“Wow, what is this?”
“The people we bought the house from were like doomsday preppers. We just used it for storing bikes and sleds and stuff.” He chuckled. “Ironic though, isn’t it?”
Kala agreed. “Unexpected yes, but unexpectedly fortuitous.”
Dylan raised an eyebrow at her before leading her down the stairs. He reached up and closed the grate behind them. “What are you, some kind of brainiac?” he said snidely.
“Brainiac? How old are you, Dylan?”
He ignored her and knocked softly on the door five times in quick succession. The door creaked open a few inches and a small black face peeked out. She had tiny braids sticking up all over her head, each secured with a brightly colored band. Her big eyes watched Kala nervously, but were obviously relieved to see Dylan.
“Come on,” he told Kala, and she followed him into the cluttered room. She understood his lantern comment right away when she saw two old kerosene lanterns on the floor, each with a tiny flame burning in them. There were no windows in this room, just cinderblock walls, so without the light, it would have been black as night in here. Kala took in the room. It was certainly no place to live. It was damp and smelled of mildew and bicycle grease. But they had pieced together a bed out of some yoga mats and blankets.
“It’s pretty dingy in here, but it stays cool so we don't have to worry about dehydration.”
Kala nodded, she knew all too well about dehydration.
“Who are you,” the girl’s tiny voice rang out like music in the gloomy space.
Kala knelt down next to her. She was so young, she couldn't have been more than five. “My name is Kala.”
“Kayla?”
“Kala, like the flower, calla lily.”
“My mommy loves those flowers!” the little girl said, suddenly excited. “We’re going to go find my mom,” she continued, pointing at Dylan. “Me and Dilly!”
Dylan cleared his throat, “Stay quiet Sophie, remember we always have to stay very quiet.”
Sophie looked dejected, “I’m tired of being quiet all the time.”
“I know you are, but you don't want to see another one of the scary people do you?”
Sophie shook her head vehemently.
Dylan looked over to Kala. “She had a fit once when I took her with me to look for food, started crying for her mom. It drew a couple of them in, it wasn’t pretty.”
“I guess not. Sophie, are you hungry? Do you want a candy bar?” Not thinking she could get more adorable, Kala was surprised when Sophie jumped up and down, mouthing a silent scream of joy.
“Good, here you go honey.”
“You’re a nice white person.”
Kala snorted, the comment caught her so off guard. She had no idea how to respond, so she just tore the wrapper from the candy bar and handed it to her.
Dylan dragged a camping chair over to her. “Here,” he said.
Kala sat on the chair and Dylan sat on the floor. There were some cans of unopened vegetables and a half dozen bottles of water, but nothing else. It wasn't sustainable.
How long have you been alone?
“Since the beginning,” he said without affect.
“Are they dead?” she asked quietly.
Dylan nodded.
“Did you have to -”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he murmured, cutting her off.
“Sorry.”
Kala watched Sophie happily munch on the candy bar and leaned her head back against the chair. She was suddenly very tired, the adrenaline rush of this morning was wearing off, being replaced by the crash that always followed. She set her axe across her lap and touched her pocket, to make sure her car keys were safely in there.
“Here,” Dylan said, handing her two cotton balls that smelled like bleach. He had dragged a jug of the foul smelling liquid from the pile of junk.
“What?”
“Wipe off your weapon before you get one of us sick.”
“Oh, good idea.” Damn good idea, she thought. It wasn’t often someone outthought her. She took the offered cotton balls and cleaned the blood off the blade and spike of her axe, so if she accidentally poked herself she wouldn't end up a zombie freak.
“Thank you,” she said, and replaced the axe on her lap. “Have some of the peanuts honey, the protein will be good for you.” She noticed that Sophie had been nosing into her bag. Sophie smiled at her. Nice white person, she thought, and chuckled again. It was quiet except for the sound of Sophie's snack wrapper crinkling, and Kala’s eyes closed. Just for a minute she told herself, and then sleep took her.
Sleep took her but was not kind. She woke in a dream, in her old bedroom. Her posters still adorned the walls, and her desk was there, with its long row of books and tech manuals. A light was left on the desk, next to her microscope. There was a butter container there, too. The butter container moved, thumping on the desktop. Kala approached and picked up the container, feeling its resident jumping around inside. This was the container where she had trapped and killed the big spider, the one that almost attacked Abigail. How could it still be alive?
Then she heard a squeaky voice calling out her name, it was coming from inside the butter container. What the hell?
“Kala help me please, please Kala help me,” the little voice said. She absently removed the top of the brown butter container and looked in. The big orange and black spider was there, it was moving around on its long angular legs. Then it looked up at her, right into her eyes, and Kala dropped the container. It clunked to the desk, and the spider crawled out. It stood on its hind legs and gawked at her.
“Kala,” the small voice came from the spider. “Kala, why did you kill me?” The spider’s horrible little hairy face started changing, then melted into the face of her father.
Daddy.
“Kala, why did you shoot me Kala? I’m your father.”
“You were going to kill Abbie!” she cried. “You killed Lukie.”
“I never would have hurt you Kala, you didn't have to do it.”
Tears were pouring down her face now and her chest started hitching.
“Give me a kiss, Kala,” the father spider said, opening its chelicerae wide until a black hole emerged, it was its mouth. Then the spider jerked, wretched, and started regurgitating something. No, no, stop, no!
Kala was trying to cry out but her voice did not work. The object being regurgitated grew larger and larger. No no no! Kala tried to run but her feet had been sewn into the carpeting. At last the spider finished its regurgitation of her brother, who lay in the fetal position on top of her desk. His eyes were open but still and cloudy, and part of his head was caved in where he had struck the wall. Kala couldn't breathe from the enormous pressure in her chest and the constant stream of tears pouring down her throat and face. At last she opened her mouth and loosed a crazed, piercing scream. Over and over she screamed. God save me, god make this end!
“Kala! Kala! Kala!” Dylan was on top of her, staring her dead in the eyes from only inches away. One of his large hands was clamped over her mouth. “Kala, shut up! You're going to bring them all here!”
“Oh my god,” Kala gasped. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Her chest was heaving. She came out of the nightmare hard, like she had just run a race.
“It's okay,” Dylan said, moving away. “We all have nightmares sometimes.”
“Sometimes I cry when I’m sleeping,” Sophie chimed in.
Kala scooched herself into a sitting position. The axe was still on her lap. The car keys were still in her pocket.
“So we need to talk,” Dylan said.
Kala set the axe on the ground and leaned forward, elbows on her knees.
“I have to get Sophie out of Florida. I want to head north, as far as I can get.”
Kala nodded, her head finally coming clear of the ruinous nightmare that had fuzzed it up.
“Is it better up north?”
Dylan cleared his throat. “Well, we haven’t h
ad any news since the power went out, but at that time, Florida, Alabama, and Louisiana were the worst off, but it was popping up everywhere.”
“So you figure it will be at least better north of us?”
“It makes sense doesn’t it? It started here, then they quarantined the state, which failed, but served to get as many of us infected as possible. You can't go down the street and find a real person, but the dead ones are wandering all over, just looking for something to kill.”
Kala was quiet for several minutes as she rolled the situation around in her head. Dylan waited patiently for her, his long arms draped over his knees, his brown eyes watching her.
“I agree with you that this epidemic is worse here in the south, but not necessarily for the same reason. Sure it started here, but the real reason is that the disease vector is the mosquito, and the southeast United States has more mosquitoes than any other part of the country. So, more vectors to carry the disease, more infected. You follow?”
“Yes. I know you were out of it, but before we lost TV, they had identified some other bloodsucking bugs that were carrying the disease too, body lice and a couple other ones.”
“Awesome.”
“So I was thinking that if we head north, get out of the Florida heat, maybe we could find help, maybe -”
“We? Look, Dylan, aside from the fact that I don’t trust you, I’m not looking for any travel companions. I would rather be alone. I can move faster that way, besides, my last companions didn’t work out so well.”
Dylan sighed, looking desperate. He looked over to Sophie, who was playing with some broken and dingy Barbie dolls.
Kala watched her too. She tried not to let her feelings get in the way of logic. But she was just a little girl, and Dylan, well he was just a boy, probably not more than fifteen. How was he going to take care of them both? There’s no way they would survive.
“Look, you can ride with me until we hit the state line, then you find another car, deal?”
Dylan looked from her to Sophie again, and nodded his head. “Thanks. Just don't leave us at some redneck truck stop or something okay?”
Kala laughed, “I think there's more black people in Alabama than white people, you shouldn't have to worry. Still, we will have to be careful where we go. I don’t know how desperate people will be for an automobile or anything.”
“Okay, cool, whatever. Thanks.”
“When do you think we should leave?”
“It's evening now. Do you want to wait until morning, get some sleep first?” he asked.
Kala looked over to Sophie then at their makeshift beds. “Do you think she would sleep in the car?”
“Definitely, my parents used to have to drive her around just to get her to fall asleep at night.”
“Then let's leave now. I’ve done all the sleeping I want to do for a while.” Kala rose and stretched her legs, pushing up onto her tiptoes to stretch her calves. “Pack up all the food and water into our bags. Grab the lanterns and anything else that might be useful.”
Dylan rummaged through the basement with her. Together they found a mostly intact tent that even had a rain cover, some raincoats, the small camp stove he and Sophie had been using, and a multipurpose tool that had been stuffed into a bike bag.
They filled Kala’s backpack and one other bag, which Dylan wore. Sophie carried her dirty Barbies. Dylan scooped up both lanterns, and an old rusted tent stake fell from his pack.
“I got it,” Kala said, scooping up the bit of metal. The thing looked dangerous, but she stuck it in her back pocket before scooping up her axe. I just have to remember to take that out before I sit on it, she told herself, thinking that going out because of a tetanus infection would be pretty lame during the zombie apocalypse. “Okay, I think we’re ready,” she said.
“Let's go,” Sophie said excitedly.
Dylan smiled at her. “You tired of the basement, Soph?”
She made a sour face and gave him a thumbs-down.
“Ha! All right princess, let’s find you a new castle.”
“Castle, castle!”
Kala couldn't help but chuckle at her happiness. Laughter really was contagious, she just hadn’t felt the occasion for it in a long time. Maybe this is going to be okay.
*****
Or maybe not. Dylan listened at the steel fire door for just a moment before letting it swing open. He waved for them to follow. Sophie walked between them with Kala bringing up the rear carrying her pack and fire axe. Dylan pushed up the metal grate above them, having to heave it hard with one hand, sending it clattering open. Behind him Sophie said, “Shh, they'll hear.”
Kala smiled at the little girl’s acumen. “We’re leaving so fast we won't even need to worry, honey.” Dylan disappeared into the evening above them and Kala thought she heard a grunt, or an oof, like he’d fallen over.
“Dylan, you okay?” she called, but they were right on his heels. Then a hairy arm reached into the stairwell and grabbed Sophie's arm, yanking her out forcefully.
“What the -”
She couldn’t finish her statement, because the black and brown barrel of a Kalashnikov 47 poked into the void where Sophie had been, aiming right at her head.
“Oh shit,” she cursed. There really had not been any way for them to recon outside before they emerged, not that they would have thought to anyway. They just wanted to get the hell out of here. She thought about trying to stash the axe, but a pair of camo clad legs walked into the space. She knew she was caught. Dragging her feet, she trudged up the last of the steps and into the humid Florida evening.
She was met by a big, stinking, toothy grin.
“Well, Mitch, it looks like we have a regular old interracial party here.”
Mitch, a tall, skinny white-haired man with skin drawn tight over an angular face stood off to the side, with Dylan held tight against him in a headlock. In his other hand he held a long, heavy shotgun. The man who was speaking was shorter than Mitch but still a few inches taller than Kala. He had dark green and black painted over his soft face, and long brown hair fell around his ears in a style that could be, at best, described as a mix between Billy Ray Cyrus and Harry Potter. It was not flattering. The man named Mitch spoke, and it was a slow, southern drawl.
“It certainly is a party, huh, Terry? We’ve got blackie here, kid sister, and as a bonus, this skinny little hottie,” Mitch sneered at Kala, and she could almost see the sinister, lust-filled thoughts leaking out of him.
Terry nodded, backing up slowly as Kala emerged, keeping the rifle trained on her. She observed the rifle carefully, noting its condition, oiled, but not polished. It had probably sat for years, unused, and was recently brought back into active duty. There was a little black residue around the inside rim of the barrel, indicating that it had in fact been fired recently, which meant that it at least worked. Good information to know in her current situation, but since the weapon was thirty years old, she would not rely on it.
“Oh yeah, boss man, it’s going to be a good night tonight. We’re going to have a big old fire, some good fresh meat, and even some dessert,” he said, the last with a sloppy, malicious slur to his words which made Kala’s skin crawl.
She tried to understand what the relationship between these two might be. Even though Terry was the talker, Mitch was obviously the one in charge. But he was so much older. Could they be brothers? Father and son? She didn’t know. Sophie stood looking terrified between them. All Kala knew was that she couldn't let Sophie fall into their abusive hands, because they meant naught but harm to them.
“All right, honey, bring me that axe, nice and slow.”
Kala nodded meekly and held out the axe to Terry with both hands. He let go of the Kalashnikov with his left hand and grabbed the axe. As he did, the gun drifted off to the side a little. As soon as he grabbed the axe, Kala let her right hand drop to her side, as if in defeat. But her hand flicked behind her jeans and gripped the rusted metal in her back pocket.
In th
e one second between him taking her axe and holding it up to admire, Kala whipped the tent stake around in a wild, Hail Mary swing. She took one big step forward as she swung, inside Terry's arms so the gun was pointing out, then she sunk the rusted, corroded steel shaft into the side of his neck. Both her shoulder and Terry screamed in agony, then she yanked the stake out, opening his neck to let his life spray out. Before he even fell, Kala spun around, stripping the AK from his grip and bringing it to bear on Mitch, who was too shocked to say anything. His thin pink lips were stretched into a horrified O.
“Drop him,” she said, deep calm and cold as ice. Sophie was crying, looking at the large, dead, white man on the ground. Mitch had a pistol in a belt holster than she watched carefully. “Let him go, now. I don't know if I can shoot you and not him, but I’m willing to try.”
Though his eyes were full of defiance that came from a long life full of bullying others and getting whatever he wanted, Mitch pushed Dylan out of the way. Then he faced Kala with his shoulders squared and his arms out wide at his side, as if he were an old west gunfighter. Kala shook her head at him.
“You gave up your only leverage, fool.” Then she squeezed the trigger. The ten-pound trigger stuck for just a moment, then the action engaged, and she sent eight rounds blasting out into the aged man, filling his camouflaged chest with split lead. Bright red blooms filled his desert camo vest and he fell to his knees, gasping for air. “Just breathe man, just breathe,” she said mockingly before he fell to his face on the ground.
Sophie's wails brought her back into the moment. Dylan had his arms around her, sheltering her from the sights he could not erase. Kala felt bad for what the child had seen, but better to see two murders than to be a victim of rape and murder yourself.
“Let’s go,” Kala said. “Pack all our shit in the car, come on, hurry.”
Dylan grabbed their supplies and piled them into the back of the station wagon while Kala stripped the two men of their weapons and ammo. She came out with an old AK-47, a 10 gauge shotgun, two decent hunting knives and a black powder pistol that frankly scared the shit out of her. But she brought it anyway, just in case.
Ecocide (Dying World Chronicles Book 2) Page 6