The Torn World: The Harvesting Series Book 5

by Melanie Karsak

  “All right,” I said, slipping out of the driver’s seat. “We’ll find something here. Or we’ll walk.”

  “Are you sure?” Tristan asked, touching me gently on the chin.

  “Of course,” I replied. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve got my wrench.”

  Tristan smiled at me, placed a light kiss on my lips, and then slid into the driver’s seat.

  Chase, Zoey, and Logan hopped out of the back of the truck.

  “Careful, girl,” Zoey called to Amelia.

  “You too,” Amelia said, casting a glance at Logan who waved to her.

  After a moment, they drove off.

  “Well, what shall we grab? Daddy always wanted a nice Cadillac. Convertible? Hummer? How about that Corvette?”

  Chase grinned, shaking his head.

  “There’s some trucks and SUVs,” Logan said, pointing.

  “Trucks, trucks, and more trucks. I don’t think I was ever meant to drive a convertible,” I said with a sigh.

  Zoey laughed. “You definitely don’t strike me as the convertible type. What did you do before things went to shit?”

  “Carnival. Ride operator,” I said, trying to hide the nagging feelings of both pride and shame that wanted to let loose in my chest.

  “Oh. That’s badass. I bet that was a fun job, traveling all over like that.”

  I loved her so much in that moment, I wanted to give her a hug. “Yeah, me and my daddy traveled the whole country.”

  “What was your favorite place? Best carnival?”

  “Pensacola. White beaches. Blue water. Good times and tan lines.”

  Zoey laughed.

  “What about you? You were about done with school, right? What were you going to do?”

  Zoey shrugged. “I don’t know. Become a writer, maybe.”

  “You can still do that, ya know.”

  “Seems pointless now. I mean, what’s there to write about? Who wants to read a book about the zombie apocalypse?”

  “It would be great. The Battle of Claddagh-Basel. The War Against the Kitsune. Make sure you mention how much ass I kicked.”

  Zoey laughed. “Yeah? Well, we’ll see.”

  “It’s a whole new world,” I told her, setting my arm across her shoulders. “And you know the best thing?”

  She raised an eyebrow at me.

  “I bet you’re the best writer on the whole planet.”

  At that, she laughed.

  Logan grinned. “Shall we go inside? See if we can find some keys?”

  “Let’s go slow,” Chase said. “Brighton’s residents didn’t get far.”

  “This guy, Ray, owned the place. He’ll have it all locked up,” Zoey said.

  We headed across the parking lot, stopping when we got to the showroom.

  “Is that Ray?” Logan asked.

  Pressed against the glass was a middle-aged man in a heavy state of decay, his flesh torn all around his neck. The funny thing was, he was still wearing a short-sleeved button-up shirt and a tie.

  “Yep.”

  “See anyone else?” Chase asked.

  Zoey shook her head.

  “Let’s double check,” Chase said then went to the window and rapped on the glass. We waited a few minutes. There was no one else inside, but in the parking lot, I heard that same old groan. I looked behind me to see an undead woman dressed in what was left of a brown suit, and another man dressed similar to Ray, coming toward us.

  “Got her,” I said, pulling out my machete. The smell coming off her reminded me of the time Daddy was so tired that he forgot to bring in the groceries from the car. Everything was still there when he remembered two days later. It took us a month to air the car out, and the upholstery smelled like spoiled milk for a long time after that. When I got a good look at the woman, I saw there were large black flies crawling all over her face and maggots tumbling out of her open mouth.

  I dropped the knife on the center of her head. It took me a good wiggle to get the blade loose.

  I turned to see Zoey swipe at the man with a baseball bat. When he fell, she bashed his head in.

  “Ray,” Logan called, tapping on the glass to distract the undead man.

  “Stay back,” Chase said, motioning to Zoey. He smashed open the glass, unlocked the door, then swung it open wide.

  The undead man, no longer distracted by Logan, came stumbling out. I bashed him in the head with my wrench then stabbed him through the eye with my knife.

  “Sorry, Ray,” Zoey said as we all stepped around him and went inside.

  “Oh man, look at that,” Chase said, crossing the showroom to run his hand along the curves of a silver and black 1970s Mustang Fastback. “Come on Cricket, please?”

  “You kidding me? The engine sound alone will have half the zombies following us back to Witch Wood. Better find yourself a Prius.”

  “Ugh,” Chase said with a shake of the head. “You just stay here, bae,” he said, patting the hood of the Mustang. “I’ll be back for you when Cricket’s not looking.”

  Zoey stepped around the counter. “Key rack is empty. Just the Jeep and the Mustang,” she said, referring to the two cars in the showroom as she lifted two sets of keys.

  “Jeep it is then,” I said, scanning the windows. “There,” I added, pointing to the locks on the showroom window. Logan and I headed to the window, unlocked the glass, and with a hard shove, opened a space to drive the Jeep out.

  “Here,” Zoey said, tossing the Jeep keys to Chase.

  “Thanks.”

  “Nothing I can steal is good enough for you.”

  “Remind me to rob a bank for you later.”

  “Sure. We could use the kindling,” she replied with a grin.

  Chase popped the hood on the Jeep, fiddling around underneath, then slipped into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Logan and I hopped into the back of the Wrangler as Zoey slid into the passenger seat. She pulled the sticker off the window.

  “We owe Ray twenty-five thousand,” Zoey said.

  “And a new head. We’ll just put them both on a tab,” I replied.

  With a laugh, we headed off.

  CHAPTER 27: LAYLA

  THE TRUCK SLIPPED QUICKLY through town toward Amelia’s house. I could see from the expression on her face that she was trying to hold back her tears. I didn’t blame her. If this didn’t work, her mother would be lost forever.

  “That’s my place,” Beatrice said, pointing to a pretty little cottage that sat on the end of a small pond.

  “Do you want to stop?” Kellimore asked her.

  She shook her head, then gazed back down at the bundle she was carrying.

  “Reminds me of Hamletville,” Will said, looking around. “A mess though,” he added as we drove past a burned-out car. In the car after it, two undead were still locked inside.

  “No one even had time to run. Everyone just panicked,” Beatrice said.

  The truck slowed as we turned into Amelia’s driveway.

  Will helped Beatrice out of the truck, and we went inside. Once more, Amelia set her hand on the large oak tree out front. This time, her brow furrowed, and she looked around expecting…something.

  “Everything okay?” Tristan asked.

  “As okay as it’s going to get,” she said then we followed her inside.

  The curtains on the sliding glass doors were still open. The undead woman sat on the back porch step, looking off into the distance.

  Tristan looked at me.

  “You ready?” I whispered to Amelia.

  Her eyes were wet with unshed tears, but she nodded.

  “Mom?” Amelia called, knocking lightly on the glass. “Mom?”

  The undead woman didn’t move.

  Amelia looked at me.

  “Caroline?” I whispered with my mind.

  “Go away.”

  “Amelia is here.”

  “Go away.”

  “Mom?” Amelia called again then looked at me. “Can you hear her?”

  I
nodded. “She can hear you.”

  “What is she saying?” Amelia asked.

  I frowned. I didn’t want to tell her.

  “Caroline, we need your help. There was a scientist…we found a cure. At least, we think so,” I said aloud. “We need your help.”

  “Mom, we think we have a cure for people like you.”

  “Go away.”

  “Caroline, you are not like the others. There are more like you who still think, who still exist. We came here—“ I began but then she jumped up and came to stand face to face with me.

  “I’m not what I was,” she said, interrupting me. “The pain. The hunger. I’m dangerous. Get my daughter out of here.”

  “Layla?” Tristan whispered.

  I motioned for him to be silent.

  “Won’t you try? For her sake? What else is left but hope?”

  “Mom, Miss Beatrice studied the scientist’s notes. There was something wrong with the flu shot. If you let us, we can try to cure you, to bring you back,” Amelia pleaded. “You were a nurse. Please. If you won’t do it for yourself, maybe we can save others, but only if we know if it works. Layla said there are others like you, others who didn’t lose themselves entirely. Won’t you try? If not for you, for them?”

  Finally, she relented, her moon-white eyes flashing toward her daughter as her shoulders slumped in defeat.

  “We’ll come outside,” Tristan told her. “We,” he said, motioning to Will and Kellimore, “we must restrain you. Beatrice will give the injection.”

  The undead woman looked up at me. “My bag. Tell Amelia to bring my bag. My stethoscope.”

  “She wants you to get her bag, her stethoscope.”

  Amelia rushed toward the back of the house.

  “Does your heart still beat?” I asked.

  “Slowly. Like hypothermia.”

  “How have you survived? Off the living?” I asked, not wanting the others to hear my question or her answer.

  “Animals. This body needs little. But I am a killer, and I still crave,” she said, motioning to the rumbled heap of a decayed body lying at the back of the lawn.

  “Another like you told me the hunger is uncontrollable at first.”

  “Yes,” she said, her voice thick with sadness.

  “Here,” Amelia said, reemerging with the bag. The girl looked hopeful.

  It felt dangerous to hope.

  “We’ll come out now,” Tristan said, opening the door.

  The undead woman stepped away and sat in one of the wooden porch chairs.

  I pulled my blade and headed outside.

  It was strange to be so close to her. To find her so still.

  Tristan pulled off his backpack and took out some rope from inside. “We need to bind your arms, tie them to the chair.”

  “Palms up,” Beatrice told him.

  “Sorry, Amelia.” Kellimore said. “We should gag her. Beatrice will be very close.”

  Everyone looked at me.

  “It’s all right,” the woman whispered then closed her eyes.

  I nodded to Kellimore. Moving carefully, Will and Tristan quickly bound the woman’s arms to the chair while Kellimore secured a gag around her mouth.

  “Mom,” Amelia whispered. “Mom, I can see your colors. Just a little. I see just flecks. It’s going to work. Please, just hold on.”

  “The stethoscope?” Beatrice asked Amelia.

  She nodded, handing it to her.

  Moving gingerly, her hands shaking, Beatrice set the stethoscope on the woman’s chest. We all paused as she listened.

  “Tell her to move it lower,” the voice came inside my head.

  “Move it lower,” I told Beatrice. “As she suggests,” I said, motioning to the woman.

  “So strange,” Beatrice whispered after a moment. “Her heart is beating so slowly. Her respiration is low.”

  I closed my eyes. Oh, Jamie, please hold on.

  Digging in the bag once more, Amelia pulled out some alcohol prep wipes and handed them to Beatrice who then cleaned the woman’s arm.

  The woman’s pallor was ashen, her skin pale and blue. It was just like she said, like she’d fallen into an icy pond and just stopped in that state like hypothermia.

  “I’m going to do the injection now,” Beatrice said, prepping the needle.

  Kellimore pulled his gun and aimed it toward Caroline.

  “Okay,” Beatrice said, then stuck the needle in her arm.

  No one breathed.

  The undead woman sat perfectly still, but she opened her eyes and watched Beatrice work.

  A moment later, Beatrice pulled the syringe away.

  Then, we waited.

  “Mom?” Amelia whispered.

  The woman sat very still.

  “Caroline?” I whispered.

  “Itching. Hot. My skin is burning,” she whispered.

  “She feels it. It’s itching and burning,” I told the others.

  “My heart,” the undead woman said then. “Something’s wrong.”

  “The stethoscope. Quickly,” I told Beatrice.

  She quickly placed the instrument on the woman’s chest. “Her heartbeat is accelerating rapidly. Not good. Not good.”

  “Her aura is going wild,” Amelia said. “Mom. Mom?”

  The woman started convulsing then, shaking from side to side.

  “Layla? What’s she saying?” Tristan asked.

  “Nothing.” Moving quickly, I removed the gag before she choked on the froth bubbling from her mouth.

  “Mom!” Amelia said, reaching out tepidly, but drawing her hand back.

  We all stood, staring aghast as Caroline shook.

  After a moment, the seizure subsided and the woman’s head hung slack.

  “Is she gone? Is she dead?” Amelia asked.

  I ignored the irony of the question and gently probed.

  “Caroline? Caroline?”

  At that, the woman’s head snapped up, and she went wild, howling, hissing, and biting at us. Her eyes had turned a terrible red color. The veins on her arms and throat bulged turning dark blue as she struggled against the restraints, snapping at us.

  “No, oh no,” Amelia said, turning away.

  Will grabbed Amelia whose knees went soft, holding her upright.

  “It didn’t work,” Beatrice whispered.

  “Caroline,” I called to her. “Caroline, answer me.”

  There was no reply.

  Spit hung in long strings from her open mouth. She hissed and snapped at us.

  “Caroline? Say something.”

  Nothing.

  I shook my head. “She’s not answering me.”

  Amelia cried.

  “Let’s go inside,” Will whispered, leading her away.

  “Caroline, please. Can you hear me? Please. For Amelia, please answer me.”

  Beatrice walked back into the house, Tristan following behind her.

  “Look at her,” Kellimore said then. “She looks different. Not like the zombies, but not like she was either. Look at her eyes.”

  He was right. The white of her eyes was gone. They were bloody red, but I could see the blue of her iris at the center.

  “I don’t understand,” I whispered.

  “Doctor Gustav was wrong, that’s all,” Kellimore said. “This wasn’t the cure. But we won’t give up. We can find a way,” he said reassuringly, but his words felt empty.

  The truth was, if we could not cure the undead, then we could not save ourselves from the disease. We would have to rely on the protection of the seelie and their enchantments. It was the only way left to survive.

  CHAPTER 28: CRICKET

  “NOT GOOD,” LOGAN SAID as we approached the small hometown medical center.

  Chase slowed the Jeep. At the medical center, every door was open, every window broken, and the number of undead milling around was…well, more than I wanted to count.

  “Yeah, that’s a lot of zombies,” Zoey said.

  “Too many,” Chase agr
eed.

  “Still, we need those supplies,” Logan added

  Zoey snapped her fingers. “Doc Dickerson. Veterinarian. He’d have a lot of needles and stuff. Probably no one thought of that place…in time. Turn there,” she said, pointing.

  Logan looked out the back. “We’ve got some trailers.”

  I frowned. “And I’m sure a lot more coming. They follow noise.”

  “We’ll need to be quick then. We aren’t that far from the vet’s,” Zoey said. “Turn right here,” she said, guiding Chase onto a side street. “There.”

  The place looked clear, at least for the moment. We ran to the door and looked inside.

  I tried the door. “Locked,” I said. With a heave, I smashed out the glass.

  Clicking on the flashlight, Zoey led us inside.

  The place was dark and there was a scent of decay in the air. The small waiting room had dusty red chairs and images of puppies and kittens on the walls.

  Zoey headed behind the reception counter. “Looking for keys,” she said, opening drawers as the rest of us scanned around. She shook her head. “Nothing.”

  “This way,” Chase said, and we headed down the hallway.

  Luckily, the exam rooms were open. In the first one, Zoey filled her bag with everything she could find in the cupboards. Chase stopped in the next room.

  I motioned for Logan to follow me.

  When we came to the next room, we found it locked.

  “Must be the medicines,” Logan said, trying the door.

  I nodded then looked over the lock. “Got a knife?” I asked him.

  He pulled a hunting knife from his belt and handed it to me. Wiggling the blade inside the door jam, I worked the lock. With one final twist, the lock popped. “There we go,” I said then pushed open the door. I flashed my light around. We were in the right place. The shelves were lined with box after box of medical supplies: syringes, vials, pills, bandages, and equipment.

  “Here,” I called to the others. “We hit the mother lode.”

  “There we go,” Chase said as he joined us. He eyed the shelves. Scouting around, he found a cooler and started filling it up.

  “I’ll sweep the rest of the place,” I said then headed back out.

  I found the break room just down the hall. Not much there but an old strawberry Pop-Tart. It was a month over its best-by date, but I wasn’t even sorry. Ripping open that aluminum packet, I munched as I walked. Funny how the smell of death didn’t even bother me much anymore. Used to be anything that smelled too tangy would set my stomach on edge. Guess I’d gotten used to it.