The Becoming (Book 4): Under Siege

by Jessica Meigs

  “How did you do that?” he asked. “How did you make them ignore you like that?”

  Remy paused in the act of opening a package of sterile gauze squares and looked down at her hands. She spread her fingers wide, studying them like they were different.

  “Honestly? I don’t know,” she admitted quietly.

  Chapter 32

  The woods around Ethan were uncomfortably quiet as he eased his way under the shadow of the trees, his pistol out in a two-handed grip. Kimberly was just ahead of him, her machete in her hand, and even from several feet back, Ethan could tell that her shoulders were tight and stiff with tension. He could hardly blame her for that; he felt like he was going to crawl right out of his own skin at any moment.

  It was quiet. Too quiet. There seemed to be no other living creatures besides the two of them in the woods, when there should have been squirrels, birds, deer, insects. But there was just them, crunching through the underbrush and the dead leaves. He glanced around, wondering where the animals had gone. He wondered if they’d cleared out around Woodside when the infected had shown up. His heart stuttered in his chest as he thought about the hordes of infected gathering outside the community’s walls and the friends he’d left inside of those very same walls.

  Ethan shook the thought loose from his head. Now wasn’t the time to even think about those he was leaving behind. There was only ahead, only the woman he was supposed to be helping, only the job he had committed to guarding her for. And she was getting too far ahead of him for his comfort.

  “Kim,” he hissed, trying to keep his voice down and somehow get her attention. She half-turned to look back at him, eyebrows raised, and then seemed to realize just how far ahead of him she’d gone, because she slowed down to let him catch up.

  “Sorry,” she murmured, her voice coated with embarrassment. “My nerves are getting the better of me out here.”

  Ethan nodded in understanding, releasing his grip on his pistol with one hand to unclip his compass from one of his belt loops. “It’s okay,” he assured her. “I totally understand. If you’re not used to being out in the open like this, it can be nerve-wracking. Hell, it can be even if you are used to it.”

  She nodded in agreement, moving closer to him and asking, “What are you doing?” She wasn’t looking at him, her blue eyes rapidly scanning their surroundings instead. Good thing, too. Visibility was poor—most of the light from the almost-full moon overhead was blocked by the overhanging branches above—but that was no excuse to let her attention lapse.

  “I’m trying to get my bearings, or at least some semblance of them,” Ethan explained. “I’m thinking we should head east for now, put as much distance as we can between us and the infected and Woodside. Then we can start for the first CDC installation that Derek directed us to.”

  Kimberly nodded slowly. “I’m going to follow your lead for now,” she said. “I haven’t been out in this mess much, and my brain is too frazzled to even try to cope enough to plan right now.”

  Ethan clipped the compass back onto his belt loop and gestured to her. “Come on, then. The sooner we get moving, the sooner we can get further away from this party and the sooner we can get these samples into the right hands.”

  Kimberly was silent as they started walking again, trying to keep their steps on the crunchy ground as quiet as possible. Ethan had his Glock back in his two-handed grip, walking just slightly ahead of Kimberly this time, on the alert for any movement. As he carefully slid through the dark spaces around trees, he had a sudden moment where he felt like he was back in the normal world, in the one before the outbreak, when he’d been just a police officer doing his daily duties to his community, trying his best to serve the people he’d been committed to serving. There had been a time, early in his career, where he’d participated in a drug bust—an activity he’d always hated doing, but only because of the uncertainty over what he might walk into. It had been a dark, dark night, similar to the one he was currently walking through, and his nerves had been on edge. He’d only just started to relax, started to guess that the occupants of the house he and his fellow officers were approaching weren’t going to put up a fight, when the gunfire had erupted from the building, peppering the ground and trees around them and sending Ethan’s heart leaping into his throat.

  That feeling of terror and nervousness at the idea of someone getting the drop on him had resurfaced, slowly but surely, in the minutes since he and Kimberly had stepped out through the gap in the wall. He forced himself to take in measured breaths to stay calm and focused. And it was because of that effort that he was relaxed enough to notice the first infected person stagger out from behind a large oak tree. He held his hand up, motioning for Kimberly to stop where she was.

  She caught sight of the infected man stepping out into the little bit of moonlight around them, and she gasped.

  “Shh,” Ethan breathed out, catching one of her hands.

  They stood silently, watching as the man stumbled through the trees. His clothes were tattered, dirtied, and Ethan could see just how thin he was through his threadbare clothing; his collarbones jutted, and his shoulder blades reminded Ethan of bird’s wings. It was hard to tell how old the man had been when he’d been alive; his hair had long since fallen out, and his skin was desiccated, tight against his bones like he’d been starving for months. In that moment, Ethan felt nothing but pity for the undead thing yards away from him, not because of what it was but because of what it could have been. The man was just a victim of the virus that had spread like wildfire through their world. He couldn’t help that he’d gotten sick, any more than Ethan could.

  And that, he realized immediately, was the crux of his thought process. That man was what he could have become, what he had become for several months, and compared to that man, he was lucky to have the friends that he had, friends willing to stick their necks out for him and take his presumably hopeless body back to Dr. Rivers and pray for a miracle. They’d gotten their miracle, even if he wasn’t feeling quite as whole as before he’d turned.

  It was that pity that drove Ethan’s next actions. He slowly slid his Glock back into its holster. He pulled the machete from its sheath on his belt. He glanced at Kimberly, motioned for her to stay put, and then approached the infected man at a slow walk, not bothering to keep his steps silent. The infected man stumbled around at the sound of his approach and swiveled to look in Ethan’s direction. But his cloudy gaze slid past Ethan to Kimberly. Ethan shifted with the man’s gaze, inserting himself between the two, trying his best to keep the man’s focus on him, only him.

  It seemed to work, because the infected man’s eyes were drawn right back to him, and he started to shuffle in Ethan’s direction, moving as if his limbs were arthritic. He stopped less than a foot from Ethan, and the scent of filth and rot filled Ethan’s nose. It was all he could do to not clap his hand over his face to block out the smell. Instead, he kept his eyes on the man, his hands down at his sides, his grip steady and sure on the machete, ready to react to anything the infected man might try to do to him. The man only stared at Ethan as if he were a particularly interesting-looking insect. Ethan stared back, trying his damnedest to stay calm; he’d never been so close to one of the infected, not like this, not while he wasn’t fighting to kill one before it killed him. He couldn’t understand how the infected man could even see him with the cataracts clouding his vision, but the man somehow knew he was there, knew exactly where he was standing. He wondered what mechanism the infected used to track their prey, especially the ones who were in that second stage of infection, where someone had killed them and they’d come back, like they were zombies. But ultimately, he wondered about how this man had gotten sick and if it was anything like what had happened to him.

  And that was the reason he lifted the machete and drove it into the underside of the man’s chin, angling the blow to slice through desiccated muscle and tissue, severing the spinal cord. The man collapsed at his feet. Ethan wiped the blade of his mach
ete off with a rag from his pocket and then sheathed it before motioning to Kimberly.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her deeper into the trees. They walked in silence for half a mile; the only sounds were their breathing and the crunching of debris under their shoes. It was only after they had put sufficient distance between themselves and the infected that Kimberly finally spoke.

  “So what was that all about back there?” she asked, a little breathless with the exertion of climbing over the tangled underbrush.

  “What was what all about?” Ethan asked.

  “That.” She motioned over her shoulder with an emphatic jab of her thumb. “The whole thing with the infected guy back there. It didn’t even try to attack you or anything. It just stood there staring at you, and you were staring at it like you two were having a…I don’t know, a moment or something.”

  Ethan glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “What, you jealous of mine and the zombie guy’s moment?” he joked, barely suppressing a grin.

  “No, of course not,” Kimberly said. “Only…if you being able to stare down one of the infected and not end up zombie chow is a side effect of Derek’s cure for you, well, that’s definitely an unforeseen side effect that could be incredibly beneficial.”

  “And yet another thing to make me freakishly set off from the rest of humanity,” Ethan grumbled.

  “You’re not a freak,” Kimberly said.

  The crunch of leaves underfoot from somewhere to their right silenced her. Ethan stopped and grabbed her arm, tugging her closer to him as he squinted into the darker foliage, trying to decipher what was making the sound. As his eyes registered the shapes in the darkness, he drew in a breath.

  “Kim?” he said, his voice low as he nudged her further behind him. “Do me a favor?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Run. Now.”

  Kimberly didn’t hesitate. Ethan followed her.

  At least two dozen infected emerged from the trees and gave chase.

  Chapter 33

  Dominic paced the rec center’s dining area, glancing at the barricaded doors every time he walked past. It had been less than an hour since the gates had fallen, and things outside didn’t seem to be getting any better. If anything, the situation was worse. Hands banged rhythmically against the glass panes of every door and window in the place, and it was loud enough to drown out any conversation that wasn’t yelled. The infected weren’t making any headway at getting inside, but they were sure as hell making his migraine worse.

  He massaged his temples with his thumbs, trying to think past the ache and figure out his options. The situation was, in a word, dire. Brandt had come down with a fever and had begun to sweat since they’d brought him inside, and he wasn’t sure if the man was going to turn into one of the infected or not; Remy was apparently some sort of super woman with magical camouflage abilities that made her virtually invisible to the infected. Ethan and Kimberly were long gone, and Cade and everyone else might as well have been on another planet.

  He had few resources—at least in regards to weapons—and precious few sets of hands to help use them. With Brandt fallen ill and weakening, he had even fewer. It was just him and Remy against the horde outside the doors, and if they got in, he would be fucked. He stopped in front of the doors, scowling, his arms folded over his chest.

  “What are you over here being so growly about?” Remy asked as she approached. She stopped beside him and took up a stance similar to his, watching the doors carefully.

  “You have to actually ask that question?” Dominic asked. He motioned at the doors and added, “I figured that that was answer enough for you.”

  Remy shrugged and shifted to tuck her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “Just making idle conversation, since it seems like we’ll probably be stuck here for a while.”

  Dominic rocked his head in Brandt’s direction. “How’s the third part of our party?”

  “Hanging in there. I think.” She glanced behind them and added, “His fever has spiked pretty high. I’m starting to get really worried.”

  “Maybe that’s normal for him,” he suggested.

  “Yeah, maybe.” Remy sounded doubtful, though, and Dominic couldn’t blame her. For all he knew, Brandt was slowly turning and would, sometime soon, get up and try to eat their faces off.

  At that thought, Dominic turned to look at Brandt more closely. Remy had helped Brandt dress and had built him a pallet on the floor out of clothes from the storage room, and he lay on it, his head resting on top of a rolled-up bundle of t-shirts and blue jeans, his eyes closed in sleep. Even from where he stood, Dominic could see the sheen of sweat on the other man’s skin and the way his chest rose and fell irregularly. He wasn’t a fan of Brandt’s, but he did respect him greatly, and he hoped—both for Brandt’s sake and Cade’s—that Brandt didn’t turn, and that he really was immune to the Michaluk Virus.

  Dominic turned his attention back to the doors, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see Remy staring at him. He looked at her, eyebrow raised, and she said, “I’m just wondering what’s on your mind.”

  “I’m trying to figure out how to get us out of this,” he answered.

  “Any ideas you feel like running by me?”

  He hummed as he considered his options again. “Well, right now, you’re our greatest asset. You seem to be able to waltz your way right through those fuckers without them touching you. And it even seems like you can get one or two people out with you. Brandt doesn’t seem to be able to do that, considering the infected tried to eat him.”

  “So what exactly are you thinking?” Remy asked. “That I can evacuate Woodside one person at a time?”

  “The thought did cross my mind,” Dominic admitted.

  Remy shook her head. “It would never work,” she said. “Psychologically, most of the people here could never handle having that many of the infected around them. They wouldn’t be able to keep their mouths shut, and they’d get themselves killed while I was trying to get them out.”

  “It’s a viable idea, Remy. What else are we supposed to do? Leave everybody in their houses to rot?” Dominic asked.

  “Of course not,” Remy replied. “The infected would get inside long before then.”

  Dominic stared at her, aghast at the nonchalance with which she discussed the deaths of all of Woodside’s residents. He ground his teeth together and shook his head.

  “Remy, you shouldn’t say things like that.”

  “Why not? I’m just speaking the truth.”

  “Yeah, and sometimes the truth isn’t something that people need to hear,” Dominic said. “And I’m sure the people in Woodside don’t need to hear you basically saying the situation is completely hopeless and that they’re going to die.”

  Remy shrugged, as if she didn’t care what the besieged citizens of Woodside thought of her defeatist pronouncement, and Dominic gritted his teeth again. The people of Woodside didn’t like him, and he wasn’t exactly a fan of theirs as a result, but he didn’t think it was right to be so blasé about their potential deaths, to basically give up on them without even trying to save them. And he had to try; he couldn’t just sit there and let them die.

  He went to the storage room, and Remy followed him, her face a mask of naked curiosity. “What are you doing?”

  “I want to check out what’s going on outside,” Dominic replied. He opened the door and began pulling mops, mop buckets, brooms, and cleaning supplies out of the way, shoving them against the dining area’s wall.

  “We’re surrounded by infected,” Remy retorted. “What’s there to check out?”

  “You would be surprised.” Dominic fished a small metal flashlight out of his pocket, pressed the button on the bottom of the light, and shined its beam up towards the closet’s ceiling. There was a trap door at the top and a yellow ladder bolted to the wall. A padlock held the door shut so no one could go through it and get themselves hurt. Dominic frowned; he’d forgotte
n about the padlock, and he wasn’t sure where to begin looking for the key. But then he remembered: he didn’t need a key. A screwdriver or some other similar tool would do just fine.

  “Help me find something I can open that lock with,” he said to Remy, not bothering to turn and look at her. “I want to get up on the roof.”

  Remy nodded and headed toward the kitchen to search for a tool while he searched the closet itself. He pushed cleaning supplies around, picking up one object before tossing it onto the floor and choosing another. He made zero headway until Remy brought him a sharpening steel, a long metal rod with a handle that Cade used to sharpen the knives she cooked with.

  “Perfect,” he said approvingly, and then he stuck the steel between his teeth and grabbed the ladder’s rungs, scrambling up it as quickly as he dared. Once he was at the top, he hooked his arm through the rungs and stuck the steel into the lock, twisting, prying, and trying to leverage the hasp to pop out. Finally, after much cursing, the lock snapped under the pressure. He tossed it to the floor, tucked the steel into his belt, and shoved against the door. It opened with a squeal of rusty hinges, sticking halfway before letting out a final creak and crashing to the rooftop. The stench of rot and unwashed bodies flowed into the cramped storage closet through the opening, and Dominic wrinkled his nose. He glanced down at Remy to see her reaction. She stared up at him, her hands on her hips, seemingly unaffected by the stink rolling down into the building. The look in her eyes suggested that she was debating whether to stay in the dining area with Brandt or climb the ladder to join Dominic on the roof.

  He didn’t wait for her to decide; Dominic climbed the remainder of the ladder and emerged into the cooler air outside, trying to ignore the smell as he stepped away from the trap door.

  Just moments later, Remy joined him, crawling out onto the roof and finding her footing, carefully testing each step for stability as she made her way toward him. He stood several feet back from the edge of the roof where he wasn’t easily seen by the hordes below. As she approached, he heard her sharp intake of breath and a murmured, “Holy shit,” as she took in the view.