks of it." She points out the insignia on the grip of one of the guns. "Genuine United World merchandise. Only the best for our Willard."
She moves to hand me the booty, and the others follow her.
"No." They're not clean yet. "Toss them to me."
"Whatever, Mr. OCD." She lobs the gun at my feet and gestures for the others do the same. The weapons clatter across the concrete on my side of the threshold. "You're really gonna have to get over yourself if you want to go into town with us."
I shoot her a glance as I bend down to retrieve one of the four guns—a semi-automatic. I check the clip. Five rounds left. "Town?"
She grins, obviously pleased with herself. She pours some of the hydropack fluid across her chest and rubs it around. "We hit the jackpot. A trade sector city—what's left of it, anyway. Fifty kilometers southwest. It's got everything we'll ever need to start over, just sitting there. All we've got to do is ride in and take it."
I turn the gun over, weighing it in my hand. Twenty long years since I've held one of these. It feels good. Familiar. I squeeze the grip.
"And the creatures? They won't be a problem for us?" I don't look up.
"Not for us," one of the women remarks, and they all chuckle.
"Of course. You can kill them with your bare hands. How could I forget that?"
My tone isn't lost on her. She stops scrubbing herself. "I thought you'd be happy, Willard. It's what we've been looking for."
"Oh I'm sure it is. You can make a wonderful life for yourselves and your mutant friends out there." I slide a round into the chamber and let the bolt snap back with a clink.
"We can't live in the bunker indefinitely, Willard. The O2 won't last, no matter how much you fiddle around with it. We're just prolonging the inevitable."
She's right. I am. I have been for far too long.
I bring up the gun and pull the trigger in a single movement. The round burrows between her startled eyes with a crimson patch of blood. She goes back like a felled tree.
I've forgotten how loud a gunshot can be. But the smell—absolutely delicious.
The other women don't take long to get over their shock. Their movements are impressively quick and catlike as they spring at me, launching themselves through the air with fingernails extended like claws and teeth like fangs, bared in a wild-eyed rage. Somehow, they've taken the form of savage panther-creatures.
Good thing I've been expecting this—not exactly, but something equally bizarre—or I'd be freezing up right now. I've known all along something hasn't been right with them. This display confirms it.
The
y're mutant freaks.
I drop one of them with two shots to the chest, and she falls against the other two. That slows them down long enough for me to hit the door release lever and back away. They clamber over her dead body, lunging inside as the steel door slides shut. I stumble backwards, firing the last two rounds as the women cross the threshold. The bullets hit their mark, downing the first one who falls in the path of the bone-crushing door. But the last one leaps over her as the steel door seals itself shut and locks automatically, trapping us inside the hallway together.
She stalks me on all fours, grinning. She knows I'm empty.
I point the gun at her anyway. "Stay back!"
She laughs. "You should've taken one with more ammo, Willard." The other guns and knives lie behind her at the threshold, near the bloody splintered remains of her friend. "You want to come back and pick out another?"
I keep the muzzle aimed at her head. I didn't plan this very well. I didn't plan it at all, really. I can admit that. It just happened. And now I'm stuck.
I back away slowly, down the corridor toward the elevator. She matches me step for step like an alley cat toying with its prey.
"What're you gonna do, Willard?"
My mask is fogging up. I rip it off and throw it aside. "I told you to stay back!"
"Or what? You'll throw that gun at me?"
Time for a new strategy.
"Fine." I drop the gun and raise both hands. "You've got me. Now what? You kill me in cold blood? Like those creatures that attacked you? Can you do that?" I'm gasping, panting. I've got to calm down. "I'm not like them. I'm a child of God. Unarmed, defenseless. Can you really kill me like this?"
"We'll see." She snickers, fangs gleaming, slick in the jittery fluorescent lights above the elevator doors.
"Could you live with yourself? You're an engineer, for crying out loud—not a killer! You're a daughter of God. Think about this, just think! Is this really who you are? Look at yourself! You're naked, crawling around like an animal with...claws and fangs! What's happened to you?"
Spirits of the Earth: The Complete Series: (A Post-Apocalyptic Series Box Set: Books 1-3) Page 21