He looked to Violet, the question of why on his lips. She had to know that once they closed the airlock door, the decontamination would commence and all that infected fluid would drain away in a sea of antiseptic solution.
She must have read the question there, because she smiled. It was a smile that looked ominous and very satisfied at the same time. “They won’t open that airlock until they have absolutely no choice. You can bet on that. No one will come after us for a while,” she said.
He realized she was right. She hadn’t just bought them time, she’d bought them a clean escape with that simple toss of two rotten heads. This was particularly true since both of those heads were swimming with the nanites that were still killing the world. And especially so since both heads were even now blinking owlishly and clacking their teeth as their jaws rhythmically opened and closed.
A sudden noise from beyond the airlock drew Gordon’s eyes. Paul’s panicked face was framed in the circular window. How he’d gotten up here so quickly, Gordon couldn’t guess, but it didn’t matter. Paul’s wide, round eyes darted from the decayed heads in the airlock to the people outside so rapidly it was almost funny.
And as Paul pressed his face to the window, he left a light red smear. The red mist had gotten to him already, the nanite-filled blood sprayed for good measure. Their former overseer banged on the thick window with his fists, screaming words none of them could hear and wouldn’t have listened to anyway.
Gordon would have liked to think of something pithy or cutting to say, but really, all he could think about was how deeply Paul was breathing and what was now circulating in the air inside Vindica. It was Violet—of course it was—who rallied. She raised her gloved hands and extended both her middle fingers. Even as she sent back that one, eloquent response, the airlock timer ran out and the door slid shut with a subdued thud, marking their passage from protected to unprotected.
“That’s that, then,” Ramon said over the sound of the fans.
“Yeah, let’s move. Let’s get her out of that suit and get some distance between us and this place. Just in case,” Lewis said.
No one argued and they set to work, carefully removing the outer suit from Violet’s body and inspecting the inner suit to be sure it maintained its integrity. All of them were particularly careful to fold down the chest and arms of the outer suit so that no one came into contact with the infected fluids and blood smeared all over her. They bagged the suit and dragged it along behind them.
Through the single face shield, Gordon could now see Violet much better. She was red with exertion and sweat streaked her face from the heavy suits. “You okay?” he asked.
She gave him a thumbs-up and hoisted her pack to her back now that she was free of the oxygen bottle and rack.
“Lights?” Gordon asked. Their original plan called for red lights only, but that had been made under the assumption that someone from inside might actually come after them. That wasn’t at all likely now.
Violet answered him from just a few feet away, her bulk a surprising comfort to Gordon. He was glad she was staying close. “No lights except the red lamps. No need to advertise our location. There could be some of those zombie things around.”
That settled, they set off, walking the rough dirt road with cautious steps under their heavy packs and hot suits. The summer night wasn’t overly warm, but it didn’t have to be. Gordon knew he wouldn’t last long in the suit. Eventually, he would have to shrug it off and take his chances, staying clear of any person except the people he was with, hoping to keep free of the nanites. He didn’t want to die, but if he did, he didn’t want to come back as a monster either.
When they reached the path that branched off to the solar panels and wind turbines, Lewis asked, “Should we disconnect their power?”
Gordon hadn’t ever considered that, and his first reaction was a sort of vengeful glee, but then he thought twice and said, “No. We don’t want to make it so they have to come out, and that would definitely do the trick. They might not notice the ventilation for a while, but they will notice if the lights go out.”
Ramon trudged on ahead, tossing back the words, “Too bad. That would have been fun,” over his shoulder as he did.
A little further up the road—now no more than a kilometer from the main highway that ran through this region of defunct towns, shuttered factories, and some of the most beautiful country the nation had to offer—Gordon couldn’t stop himself from shining his flashlight down an incline to the little clearing he had seen on his first trip out.
Just as before, he saw the two tents, one of them now half collapsed and both shredded from the elements or animals. He saw the scattered supplies and the bright reflection of a hot-pink bike frame lying on its side with a trailer still upright behind it.
Of the bodies, he saw nothing.
“Turn the light off,” Violet said.
He did, and realized he was now completely blind in the darkness. The red lights had seemed bright until he ruined it with his flashlight. “Sorry. I can’t see for shit now.”
“No one can,” Ramon said dryly.
“Is this where we’re going to ditch the weapons?” Larry asked. He back was bowing under the weight of all the extra bags added to it.
“Yeah, right down there. We need to throw them as close to those tents as we can,” Gordon said, tapping Lewis on the shoulder. When the other man turned around, Gordon began fumbling for the clips, but couldn’t see.
“I think we’re going to have to turn on the lights again to do this,” he said.
“Dammit,” Ramon muttered, but his flashlight came to life anyway. He pointed it at the ground, but even so, Gordon felt highlighted and exposed.
They all took turns unclipping the bags from each other’s packs, ending up with a pile at their feet. Violet hefted the first of them and gave it an impressive throw, arcing the bag over the sloping ground to land mere feet from one of the tents with a loud clatter.
There was no way she could see their faces through the glare of light on the plastic face shields, but their still and awed stances must have been apparent, because she laughed. “It’s only guns, guys.”
Ramon whistled his appreciation at her muscle and handed her another sack.
When the last of the sacks was gone, they all stood and looked at the scattered blue bags. Lewis said, “We got all the guns except for the ones we left in Steel. We left them three guns and one box of ammo.”
Larry laughed, but it was a bitter laugh.
“What?” Gordon asked.
“Well, think about it. After all of that, the only people left in Vindica that have any way to defend themselves are the lowest ones left on their social ladder. That’s going to be interesting,” he said.
Gordon supposed it would be interesting, assuming there was enough time left for the occupants of Vindica for things to get interesting at all. Once the ventilation went off, how quickly would the oxygen deplete? Would those who paid the most and whose pods were at the lowest levels of the shelter run out of air first? Would they even figure out the ventilation was off before it was too late to leave?
The flashlight clicked off, and once more Gordon found himself completely blind in the darkness.
“Take a minute to get your night vision back,” Violet said, then trudged back to stand near Gordon. She leaned down a little to peer into his face and asked, “You okay?”
“What did you do with the bodies?” he asked. He didn’t think he would be able to let that question go until he knew the answer. He had to know. It wasn’t as if he knew the people, because he didn’t. But what he started with his idea and what Violet had finished with her bloody gloves was brutal in so many ways that it needed an accounting for in his heart, if nowhere else.
He didn’t so much hear her sigh as feel it through their face shields when she leaned over and touched hers to his. “I put them inside the tent, the bigger one, so they could be together.” She paused a moment, then added, as if embarrassed, �
��And I said a prayer for them.”
Gordon nodded. He wasn’t a religious man and he hadn’t known that Violet was religious either, but he appreciated the gesture. He cleared his throat and asked, “And you took all four sets?”
This time he did hear her sigh, but he also heard the sadness in that simple human sound.
“No,” she said. “I only took from the two adults. You were right about them. They had tied themselves to trees so they couldn’t go anywhere when they came back. I just smashed in their heads and it was done. Besides, two sets of organs were enough. The kids, well, they hadn’t come back. Not infected. I just laid them out together in the tent and left them be.”
Again, he nodded, thinking back to the lumpy bag that felt so squishy to the touch. Would the dosing of their food with the blood and organs ensure they were infected? Had they really just killed all of those people?
Gordon hoped so.
Anyone whose first act at the end of the world was to enslave another survivor deserved nothing less.
He reached out and squeezed Violet’s glove with his own, letting her know he was ready. They both turned back to the road and the others started walking again as well.
“So, South Carolina. You sure it’s safe there?” Larry asked.
Violet, a military engineer with contacts seemingly everywhere, said, “Yep. I heard the base was open for military to shelter in right before the call for Vindica members came. I was going to go there if Vindica didn’t get its act together. All we have to do is get there.”
Ramon grunted from up ahead, “But South Carolina? Why there? There are bases everywhere.”
“It’s not really a shelter so much as a safe zone, I think. Something to do with the military hospital there. They made the nanites there. Plus, the ocean is close by and that’s the best barrier there is. Lots of people were going there. All we have to do is get there and stay nanite free and alive until we do. And if no one is there, we go on to the coast, find a boat, maybe go to one of the islands.”
Gordon had his doubts, but really, what else was there to do? They could hole up, wait this thing out, but their odds weren’t good given how bad things had gotten so quickly. South Carolina. He’d never been before.
He wondered what the beaches there were like this time of year. He hoped they were warm and sunny.
And he hoped zombies couldn’t swim.
A Word from Ann Christy
“Vindica” takes place in the Between Life and Death world, but it’s a stand-alone story. I love zombie stuff—TV, books, movies, you name it—but I do get tired of it always being a virus that spreads too fast for reality. In the Between world, I decided to take what I know of physics, epidemiology, and nano-tech and try to create a sort-of-zombie situation in which the boundaries of reality weren’t strained beyond belief. I used nanites because, let’s face it, they’re cool. As a bonus, they are also ripe for this sort of thing if we’re not careful in the near future. I hope you enjoyed the story.
Ann Christy is a recently retired navy commander and secret science fiction writer. She lives by the sea under the benevolent rule of her canine overlords and assorted unruly family members.
She’s the author of the popular Silo 49 series set in the WOOL universe, assorted novels and a slew of stories. Her latest work, the Between Life and Death series, is a new and entirely novel take on the zombie genre that is turning out to be equally popular with teens and adults. It includes The In-Betweener, Forever Between, and the exciting – and very satisfying – conclusion, Between Life and Death.
You can find out more about Ann Christy and read extended sneak peeks of her books at http://www.annchristy.com.
Six Days
by Theresa Kay
THERE ISN’T MUCH LEFT OF ME. I’m not talking about my body, the outer shell that sloughs off a little more each day, but my actual self. My mind. What makes me…well, me. There isn’t much of that left. Little by little I’m fading away and soon there will be nothing left to propel my rotting corpse but blind instinct and hunger.
They call it the Zombie virus. It’s a slow moving one, but it was enough to knock out half the world’s population before people stopped trying to cure it and instead holed up to avoid it. Some cower behind tall walls in city strongholds and some, like me, chose the more rural life. If you’re cautious and make smart choices, the infected are easy to avoid. But all it takes is one stupid decision, one misstep and one single bite…
From the time you’re first infected with the virus, you have two, maybe three, days until the symptoms begin. Your body temperature drops. Your eyes turn completely red and become increasingly light sensitive. Your skin pigment fades and you’re left a pasty white color and, in the later stages, layers of your skin actually peel off. The joints in your already stiff limbs start to freeze up, so all you can manage by the end is a slow shuffle walk. And those are just the physical symptoms.
The mental symptoms, in my opinion, are even worse. Your mind sticks in there for a while as your body deteriorates around it. Then comes confusion, blackouts, and strange urges. Urges to kill. Urges to eat. Eventually, the mind loses the battle against the baser instincts of the body and checks out while what’s left of you gorges itself on human flesh—at least, I hope the mind checks out by that time.
The longest I’ve heard of anyone staying…coherent… from the day you begin the process of transitioning into a cold, pale, red-eyed monster is six days. I’m on day two and, for now, I’m in control.
At least I think I am.
I have to be.
My eight-month-old son’s life depends on it.
DAY TWO
I squint against the sunlight that has slithered its way between the boards over the window and roll to the side. Time to get up. Benjamin’s hungry. His cries play in my ears while I fumble around trying to rise from the dingy mattress. It takes much longer than yesterday.
Once I’m on my feet, I massage my right elbow for a moment then grit my teeth and force it to bend. I repeat the process with my left. Not too bad this morning. I got them almost to ninety degrees, much better than the pathetic range of motion in my knees and hips. Next come my shoulders. They’ve gotten worse. I can’t get my arms parallel to the floor, and my left one barely gets a foot from my side. I guess any overhead movement is out. Maybe I should try to sleep with my arms extended? Though, I don’t know that it’d be much more helpful for my shoulders to freeze in that position.
I shuffle toward the corner where Benjamin’s standing and gripping the edge of the playpen with his chubby little fingers. He’s still crying, but when he sees me coming he gives me a near toothless smile and lifts his arms up.
Picking him up has become an awkward maneuver, with me bending my knees slightly and slipping my hands under his arms and then kind of tilting him to the side so I can use my shoulder to steady him as I lift. Thank goodness I wasn’t infected when he was any younger, before he could at least stand up on his own, or there’d be no way I’d be able to get him out of the playpen.
He giggles as I sit him on the edge of a table. I steady him with one hand and use the other to pull a section of ripped up bed sheet closer. Then, with one hand behind his head, I lower him to lie on his back. Somehow, I get his makeshift diaper changed and then hoist him back up into my arms.
Babbling and cooing, he keeps trying to shove his fingers in my mouth as I carry him across the room. I keep my lips pressed tightly together and turn my face away. The virus is spread through saliva and I’m not taking any chances. He makes that sputtering about to cry noise and grabs for my hair instead. God, I hope another chunk doesn’t fall out in his hand like it did yesterday. Ugh.
At this point, I don’t understand how he still looks at me with nothing but adoration in his eyes. Yes, I’m still his mom, but I’ve caught my reflection a few times lately and it scares me.
I feed him some watered down baby food and choke down a protein bar myself. The food’s getting low and, besides tha
t, no one’s come through here for a few days now. I can’t leave my son with just anyone, but I have to leave him with someone. Looks like today is the day we head toward the city, something I’ve been hoping to avoid, though the voice in the back of my head is cursing me for not doing it sooner.
There’s a good reason Devin and I settled out here instead of in one of the city strongholds. They’re rife with crime and who knows what else goes on in there, but I have no other choice. There’ll be plenty of healthy people there and I’m sure one of them will be willing to take Benjamin.
It’ll be bittersweet leaving this tiny cottage—no, on second thought, it’ll just be bitter. Tucked back in the woods and with the extremely useful amenity of a hand pump for the well, this has been my home for the past two years. My son was born here. And this was the last place I shared with Devin—miss him, want him, need him—my husband and Benjamin’s father.
It was such a stupid, stupid idea to go out there in search of real diapers for Benjamin and Devin paid the price for it. Well, I guess I’ve been paying the price too…and maybe have it worse. My husband was ripped apart before my eyes, but at least it was a quick death. This one isn’t even really death as much as a transformation into something I desperately don’t want to be…a thing that would eat my infant son just as soon as look at him.
My stomach twists at the thought and I turn my head away. The protein bar comes back up. I didn’t expect it to stay down anyway. My appetite begs for meat and I haven’t been able to keep anything but beef jerky down for the past two days. I keep trying though, because, for those few minutes my stomach feels somewhat full, I can forget the other hunger.
I put Benjamin back in the playpen and then shamble around gathering the things I think we’ll need. At my speed, it takes a while for me to load up a backpack with enough supplies to last us…until. Until what, I have no clue. I have maybe four good days left and I have to make sure he’s safe before then.
The Z Chronicles Page 4