Ground Zero

by Jessica Meigs

  “Yeah,” Cade replied. “Brandt, are you absolutely sure there were no survivors last January?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Because there’s no damn way a regular hunting rifle would have that kind of fucking range,” she bit out, sliding back to the corner. “And there’s no way anybody would have that kind of skill unless they were trained to handle a rifle like that.”

  “So what does this mean?” Remy asked, trying to avoid being seen while studying the building Cade was trying to aim at.

  “Means we’re fucking stuck here until I shoot the bastard,” Cade grumbled.

  “Unless the infected get to us first,” Brandt added with a sigh, his arm looping around her waist again.

  “Not an option,” Ethan retorted. His tone didn’t allow for any further argument.

  Cade gave both men dirty looks, and Ethan snapped his mouth shut before she had the brilliant idea to point that rifle of hers at him. The woman positioned herself at the corner once more and aimed her rifle at the window instead. She took a long time making sure she had her target, adjusting the scope at the top of her rifle, making slight adjustments that amounted to no more than a few centimeters, and then she squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out, echoing around the alley and the street beyond. A long moment of silence descended on them as she squinted at the building through the scope.

  When an answering gunshot struck the brick near her again, she swore loudly and colorfully. “I’m not spending all damn day here trading bullets with him!” she snarled. “We don’t have fucking time for this!” She looked past Ethan and narrowed her eyes. He stiffened and turned to see a red fire escape winding up the side of the building beside them. She made a beeline for it, reaching for the lowest rung of the ladder. “Brandt, help me up this thing,” she ordered.

  “Where are you going?” Brandt demanded, storming after her.

  “On top of this building where I’ll have a better view of the fucker!”

  “So he can have a better view of you in return?” he said. “No fucking way am I letting you go up there, especially not with a damned bullet hole in you!”

  Cade whirled on Brandt and staggered wildly, putting her hand to her head as she stumbled sideways. Ethan reached out and caught her, steadying her on her feet as she slurred out to Brandt, “Do you have a better idea?”

  “I don’t know! How about something that doesn’t put you in direct danger?” Brandt replied.

  Cade glared at him as she clung to Ethan’s arm; he looked at his friend with concern as she blinked hard, squeezing her eyes tightly shut before opening them again. “Name me one fucking place in this city that isn’t dangerous,” she managed.

  A sharp burst of gunfire rang out from the street, the echoing sound of footsteps sprinting wildly over the pavement following it. Ethan sucked in an involuntary breath and looked to Brandt, his eyes wide. “What in the hell was that?”

  Brandt swore and slung his rifle onto his shoulder. “Looks like we’re going onto the roof after all,” he said, motioning frantically to Remy. “Come on, get going,” he ordered.

  “Wait, what’s going on?” Remy demanded, even as she obeyed Brandt’s order. She jumped up to grab the bottom rung of the ladder and started to climb, aiming for the first landing, where the metal stairs began their zigzagging ascent to the roof.

  “The infected,” Brandt answered. “They’ve heard the shots and figured out where we’re at.”

  Ethan bit out a curse and bolted for the ladder, leading Cade to it. “Go faster, Remy,” he urged, motioning to Gray. “You’re next. Then Brandt and Cade.”

  Gray made a face at him to express his displeasure at taking orders from him, though he didn’t bother to complain vocally. He ignored the look and watched Remy intently as she reached the first metal platform and started to scurry up the stairs. Once her boots hit the middle of the flight, Gray began his climb. He only made it up two rungs of the ladder before the first of the infected reached the mouth of the alley.

  “Guys, we’ve got company!” Gray warned, climbing faster.

  Brandt, Cade, and Ethan all turned as one, Cade still clinging to Ethan’s arm, to see four infected coming into the alley. Cade lifted her rifle to aim at the nearest one, but she let out an involuntary cry of pain and aborted the movement. Ethan shifted in front of her protectively, barking orders as he took aim with his own weapon.

  “Brandt, up the ladder. When you get to the top, I want Cade to go next,” he said. “She’ll need help getting over the top of the building, and I don’t trust anyone but you to do it.”

  Brandt nodded and grabbed the ladder’s rungs, starting to work his way up them. “Good to know you trust me with her, Ethan,” he said, attempting a half-joke despite the tense situation.

  Ethan merely smiled and opened fire on the infected.

  * * *

  Cade’s side hurt. It hurt more than she thought anything could hurt. And it hurt even worse as she lifted her rifle and stepped away from Ethan to join her cover fire with his. She still felt woozy, but she forced herself to put the dizziness aside, aim her rifle, and squeeze the trigger. The recoil jerked her shoulder back and twisted her side, and she bit back a pained whimper.

  “Cade, go,” Ethan ordered, pausing to reload his pistol, dropping the magazine that had been in it to clatter on the pavement before slamming a new one into place and racking the slide. The end of the alley was slowly filling with infected, too many for just the two of them to deal with. “I’ve got it from here.”

  “Not leaving without you,” she said, squeezing the trigger again, shooting down the infected as quickly as she could, despite the dizzying pain in her side.

  “I’ll be right behind you,” he insisted. He fired two more bullets into the growing crowd, then he pushed her toward the ladder. “Now go.”

  She looked up and saw Brandt above her, beckoning with both hands. “Come on, Cade, get up here,” he called. She glanced back at Ethan and then started hauling herself up to climb the ladder.

  Ethan suddenly grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back to him. Mindful of the wound in her side, he pulled her close and hugged her tightly, pulling back after only a short moment. She felt a tugging at her hip and glanced down, seeing that Ethan had taken the hunting knife from her belt and was even now gripping it, blade down, in one hand.

  “Be careful. I’ll catch up,” he said.

  “Ethan,” Cade said almost desperately, shaking her head.

  He flipped the knife over to point the blade at the sky. “Go. I’ll track you down and give your knife back later.” He pointed to the ladder. “Go. Now.”

  * * *

  Ethan waited until Cade was halfway up the fire escape ladder, out of reach of any grasping hands, before he raised his gun and opened fire again at the mass of oncoming infected. A surge of adrenaline churned into his veins as he stood tall, his back straight, elbows properly relaxed and finger depressing the trigger in rapid succession. He made every shot count.

  Two infected men staggered toward him, well in the lead of the others in the horde. Two well-placed shots quickly put them down. Their momentum carried them forward an extra step before they collapsed to the pavement. He didn’t wait to see if they were dead; he immediately turned his fire to the ones behind them, taking careful but quick aim and squeezing the trigger again and again.

  The sound of gunfire echoed loudly in his ears until he could no longer hear the snarls and growls of the crowd before him. The sound became so rhythmic that he startled when his gun ran dry. He reached for another spare magazine, but he didn’t quite manage to finish reloading his weapon before the infected were on him.

  When they hit, it was like being struck by a large wave of limbs and flesh. His breath slammed out of his lungs, and he tried to suck in a desperate breath. Hands pawed and clawed at his skin.

  Flooded with adrenaline, Ethan barely felt the pain as fingernails tore into the skin of his right forearm. His gun was wrenched from his finge
rs by scrabbling hands, and it clattered to the ground below. He raised the knife he’d taken from Cade in his left hand, and he hacked frantically at the hands that grasped him and the faces raised up toward him.

  Somewhere above him, he heard a woman’s voice scream out his name. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recognized it as Remy’s. No, no, God, don’t watch this, he pleaded silently, he even as he slashed repeatedly at his attackers.

  When the force of their bodies lifted him off the ground, he knew the fight was lost. Truly, it’d been lost the minute they’d decided to leave their safe house in Maplesville. But it was certainly lost now. He continued on, though, determined to distract the infected from his friends’ escape for as long as his body would allow. He thrashed free and staggered back, limping painfully as a surge of agony ripped up his right leg. He stumbled backward, nearly falling to the ground, and slashed the knife at the air in front of him again.

  They were coming toward Ethan more slowly now, crowded up so tightly in the alley that they could no longer move forward quickly. The pain in his leg grew more intense with each passing second. Blood ran from both legs, soaking his jeans, and a steady stream eased down his right arm, dripping onto the pavement beside him. The pain was unbearable.

  Even worse than the pain, though, was the knowledge of what was now in his blood, what was working through his system, fighting to take away all that made him Ethan Bennett.

  Michaluk.

  He’d never hated a word more.

  Ethan reached to pick up his gun, hoping to feel it in his hands, hoping to manage to slam the magazine he had left into the weapon and use one of the bullets on himself. He knew that the moment he took his eyes off the infected, it would be his death.

  He took a step toward the gun. His fingers brushed its cool metal.

  The infected rushed him.

  As they bore him backwards away from the weapon, and as their teeth sank into his flesh again, Ethan could imagine he heard gunfire from somewhere nearby.

  No, Remy, get out of here, he thought as cold hands bore him up. Then pain overwhelmed him, sending him into blessed unconsciousness.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Cade made it halfway up the fire escape’s stairs before pain and blood loss made her collapse. Brandt had watched her ascent from the roof, and as she fell to the rusty red metal landing, he was over the edge of the building and running down the steps as fast as his boots would carry him.

  When he reached her, he saw blood oozing through the bandage covering her wound, staining her shirt a deep, vicious red. His stomach turned in fear. Gunfire erupted on the street below, but he didn’t chance a look down. He merely scooped Cade into his arms, made sure her rifle was secure, and began the climb to the rooftop again.

  Gray was at the edge of the building when Brandt arrived, and he helped him wrestle the nearly unconscious woman onto the roof. He gave Gray a grim nod and hauled himself over the ledge before taking Cade into his arms again. “Gray, get that door open,” he instructed, gesturing with his head to the rooftop access door.

  “Where’s Ethan?” Remy demanded, striding toward him, a hard look he’d never seen before in her eyes. He could tell she already knew the answer; she was merely hoping he’d tell her something different. He, frankly, wasn’t in the mood to play games or beat around any bushes.

  “He stayed behind to give the rest of us a chance,” he said gruffly. He shifted Cade’s weight more firmly against his body, looking past Remy to Gray. The other man attacked the access door with a surprising level of fury, kicking at the locked door with the heel of his shoe over and over again.

  Remy stared at Brandt for a second longer then ran for the edge of the roof. He swore and nearly dropped Cade as he set her down as gently as he could manage before running after Remy, wrapping both arms around her waist to stop her. She let out an indignant shriek.

  “Let me go! Let me go!” She kicked and bucked against him so violently that he almost dropped her, too.

  “Remy! Stop!” he shouted. He spun her away from the edge, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around her. The sounds of the fight below continued.

  “We have to help him!” Remy wrested herself free from him and darted toward the edge again. Brandt caught her wrist and drove her to the roof. She screamed incoherently and tried to claw her way free, tearing her fingers raw and bloody on the rough gravel surface. “Ethan!” she shrieked, her entire body vibrating with the fear and desperation in her voice.

  Brandt wrestled Remy onto her back and, with a snap of his wrist, slapped her across the face. She fell still, obviously stunned at the shock of the pain. Then she gave him the most hateful look he’d ever seen, the expression marred only by the tears that coursed down her face to soak into her hair.

  The gunfire from the ground below ceased.

  “Get the fuck off of me,” Remy snarled, her face contorting as she struggled to get control of her emotions. Brandt didn’t dare refuse; judging by the expression on her face, she was likely to kill him. He pushed up onto his knees and dusted his hands off before rising to his feet. After a fast glance at Gray—who’d managed to get the access door open and now knelt beside Cade, gently patting her cheeks—he offered Remy a hand to help her up. She slapped it away and rose to her feet unassisted.

  Remy pushed her hair back and took two slow, trembling breaths to steady herself. Then she recovered her weapons from where they’d fallen when Brandt tackled her. “What now?” she asked. Her voice was oddly flat and unemotional, almost a monotone. The lack of life in her voice disturbed Brandt to no end. This wasn’t the Remy he’d come to know over the past year. The Remy he knew was a little unhinged, but she wasn’t like this, emotionless and cold, almost distant.

  He didn’t have time to dwell on her mental state, however. He had a mission. The group’s numbers had been halved, and one of their remaining members was badly injured. He had to get them moving, had to get them all to the Tabernacle. It was their only hope left, and he refused to allow any more of them to perish, even if going there meant bringing down trouble on himself. His friends were worth more than he was. Cade was worth more than he was.

  “First, we get the fuck off this roof,” he decided. He knelt beside Gray, putting a hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “Keep an eye on Remy, okay?” he requested. “I can’t do it all myself.” He looked at Cade and saw she’d begun to come around.

  Cade groaned and covered her eyes with a hand to shield them from the fading sunlight. Brandt didn’t wait for her to come around more fully. He stood, lifting her onto her feet and slinging the arm on her uninjured side over his shoulders.

  “Come on, Cade, we’ve got to go,” he said, leading her toward the access door. He paused and looked at Remy and Gray, hesitating as he tried to decide his next orders. Finally, he said, “Remy, you’re on point. Get us out of here. The front door faces the street on the other side of where we are, so down the stairs and out through the front. Nothing fancy.”

  Remy gave him a short nod and strode wordlessly to the door, sliding her knife into its sheath and drawing her gun and flashlight instead. She flicked the light on and aimed it into the dark doorway. He watched her for just one moment more before nodding to Gray.

  “Bring up the rear?” Gray offered. He brandished his own gun as he dug for a flashlight in his bag.

  “If you don’t mind. Cade and I are a bit incapacitated,” Brandt said ruefully.

  Gray gave him a slight nod, and he led Cade into the stairwell beyond the doorway.

  * * *

  The darkness inside what appeared to be an apartment building would have been oppressive and frightening to anyone else, but to Remy, it was comforting and calming. She didn’t care that one of the infected could spring out of that darkness at any moment. Indeed, she welcomed such an event, even hoped for it. Maybe fighting some of the infected would help distract her from the sudden hole that had opened up in her chest. She ached for a fight so badly that she didn’t bot
her keeping her footsteps quiet as she worked her way down the stairs, shining her flashlight into the corners and down onto the stairwells as they passed.

  She shouldn’t have been so careless. Cade was hurt and would have difficulty fighting to defend herself if they were attacked. But Remy couldn’t bring herself to care. Not about anything. Not after Ethan…

  She choked back the sudden sob threatening to escape her throat as she trudged deeper into the darkness. She wanted desperately to cram her fist into her mouth, to strangle off the tears threatening to well up at their source. She wanted to run into the street and track Ethan down, to save him if she could and to put a bullet in his head if she couldn’t. No one deserved to live like that. No one deserved to suffer like that. Least of all Ethan Bennett.

  He would have done the same for her.

  “Remy, you still with us?” a voice asked behind her. She glanced back and saw Brandt close behind, Cade’s body braced against his own. Cade looked like she was ready to fall back into unconsciousness again. Remy hesitated before nodding slightly. It was her time to play leader now. She had to be strong.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” she assured Brandt, not meeting his eyes. She turned back to the task at hand. Somewhere behind her, she could hear Gray wheezing. She dug into Theo’s medical bag and searched for one of Gray’s inhalers, finding one buried deeply inside. Within moments, it was in Gray’s hands, and Remy was left to her own thoughts in the blessed silence once again.

  Their muffled footsteps didn’t mask the rustling, dragging noise that came from the shadows to their right. Remy paused as the sound met her ears, holding up a hand to signal the others to stop moving. The sound ceased, but she continued to stand motionless on the stairs, straining her ears, trying to find the noise again. She drew in a slow breath as she sensed a fifth presence on the stairwell, lurking in the shadows, standing just as still as her. Waiting for its moment to attack.