These frightened, yet hopeful people are tragically turned into Skins after surviving the plague, in hiding, for months. It is terrifying to think that the Skins are smart enough, and savvy enough to lure these people out. Or maybe, something else is pulling the humans to the Skins. I haven’t forgotten the feeling I had when Sarah looked into my eyes.
Additionally, we continue to learn about groups of our newly-vaccinated friends, despite our admonition to arm themselves and stay in hiding or flee, succumbing to, or falling at the hands of giant herds of Skins. All of them that could be contacted—and contact was maintained as much as possible with our bunker—were continually updated on the activity and dangerous propensities of the Skins. It doesn’t seem to have mattered.
Perhaps without ample weaponry or other protection, the humans haven’t been able to defend themselves. Of course, according to Mike, the people we have inoculated and warned have not all been lured out of hiding by the Skins, but instead, the Skins have found and attacked them.
Despite our prior vaccinations, those bitten by the Skins are turning. Dr. Shevchuk has no explanation for this phenomenon because it simply defies nature and all known physical and spiritual laws presently known to us.
In any case, of the few hundred people we’ve been able to vaccinate, Mike estimates that less than 100—not including the last three days’ efforts—remain “human”. Of course, all of those vaccinated with Toronto’s vaccine, and all those bitten by those vaccinated by Toronto’s vaccine, have turned as well, which equates to several thousand more according to estimates at the bunker.
Mike has still not located our friends from Shediac. They are probably dead, or worse.
Our bunker has been in constant contact with safe havens around the world, who have had relatively minor success locating people for vaccinations in the first place. Unfortunately, they are seeing the same events unfold there as we are here. The Skins who successfully crossed the Bering Strait 11 days ago are moving at such a rapid pace—far outpacing the speed of the human vaccinators—that they are overwhelming and overtaking Asia and Europe as we speak. Much like the AE plague before it, the plague of Skins is increasing exponentially as those infected infect others, who infect still others.
But what’s bothering me most is Anta’s statement a couple of days ago that she “felt” Sarah’s pain when Sarah smashed her head into my window. We haven’t talked about it again. Anta seemed very embarrassed by that whole scene. What could have caused that reaction in Anta? I’ve thought about it dozens of times, and secretly asked John to look into it, but we still have no answer.
July 3—The Moon
“Can you tell what’s wrong?” Ambassador Hasani Chalthoum asked.
“No,” Dr. Jonas Sampson replied. “I can feel all these wires sticking out, but they’re not attached to anything. It’s like someone ripped them out on purpose.”
“Why would someone do that?” Hasani asked.
“Maybe they were trying to lock themselves in, or everybody else out,” Jonas replied. “Easy enough to get through the blast doors, but getting into the launch bay will be impossible if we can’t get these wires back in place.”
Jonas and Hasani had been searching the rubble of what was once a great and thriving International Lunar Station. At some point during the onslaught of AE, someone had apparently destroyed equipment, and perhaps the ships in the launch bay. The United States colony and its shell were still intact, but portions of the international station housed within the shell were in ruins, including the components that controlled the doorway from the electronics station to the shuttle launch bay. The door was jammed, preventing access to the ships that lie beyond the doors.
The two men had easily entered the main protective blast doors on the outside of the compound. But because the launch bay doors appeared to have been sabotaged, they were scared to see what lay beyond those doors, if they ever gained access. If the ships had been destroyed too, they could be stuck on the moon forever.
“Okay, try flipping the switch again,” Jonas said a few moments later.
Hasani flipped the main power switch on the wall. Sparks erupted from several points along the landing bay floor and walls beyond the jammed door. Hasani watched through the small, round window in the door as a small fire broke out near a storehouse filled with flammable liquids used to cool ships after they landed at the Station.
“Run!” Hasani yelled.
The two men ran. Jonas slipped through the blast doors leading out into the main terminal just as Hasani slammed his fist into the wall box that controlled the doors. An enormous eruption of heat and sound filled the gap between the two sliding doors moments before they sealed shut. The blast blew Jonas off his feet and propelled him into a small desk near the doors.
“Oh man!” Jonas cried out as the noise from the blast was silenced by the closing of the blast doors.
“Are you okay?” Hasani asked, nervously, as he ran over to Jonas.
“Yeah, I’m good,” Jonas replied. “But I’m pretty sure I broke my wrist, or my hand. Probably just a small fracture, but it hurts like hell.”
“Well, let’s get back to Tom. Let him cast it. We’ll come back later. I hope the others have had more success than we’ve had.”
“At least the bay doors are open now,” Jonas said, smiling.
“Yeah, they are. But it could be a disaster in there.”
July 4, 2093, 2:00 AM—Anta
I gently tapped Shift on the shoulder. “It’s me,” I whispered. Shift took a deep breath. It was two a.m., time to change the watch.
“Ok,” Shift mumbled. He stood up slowly and turned to face me. As I looked into his eyes, I could almost see the emotion behind them. Our relationship had deepened significantly over the past few days. We’d been through so much together, and depended on each other so often. It seemed like we’d known each other for years, even though it had only been six months.
I raised my hand and pushed my short, black hair out of my eyes. I smiled as I noticed Shift staring at my lips—again. He moved toward me, but I had a strange feeling that I should move away—that now wasn’t the right time. I squeezed past him. As I sat down in the chair recently vacated by Shift, I reached for his weapon. Our fingers touched briefly, lightly. It was comfortable. Letting go of the gun, Shift turned away and wandered over to the couch.
Moments later, as I watched Shift’s silhouette fade into peaceful oblivion, and wondered why I suddenly felt apprehensive at the suggestion of physical contact with him, the front window shattered. I cried out, startled, and looked out the window, afraid of what I would see. Shift, Angel and Street all jumped up from their resting places, almost involuntarily. Shift reached me just as I started brushing hundreds of glass fragments from my clothing. Street and Angel came quietly, but quickly to the window as well. A large rock rested on the carpet a few feet away from my chair.
“Is it them?” Angel whispered
“Yes!” I whispered in reply. Then I lost control of my emotions. “And there are hundreds of them!” I couldn’t disguise the fear in my voice. But there was a longing to see them too.
I felt faint; but I could vaguely hear Street and Shift having some kind of heated discussion. I watched as Street ran to the back bathroom. I watched Shift move from window to window.
Street soon came back. “They’re out back, too,” he said. “We may have to fight our way out again.”
“This is crazy!”
They’re at our door again. This time, at a quiet hotel in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.
“Help me!” Shift said, almost angrily. But to whom, I couldn’t tell.
Then I felt the splash of cold water. Angel stood in front of me, poised to slap me, as I shook my head to shake the water from my face.
“What was that for?” I asked indignantly; then noticed that Angel stood between me and the outside door, with a stern look on her face. Shift had both arms around me holding me back, and Street stood to the side with an empty ice
bucket, dripping water on the floor.
“You were headed for the door, with a glazed look in your eyes,” Angel replied questioningly, “and Shift couldn’t stop you by himself . . . the wimp.”
“Okay. I’m okay. Don’t drown me,” I said, wiping water from my face.
Satisfied that I was back to my rational self, Angel and Street rushed over to push furniture in front of the door and broken window.
Shift bent at the knees and gazed deep into my eyes. “Are you ok?”
Embarrassed, I looked away and murmured “Yes.”
Shift took me by both hands and pulled me toward the others, still looking at me, and still obviously concerned.
In moments, I heard a loud commotion coming from the walkway outside the room.
“There’s like 250 of them out there,” Street said, fear lacing his words. “I saw some of them coming out of the sewer holes in the street out back.”
“Can we still get out over the roof?” I asked. Shift and Street had prepared an escape route, just like we had done for several nights in a row. This time, we might actually have to use it. Why didn’t Mike or John call us?
“Yeah, I think so,” Street replied. “But we’d better hurry.”
While we still had time, we gathered our meager belongings, stuffing them into our packs. Then we climbed out the side window and up a short ladder to the roof. On the roof, we were out of sight of any Skins, but our only escape from there was to climb down the fire escape on the far side of the building and get into the Fluxor. And we had to move fast, before we were seen, or smelled, or heard.
The plan was working so far. With the window closed behind us, we could hear only muffled shouts for a moment. Within 20 seconds, however, the window was shattered from inside and voices were calling to climb to the roof. I was again surprised by the humanness of their voices, considering the beastliness of their appetites. Equally surprising was the apparent indication that they knew which way we had gone in a matter of seconds. They may be able to smell us. I slowed down, involuntarily, unable to will my legs to move faster. The others continued to run.
As the others neared the fire escape. Shift looked back and saw me. I had stopped running, but I wasn’t sure why. Grabbing Street by the sleeve, Shift spun him around so he could see me too. They rushed to me. Arriving, looking dumbfounded, Street lifted me up off my feet, turned, and ran back toward the fire escape ladder with me bouncing up and down in his muscular arms.
There were no Skins on the street below, yet. Angel was already on her way down the ladder. Street hefted me over his shoulder and began the long climb down the rusted metal ladder. It creaked and squeaked loudly as it tried desperately to support the weight of both Street and me.
As we neared the final landing, I watched Shift, last to climb onto the ladder, duck down below the roofline just in time to avoid being hit in the head with some object thrown at him. Whatever that object was, its velocity was incredible. It shattered against the wall of the adjacent building, sending brick fragments toward the Fluxor waiting below. Angel ducked inside the Fluxor to avoid being struck by the falling debris.
“Faster,” Shift hissed. “Faster!”
Street jumped off the final landing, over ten feet above the ground. My neck whipped up and back down upon landing, but I didn’t feel any pain. Not bearing that extra weight, Shift climbed down a few more steps and then jumped. He bent his legs at the knee as he landed, then ran to the Fluxor and jumped through the open door. Angel hit the accelerator.
As she opened up the thrusters, the mob still on the ground came tearing around the corner after us. Angel blasted right into them, knocking many out of the way. As we passed, several of them got their hands on the Fluxor, their faces leering at us through the closed windows, before we could get past. It was that close. As we sped off, I looked through the back window at the mob gathering behind us. I saw the face and dark eyes of Cain; his big, hard body visibly pulsating with energy, or anger, or whatever it was.
He stared at me.
I knew him, somehow.
I wanted to be with him.
Nobody said a word as we followed the route preprogrammed into the Fluxor the night before. Leaving Baton Rouge, we traveled west at over a hundred and twenty miles per hour, the Fluxor automatically dodging cars and other obstacles lying in the road.
Less than 30 minutes later, we stopped to relieve our highly-agitated bladders. We had arrived at a community park in Lafayette, nearly 60 miles from Baton Rouge. By the time we finished, only minutes later, we could see distant movement on the road from which we’d come. They had caught up to us!
The Skins had traveled 60 miles in less than 35 minutes!
“How in the world . . . ?” Angel asked. Tears were in her eyes as she struggled to control her emotions. We were all struggling to keep it together.
They were fast. The fastest man on Earth ran a mile in 3 minutes and 32 seconds in the year 2088. That man (Samwel Casimati, from Tanzania) ran the mile at a rate of approximately 17 miles per hour. Of course, no human could keep that pace for even two miles, let alone 60. Yet, the Skins just caught up to us. They must have been running at just over 100 miles per hour!
“Let’s go!” Shift yelled, as if Street wouldn’t be able to hear him over the noise of the approaching mob.
We’re once again fleeing a mob of sub-humans bent on our destruction. Street drives, but none of us can rest. I fear, now, that wherever we go, they’ll find us. Either they will smell us, or hear us, or follow us—who knows? But interlaced with that fear is a feeling I can’t describe. The farther we get from the Skins—and Cain—the farther away I want to be. But when we’re close . . . it’s hard to describe. For now, I’m afraid.
How long can we continue to flee?
We will have to kill again in order to survive, and probably kill a lot. I’m not confident that we can outrun them, even at high speeds in the Fluxor. The war that Street predicted a few days ago is at our doorstep.
July 4, 7:15 AM—Shift
We’ve been driving for several hours to escape the Skins who miraculously caught up to us in Lafayette. Our situation has become desperate. We’ve recently been in contact with Dr. Porter and his son who are in some kind of underground bunker in Cabo Rojo, Mexico. They’ve been there for a month, and that’s where we’re headed now. It’s a long way from here, south, along the Gulf of Mexico; and we’ve got to hit a few towns that Mike has identified in Texas, Arizona and Utah first. Then we’ll head back east, and go south into Mexico toward the gulf.
I can’t foresee us outrunning the Skins for much longer, so we will be tightening our schedule and spending less time in the towns we travel through. It may come down to a weapons battle that we will probably lose given their numbers against our four.
Plus, with Anta’s reaction to the Skins yesterday, I’m not sure we can count on her to help us. I haven’t dared ask her what happened. Nobody has. This is twice now that Anta has reacted strangely around the Skins. I don’t know what to do, but I’d like to keep her away from them. I’d like to stay away from them myself.
July 6, 2093, 10:19 AM—Somewhere in Texas
“We gotta move!” Street shouted as he ran toward the Fluxor.
“Then get your ass in here!” Angel shouted back through the door she was holding open.
“Shoot them!” Street yelled out as he neared the open, waiting back door.
Shift and Angel opened fire as soon as Street was clear. The Skins hot on Street’s heels were in the hundreds.
“Damn you Street,” Angel said as she fired off two more shots at the nearest Skin. The others were beginning to back off, seeing their comrades fall. “I told you not to go out there.”
As soon as Street slammed the door closed behind him, Shift hit the thrusters and they sped off.
“But the dog was alive, man,” Street replied, trying to catch his breath.
“Yeah, but it’s not alive now, and you were almost killed too. Idiot.” Angel
reached over at hit Street in the arm.
“I’m sorry babe,” Street said quietly as he lowered his head. He knew he had a real friend in Angel and he felt an incredible weight knowing that he had almost let her down—and for a dog.
“Just don’t do it again Street, or I may kill you myself.” Angel smiled. Street smiled too. It had been too close, but they were still alive.
As Street began to scoot over to the right, closer to Angel, the Fluxor suddenly swerved to the right, throwing both Street and Angel into the left side of the hover.
“Get ready to fight guys,” Shift said as the two in the back seat regained their balance.
The small group looked up to see another horde, or perhaps the same horde, approaching from the left. Shift had swerved onto a side road, but the going was slower. The road was dirt. Without energy pulsar modules in the ground, the Fluxor didn’t operate as quickly.
Sensing the loss of speed in the vehicle they were chasing, the Skins increased their speed.
“Shift, you’ve gotta get us back on the road, man!” Street said, excitedly.
“I’m trying dude. It looks like a paved road up there, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, I think it is,” Anta replied.
“Then get there man!” Street yelled as he began to open his window.
“What are you doing?” Angel asked frantically.
“Killing, babe. It’s gotta be done.”
Angel and Anta watched as Street began unloading his weapon on the Skins hot in pursuit. Angel watched for only a few seconds before she could see that it wasn’t working well enough. She opened her window, leaned out, and joined Street in the slaughter. And it was a slaughter. The Skins were falling rapidly. But they weren’t necessarily dying—it was hard to tell through the dust circling and whirling around the Skins and the Fluxor. But Skins were falling; and eventually, the group began to fall back again.
Tomorrow We Rise (The Killing Sands Book 2) Page 10