The Dead Saga: Odium 0.5 (Nina's Story)

by Riley, Claire C.

  “Keep your opinions and false accusations to yourself, you hear me?”

  She nod and I slide my chair forward and pick my fork back up.

  I look around at a tap on my shoulder, my gaze diverting from my meal once again, and I stare up into Colonel Smith’s hardened face.

  “Ma’am, you need to come with me,” he says, his words clipped and cold. It’s the first time he has ever spoken to me—the first time I have ever really heard him speak, when I really think about it.

  “No, thank you. I just want to eat my dinner in peace and go to sleep in my five-star luxury accommodation, but thanks for the offer,” I snark out, and shove a forkful of food in my mouth.

  “That wasn’t a request,” he replies, and turns on his heel and walks away, the shadow of his body being replaced by two more guards.

  One reaches over and pushes my plate away while the other pulls my chair out before gripping my arm and pulling me to my feet.

  “I had nothing to do with that,” I grumble, staring from face to face of the guards and then letting my gaze trail over to the people on my table. “Tell them. I didn’t do anything.”

  Each one of them looks away from me, their shoulders slumped in resignation. I have done nothing to garner myself any friends, I have no one to help fight my corner, and really—would they have anyway?

  “Thanks so much, everyone!” I grumble as the other guard holds onto my right arm and they slowly guide me out of the room. Their grips aren’t tight and painful, but they are strong and definitely bordering on less than disciplined. “You don’t need to hold me, I’m coming,” I argue, though it makes little change.

  The day is warm as they lead me outside and across the compound toward Colonel Smith’s office, and I try not to panic or fight them in any way, even though fear is pushing all of my buttons. I hadn’t done anything wrong; he would see that. And if he didn’t? What would he do? Give me a slap on the wrist? Cart me away to jail? The nervous laugh that had wanted to escape is back again, pushing at my tonsils and begging to be released.

  The door opens before we even arrive at it, and we step inside to the cool shade of the makeshift office. The office is a large tent, the sort people used to go glamping in. But there are no strings of lights dangling above; instead there are a couple of bare bulbs hanging down, their bright glow almost glaring.

  A couple of guards are milling around doing guard-type stuff, which is basically standing around holding a gun of some description and looking tough. They look alert, their eyes grazing over me and examining if I am a threat or not before dismissing me completely. I have to admit I’m a little offended by their assumptions. I’m rough, tough, and could be a big threat to them…Okay, probably not, but I’m still offended.

  I try to keep my expression neutral but am almost positive that my eyes are screaming panic and my mouth is curled up in a snarl. I am a fighter; it’s one of the things that has changed about me since this whole nightmare began. It isn’t something I can turn on and off at will. When someone gripped me, it made me want to lash out; when someone yelled at me, it made me want to yell back; and right now it was taking every ounce of self-control to not fight back against these men. Ben had told me to survive no matter what, and that survival instinct had turned me into a real bitch.

  We come to a stop in front of Colonel Smith’s large wooden desk. It’s the sort of desk that a headmaster previously would have had: dark wood, varnished to the max, with a black leather square in the center.

  The colonel is sitting in his chair, writing on a piece of paper, though I can’t make out what he’s writing. It could be important, it could be gibberish and purely to make himself seem busy—I don’t really care. After several beats of my heart he finally looks up and acknowledges me. His face is as stern as his posture. Hard, cold lines etch around his mouth and eyes—eyes that seem so light they are almost white, and hair that is firm and unmoving. I’ve seen him many times, but I’ve never taken the time to really see him. That is part of my problem, I guess: I don’t notice anyone anymore.

  Yet now that I’ve noticed him, I wish that I hadn’t. I’d like to go back into my oblivious little bubble right about now.

  His hand goes to his face, his thumb hooking under his chin and his index finger gently rubbing along his chin as he watches me. I swallow and keep his gaze, deciding the best thing will be to keep my mouth shut. Of course that will be the best thing. I tend to keep to myself because whenever I do open my big mouth, I don’t recognize the woman that speaks.

  “My apologies for the abruptness of my actions. My intention wasn’t to frighten you in any way.” I guess he’s talking about how I was rudely manhandled and dragged away from my shitty food with barely a wave goodbye to everyone.

  “I’m not frightened.”

  FYI, I’m totally frightened.

  He smiles and nods. “That’s good, I would hate to come across as—”

  “An asshole?” I helpfully intervene with an arch of my eyebrow.

  His mouth twitches in the beginnings of a smile, but never quite commits to the act.

  “Colonel, I had nothing to do—”

  He interrupts me by placing his finger over his lips and hushing me. I do automatically, more out of surprise than anything else.

  Did he just shush me? I frown.

  “You’re one of our counters, right?”

  I nod. “I am. Listen, I had nothing to do with that back there.” I jerk a thumb behind me. “I don’t even know that guy.”

  “I know,” he replies without further explanation.

  “He’s just angry because he’s scared, and hungry. I don’t know why he was yelling at me—probably for the same reason.” I’m mumbling again, my words coming out in a jumble of nonsense.

  “I also know that, but don’t worry yourself with him. He’ll be dealt with.”

  My back teeth clamp together, grinding until my jaw starts to ache. That man was frightened, and yes, slightly cuckoo also, but he didn’t really mean any harm. Though his whore remark had pissed me off and ruined my impeccable reputation—insert sarcasm—he was a harmless old man.

  “I need to speak to you about something different.”

  “What do you mean, dealt with?” I ask, my voice full of so much trepidation I barely register his comment about wanting to speak to me about something else.

  The colonel nods, and that one small motion makes me feel sick. His face holds no compassion, no kindness—and yes, that’s a little like the pot calling the kettle black. But seeing it on someone else is like looking in a mirror and too close to home for my liking.

  “I told you, he’s just scared and hungry. He just needs—I don’t know. He’s confused. His whole life has flipped upside down in the past couple of months. I think he’ll be okay now, now that he’s had his fifteen minutes of fame and got all that shit off his chest.”

  I have no idea if that’s true or not; from what I’d heard of his mumblings the night before, I’m leaning more to the “not” side of things, but I’ve heard rumors about how the colonel deals with problem civilians, and it isn’t in me to stand by and say nothing. I’m mean and hard, but I don’t wish harm on anyone.

  “Do you feel the same?” he asks. He gestures for the guards to let go of me and then points them toward the door. They comply and stand back, but don’t leave the room.

  I turn, watching to see where they stand, and then I look back at Colonel Smith. “What do you mean?”

  “Are you afraid?”

  I nod. Because yes, of course I am. I would more than likely be classed as clinically insane if I wasn’t afraid. The world had been rampaged by the undead, and up until last night I had been sleeping on a piece of cardboard on the floor while the army fought for our survival. So, yes, I’m afraid.

  “Are you angry?”

  I nod again, and tears well in my eyes for some obscure reason. I’m always angry these days. The anger bubbles through my veins uncontrollably, and I barely contain it on a
daily basis. I’m angry at everyone and everything. The anger drives me forward, but it also holds me back.

  The colonel leans back in his chair and watches me for several moments. I can guess what he is waiting for. He’s waiting to see if I will collapse, if I will break down with the heavy burdens of anger and fear. But I won’t. When I have myself under control again I find my voice, and though there is a small quiver to it, I’m surprised by how strong I sound.

  “We’re all scared and we’re all angry. But this is survival. Everyone has to deal with it the best they can.”

  He smiles and his smile makes me even more anxious.

  “What do you want, Colonel?”

  He stands up and comes around his desk so he is standing in front of me. “Let’s be honest with one another. You’re one of our counters, so you know how little we have left.”

  I want to deny it, to play dumb and pretend I don’t know how bad things are about to get. If we thought things had been hard up until now, that was nothing compared to what the future holds. The army had been making drops to us since the start—rations of food and weapons, clothes and such. But those have become few and far between until now they were almost nonexistent. That can only mean one thing in my eyes.

  There is no army left.

  There is no one to divvy up food and weapons.

  Which means the government has completely fallen.

  Which means that the world has probably fallen and the dead have won the war.

  The thought is one I have been trying to deny myself for weeks. It’s terrifying. No government. No army. No law and order. So what now? What did the world do without any leaders? The future was a bleak and scary place to be.

  I nod that I know, because what’s the point in lying anymore?

  “Then you know what that will mean for us…for everyone here. But it doesn’t have to be all bad. We have a plan. We have a structural engineer here now. He’s going to help us build up our walls, build our defenses against the undead armies. We’ll make this place sustainable—a fully working commune that can thrive.”

  I nod, taking in what he’s saying. What he is saying sounded great—perfect, almost. At least under the rather morbid circumstances. Yet the look on his face tells me that there is more to it than that.

  “Why have you not told anyone?” I ask almost cautiously.

  “Because people will panic. They’ll break down and crumble like our measly defenses.”

  “But they deserve to know that there’s nothing left,” I reply.

  Colonel Smith smiles at me. “Civilians are reckless. They don’t have what it takes to put a plan in place and make it work. They see short-term gains and losses: how hungry they are right now, how cold they are right now. My job is to see the long term.” His words roll off his tongue like hot butter, and I know what he says makes sense. I think I even nod, until I think over his words some more.

  “Losses?” I ask, my nerves tickling in apprehension.

  “There are always losses in war, ma’am,” he says simply. “What’s your name?”

  “Nina.”

  “Well, Nina, we need people to behave while we work. We need them to do their jobs, keep things running. It’s for their sake more than our own. We don’t have many soldiers here—not as many as I would like, anyway—and I’m already having to spread them around thinly. If we are to make food runs, have twenty-four-hour guard duties, and build the walls so that they are more longstanding—”

  “I get it, so what do you want?”

  “We need to keep people calm,” he says.

  “Agreed,” I reply automatically, though I’m not sure what I’m necessarily agreeing to. I just know that I have to do it.

  “We need people not to panic,” he continues. “And we need people to comply.”

  “Comply to what?”

  “Nina, I need you to help keep the peace out there. These are your people, and I’m going to have to make some hard sacrifices.” He ignores my question with a statement all of his own.

  “These are not my people,” I scoff, “at all! I don’t have people. I don’t even like people! In fact, I try to stay away from all people as much as possible. So whatever plan you have just failed right before it even started.” I cross my arms in front of me.

  “I’ve watched you. I’ve seen how you handle people and I’ve seen how they respond to you. You’re firm in your resolve, there’s no room for disagreements. You don’t try to justify yourself, and because of that confidence—that belief in yourself—people respond to you.”

  I blink, feeling confused. The woman he’s describing sounds nothing like me. That woman sounds strong, confident, determined—not depressed and bitter. I keep people at a distance as much as I can. I don’t care if people like me because it’s all irrelevant in the end anyway. But I have to admit, the woman he’s describing sounds far better than the woman I feel I am.

  “No, people don’t like me—and that’s good, because I don’t like them either. I stay away from people. I keep my guard up because I don’t want friends.” My stomach rolls.

  “That’s my point.” He turns and walks back to his desk before sitting down in his chair again. “You have nothing to lose.”

  My stomach drops at the harshness of his words, but I can’t deny them.

  I have nothing.

  Nobody.

  I am alone.

  I should be heartbroken at his words—saddened, at least—but instead I feel nothing. He is speaking the truth: I have no one and nothing to lose. And I try to embrace that fact. I don’t have a child or a husband to worry about; I only have myself, and that’s good. That’s the way I like it, because it hurts too much when you lose someone.

  “I need a liaison officer, Nina, and I want you to be it.” The colonel speaks and I know there is no room to panic, and yet…

  “A liaison officer?” I quirk an eyebrow at him and he nod.

  “Think of yourself as a peacekeeper of sorts. Someone to keep the peace with the civilians and liaise with myself on any issues arising.”

  I think over everything he is trying to tell me, and I look through his words to see the real story beneath his layers of lies. I don’t trust him, at all, and yet to some degree I have to.

  “Sir, if I may, if you just keep people in the loop on what’s going on, then no one will panic.” I frown.

  “For what’s coming, I believe people will begin to panic. There will be many sacrifices. But if you’re not up to the job, that’s fine. I’ll arrange to put something else in place, because I will be moving ahead with this plan, effective immediately.”

  “I think that will be for the best,” I agree, feeling uneasy with my decision—but how can I do this? Be a peacekeeper? I instill anger in people, not calmness.

  I turn to leave, but the sound of his voice makes me stop.

  “There are a lot of useless civilians here, Nina. People with no skills and nothing to contribute.”

  I turn back to look at him. “Sir?”

  “If they can’t be controlled and kept calm, I’ll have to find other uses for them.”

  His mouth quirks up at the edges, a small smile touching at his lips.

  His tone is matter-of-fact, as if this were nothing too important, yet I know that his decision to have me do this role is all about self-preservation; for him, not for anyone else. His reason for having me do this job is stupid, yet for some reason he has chosen me. As my own compassion creeps up from the darkness within me, I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood.

  “This is a different world now. These civilians, they’re living under the impression that things will be fixed and they can go back to their happy little lives. They still believe that their condos and Mercedes will be waiting for them, but that’s not going to happen. The government has fallen and the world they know is long gone.” He grabs a pen and paper from his drawer and looks down at it. “You seem to get that. You understand.”

  He is leading somewhere, taking me
down a dark path to get to his point—a point I have already come to the assumption of and don’t like, but I have to hear it. I have to hear him say it for me to fully fall into line. And he knows that also.

  He scribbles something on the paper before looking back up. “Times are hard, but they’re only going to get harder as we all adjust to this new world and its new leaders. Let me be clear, Nina: I am the leader of this place and its people now, and no one will get in my way of keeping this place going.”

  He holds my gaze and he knows he has me.

  Chapter Fourteen.

  I lie on my bed, staring up at the blood stains on my ceiling, feeling more anxious than I have in months. Since I arrived, I have slowly begun to go numb to everything—to the deaders knocking at my door, to the misery and plight of other people. I have gone numb to everyone and everything, but now things have changed.

  I don’t like change.

  “So what happened?”

  I turn to the woman next to me. It’s the occupier of the bed next to mine, and I briefly met her yesterday when we had been assigned our new rooms. Though I hadn’t let on to her then, I decide to now. She is malnourished like me and everyone else, and yet she still has shiny eyes and a toned physique.

  “You’re a carrier, right?” I ask, my gaze gliding over the definition in her arms.

  Carriers are just that: carriers. Whenever we get a rations drop that falls outside the gates, they go with some of the army personnel to collect it. It’s a dangerous job, and one that Colonel Smith is more than happy to hand off to civilians so he doesn’t lose any of his own precious team. But it does give you a view of the outside world and what is becoming of it in our absence. Clearly, it also gives you beautifully toned arms.

  “Yep. Name’s Tesrin.” She leans over to shake my hand and I stare at it blankly for a moment. “I don’t have cooties,” she jokes, causing me to smile involuntarily.

  I sit up, swinging my legs over the side of my bed. “Sorry, yeah I know, I uhh. Never mind, I’m Nina.” I wrap my hand around hers. The feeling is uncomfortable and yet not unwanted. It’s my first physical interaction with another person in months, not including the manhandling of the guards yesterday. When she releases my hand I stare at it for a moment, my skin almost sad for the loss of contact.