“A month ago, you broke up with Shane for a few days. Why?”
“It’s personal. If I wanted you guys to know, I would have told you. I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Unfortunately, I’m not giving you a choice. What happened?”
“Who are you?” she asks as if I’ve grown a second head, and to be fair, this isn’t how I speak to people, but I’m out of options here. “He cheated on me, okay. Him and Paul were acting weird after some party they went to. I pushed, even though I knew I wouldn’t like the answer.”
“Did he tell you what happened?”
“I just told you.”
“I mean exactly what happened.”
“God Noah, what the heck has gotten into you? They were on something, okay, I don’t know what, they wouldn’t tell me. All I know is there were drugs at the party, they did them, and Shane slept with another girl. And I don’t need you making me feel like shit for taking him back because I do enough of that all on my own. I don’t know why I did it, and yes, I realize this means my stupid boyfriend is no different than my stupid brother but I can’t think about that right now.”
“Did he tell you who she was?”
“I didn’t wanna know. I don’t even wanna know if she goes to our school. I just wanted everything to go back to the way it used to be. And then, this,” she stutters, choking back tears, motioning to the world around us.
“You really don’t know what happened, or who the girl was?”
“No. Why? Is Shane okay? Noah, what the hell is going on?”
“I was the girl.” We both turn to face Felecia in the doorway. Has it been three minutes already? How long was I staring at my dad?
“You slept with my boyfriend? Why?” Kristen squeaks out over her trembling lip. “You can seriously have any guy you want. Why would you take mine?”
“That’s not exactly how it happened,” I say softly, resting my hand on Kristen’s shoulder. The second her teary eyes roll up to face me, the pieces fall together in her bleary brain.
“No,” she mutters to herself. “No, he wouldn’t. Noah, no.”
“He wasn’t alone,” Felecia whispers, emerging from the shadows, hurt weighing heavy on her heart. The last thing she wants to do is tear Kristen’s world apart but that’s exactly what we’re doing.
“Why are we believing her?”
“You don’t have to believe me. I don’t expect you to. And that’s okay. But I believe you, which means we need to get you out of here right now.”
“What are you talking about? You think I’m gonna go anywhere with you? We should have never got on that bus. We would have been fine without you.”
“Listen to me Kristen,” I say with less than an ounce of sympathy in my voice even though I know how confused she must be right now. I’m trying, but I can’t find it in me to care. “The helicopter can’t hold as many people as we thought. We’re not all gonna fit.”
“Look sweetie,” Felecia says with so much sincerity I don’t think Kristen has any choice but to believe her, “I know you think you hate me right now. But if you wanna get outta this alive, you have to come with us, now. We’re leaving, and not everyone’s coming. I don’t blame you for your boyfriend’s mistakes, but don’t let his mistakes bring you down with him. We’re trying to save you, let us.”
Through a haze of confusion, Kristen looks back and forth between me and Felecia’s outstretched hand. This is the last thing you want to wake up to, in an apocalypse or not, and I can see her overwhelmed brain trying to process everything, but failing miserably. I think in her heart, she knows we’re telling the truth, but how do you convince your heart that your brain’s been wrong all along? How do you go against everything you know and trust someone you hate?
“He’s dead, isn’t he?”
“I don’t know,” I say, gently rubbing her back. “If he’s not, he will be soon.”
“It was your ex-boyfriend, wasn’t it?” she asks, staring at Felecia in a daze. “Blake was there. Fucking Blake Oliver. That’s what him and Shane were whispering about. They raped you,” she says in a monotone drawl, so blankly I’m questioning if she’s slipped out of consciousness. “How did I not see it? How did I not know?”
“Hun, don’t worry about it. It’s over. Let’s get outta here.”
Kristen nods her head slowly, trying to process more than she’s capable of right now. But she takes Felecia’s outstretched hand and lets us help her struggle to a sitting position. Judging by the way her head is bobbling atop her neck, I’d say this is her first time sitting up since she lost consciousness yesterday, or the day before, depending on how you count days because the sun is starting to peek over the horizon.
It must be close to 4:00 AM. Mopster used to get up to watch the sunrise every morning. I’d always grumble when he woke me up crawling out of bed so early but honestly, I’ve kinda missed it since he’s been gone.
“My bag,” she mutters as we sneak out of the room. She’s actually walking a lot better than I’d predicted, giving the bullet hole in her leg and all. “I need my bag.”
“I got it,” I say, rushing back to grab the backpack she refuses to call a backpack. I’m sorry, if it’s a pouch with straps that sits on your back, it’s a backpack, no matter how tiny and leathery it is.
I know Shane told her to leave it, more than once, but I get why she wants to keep it. It’s all she has left of a world that no longer exists. The notebooks and change of clothes and whatever else she has squeezed in there, no, there’s no need to lug them around with her anymore, but she holds onto it because it’s all she has to hold onto. Her little brown leather back-purse-pack is all she has to prove that the life she lived up until a few days ago, actually existed.
You may not get why I’d go back to grab it for her, but honestly, if this room were on fire and full of undead hospital dwellers, I’d still run back to get it. We need to hang on to everything we can before we lose it all.
His eyes are open. He knows I’m here. Dad’s looking right at me, face to face as I bend down to grab the bag. How long has he been awake? Does he know we’re leaving him behind?
He nods, holding eye contact with me before closing them. Not the father I’ve come to know over the past five years or so, but the father I grew up with. The one I idolized. The one who loved me more than anything. He’s still in there, I know because I’m looking at him.
And he knows what’s happening. I can see it in the tear emerging from his clenched eye. He knows why I’m leaving him, and that it has nothing to do with the tube in his throat or the machines beeping beside us.
Is it too late to change my mind? I can’t leave him. He’s my dad. I know he’s made mistakes, but he’s still in there. He can change. We can still go on adventures, just like we used to. Museums and guided tours through caverns. Dinosaur exhibits. Trips to the city for comic book shops, for him, not me, back before he met Buckley and comics were all of a sudden too nerdy. I can finally have my father back.
He must sense my hesitation because he opens his tear-filled eyes and shakes his head. We may be strangers, but I swear he can read my mind. Just like he used to. And for a moment, I have my dad back.
I bend over and kiss his forehead, using my free hand to wipe the tear that Buckley wouldn’t approve of. Those who don’t know will tell you it’s never too late. But sometimes, it is. I know it. He knows it. But it doesn’t make it any easier to walk away.
“I missed you Dad. Bye.”
I leave the room, and shut the door on my past.
CHAPTER 17
“Come on,” Marty whines, bopping up and down in the gunner’s seat. “Just a couple miles. Until we hit the Bayport line. It’s a few minutes. What’s a few minutes gonna hurt?”
“Give it a rest, old man, you’re not getting behind the wheel.” Maxwell points a scolding finger in his direction, not bothering to turn around and witness his senior citizen temper tantrum. “Besides, the steering wheel’s too big for you, you can’
t even get your arm up this high.”
“Can to.”
“Okay, rub your belly and pat your head.”
“Not fair, I’m not coordinated enough to do that, even before getting shot. Women, man, I tell ya, always sucking the fun out of everything.”
“Hey,” Felecia shouts, it’s kind of necessary to be heard over the bickering coming from up front, not to mention the constant roar of this thing. “Marty, at least women are sucking something for you.”
“Suck this,” he says with a smile, kindly flipping her the bird before turning it up front in Maxwell’s direction. Not that she can see him, she’s kind of isolated up there in her little cockpit. For this beast being so large, there certainly isn’t much room in here.
“Watch where you’re pointing that thing, Gramps.”
Huh, okay maybe she can see him, that or she’s secretly a mother and hasn’t mentioned her kid yet which would automatically give her eyes in the back of her head.
“Remember, I’m trained to blast that finger off from a few hundred feet away.”
“Hey Marty,” Norwood chuckles, tapping his newfound friend’s knee, “maybe you should whip it out, see if she can shoot something smaller than a finger.”
“For your information, you little twerp, I need both hands to handle that thing. Why do you think I drive buses? My arms are used to being spread that wide.”
I can tell the conversation is making the good doctor a little uncomfortable as he wraps Felecia’s arm in a bandage. I think this whole situation is out of his realm of comfort, down to using liquid stitches on her flesh flap instead of taking the time to actually sew her up properly. I see where Paul gets it.
Honestly, yeah, they’re right, her wound needs a lot more than essentially some super glue, but we don’t have time for that. Just like I don’t have time to let my wrist heal. Rest isn’t an option. It’s working just like he said it would though, the anesthetic wore off but the steroids are starting to kick in, and not a moment too soon.
“Oh shit, everyone strap in, we’ve got company,” Maxwell yells from the front. “Marty, you remember what you’re doing back there?”
“Yeah, I got it.” He wipes his palms on his pants before grabbing the periscope. “Jesus Christ you weren’t lying, woman. Company has arrived.” He pulls away to look at me and Felecia with a shocked expression furrowing his brow. “How the hell did you make it through all them? This is insane.”
I’m guessing we’ve reached Bayport.
“Marty, don’t shoot until I tell you to. We need to conserve as much firepower as possible. Let me see if I can run them over. Everybody hang on.”
There’s no time to tell her we’ve made that mistake before, on the bus. Of course, the bus wasn’t eight wheel drive with tires made of freakin’ steel.
The reinforced armor that surrounds us blocks out the sound but I can tell we’re running them over because we’re getting jostled around so much it feels like we’re off roading in a golf cart. And the cushions on these padded seats aren’t doing much to help my ass from getting bruised. I feel like a stripper at a truck stop, except no one’s sticking dollar bills in my thong. I swear, I’m really not wearing a thong but if I was, it’d be dollarless, and purple, because I like purple dammit.
“Now Marty! Shoot! There’s too many.”
The infantry carrier rocks back ever so slightly and I can tell, he pulled the trigger, or pressed the button or whatever it is you do to fire a cannon. The blast, coupled with the explosion on his monitor, confirms my suspicions.
“Wooo baby! Forget driving, I wanna shoot this bad boy again. Now that’s what I call firepower. Noah, brother, ya better get me a towel, I think I jizzed myself.”
“Holy shit yes!” Maxwell yells from the front, pumping her fist towards us without taking her eyes off the road. “That’s how you clear a path. Nice shooting. Except you blew a portal to hell in the middle of my damn road. Taxpayers are not gonna be happy about the size of that pothole. Hold your fire, let me maneuver around this thing.”
We run over scattered human remains and small pockets of fire created by the explosion. I knew we needed a tank all along. And this is one better, we were cruising along at almost 60mph. Sure, she’s a gas guzzler, but after seeing the way we just blew through that horde of Bayport pedestrians, I’d say it’s well worth it.
With any luck, we won’t have to refuel along the way. We’re halfway there, we got this. I don’t care if there’s a thousand infects waiting for us in Sonny Valley, we can blast through half of them without ever leaving the safety of these confined quarters.
“Maxwell,” I shout through the tiny entryway to her cockpit, “if we’re where I think we are, the tanker should be about a mile ahead on your right.”
“Ten four! Marty, hold off on the missiles, we’re gonna use the machine gun but we gotta be extremely careful not to hit that fuel truck. Rodriguez, how you holding up? You gonna be able to man the wheel while I’m outside?”
“I’m ready.” He gives her a thumbs up but I’m not convinced he’s as ready as he’s leading us to believe. Which makes me a little apprehensive about him flying, but what other choice do we have? I know I’m not ready to be out there in the fight of our lives but that’s not going to stop me now, just like it hasn’t stopped me yet. Let’s hope he’s as determined as the rest of us to make it out of this alive.
“Alright guys, listen up.” I’m glad Maxwell is in charge, I am so over giving people orders. “We don’t have enough of us to do everything that needs to be done. Marty and Rodriguez are manning the guns from inside. Caylee, you’re gonna pop this hatch right here and use the grenade launcher, do not shoot anywhere near the tanker. Norwood, you’re with me, we gotta chain this rig up and pull it outta the ditch. Noah, Felecia, you sure you wanna go back to that island?”
“No,” I say with a shake of my head. “But we have to. We gotta see if they’re alive.”
“Okay, problem is, we’ve got no one to guard us from close range attacks while we extract the fuel truck. We know how the infects work and some of them are going to get by. Doc, Paul, I’m gonna need one of you, more likely, both.”
“Not happening.” Paul looks directly at me as he says it, like I’m the one giving him the order. How has our relationship come to this? “We’re needed right here. We all know Neil and Scott didn’t make it so I don’t see why going to that island is even necessary.”
“We don’t know that,” I shoot back. “The last time I laid eyes on them, they were alive.”
“Yeah, well, so was Shane. But I don’t hear about any rescue efforts to find him. Our friend. Not Neil Buckley, who, let’s be honest, we’re probably better off without. Despite you two being all buddy buddy now.”
“I’ll guard you,” Kristen says, grabbing a sword as she stands with force, completely ignoring her injured leg. “I need to blow off some steam anyway.”
“Kristen,” Paul hisses, “what are you doing?”
“Shut up. You shut the fuck up. I don’t wanna hear your stupid voice. I know you knew. You fucking knew and you didn’t say a word. So you don’t get to speak now.”
“She’s lying Kristen. You know she’s lying. That’s what she does.” Except we know Paul’s lying because his voice is nearing that octave that should only be reached if his nuts were being squeezed in a vise.
And judging by the fire in our friend’s eyes, she wouldn’t mind doing just that. “If I find out you were in on it, so help me god Paul Hopkins, I’m pushing you off that helicopter. You are so lucky she hasn’t killed you already but don’t think I won’t.”
Before the spit is done flying from her trembling lips, Dr Hopkins strikes from out of nowhere, coming to the defense of his despicable son, my best friend.
CHAPTER 18
Paul’s dad spins Kristen around too quickly for us to react. I don’t think anyone envisioned him lashing out in any way, he’s too mellow of a guy to expect anything less than calm, cool and collec
ted. This is what’s become of mild-mannered men in these final days of mankind.
The sword Kristen grabbed clangs off the floor as he slaps a pair of handcuffs on her wrists before I can get to them. Why the hell does he have handcuffs? Is this something all doctor’s keep on them, just in case they wind up with frequent flyers tweaking out when they realize where they are? Measures like that are to be taken against people like Kristen’s brother, not Kristen.
“Enough,” he scolds in that commanding dad voice you only earn after years of fatherhood. “I’ve heard enough. Sit down and keep quiet.”
A part of me respects him a little more for this. He’s actually standing up for his son, something I’ve rarely, if ever, seen him do. If I didn’t hate Paul right now, I’d be happy for him. All he’s ever wanted is his father’s love and attention. How messed up is it that it takes someone threatening his life for him to get it?
“Paul, I want you to pick up that sword. Do it now son. I have things under control in here. Don’t be a coward like me,” he hisses through gritted teeth, meant only for Paul to hear but in such a small space, we all get to witness his fatherly pep talk. “You’re stronger than I ever was, don’t let fear hold you back.”
“I’m not afraid.” The defiance in his voice makes me want to believe him, but I don’t. “I’m just not stupid. You don’t risk your life for someone you don’t even like. For someone who’s hurt you in ways you never recover from. I’m not Noah, so get over it.”
“Fuck no you aren’t,” Norwood scoffs, snorting, trying to hold in his laughter. “The things he does, for ungrateful pricks like you, this motherfucker’s a hero.”
“Yeah? A hero who just left how many people in a hospital to die, his own dad included?”
“Bro, you’re lucky Noah made the call and not me, because your useless ass woulda been left right there next to his traitor of a father. I don’t know what you did to make this girl hate you,” he says, pointing at Kristen, “but if it had anything to do with hurting one of my friends, fuck throwing you off the helicopter, I’ll stick your scrawny little neck right into the damn propellers. Let’s see your dad try to cuff me too. Find out what happens.”
Blood Type Infected (Book 4): Betrayal of Hope Page 11