The Roaming (Book 2): The Toll

by Hegarty, W. J.

  Miller was the last one inside. As he dashed through the entrance to the lobby. He slammed a set of large double doors closed behind him. “Radzinski, Markus, bring that desk over here. Everyone else, find heavy furniture to barricade this door with!” Miller shouted on his way through a secondary entrance that left the lobby and opened into a sprawling three-story atrium capped with cathedral ceilings. Wraparound walkways overlooked the floor and stretched deep into the hotel’s interior.

  With the main entrance secure, Ryan was one of the last through the secondary doors. In his haste and more as a result of looking behind instead of ahead as he ran, he sent his leg crashing through a pane of glass. Blood immediately sprayed the broken window and the wall on his way to the floor. “Oh fuck!” Ryan’s panicked scream echoed throughout the chamber.

  “Grab him!” Markus yelled. He and Sam pulled Ryan back into the lobby by his pack and shirt and laid him onto a sofa in the waiting area.

  Rachel immediately dove on the wound.

  “Keep pressure on it, Rachel. I’ll go find Aiko!” Vanessa sprinted off, farther into the hotel.

  “I fucked up. Goddammit, I fucked up,” Ryan cried.

  “You’re going to be okay. I’ve seen way worse. Trust me.” Rachel tried to reassure him, but she knew the wound was bad. She pressed firmly against Ryan’s thigh. Blood soaked through the thin cloth and collected in a pool on the sofa beneath him, soaking them both.

  “It’s bad, isn’t it?” Ryan began to go pale.

  “It’s not good. Come on, let’s get this thing elevated,” Rachel suggested.

  Ryan tried to lift his leg and screamed in agony before passing out. His dead weight yanked his leg from Rachel’s grasp.

  “Hey, stay with me, Ryan. I need you to stay awake. Can you hear me?” Rachel pleaded. “Lillian, hold his leg up. Try to keep it above his heart. Markus, grab as many cushions as you can find, on the double. We’re going to get through this. You’re going to be just fine.” She began to sob.

  It was tough for Lillian to watch. All throughout this ordeal, Rachel had been a bastion of strength and a role model. But more important than any of that, they had become friends. To witness Rachel on the edge of despair for the first time since meeting her was crushing.

  Deeper in the hotel, at the atrium, a booming voice echoed throughout the chamber. “Nobody move.”

  Above Miller’s group, spread around the second-story walkway, a group of seven armed fellow survivors drew down on them. Each of their faces was obscured behind a balaclava or a similar covering, and they were clad from head to toe in leather of various hues and tones. They brandished automatic rifles of their own.

  “We have the high ground!” their leader shouted with a heavy Mexican accent. “Drop your weapons or we open fire.”

  They were surrounded. Miller knew it. Everyone in Miller’s unit knew it, too. How could I have been so careless? he thought. Clearing any unfamiliar space is always priority. Maybe he did get soft on that island.

  “We surrender.” Miller slowly held his gun aloft, then lowered it to the floor. He turned to his companions. “Everyone, put your weapons down.”

  “Are you fucking kidding?” Radzinski was irate. He trained his weapon on one target, then back to another.

  “He’s right, John. Do as he says. They have the tactical advantage.” Jeremiah lowered his weapon as well. “If they desired, we would have never seen them. All of us would be dead by now.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Farewell

  Four of the armed group frisked Miller and the others, gathering all of their weapons into a shopping cart in the center of the room while the remaining three kept watch from the walkways above.

  “Who are you and what is your business here?” their leader asked while checking for any hidden weapons on Miller’s person.

  “My name is Captain Miller of the United States Army,” he began, arms still raised. “My unit and I have been on the road for weeks, trying to escort these civilians to safety. We shipwrecked on an island a few miles up the coast nearly three weeks ago, and due to unforeseen circumstances, we were forced to leave this morning. It wasn’t much longer after that when we were overrun by a horde of those things out there. We lost two more of our own before we fled to this hotel. It looked secure enough from the outside. We didn’t realize we were stepping on anyone’s toes.”

  The black-clad leader remained motionless. He kept his gun trained on Miller, never breaking eye contact. Miller and his group were at their mercy.

  “Nice to meet you, sir.” The leader lowered his weapon before removing his cover. “It’s good to see a friendly face on the road. That’s a rare find these days. I’m Capitán Segundo Alejandro Cortez of the Mexican Army. You can call me Cortez.” He slung his rifle over his shoulder and signaled for his group to do the same. “All clear, everyone. Lower your weapons. These guys check out. You’ll have to excuse the inhospitality, but you never know who you’re going to run into out here,” Cortez said before pointing to one of his men. “Simon, give these people their weapons back.”

  “On it, Cortez.” Simon pulled the cart up next to the largest part of Miller’s group. “No hard feelings, huh?” He grinned.

  “Not sure yet,” Radzinski said as he snatched up his weapons.

  The remainder of Cortez’s group filed in, removed their coverings, and began talking among themselves, most with pronounced accents from around the globe, all still sizing up Miller’s group. They all had close-quarters combat weapons strapped to their backs, each more deadly than the next. Bludgeons and slicing weapons all around. Cortez’s group had a cocksure swagger about it, was a testament to its effectiveness as a unit.

  “This is quite the eclectic group you’ve got here, son,” Sam mentioned.

  A red-haired Australian with a thick beard and accent to match spoke up. “That’s because we’re from an international cruise ship, old-timer. Hence the flavor. Ever been on one?”

  “Don’t mind him, sir. He’s got no couth, but he’s harmless. We call him Ahole for a reason. I’m Simon, by the way.” The short African American with large eyes and a warm smile offered his hand. Sam reciprocated.

  “No offense intended, mate. Here, I think this was yours.” Ahole handed Sam Markus’s gun.

  “Close enough, son, and none taken,” Sam replied as he exchanged weapons with Markus.

  “Nice leathers, Mad Max,” Radzinski added. “I thought I saw the Interceptor parked out front. Was that yours?”

  “That’s funny.” Ahole was wide-eyed but still smiling. “You know what’s even more funny? Watching a hard-ass, smart mouth soldier get ripped to shreds cause his standard-issue fatigues aren’t worth a shit.”

  “You still look ridiculous.”

  “Keep laughing, jarhead. I guarantee you those things bite and claw their way through your BDUs long before they get through this leather.” Ahole gave his armor a good slap.

  Ulrich chuckled. He was another of Cortez’s unit, an enormous hulk of a man with long blond hair flowing halfway down his back and chest.

  Ahole shook his head and gave the big man a fist bump. “Fucking amateurs.”

  Radzinski turned to Damon. “I think I’m going to like this guy.”

  The groups tentatively mingled while their leaders continued exchanging words.

  Ahole, for his part, wouldn’t or simply couldn’t sit still. “We’re not getting anywhere like this. Let me help break the ice around here. Jesus, you guys are stiff.” He pranced around the room, stopping in front of each of his companions. “The big guys over there, that’s Ulrich and Bull. Whatever we can’t run past, they cut in two, baddest motherfuckers around.” He slapped the pair of giants on their backs. Standing between them, the men towered over Ahole, who himself was nearly as tall as Radzinski. Ulrich stood proud, his hands resting upon the hilt of a giant double-bladed battle-ax. Beside him was Bull, his massive frame nearly bursting his leather armor at the seams. Like his comrades, the Haitian
was fully armored below the neck. Only his bald head showed through. He carried a large war hammer that he draped over his shoulders when at rest. The both of them had their armors splashed in white war paint.

  “If you don’t want to lose that hand, little man, I suggest keeping it to yourself.” Bull snorted.

  “Aye.” Ulrich nodded in agreement.

  “Did I forget to mention that they’re not exactly house-broken?” Ahole added, slipping between them and back to the group.

  “Where the hell did you dig these two up? Impressive,” Marisol asked, sizing them up.

  A coffee-skinned beauty in black with blue trim strode toward Marisol. She had wild, full curls that bounced to just below her collarbone when she walked. She spoke with a soothing French accent that was known in her circles for putting people at ease. “Believe it or not, before all of this happened, they were kitchen staff aboard our ship.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Yeah, leave it to the apocalypse to bring out the beast in all of us, right?” Simon added. As he passed the ladies, he handed Marisol one of the weapons. He was over caring whose weapon belonged to whom.

  Ahole continued introductions. “The blond with the flowing locks is Scandinavian. Swears he’s a fucking Viking. Who am I to argue? And Bull, don’t let him scare you. He’s a pussycat. The guy’s a family man from Haiti.”

  Bull spoke up. “I was working aboard Captain Kayembe’s ship, saving money to buy my family passage to America when the crisis began. But that time has passed. They are gone now.” Bull grimaced before smashing a nearby table with a mighty swing from his hammer.

  “They will be avenged, brother.” Ulrich consoled the man.

  “What happened to his family?” Miller asked.

  Cortez came in close, away from the distraught man’s earshot.

  “Port-au-Prince, where his family lived, was leveled in the earliest days of this bullshit. The assholes in charge thought if they bombed the shit out of the hardest-hit areas, they would have a chance to clean up the mess and retake the district. Obviously, it didn’t work.”

  Ahole had a sudden solemnness about him. “Sorry about that, big guy. I get ahead of myself sometimes. Need to think before I speak.”

  “Don’t apologize, Ahole. We’re good.” Bull slapped him on the back in a show of camaraderie. The gesture nearly bowled the Aussie over.

  “Thanks, mate.” Ahole regained his spirits. “Now, where was I? You lot obviously know Cortez over there is the big boss man, and Simon is returning your gear. You’ll never forget me, so that leaves the lovely ladies of our illustrious troupe: Genevieve and Petrova.” Ahole pointed out Petrova first, who was sporting a tight blonde ponytail without a single stray hair out of place. Curious, considering that she was wearing a brown balaclava only minutes ago. Her leathers were a deep brown with yellow highlights. “She happens to be the daughter of a prominent Russian diplomat. What the hell she’s doing out here with us lot, I’ll never know.”

  “I’m out here to be of use to the people of the ship. I am no better than the lowliest passenger,” she said sternly. Her English was impeccable, though it was clear she hailed from Eastern Europe.

  “Yeah, her father hangs with the uppity ups aboard our boat. The guy’s got a stick so far up his ass, I swear—” Ahole began as Petrova punched him in the side, and not at all that gently.

  “He is still my father, Ahole,” she snapped.

  “Who’s the a-hole, me or him?”

  Petrova raised her fist again.

  “Okay, okay.” Ahole backed off. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Damn.” He scurried away. “Fucking broad can throw a punch.”

  “And I am Genevieve.” The Frenchwoman curtsied, her long curls bouncing against her leathers with the gesture. “Former French police on holiday. Now a glorified looter.”

  “I know the feeling,” Marisol added as she approached her fellow law enforcement officer, followed closely by Isaac. The trio wasted no time discussing the difficult position that stealing just to stay alive had put the former police in. The consensus was that living in perpetual hypocrisy faded fast when your life and the lives of those you cared for were on the line.

  “By the looks of things, this is a well-oiled group you have here, Cortez,” Miller commented, visibly impressed.

  “We get by,” Cortez replied. “We keep our teams small and we travel light. We don’t take unnecessary chances, and everyone on the team knows a bag of canned goods or a case of whiskey isn’t worth your life, no matter what the Elite would have you believe.”

  “The Elite?” Miller asked.

  “Yeah, the guys that run Haven. Petrova’s father is one of them,” said Cortez. “In light of our current situation, they’ve taken the whole ‘haves versus the have-nots’ thing to the nth degree. Their attitudes are sickening, but don’t let me give you the wrong impression: life aboard our vessel is paradise compared to living out here on the road. I don’t know how you did it with this many people in tow, and I certainly don’t envy the idea.”

  “We started off with a hell of a lot more than this.”

  “We all did.”

  “Guess I’m getting rusty, but you guys had a serious jump on us back there. It could have been bad.”

  “We heard you coming from a few blocks off. There was a chance slight as it was that those things would have kept going had you not been so loud breaking in here. Doesn’t always happen, but sometimes. You’d be surprised just how often a simple locked door keeps those things out. Of course, you guys kicked it in and led a ton of them straight to us, so now a change of plans is in order, and we are out of here ASAP.”

  “Are you guys holed up close by?”

  “Yes and no. As you’ve heard, we are from an ocean liner. A cruise ship. Goes by the name Haven. We were looking for supplies, just like you guys. The only difference between our groups, as far as I can tell, is that we have a home to go back to. Roaming like this is only going to get you killed. Come with us, and I can promise you safety, security, food, and community. That’s a hell of a lot more than anyone else is offering these days.”

  Miller pondered this a moment. A safe haven in every sense of the word. Finally, they could rest for real. No more running, no more surprises around every corner. Cortez’s ship was just what they were looking for.

  “Do you have room for a few more?” Miller asked hopefully.

  Without hesitation, Cortez answered with a grin. “We always have room, amigo.”

  Miller was relieved. “What do you need us to do?”

  “Well, first of all, you need to drag your own weight out of here. I won’t have my people risk their lives for anything, and that includes potential survivors. We’ve gotten this down to a science over the last couple of months, and it’s paid off in spades. I’m not just talking about finding good scavenge, either. Follow our lead, and we can get you out of here.”

  “He’s referring to refugees. Dozens of people have come home with us,” Genevieve added. “We’ve had no deaths on the road under Cortez’s command and only a few injuries. Every one of those was when someone broke protocol.”

  “One caveat.” Cortez’s demeanor grew rigid, and his eyes went steely. “When we leave this hotel, if anyone falls behind, we will not stop for them. My people are the priority. Every one of them comes home alive. Every time.”

  “I see. So do you have a way out of here?”

  “I do. The other exits are jammed up with God knows how many infected, but the west wing should be relatively clear. It empties into a parking lot, which is adjacent to a sand dune. The exit was barricaded when we arrived, so it’s going to take some muscle to clear. The previous occupants must have fled. We found no one here. The place was deserted. The parking lot bellies right up to the dunes. We’re going up and over. On the other side of that sand dune is a pier going right out into the Atlantic. That’s where our pickup will be.”

  Aiko cut across the atrium in something just shy of a light jog, her torso
and thighs soaked to dripping with blood. “Ryan’s in a bad way over here, Miller. I’ve got him patched up but… Just follow me.”

  Miller and Cortez followed the medic back to the lobby, where Rachel and Lillian were looking over Ryan. Despair hung like a fog. The air in the lobby tasted of iron, and the floor and the sofa Ryan rested on were covered in blood. So were all of those who helped Aiko stabilize him. Samantha stood in a corner, nearly in shock. Markus and Vanessa worked diligently to keep her calm.

  “How bad is it?” Miller asked.

  “Any deeper and we wouldn’t be having this conversation, so it goes without saying he missed the femoral artery, but only just.”

  “So what’s our next move?” Rachel asked.

  “He needs a transfusion. Obviously, that’s not going to happen here.”

  “Fuck.” Rachel paced the room. “He’s come all this way only to die in a fucking hotel lobby?”

  Cortez was obviously deep in thought, his face wrinkled and contorted as he mulled over options. “We do have a hospital aboard Haven,” he finally said. “Our doctor is short-staffed, but we should have all the equipment you’ll need to patch your friend up and see to that one when the time comes.” Cortez motioned to Casandra, who was sitting on the sofa with Ryan. His head was in her lap. She ran her fingers through his hair as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

  “If we can get him safely there, he may have a chance.” Aiko put the diagnosis as gently as she knew how.

  “Thank you,” Rachel said, suppressing tears. “Both of you.”

  “Don’t thank me just yet, chica,” Cortez replied. “We still have to get past all of those things outside.”

  Radzinski and Damon watched from a far corner of the lobby. While the two groups took the time to mingle, they were busy sizing the lot of them up.