By the time I finish browsing the bare outdoor section, the dogs have settled who gets what piece of leftovers and sound calmer. Still, I’m not about to risk a confrontation, so I walk toward the staff back door, gaze traveling to the pack once or twice. I jiggle the knob, and nothing happens. Locked.
Of course.
I stare at the door, lips pressed together as I search for a solution that won’t end up with me dead. What I would give to be a master of picking locks like most action heroes and video game protagonists. Since I’m not, I look for an axe or something similar to hack the door open. The possibility of finding a weapon in here is slim; this place has been picked to its bones and weapons are the prime rib in an all-you-can-eat meat buffet. Also, the damn hardware aisle is close to where the dogs are.
Shit. Here goes my shoulder again. After taking a deep breath and steadying myself, I hit the door with my shoulder, pounding my body against it multiple times. Just as my shoulder cracks out of place, the door falls under the weight and onto the ground with a loud thud. I get up with some difficulty since my arm dangles dumbly to one side. I hold it with my good hand and force it back in place. The bone pops but stays. It’ll be sore for a few days until it’s fully recovered, but I’m used to having limbs go on vacation from time to time.
Satisfied with the state of my shoulder, I lift the door and use it to block the entrance. Inside, I find two employee lockers open and in one of them, there’s a nice pair of sneakers that fit me. Overall, this has been a great supply run, I think.
I exit the store by the delivery garage, stepping into an alley just as an engine roars nearby. I hide behind a dumpster and a second later a red blur races past the alley. The car brakes, its tires burning against the pavement. Curiosity gets the better of me. Crouched around the corner, I peek at the street. Two men and a woman get out of a very damaged and badly patched-up car. I take Gail’s photo out of my jacket pocket and check the license plate from the family photo. It’s the same. That’s the Impala I saw. The outer shell barely resembles the picture, with bumps, pieces of other cars, and modifications, but the numbers match.
The woman whistles and seconds later the pack comes running, barking happily at the call. I don’t see any guns or weapons. Clearly they don’t care if they attract zombies with all this noise. So what gives? What’s the deal with these guys?
More importantly, should I bother finding out more? From the looks of it, Gail’s son is dead. I should quit while I'm ahead.
I have no time to decide as one of the dogs, a Great Dane no less, catches my scent and crosses the street, barking madly. My only chance is to go back inside the store and exit by the front.
“Whatcha found, buddy? Is it a zomb?” the muscular man from the group says as the whole pack trots toward the alley. “Found another one for us to catch, buddy? Go get that zomb!”
I stop moving for a second, then shake my head. Catch? Crap, now I have to find out more. The dogs surround me, tails wagging at finding their prey. So they’re domesticated and trained to hunt, but not to kill zombies. Dammit, I’m even more curious. I hate myself sometimes. Nope, I hate myself all the time.
“Grab the bat, Maddie. This might get ugly,” the same guy says.
At hearing this, my curiosity disappears real quick. I raise my hands and slowly reveal myself out in the street, the dogs jumping at me playfully with their tongues out. Jesus, how many zombies have they played with? They’re treating me like a potential chewing toy.
“Hey! I’m... friendly and all that.” I’m so dumb. They’re going to kill me—or try, anyway. “Don’t smash my head, dude.”
The humans all stop dead in their tracks. Of the three, the woman recovers first, closing her gaping mouth and taking a step back to be near the car. Of course, the alpha male pretends he wasn’t shocked and immediately goes into threatening mode by raising his bat. With a clear view of the street, I notice the third guy is actually a teen, with the usual pimples and age-appropriate limb awkwardness that accompany the label.
“Friendly, huh? I bet you are, now that my dogs found you, that is.” The older guy strides in my direction with the bat still in hand. “Why were you sneaking around my town?”
If I had a pair of socks for every time I heard that question. One would think these types of situations would be pretty routine for everyone involved by now. “I’m only doing a supply run. That’s it. I would love to leave town. Nobody needs to get hurt.”
One of the dogs, a mean little Yorkshire, playfully bites the hems of my pants. Next thing he’ll start humping me, I bet.
“Really? How nice. Very Zen of you. Maddie, what do you think?”
Maddie’s expression is so familiar, I don’t need to hear her answer to know I’m in trouble. Gail was the first person in a long, long time to trust me. She’ll probably be the last.
“I don’t know, Pat. Personally, I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t show his face. All those layers of clothing? Hiding a bite, this one, I’m sure. Or a weapon. And nobody honest smells like that.”
“He needs a shower, so what? Let him be.” The teen comes to my rescue. I guess he’s insecure about his personal hygiene, like any good fifteen-year-old would be.
I point at him with a smile. “Hey, thanks.”
The kid shrugs and stares at the ground quickly to avoid my eyes, because he’s a kid, so of course he does that. I smile against my better judgment.
“Why can’t I just go? I have places to be.”
This elicits laughter from all three, although the teen’s laugh is more of a timid cough.
“Touring the country, are we?” Pat asks while moving even closer to me. “Have you seen the Grand Canyon yet?”
So, he’s stalling to hit me with the bat and I can’t exactly escape since his dogs are surrounding me. Looks like I’m fighting this guy. Time to evaluate my chances. He’s bigger and stronger and probably enjoys inflicting pain on others. Me? I’m a... I got moves. Yeah. I’ll be fine.
“I’m not interested in sightseeing.” I take note of the way he moves and which side he seems to favor. The main problem is the pack. Will they turn aggressive if I attack their master? “Look, dude, do you really want to fight me? Can’t we move on with our lives?”
Maddie’s whistle scatters the dogs as Pat raises his bat with the full intention of smashing my head. Guess the lady cares more about her dogs than this guy’s arm. I intercept his blow by locking his wrist with my right hand. While he fights to free himself from my grip, I kick him in the stomach. As Pat kneels under my weight, I twist his wrist enough to force his hand to let go of the bat. See? I got moves.
His cries of pain stir the dogs; they growl and whine but stay put. Looks like the alpha of the pack is Maddie.
“Whoa.” I glance up at the teen’s voice. In the few seconds of our fight, he and Maddie managed to jump as far away as possible from the fight. “Are you a Jedi or somethin’?”
Okay, that comment made my week. I like this kid. “Nah. Just, you know, you pick things up while on the road.”
“Maddie, call the dogs! Come on! Don’t just stand there while the kid makes small talk.”
She cleans her teeth with one of her fingers. “Pat, my dogs hunt. They don’t attack our prey. If I let them taste human flesh, we’re screwed, ’kay? They’re starving. It’s hard enough to keep them from killing each other because of a few scraps. No way I’m adding human meat to the menu.”
“Then move your ass and help me! Use the car!”
Before she decides that’s a good idea, I shake my head and raise my free palm. “No need for that, okay? This was self-defense. Let’s all play nice now.”
Maddie nods. “I suppose Pat got carried away.”
The man shuffles, trying to escape my grasp. “What?”
She shrugs. Pat huffs and puffs but, at his companions’ hesitation, finally nods. I release his wrist and allow him to stand.
“Awesome. Glad that’s over. Now, changing the subject a bit: did
you say you wanted to capture a zombie?”
Pat tilts his head while patting the injured wrist. “Yeah. So? We keep them locked up.”
“Why?”
He frowns. “Why what?”
“Why would anyone want to lock up zombies? Most people shoot them.”
It’s Maddie’s turn to answer. “The cure is coming, haven’t you heard? The government is going to cure them soon. The word is D.C. is working on it right now.”
I blink. Twice. As she keeps talking, I try to make sense of her story. I get it now: the dogs, the car, and the noises. They want to find zombies. But a cure? Could that be wishful thinking or do they know something more?
“Do we do things to survive? Yeah, sure. If they attack us, we defend ourselves. But we don’t kill these sick people when there’s no need.”
“Wait. Back up. Who told you about the cure? Do you have any proof of this?”
The teen answers, “An Army guy told us. A few months back, he showed up with a bunch of people. He said we shouldn’t kill the zombies because a cure was almost ready.”
“But how can you be sure? Maybe he was just a crazy guy.”
Pat shakes his head slowly. “Nope. They were all in uniform. Very formal, very professional. Looked pretty official to me. Gave us their ranks. I even thought it was weird, because their leader was just a sergeant. He explained he was still the highest ranking officer present. He did have lots of badges and medals and stuff. His name was Newton or Nelson, or something.”
I frown, unsure of what to think. It could be just a weird coincidence, some random dude spewing bullshit, or the real deal. It wasn’t the first time I heard rumors about the government being active again and I did see soldiers traveling by trucks and cars a few weeks back, but you can’t ever be sure if they are really part of the Army or a civilian militia roaming and looting.
For now, I need to focus on Gail. “Can I see them? Your zombies?”
“What for? It’s depressing,” the teen says. “And gross.”
If I tell them the truth and they killed Gail’s son for the Impala, our temporary ceasefire might end prematurely.
“I’m curious. I’ve never seen one up close.”
Pat crosses his arms. “And risk you getting bitten? No way.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t. I know how to take care of myself.”
“That’s pretty clear,” Maddie says with a smile. “But it only takes a slip and you’re done.”
I hide my hands inside my pockets. “If that happens, you could always lock me up with them.”
They all trade glances before Pat nods.
We walk a few blocks to a local jail while the dogs jump around and take turns licking my hands. Wow, I’m feeling pretty popular these last few days.
As Pat unlocks the front door, Maddie tells me what happened to Bedford. “After the looting and fighting died out, only a handful of people were left. Then, it was just us, hiding from the zombs. The soldiers saved us and told us to lock the people who were bitten in the town’s jail. The cells we have are full. Just in case, we boarded the windows and keep the building locked. We also cuffed their hands.”
We pass by the front desk and into the holding area. The whole place is dark, with dust particles everywhere, and the only beams of light fight their way through the wooden boards that block the windows. Already, I can hear faint moaning.
“How do you feed them?”
“The dogs hunt for us. I used to be a dog trainer, so I taught them how. We had more, but I lost a few during the winter.” She pats the Great Dane and then tells it to wait. The whole pack sits. “We make do. Somehow.”
Our approach is enough to excite the infected. They fling themselves against the bars, some even forcing their heads between them, tongues wagging. I step closer. Their dull eyes follow me, mouths dripping with saliva. Being infected for so long, they’re mostly a mess of tumors and dried, exposed skin. No hair, not even eyebrows.
How am I going to find Gail’s son if they all look like that?
Since it’s pretty dark, I take out a flashlight from my backpack and shine it on a person. Bulging milky eyes meet my own. I can only guess this is a woman from the flower earrings on each ear, the girly necklace, and the bright green nail polish. Whatever her gender, her appearance is of a bald skeleton held together by black, bulbous tumors and scarred skin.
We stare at each other for a long time as her foul breath hits my nose like a punch. I fight the urge to touch her cheek, comfort her somehow. She’s all alone in the dark, trapped in a fate that can’t be changed, and controlled by other people’s choices. It’s not fair.
My light bounces off a shiny medallion hanging from her necklace. She growls as I take it to examine closer. It’s the shape of a heart, with a small clasp. Inside, I find two pictures of smiling girls.
Mitchell had an eagle tattoo on his neck and a wedding band in Gail’s photo. The ring might’ve been discarded after the divorce, but tattoos are usually for life.
I check each zombie for any identifying marks. To lure more of them to the front of the cell, I bang the flashlight against the bars while ignoring Pat’s protests. They shamble along, pushing each other aside to investigate the sound.
Finally, I spot the eagle tattoo on a man. His left nostril has been eaten away and one ear is missing, but he’s alive. Now what?
“Hey, buddy. Hang in there, okay?” I pat his bald head, which is stuck between the bars. He doesn’t seem to mind, blinking lazily. “Things will work out okay. For both of us.”
THE DOCTOR XIII
January 23rd, Saturday, 9 am
On our second day at the base, I start as the official doctor. The infirmary is large enough to hold four beds separated by curtains and a small office I can use for privacy. Any major surgery will have to be performed in the labs, but for someone who just recently stitched a lung back together on the floor of a high school, that’s quite an improvement.
The supply locker overflows with drugs, although fewer sedatives and sleeping pills than expected. Not surprising considering the level of stress. Fortunately, I have the keys for the locker now and will be able to control its use. I don’t want anyone on sedatives unless they actually need it.
In the corner of my new office, I find a cabinet full of medical charts from people who are now long dead, including the previous doctor in charge of the base. The charts reveal the base’s bloody history. One soldier died from hypothermia after falling through the ice, but most of the names are from people who are assumed dead after disappearing during search missions for test subjects. Only the newer entries, the ones Wikus is said to be filing himself, are of living patients, but that list is pretty short. Only five doctors from the original fifteen team members survived. The death toll is even greater among the security team: from thirty to ten guards.
The rest of the files have nothing beyond prescriptions for ibuprofen and aspirin, so the first thing on my to-do list is to schedule health checkups.
I start a chart for Lily, Roger, Danny, Mouse, Tigh, and myself. Besides Danny’s and Mouse’s, Lily’s chart is the only one with an extensive list of injuries.
Biting my lower lip, I search for blank forms and write Victoria’s name, her age, and her cause of death. I do the same for her parents, for the soldiers, and for Tom. Their deaths won’t fade away; I won’t forget them. What happened to them will be known when this is all over, even if I die. It’s a small gesture, but I do it anyway. I hold my side where Victoria’s father shot me. Seven deaths. Each hurts more than my wound. If I had tried talking to Tigh instead of forcing his hand... At the time, I thought the danger was worth it, but now that I’m in this place, seeing it all happen without bloodshed? When the world goes back to normal, I’ll find a way to take responsibility for my actions.
With no more paperwork to do, I organize my supplies multiple times. An hour later, I’m back to staring at nothing. I roll my chair around, then rest my elbows on the desk, letting out a long
sigh. The uneasiness I feel in the pit of my stomach just grows with time.
While I’m here, warm and safe, Tigh is out there. It seems unfair that after everything he did to bring us here, he’s risking his life again. Tigh will be out for most of the day, which means I’ll spend most of my time worrying about him.
“Knock, knock!”
I raise my head and find Prudence by the door, arms crossed over her big chest. Too focused on my thoughts, I didn’t even notice her come in. “Oh, hi! I didn’t hear you.”
She smirks. “No, really?”
I shake my head and signal her to come in. “How can I help you?”
“Nice digs.” Prudence looks around while nodding in mock approval. “Got one of a hell of a headache. Any drugs that might make me high enough to get over it?”
“You make me sound like a drug dealer.” I shake my head and walk to the drug cabinet. There’s enough ibuprofen to last us a lifetime.
“Well, we all have our burdens to bear. Mine involves monkey hair. Somehow it always finds its way into my throat.” She takes the small bottle from my hands, looks around, and then says, “Have some free time? I want you to see Paris, Berlin, Rio de Janeiro, Havana, New London, and Seoul.”
“Are we going to your office or on a trip?”
“Sadly, just my office. I named my monkeys after all the cool cities I’ll never know now because they were probably bombed to hell. Come on. Something big is about to happen and you’ll want a front-row seat.”
If it is what I want it to be, then she’s right. Besides, I could use the distraction. “All right.”
I follow Prudence to her personal lab. She talks loudly about her monkeys, but my mind drifts toward most serious matters while she tells funny anecdotes. What if this test is just as disastrous as my attempts with rats were? I don’t think I can bear more disappointment. Neither can Lily and Roger.
Those Who Remain (Book 3) Page 11