by Ann Christy
He settles in next to me, smelling of rain water and the precious coffee Tom’s group got from the college. I lean in to kiss him and it does as much to refresh me as an hour of sleep.
“Good morning to you too,” he says. His smile is pretty much all I need in this world at the moment. I’d hate for this to be the last morning I get to enjoy it.
The frown on my face must be telling, because he brushes his fingers across my cheek and says, “We’re going to be fine. I know it.”
“You do?”
“I do. I’m not sure why I’m so positive, but I am. Maybe because I know Emily and she can do anything. And she was able to control all of those in-betweeners. With us as back up, we have to win.”
“But what if the in-betweeners turn on us?” I ask, because really, in the dark with them on the loose, that is our most likely scenario. No one gets near an in-betweener out in the world. Even one of them means a battle. And fifty or so of them? We’re insane.
“We’ll be up in the trees. And we’ll have our markers. Emily can do this. And I think she wants to,” he says then looks out at the world. “Wow, that’s beautiful!”
The sunrise is magnificent and as it nears completion, the shift in colors is like nothing I ever saw outside of a cartoon before the world ended. It’s amazing how much our planet can change with fewer of us in it to mess things up. It’s sort of an insult.
Or maybe not. Maybe it’s a way of encouraging those of us who are left, a way of telling us that there is still beauty in the world and that it will be there for us when all these troubles are past.
“Yeah, it’s pretty amazing,” I say, resting my head on his shoulder.
I do need to sleep, but it can wait for a few minutes. I may never get another morning like this. I’m not in any hurry for it to end.
*****
“Pee? Are you serious? Do I have to?” Jeremy asks, his voice rising in pitch with every question. It’s sort of funny.
Savannah stands there, her gloves on and poised to dunk a bit of rag into a container holding the said pee. She looks annoyed.
“Unless you want to get eaten by some really hungry in-betweeners, yes,” she says in the clipped tones of someone at the end of their patience.
Jeremy rolls his eyes heavenward, but in the end, he holds open the pocket on his jacket and turns his head away when Savannah drops the moistened rag into it.
“Don’t lose that,” she says, picking up the next bit of rag while Tom holds open his jacket pocket.
It’s gross. I’m the first one to admit it. But it’s probably better than Emily licking us, which would be dangerous. In her less-than-totally-comprehensible way of speaking, she managed to let the testers know that she needed to mark them somehow. She doesn’t have enough spit in her body to mark all of us that way, and the scent needs to last, so this is the next best solution.
Tom’s not surprised by it, since he was one of the ones with her during testing. Emily’s less than elegant solution had been to rip off her smock—which she’d already had more than one accident in—and throw it at Tom. He’d gotten the picture quick enough.
It sort of confirms what we’d already guessed as well. Pheromones do seem to be doing some of the communicating. Luke tells us that she just lets the other in-betweeners know that something is hers and that keeps them away. They don’t understand anything about us being good guys or anything like that, only that we belong to her. Perhaps they think we’re her walking larder.
She’s already at the enclave, ten big buckets of dead birds in tow. We think it’s best that she feed them and reinforce the notion that food comes from her. I have no clue if that will work or if they just see food, but we’ll take any potential advantage we can get.
I feel bad about the birds. Most of them have stopped hanging around on our roofs. Birds still cover this world, but not here. We had to go to the mini-storage across the way to gather this last big load. I’ve decided that if we ever get this world back, I will not only feed birds, I will never again eat one. I owe them. Big time.
None of us smells great, but now we smell yucky. Charlie shrugs at me and says, “Could be worse.”
I laugh, more to relieve stress than anything else.
It’s not dark yet, but it’s no more than an hour away. We’ve got a lot of moving parts in this and everything has to go right. With our patrols watching so consistently since the military group came back, we know their routine. At dusk they lock down their gate and double their watch. One at the gate and one roving the inside perimeter.
The majority of the troops spend the evening inside a big center tent that we think is the mess tent. Our patrols have heard the sounds of laughter and what might be video games once in a while, so they’re using power for entertainment at least some of the time. They’ve cleared the area of in-betweeners, but their noise does attract deaders and, like us, the sun usually rises on at least a few deaders latched onto their fence.
We also know they go to bed early and that there are additional watches that are sourced from the back of a very large truck, with some sort of trailer like enclosure attached to it. We’re pretty sure that’s their command post. And our patrols have tested to see if they use the infrared at night, faking being a deader and walking right up to their fence. No one came, so we don’t think they do. Tom says those units use massive power, so it’s likely they can only use them from trucks while they’re running and providing power.
As a bonus, they don’t wear the same hazmat gear inside the fence that they wear anytime they leave the perimeter. Except for the two on watch at the gate and fence, that is. Whoever these people really are, they seem intent on not becoming infected by the nanites. That also gives us an edge, Tom says, because that means they’ll be more fearful of engaging.
Makes sense to me, but then again, I know zip about the military. Particularly, when it comes to bad, rogue, quasi-military that are intent on killing whoever is lucky enough to have survived.
The truck roars to life and jerks me out of my thoughts. It’s time.
Everyone clambers up in the back, Charlie reaching a hand down to give me a boost up. He’s so strong and sure of himself. We huddle next to Matt on the bed, not saying anything as the truck lurches into motion. I can’t help but peek through the slats on the side of the truck at the warehouses as we turn onto the street.
The buildings look empty and abandoned as night falls. I miss it already. I hope I’ll be back.
Today – Battle Cry
Charlie is only feet from me, but it feels like a mile. The truck is only two steps away on the other side, but that distance feels like it spans the breadth of a nation. In front of me is the open gate to the enclave and beyond that, dozens of in-betweeners with blood still wet on their faces.
“Holy shit,” Charlie breathes.
“Yeah, totally,” I whisper back.
From up in the cab of the truck, which is now reinforced with a cage of pipe where the glass is, Tom says, “Okay. Just keep her on task. Get her to herd them up into the truck.”
I glance up at him and see that he’s sweating profusely and his eyes are wide. Even Tom is scared, so I’m actually surprised I’m able to keep on doing what I’m doing in the open and unprotected.
The reason I have to is because Emily does what Charlie and I say more readily than she will for anyone else. It makes sense, but that doesn’t make me feel all warm and fuzzy. It’s also a test all on its own in a way. If she can’t keep her in-betweeners from eating us, the two people she cares most for, then the others can be sure they don’t stand a chance.
It’s not really very comforting.
Emily has been fed to the point of being stuffed. Her stomach is bulging like she just went hog wild at a Thanksgiving dinner. The tie of her smock is actually pressing into the flesh of her stomach she’s so full. And the other in-betweeners have been fed well too. Like most in-betweeners, they get slower when they eat, sort of like humans do after they gorge themselves. B
ut they still wouldn’t turn down a meal and they’re still incredibly dangerous. And there are so freaking many of them.
“Emily, can you get them to the truck? They need to get up into the back of the truck.”
I’ve already said this three times, and she actually looks irritated when she glances up from under her brow at me. “Yah, yah, druck.” She flaps her hand at me in a dismissive gesture.
Melody and Luke are walking, calm as can be, between the various in-betweeners, urging them in our direction with gentle pushes on shoulders or backs when they wander off course. Melody is clearly a bit frightened, but she’s doing a good job at keeping that from showing in her movements. The in-betweeners almost ignore them except when either of the two touches one, and then there’s that sniffing. But the confusion at what exactly these two are shows on the faces of the in-betweeners when they sniff.
Not food, not rival, not enemy. But what? I can almost read those thoughts there.
The first of the in-betweeners clears the gate and for a hot second, I wonder if she’s going to make a run for it. She’s older, dressed like a mom in the midst of doing some baking. Only her apron is now smeared not with flour, but blood, and her shoes are long gone, leaving her legs coated in dirt and mud up to the hem of her shift dress.
She growls when her eyes find us, but the humming from Emily intrudes and she shakes her head, blowing air out of her nose hard, like she’s smelling something she doesn’t like. I hope that’s us. She clambers up into the truck bed awkwardly and stands there, sniffing like her life depends on it.
“Can we get up in the truck now?” I ask in a whisper. I’m afraid to raise my voice and break whatever truce we have here.
Tom slides on the seat out of my visual range, back into the driver’s seat no doubt, so I’m guessing that’s a yes. Charlie steps next to me and then we slowly side-step to the truck, eyes riveted on Emily and her in-betweeners. I climb up, then Charlie follows, pushing on my butt to hurry me.
When he slams the door closed, I almost let out a squeal. Several of the in-betweeners let out their keening wails, but Emily’s growl rises above the noise and then the humming starts again. No more screams come after that, not even when we pull the part of the cage for our window closed on its loud hinges and shoot the bolt home.
I feel much better once that’s done. If the worst happens, we can just take off and let the in-betweeners fall out of the truck as we go. Hopefully they’ll fall out anyway.
I roll down the window and press my face to the bars to call out to Emily, “Make them all stand close together so they’ll fit.” I wonder if she’ll get all that. I’m not sure, so I call out again, “Luke, can you make sure?”
I hear his faint reply in the affirmative and lean back so I’m not on top of Charlie. I’m sure he doesn’t mind, but I do smell like Emily’s pee and I’m all kitted up, full of sharp edges from my weapons. We all look at the progress through the big mirrors on the side of the truck, and sure enough, the truck begins to bounce at regular intervals as more in-betweeners climb up. I can feel the weight shifting and growing in the back.
This is a five-ton truck, so I do the math in my head quickly and say, “If there are too many of them over two hundred pounds, we’ll be overloaded.”
Tom gives me a look, his eyebrows rising and his head shaking in disbelief. “You’re actually worried about going over-limit on the truck?”
“Well,” I say, perhaps a little defensively, “won’t that hurt it or make it stop or whatever?”
He looks back at the side mirror, watching as the group behind the truck dwindles in number as they continue to load themselves. “I forget how young you were when this happened. No, we’ll be fine. Plus, there are enough skinny ones to make up for any big ones. Most of them are pretty underfed.”
Once we’re loaded, a single in-betweener wandering in circles and refusing to be corralled, it takes forever to convey that they should close the gates on the bed of the truck so they don’t fall out. Luke finally manages to push himself to the back through the crowd and do it himself, but I’m watching our clock with growing worry as time drags on.
We’re going to park far enough away that the truck noise won’t carry, and also far enough that any screams won’t be heard in the compound. While Emily was able to keep them quiet during her tests, and do the same fairly well during loading, we’re not at all sure that will be possible once these in-betweeners offload into a new environment, particularly when they get a whiff of all those nice, uninfected humans.
It still scares the bejeezus out of me to do this. I’m so glad I didn’t eat much dinner, because otherwise, I’m pretty sure I’d puke out of sheer terror when the truck slows at our offload location. Through the window behind me, I’ve been able to see only waists and hips, but once we stop, the in-betweeners press themselves to the sides of the truck, a chorus of sniffing sounding through our lowered window.
With the little bit of room the in-betweeners have made, I can now see Emily. She’s standing, feet braced against the movement of the truck, and Luke is holding her steady at the shoulder and arm. She’s sweating like I’ve never seen before, and her face is strained with concentration. The few noises that start to swell in the throats of the in-betweeners are halted as she clenches her fists and screws shut her eyes.
I’m so proud of her.
I trade places with Charlie, so I can reach the window without poking him to death, and call out, “Emily, get them down from the truck now, but keep them still and quiet. Luke, you open the gate.”
He lets her go and does what he’s told. Emily raises her head, chin up to the sky and starts her humming. Luke’s eyes droop a little as she hums, like he’s about to fall asleep, and the rest of the in-betweeners still their restless feet a little. Even Melody looks calmer, gazing up at the night sky like she sees something beautiful there.
The growls and half-growled words that come from Emily between her hums get the in-betweeners moving. I see their faces through the window as they go and they are feral, excited, and hungry. But they are under control, constantly glancing Emily’s way or sniffing the air in her direction.
When the last of them is down, I call out to her, “Emily. Follow the markers we left for you, just like at the enclave. Follow it to the people inside the fence. Make them wait if it’s not open. Make them stay quiet. Can you do that?”
She’s listening to me, I know. Her head is cocked in my direction and the confusion smooths as my words sink in. Luke leans toward her and speaks, perhaps clearing up the muddle. Eventually, she pauses in her humming and grunting to say, “Mebbe can. Hurry.”
Maybe is good enough. It will have to be.
“Let’s go. Get out of their way and see if she can get them on the trail,” I say to Tom.
He grinds the trunk into gear and we back up until we can safely make a turn. I watch as Emily sniffs the air, holds out her arms like a mother welcoming her children, and then disappears into the trees. They follow after her. Luke and Melody take up the rear, pushing stragglers into the gap in the growth ahead of them. Luke stops, turns, and in the glare of the headlights, I see only his pale, round face. Then he raises his hand in a wave and disappears into the green wall ahead of him.
“Well, that’s that,” Tom says with a heavy exhale.
“Yeah,” I say, fumbling for Charlie’s hand. My worst fear for Emily has just been realized. She’s outside on her own, without me to protect her from the things in-betweeners do.
Tom puts the truck back into gear and we rumble down the road toward the rendezvous point where we’ll park to walk the rest of the way toward our group. They should be hidden in the trees around one side of the parking lot where the camp is and, hopefully, up on the roof of the supercenter.
There’s a military watch up there, but they face forward, looking over the camp and the approaches to it. Our people are supposed to take them out quietly, sneaking up from the far side of the vast roof. We won’t know until we see t
he flash of light if they were successful. Other than that, there are no other watches outside the fence. They’re well-fortified inside and seem to favor staying inside their fence whenever possible at night. Only during the day do they emerge in their trucks and hazmat suits.
Hopefully, they won’t emerge tomorrow. Or ever again.
Today – Take-Out Meals
Gregory has been answering our radio calls with clipped, terse responses, but I can tell the moment he sights the group of in-betweeners, because his voice goes up a register.
He’s the closest one to their rendezvous point. That’s also where I’m supposed to be, so that I can communicate with Emily. The problem is that she got her group there far faster than we were able to given how far out of the way we had to go with the truck. And walking in the dark is super hard when everything is so overgrown.
This supercenter, where bargain prices on cheap foreign goods once drew crowds, was built outside the main part of our city. It’s a nexus between the suburbs and the urban center, its oversized sign shedding light on the dark freeway at night in the world before. I remember passing it often and remembering how it looked like an island of artificial lines and too-bright lights cut out of the trees. Since they weren’t allowed to build their behemoth store inside the main city limits, it was the forest that had to make way for them.
Now, it’s an island surround by trees also covered in kudzu. So, getting through it is terribly un-fun. The kudzu knows fall is coming, so it’s not in full grow-mode anymore, but it’s thick and makes the night even darker than it really is.
“Turn up the volume. Hopefully, she’ll hear me,” I say and clear my throat.
“Go,” I hear through the radio, now a bit more faintly since he’s likely holding the radio out.
“Emily. Wait with your people for a minute right where you are. Can you do that?”
There’s nothing save the sound of low growls and static for a minute, then I hear Gregory repeat my words to Emily. I hear, but only very faintly, the sound of Emily saying, “Yah, yah. Wait”