by Katie French
“But, Clay—”
“Cole, listen to me.” My head’s poundin’. I press my palms to my temples and try to contain it. “You need to get out of here.”
“Get the boy in the back,” Hank shouts from his perch above us. “And the hotshot, too.”
“He stays here.” I try not to sound panicked. I look for Mike. “Mike, my brother stays here!”
But Mike is gone. Hank, smilin’ down like a demon, waves at the men. “Do as I say.”
They crowd around me, ten big guys. I can’t fight ’em off without Cole gettin’ hurt. I hold my hands out in a gesture of surrender. “Back off. We’ll go.”
I pull myself into the open truck bed and draw Cole up, too. Sittin’ down, I settle Cole beside me. Eyes and ears alert, I wait.
A pair of hands appears at the truck’s tailgate, and then a meaty forearm. Last, a curly, blonde wig. “Push, you idiots!” Betsy tumbles into the truck bed. Pantin’ on her hands and knees, she looks up at us through her crooked wig. “Hi, boys.”
I shake my head. “Why’d you want to come? This ain’t no place for you.”
She pouts, but then glances behind me into the truck’s cab. When I turn and look, Hank’s givin’ her the eye through the rear window. She looks down, her face blank. “I wanna come.”
“Don’t like this a damn bit,” I mumble, pullin’ Cole close.
When the truck rumbles to life, vibratin’ beneath us, the men circle around it and watch as we pull away. Their faces glow red in the truck’s taillights. Above, the moon is a fingernail diggin’ into the night.
Cole’s body rocks back and forth against mine as we trundle up a hill and crunch onto what’s left of a road. The shantytown recedes into a cloud of dust. From the distance, the little shacks look like scraps of garbage in a barren wasteland. Only the windmill spinnin’ in the sky marks this place as anything other than a dump.
Watching the blades spin, I run over my options. My best bet is to jump the driver and take the truck. From where I sit, the back of his bald head looks like a bowling ball with blue-black tattoos peeking out of his collar. If he’s got a weapon, I’ll have to be careful. If he don’t, he’s about to have a very bad day.
The night darkens as we chug into a town that looks familiar, though I can’t say why. The truck’s two headlights cut a wide yellow path across the road. We drive past abandoned storefronts choking on sand, and a creepy church with the severed heads hanging from her eaves.
Past the town is barren, flat desert land. The rockin’ of the truck lulls me; I close my eyes just for a second.
A bump bounces us up, and I open my eyes. Betsy stares at me across the truck bed. She looks awful—wig askew, face sun blistered and flushed, but she’s staring at me like I’m the last piece of pie. A glance to the back window shows Hank isn’t watchin’, so I smile at Betsy. “What’s going on?” I whisper.
She glances at the back of Hank’s head and shifts her eyes down. “Nothing.”
“It’s okay, Betsy. You can tell me.” I give her a smile.
She blushes, smilin’ back. But before I can press further, the truck begins to slow. Red taillights flood the desert. I stand up, holdin’ onto the truck’s top rack. In the distance, the road runs down and around a large hill.
Hank pushes back the truck’s rear window and sticks his ugly mug through. “Hey, shit-for-brains, get out and come get your pack.”
This is my chance to take on the driver and give Hank a couple of whacks for good measure.
I squeeze Cole’s shoulder, climb over the tailgate, and jump down. Deep in the desert like this, there’s nothing to orient myself in this sea of brown. The dark isn’t helping, either. Once the truck is gone, all I’ll have is moonlight and my senses. I rub my throbbin’ forehead and tromp around to where Hank leans out the driver’s side door. He hands me the pack, still smilin’ like a snake.
“The air intake is right over there,” he says, pointing. “Top of the hill.”
I sling on the pack, glancin’ up the hill’s rise. It’s too damn dark to tell if he’s lyin’. “There’s a light in my pack, right?” Opening it up, I dig around, careful not to jostle the bomb. I find a flashlight that stutters to life when I click it on. Thank God for lithium batteries.
“What are you waiting for, donkey dick? Get going.” Hank stares down at me.
“You’ll pick me up when I’m done.” I glance into the truck at the driver. He’s got a goddamned handgun sitting in his lap. Jesus.
Hank’s gaze follows mine, and a corner of his mouth goes up. “Walk a mile west. We’ll pick you up there. Unless you get your head blown off.”
Lookin’ into his face, I know he’s lyin’. Even if I manage to pull off this job without getting blown to bits or caught, there’s no way there will be a ride waitin’ for me. If I want to get back to Cole, I’ll have to hike the twenty miles back.
Hank yanks the truck door shut, nearly takin’ me with it. I step back, anger throbbin’ at my temples. Jesus, my brother. I can’t let these sons of bitches take him.
“Cole!”
His face appears over the truck bed as they pull away. “I’ll come for you!”
He hollers back, but I can’t hear him over the truck’s engine. They pull away, kickin’ dust into my face. I bat it away, tryin’ to see Cole’s face one last time. In the taillight’s red glow, he stares at me, growing smaller by the second. “Cole!” I call, not carin’ that I might be alertin’ enemies to my position, not carin’ that I sound weak, but only that it feels like the last time I will see him, my brother, the only thing I care about in this world.
Within minutes, the taillights are red dots in the distance, and Cole is long gone. I hump my pack and head west.
Chapter 22
Riley
I watch Doc dig around in the solar car’s compartments with my sleeve over my face. Subject Seven—if it really is Seven—is starting to stink like meat left out on a hot day. From where I sit on the curb, I can see the back of her mud-caked calf, her long toenails curling over the filthy toes. I don’t know how Doc can stand to be in there; I can barely stand it out here in the fresh air.
“Going to take a piss,” I call as I stand.
Doc looks over his shoulder. “Be careful. Don’t go far.”
I pat my pocket. “Still got the Taser.”
He nods and goes back to digging around. I walk off, skirting around the handmade wall of billboards, car husks, and plywood that once stood to barricade this city. A black van is tipped on its side about twenty yards down, and it looks like the perfect spot to take care of my business. I need privacy from Doc and anyone else who might be looking, though it seems this city’s main residents are the huge black crows that watch me from the peaks of broken buildings. As soon as I’m out of sight, I drop my pants. But I haven’t started my period. There’s no blood, no telltale sign that my suspicions are wrong.
“Shit.” I lean my elbow against the van’s side panel, warm from the day’s sunshine.
Once again, I search my body, trying to feel the baby growing there. But I feel… nothing. I do feel tired, sore, hungry, gritty, exhausted, angry, and foolish. What I don’t feel is pregnant. But then, how the hell would I know what that feels like?
Now more than ever I miss my Mama. The longing is a piano on my chest.
Doc would know more about this than me. I lean over until I can see the solar car and his head inside. If I told him my suspicions, he’d be able to tell me if I’m pregnant or not. I watch his head through the car’s dusty window. Doc has such confidence, such knowledge. Even though I’ve only known him for a couple of months, he’s my best friend. I wanted Clay to be the first one to know, but Clay’s not here. Clay might never be here. Tears streak down my nose, but I wipe them away. Christ, now is not the time to fall apart.
I pee, straighten my clothes, and walk around the van’s front end. The sun just peeks over the horizon, and the heat of the day has eased up. My thoughts flit to Bran.
Lord knows what’s happening to him. Here I am worrying about a problem that won’t impact me until months and months from now. What I should be worried about is how to stop those monsters.
Doc sees me coming and trots forward with a small box in his hand and a huge smile on his face.
“What is it?” I ask, jogging up. The red box with a bald eagle on the side fits in his palm. When I’m three steps from him, he flips the lid back, and I see the gold cylinders. “Bullets!” I say, elated. “Where’d you get them?”
He can’t stop smiling, showing off his straight white teeth. “Before we left, I was helping Corra load the car, and I found these at the bottom of a box of field rations. Then I just carried the box of field rations to the car and slid it in the back. I knew I’d be dead if they checked the boxes, but they were too busy.” He looks up from the shells and into my eyes. His gray irises reflect the overcast sky. “I guess it worked out.”
I stare at Doc, confused. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
His smile falls. “Didn’t know if I could trust Bran, so I was going to tell you when he wasn’t around, but I never got a chance. Plus, I thought your gun was loaded when we went in to find those creatures.”
I frown, but I run a finger over the bullets’ round tips. Why didn’t he tell me? Does he think he can’t trust me anymore? “Will they fit the gun?”
He nods. “Already checked. We got lucky. I guess that’s a first.”
“Let’s hope our luck keeps up.”
“Everything okay? You were back there a while.” He looks at me with that way he has, as if he’s seeing into me.
My heart speeds up. This is my chance.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Right as rain.”
He frowns briefly, but then nods, folding the lid down on the box. “We should hurry. It’ll be dark soon.”
I glance at the sinking sun. “I’m ready.” Ready to fight maybe. Not ready to face facts. That’ll have to be another time.
We grab what we need from the car—the gun, shells, a military-style flashlight—black, small and high-powered—the Taser, the satellite phone, two water jugs, and a few MRE meal packets. It’s pretty much everything we have, though Doc keeps digging around like he might find a monster trap if he just keeps looking. I finally have to tug him away. Together, we set off, back to the mall, as, above us, the setting sun smears the sky as red as blood.
We find the strip mall easily and stand in front of the open window, the boards pried back from where we busted out. From the sidewalk looking in, the darkness inside looks alive. Doc heaves a big sigh. He pulls out the loaded gun and checks the box of shells in his pants’ pocket. The semiautomatic is small, silver, and much newer than any gun we’ve ever had. It isn’t one of ours, but one Corra gave us after I insisted and Dennis nearly blew a gasket. That must’ve been when he decided to relieve us of our bullets. Motherless bastard.
I pull out my Taser and the flashlight. “Shoot to wound, not to kill.” I take a deep breath of my own. “Dennis has Auntie. We don’t have the luxury of killing these things any longer.”
“No killing.” Doc stares at the window. The broken glass around the frame looks like jagged teeth. The big sheet of displaced plywood creaks with the breeze as the remaining two nails keep it dangling from the sill.
Instead of saying the millions of things swirling in my head, I walk forward, grip the sill, and heave myself up.
Dropping inside the room feels like falling into hell. I creep forward, inching toward the back of the store and away from the window’s comforting light. I hear Doc drop in behind me. My flashlight illuminates signs of our struggle—the clothing racks knocked askew, the trail of blood on the trash-littered floor. Shining the light around shows no monsters, and no Bran, either.
Beside me, Doc’s labored breathing is loud as he points to the hole in the floor.
We walk over and kneel beside it. The tile, wood, and subfloor have been ripped up until there’s an opening big enough for a full-grown human. With Doc aiming his gun at the dark space, I take my flashlight and stick my head in. I half-expect Subject Eight to rip it off.
The flashlight shows a dark basement—a concrete floor and walls of a large room that goes on farther than my light can penetrate. When I angle my light around, I find a makeshift platform made of wooden pallets directly beneath the hole. It’s a messy pile, but someone could stand on it and pull themselves up to the main level. It also gives Doc and me something to drop onto.
“There’s a platform,” I whisper, putting my Taser in my pocket and clamping the flashlight between my teeth. “Cover me,” I manage to say with my teeth around the flashlight.
“You’re going in there?” He shakes his head. “Riley, I don’t think—” He stops as I begin lowering my legs into the hole. “God, just… be careful.”
Slipping into the hole with no view of what I’m dropping into is terrifying. Any minute, one of those things could snatch my legs and yank me screaming into darkness. And Doc would do what? Shoot blindly? Come after me? It could tear me apart before he— I stop and grit my teeth around the metal flashlight, sliding on my belly until my chest is the only thing resting on the top floor. My lower half dangles in open space.
Locking eyes with Doc, I push back and drop.
The fall is short. My feet smack the stack of pallets and I lurch forward, catching myself on my hands before I face-plant on the shaky platform. The flashlight in my mouth shoots straight down, giving me a view of two inches of dirty particleboard. I swivel around, shining my light toward the open throat of the room, my heart hammering.
“Riley?” Doc calls, peering down, but I don’t answer, scanning my surroundings. My heart continues to pound in my ears as I make sure nothing waits to grab me.
The basement is concrete, low ceilinged, and mostly empty. There are a few dusty shelves hugging concrete block walls and piles of pallets like the one I’m crouching on. The massive cobwebs and layers of dust make it pretty clear no one comes down here. Shining my light farther, I can see the basement seems to stretch back as far as the strip mall above. Metal pillars run in pairs every fifteen feet, but there are no walls, no places for Bran or the monsters to hide. But my beam of light doesn’t go far enough to show all of it. If they are still here, and if I’m going to find them, I’m going to have to go in. Into the dark. Away from any escape route.
“I’m coming down,” Doc says from above.
I flash my light up at him. “Are you sure? Maybe one of us should stay and guard the hole.”
He looks at me like I’m crazy. “And leave you down there alone?” His feet appear, and I hear him scraping his stomach over the hole’s lip as he scoots. When I clamber down and light his path, he drops with a thud. Once again, I fight the feeling that something is going to come out of the dark and grab me from behind. I’d hear it coming. At least, I think I would.
“Riley,” Doc says, “did you hear that?”
“What?” I say, whirling my flashlight toward the dark. There’s nothing.
“Listen,” he says, crouching where he landed.
Faint and far away, someone or something is banging on metal. A long pause, then two quick taps, then a mix of pauses and taps.
“It’s Morse code,” Doc whispers.
Our eyes meet. “Bran.”
Doc climbs down, pulling out his gun. I grab the Taser and the flashlight. My throat constricts until I can barely swallow. Stop it, I think. Keep your head.
Walking forward, I shine the flashlight around. The metal beams throw long shadows around, making everything seem unreal. Near us, a line of shelves looms high, stacked with boxes. We tiptoe up to it and whip around, aiming our weapons, but there’s nothing but spiders. Still, the banging keeps up, that clink of metal on metal in long and short intervals. In my ear, Doc whispers, “I think it’s SOS. Save our souls.”
“Jesus,” I whisper.
After a few minutes, it’s hard for me to tell how far in we’ve come, but when
I slide the flashlight back, it’s clear we’re in deep. “How far does this thing go?”
“As long as the mall, probably.” Doc’s shoulder brushes against mine. He’s the only thing keeping me anchored. The farther we walk, the longer we’re down here, the more I start to doubt. The more I’m starting to lose it.
“It has to be there,” Doc says, pointing.
Our hallway is ending. I can see the concrete wall, dripping with cobwebs, only a dozen feet away. To our right, another dark passageway runs perpendicular to ours. I look at Doc, and, together, we walk up to the branch and peer around.
It isn’t as long as the hall we just came down, not even by half, but it’s crammed full of large shelves on either side and stacked full of boxes until it’s barely passable. There are many places to hide, but my eyes aren’t drawn to them. They are drawn to the figure slumped against a steel pillar about twenty yards away.
All the hairs on my arms stand up. It’s a man with his back to us. His long, shapeless shirt seems familiar. Bran.
We watch, but he doesn’t move. Is he alive? Is he the one who was tapping Morse code?
And if he’s here, where are the creatures?
My muscles clenched, I lead the way through the narrow corridor between the shelves.
I take a step and flick my light down each shelf, my anxiety building. Bran hasn’t moved. The tapping has stopped. Did we find him just as his body gave up?
When we’re six feet away, I put my hand on Doc’s chest and hand him the flashlight. “I’m going in.”
Doc takes the flashlight. I suck in a breath and walk up to the body.
It’s… a child. A filthy, wide-eyed child with long, tangled hair, wearing the tattered remains of Bran’s shirt. I thought it was a man sitting, but it’s a little girl standing. The huge, shapeless shirt and the dark threw me off.
She looks up at me with huge, black eyes.
“W-what are you doing here?” I ask.
Blinking gaunt, black eyes, she opens her mouth. And hisses like a cat.