Humanity Gone (Book 3): Rebirth

by Derek Deremer

  HUMANITY GONE

  Book III

  Rebirth

  by

  Derek Deremer

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  © 2013 By Derek Deremer

  Editing by Dean Culver and Sandra Finley

  Prologue

  “Not all of us were going to make it out of this one anyway,” I say, closing the glass door behind me. It has to be me instead of him. He is stronger than I am, and they all will need him.

  “I thought it was going to be...?” Nate responds with a bewildered look. He eyes the door as if preparing to run out and find the one who was supposed to walk in. Yet, he remains. Sweat beads down his temples and reaches his uncertain face. Hints of the rash seem to crawl along the bottom of his neck under his shirt. Nate starts coughing again. It takes a few moments before he can manage to regain his composure.

  “Time’s ticking away. Are you really going to argue?” I nearly yell back at him while hopping onto the gurney along the far wall. I roll up my sleeve and point my forearm toward him. A vein already bulges beneath the joint. My voice lowers. “Just get this over with. There’s not much time left for all of you.”

  Nate's eyebrows furl beneath his glasses as his gaze switches from my arm to the needle on the nearby tray. He isn't the most experienced with using needles, but he'll do. Paige shouldn't have to do this, and anyone else who could is, well, unconscious. He turns to the table. The snap of a rubber glove against skin sounds like a gunshot in the quiet room. Another snap. He returns, now holding the needle in his left hand with the stretched rubber tube in his other. It extends to some sort of machine on the nearby counter. I've never seen one like it before in all my time at hospitals. I guess that thing is the reason we came here. Our eyes meet briefly, and then he looks at my arm. I momentarily turn my head away. The cold needle touches my skin for just a moment, and it pierces my arm. There is no real pain - just an odd pressure. The small clear tube changes to maroon as it flows back into the machine. Nate places a piece of medical tape to hold the needle in place.

  What a first time to give blood.

  “Pump your fist; it will speed up the process,” he says. My fingers extend and tighten multiple times. The blood seems to flow faster within the tube. Why drag this out any longer than it has to be?

  “You sure this is going to work?” I ask. He turns to the machine and watches as my blood fills the contraption. Again, he coughs violently into the crook of his arm. The plague is really taking its toll on him.

  And he isn’t the only one.

  “Yea. Somewhere in your blood lies the key. I just need to find it. It's going to take many trials, but with this quantity and the equipment, I could have it isolated by morning. As soon as I find that, a cure can be synthesized by lunch if my already existing theoretical calculations are accurate.”

  I smile slightly as he adjusts his glasses and fixes his attention back to the machine. God, he is a nerd and much more overt about it than Laura.

  Quiet minutes pass with only the low hum of the machine as it continues to ingest my blood. He switches between pacing and leaning against the nearby table. After several minutes, he has to switch out the bag of blood from the machine. His mouth hangs slightly open; he doesn't know what to say. His restlessness makes me nervous.

  “So how long will this take?” I finally manage to break the dull silence.

  “The bags are filling quickly. Not much more than an hour. You will probably pass out within ten to twenty minutes though. Your pulse will end within the hour.”

  “Oh...” With less than an hour left to live, I wish I could have more intellectual thoughts. Instead, my mind goes blank. I think of everyone in the lobby - the world outside. This could save all of them. I guess it's worth it. I think briefly about her, and smile lightly, but Nate's grim face cuts it short. We retreat to silence again.

  My stomach gives a nauseating turn.

  “Nate, I'm getting really dizzy. I feel like I'm gonna be sick.”

  “I was afraid of that; losing lots of blood will cause that reaction.” Nate walks behind me to the counter. I struggle to turn my head. The sound of a bottle sliding on a counter emanates from behind. He walks beside me.

  “This is some chloroform that I found in here. I can knock you out with it if you like.”

  My eyelids grow heavier. I can manage just a little bit more. I don't need the drugs. This won't last much longer, and I still want to say one more thing to him.

  “No, I don't need that. I'm already getting weary.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yea.” I respond. He sets the bottle back on the table and looks down at me. His eyes quiver, and tears form at their corner. Watching him cry on my behalf makes me feel guilty. “Look Nate. There’s something I’ve…”

  “Save your final thoughts. I know,” he says.

  “I don't know what to say. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry, too. This wasn’t your choice,” he replies. While fighting my closing eyelids, my peripherals go dark. Nate's face becomes blurry.

  “It was my choice,” I say, probably grinning for the last time.

  My breaths become farther apart. I finally close my eyes. It's time to go.

  Chapter 1: Carter

  “Ryan, he's coming up on your side. Don't let him escape.”

  I release the radio's answer button, and slip it into my worn leather belt. My right hand loosely grips my holstered gun as I try to regain my speed in the deep black of night. The near foot of snow on the ground impedes my legs from attaining my largest stride. Winter came much earlier than we anticipated this year, and it is really complicating things.

  From the little light the stars provide, the intruder rushes towards the apex of the hill, and he will soon be out of my view. If the night wasn’t so clear, we never would have spotted him crossing the fence a few minutes ago. He – I’m assuming it's a he – is dressed in nearly all white and blends in with the snow. He's smart. Who knows how long he has been watching us. For a brief moment, his white outfit sticks out against the black sky and then slips over the crest – out of my sight.

  “Dammit,” I mumble between heavy breaths. The cold air burns my lungs with each deep inhale. A small crack of static emanates from the radio - Ryan.

  “I see him, Carter,” his voice jumps through the radio just as I reach the top of the hill. I pause for a moment at the top, and my hands collapse to my knees as I try to suck in more air. I draw in breaths while searching the other side of the hill. It isn't too steep, but the pine trees obstruct my vision. The farm's farthest perimeter ends in less than a hundred yards. If he manages to reach the farthest fence, we don't stand a chance in the dense woods. The intruder could have anything waiting for us out there. I continue to glance around the rows of pine trees at the farm's furthest perimeter. They are in perfect rows - future Christmas trees planted for a Christmas that never came.

  A gray blur flies between the trees in the distance. I sprint after the blur but quickly lose sight of it among the still pine rows. My pace lessens as I glance around.

  “Ryan?” I shout, regaining my speed while searching down the long line of trees. Moving over to the next row, I catch a glimpse of someone running directly away from me. He is right behind another figure.

  “Carter, he's right...” Ryan's yell ends in an “oomph” as he lunges forward, tackling the intruder to the snow-covered ground. A white dusting of powder flies into the air. More grunts resonate off the pine trees as the two continue to grapple on the ground.

  While running towards them, I reach into my holster and pull o
ut my pistol. Ensuring the chamber has a bullet, I release the slide. Looking up, Ryan continues to struggle with the intruder. The two roll around while groaning and yelling.

  The intruder ends up on the top of the pile, and he throws a few punches into Ryan’s face. I’m within ten feet of them.

  “Get off him,” I command finally catching up to the two. I raise the gun. Ryan's attacker looks up to my weapon and freezes. Ryan takes the opportunity and throws a fist into the side of the intruder’s jaw. The intruder falls to the side and Ryan manages to stand. This stranger finally speaks.

  “Don’t shoot,” he exclaims, his gloved hands slowly rising into the air. His face shows worry. By the way he looks at the gun, I can tell he doesn’t have one.

  “What do you want?” I demand, trying my best to sound intimidating.

  “We were just scavenging for supplies.”

  “We?” I ask, moving the gun closer to his head.

  “Me, I meant me,” he quickly stutters. Ryan comes up behind him and knocks him to the ground with a kick to the back of his head.

  “Who else is here?” Ryan yells. He moves on top of the intruder's back and pulls the man’s arms around, fastening his hands together with a zip-tie. Ryan asks again, but now, the bandit chooses to be quiet. He doesn’t answer. Ryan tries to persuade him with a few more hits to the side of the face.

  The trespasser remains quiet; his wet head faces down in the snow while managing deep breathes.

  “I don’t like this,” I say to Ryan. He looks up to me and nods briefly.

  “Let’s get him back to the Ax. There may be some others out here.” Ryan backs off the man and pulls him up by the arms. The Ax, the small farm that is now home, will take a while to reach if this guy keeps thrashing about. Ryan retrieves his pistol from his holster and stabs it into the center of the man’s back. “Let’s get going, friend.”

  The intruder looks at me briefly with an expression of pain. Blood runs from his nose and into his mouth. He spits onto the snow in front of me, keeping his head down as Ryan turns him and guides him forward towards the hill.

  I don’t like the looks of any of this. I’m sure this guy isn’t alone. We never go out alone; you would have to be crazy to in this world. It’s best we get him back to the safety of the Ax. At least the others will be there in case things take a turn for the worse.

  Ryan pushes the trespasser along in the snow. The captive falls a few times; the blood on his face leaves a dark trail in the white. I follow a few dozen yards behind them, still trying to catch my breath.

  CRACK.

  A sound – behind me.

  I pivot hard on my left leg, turning around quickly with new-found vigor. My fingers go to my hip and grab the handle of my pistol. Shadows from the trees and brush surround me. In the darkness, it’s nearly impossible to see anything.

  The shadow about a dozen yards in front of me moves slightly. I swear it did. I slowly withdraw my gun.

  Maybe it's just my mind playing tricks at this hour of the night. I slowly raise my pistol towards the shadow, preparing to approach it.

  CRACK. Another noise – to the right.

  I sharply turn my head. A small rabbit emerging from a bush struggles though the snow along the path. I quickly turn forward again. The shadow from before is missing.

  My eyes quickly search everywhere around me. Aside from a slight sway in the trees, there is no other movement. I turn my head, meticulously searching for any disturbance. Nothing else moves.

  Probably just my imagination.

  Nonetheless, I hurry after Ryan and our new prisoner.

  Chapter 2: Carter

  “What the hell do you want with us?” Ryan yells as his fist collides with the trespasser’s lower jaw. Ryan’s knuckles have already split from a particularly savage hit a few moments ago. He doesn’t seem to notice. “I’m not playing around.”

  He punches the prisoner again.

  And again.

  “Ryan, that’s enough,” I finally manage. Ryan glares up at me momentarily, but the look subsides as he takes a few steps back and cradles his bleeding right hand. Looking at my own knuckles, I remember the time I beat someone this bad. He deserved it; I'm still not sure if this man does.

  We are in a small broken down greenhouse adjacent to the main building of the Ax. The wooden roof provides enough cover from the snow, but it’s still bitter cold. Ryan, in spite of the temperature, has taken off his coat, and his interrogation has left himself tired, sweating, and bleeding.

  The bandit, I suppose he was a soon-to-be bandit, turns to me. One eye is swollen shut, but a glimmer of gratitude manages to escape from his tearing right eye. He hasn’t said a single word since we arrived. Ryan has done his best, or is it worse... But aside from some cursing, the trespasser’s lips remain shut.

  His broken face is another reminder of what Ryan is now capable of doing. He's not the optimistic man that once rescued me from a New American work camp. He has become something much different.

  It’s been six weeks since the New Americans destroyed our home, and we limped to the Ax. Ryan seemed to have recovered from the initial shock of the attack, but something much darker rose from those ashes. I didn’t realize the extent of his change until a traveling convoy of men, women, and children passed by the Ax two weeks ago on their way to the south.

  That convoy passed through with more supplies than we could imagine. They came from the northeast and were trying to escape the re-occurrence of the plague that seemed to be slowly oozing across the country. They were peaceful people, and we traded what little excess we had. There wasn't much we could offer, but they were very generous. After a shaking of hands and “good lucks,” we waved them on their way. To be honest, they reminded me of what the Resistance used to look like merely a month ago - peaceful and eager to help those in need. Ryan stood beside me as the convoy of sedans and station wagons disappeared into the distance. Everyone else in our group had gone into the Ax to organize the few new boxes of supplies that we acquired from the trade. Ryan turned to me with angled eyebrows once everyone was out of sight.

  “They have more than they need,” he said to me in a whispered voice.

  “Yea, we were once like that.”

  “We still can be…” Ryan continued, eyeing where the cars had disappeared over the hill.

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “They aren’t traveling fast. We could catch up and take what we wanted. They didn't have a single gun. You saw how passive they were; it’s a miracle they are still alive. It’s bound to happen sooner or later to them. It’s plain stupidity to travel around like that. The New Americans would have a field day.”

  “What? Are you serious?” I said with a flicker of anger. He never would have said anything like this before. No one should say anything like that.

  “We could hide our faces and they would never be able to trace it back to here. Hell, they might seek refuge back here, and we can trade even more for just their safety.”

  “Isn’t this a hell of a lot like what the New Americans did to us?”

  Uneasiness fell between us for nearly a minute.

  “You’re right,” he struggled out. “Never mind.”

  “Jesus man, get it together,” I said while walking away. He remained behind and stared into the distance while I headed back into the Ax. Night was approaching and the sun was just at the top of the tree line. Tori and Darrel prepared a meal, and I noticed Ryan’s absence as we sat around and ate. That wasn’t too unusual for him to be missing at meals; he constantly kept checks on the perimeter at all hours.

  It wasn’t until the next morning when I noticed the extra boxes of jarred food and jugs of water that I knew he hadn’t been on patrol. I quickly walked to where his bunk was and roused him from sleep.

  “Ryan, where the hell did that all come from?”

  “On patrol I found it. It must have fallen off their cars. Lucky, right?”

  I saw right through the pitiful lie.
“What did you do?”

  “I found it,” his voice grew firm as he pulled himself to a sitting position. “And I don’t like what you’re implying.”

  “Tell me you didn’t.”

  We both stared at one another without blinking for several uneasy seconds.

  “I didn’t.”

  The moment grew more intense, but I gave up. Truthfully, we needed the extra supplies to help us through the winter, but at that moment, I knew he would do whatever it took to keep us all alive – things I still am not ready to do but maybe need to be done. America isn’t a friendly place anymore. I’ve had my moments of aggression, but Ryan’s animosity seems ever-present.

  This intruder’s broken face shows it blatantly.

  Ryan steps out of the greenhouse. I move closer to the stranger. “Just tell him what he wants, and this will be over.”

  “Thanks buddy, but I’ve seen what you all are about.”

  “What are you hiding?”

  “You’ll never know.” After spitting some more blood on the dirt floor, he gives a mild laugh. Well, his loss. I go to the exit; Ryan stands barely outside the entrance, staring blankly into the fields while rubbing his right wrist. I join his blank stare into the distance.

  “He’s still confident about something. We could be in danger. Figure it out,” I say.

  Ryan turns to me, and nods while walking back into the greenhouse. “I’ll do what it takes.”

  He will.

  When the stranger begins to scream, I'm just glad Caitlyn isn't around.

  * * *

  I gather those remaining in the main room of the Ax: Paige, Jo, Kevin, Darrel, and Tori. Caitlyn, David, Laura, and Nate had headed to a distant rural hospital for supplies; they won’t be back until morning.

  It is late, but none of us can sleep with the presence of the intruder. His distant groans of agony probably aren’t helping. We gather around a small fire in the center of the room. When we first arrived, each of us had separate sleeping quarters, but the night has become so bitter that we have all started gathering in the central room in front of a large fire by the cash register counters.