by Kirk Withrow
Chapter 29
October 18, 2015
Upon returning from his secondary sweep, a hopeful but uneasy smile crossed Ethan’s face as he saw Reams talking to the freed woman. He found two dead hostiles on the second floor, and none alive. While the scene there was not quite as lurid as that on the first floor, the myriad, jagged stab wounds adorning each of the victims made it clear that this was not merely murder by necessity, but rather for retribution. Ethan knew such things were hard to come back from, and the sight of the likely perpetrator talking nonchalantly to Reams both warmed and chilled his heart.
Perhaps she would recover without being suffocated by the impenetrable callouses that accompany such intense emotional and psychological trauma. More likely, he feared, the damage was too extensive, and they were merely seeing the initial rays of light shining through the first cracks in her soul. As he approached the other three survivors, he sincerely hoped the former would prove victorious in the struggle for the poor woman’s sanity.
“Everything good?” asked John as Ethan sauntered up alongside him.
“All clear—two more dead bikers upstairs. Only a half dozen or so infected still shambling around outside. How’d she get free?” inquired Ethan, nodding toward the red woman sitting quietly on the couch talking to Reams. She now looked like the antithesis of the feral, snarling woman he had apprehended and restrained moments ago.
John explained that Reams cut her bonds after she agreed to behave. The two men exchanged a concerned, troubled look, and Ethan sensed John shared his reservations about the stability of the woman. Any way he looked at it, the fact that she was nonchalantly talking to Reams after what must have happened in the house made him seriously question her sanity.
Noticing the two men staring at him, Reams turned to regard them, “John, Ethan, this is Kate Frost. I was just filling her in on what we know about the situation outside and telling her about your previous encounter with the bikers, Ethan.”
John cut in on the conversation, “Kate, are you injured? Have you been bitten? I’m sorry to come right out and ask, but with all the blood, it’s impossible to tell. You should get cleaned up. I’m John, by the way.” He extended his hand slowly, and after a moment, during which she regarded the offered hand as a venomous snake that might strike her at any second, she apprehensively took it in a weak handshake.
Kate pulled her hand back and looked down at herself as if just noticing a fresh wine stain on her new evening gown. John half expected her to lick her fingertip and start trying in earnest to rub the gore stains from her garments, but she merely stared at her clothes for a moment before looking back to John, with disengaged eyes and shaking her head in the negative.
“Good. Let me see if I can find somewhere for you to get cleaned up,” said John before turning and heading farther into the house. For a while the three remaining individuals sat in silence, each considering their own perspective on the situation, and none certain of how best to proceed. After several minutes, John returned and broke the awkward silence.
“The house still has running water, and I found the biker’s propane stove. I started heating some water – it should be ready in a few minutes. There’s a shower and tub in the bathroom down the hall,” said John.
Slowly rising to her feet, Kate’s entire body winced and screamed in protest as the pain of her ordeal seared through every inch of her body. She wondered when, and if, all the bruises would heal as she hobbled toward the bathroom. Pausing briefly in the doorway, she half-turned, and said, “Thank you.”
While she washed up John looked through the rooms in the house, found a pair of jeans and a shirt, and placed them just outside the bathroom door for Kate. Returning to the kitchen, he joined Reams and Ethan at the table. His legs gave off a nearly audible sigh of relief when he sat down, focusing his attention on just how tired he was.
“Reams and I were just talking about Kate, and what we should do now,” said Ethan. “Reams has spoken with her more than either of us, and he seems to think she’s going to be okay. I voiced my qualms, and I sense you already appreciate my concern. What do you think we should do with her?”
John had recognized Ethan’s concerns when the two men shared a passing glance earlier and had debated the issue. He tried to empathize with the woman, but knew he would never be able to do so completely. What state would I be in after such an ordeal? He seriously doubted he would be as well off as she seemed right now. Further, if she was solely responsible for what happened to the remaining bikers, then she could clearly handle herself. In the end, he thought of no other reasonable option aside from offering to let her join them if she desired. Their main concern related to her mental stability, and upon considering that, John surmised that rock-solid mental stability was a luxury that no longer existed in this plague-ridden world.
Considering the question, John spoke, “My goals and plans are still the same. I am grateful to have found both of you. Kate is only the fourth uninfected person I have seen since I returned home. It’s like I told Reams when we spoke about Trenton, we don’t really have the luxury of picking and choosing who we link up with. Certainly, she has been through a lot, but who hasn’t now? I say we tell Kate what we know and what our plans are, and ask if she wants to come with us. If she doesn’t want to do so, we can get her set up in as safe a place as possible, give her some supplies, and let her do her own thing.”
After a pause, Ethan and Reams both nodded in agreement with what John said. Standing in the adjacent hallway, outside of view, but in clear earshot of the conversation, Kate listened to the men as they spoke amongst themselves. She, too, agreed with what John said. They sounded sincere, and she knew that if she was going to have any chance of survival, she was going to have to trust others in spite of the horrors she experienced over the last few days.
Chapter 30
October 18, 2015
Kate remained hidden in the darkness of the hallway as she considered her options. After being freed by Reams, her first thought was to make a run for it right then. The memories of the filthy bikers flooded through her mind, and she found it difficult to imagine that these three men – or any others for that matter – were any different. Somewhere deep inside, however, the slightest seed of indecision sprouted and she hesitated. At that moment the third man returned, the one who had subdued her, and she doubted escape was feasible any longer. Then, when John mentioned washing up, everything else seemed to fade into the background of her mind. Kate had never felt so vile and dirty in all her life, and the prospect of cleansing even a fraction of the filth from her body eclipsed any fear of further harm that might befall her. As she finished bathing, she again considered slipping out the opposite side of the house. There was no one standing watch over her—she could do it. But again, she did not flee. What is wrong with me? Am I suffering from some form of Stockholm syndrome? I have to get away from these animals!
Sitting naked, afraid, and confused on the cold tile floor next to the near-empty pot of rose-colored water, the bloodstained washcloth, and a pile of nearly unrecognizable gore-encrusted clothes, Kate shed the first tears since being abducted by the bikers several days earlier. Up to that point she had remained strong and stoic, unwilling to give those bastards the satisfaction of knowing they were breaking her, that she was affected at all by their heinous crimes. During those unthinkable few days, her only consolation was the clear irritation the bikers displayed at not seeing her spirit cave like the others they raped and tortured. Her resolve had been her only weapon. At least until that retard Turtle let me get a hold of his blade.
Now, curled in a ball, she let her guard down and wept in private. She cried for innumerable things: for the world she feared was lost and for what she feared it would become, for the others she had seen brutalized and murdered, and least of all, for herself. The tears she shed on her own behalf were not born of self-pity. In fact, she doubted she possessed the capacity for that emotion any longer. On the contrary, those tears were s
hed for the part of her that died and now seemed as alien as the things currently ravaging all of humanity. Despite the immensity of all of these emotions surfacing at once, her tears were brief. She realized this was no longer a world suited for tears and understood that the emotional vulnerability of the old world was not compatible with survival in this one.
Cracking the door, Kate retrieved the clothes John left, and again noted that no one guarded the door. She could not even see any of the men. Though her brain screamed for her to take advantage of this fact and run, a deep-seated, albeit more irrational feeling prevailed, and instead she walked down the hallway to where she covertly listened to the three men discuss how best to handle her.
Standing there concealed in the shadows, she still could not fathom what caused her to pass up so many opportunities to get away from these men, from this house, from everything. Admittedly, these guys did not seem bad, but Kate knew that alone was not enough to make her risk any further abuse. All of a sudden, it dawned on her. She stayed because she needed to know that the biker scum she killed were not representative of what the world had become in the aftermath of the plague. If she was going to maintain the will to survive, she needed to know there was something left of the human race worth fighting for, and she believed she saw that in Reams’ dark eyes when she first spoke to him.
Stepping into the kitchen, Kate was silhouetted by the dim light produced by the lone candle on the table, and the last few rays of the setting sun. All three men looked genuinely surprised as they strained to see who this stranger was. Her transformation from the red, feral wraith of a woman they saw moments ago to the clean, reasonably groomed woman now standing before them was so dramatic that Reams’ first reaction was to go ensure that Kate was safe. Only when she opened her mouth and spoke did the men truly realize that the stranger standing in the kitchen was Kate. “I want to thank you all again for coming to help me,” she said in a ghost of a voice.
There was an audible exhalation as the men let out the collective breath they were holding in anticipation of how the scene was going to play out when she entered the room. All three men rose and took a tentative step away from her as John offered her his chair. In defiance of everything she had experienced and all the horrible, intense emotions she felt raging through her body, she could not help but smile at their gestures. Are they really afraid of me? She remembered with disgust how the bikers seemed to flock toward any female like a fly to shit. Taking the offered seat, she replied, “Thank you, that is very kind.”
Cautiously, they all sat back down, and for a moment, a long, awkward silence loomed over the table. John glanced at Kate momentarily, trying to read her demeanor. He took in many details about her, but the most striking was her eyes. While their brilliant, jade green color seemed to glimmer wildly in the candlelight heedless of the swelling threatening to close the curtains over her right eye, it was the intensity of her hard stare that truly garnered his attention. Simultaneously vacuous and searching, her eyes conveyed a lassitude born of nearly insurmountable turmoil as well as the hopeful fire of a resilient spirit. To John it seemed as if she was teetering on the edge, destined to fall one way or the other with the slightest perturbation. He imagined his eyes, too, often donned the same look. The eyes truly are the windows of the soul.
Despite the substantial improvement afforded her by the bath and clean clothes, Kate still looked anything but attractive. She was a small-framed woman and suffered from the obvious ravages of weight loss, malnutrition, and neglect. Her skin appeared olive and sunken in the dim light with the percentage of her integument covered in bruises representing the clear majority. Damp locks of nutmeg brown hair hung to her shoulders framing her bruised and swollen face. John knew firsthand how different a person looks after significant facial trauma, having seen countless victims of car accidents and assaults transform into almost inhuman caricatures of their former selves once the edema and ecchymosis set in. He tried to imagine how Kate looked before all of this and surmised she was likely an attractive lady. That, in combination with her small size, probably made her a prime target for the bikers. Unfortunately for them, they clearly underestimated the fight inside this woman.
John broke the silence, saying, “I hope you are feeling a little better after cleaning up. Would you like something to eat or drink?”
With her unwavering gaze locked forward and her head slightly downcast such that her hair hid some of the damage displayed on her face, she gave a curt nod. Ethan filled a glass of water from the tap and began to prepare one of the MREs from his pack.
“Where are you from, Kate?” inquired John, still uncertain of how much to press the traumatized woman. After a couple of minutes with no answer, he thought he might be prying too much when she finally spoke.
“Here, I’m from here. I lived in Atlanta and came back to be with my family when all this started,” said Kate, motioning to the world outside with a slight wave of her hand.
John thought he saw something dark pass through the depths of her eyes and decided not to press her for details about her family.
Ethan returned with the meager offerings and, as she ate, John told the abbreviated versions of their respective stories. He told her what they knew about the plague, and about Ava, and Dr. San. Though she gave no confirmation, John thought she heard and understood his words.
“Reams and I have scoured the area for signs of Ava for the last two weeks without luck. We planned to shift gears and try to meet up with Dr. San in the next couple of days. We met Ethan only yesterday, and he told us about you, or at least this place. So that pretty much brings us to this point.”
Again several moments passed in complete silence as Kate finished eating the contents of the MRE. John briefly exchanged glances with both Reams and Ethan, unsure of what to say or do next. This time, Kate spoke up, “I would like to go with you. There is nothing left for me here. I don’t think there is anything left here for anyone.”
Kate looked at John for the first time since she entered the room, and the hurt in his eyes made her immediately regret her last words. “At least not in this place,” she added, trying unsuccessfully to alleviate some of the sting of her previous statement. “When are we leaving?”
“First light. It’s much safer to move in the daylight. I’m sure you’re eager to get out of this place, but it’s safer to wait until morning. You should try to rest. One of us will be on watch at all times. I’ve got first shift,” said John. At that, the other two men nodded and, after a few moments of small talk, they went to get some much needed sleep.
Chapter 31
October 19, 2015
The round-table meeting with Kate concluded around 7:00, and everyone but John headed off to catch some shut-eye shortly after. About halfway through his three-hour watch shift, John sat absently staring out across the front lawn of the house. The wind had picked up, and the branches of the surrounding trees swayed hypnotically under its force. The occasional distant rumble of thunder provided rhythmic accentuation to the tree’s anodynic dance. Other than that, nothing stirred in his field of view.
John thought about how much sleeping habits changed when the power grid went down, and all the modern conveniences and entertainments disappeared. In the absence of such manmade interference and luxury, much like on the camping trips he took with his father when he was young, the sun again regained its rightful place as the supreme dictator of the circadian rhythm. Would any of them actually be sleeping now if they had access to late night television? Glancing down at his watch, John saw it was not yet 9:00 P.M. He considered what little difference that made as his mind continued to drift, now to thoughts of a time when the last clock ceased to tick, and manmade time quietly disappeared completely.
John’s recondite musings were harshly interrupted by a pulpy thwack on the right side of the house. Heart racing and senses heightened, he moved toward the sound, imagining that a rev they failed to put down must have collided with one of the house’s side windows.
Earlier, while Kate cleaned up, John and Ethan made short work of dispatching the few remaining revs scattered around the house under the watchful eye of the sun’s last rays. The stragglers had not been particularly active, as the three men had moved in so quickly, and taken the house with a minimum of noise.
Now, as John crept toward the window, the muted thump again reverberated through the otherwise silent house. Thinking back to his garage, it occurred to him that the sound might simply be a tree branch moving like the limb of a marionette – the wind serving as its puppeteer. He also considered the concerning possibility that one or more of the bikers managed to escape Kate’s wrath and now returned to settle the score. If he was honest with himself, John did not believe the random, wet sound he heard was due to either of those.
Nearing the wall where he thought the sound originated, he paused to listen in the absolute blackness of the room. While he could not clearly see them now, he knew there were two windows on the far wall of the room. He scanned the room trying intently to look out of his periphery in an effort to maximize his night vision. Though he saw no movement in the room, he struggled to control his escalating anxiety, as every turn of his head seemed to bring with it the ghoulish outline of a rev lying in wait. The sweat beading on his neck chilled him as it contacted the cool air in the room, leaving him with the sense that one of the revs was right behind him, with fetid breath and rancid mouth poised to take a bite.
Just as he was about to back out of the room, the meaty thump resounded over the hammering thrum of his racing heartbeat. Taking a furtive step toward the left window, John flung the curtains open just in time to see a milky white, ruptured globe squish against the windowpane. Thunk! The vitreous slime left on the glass after the thing pulled its head away seemed intent on staying put as it defied the laws of gravity.