A frightening thought crossed his mind and he quickly pulled the top from the brown liquor, tilting the bottle. He swallowed far too much and winced at the pain in his throat.
Putting the cap back on, he glanced at the Quee once more. “How many more of you bastards might remember before we can kill the Cagers?”
Chapter 21
“This isn’t so bad.” Roger hung his arm out of the window as he drove slowly through the abandoned neighborhoods.
“Why are we going this way? The sporting goods store is on the other side of town.” Hatcher stared through the windshield with a bored expression.
“Just look around, man.” Roger pointed across the cab of the truck to the houses beyond. “All of these houses are empty.”
“And?” Hatcher yawned. “Safety in numbers, remember?”
“This will end eventually, my man.” Roger shot him a wide grin. “I’m hoping Candy and I can put down roots someplace nice. Like this.”
Hatcher sat up and studied him. “You’re serious?”
Roger smiled and nodded. “Hey, once this whole virus thing is kicked in the ass, people will start rebuilding. Their lives, their jobs…everything. Surely even this place will need a cop again, right?”
“And you plan to buy a house out here?” Hatcher whistled low and shook his head. “Pricey, man.”
Roger scoffed playfully. “Who said anything about buy?” He stopped the truck and pointed to the line of houses sitting empty. “It’s not like all of the owners are going to return. And the few who do? Big deal. We pull up stakes and move to the next one.” He put the truck in park and gave Hatcher a serious look. “Supply and demand, right? There’s a hell of a supply, but little demand. That drives the price through the floor.”
Hatcher shrugged. “I guess you’re right. It’s not like the banks are going to repo it.” He gave him a crooked grin. “No banks left.”
“Exactly.” Roger pulled the lever back into drive and slowly drove through the neighborhood. “What about you, Hatch? Where do you want to live?”
Hatcher stared out of the window at the empty homes. “Not here.”
“Too opulent for your tastes? I think there’s a trailer park across town.” Roger shot him a cheesy grin.
“I’m thinking closer to the park.” Hatcher got a faraway look in his eyes. “Yellowstone always felt more like home to me anyway.”
Roger gave him a stunned stare. “You’re serious? Then why’d you come back here?”
Hatcher shrugged. “This is where I grew up. My family was here.” He cleared his throat and looked away. “By the time I finally got here, Vicky Sue was the only one left.”
“Sorry man.”
Hatcher shook his head. “Ain’t your fault.” He leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes, enjoying the breeze across his face. “If I didn’t go back to the park, I’d get as close as I could.”
Roger slowed the truck at an intersection and looked both ways out of habit. “What are the odds that there are more survivors than we think?”
Hatcher shrugged again. “No idea.” He sat up and rubbed at his eyes. “I mean, I hope there are tons of people. The more people alive means the faster we can get infrastructure back up. Water, power, phones…all the stuff that made life easier.”
“We almost have that where we’re at.”
Hatcher nodded. “And yet, you are already shopping for a new crib.” He gave him a lopsided grin. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you didn’t like the rest of us.” Hatcher waited for a response then did a double take when he saw the expression on Roger’s face. “What?”
Roger pointed down the street and Hatcher leaned forward to see what he was pointing at. A lone Zulu stumbled through an overgrown and dying yard, staring intently at a house down the block. “Tell me that I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing.”
Hatcher nodded. “Take us closer.”
Roger let his foot off of the brake and rolled the truck toward the lone figure. The closer they got, the more the pale skin and balding head stood out. “Dude, it’s fucking daylight out and she’s just…” Roger trailed off.
“Stop the truck.” Hatcher was pulling at the door release before the truck came to a complete stop. He unholstered his pistol and held it loosely at his side as he approached the lone figure. He glanced back over his shoulder as the Zulu seemed to ignore him. “Something isn’t right.”
The woman turned and squinted at him. “Help…help me.” Her voice was hoarse and barely more than a scratchy whisper. Hatcher stepped closer and she stumbled, falling to her knees, her arm blocking the sun from her eyes.
“Roger! Water!” Hatcher yelled as he stepped closer. “Are you okay?” He instantly regretted asking, feeling stupid as soon as the words left his mouth.
She fell forward, bracing herself with her hands. “Help…”
Roger appeared at his side, a bottle of water extended. Hatcher took it and unscrewed the top, handing it to her cautiously. She grabbed at the bottle and sucked greedily, choking and coughing as she swallowed.
“Easy now.” Hatcher reached for the bottle and hesitated as she turned away from him, greedily choking the water down. “Sip it. You’ll choke if you—”
She dropped the empty bottle, coughing and covering her mouth as she fought back the urge to vomit. When she got her airways cleared, she sat back on her heels and leaned her head back. “Home.”
“You’re trying to get home?” Hatcher glanced at Roger. “Where’s your home?”
She lifted a thin and bruised arm, extending a slender finger. “There.” She groaned and pressed the flat of her other hand to her head. “My head hurts so bad.”
Roger jogged back to the truck and pulled the emergency first aid kit from the back seat. He rifled through it and found some acetaminophen. He snatched another bottle of water then jogged back to the woman. He ripped open the small paper wrapper and shook out the tablets. “Here. This may help.”
She gladly accepted the medicine and the second bottle of water. She drank nearly half the bottle before she lowered it and sighed. “Thank you.”
Instinctively, Hatcher reached out and took her arm. “Let me help you up.”
She stood on shaky legs and barely noted the two men beside her. “Home.” Her voice sounded so forlorn that both men felt something melt inside.
“We can help you,” Hatcher soothed. “Which house is it?”
“The one on the end. There.” She leaned against him and Hatcher winced at the smell. He tried to ignore it as he and Roger walked her across the street and along the row of houses.
“Where did you come from?” Roger asked.
She shook her head slowly. “It’s all foggy.” She glanced at him and he noted the bloody patches in the whites of her eyes. “I think it was a grocery store.”
“Do you remember which one?” Hatcher asked, fearful that she may have left her family behind.
She shook her head. “There were others there.” She seemed to freeze and stared at him wide eyed. “More…like me.”
Hatcher gave her a reassuring smile as he urged her forward. “It’s okay.” He glanced at Roger, who gave him a knowing look. “I think the worst is over.” He ran ahead and checked the door. It opened and nothing shrieked or attacked as he stepped inside. “It looks clear.”
Roger walked her inside and she looked around, tears forming in her eyes. “I remember…”
Hatcher led her to a couch and glanced at the photos on the wall. “Your family?” He lifted a family photo and handed it to her. Although she was missing most of her hair and probably half of her body weight, he could see a resemblance to the mother in the picture.
“Yes.” She sobbed as she clutched the picture frame to her chest. She began to rock back and forth as her sobs turned to wails.
Roger gave him a concerned look. He pulled Hatcher aside and whispered, “I’m going to check the rest of the house.”
Hatcher watched him disappear around the co
rner then heard him jog up the stairs. The woman continued to wail, pressing the frame so tightly that Hatcher feared the glass might break. “Easy now.” He reached for the photo and pried it from her grip. “You’re home now. It’s all going to be okay.”
She shook her head and continued to rock on the couch. “No…it can’t be okay.”
Roger appeared at the foot of the stairs and gave Hatcher a look he couldn’t quite read. He slowly closed the distance and whispered in his ear, “Somebody made a meal of the rest of the family.” He pointed toward the ceiling.
“Sweet Jesus,” Hatcher groaned. “We can’t leave her like this.”
“What do we do?” Roger asked. “Take her back with us?”
Both men turned to find the woman standing, her eyes wild with anger. “OUT! Get the hell out of my house!” She began snatching knickknacks from the room and launching at the men. “Get out of my fucking house!” Her voice broke as she screamed and both men ducked as they darted for the door.
She chased them out to the overgrown and brown front lawn, screaming as they trotted back toward the truck. “What the hell?” Roger asked as she slammed the door.
Hatcher threw his hands up and groaned. “I’m guessing the cure works.” He gave Roger a cautious look. “They’re starting to crawl out of their holes.”
“And remembering,” Roger added as he reached for the door handle. He gripped the key and paused. “I wonder if they’re remembering what they did?”
Hatcher sighed as he sat back in the seat. “Let’s hope not. Nobody deserves that level of hell.”
“If I can’t observe the subjects in real time, can we get video? Maybe set up remote cameras?” Dr. Broussard asked, his voice betraying the urgency he felt.
“I think you burned all of those bridges when you went AWOL,” the yeoman stated as he scribbled on his clipboard. “But I’ll talk to the skipper and see if there’s anything he’s willing to order done.”
“You really are just a tool, aren’t you?” Kevin asked as he kicked up from his chair. “A tiny little yes man to whatever the fatheads want.”
“Excuse me?” The yeoman stared at him as Kevin slowly crossed the lab. “I don’t think you understand how things—”
“I think it’s you who doesn’t understand,” Kevin interrupted. “This man came up with the cure for all of humanity and all you little fuckers can do is think of ways to make yourselves seem…larger.” Kevin looked down on the smaller man and shook his head. “It’s really pitiful.”
“I’m just the messenger.”
“Obviously.” Kevin pushed past him and opened the door of the lab. He pointed to the armed guard assigned to shadow Broussard. “Why don’t you beat it? It’s not like he’s gonna jump ship and SWIM to shore.”
The guard stared at him impassively as Broussard pulled him back and gently shut the door. “Dr. McAlester, what has gotten into you? This behavior is—”
“Completely appropriate considering the circumstances,” Kevin finished. He pointed to the yeoman. “He’s just the messenger. Apparently, the king can’t be bothered to speak to us lowly peons. Even though one of these lowly peons SAVED THE FUCKING WORLD!”
“That’s enough!” Broussard chastised. He turned back to the yeoman. “My apologies for my colleague. He’s under a lot of stress ever since the body was discovered in his room.”
The yeoman stared at Kevin cautiously. “Understandable. Considering the circumstances.”
“If you would please relay my request to the captain, I would greatly appreciate it.”
The yeoman eyed Kevin again before he wrote something else on his clipboard. “I’ll let you know as soon as something is decided.”
Broussard gave him a curt nod as he left the lab then turned his attention back to Kevin. “What was that all about?”
“The man. Still keeping us down.” Kevin flopped back into his chair and crossed his arms behind his head. “I’m just tired of it.”
“You are not acting as yourself, Dr. McAlester.”
Kevin huffed and pushed up out of his chair. “Fine.” He pushed past the older researcher. “Maybe my blood sugar is off. I’ll go see if there’s any more recycled dog food on the mess decks.”
He threw open the lab doors and disappeared down the hallway.
As soon as Kevin was out of sight, he worked his way across the ship toward his old stateroom. He saw the yellow tape crisscrossed over the door and paused. He listened intently and saw no movement, so he slipped toward the door and tested the knob.
The door pushed open and Kevin grimaced at the mess left behind. Dark smudges covered everything and most of his meager belongings was strewn across the deck. His eyes instantly settled on his bed; the rumpled covers looked just as he had left them.
He swallowed hard and took another glance down the hallways before ducking and stepping inside. He quickly stripped the bed and stuffed everything into his duffle bag. He also grabbed his toothbrush, deodorant and shaving kit. He scooped up a couple of pairs of socks, underwear and a change of clothes from the stuff scattered on the floor and shoved it into his bag.
Another quick glance into the hallway and Kevin slipped out, pulling the door shut behind him. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he made his way back across toward the lab. He strode down the hallway as though he owned the place and noted immediately that the assigned guard was missing.
Without thinking, he trotted toward the lab, stepped inside and locked the door behind him. He made his way to the incinerator and unzipped his duffel. He reached below his clothes and grabbed at the bedding, tugging it free.
He quickly stuffed the thin cotton sheets and wool blanket into the incinerator and flipped the switch, nodding as the lights on the indicator flashed red. He smiled to himself as he backed away, watching as the lights shifted, indicating the secondary burn.
He turned and exited the lab, the duffel swinging from his hand as he worked his way to Broussard’s room. He pushed open the door and dropped the duffel onto the mattress.
“Why yes, mister cop-guy. I did return to my room and get my underwear and toothbrush, but I have no idea what happened to my bed stuff. It was there when I left.” Kevin laughed to himself as he flopped onto the narrow mattress. “Catch me now, fuckers.”
Simon could feel his excitement grow as the sun slowly set. As soon as it was dark enough, he intended to march his troops to the Cager’s compound and burn the whole fucking thing to the ground.
He could feel his fingertips tingle as the excitement grew and his chest tightened with each breath. He clenched his jaw and rolled his head on his neck, popping the joints.
“You okay?”
He turned and saw the new woman he had claimed as his own staring at him. Simon felt a growl forming from deep inside and he picked her up, tossing her over his shoulder. “I will be.”
He pushed past the group of Quee preparing for war and kicked open the double doors leading to the back of the store. He tossed her unceremoniously onto a pallet of dry goods then began pulling at what little remained of her clothes.
She quickly assumed the position, her head turned to the side, a distant look in her eyes. Simon paused and gripped her jaw. “Look at me.”
She gave him a blank expression, an empty stare. He tugged at his own clothing. “I’m about to go to war and kill all of the slow, dumb ones.” His jaw clenched as he waited for her to respond. “For you. For all of us.”
She blinked.
“Damn you, say something!” He slapped her across the cheek and her head remained turned, her eyes unfocused.
Simon growled low in his throat then plunged into her angrily. He searched her face for a response but she remained like a corpse, unmoved. He thrust harder and harder, hoping to pound a response from her, but it was if she had left her body.
He slowed and tilted her face back to meet his own. He hovered just over her, staring deeply into the blood red orbs of her eyes. “I’m here,” he whispered. “B
e here with me.”
For the slightest moment he could almost swear that her eyes focused on him, and he smiled. But just as suddenly they went dead again and he felt his anger rise.
“Fine. You want to play the dead fish?” He thrust into her as hard as he could, biting and pinching at her most sensitive areas. He abused her body in every fashion that he could think. If she wouldn’t be party to their coupling, she would suffer from it.
When he finished he rolled off of her, gasping for breath. He tugged at his pants and sat up on the pallet of goods. “Time to kill some Cagers.”
He slapped at her inner thigh. “Don’t go anywhere, darlin’. I’ll be home before you know it.”
Chapter 22
“Go!” Patricia tugged at Trevor’s sleeve. “Now!”
“Go where, Peanut?” Trevor bent low to meet her worried gaze. “Do you need to go to the bathroom?”
“Go!” She pointed through the window of their RV, away from the compound.
“Go?” Trevor asked quietly. He sat down gently and pulled her close. “Where do you want to go?”
He had been amazed at her improvement since interacting with the other children. She had begun to use simple words and was becoming more and more expressive. She could say “eat” and “sleep” and “potty;” that was pretty much the extent of her vocabulary.
Until now.
He gave her a worried look. “I don’t understand, Peanut. I thought you liked it here?”
She shook her head and pointed out the window again. “Go. Now.” Her voice cracked and he saw a tear run down her cheek.
“Did something happen? Did one of the other children hurt you?” He sat upright, his fatherly instinct rising to the surface.
“Go!” She practically yelled then collapsed into his lap.
A hard banging on the door of the RV had him alert and his fight or flight response maxed. He gently peeled her from him and stood. “Who is it?”
A soft voice replied, “It’s me. Donna.”
Caldera 8: Simon Sez Page 16