I start to drive toward the front gate and the guards open it for us to pass through. Before I press the gas again, I turn my head to Gabe. “Where are we going?”
He takes in a deep breath and says, “Just drive, I’ll tell you where to go.”
It feels like one of those old crime movies where the taxi driver is being told where to go while the passenger holds a gun to the back of his head. As if Paxton’s presence doesn’t already make me feel uncomfortable, the overwhelming notion that they might be taking me out to kill me, or worse, leave me somewhere, takes over my brain. Surely breaking into Headquarters isn’t enough to warrant a quiet execution is it? But it all seems so odd the way Paxton came up to us…the way Gabe avoided his stare. My fingers squeeze around the wheel tightly as I drive down the road, sweat beading at the top of my brow.
Not only am I nervous being with these four men, but this is the first time I’ve been out of Crestwood’s wall of safety since I arrived here three months ago. I’m not even sure I’m ready to face more greyskins, but I asked for this. I told Gabe I wanted be a soldier, now here I am driving an SUV full of them, charging into battle.
As we drive down the road, I can’t help but take note of all the abandoned cars. Dust has settled on each, and some of them are beginning to rust. No doubt gas was siphoned from them ages ago, and anything useful has probably been taken by Gabe and his soldiers. I’ve made plenty of car raids over the past three years. Most of the time when you come across an abandoned vehicle, it’s pointless to look. If you’ve happened to come by it, so has someone else. That thought never stopped me when I was desperate, however. When pangs of hunger are replaced by the need to vomit, though nothing will come up; when exhaustion hangs on your shoulders as though you’re carrying a backpack full of dumbbells; when all you want is reprieve, something to boost you…you’ll look.
We go by the cars as silently as if we just passed a cemetery. At some point Gabe tells me we’re going to a place called Sturgis and tells me how to get there. It’s about twenty miles west of Crestwood and he says that we’re going to try and clear the town. I think it sounds like a pretty big job for just four, no, five people, but he assures me that Sturgis is even smaller than Crestwood so it shouldn’t be a problem. I’m not so sure. I’ve been in places smaller than Crestwood that felt as dangerous as the greyskin-infested New York City. I shudder to think about being in such a giant metropolitan area then and now. Regardless, it doesn’t take much for greyskins to overwhelm a small group such as ours.
I try to keep my eyes straight ahead as we ride in an awkward silence. I would have thought that Paxton would be quite a conversationalist given that he was the leader of the town, but he is as silent as the rest of us, lost in his own thoughts. The quiet only adds to the feeling of betrayal that won’t let go of my mind. Betrayal is the word for it. If Paxton is here to get to me or punish me somehow; if he knows what I did, then the only way would be because Gabe told him. But if they were just going to kill me, why would Gabe have handed me my weapons back? I suppose they could be just dropping me off, but if that was the case, why would they have me drive? If neither of these scenarios are even true, then why would Paxton be tagging along acting as though Gabe should have been expecting him? I think about the moment when he asked Gabe for a weapon like it had been talked about beforehand.
I try not to shake my head as the thoughts race through my mind. I’m probably being paranoid. Come to think of it, with Crestwood being so small (only a few hundred people), would it be so odd for its leader to go out on a clearing mission with his soldiers?
I’ve thought several times that breaking into Headquarters was a stupid thing to do. I risked everything to do it and now I live in fear when I should only fear what is outside the walls of Crestwood, not the people within. I had my reasons. I hated that they had taken my gun from me, and I can just see it now—me begging Gabe or Paxton to let me join the soldiers and one of them just smiling at me, telling me that I needed to stay behind and look after the children like so many of the other women do. So, I took a proactive approach and offered an exchange with Gabe. Now I’m living to regret it, dread washing over me every time I think about the gun in my backpack which is nestled safely behind my legs.
We finally reach the edge of Sturgis and it’s everything I can do to keep myself from shaking. I haven’t felt like this in months. I’m the last one out of the SUV. Gabe goes around back, handing out duffle bags to everyone in case they come across supplies. I pull on my backpack and tighten the straps so it hugs me closely. It’s a small relief to see Gabe divvying out the bags. It means they aren’t planning to kill me just yet.
It’s difficult for me to think that Gabe would be so willing to give me up to Paxton, especially since I had broken into Headquarters because of his curiosity. Gabe and I had become friends. It had been a slow transition from him being the guy that frisked me and stole my gun, to being the only person I felt comfortable talking to. Even though it wasn’t his job, he was the one that made sure I was comfortable. He was the one that made sure I understood how Crestwood worked—where to get food, who to talk to about work, the general rules of everything. I started to see him every day. Eventually, we started eating meals together. It felt like a truly blossoming friendship. But neither of us talked about each other’s past. These days, talking to someone about their past is touchy at best. You already know it’s going to be a sad conversation. You already know it will involve death, tears, and regret. A year after the outbreak, sure, people talked. Two years in, people talked less. Three years in, you don’t tend to ask unless you are that person’s best friend. Of course, it’s different with other people. There are some who still ask, but I only ignore their questions. I never ask anymore. I find that the more I know about somebody, the more I don’t want to lose them…the more it hurts when I do lose them. Shallow cuts hurt a lot less than deep ones. The more I learn about someone, the deeper the pain I feel when I lose them.
I never ask anymore.
My knife is securely fastened to my belt, and I hold my rifle with both hands, my right nearest the trigger. Gabe makes sure I have plenty of extra ammo and I stuff the bullets into an easy-access, side pocket of my backpack. He also hands me a duffel bag and I pull the strap over my head and let it hang across my back over the backpack.
“We splitting up this time?” Mendez asks as he checks his gun’s ammo.
Gabe shakes his head. “This time we’re staying close together. Skip and I have the longer blades, so we’ll walk in front.” He nods at me. “The rest of you can follow behind and be ready for my orders.” His eyes look sharply at Paxton. “If that’s all right with you,” he adds.
Paxton holds up a hand and shakes his head. “I’m following your orders out here,” he says with a grin.
I walk to the other side of the SUV and survey the town ahead of us. It is a tiny place with probably about five buildings. There is a Post Office on the other end of the street directly across from City Hall, which seems like a joke. The buildings are squat and empty-looking, though that’s how all greyskin-infested buildings look until they notice someone has come near.
“Now,” Gabe says, “I want us to clear all of the buildings, but our main target is the one on the far left.”
I narrow my eyes, trying to see the words on the window front. It’s the sheriff's office. “Weapons?” I ask.
Gabe nods. “I want to get there first, so if we don’t get a chance to clear out the other buildings at least we’ll have some extra guns.”
“Unless someone got here before us, right?” I ask.
Gabe looks at me and shrugs. “Let’s go,” he says.
Skip and Gabe begin walking down the street toward the sheriff’s office while Paxton, Mendez, and I follow a few paces behind. All of us keep our eyes peeled for any sign of movement. Though we clutch tightly to our guns, we will only use them if necessary. A lone greyskin? Someone distracts it while someone else drives a knife into its brain. Tw
o greyskins? Same story. Three or more? It might be time to use the guns.
I look at the first building to our left and try to focus on the sounds within. The shuffling of feet. Something light, maybe paper, falls to the ground. Something moves about quietly. My heightened hearing ability can’t always make out the exact type of creature lurking in the shadows, but a greyskin has a distinct sound. It is clumsy, and when it gets excited, it begins to gurgle and almost growl like a phlegmy cat hissing at a stranger—only it’s not out of fear, but hunger.
The way the feet move, I can tell its a greyskin. The footsteps are heavy, so it’s not an animal, and it’s not so self aware that it’s careful. We pass the building, and the creature doesn’t seem to notice us through the windows.
I look at the Post Office and hear one or two of them shuffling around. Then, the sheriff’s office. Again, I can barely hear any movement at all, but there is definitely something in there. My grip tightens on my gun as we move forward, now only a hundred feet away. I catch Paxton staring at me, his eyebrows furrowed. It looks as though he can tell that I have a determined focus—unnatural perhaps. I want to tell him that he should stop staring at me and get on with his own determined focus, but I hold my tongue and keep my eyes forward.
Once at the sheriff’s office, Gabe crouches in front of the front door and feels the handle. It’s not locked, so all we have to do is go in and take it over. There will surely be keys to a gun closet or something in there. Gabe looks at each of us and we nod to him, letting him know we are ready, though I’m not so sure that I am. It’s been too long since I’ve killed a greyskin. I’m not sure I’ve still got my edge. Living in the comfort of Crestwood could do that to a person, I’m sure.
Gabe tugs on the door handle too loudly. I wince as the sound of creaking hinges echoes through the hallways of the sheriff’s office. I immediately hear a few greyskins come out of a stupor as they begin moving toward the entrance. They are out of sight and earshot for the others but I can hear them clearly. Their throaty moans escape their mouths as they stumble forward. Gabe and Skip stay low as they tiptoe down the hallway. The greyskins are coming closer. Gabe pulls out a knife and gets it ready for whatever might be coming around the corner. What he doesn’t know is that it will be more than one. Maybe four? Five?
“Gabe,” I whisper.
He holds up a hand to me, able to hear at least one of them now.
“Gabe,” I repeat.
He turns his head to me, his face turning red. “What?” he says harshly.
“There’s more than one. Maybe five,” I say.
“How do you know?”
I don’t have time to answer as the first of them appears around the corner and Gabe’s back is turned. Skip is ready, however, and he jabs his knife up under the greyskin’s chin, piercing its brain. Darkened blood spurts out as it falls to the ground harmlessly. Gabe jets out into the open beyond the corner and is immediately met by two more greyskins. He’s able to stab the first one through the head, but the second one lands on top of him, doing it’s best to take a bite from his forearm.
He can’t help but yell out. Skip would help him but there are two more greyskins closing in on him. A knife is useless to us in here. I lift up my gun and take aim at the greyskin on top of Gabe. With a pull of the trigger, it’s brains splatter against the wall across from him. He throws the body off and jumps to one that’s on top of Skip. Paxton lets off a round and so does Mendez, but neither of the greyskins go down.
Finally, Skip is able to stab one of them through the temple but not before the other one takes a deep bite into his shoulder. He lets out a bellowing scream as his own blood pours down his side. Gabe reaches out and stabs the greyskin in the head but it is too late. With five greyskins on the floor around us, Skip bleeds heavily, destined to become one himself.
Gabe spits on the ground and lets out a curse as Skip whimpers.
“I’m dead,” Skip says over and over. “I’m dead. I’m dead. I’m dead.”
“We need to get what we came for and get out of here,” Mendez says “Others will have heard the shots.”
Paxton remains nervously silent as if he’s waiting for Gabe to give the orders.
My ears perk at the sound of more greyskins shuffling through the sheriff’s office. I step past all of them, trying to let the cries of Skip fall to the background, but when I walk around the corner, I don’t need super hearing to know that at least ten more greyskins are coming straight for us.
“More!” I yell out, letting off round after round. I’m usually a good shot, but I miss twice in my killing spree, though I send three of them to the ground. “Go back! Get out!” I shoot two more to the ground.
“Go on without me!” Skip yells out. “I’ll hold them off.” He stands, holds up his gun and unloads on the others, infected blood still dripping down his shoulder.
Paxton is the first one out of the sheriff’s office with Mendez close behind him. I make for the door and turn back to see Gabe standing next to Skip, firing away.
“Gabe,” I call out, “we have to get back to the car!”
“I’ll be there in a sec,” he says over his shoulder, a greyskin coming at him too close for comfort.
I hate leaving them in there, but I can hear more greyskins outside. I burst through the door only to hear Paxton yell out “that way!” with a subsequent gunshot from Mendez. Glass shatters as greyskins break through the windows, charging after the gun blasts as though they are a call for dinner.
I take aim at one and pull the trigger, but all that comes is a click. I curse as I throw my backpack and duffel bag to the ground. I reach into the side pocket and start loading the gun. I’m distracted by the number of greyskins all around us, scraping to exit the five buildings. I can’t imagine why there were so many in each of these.
The greyskins start pouring into the streets. One of them sets its eyes on me as I fumble to load my gun. Bullets clank to the ground as I drop them nervously. I can hear its guttural moan. Its grayish skin seems to be falling off its face, its clothes in tatters, its teeth chomping at me as though it can already taste my blood. The bullets are finally in and the greyskin is almost on top of me. I fire it once and the bullet shoots through its neck. No good. I shoot again and this time the bullet goes through the middle of its forehead and it falls to the ground only a foot in front of me. There have to be at least thirty greyskins in the street and now more have trained their eyes on me.
I look ahead to see Paxton and Mendez sprinting for the SUV. They aren’t about to take it and run, are they? I fire a round, a greyskin falls. I shoot again, another falls. But I know I don’t have thirty bullets left. Like an answer to a prayer, Gabe crashes through the door of the sheriff’s office, helping Skip walk with him. When they get near me, Gabe fires into the crowd of greyskins and Skip falls to his knees next to me.
I get a sick feeling in my stomach at the sight of Skip’s injury. No, not injury. More like death sentence. To be bitten is to be killed in a slow and painful way. He seems to be weaponless, and Gabe complains that he’s already down to the last of his bullets.
“There shouldn’t have been that many greyskins in there,” he says as he takes aim at another greyskin.
I don’t know what to think. All I do is keep firing. Firing, firing, firing until I’m completely out of bullets. I’m thankful to see that Paxton and Mendez didn’t completely abandon us, rather they take aim from the safety of the SUV in clear view of us, but then their guns are silent.
“We’re out!” comes the voice of Mendez. A few of the greyskins turn toward him as he yells.
Six are coming toward us, four are going after Paxton and Mendez. Gabe takes down two more greyskins and declares he’s out of ammo too.
“Some planning,” I say to him. “Why didn’t you pack more ammo?”
“There weren’t supposed to be this many!”
I roll my eyes at him. As the greyskins move closer, I know what I’ve got to do. I reach down for my
backpack and unzip the top. My hand clasps around the silver handle of the pistol I stole from Paxton.
Nine bullets, eight greyskins. Little room for error.
A sudden surge of confidence washes over me as I stand, proudly declaring that I was the one to break into Headquarters as I lift the gun into the air.
Boom! A greyskin’s head splits open. Boom! Boom! Boom! The shots are so loud, and the recoil is hard, but I don’t miss a single target. I start walking forward as the greyskins that were headed for Paxton and Mendez suddenly turn toward me. I walk within two feet of them and their heads explode like fruit as I let off two shots.
One bullet left.
I’m standing in the middle of the street with the others staring at me. Paxton gets out of the SUV, his eyes squinting as he moves forward. I think about it for only a brief second. I’m not sure what his intentions are, but if they are bad, I can end him. All I need is one bullet. He knows the sound, the feel, the weight of this gun. He knows I still have one bullet left. I try not to look him in the eyes as he approaches me, but he doesn’t acknowledge me at all. He watches my eyes until he walks past me, and he ends his walk when he stops in front of Skip.
Gabe looks up at Paxton. “It’s a bite,” he says.
“You know I can’t let you into Crestwood,” Paxton tells Skip.
Skip doesn’t look at him, but nods. “I understand.”
Paxton cracks his neck, looking away from him as though he is contagious simply by looking at him. His eyes fall back on me and he walks to me this time. He reaches out his hand and asks for the gun even though he never opens his mouth. I look down at the ground and hand it to him. I don’t know if he wants to shoot me with it or if he will take me back to Crestwood. There is no way for me to tell. Gun in hand, he walks over to Skip.
“You’ve got about twenty-four hours until the infection kills you,” he says coldly. He hands Skip the gun and Skip takes it, looking at it as though it is the end of him. It is the end of him. “Miss Remi here has stolen this gun from me and left you a bullet. Do with it as you wish. You were a good soldier, Skip.” Paxton turns from him and begins walking back to the SUV. He stops when he nears me and looks deep into my eyes. “I’m not surprised, you know.”
The Starborn Ascension: Books 1, 2, and 3 (The Starborn Saga) Page 11