Beautiful Death (Bella Morté Trilogy Book 1)

by Walker, L. Dee

  “Well, that’s just fuckin’ disgustin’.” Groaning, she continued her search. She took three steps before freezing in her tracks. An odd sound clattered on the opposite side of the room, which echoed around her, disguising the exact location. Her thought was there might be more of them, whatever they were, looming around in the police station. The bat rose instinctively as she turned, eyes searching desperately for the source. It was still dark, and she didn’t want to reveal her position. “Hello?” There was nothing but silence. “Say somethin’ or I’m gonna knock your fuckin’ head off!”

  “Ouch, don’t do that. I already have a pounding headache,” the male voice said, groggily. He was sitting in a cell on the bench, rubbing his head.

  Relief! It flooded over her like a powerful wave, with enough force to knock you down, during high tide. “Oh, thank God someone else made it! I thought I was all alone.” Putting the bat down on top of the desk, she ran over to the cell. Gripping the bars, she shook them, trying to force them open. “It’s locked.”

  “Imagine that. I knew there was a reason I was still in here.”

  “Don’t be such a dick! I’m tryin’ to rescue you!”

  “Trying is the operative word there.” Before she could comment, he put up his hands defensively. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’ve had a rough day.”

  She watched him for a second, before nodding. “Yeah, well join the fuckin’ club. Where are the keys, smartass?”

  “My guess would be in the desk… genius.”

  After glaring, she turned, racing back to the desk. Pulling out the drawer, she shoved her hand inside, moving it from one side to the other. Staples, stapler remover, pens, paperclips, rubber bands, pennies, and then she wrapped her fingers around a ring of keys. “Holy shit. I think I found the mother lode!” Grabbing them, she rushed back over. She tried them one by one.

  “Hurry.”

  “I’m tryin’. Don’t rush me.”

  “Sorry. I’m anxious to get out of here.”

  It had taken five tries before the lock clicked. Pulling open the door, she smiled. “Dude, I don’t know what ya did, but consider this your breakout.”

  “That’s not something you hear every day.”

  “Yeah, I know the feelin’. It’s a first for me too. Don’t worry though. I killed the warden… I think.” Shaking her head, she entered the cell. Standing over him, she helped him stand. “Can ya walk?”

  Slowly, he pulled himself up, using her for a clutch. “I think so. I just got knocked out.”

  “Come on. We have to get outta here.”

  He winced, dragging a hand through his hair. “Thanks for not leaving me locked in here.”

  Standing at the bars, she looked around. “I guess we’re in the same boat.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I woke up here too an’ I would hate it if someone just left me locked in a cell to die.”

  He stood much taller as six-foot-four towered over her five-foot-seven, before turning, smiling softly at her. “Yeah, but the difference is,” the smile was gone, taking on a darker, evil expression; glaring at her. “I’m not bitten.”

  There wasn’t time to think, much less react. He hit her so hard; her legs flew out, sending her flying through the cell and into the concrete wall, bouncing off to hit the floor. He quickly exited, pulling the door closed, backing away, watching her.

  At first she laid where she dropped with her head lifted up off the ground like a drunk who slipped off the barstool. That was the second time her head damn near went through the wall. She felt another egg growing in the back, giving rival to the one in front. Slowly, she sat up, pushing herself to the wall to rest against it. Struggling to keep her eyes open, she glanced up at him. They say the skull is made of unbreakable bone, but that was the second time in one night someone used her as a battering ram.

  Slowly she picked herself off the ground, still using the wall as a brace as she glared at him through half-closed lids. “What the fuck was ‘at for?” She didn’t move, just glared, but if looks could kill. “Other ‘an givin’ me a concussion.”

  “Safety measures.”

  Her hands, flat against the wall, pushed her to a standing position, struggling not to stagger and fall back. “What the fuck, dude? Let me guess. You were arrested for bein’ an asshole.” Feet shuffled as she slowly made her way to the door. Gripping it, she shook the bars. “You’ve had your fun. Now, open the fuckin’ door.”

  “No can do. It’s a precaution until I know which way you’re going.”

  “Which way I’m goin’? Obviously I’m not goin’ a fuckin’ place locked in here!” He walked over to the desk, not answering her. “I killed the cop, came in here an’ saved you, an’ this is how ya show your thanks? Ya lock me up?”

  “Yep.”

  “What the fuck kinda justice is ‘at?” She screamed, rattling the bars again.

  “Trust me. You’re safer in there than you are out here.”

  “Trust you? I just saved your ass an’ ya threw me against the wall an’ locked me up!” She sat back down on the bench, still glaring at him. “Trust is the last thing I feel for you.”

  “Well, when you say it like that, it sounds bad.”

  “It is bad.”

  He opened the drawer, dropping the keys inside, before closing it again. “Once the coast is clear, I’ll be back.” Grabbing the gun off the top of the desk, he headed for the door.

  “Wait. What? You can’t leave me here!”

  “Trust me. I’ll be back.”

  “Oh, that fills me with such comfort.” She rolled her eyes. “Have ya seen what’s goin’ on out there?”

  “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

  “I’m not worried about your stupid ass. I’m worried about me! What if ya don’t come back? What the fuck happens to me?”

  He smirked. “I’ll be back.”

  “Asshole! Get back here an’ let me out!” He disappeared out the door. “You better hope I don’t get outta here. You are dead. Do ya hear me? Dead!” She grunted, lying down on the bench. “Man I could use a fuckin’ beer!”

  Three

  Vince Moore came from a long line of men in the service. They believed it was their civic duty, as well as the human responsibility to keep the country safe from all harm. That was the reason he chose this division. It was like the Men in Black, only no one forced him to wear a suit.

  His brown hair cropped Army-style short, caused blue eyes to stand out. Buff, cut; he had the perfect male body with less than three percent fat. Before his job became one workout after another, he was in the Gym keeping in shape. Even though he was in his late twenties, no one would guess that by his boyish appearance; he was much older in spirit.

  A few hours later, he walked back to the room, dropping a pile of weapons on the desk, and sat in the chair staring at her. “Sorry, I’m all out of beer. The building is now free of the infected. Other than you, that is.”

  Turning, she glared at him again before sitting up on the bench. Pulling out a pack of cigarettes, it didn’t take long before the Zippo snapped closed and she inhaled deeply. Shoving both back in her pocket, she never took her eyes off him. They held the quiet staring contest until she spoke. “What do ya mean other than me?” She slowly blew smoke rings, watching them dissipate in thin air. “I’m not infected.”

  “Oh no? You don’t think so?”

  “No, I know so.”

  “Uh-huh. Then how do you explain the pus on your arm, which you’ll feel the effects of that before too long.”

  She didn’t answer. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Vince Moore. It doesn’t sound anything like James Bond though we have the same type of job.” He wiggled his brows. “Moore.” Tilting his head, he gave a comical expression. “Vince Moore.” Chuckling, he slowly shook his head. “See, it just doesn’t have the same effect.”

  “Well, at least you think you’re all that.”

  He smirked. “W
hat about you? What should I call you?”

  “Dani. What the fuck’s goin’ on? It’s a madhouse out there.”

  “Oh you noticed, did you?”

  “It’s kinda hard to miss.”

  “Yeah, it’s definitely not pretty.”

  “I heard how bath salts caused people to tear off faces. Is ‘at what happened?”

  He snorted. “I wish it was bath salts. We could get a grip on that. No, this is the Bella Morté virus.”

  Confused, she brought her foot up to rest flat on the bench while taking a drag off her cigarette. Slowly, she exhaled. “The… what virus?”

  “Bella Morté.”

  “What is ‘at? Is this a Twilight reference? Should I convert from Team Jacob to Team Bella now?”

  He snickered, shaking his head. “Jokes. Good to see you’re keeping your humor. The Bella Morté virus is… Hmm, how to explain it?”

  “It’s not that hard.” Resting an arm on her knee, she exhaled loudly. “Most people start at the beginnin’.”

  He winked. “Okay, but you asked for it. I work for a company called Clover Labs.”

  “Never heard of ‘em.”

  “You wouldn’t have. We’re what you call a government funded underground facility.”

  Nodding, she rolled her eyes. “Oh, one of those.”

  “I was actually created for this virus.”

  “Wait. You were… created?”

  “Yep, assuming you have what it takes, you’re about to be created as well.”

  “Thanks, but I already have a job.”

  “Maybe so, but you’re also infected.”

  She took another drag, watching him, before flicking the ashes on the floor. “If I’m infected, as ya claim, then why aren’t I tryin’ to eat your ass?”

  “Just like everything else in this world, it moves in stages.”

  “An’ I thought it was just a figure of speech when they claimed the world is a stage.”

  He pointed to the no smoking sign hanging on the wall. “You know, I don’t think you’re supposed to be smoking in here.”

  “Then fuckin’ arrest me, Deputy Dawg. Oh wait,” she glared at him, “ya already did.”

  “Touché.” Nodding, he stood and walked around to the front of the desk, taking a seat on the edge. “Okay, the simple version is there’s a virus running through your veins.”

  “Isn’t that what they normally do?” Taking a deep breath, she slowly exhaled. “How did I get it?”

  “When you were bitten.” He pointed to his arm. “You see that pus on your arm?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s how it starts.”

  “So I’m gonna turn into those freaks outside?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  She sighed, taking another long drag off her cigarette. “Well Mr. Know it all, why don’t ya tell me what ya do know.”

  “It kills some and turns others into… well… the living dead for lack of a better word, which is the biggest oxymoron.”

  “You mean those things out there are zombies?”

  “No. Zombies are dead, for one thing. They’re reanimated to walk the Earth looking for brains, but there’s just one problem with that.”

  “Not enough brains in the world to feed them?”

  He smirked. “They don’t exist. It’s like vampires, werewolves, goblins: fictional creatures. Trust me. I would know.”

  “Stop tellin’ me to trust you after what ya did.”

  He chuckled. “Do you want me to tell you or are you going to do your own little standup comedy special?” She merely stared at him, quietly smoking her cigarette in answer. “The living dead I’m referring to are alive. It’s just right now they’re basically brain dead.”

  “Brain dead? They move pretty damn fast to have no brainwaves.”

  He shrugged. “It’s hard to explain. It’s almost as if they’ve reverted back to animal instincts.”

  She arched her brow. “Which are?”

  “Eat, kill, and survive.”

  “All because of a virus?”

  He nodded. “Yes. It affects the brain.”

  “Why didn’t it infect you?”

  He shrugged. “I was infected, but I survived.”

  “What’s the survival ratio?”

  “Not many.”

  “Just kill me now an’ get it over with then.”

  “Can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m not sure if you’re going to become one of them or not.”

  Rolling her eyes, she took another drag off her cigarette. “You’re just full of sunshine. You said created. What do ya mean?”

  “If you survive, it does certain things to you, gives you attributes.”

  “How long does the incubation period last?”

  “About a week.”

  “Lovely. What are the symptoms?”

  Taking a deep breath, he slowly exhaled. “The first day you suffer a high-grade fever, and it feels like your head’s about to explode.”

  Taking another drag off her cigarette, she nodded. “I’m with ya so far. My head is killin’ me. Then again, it’s been bashed through a few walls.”

  “It gets worse.”

  “Great. I can’t wait to hear the rest.”

  He smirked. “Second day, there’s a lot of sweating, and your headache gets worse.”

  “Terrific! An’ I get to suffer in this cell.”

  “The third day it feels like you’re burning if light touches your skin.”

  She pointed over at the flashlight he sat on his desk. “Light?”

  “No, I mean sunlight.”

  “Sounds like a vampire.”

  “Something like that. Fourth day, you want blood and raw meat. Those not strong enough actually eat their own flesh to fulfill that craving. They’re the truly infected.”

  “What the fuck kinda virus is this?”

  “I’ll get to that in time.”

  She blinked. “This creation procedure sounds a lot like torture.”

  “It does and feels like it too. However, on the fifth day… if you have what it takes… you’re perfectly fine.” He smiled, holding his hands out to his sides. “Like me.”

  “That remains to be seen,” she said, sarcastically.

  “Be warned. Out of twenty people, only five survived. Our job is to kill the infected and find the survivors.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s true. Trust,” he paused, rolling his eyes. “You’ll see.”

  “This shit is too surreal! What brought it on?”

  Pushing off the desk, he moved around to settle back down in the chair. “Later, when I see you’re part of the cured, I’ll fill you in on the rest of what you need to know such as the different types.”

  Arching her brow, she watched him. “What do ya mean different types?”

  “In a week, when you’ve passed the initiation, I’ll fill you in.”

  “An’ if I don’t pass?”

  He shrugged. “Then it won’t matter because I have reserved a bullet for your brain.”

  “Some initiation. Can’t I just steal a car like most other gangs? Get my ass beat by every member?” Lying back on the cot, she took a drag off her cigarette. “Kill the person ‘at flashes their lights to warn me I’m drivin’ with mine off? Pick one. I’ll do it.”

  “No, ma’am. It’s all par for the course. I’ll be here with you through it all so you won’t be alone.”

  “Gee. My hero. I can’t tell ya how happy that makes me.” Sarcasm laced through her words like a crocheted afghan as she rolled her eyes.

  “In time.”

  Four

  “What are you doing? Stop it. Todd that hurts! Ow, get off me! Candice, please help m--” That scream first shattered the silence. Back in the middle of the thick woods, at a West Virginia campsite, it was the last thing you wanted to hear.

  Candice sat up. Her brown hair streaked with blonde highlights stood on end fro
m sleeping deep within her warm cocoon. “Janet? What’s wrong?” Bright blue eyes looked around, still half asleep. Reaching down, she unzipped her sleeping bag, kicking to be free. “Janet? Are you okay?”

  Alerted by all the yelling, Zach sat up, looking around curiously. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. Janet screamed. Did you hear her?”

  He yawned. “No, just you. What was she screaming about?”

  “I don’t know. Something about Todd hurting her.”

  “Oh, shit.” He ripped his zipper down, staggering off the air mattress, trying to force himself awake. Running a hand through his light brown hair, he looked around for something to wear.

  She rolled off the air mattress, banging her knee on the ground. Clutching it to her chest, she silently cursed. After a few moments, she stood, staggering around in the dark, searching for something to wear.

  He grabbed a shirt and a pair of jeans, pulling them on quickly. Grabbing his shoes, he slid them on and raced to the tent entrance. “Janet? Is everything alright?”

  Candice staggered over things in the dark, before grabbing a pair of jeans and a shirt. “Todd, what the hell’s going on?” She yelled out, wiggling her feet into her shoes. “Janet, answer me!”

  Candice Larkin wasn’t one to panic and usually had a cool head on her shoulders. Raised in a dysfunctional family, she suffered severe trust issues. However, it kept her from getting excited over the littlest things. Raised in a family where people blew things out of proportion, she preferred the simple life; drama free. Her childhood was a train wreck with enough tragedy to last a lifetime.

  It was her idea to go camping. It was the Fourth of July and the perfect place to soak up the rays and see the fireworks. It had finally stopped raining and the sun came out. The campground she chose was the River Riders, otherwise known as Bakerton Campground in Harpers Ferry, West Virginia. It wasn’t big but was friendly with charming guides who were funny. There were approximately 44 sites. Sometimes there were more as they overbooked for the extra dough. Some were just big enough for a tent pad as well as a fire pit that was encased in a steel circular-like drum; a piece of steel barrel set on the ground.