by Angel Lawson
“What if Jane is behind this?” I argue.
“Exactly. What if Jane is behind this? What then?”
There’s movement in the closet and we both look over. One figure moves out of the darkness and to my utter shock calls out my name and asks, “Is that you?”
I grab the flashlight from Wyatt, even though I don’t need to shine the light on the face of the person calling my name. “Paul?”
“Alex!”
His pale, sweaty face breaks into a brief smile before he doubles over and groans in pain. He pitches forward and I lunge at him, tearing away from Wyatt’s hands trying to hold me back. “Don’t go in there!” he yells, but I’m already inside, arms wrapped around my friend.
Paul’s breathing is shallow as I turn him over, but he opens his eyes. “Stay with me,” I tell him. “I’m going to get you help.”
“Thank you,” he replies before his body stills and his eyes flicker shut once more.
Chapter 17
Quarantine sucks, and by day two I’m considering breaking out. We’re not here because of the Eater virus. The vaccine works, but whatever illness Paul and the others from the evacuation center have hasn’t been identified. The doctors want to make sure it’s not contagious and that we’re not infected with whatever it may be.
So we’re stuck in a medical building on the far side of the camp for at least another twenty-four hours.
Wyatt and Parker use the time to sleep. I know from experience, Wyatt is not a fan of tight spaces and doing nothing, but like the rest of us, exhaustion is never far away these days and having forced rest helps in that aspect. They go off to their separate rooms and I haven’t seen either, other than brief trips to the bathroom, in over a day.
In contrast, Davis has dismantled, cleaned, and reassembled every gun in the unit. Four times. One of the doctors finally gave him a jigsaw puzzle scavenged from somewhere. He’s been quiet ever since.
Jude, to my surprise, has spent our time here with his nose in a book. The Bible, actually. I leave him to it.
And Paul? Well, I’ve been sitting in a chair next to his bed since we got here, hoping he’ll regain consciousness. All of the people we found at the evacuation center have been unresponsive, and are being monitored in various beds around the quarantine clinic. They were dehydrated and feverish. All of them absolutely filthy. While Paul was being washed, the nurse discovered the dark bruises and needle prick scars on his arms.
I’m determined to see my friend survive, and to find out more about what happened and exactly who did this to him and the others.
A worker comes by the tiny room and knocks, holding out a thermometer. I sigh and wave her in. “I feel fine,” I tell her for the hundredth time in two days.
“Open wide.”
She places the old-fashioned thermometer under my tongue—no electronic or digital here—and after a minute removes it. “Still normal.”
“What about him?” I ask, nodding to Paul on the cot.
She squeezes past me and takes his temperature. After reading it, she presses a hand to his forehead. “It’s down.”
“It is?” That’s the first time since we found him. “What about the others?”
“They’re next.”
She leaves the room and I prepare to settle back in my seat until the next interruption, but I notice a slight movement on the cot and lean forward.
“Paul?” I say, quietly. His eyelids flicker and I move to my knees and touch him gently on the arm. “Can you hear me? It’s Alex.”
He blinks and his hand claws at this throat. I grab the bottle of water next to the bed, helping him lean up a little as he takes a small sip.
“Alex,” he says with a scratchy voice. “I thought I was dreaming.”
I smile. “Nope. Not a dream. How do you feel?”
“Better—I guess. Tired.” He looks around the room and for the first time, I see his eyes. They look darker than I remember. “Where are we?”
“At a medical clinic.”
His eyebrows knit together and his entire demeanor changes. “A clinic? Where? What do they do here?”
He’s completely agitated—shifting nervously, those dark eyes panicked. “Hey, it’s okay. My sister and my dad run this place. Remember? I was looking for them? This is why.” He settles under the blanket, but probably more out of exhaustion than from being reassured. I take his hand; it’s warm but not the blazing, feverish heat from the last couple of days. “Can you tell me what happened, Paul?”
He laughs. “Starting when? That day I left you in the truck? Or when I got sick.”
“All of it. We thought you were dead—in the explosion on the bridge.”
Paul reaches for the bottle of water and takes a long drag. With a heavy sigh he begins to speak, describing the scene on the bridge. “Just like we thought, they checked us for the infection and divided us into two groups before loading us on the buses. I just remember that helicopter overhead being so loud, and everyone panicked when it started shooting.”
“Everyone on that other bus was infected?”
He shook his head. “No. They also asked us a question before splitting us up. They asked if we were willing to make a sacrifice for the survival of the country. The bus they destroyed held the people that said no.”
“Wait, what?”
“Yeah, they said no to the people that rounded us up. Join us and you’ll live. Don’t and you’re dead. Thank god I picked the right one.” He frowns. “I guess.”
“What happened after that?” I ask, not sure I want an answer.
He rubs his black hair. “They took us to a facility—we thought it was an evacuation center. I mean, I guess it was, in a way. It was set up for testing.” He looks around. “A lot like this, actually.”
I reach for his hand and take it in my own. “You’re safe here. I promise.”
“It’s a little hard to trust people right now.”
“I understand more than you can imagine. A lot of stuff has happened to me, too, since we last saw each other.”
“After that day, we moved to three different facilities. Each one like the last.” I glance at the bruises on his arm and he tugs at the blanket. “We were guinea pigs. Poked, pricked, and prodded.”
I shiver, remembering my time at Fort Shaw with Erwin in his lab. Festering anger wells inside. “The vaccine?”
“So they said. They were a full-on propaganda machine. We were doing this for our country. It was our duty for the survival of man-kind.”
I’d heard all that before. From Erwin, and to be honest, my sister.
Paul tells me the remainder of his story. How they moved frequently due to general apocalypse instability and what seemed like the scientists upping the vaccine tests at each location. Eventually, they arrived at the final facility a month ago where the tests started up immediately, but this time, he says, something went wrong.
“People had gotten sick before. The occasional virus running through the group or maybe some unfortunate side effects, but what happened at the final school was bad.” He holds up his wrist, revealing the purple band I’d asked them not to remove. “We were each given doses of the latest vaccine. That’s what the band means. What vaccine you were given and at what facility. Before that, the ones I wore were green and yellow. The purple vaccine though…something was wrong with it and it not only didn’t work against the infection, but triggered it.”
“Triggered the infection?” I whisper.
He nods. “Yes, a wave of flu-like symptoms rolled through the group. Fever and nausea. Everyone got it—except the doctors, who were understaffed and overwhelmed. I didn’t care, though. I wanted to be alone in my misery and die in peace.” He laughs darkly. “It was too much to ask. My stomach was a wreck and even though I was delirious with fever, I left the gym for the bathroom in the hall just as the first fight broke out. While I was puking my guts out, the screams and howling started. God, the howling.”
“Eater howling?”
“Definitely like the Eaters. There was no mistaking it. The entire gym was under siege. People attacking one another, the sick being attacked and bitten in their sleep. I watched it all from the window in the door, right up to when the first bomb dropped. I ran away from the gym and found a couple other survivors. We holed up, sick and dying. At one point, I thought someone had come to rescue us. I thought I heard gunfire, but it’s entirely possible I was hallucinating.” He smiles. “Then you found us.”
I barely hold it together, thinking about what Paul had been through and how it was more than a miracle that we’d found him alive. “The bomb,” I say. “That’s how they got out. That’s how they found us.”
“What?”
“The Eaters that didn’t die in the explosion attacked us on the road on our way here the very first day. We saw the smoke in the distance and the arm bands on the dead. It took a few days, but the remaining infected eventually found us here and attacked as well.” His shoulders tense and eyes widen. “We killed them all. I promise. The clinic is very secure.”
“That’s what they said about the testing facility, too.”
I frown. “What happened to the guards? The doctors?”
“I don’t know. I think they left when they saw what was happening.”
“They abandoned you?”
He shrugged, eyes drooping from exhaustion. “Someone sent that bomb to destroy us. All of us.”
A small sound in the hallway gets my attention and I look out the doorway. Wyatt has his back pressed against the wall, listening to every word. I shouldn’t be surprised. I turn back to Paul and see his eyelids closing. I clasp my hand to his. “Get some sleep.”
His grip tightens. “They think we’re dead, Alex. I know they do. I’m sure there were not supposed to be any survivors.”
“You’re safe,” I tell him again. “I promise I’ll keep you safe.”
My words seem to be enough, even though I feel like a liar saying them. He releases my hand, slipping quickly back to sleep. I wait for a moment, composing myself before leaving the room. I take one fast look at Wyatt, who has his mouth open, ready to start giving orders. I hold up my hand and say, “We need to talk.”
Chapter 18
We gather the others in Wyatt’s cramped room and tell them everything Paul just revealed. The testing. The sickness. The bombings. There’s only one question and we all have it.
“Who did this?” Jude asks from his spot next to Parker on the bed.
“That Erwin guy you’re always talking about?” she tosses out.
Davis and Wyatt exchange looks. I know they’re wondering what I’m wondering. Which psycho is behind this? Erwin or my sister? The military or PharmaCorp? I’m no longer sure if there’s any difference.
“Maybe Paul doesn’t have the full story. It sounds like he was pretty sick. Maybe he hallucinated some of it?” Jude is trying to reconcile the terrible story.
“You did say that the military bombed that bus in Raleigh,” Davis says. I’d told them that months ago. Paul just confirmed it. His large frame blocks the door like a brick wall. “Sounds like their M.O. Plus, I’m really not sure PharmaCorp has access to military-grade weapons like that.”
Now it’s time for me and Wyatt to share a look. We both know anything is possible with Jane. Nothing will stop her, but the bombings do sound a little extreme.
“What do you think?” I ask him.
“It sounds like Erwin had a larger testing pool than we knew about.”
“So you don’t think it’s Jane?” I ask. The other three snap their attention to me. Yeah, they just figured out what I think about my sister.
“No. Like Davis said, between the bombings and out of control testing, it sounds like what we experienced at Fort Shaw. He’s desperate.”
I feel relief at his words. “Then what now?”
“I think everyone needs to be careful. It may feel like the world is gone, but it’s not. We’re in a battle for the future and right now we have the leverage, the vaccine. But that also means it’s a liability. It means we will have enemies coming for it. For us.”
“Why are they our enemies?” Parker asks. Her confusion mirrors on Jude’s face. “Don’t we all just want the same thing?”
Before Wyatt can answer, a hand beats on the door. “Open up!” The nurse yells. Davis swings open the door, hand already poised on this gun. She ignores him but stares at Wyatt. “The front gate has asked for you.”
“We’re in quarantine,” I argue.
“I told them that. They don’t care.”
“And this person overrules procedure?” Davis asks. She shrugs and shuts the door. None of us speak, but my mind has already gone to one awful place.
It’s Erwin. It has to be. The school must have been monitored. We fell directly into his trap.
Again.
Davis and Wyatt must feel the same way and spring into action, checking weapons, using lingo I can’t quite follow. I’m quick on their heels but stop abruptly in the hall. “What do we do about the sick? I promised Paul he’d be safe.”
Wyatt nods at Davis, who takes off toward the back of the building. “Where’s he going?”
“He’ll take care of them. And you.”
“I’m going with you.”
He sighs. “No. You’re not. I’ve been called to the front gate. That’s all. It’s probably nothing. But if it is something, you’ll be fine.”
“One rule, Wyatt.”
He gives me a hard stare and chews on words he never spits out, instead leaving me and storming out the door. I go to follow, but Jude calls my name and it’s clear he needs help with a barely functioning Paul, who is currently slung over his shoulder.
“Fine,” I mutter at the doorway he just exited through. “Whatever.”
Parker tosses me my backpack and I take Paul’s as well. Davis leads us out the backdoor, despite the nurse’s arguments to the contrary. If Wyatt can leave, so can we, right? I have no idea where we’re going, but simply walking outside into the fading daylight perks me up. It’s been days without fresh air.
I inhale, ignoring the lingering soot and smoke from the fight the other night, and I’m caught by surprise when Hayes steps out of the shadows next to Davis. He takes charge and leads us toward the main building—the original Welcome Center. We pass the front doors and the bathrooms connected to the sides. We move quickly toward the back, away from the functioning parts of the compound.
“Where are we going?” Parker asks.
“No talking,” he says. He stops after a few more steps and looks around. No one is watching us. Are we hiding from someone?
Hayes ducks behind a row of thick hedges that obscure the mechanical boxes for the building. We follow and watch as he drops to his knees and rolls back—yes, rolls—a thick section of faded grass. Just beneath is a piece of metal that he quickly heaves upward.
“Is that a door?” Jude asks, shifting Paul’s weight. I grab onto my old friend to give extra support.
He doesn’t reply, but one by one we leave the darkening evening for a darker hole. Parker’s hand clasps mine to steady herself, or maybe for courage, I don’t know.
The stairway is narrow and steep. Jude takes over carrying Paul on his own. Thankfully, a light flickers on above and at the bottom of the stairs it’s clear we’re in some sort of bunker. A short hallway stretches in front of us, ending in some sort of room. I spot tables and a few chairs. Rooms jut off to the sides. Hayes opens one and points to a sparse bed before helping Jude get Paul settled. He rolls over and sighs, seeming content to stay asleep.
I turn and walk out of the room and head toward the bigger one at the end. Lights flip on, apparently triggered by movement, until I get to what I can see now is a small kitchen and living area. A leather couch is pushed against one wall, cabinets and a pantry, the other. A kitchen table is in the middle, surrounded by plastic coated chairs. Jude pulls one away from the table, the legs scraping against the cement floor, and sits down.
“How did you know about this?” I ask.
“There are bunkers like this along every highway across the country, most under welcome or rest areas. High level officials in each state were supposed to use them in case of an emergency—a real one,” Hayes replies.
“When did you find out about it?”
That, he doesn’t answer. “You guys will wait here until Wyatt gives us the clear.”
“You’re not staying?”
He shakes his head but offers nothing else. Soon after, he leaves the way we came in.
Parker groans with frustration. “Why did he bring us down here now? It’s not like we’re under attack.”
“Not yet,” Davis says, glancing over at me. “We stumbled into a hornet’s nest at that school. Someone wanted everyone dead and no signs of the experiments. We brought back survivors.”
“So we’re targets?” she asks.
I laugh through a shiver from the cold and head over to the kitchen to check supplies, adding, “Welcome to my world.”
*
Being down here must have helped lower my guard, because I fall asleep in an instant on the musty lower bunk in one of the rooms. I only wake when I hear—no, feel, a presence in my room.
I wrap my fingers along the cool handle of my hatchet and blink the sleep away. The room is pitch black and I can see nothing, but I know someone is nearby.
The good news is that no one has tried to kill me yet, so it must be a friendly, right?
“Wyatt?” I ask quietly, barely loud enough to hear myself.
“Is there a reason you expect Wyatt in your room while you’re sleeping?” The reply comes from so much closer than I expected, and I’m halfway out of the bed in panic before I recognize the voice.
Unfortunately, not before I’ve punched Cole in the gut.
“Holy crap, Cole!” I drop the hatchet to my bed with a soft thud and grab his shirt with a shaking hand. He gasps from the hit. “I nearly took your head off.”
“It’s good to see you, too.”
I roll my eyes, but it’s wasted in the dark. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, no thanks to that right hook.” His hand moves up my arm to squeeze my bicep. “You’ve gotten stronger.”