Surviving The Virus (Book 5): Extermination

by Casey, Ryan

  Curtis rubbed his hands through his hair, sat down, and sighed. “I’m sorry, Marky. Didn’t mean to patronise you or whatever. You’re a good man. A loyal man. And you’re way in tune with the people. I like that. I just… well. Sometimes it’s tough, leading people, you know?”

  “I don’t doubt that for a minute.”

  “So go on. What do you suggest?”

  Marky glanced up at Curtis. “You’re not going to like what I suggest.”

  “Shoot. Honesty, hmm? Best policy and all.”

  “I think we need to move on from here.”

  “What now?”

  “I think we need to find a more… sustainable home. Or whatever. This place. It’s been good. And goddamn will I miss it. But think about it, Curtis. The resources here. All of it. It was never going to last.”

  Curtis felt angered. Annoyed. ’Cause this was his home. And Marky here was undermining it. Belittling it.

  But he also felt annoyed ’cause he knew his best pal was right.

  “You give these people hope,” Marky said. “You give them something to believe in. And they’ll follow you. They’ll never turn their backs on you.”

  Curtis wrapped his fingers together and nodded. “So you’re sayin’ we need to find a new home. How the hell we gonna start somethin’ like that?”

  Marky looked at him then, right in his eyes, and he smiled. “That’s the good news. We’ve already started.”

  “What?”

  “Hear me out,” Marky said. “I’ve had a team scouting for a few weeks now. Don’t lambast me or whatever. I was always planning on telling you whether you agreed or not. But me and the guys… I think we’ve found somewhere. Somewhere good. Perfect location. Perfect little community. And you know what?”

  Curtis’ smile widened, just a little more. “Go on.”

  “I think I know exactly how we’re gonna make that place our home.”

  Chapter Seven

  Noah wasn’t sure what to expect when he heard the doors to the container swing open.

  Blinding light filled the container. His throat was dry, far dryer than it had ever been. His stomach felt so hungry that it was practically eating itself, but at the same time, he knew if he ate anything, he’d just throw it right up. He ached everywhere. Every inch of his body was on fire. He just wanted to be free of this pain. He just wanted a release. He just wanted—

  “Hello, sport.”

  That voice. That familiar voice he’d heard, long ago now. But a voice he’d remember. A voice he’d never forget.

  That ginger man.

  The curly locks.

  The huge, rock-solid head.

  And those huge, piercing eyes.

  Curtis.

  He stood there, smile on his face. Hands on his waist. He walked over towards Noah. Looked around this dark container, turning his nose up.

  “I like what you done with the place,” Curtis said. “Seems… cosy. Homely. You settled in well?”

  Noah backed up. His jaw shook. He wanted to fight this lunatic. He wanted to throttle him. He wanted to kick the shit out of him.

  But just thinking about doing anything physical like that filled him with a deep, suffocating exhaustion, one he knew he couldn’t shake. Like walking through tar in a nightmare.

  And Curtis knew it. That was the difficult thing. He knew damn well how weak Noah was right now. How pathetic he was right now.

  So much so, he didn’t even look to be carrying a gun or any kind of weapon.

  But he was carrying something.

  A box filled with something. A blue box that looked… familiar, somehow. A box he couldn’t place.

  And a box that Noah couldn’t help feeling totally terrified about, ’cause he didn’t know what was in there at all.

  Curtis walked across the metal floor of this shipping container. He took a few deep snorts of the air, looked disgusted, spat across it. “Shit, dude. You could at least learn to clean up after yourself, no? I give you a nice little home like this here, and you trash it like this. Not good. Not good at all. Not one iota. Uh-uh.”

  He stopped right in front of Noah, then. He was so close that Noah could hear his heavy breathing. Every damned breath of his was laboured. Forced. And it sounded furious. Raging.

  Like there was a deep anger within this guy just waiting to burst out.

  “Cat got your tongue or something?” he asked.

  Noah opened his mouth. He tried to speak, but his throat was totally dry.

  Curtis shook his head like he was realising right away. “No. Sure. Sure. Long time in here. Probably screamed yerself all out in the early days, huh? Like a lil baby! But it’s good. It’s cool. No sweat. I get it. I got somethin’ for you anyway. Special delivery, or somethin’, huh?”

  He smiled that menacing smile.

  And then he lowered the box to the floor.

  Opened it up.

  Noah expected all sorts. He expected knives. Torture devices. All kinds of hellish pieces of kit. Glimpses of a torture ahead. Of a hell ahead.

  And you know what?

  He was ready for whatever, now.

  He was ready for the end.

  If that’s what it took to get out of this hell, he was ready for it.

  But when Curtis opened that box, Noah didn’t see torture devices, or knives, or any kind of weapon at all.

  He saw a couple of icy cold bottles of water. A few beers, dripping with their coolness. He saw packets of rice. Cooked meat. So delicious looking that he wanted to reach out and grab it and lose himself in it all right away.

  “Looks good, huh?” Curtis said. “Bet you’d like to wrap them chapped lips o’yours around it all right now, huh?”

  Noah wanted it. He wanted it so bad.

  But that want was tinged with sadness, too.

  A pain.

  Because he knew damn well, he wasn’t going to get what he wanted here.

  He knew damn well this was just torture. This was a way of making him suffer psychologically.

  He was trapped, and there was no way out.

  Curtis sighed. He reached the bottle over to Noah. Undid the lid. Then he pressed it gently against Noah’s lips and tilted it back, careful as ever. “Slow, boy. Keep it slow. Don’t wanna go drowning yourself now, do we?”

  Noah gulped the water back rapidly. He wanted to fight back. Wanted to resist. There had to be some kind of catch here. Some kind of trap.

  But Curtis just kept tilting that bottle. Kept on pouring the water into Noah’s mouth.

  Until the bottle was totally empty, and Noah felt a cold wave right through his body. A crashing wave of relief. A newfound energy, a lightness.

  He looked into Curtis’ smiling eyes, and for the first time in God knows how long, Noah said a word to somebody.

  “Cunt,” he said.

  Curtis laughed. He wiped the bottle neck against his shirt. “Well, damn! That ain’t how I expected you to repay my kindness. But kid, I get it. Really, I get it. Capturing you. Lockin’ you away in here. It can’t be nice. I get it. Yessir. But you gotta look at the bigger picture, matey. You gotta see things from my perspective. I can’t just have you wanderin’ in here, braining my people. That made people mad, y’know? And in the early days, well. In the early days, people forgot about that for a while cause of that whole big ruckus with Eddie. Him shootin’ that little bird, and all.”

  “She was called Jane,” Noah spat.

  Curtis narrowed his eyes. “Huh?”

  “Jane. She had a name. Her name was Jane.”

  Suddenly, Curtis’ face dropped. “Oh. Oh hell! You had a crush on her, didn’t you? Ah, man that sucks, big time. Sittin’ there next to yer bird, Jane. Watching your friend Eddie put a bullet through her. Her blood, all over your goddamned face.”

  “Stop.”

  “In fact,” Curtis said, not changing tack, “I swear I see somethin’ on your face right now.” He reached over. Went to wipe something away with his big thumb. “Think that’s a bit of
her blood from all those weeks back—”

  Noah grabbed Curtis’ arm. He pulled it close. Tightened his grip around it. Dragged himself so close to Curtis’ face that he was within head butting distance.

  “I’ll kill you.”

  Curtis smirked. “Oh, you will, will you? How you plannin’ on doin’ that, huh?”

  Noah tightened his jaw. “I don’t know how. I don’t know when. But I’ll kill you. One day, you’ll look up into my eyes, and I promise you right fucking now I’ll make you beg for your life. You will beg for your life. And then you will beg me to kill you. And I won’t. Not until I’m ready. Not until I am ready. And only then will I finish you off.”

  There was silence between them both. Tension in the air.

  Then suddenly, Curtis yanked his arm away from Noah with a tremendous force and chuckled. “That’s nice, Noah. Very nice story you got there. But anyway. I just came ’ere to give you a little pick-me-up. And to tell you to get ready for somethin’. The people, you see. They’re gettin’… tetchy. They need entertaining. And I think I know exactly what they need.”

  His eyes glistened. Total evil within shone through.

  “But hey ho,” Curtis said, grabbing the box, picking it up. “Better shoot. I’m a busy man, y’see. You look after yourself, Noah. Look after the ark. Geddit? Noah’s ark! Ha. Man, I always was such a joker. Your friend, Eddie. He’s a funny guy too. Real funny guy. Loyal, too. I like him.”

  Noah’s heart skipped a beat. “Is Eddie okay?”

  Curtis looked over at Noah. Smiled. “He will be. As long as you behave.”

  He felt torn again, then. Part of him wanted to get up. Part of him wanted to fight.

  But the other part of him wanted to stay sat here.

  Because he couldn’t put anyone else in danger.

  He just couldn’t.

  “Oh,” Curtis said, stopping by the container doors. “One more thing. Little souvenir. One of the boys, Grant, he’s called. He’s a bit of a freak. Master of preserving shit. Using alcohol, that kinda thing. Oh, I dunno. But anyway. Figured you could use a lil light in here. Got just the thing.”

  He reached into that big blue box, then walked over to the side of the room. Placed what he had in his hand on a little desk chair.

  And then he stepped away from it.

  Noah squinted at it.

  He couldn’t make it out at first.

  But when it hit, horror gripped his body.

  “Somethin’ for you to remember your old bird by. So you ain’t so lonely in here. Have a lovely day, Noah. And you get yourself ready. You’ve no fucking idea what’s coming, boyo. But it’s gonna be a blast!”

  He stepped away from the desk chair.

  Stepped out of the shipping container.

  Slammed the door shut.

  But the container stayed illuminated, a little light shining through it.

  And Noah felt a wave of nausea engulf him entirely.

  Because sitting on top of that desk chair, in a large glass jar, illuminating in the dark, there was a head.

  Jane’s decapitated head floating in fluid.

  Terror in her eyes.

  Chapter Eight

  Zelda sat back in her shipping container and wanted nothing more than to inject herself with heroin and disappear to some other fucking dimension.

  Her “home” was nicer than the first place she lived in. There were mirrors on the walls, dusty, but adding an illusion of space to the place. There was poorly laid carpet across the hard floor, which had a vague smell of vomit. An old, cracked leather sofa sat back against the wall. Clear attempts to make this place more comforting. More homely. A pretty lame attempt in all truth, but it was the effort that counted, she figured.

  Her body shook all over. She felt sick. Totally sick. The taste of vomit clung to her throat, constantly. She’d always been slim, but she was bonier now than ever.

  And that heroin sitting there in her palms was so tempting. She could drift away. Disappear to some other place. Lose herself and not have a care in the world about anything.

  She’d tried heroin a couple of times, before this new world order. She was always a curious person. Always looking for ways she could reinvent herself. Ways to make herself whole, even though she’d fast realised there was nothing whole about her life anymore. And there was never going to be anything whole about her. Because that’s just who she was. She’d always been this lost little girl. She wasn’t like other people.

  And she had to stop letting that hold her back.

  She had to use it to make herself stronger.

  So she turned that heroin around in her hand. There was a slight puncture in the little bag, which saw the powder trickle to the floor. She made sure she spread it around the room. That way, it could easily just be dismissed as dust. Every now and then, someone would come in here, throw her a sweeping brush, and without a care in the world, she’d sweep it all away, and they’d be none the wiser.

  She kept on turning that bag around in her hand. Kept on pacing around this container. Around this cell of hers.

  She thought about the woman she’d killed in the fight yesterday. Her twentieth victory, apparently. She was convinced it was only her eighteenth or nineteenth. Showed just how much she was losing track.

  But regardless of any of that, she tried to tell herself she was strong. That she didn’t care about the awful things she’d had to do. It helped her detach from her actions, in a way.

  She just told herself she had no other choice. It was kill or be killed.

  And she would pay for what she’d done, someday. Hell, she was paying for it now. She couldn’t sleep at night without seeing the faces of those she’d killed in order to stay alive herself. She couldn’t close her eyes and drift off without hearing their struggles for breath, feeling their dying hands scratch against her face, hear their begging screams.

  She just lived with the hope that one day, this would all be for something. One day, she would have an opportunity to repent for her actions. That she could do something for the surviving people in this place—the innocent ones—to help them out. To absolve herself of her guilt.

  And that one day, she would get her revenge on the people who had subjected her to these horrors. Who had betrayed her. Who were culpable for her suffering.

  She wanted to stop kneeling for these people.

  The people she despised most.

  And those people were Curtis, Eddie, and Finn.

  She tensed her fists when she thought of Finn. She knew he was just a kid. She knew he was no doubt going through some serious shit. He’d probably been pumped full of drugs and ordered to do what he’d done with some threat hanging over his or his family’s life.

  She understood that.

  But what that little shit didn’t understand was how hard opening up had been for her. How she didn’t just willingly volunteer what she’d volunteered to him to anyone. That he was the only damned person in her life she’d told some of her secrets to.

  She took a deep breath. Tried to let go of her anger. Of her lust for revenge.

  She’d get her revenge in some way, in time.

  She’d get it, and she—

  The shipping container door opened.

  Michael.

  Michael was short, probably barely over five four, but pretty solidly built. Wore thin-rimmed glasses, had a god-awful neckbeard and stunk of onion. Walked with a hunch and always carried a pistol.

  Michael struggled keeping eye contact with anyone. But he seemed to have this problem with Zelda more than anyone else.

  “How you doin, Zelda?” he said, scratching the back of his spotty neck.

  Zelda stood her ground. Stuffed that half-emptied bag of heroin back into her pocket. Yeah, she could wear clothes in here. One of the “luxuries” of being a champion at this place. “I’ve been better.”

  “So, uh,” Michael said, closing the shipping container door, and keeping that pistol in hand, always. “The boss. He said—h
e said maybe I could, uh, help you with that.”

  Zelda frowned. “In what sense?”

  Michael glanced over at her, and she knew what this was right away.

  “Oh,” she said.

  “It ain’t, like, creepy or anything. Totally consensual, you know. Only if you want it.”

  Zelda looked at this disgusting human being and wondered how in the name of fuck he could ever have the audacity to suggest she might ever entertain anything with him.

  But then at the same time… she saw what this was. It was a power play. Another attempt by Curtis to break her down. She hadn’t been raped. All in all, they’d treated her well in that regard.

  But setting her up with the biggest—or littlest, if we’re going by height—creep in this place… yeah, Curtis knew damn well she was going to struggle with this.

  But she found herself doing something she didn’t expect.

  She walked over to the back of the shipping container.

  Took her clothes off.

  Threw them down, then lay back, legs wide.

  “Go on, then,” she said. “Do what you’ve got to do.”

  Michael blushed. His weasel-like eyes widened. He looked like his wildest dreams and his worst nightmares were all coming true, all at once. “You—you mean you’re cool with it?”

  “Does it look like I’m cool with it?”

  “Well, uh, I suppose it, uh…”

  And then, hurriedly, Michael stripped his clothes off. Folded them and put them neatly to one side. But he kept his jeans on. Kept that gun strapped to that holster on his waist.

  “Well?” Zelda said. “Not gonna take your pants off?”

  Michael cleared his throat. “I, uh… I’d rather, uh, keep ’em on. If that’s okay with you, like.”

  Zelda thought about questioning the logic.

  But in the end, she figured whatever helped her avoid sex with this weirdo was a bonus. “Whatever gets you off.”

  He walked over to her. Crouched on top of her. And then he pecked at her naked body like a little bird eating seeds from a feeder.

  And she could see him getting harder.