There was no time to worry about it anyway. He needed to get that door open.
At last he found a rock and hurried back to the building with it cradled in his arms. The latch was recessed into the corner of the doorframe, underneath the knob and well out of reach of the rock.
Finn growled in frustration and hammered at the knob anyway. It bent after the first blow, then broke off from the second and landed onto the cement pad by his bare foot. The knob was gone, but the latch and lock remained intact.
He continued hammering, hoping to break the deadbolt instead. The door shuddered with each blow, denting but not breaking. The booms sounded dull in the storm. The latch bent. The screws holding it in place started to strip out of the metal.
"Put it down!"
Finn froze at the sound of Jennifer's voice.
"I said, put it down!"
He turned to find her standing at the end of the trail, a dozen feet away, a plastic raincoat shedding water in streams. She held a rifle in her hands, and it was aimed at his chest.
"What you're doing here is wrong," he shouted.
"Put the damn rock down, Finn. I don't want to shoot you."
Still facing her, he backed up to the door again and swung the stone. The door shook. The padlock jumped and fell back.
"Finn—"
"You won't shoot me!" He swung again: BAM!
"Yes, I will." She stepped forward, her boots squishing in the soggy ground.
"I see the way you treat Luke and Billy," Finn yelled. "Even Adrian. I've seen the sympathy on your face when you look at the Wraiths."
He swung — BAM! — and the top two screws of the latch pulled a quarter of an inch out. The rock nearly slipped out of his grip. If it landed on his foot—
"You know what they're doing in the barn is wrong!" he shouted. "The way you cared for Bix the other night. You're not like them, Jennifer! You're not a killer."
He regripped the stone and swung: BAM!
"It's not killin. We're rehabilitatin them. We're savin them!"
"No, you're not! You're using them. And Adrian's using you. That's why you won't stay there and watch. I saw the disgust on your face."
BAM!
The screws were nearly out.
"I can't let y'all leave. Adrian won't let you."
BAM!
Finn kicked at the door, and the lock rattled, but the latch stubbornly held.
"Finn, drop the rock." She stepped forward again and raised the rifle to her side. It was now pointed at his gut. "You don't know what you're doing."
"You're going to shoot an unarmed boy in nothing but his underwear?"
She hesitated. Then shook her head. "Don't Finn."
He considered swinging the stone again, then dropped it onto the concrete pad. "Shoot me then," he said, and raised his hands. "Shoot me, or let us go."
She didn't move. Emotions contorted her face, and for a moment, he believed — truly believed — that she'd let him go.
"Y'all don't know what yer doing," she said. "Or what yer startin. Lord help us all."
With a thunderous clap, the gun jumped in her hands. The lightning flash blinded them both.
Behind Finn, the latch exploded and the door flew open. Shards of metal shrapnel peppered his bare back. He ducked away, staggering, as his blood sprinkled the ground. When he raised his head again, she was gone.
Shutting down the generators extinguished the pathway lights and threw the entire compound into darkness. Only the sporadic flashes of lightning helped guide Finn's way back to the house. The whole time he feared blowing himself up into little pieces because he'd strayed too far off the path.
When he emerged from the trees into the clearing surrounding the house, he first thought that the light coloring the sky was the clouds parting and the first traces of morning. But the glow came from deeper in the woods. Despite the rain, perhaps aided by the winds, the fire was spreading.
Two large shapes lay in the middle of the clearing, and in a flash of lightning he saw that they were the horses they had ridden. The side of one heaved, spurting blood from a terrible gash in its side. Steam rose in the cool night.
The other horse was dead from a massive wound in its neck. The flesh was shredded.
Claymore mine? Shotgun?
Who would shoot it? And why?
"Bix!" he screamed, scanning the grounds.
The house was pitch black — no sweeping flashlight beams or the dull glow of a gas lantern in the windows — and no one came out as he ran to check around back. He pulled the axe from the woodpile before hurrying to the storm shelter. Nothing but darkness and silence greeted him inside, nothing but the hot, thick stench of their waste.
"Bix? You down there? Anyone?"
He picked up a handful of dirt and cast it into the darkness. The bits rained down the steps. Nothing moved. Everyone was gone.
Or dead.
He whirled around and ran for the path.
Flames leapt higher into the night. A solitary figure, half naked, stood at the edge of the yard, silhouetted in the glow.
"Bix!"
Rain pelted his face as he ran, blinding him. His feet ached from cold and the battering they received from running bare. Adrenaline had kept the pain at bay, but it was now fading.
The figure still hadn't moved. Finn stopped and called out again.
He heard the howl in the woods then, and he knew what had made the sound. He knew that the figure before him wasn't Bix. It wasn't even human, not anymore.
And he also knew what had happened to the horses.
The creature dropped to all fours and began to stalk him. Finn didn't move. He knew if he ran, it would attack. Slowly, he raised the axe over his shoulder and waited. Then, not three feet away, it stopped. It stood up. It reached a finger out to touch his elbow.
Finn swung the axe down. It embedded itself deep into the creature's skull and the thing fell into the mud.
He didn't bother removing the axe. He just ran.
Calling Bix's name, he stumbled into the clearing by the animal barn. The Dutch door that they had used that first night was open, each of the halves swinging freely in the wind. The animals inside brayed in agitation.
"Bix?" he shouted into the darkness. "Hey? Are you in here?"
From the other end of the runway, he thought he heard pounding. It was too insistent, too regular to be anything but human.
"Bix?"
Plucking a pitchfork from the wall, he entered. Chains rattled in the shadows off to his left, sounding as if they were being pulled tight. A face emerged from out of the shadows — pale and ghostly, white teeth against blackened lips, eyes that seemed to swallow light — followed by an equally pale body.
The skeletal figure lunged, but jerked back, unable to free itself. Finn stumbled away against the stall on the other side of the walkway.
"Jesus," he whispered, and hurried on.
The sound of the pounding drew him further into the barn. He edged his way past each of the animal stalls, leaving behind the wan rectangle of light behind. He wished for more lightning, but the storm was growing weaker and the flashes grew more and more intermittent.
The further in he went, the more frantic the animals became. Goats rammed their heads against the wooden boards, bleating in panic. Cows lowed unhappily. But it was the horses that concerned him. They were at the far end. He could hear them whinnying in distress, beating against the rails and walls.
"Bix?"
The banging grew louder.
He reached the far end of the barn, arriving at the second door, the twin of the one he had just come in. But no sound of wind or rain came through it, only the steady, purposeful drumming of something alive inside.
He ran his hand along the rough wood, feeling for a handle, but only found a small opening about as wide as the width of his finger. It was a keyhole.
"Bix?"
The pounding abruptly ceased.
"Anyone in there? Can you hear me?"
&nb
sp; Now there was a new sound, low at first and indistinct. He pressed his ear against the wood and listened. The animals behind him seemed to still as well, as if they were waiting, too.
The sound was a whisper, wavering just beyond his ability to make sense of it. Then came a soft scrape of something rubbing against the door. Finn pushed himself away, frowning. A finger of ice worked his way up his spine.
"Bix?"
The door rattled.
Get out of here, Finn. It's nothing good in there.
But he needed to know for sure. What if it was the rest of Bunker Eight?
It's not!
The door rattled again.
It's not them. It's—
A howl rose on the other side, raising the hair on his neck. Finn stumbled away. Wraiths! And a lot by the sound of it. The scratching sounds grew more frantic, accompanied by more growls and hisses until the barn was filled with an entire chorus of them. The door rattled.
CRACK!
Dust rained down on his skin from the rafters above. The wooden frame was failing.
Time to go, Finn!
He spun around and began to run. The animals were frantic. Wood from one of the stalls ahead exploded into the runway. A pig the size of a small cow tumbled into the path, followed by a half dozen piglets. Squealing in fright, the mother trampled its young. Behind Finn, the door splintered, then crashed to the ground. Finn's legs tangled, and he fell.
He could hear them coming out now, slipping through the fractured pieces of the wooden door like steam through vents. The horses were mad with terror. They crashed and screamed. There was a noise, like the crunch of teeth on bone, and a sudden high-pitched whinny of pain. The cry rose for a moment, then abruptly stopped.
Finn scrambled to his feet. They were coming down the runway, driving the animals mad with fear as they came. They fed on them, physically, psychically. But it was him they wanted, him they wished to infect.
He pistoned his legs, trying to gain purchase on the slick floor with his bare feet. Another stall behind him collapsed, letting loose a cacophony of bleating cries and trampling hooves.
He was almost to the door, not caring about the crushed piglet bodies beneath his feet, when a shadow stepped into the opening. Without hesitation, it entered. Finn didn't stop. He charged straight at her, the pitchfork held out like a lance.
"No!" Jennifer cried, as the tines entered her belly.
Finn let go of the pitchfork in horror and backed away.
"Go," Jennifer gurgled. She yanked the pitchfork out of her stomach and shoved the object in her other hand into his arms. "Take it. It's the only thing that stops them."
Then she pushed him toward the door.
He was outside when he heard her scream. Slipping and sliding through the mud, his feet torn to shreds by the rough ground, he tried not to hear. An unholy sound erupted from the barn, filled with a mix of anguish and fury.
She screamed for a long time.
He ran to the road, not knowing where he was going. He ran to get away from the things that would soon follow after him. He ran until he knew he was being followed.
He felt its presence coming up behind him, heard the terrible growl, so loud that it shook the ground. He ran until he couldn't run anymore. And then he turned, holding out the object Jennifer had given to him as a sacrifice.
The vehicle slid to a stop a few feet away, spraying him with mud. The passenger door slammed open.
"Get your ass in here!" Bix shouted out at him. "NOW!"
"Hold on to something!" Bix yelled and stomped on the accelerator. The van leapt forward, fishtailing on the slick surface.
Something slammed against the back doors, prompting Little Charlie to scream at them to hurry.
More figures rose up out of the night, crystallizing from the pouring rain. They surrounded the vehicle, attacking it with their clawed fingers and bared teeth, grabbing anywhere they could gain purchase.
The door beside Finn popped open and something reached in. A pale hand brushed the air in front of his face, coming within an inch of touching him.
"Go!" he shrieked, and pulled back just as a blast came from the seat behind him. The figure leaning in jerked out of the car in an explosion of red, splattering Finn with gore.
The van sped away, thumping over more Wraiths, flinging them aside or under its tires. Finn sat in shock, not seeing any of this, not sensing anything but the droplets burning on his skin. I'm infected, he thought. Oh my god! I've been infected.
"Shut the damn door!" Danny yelled. He reached forward and shook Finn. "Shut the door! Lock it!"
"I'm infected!" he yelled back. "Stop the car! I have to—"
"No!" Bix roared, and skidded around a turn in the road that almost cast Finn out anyway. "It doesn't work that way! They have to be alive to infect you!"
"What? How do you know?"
"I saw one of the men trip over Nami's body. Skin to skin. Nothing happened."
"Why not?"
"I don't know, Finn! Just shut the goddamn door and get your seatbelt on!"
He did as Bix said without thinking, even though he knew his friend was wrong. It didn't work that way. How could it?
As the blood and tissue dripped down his rain-soaked skin, he tried to feel the infection passing into his body, tried to predict when the moment would come when he'd no longer have control over himself. But he was too wired, too cold from the rain, and everything hurt too much to know whether anything he felt was Flense or not."
"Everyone okay?" Bix called out. He didn't look away from the road.
Finn spun around and saw Byron two seats back, his boys on either side of him. Danny occupied the middle seat. Both men held rifles in their hands, though clearly Byron wouldn't be shooting anything. A thin wisp of smoke rose from the muzzle of Danny's.
"Here we go!" Bix said. "Brace yourselves!"
Finn turned back in time to see the gate rising up before them. "You're going to crash!"
"That's the point!"
They hit, and Finn flew into the dash, slamming his head on the windshield before being jerked back by the belt. The pain blinded him, a flash of white so brilliant it felt as if his head had exploded.
Bix spun the wheel. "Told you to put your belt on!"
"I did," Finn groggily replied. He pulled it tight and tried to blink the pain away.
"You're bleeding."
He raised a hand, intending to press it against the gash on his forehead, then dropped it to his lap before making contact. More blood spotted his palm, blood from the Wraith. He suddenly felt like a walking time bomb, like he was covered in something that had the potential to turn him and everyone else into killers.
"First chance you get, Bix," he mumbled, "pull over. I need to wash this crap off of me."
He also needed to throw up.
* * *
We found the van parked outside the house," Bix explained. "The keys and rifles were inside, just begging to be taken."
"Probably belonged to someone in tonight's crowd," Danny said.
Bix agreed. "Wasn't Adrian's. He doesn't trust cars. Too unreliable. And he doesn't know how to fix them." He seemed unable to shut up as they tore down the leave-strewn road. "Horses don't break down, don't need gas stations and oil changes. And they make more of themselves."
"Jennifer's dead," Finn interrupted. He stared at the box-shaped object on the floor at his feet and repeated himself. He didn't know what the device was, or why Jennifer had given it to him, but her last words rang in his ears: It's the only thing that can stop them.
Why had she sacrificed herself? Why had she let him go?
"And I say good riddance," Bix replied. He looked over.
"She wasn't . . . . She didn't . . . ." But Finn let the thought go without finishing it.
They drove for about twenty minutes, soon emerging from the trees, then arriving at a lookout point somewhere near the cable bridge they had crossed a few days before. Neither boy said anything to the others about w
hat they'd seen down below.
Bix stopped in the middle of the road and suggested that Finn wash himself off. The rains had stopped by then, and the clouds were beginning to break apart. But it seemed like the night would never end and the sun would never rise.
Using the sandy water from several puddles, Finn scrubbed his skin clean of the gore. He was almost certain he hadn't contracted the Flense by then, but given that he was still technically within the window of time it took for the infection to complete, he didn't feel comfortable being around the others.
As they gathered around to discuss their plans, he wandered away from them and stared out over the rail into the gorge. He shivered at the secrets he knew it held.
"I think we've decided that our first priority will be to find clothes," Bix said, coming up beside him. "Those boxers just aren't cutting it, bro. Can't be seen around you looking like that."
"Says the man wearing the tightie whities with holes in all the wrong places."
Bix grinned. "Gotta let the boys breathe." But the smile slipped away. He leaned his elbows on the cold metal and sighed. "That was some wild ass shit back there."
Finn was quiet for a moment. "I'm still really pissed at you. It was crazy."
"It was the only way we had a chance—"
"I could have been wrong about the immunity!" Finn snapped.
Danny and Byron stopped talking and looked over.
"You need to keep it down," Bix murmured. "We don't know what's out here. And, for the record, I never had any doubt you were right."
They piled back into the van once more. Byron and his sons took the third row, as before, but this time Danny and Bix swapped places. Danny was still sore from the beating he'd taken and felt terribly weak. But he assured the rest of the group that he was mending quickly and could drive.
"Besides," he told them, as he eased into the driver's seat with his face twisted in pain, "I'm the only one who knows where we're going."
"Where are we going?" Finn asked, taking a place beside Bix.
"South. To the army base."
"But what about Harper?"
"Your brother can wait," Danny answered firmly. He sighed and shook his head. "Look, I know you want to find him, but it was a mistake to split up back there like we did. And unless we hurry, we may not find anyone to rescue."
Condemn (BUNKER 12 Book 2) Page 19