by Walls, Annie
My foot slips and I catch myself with my left hand, saving myself from a face plant on top of a particularly disgusting one. It takes a minute for my brain to comprehend what my eyes see. The zombie is squished in a way that its insides protrude from its mouth. The side of its head is caved in. The rest of its body is entangled in other bodies. I grit my teeth as my stomach turns. Maybe this one is more revolting because I’ve never seen one in such a state. Its mouth moves, startling me as it chews its own guts. Fluid sputters as it chokes. After killing it with one of my double-edged boot blades, I fling sludge from my hand and wipe as much excess gore as I can below the knee of my jeans because I don’t have an inch of thigh space to spare.
“Oh, this is just fuckin’ nasty! Why don’t they just burn ‘em?” Glinda hisses from somewhere behind me, breaking the silence of our stealth.
I glance at her look of utter disgust. Several silhouettes of our team follow behind her, making their way through the decaying mess. Most of them consist of survivors from revolutionist compounds we’ve recruited to our cause. The wire cutters in her hands flash as she stabs down into another live zombie.
Reece’s deep chuckle inevitably follows, but it ends on a gag. I snort to myself, knowing he tastes it from inhaling through his nose. The only way to keep the foul odor manageable is a deep inhale through the mouth and exhale through the nose. The opposite of what comes naturally to the human body.
“They don’t want to draw attention.” I scan the dark surroundings. That can be the only reason. Good news. We might actually find something important here. My fingers twitch in anticipation even as I try to keep hope from blooming in my chest. Disappointment is easy to come by these days.
Soon we’re on the other side of the pit and make our way up the dirt hill to the gigantic, barbed-wire fence. Dust clings to the gunk on my boots and anything else with moisture. I even feel grit between my fingers.
Our mission is an old chemical manufacturing plant. We look down into the valley where the discreet building sits. The pit surrounds the place like a moat making the one-story structure seem smaller than I would have thought. Old wooden pallets and barrels line the back wall. A rusted forklift remains forgotten and overturned with tumbleweeds that have stuck and formed to it.
“Time?” Reece whispers.
I light up my watch. “Four minutes.”
All is quiet except cricket chirps and zombie rasps throughout the pit. The facility lacks any kind of lighting, but my main focus is the only door on this side. Two minutes tick by as the team lines up along the fence.
“Two minutes.” I hold out my hand. Glinda gives me the bloodied wire cutters and I start snipping the fence from the bottom through scant thicket. Other members of our team do the same. Reece signals for everyone to duck, so we do. Waiting.
It’s a minute over from their regular schedule, but sure enough eight people appear through the door. They’re all dressed similarly casual with thick coats and beanies. Which is odd. It’s winter here, yes, but we’re in Texas near the border of Mexico. The heat is mild, in-between hot and cold, but not cold enough for coats. A few converse before getting into two separate vehicles. I breathe out as my blood pumps faster and I slip through the fence opening. This is the first mission in a year from a good lead.
For the past five years, we’ve been stuck in the middle of Sierra Vista’s council and the United States Coalition, working for both while pulling out on our own.
We’ll tread carefully about what we find here. I let out another anxious breath. I’ve studied the floor plans sent to me by the general. We’ve been trudging through this pit of zombies for weeks to stake out the place. So, I’m almost certain no one occupies the building—maybe one or two people remain—hence my tactical combat gear. Why bring a bow if I’m not going to need it?
“Everyone remember the plan?” Reece motions again, and our team slips through and spreads out before lying flat on the ground.
“I’m going in alone.”
Reece looks toward the massive team we’ve equipped ourselves with and then back to me. He knows I don’t do anything without a reason. Why do I want to go in alone? Because if anyone fucks up, it’s going to be me. “Fine. That’s the only thing that changes though. The rest of us will wait on the signal for ten minutes.” I shoot him a look at the change of time.
The original plan was twenty, but I’ll give it to him. Compromise and all that. “Ten minutes after I open the door.”
Reece signals to the team to hold position. Without a backward glance, I move forward.
After I spray the hinges with homemade WD40, it takes me no time at all to unlock the door, giving me a stab of dissatisfaction. If no one felt the need to lock the place tight, then there could be nothing here at all. Even so, we might find something useful. Might being the keyword.
Silence looms in the darkness as the door swings open. After starting my stopwatch, I place an ultrasonic soundwave emitter on the floor. A flick of the small switch and it hums to life. If any famished are loose, they’ll show up soon, but I don’t “feel” any near. Since pulling out on our own—unbeknownst to Sierra Vista’s council and General Stevenson—we’ve come up with small technologies that make our lives a bit simpler. Although, the general covertly supplies me with awesome gear and equipment. Pretty much anything I ask for within reason.
My breath fogs in the chill as I enter. I suspected this and it explains why the men are bundled up as they come and go. Now my hope blossoms out from me and I smile. There’s only one reason to keep it so cold. Zombie preservation.
Nothing comes out of the darkness, so I breathe in deep, relax my posture a bit, and raise my favorite firearm—the hammerless S&W revolver chambered in .38 special. The gun Reece gave me when he lackadaisically taught me to shoot. A smile touches my lips at the memory. The gun used to be my backup, but two years ago, it went missing for a while and then reappeared on my bedside table—only intricately engraved with a very familiar sunshine and arrow. The sentimental value isn’t why I favor it though. I know the practicality of using an automatic or even a semiautomatic in these situations, but the revolver’s never let me down. Not once has it jammed, snagged, or misfired since it’s been in my possession. Old Reliable. I’ve come to learn I handle it much faster as well, so win-win. Doesn’t mean I don’t carry my pistols though.
I focus my gaze and my footsteps are silent but quick. By the end of a corridor, I spot another light at the end of another hall. I search for any security equipment such as cameras or silent alarms, but there’s nothing of the sort. I clear several rooms, noting the computers, standard lab setups, and storage containers.
I eventually pass a steel door. I think it’s a door anyway. No handle. No window. There’s no security box to unlock it. It’s not on the floorplan printout and judging from the frame, it hasn’t been installed long. It’s a large room inside that I know of, so it’s being used as a vault of some sort. I wait, pressing a hand to the door. No sound or movement. My inner zombie radar, thanks to Mago, doesn’t go off either.
I move on, knowing I’ll come back to it. It’s only after I skim through the biggest part of the building, I realize this facility isn’t used to make any new chemicals. Reece will be bummed. He’s always on the lookout for some chemical or other. The general supplies us with C-4 but in small quantities at a time and only to be used for demolition purposes. We still make our own to have on hand and I trust Reece to know what he’s doing, especially since the time I saw him take down a five-story building with just two little packages of “organic peroxides” that he transferred to the practice site in buckets of sand. I created a monster when I introduced him to bathtub explosives and nothing has stopped his fascination for chemistry ever since.
I slink my way through the huge boiler barrels that have pipes and tubes snaking out of them. Nine minutes and three seconds down. Perfect timing. I suppose the cold isn’t for zombie preservation after all. Maybe for the lab? I sigh.
T
he static from an earpiece in my ear screeches when I turn on the backpack radio on the side of my pack. I flinch from the abrupt sound—a reason why only one of us keeps it on at all times. “Do you read?”
“Not really. Too ADD.” Reece chuckles at his own joke, but it cuts off as an affirmative.
I roll my eyes. “All clear with the exception of a steel door. Over.”
“Copy that,” Reece replies. “We’re going in. You opening it? Over.”
I return to the interesting looking door a minute later and smirk. “Yep. Over.”
I use a dissolving agent—courtesy of Reece. It’s a double bottle and when the liquids come together, they form a foam. Making a giant square from the floor, I step back to watch it sizzle. A gunshot goes off in the mysterious room and I crouch away. “Shit!” I scramble to hit my radio button, keeping an eye on the fizzing steam. “Nine-one-one, Nine-one-one!” More destructive sounds come from the other side of the door and echo down the hall.
The door bursts open from the inside. It hides me, but my heart kicks up a notch as I realize someone will make an appearance soon. The air goes unnaturally quiet as the chemical foam starts to sputter out. Some of it lands on the arm of my jacket, but I don’t move as a tennis shoe squeaks on the floor inside the doorway. Pain sears my arm as the foam hits my skin. I breathe deep, trying to ignore it.
Their breathing bursts out jaggedly, and I can tell the person is a man. I relax a bit. This guy sounds like he’ll shit his pants any minute. “I-I know someone is there and I have a gun.” I hear him pivot into the hallway, but I’m still behind the door.
My team has abandoned all furtiveness. Their steps bounce off the walls becoming clearer by the second. The guy panics, turning his gun to where I can see it past the edge of the open steel door. I stuff my revolver in its holster and grab his firearm with speed. He gasps as I jerk it from him. I’d laugh at the surprised look on his face, but I’m baffled at the uncocked pistol. I sweep his feet. Air gushes from his lungs as he hits the floor. I take a minute to make sure he’s alone, peeking inside the room. He struggles to breathe, holding up shaking hands. After checking the chamber on his pistol, which is empty as suspected, I point it at him. If he thinks it’ll shoot, the better for me, but I doubt he’s that dumb since he used it less than two minutes ago. He’s wearing thick sweatpants and a sweatshirt.
Someone huffs around the corner, followed by more footsteps.
I sniff, not averting the gun from the man on the floor. When I know someone is close, I finally speak to him. “Don’t move or we’ll shoot you.” I gesture for someone to keep an eye on him as I step through the doorway. It’s not a room, but a hallway full of typical zombie holding cells. I’m familiar with the setup, but we’ve never come across any being used. To the right, a small bed and a mini kitchen take up a whole cell. Along the other two cells were computers, but they’re smashed to pieces. The cells on the other side are all empty except for the last one. A zombie lies on the floor with a fresh hole in the head, leaking thick fluid. The gunshot. I stare at the zombie and a sense of foreboding chills my bones. As goosebumps prickle my skin, I jerk my earpiece out and slam it against the concrete.
“Damn.” Reece examines the mess.
“Eight people come, eight people go. Someone’s always here.” Spinning, I stomp and rack the slide of the guy’s Glock, efficiently chambering a bullet. Bending to him, I yank him close, rip off his knit hat, and push the barrel to his temple. My finger on the trigger itches to pull back. I already have blood on my hands. Some of that blood keeps me up at night, so what’s one more?
“I’m j-just the night sh-shift,” he stutters. His bottom lip trembles. He squeezes his eyes tight as my breath puffs against his face. I press the gun harder, my body and mind wound tight. No one makes a sound, the tension palpable.
A hand falls on my shoulder—light and unsure. “Suga’…”
I jolt my shoulder to fling her off. “Did you release a distress call?” He opens his eyes wide. “Pack up everything you can in two minutes. We might not have much time,” I tell the team. They burst into action. “What’s with the zombie?” It’s obviously important or he wouldn’t have bothered destroying it. More importantly, I would have felt it, even if I couldn’t control it, I would have known it was there.
At my question, his eyes and demeanor go cool. “You might as well shoot me.”
I smirk. “Sam?”
Samaru’s boots step into my peripheral vision. My eyes don’t move from the piece of shit in front of me. Sam laughs. “I guess someone gets a birthday present.”
“Something’s gotta give.” I shove the asshole back to the floor, stretching my neck. I’m fucking fed up. I’m tired, I’m bitter, downright fucking resentful, and I’m about to snap. “Tie him up with a bow. I’m giving him to Bruno.”
Smoke from the facility billows over some building tops even as the ground shakes with the consecutive blasts from our explosives that were set up to demolish the plant—my signature love note to the revolutionists. We’ve pulled into the back parking lot of an old department store. Of course, going in to loot is a ridiculous notion nowadays. I forget what city we’re in, Kingsville, maybe? The warmer temps always have scarce looting.
I try to appear calm and collected when all I want to do is rant and rage and kill things. It doesn’t fool Reece in the slightest. “What do you think we should keep?”
I snort. “Nothing. No security. I doubt we’ll find anything new, so might as well not waste the time.”
“The zombie?”
I grit my teeth. Our biggest find in the past five years, I’m sure, but I’m also sure that a dead zombie is a useless zombie. “The council can have it, but we’ll take some samples for comparison.”
Reece scratches his head, which is full of salt and pepper hair that stands up all over. He’s also lost a lot of weight and has a full beard. The biker vest is gone in favor of tactical clothing during missions. He went from burly tattooed-biker to a burly hobo. Sometimes I miss his baldness full of tattoos and his beaded goatee, but I’m glad he’s changed his look up a bit. His bald head and round gut would only remind me of times I took for granted—times I wasted keeping my heart from having what it wanted. He looks good and I’m sure Glinda takes full advantage of it, too. “We? I don’t think so. We have to go back to Arizona for a while. You know that, Kan.”
I feel my face pinch as the team cleans up from walking through the zombie pit. And Reece is right, but since we’ve gotten our own super-secret bat cave in the mountains of Colorado—fully functioning and fully livable, it’s getting harder and harder to keep up appearances. Being in Sierra Vista depresses me. I like keeping busy. Keeping busy means productivity and being at the treehouse allows me to do that without anyone watching over my shoulder. The place allows me to interact with our team who live there.
“Two weeks,” I say, wanting to get back to the treetops as quickly as possible to hover over our pathology tech, Fran, while she processes the samples.
“Two months.” After I shoot him an incredulous look, he shrugs. “We might get a mission.”
“We won’t. We barely got this one. Two weeks. Take it or leave it.”
“One month.”
I look to Glinda for help. She busies herself with her dark purple nails. Her “winter” color. She looks like a badass dressed in all black. Her nylon thigh holsters sport dangerous blades and guns—much like my own. A blond bun sticks out from the back of a black cap.
I sigh in resignation. “Tell Sander to take Mr. Nightshift and lock him underground. I’ll send Bruno when we get back to Arizona.” Dude is not going to like Bruno. At all. I met the gigantor at the community back in Tennessee. Linnie and him grew all the produce and price gouged the fuck out of it. Now they upkeep a greenhouse in Sierra Vista and take run of the grocery store. Bruno’s large and scary. Although I’ve taken a liking to Linnie, I’m still not even sure if I like him. But I trust him and that’s all that matters. “And
tell him I want daily updates.”
“You tell him yourself.”
“Sure. You guys go ahead. I’ll catch a ride with Sam.”
Reece groans. “Never mind.” He walks away grumbling about how he knows I wouldn’t go to Sierra Vista if left to my own devices. Glinda and I are alone. Our silence stretches out. She clears her throat, testing the waters. She fumbles around before she meets my gaze. “Think ‘bout Dex, suga’. I’m sure that ol’ groucho pussy misses yew.” I nod, almost feeling a smile. The tug of my lips must encourage her because she keeps going. “And maybe yew can take ‘im to Colo—” She stumbles at the sour look on my face. “—rado,” she finishes in a soft manner.
I stand up straight from my lean on the Jeep, open the back door, and start undoing the numerous holsters on my body. I’m not taking Dex anywhere until we’re there permanently. It’d be hard for Dex to adapt. Again. If I’m not there all the time. That fucking cat is a doorway to the soft spots in my heart.
After removing my fitted jacket, I dump water on the burn from the chemical foam. It throbs a bit and I have to wonder how bad it is. I go about the process of properly cleaning myself before performing any first-aid on it.
After several minutes, I hear someone come around the Jeep. “Uh, Kan,” Reece interrupts the dead air, looking from Glinda to me rapidly before finally coming to a stop on Glinda. Their silent exchange is significant. “Sander—”
“Isn’t going anywhere without mi chignona.” Sander runs a hand through his black shiny hair and flashes me a smile.
I stare him down. “Someone from our original team needs to be there. You’re the only other one besides me who doesn’t have anyone waiting for them in Sierra Vista.” I spare a glance at Reece. “I’ll happily go.”