The porch steps creaked under his boots as only old wooden steps could, sending a chill down his spine and making his back tense. The sound made him think of ghosts and haunted houses. As if he needed anything else to creep him out nowadays. He looked around the dead street as he crossed the yard, and the frown he wore deepened considerably. He couldn’t see the two men he and Cade had spotted from the roof. He was going to have to go out into the street itself to find them, and he did not relish the idea.
Brandt glanced back at Cade for reassurance. It was a bit comforting to see the skilled woman standing at attention on the porch, her icy blue eyes on the street, constantly scanning for dangers. Still, her presence didn’t do much to reduce the sense of exposure that settled on Brandt’s skin as he moved out into the center of the street. There was movement far in the distance to his right, and he wondered if it was a massing of infected several blocks away. The idea didn’t help his nerves.
The two men were nowhere to be seen. Perhaps they had found shelter in a nearby house in the span of time it had taken Brandt to get the front door open. Or perhaps they’d been grabbed by an infected person while Brandt had pried at the boards nailed to the doorframe.
“Brandt!” Cade called softly. Brandt turned to look at her, and she pointed to his left. He looked in the direction she indicated, and there were the two men, still limping away as fast as their obvious exhaustion would allow. In the time it had taken them to get outside the safe house, the men had made it half a block down and into the yard of one of the houses across the street.
Without any further thought, Brandt darted after them. He jogged to catch up as he called out just loudly enough to get their attention. “Hey! Hey, stop!”
The two men halted in mid-step, and the older, bulkier of the two let go of the thinner one to turn and point an old revolver right in Brandt’s face. He stood protectively between Brandt and the smaller man. Brandt immediately stopped short and held up both hands defensively. The crowbar dangled, useless, by the hook over the fingers of one hand.
“Who are you? What do you want?” the blond man demanded. His grip on the revolver was so tight his knuckles had paled, but Brandt barely noticed; his attention was focused squarely on the barrel of the gun. Its opening yawned at him.
“I am so tired of having guns pointed at me,” Brandt remarked as casually as he could. He forced his gaze away from the barrel and looked back behind him, though the training that had been hammered into his head over the years screamed at him that he shouldn’t take his eyes off of the dangers in front of him. He tried to ignore the little voice. “Look, I have a hideout over there,” Brandt said. He pointed to the house in question. Cade was just visible on the porch, her rifle in her hands, and Brandt knew that she must be tense and worried as she watched the exchange on the street. “Me and two of my friends. We’re trying to offer you some shelter.”
“Why? What’s in it for you?” the man asked. His voice was hard, and he had a steely glint in his blue eyes. Brandt glanced at the gun again. The barrel shook noticeably. This man wasn’t a killer; Brandt doubted that he would squeeze the trigger. Brandt focused his eyes past the gun and took in the full sight of the man for the first time in their encounter. The man’s outfit was, indeed, a type of uniform. He wore a dark button-up uniform shirt and dark pants, and sturdy boots adorned his feet. A gold nameplate on the right side of his chest labeled him as “Carter.” Brandt’s eyes lit onto the patches on his sleeves, finally able to get a good look at them, and a slow smile spread across his face.
“Nothing. Just the idea of additional security and helping other people,” Brandt finally answered. He nodded toward Carter respectfully. “And perhaps your skills as a paramedic would come in handy too, in case we have any injuries or illnesses that we can’t cope with ourselves.”
The man hesitated; he looked as if he were torn between the decision to go with Brandt and the decision for him and his friend to find their own hiding place. As he debated, Cade called out to Brandt from the porch again. This time, her voice held a note of warning.
“Brandt, there’s infected coming this way!”
Brandt swore and lifted the crowbar defensively as he turned away from Carter. His dark eyes scanned the street around them in every direction. He couldn’t see any infected coming at them from anywhere. “Where? Where are they?”
Cade didn’t answer. Instead, she lifted her rifle and pointed it down the yard toward the empty house next to their safe house, in the opposite direction from Brandt’s position. She aimed at something Brandt couldn’t see, but the fact that she aimed her rifle at all was a solid indicator that something was about to go horribly wrong.
“Shit, if she’s actually about to fire that thing, it’s fucking serious,” Brandt said out loud. He grabbed Carter by the arm without a moment of consideration for the fact that the man had a gun pointed at him. He motioned to the brunette man, who had yet to say a word. “Come on, we’ve got to go!”
Thankfully, the two men didn’t question Brandt’s order. As Brandt moved toward the house, his battered combat boots hurrying over the pavement and then the sidewalk, the men followed him to the front porch. Cade waited at the head of the porch steps, her rifle still aimed down the street. Brandt realized that she was lining up a shot, and he sucked in a breath.
“No, don’t!” Brandt gasped as he stormed up the steps. He stopped behind Cade and motioned with the crowbar for the two men to enter the house. They bolted into the dark interior without question. “The sound of the gunshot will only draw them here.”
Cade tensed visibly and removed her finger from the trigger she’d already begun to squeeze. She nodded toward the neighbor’s yard. “They’re moving between the trees,” she said. “Hiding behind them and anything else available. Cars, fences, bushes, trash cans, whatever. They’re working to keep me from seeing them. They might be working together. Strategizing or some shit.”
Brandt caught Cade by the arm and propelled her toward the front door. “We’ll discuss this inside,” he said softly as she moved past him. He let go of her arm and followed her inside.
The younger of the two men had sat down on the edge of the coffee table, and Carter dumped the heavy bag onto the floor and knelt in front of him. Brandt’s ears registered the sound of the younger man’s breathing. It was hard and fast, his inhalations deep and wheezy; it was obvious the man was in some form of respiratory distress. Brandt wondered if he should offer to help, but the opened front door suggested otherwise. He shut and bolted the door, grabbed the nail gun, and set to work reapplying the boards he’d pried from the door. Brandt would leave the medical problems to those who knew better than he how to handle them.
“Who are you?” Ethan demanded over the loud thump of the nail gun slamming the last nail home. Brandt set the tool down on the floor and moved into the living room. Brandt was sure that if Ethan maintained the same attitude he’d had before the front door opened, there was going to be trouble.
Ethan stood in the center of the living room, his arms crossed over his chest in the familiar pose he’d taken on every time he got irritated. There was a hard look on his face as he stared down at Carter, who still knelt on the floor by the coffee table. Cade hovered by the darkened fireplace, her rifle in her hands, her shoulders straight as her wary gaze shifted back and forth between Ethan and the two men. It was obvious to Brandt that Cade didn’t know how to handle the tension in the air between the men. Truth be told, neither did Brandt.
“My name is Theo Carter,” the older of the strangers said as he rubbed his companion’s back soothingly. “This is my brother, Gray.” He didn’t add anything further as he started to unzip the bulging blue bag at his feet.
Ethan pulled his gun from its holster and pointed it at Theo. The man halted his motion, freezing and looking up at Ethan with narrowed eyes. “Is he infected?” Ethan asked sternly as he motioned toward Gray with the gun. Theo’s eyes went cold and angry, hard as diamonds, and he clenched his h
ands into fists.
“What the hell?” Theo said in exasperation. “No, he’s not infected! He’s got fucking asthma, and he needs his damned inhaler before he suffocates!”
Brandt had to take control of this situation before things spiraled out of hand. “Ethan, cut it out,” he ordered as he moved into the living room. Ethan’s bad mood had gone on long enough, and it was time either he or Cade reined it in. Brandt grabbed Theo’s bag from the floor before the paramedic could get into it, and dumped its contents onto the coffee table beside Gray. “You’ll excuse me if I search this thing, won’t you?” he asked. “Just as a precaution.”
Brandt didn’t bother to wait for a reply as he started to push around the pile of objects on the table. The bag had been packed with an assortment of first aid supplies, both the basic bandages and medical tape and the more advanced syringes and medications as well as a strange metal contraption in a blue canvas roll. Brandt thought it resembled some sort of medieval torture device; it was definitely not something he would want used on him. “What’s this?” he asked as he held it up.
“It’s a laryngoscope,” Theo said shortly. He snatched the inhaler to which he’d referred out of the pile and passed it to Gray without further elaboration.
“Ah.” Brandt set the roll back inside the bag. He was still completely lost as to what exactly a laryngoscope was. Rather than continue to contemplate the object, he looked up at Ethan. The older man still glared at Theo; it was obvious that Ethan was far from happy about having additional people in their safe house. Brandt wasn’t exactly thrilled with the idea either; however, he was far from willing to abandon others to the dangerous streets when he could offer them help. He stood, leaving Theo’s supplies, and moved closer to Ethan in case he did something stupid. Considering how unstable the man had acted over the past few weeks, Brandt wouldn’t have put it past him. And since Ethan seemed less inclined to take charge of the situation than usual, Brandt decided to do it himself, even though the last thing he wanted to do was be in charge of anything.
“My name is Brandt Evans,” he began. He paused as he debated telling the two men his rank and where he was from. But then he shook his head slightly and added, “I’m military. Marines. The cranky bastard to my right is Ethan Bennett from the Memphis PD.” He smirked as he dodged the swipe Ethan made at him and took a quick step to the side, out of Ethan’s reach. “And the lovely but deadly lady over by the fireplace is Cade Alton, formerly of the Israel Defense Forces.”
Theo nodded a short greeting at Cade, who had remained wordless throughout the entire discussion. She nodded back at Theo solemnly and then moved across the room to join Brandt and Ethan. “We should quarantine them,” she suggested, keeping her voice low as she glanced at Theo and Gray. “Just as a precaution, in case they’ve caught Michaluk and aren’t showing any symptoms yet.”
“How would we go about doing that?” Brandt asked. As he spoke, he watched Ethan carefully and tried to guess what was going through the older man’s mind. Brandt couldn’t be sure, but given the way Ethan’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Theo and Gray, it wasn’t anything good.
“I say we kick them out the front door and send them back where they came from,” Ethan grumbled. The man was moody, and the only thing the hardness in his voice made Brandt want to do was punch him in the mouth.
“That is not an option,” Cade snapped. Brandt was glad to see Cade dishing Ethan’s attitude back to him. Brandt knew that Ethan still didn’t trust him very much, regardless of the time they’d spent around each other and the effort Brandt had put into trying to prove himself to Ethan. As a result, the other man had been reluctant to even listen to anything Brandt had said; maybe Cade could get through to him.
“Maybe we can shut them up in one of the bedrooms and just keep an eye on them or something,” she suggested.
Brandt saw one glaring problem with her idea. “None of the bedrooms upstairs have locks on the doors,” he pointed out. “How are we going to shut them up in a room if we can’t lock the door?”
Cade didn’t speak, but her eyes slid sideways, past Brandt. Brandt turned to follow her gaze. His brown eyes landed on the nail gun he’d left by the door.
“Wait, you want to nail the door shut?” Brandt asked incredulously. “I mean…seriously? What if the house gets attacked while they’re stuck in there? We’d never get that door open in time to get them out.”
Cade rolled her eyes. “In this house? If the infected attack, we’re done for anyway, because you sealed off all the entrances when we got here. Nailing them into a bedroom upstairs would make them a hell of a lot safer than we would be in an attack. It’s our only option right now. I personally don’t want them wandering around the house if one of them is hiding an injury from us.”
A hoarse voice interrupted their discussion. “We’re not hiding anything.” Cade stopped talking, and all three turned to look at the two men. Gray stared up at them steadily, his face set in a look of determination. “We’re not injured or infected. If we were, we wouldn’t be here. We’re not bad people, and we wouldn’t bring that virus around people who aren’t sick.”
Brandt looked back at Ethan and Cade pointedly, a smirk playing at his lips. “See?” he said as he inclined his head toward the two men. “I think they’re okay.”
Cade made a disgusted face. “You’re too trusting,” she commented.
“What can I say? It’s part of my charm,” Brandt joked. He gave her a helpless shrug, even as his smirk spread into a wide grin.
Despite Brandt’s attempt to lighten the mood, Ethan still looked like he was ready to punch a hole in the nearest solid object. Brandt preferred that it not be him. “I still don’t like this,” Ethan muttered. “I still think we should just put them out.”
“Tough shit,” Brandt bit back. “I think we could use them, especially Theo. He’s a paramedic. That could come in handy, you know. Because between the three of us, all we really know is basic first aid and CPR.”
“Precisely,” Cade agreed. She wrapped her fingers around Ethan’s wrist in a white-knuckled grip, right below the knot of bone in his arm. Brandt winced involuntarily; that had to be painful. “We need to have a talk,” she said, directing her words at Ethan. “Because you’ve been acting like a royal pain in the ass, and frankly, I’m sick of it.” She waved her hand at the two men sitting in the room and added to Brandt, “You…I don’t know. Deal with them or something.”
Cade stormed out of the room, hauling Ethan toward the kitchen. She left Brandt standing in the center of the living room, watching the two newcomers and trying to figure out what in the world to do next.
Find Out What Happens Next in
The Becoming
The First Book in The Becoming Series
Available Now from Permuted Press
Click here to purchase it!
About the Author
Jessica Meigs is the author of The Becoming, a post-apocalyptic thriller series that follows a group of people trying to survive a massive viral outbreak in the southeastern United States. After gaining notoriety for having written the series on a variety of BlackBerry devices, she self-published two novellas that now make up the first book of the series. In April 2011, she accepted a three-book deal with Permuted Press to publish a trilogy of novels. The first of the trilogy, entitled The Becoming, was released in November 2011 on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Audible in paperback, eBook, and audiobook formats. It was also named one of Barnes & Noble’s Best Zombie Fiction Releases of 2011 and Best Apocalyptic Fiction Releases of 2011. In March 2012, she released a related novella entitled The Becoming: Brothers in Arms. The second novel in the series, The Becoming: Ground Zero, is coming in July 2012 from Permuted Press, with a third novel, The Becoming: Revelations, to follow. A fourth and fifth book are currently in the process of being written.
Jessica lives in semi-obscurity in Demopolis, Alabama. When she’s not writing, she works full time as an EMT. She enjoys listening to music and spend
s way too much time building playlists for everything she writes. When she’s not rocking out at concerts or writing or working, she can be found on Twitter @JessicaMeigs, on Facebook at facebook.com/JessicaMeigs, and on Goodreads at goodreads.com/jessicameigs. You can also visit her website at www.jessicameigs.com.
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