The Girl Who Broke Free: The Death Fields: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller Book 5

by Angel Lawson

  “Wyatt?”

  Part Two

  Wyatt

  (6 Months Ago)

  Chapter Six

  I wake face down with the smell of dirt in my nose. Birds chirp, along with the low familiar moan I’ve come to loathe, making a disjointed ringing in my ears. The sound doesn’t scare me—not anymore—not like those early days where I felt like I was about to jump out of my skin at the slightest sound or movement. No, now it’s more of a nuisance than anything else. The problem at the moment is I can’t get my eyes to open or my arms and legs to cooperate. I’m not dead but nothing is working.

  A howl rips through my thoughts and a glob of something sticky and wet lands on my cheek. I bat it away and my hand hits against something hard and sharp.

  I force my eyes open, blink away the images in my face. The teeth and the retched stench.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” I mumble, kicking the dirt with my heels, trying to get the hell away from the Eater standing over me.

  His black, spider-veined eyes widen when I speak, like he wasn’t sure if I was dead or alive either. If it weren’t for the all-consuming pain racking through my body I wouldn’t be sure myself. He shrieks, the painful sound turning wrathful. I barely breathe before his jaw opens wide and he lunges at me.

  I roll to my left, across the wet grass and over my bruised arm. The clotting wound on the back of my head reopens and blood gushes down my neck. Using every ounce of strength I can muster, I push myself up on two hands and glance back the farmhouse we’d been holed up in for the last couple of days. The Eater rushes at me, filthy hands grabbing at my shirt. Panic jolts through my system and I get to my knees with a groan and then to my feet. My calf seizes in pain and I recall taking a kick to the back of my leg. My injuries don’t matter to the infected, who takes my hesitation as an opening, and he’s back on me in a flash. I kick him in the side of the knee, throwing him off balance, and run toward the house, searching the area for a weapon.

  I don’t find one as much as it finds me. I trip over something hard on the ground and look down. Alexandra’s hatchet.

  Intense rage fills every inch of my body and instead of running away from the monster, I charge at him. Screaming at the top of my lungs, I push through the throbbing pain in my head and the aching muscles. I’m sick and tired of my life being controlled by monsters and men. I swing the hatchet across the Eater’s throat, slashing the dirty, decaying flesh. Thick blood sprays across my face. I kick the maimed monster to the ground and smash his head with my boot.

  “God damn you stupid mother-trucking infected monsters,” I shout at the body, long after he’s dead. “You can’t have it all! You can’t! You can’t take everything I’ve fought for, you nasty, slime-faced bastard!”

  I beat the Eater until he’s nothing but a bloody, mangled pulp and then, finally exhausted, I rest my hands on my knees and look around. The yard is empty, quiet other than the sounds of nature—no other Eaters lurking about. The house is still. Chloe’s vehicles that were parked along the road are long gone. There are no bodies from either side. No signs of violence or even a real struggle. A sense of dread builds in my chest.

  I’ve barely steadied myself when another long moan fills the morning air and I clutch the hatchet in my hand. The birds grow still in the aftermath of my breakdown but there are no signs another Eater is coming. I shade my eyes from the glaring sunrise and spot something on the porch. Boots and a body.

  I recall stepping over his body during the ambush the night before and run to the porch. Kneeling next to Jude, I see that he’s alive, although not completely conscious. He’s injured—severely—taking an even more intense beating than I had.

  “Hey buddy,” I say to the younger man who has become my mentee and friend. “I really need you to not die, okay?”

  I roll his deadweight body on his back and lay his arms above his head. I open the door and drag him in backwards, entering the kitchen. I keep my eyes on Jude and away from the counter top. It was the last place Alex and I had been together before shit hit the fan. We found a minute of privacy and she’d been sweet and sexy and if I closed my eyes I could remember what she tasted and felt like.

  If. That sort of luxury is gone. I knew it then and I know it now.

  A rollercoaster of emotions passes over me. Fear, anger, sadness. Chloe spent the better part of a year looking for Alexandra. Her death wouldn’t be kind or slow. Which meant I had time to get to her, but due to the ache in my arms and back along with the throbbing pain in my head, I know I am going to need a couple days to recover. Same for Jude, if he makes it through the next twenty-four hours.

  I get him all the way in the kitchen, his form taking up most of the floor. I step over him and close the door, securing the lock, but then I hear the second spring trigger. The door and a gun.

  Dammit. Not again.

  “Turn around.”

  I turn slowly, kicking Jude’s foot in the process, trying to formulate a plan. I breathe in relief when I see the person holding the gun. Green is barely in the kitchen—mostly still in the hall—leaning his sick and injured body against the wall.

  “Green? It’s me, Wyatt. For the love of God, don’t shoot.”

  He steps closer to the door and lowers the gun. Disbelief and trauma is written all over his face. “Wyatt? You’re alive?” He looks on the floor. “And Jude?”

  “Also alive, for now.”

  We stare at one another, two soldiers assessing the situation, but I’m not sure how much longer I can keep standing. A fine sweat has broken out on his face. We’re both in piss-poor shape.

  “Come on,” I tell him. “Help me get this bastard to the bed. If we’re going to help Alex and the others, we all need to heal up.”

  He nods and bends down to take Jude’s hands while I move to his feet. As we slowly half carry/half drag his body down the hallway one thing becomes clear. If Alex is expecting the cavalry, she’s going to be waiting for a while.

  Chapter Seven

  When Chloe’s Hybrids left the farmhouse, they didn’t take the backpacks and supplies, including the cache of weapons gathered in the living room. Clearly they were here for one thing only, people, and once they got what they came for, they left quickly.

  Too quickly to check to see if I was still alive. Too fast to realize the wound on Green’s neck was healing.

  “I played dead—which wasn’t far from the truth,” he says once we get Jude in the bed. There’s nothing much we can do but check on him and hope he heals. We’re lounging in the living room dealing with our own pain and injuries. “I was weak and there was no way I would be able to take on one of those things—much less twenty. They stormed the front door and gathered everyone up. Jane was actually the one that told them I was dead or dying from a bite wound. They all seemed satisfied enough and left the room, although that’s when something odd happened.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “I thought they all left and cracked my eyelids just enough to get a peek of the room. There was one Hybrid that stuck around, watching me. I thought for sure I was dead, like he was waiting to catch me playing opossum and then he’d go for the kill. But he just stood there silent for a moment until he caught my eye. We shared a look—“

  “What kind of look?”

  “Hell if I know.” I frown, skeptical, wondering if he hallucinated the whole thing. “But it happened and I thought he was going to blow my brains out with the rifle he held in his hands. Instead, he turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him.”

  We sit in silence for a moment because his story is certainly strange and I’m unsure if I should call bullshit or mental illness. I keep quiet instead.

  Alex’s hatchet rests by my leg, as well as the black backpack she’s managed to carry with her since we first met. Two small black guns lay on the coffee table. I can’t shake the paranoia from the ambush or that only one random stray Eater found its way here and that there isn’t a horde following behind him, but it�
�s quiet outside. The doors are locked and windows boarded up. I’m also so exhausted I can barely see straight, and any battle I fight right now will have to take place from the couch.

  “They left me for dead in the yard.” I hold up the red stained cloth I have against the back of my head. “Not sure what they took me down with but it hurts like a mother. I woke up with an Eater sniffing around my face.”

  “It’s been hours since they left. Where do you think Chloe took them?” he asks.

  “She mentioned a new headquarters or something, but nothing specific. Going after them right now seems like suicide. We’d be better off with a different plan.”

  “What are you thinking?” His color looks a little better now that he’s off his feet.

  “Ideally we should try to catch up with Davis and Walker, but they’re a moving target. I hate to jinx them but it’s likely they could get captured at any time by Chloe’s Hybrids.”

  “It may be a risk but I think we should try to get to Catlettsburg,” he says.

  “You don’t think it’s compromised?”

  “It’s possible but if Chloe followed you up here maybe she got to Alexandra before finding the settlement? It’s worth a shot. The town is fortified and well stocked. They aren’t prepared for combat but that’s another reason we should check in on them.” He looks thoughtful. “They’re good people. It would be devastating to lose them to the Hybrids.”

  “How far is it again?” I ask, and Green describes the distance and route we would need to take. I look him over. “When will you be ready to travel?”

  “With you as my companion? I may need at least a few days’ rest.” He jerks his head toward the bedroom. “I’m not sure when he’ll be ready.”

  I rub the increasingly long beard on my chin and nod. My stomach rumbles and I unzip Alex’s backpack.

  “You looking for food?” Green asks.

  “Yeah, she’s good at cramming stuff in tight.”

  He laughs. “On the way up from Augusta we got cornered by a pack of dogs. Like, skinny, snarling, hungry-as-hell dogs that were looking for their next meal. We were up on this embankment and it was pretty obvious they were going to take us in the next few minutes. Walker wouldn’t let us use our ammo but no one wanted to kill a dog with their knives or whatever. I mean, a couple still had collars on their necks. Everyone was freaking out—no one wanted to get mauled by a dog after everything we’d gone through, you know? But Alex just unzips her pack and starts pulling out shit. She’s got can of food and packages of tuna and jerky. It’s like a whole pantry in there.”

  I smile at the image. “She feed it all to the dogs?”

  “Yep. Just tossed it at them like they were her pets. One followed us for three miles. I think he thought he found a new owner.” He leans back into the cushion. “What’s she got in there?”

  I unzip the bag, feeling a little guilty about invading her privacy, but moral issues like that disappeared when people started eating other people. I pull out her hoodie and the three extra pairs of socks she insists on having at all times, the small bag where she keeps toiletries zippered away. I find four sticks of greasy store brand jerky she’s probably had hidden for months and three cans of soup in the bottom of the pack. My fingers dip into a small pocket and brush against a small circular piece of metal. I hold it between two fingers but keep it in the pack. I know exactly what it is. I’ve seen Alexandra look at this ring dozens of times over the last year. It’s her mother’s wedding ring, taken from her finger the very night we met.

  “I’ll go heat some water,” I tell him, shoving the ring back in the pocket and swallowing past the lump in my throat.

  *

  Jude wakes long enough to get some water and salt into his system. He’s not fully coherent so I don’t tell him anything that’s happened. He calls me a bastard when I check the wound on his head, so at least he recognizes me.

  At nightfall, I tell Green to take a nap and I’ll take a modified first shift. I’m too injured to do much but sit at the kitchen table in a straight-backed chair. It’s just uncomfortable enough to keep me awake.

  Alex’s backpack rests on the table in front of me. My purpose is to repack it like she’d had it before I rummaged through for food, but I find myself taking out each item, one by one, trying to get a glimpse of the woman I’ve lost.

  I’ve only got the moon for light, but it’s bright enough for me to see how her belongings are an organized snapshot of her life. I stack socks and a tightly rolled pair of jeans. Zip lock bags filled with panties and bras that I’m man enough not to open. I find a baggie of squished gummy vitamins and another with carefully separated pieces of toilet paper. A small tool kit and a handful of bullets, unmatched and not for any of the specific guns we carry.

  One section reveals three books, including one she picked up at some point about edible plants in the wild. Another is a hardback about the Civil War, focusing on land battles in the North Georgia mountains. I feel a swell of pride as I realize she’s been studying up. She’s serious about kicking ass.

  The final book is a paperback novel with cheery, quirky lettering on the front. Something with a happy ending, I guess.

  A thick envelope sticks out of the inside pocket and I pull it out and peek inside. It’s a stack of photos. Random images she probably printed off her phone when she realized her sleek little smartphone and computer were about to become dinosaurs. I stare at the one of Alexandra hugging on a friend. She looks so young, literally bright-eyed and curious. Two pig-tails hang down her shoulders and she has on ridiculous striped knee-socks and a familiar kitty cat T-shirt. I flip it over and read a hand-scribbled date of two years ago with two names.

  Alex and Liza

  She looks so young, but she was already seventeen. Too young for this shitty life—too young for a guy like me, who’d already seen the world and fought in wars and helped tip society on the brink.

  I set the photos on the table and reach back in, my fingers brushing against the cool metal ring I’d found earlier. I fish it out and hold it up, the moonlight glinting off the platinum.

  Alex took the ring from her mother the night she killed her. The whole grisly event happened minutes before she stumbled into the old truck I’d hunkered down in for the night. She didn’t know then that I’d been assigned by her sister to ensure she arrived safely at PharmaCorp with the data and samples needed to create the first vaccine. She didn’t know my hands were dirty with the blood of others. Neither of us had any idea what the future held. At that very moment she was a grieving daughter and a terrified girl holding a gun in the face of a mercenary that could have ended her life in a heartbeat. She had guts then and she’s only matured into a strong, self-assured woman that can kick more rabid Eater ass than anyone I’ve ever met.

  My heart twists like a screw twists through the flesh.

  I hold up the picture of the girl with the pigtails and stare at her innocent face. I wonder what would have happened if I’d never entered her life. If I’d stayed up in those mountains? She would’ve had enough strength to survive the Crisis without my help. She could’ve met a man like Green who has the skills but not the baggage. He helped her escape Chloe. I did nothing but lead a monster and her army to Alex’s door.

  It took Alexandra a long time to make a dent in the walls I’d built around myself, and with every passing moment I’m not sure I should have let down my defenses.

  I repack the bag, item after item securely in place, except for two things. I tuck the ring and photo in my pocket—a reminder of the sacrifices we have to give.

  Chapter Eight

  The following two weeks starts a familiar pattern. Sleep, eat, rest. When I wake on the couch the fourth morning after the ambush, my headache a little less than the day before, I hear voices in the kitchen.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?” I ask from the doorway. I rub my face to wake up. Jude and Green sit at the kitchen table. A small ration of food is between them. We’re nearly ou
t of everything.

  “Hey man.” Jude’s smile turns concerned when he gets a good look at my bruised face. My skin has taken on a garish purple hue over the last two days. “What the hell happened to you?”

  I eye his split lip and busted nose. “Same thing that happened to all of us. The apocalypse.”

  “Green was just telling me the plan to head to Catlettsburg. You down with that?”

  I nod. “Yeah, I’m worried about sticking around here too long. How much longer do you need?” He’s still pale and washed out. Probably dehydrated. I’ve got no interest in heading out into the Death Fields weak.

  “Honestly,” Jude says, as though he’s ever anything but, “I’m gonna need a few more days.”

  “You’ve got it.”

  Jude holds up a can of cold soup, but I shake my head. I’ve got to take a piss. I head out the back door.

  The morning air is brisk but it feels good against my foggy head and weary muscles. My leg is feeling better but I can’t fully shake the headaches. That butt to the head wasn’t my first concussion. I move around the side of the house, not looking for privacy—there’s plenty of that these days—but to get my back against the building while I take care of business. I’m halfway through relieving myself when I hear a rustle in the bushes near the barn.

  “Shit,” I mutter, buttoning my pants with one hand and reaching for my knife with another. I press my back against the wall and wait. The bushes shift and branches bob up and down. The movements seem jerky and lumbering but not the frantic rush of a larger group. The last thing I want to do is deal with another stray Eater right now.