“Of course I couldn’t stay!” he whispered, irritated. “You’ll never make it alone. It’s a suicide mission. Is that why you did this?” His brown eyes widened and softened as he considered the fact that his only friend in the world may have left the bunker to end her life quietly, away from everyone who cared about her.
Christine finally stood erect, though her hands still clung to Zack’s arms for balance. There was a sharp stabbing at the base of her head where it connected to her fragile neck, a wave of pain that radiated from her tailbone up her back and down her legs, and a sickness rising from the depths of her stomach. But the world was still and that was an improvement. Behind her she could hear the retched sounds of her horse being devoured bite by bite, but she didn’t dare look that way now that her vision was clear.
“No, that’s stupid,” Christine retorted with an eye roll she couldn’t control and which she regretted after the sharp stab in her head. “I came out here to deliver the journal and give humanity a fighting chance…hopefully.”
She knew there was no guarantee the journal would be useful at all, or that anyone who would find it useful would still be alive, but it was this hope that kept her moving forward. She couldn’t lose that, or all would be lost.
“I need to get you back to the bunker,” Zack said, now gripping her arm with a force that made her wince.
She wrenched her arms free and stumbled back a few steps. “No!” she said more loudly than intended. Her voice echoed off the broken garage doors and down the narrow alleyway. “I have to do this!”
“No, you don’t! I know it feels like you do, but anyone can do this, Christine. It doesn’t have to be you.”
“Yes, it does! Liam left the journal to me—“
“Liam didn’t leave the journal to you, Chris! He died and it just happened to be in the same apartment you were in—“
“He would have wanted me to take this to the research center in Chicago, he would have only trusted me—“
Their voices carried louder and louder over each other as they argued back and forth.
“I can do this for you,” Zack said with a furrowed brown and burning eyes.
“No offense, but I’m going to be the one to put this journal in the right hands and there’s nothing you can do to—” But Christine was cut off when Zack placed his hand firmly over her mouth.
She wanted to pull herself free from his grip, but he spun her around and hugged her close to his body with his free arm. She could hardly breathe. Her eyes widened till the whites shone brightly around her blue irises.
Her horse lay gutted, steam rising from the warm bowels spread on the pavement. Its head was angled painfully, almost touching its back in an impossible way. Nine rotting bodies squatted around the corpse of the sweet animal who had carried her so close to the city. Their hands were still, their mouths chewed slowly, and their eyes fixated directly on her.
VII
Christine held her breath, her mouth starting to hurt from the pressure of Zack’s hand, but she didn’t dare move a muscle. Her first thought was that there were too many for the two of them to take on. Her second thought was that they’d been in tougher situations before. Her third thought was, who cares. We either fight our way through or die trying. Oddly, she felt at peace with that last thought. She knew she wasn’t in control. All she could do was try. And oddly enough, Liam’s voice didn’t dare speak up to coax her into abandoning Zack to his fate either. Maybe after telling him to shut up so many times she’d finally gotten rid of him.
Christine squirmed against Zack’s rigid body to signal him to let her loose. He did, gripping his longsword tightly in both hands, moving no faster than a snail down a long dirt road. Christine slowly, carefully, reached behind her to grab an arrow from her backpack. When her fingers touched nothing but the chilled air her eyes widened. Her heart beat loudly against her still chest. In the chaos of falling off her horse the arrows had scattered from the small opening in her backpack. She turned her head and saw them laying here and there on the black alley road yards behind her.
If she made a break for it and tried to collect the arrows it would surely gather the attention of the dead. They would clamor their way toward Zack who would be left to fight them all on his own until she could pick one up and release it. If she did nothing, she would have to use her Bowie knife to attack them hand-to-hand, which she had little training in and was more than unsure of herself in handling it. Her mind raced through her options.
“My arrows fell from my bag back there,” she whispered just loud enough for Zack to hear her. “I have to get them or we won’t stand a chance.”
Zack was silent, but she noticed his muscles contract in his arms as he tightened his grip on his sword. He didn’t say a word, only nodded once, never taking his dark eyes off the gruesome display in front of him.
Christine took a slow, silent step backwards. The dead continued to gorge themselves on her horse’s bloodied body. She took another step. Still, the creatures took no notice of her. Another step. Then another. Then, Christine’s foot came down on a misshapen rock and it slipped out from under her. She stumbled, her arms raising out to catch her balance, her breath catching in her throat as she struggled not to let out a gasp or a groan.
Several glazed-over white eyes turned to see what made the noise. A decaying, green-fleshed, ragged female gave a high-pitched hiss, blood and gore dripping from her red lips. That got the attention of the rest and slowly they all stood up. The terrifying sound of the dead filled the narrow alleyway.
Christine knew she had one chance to get there in time. She turned and took off as fast a she could, her legs and arms pumping to propel her to the arrows that would save their lives. By the time she reached the first one and knelt to pick it up, she could hear Zack’s screams of fury as he tore through rotting flesh with his sword.
Christine knocked her arrow in the bow and took aim. She released it not into the head of the thing Zack was fighting, but in the ones closest to the horse still struggling to raise themselves on unstable feet. Liam had once told her during one of their archery lessons that Zack and the others knew how to handle themselves in close combat, but if they became overwhelmed there was nothing they could do so it was always smarter to aim for the ones who haven’t reached them yet so they never would. At the time she had let the words go in one ear and out the other, sure she would never have to use a bow to defend herself, sure that Liam would always be there to take care of her. She was glad what he said came back to her in that moment.
Zack hacked his way through the three walking corpses nearest him while Christine ran another few yards and collected the next closest arrow. She released it seamlessly right between the eyes of a large, blood drooling male in torn, soiled clothes. He fell to the ground just before he could join the three already struggling against Zack.
There was only one more arrow Christine could see clearly lying on the ground next to a heaped pile of black garbage bags. She sprinted toward it and scooped it up. Once released, it penetrated the nose of a small female and came out the back of her head. For a moment, Christine wondered if it was even an adult, or possibly it was only a teenager who had been separated from her parents and attacked when she was all alone and scared. Christine shook her head, her blonde ponytail whipping back and forth to rid herself of the thought. She didn’t have time to contemplate who these things were before they became the monsters they were now. She had to help her friend.
Instead of blindly searching for the rest of the arrows, Christine had to act fast to get back to Zack and help him take down the last four. She reached for the knife sheathed on her belt and gripped it tightly in her hand as she ran forward.
Zack wielded his sword with precision, slicing through the necks of the dead coming for him. By the time Christine reached him, there were only two left standing, a tall but skinny male at his front and a short but fat male to his left. Without hesitation, Christine screamed and jump
ed on the large male before it could get it hands on Zack. They fell to the ground in a tangle and she plunged her knife into its right eye over and over again.
Something touched her shoulder and Christine whipped around with her knife.
“It’s just me,” Zack said with his hands raised, sword already sheathed at his hip.
Christine’s chest rose and fell in great heaves. She looked down at the bloody mess she sat on and slowly rose to her feet. Her head ached with the beating of her heart. She wiped her knife off on her black pants and put it back on her belt.
“That’s all of them?” she asked, sure one they had missed was going to come stumbling out of a garbage pile.
“That’s all of them,” Zack said with a long release of his breath. “We did it.”
Christine’s eyes were vacant as she thought about the things on the ground that used to be people, about her horse who had carried her so close to the city only to be taken down in the most horribly violent way.
“You okay?” Zack asked, resting a hand on her shoulder.
It jarred her from her thoughts. She was thankful for that. “Yeah, I’m good. Just a little winded.”
Zack laughed. “That was a close one. How about we find a place to stay for the night. It’s going to be dark soon.”
Christine nodded. She walked further back and grabbed the reins of the horse Zack rode in on. Together, the two headed friends and their horse headed forward down the alley, side-stepping around the massive bloodied body of the bay Thoroughbred.
“Thanks, friend,” Christine whispered as they passed by.
“If we find somewhere to rest for the night and get going at first light, we should be in the city by noon. Then, it should only be a matter of finding the research center and getting this journal inside. Do you know where the building is?”
“I think so,” Christine said as she stepped out from the alley onto the main deserted road.
“Good enough for me,” Zack said, walking beside her but following her.
“We should check the houses on this street for shelter,” she said, pointing to a row of one story brick homes set closely together. “It’s not ideal, but it seems quiet. If there were more around here they would have been drawn to all the sound we made. That makes me think there’s no more in this area, at least for the moment.”
“Good thinkin’, Chris. Pick one to be your palace for the evening, then.”
“That one,” she said pointing to the one on the corner of the nearest intersection.
They headed toward the shambled house in silence, Blue following behind as she led him. Neither knew what the night would hold for them, but they had hope that it would be quiet, that they could rest, and that their mission would reach completion by the end of the day tomorrow.
VIII
The bunker was silent. Everyone had shut themselves in their private rooms for the night, snuggled safe and warm under their itchy wool blankets, resting their heads on feather-stuffed pillow cases tied shut on one end. All the candles were snuffed out save for one that always stayed lit in the center of the circular living space, sitting atop the rectangular coffee table in front of the sagging, musty couch.
Olivia Darling cracked her door open and poked her head out. Everything was still. She didn’t hear a sound as she looked one way, then the other. “Pst! Come on!” she whispered loudly.
From the shadows, a dark figure emerged and crept forward toward her door.
“Quiet!” she hissed as she invited Rowan into her room. Once he was inside, she shut the door behind him.
Silence settled on the bunker once again. The only movement was the light of the flame from the candle that danced upon the walls. There was no one to see Lee Hickey peering out from the crack in his own door. Olivia and Rowan certainly weren’t aware they were being watched.
Lee emerged from his room. His footsteps were slow, though not light. He had no intention of creeping through the shadows to figure out what the two were doing. But at the same time he couldn’t keep away. If Olivia needed him, he would be there. He just wanted to make himself readily available should she call for him. There was something about that Rowan guy Lee didn’t trust. But he trusted Olivia, and so he waited on the couch in the low light of the flame.
As time drifted slowly by, Lee fought to keep his eyes open. His head lulled to the side and woke him up, his head bobbing back upright. He looked around and saw that everything was still dark, still silent. If he had fallen asleep it must not have been for long. He shifted his massive frame to lean into the cushions of the old couch, this time already deciding not to fight the urge to close his eyes and get some rest.
“No!” someone shouted in anger.
Lee’s eyes popped open. The muscles in his body went rigid as he perked upright like a cat listening for its prey to make a move.
Silence.
Did he imagine it? Was it the beginnings of another horrible dream about his wife? He couldn’t be sure. It sounded real, but then again the mind plays tricks when it’s caught between sleep and awake. He closed his eyes again.
“I said no!”
That time there was no mistaking it. It was Olivia’s voice and she must have been yelling pretty loudly to be heard through the thick door. She was in trouble. Lee shot up from the couch, hopped over the back and raced to Olivia’s door, throwing it open without stopping.
“What the—?” Olivia sat up on the bed, pulling the wool blanket up over her bare chest.
Lee stood frozen in the doorway, his eyes fixated on Rowan laying on top of Olivia; his shirt off, his belt and pants undone, his arms confining her on either side. Heat rushed upward inside Lee, making him feel lightheaded.
“Lee! What the heck?” Olivia started, but Lee couldn’t hear her.
He stomped forward, the muscles in his body constricted to the point of hurting. The vein in his neck bulged with the pounding of his racing heart.
“Hey, man, we were just—”
But Rowan was cut off by the slamming of Lee’s fist in his mouth. The young man fell to the floor, blood flowing from his lip.
“Lee!” Olivia screamed, covering herself even more as she moved to the edge of the bed.
Rowan scrambled to his feet when he saw Lee had not given up on coming after him. Before he could find traction with his feet, he was shoved hard into the wall. His head hit the concrete, sending a searing pain down his neck and through his shoulders. He groaned loudly. His fingers touched his temple lightly. There was blood.
“LEE, STOP!” Olivia shrieked.
Rowan knew he was coming for more, but his body wouldn’t move, wouldn’t make any attempt to defend itself, except to raise his arms in front of his face.
Lee grabbed Rowan’s head in one of his large hands and slammed it into the wall where it’d hit before.
Tears streamed down Olivia’s face as she burst into tears. She jumped off the bed, not caring if she was naked from the waist up and grabbed at Lee’s arm to pull him away. It was useless. Even with the weight of her pulling against him, his arms shoved forward over and over again to smash Rowan’s face. The once grey wall was now streaked with dark red.
“STOP! YOU’RE KILLING HIM!”
Others rushed into the room, grabbing onto Lee to restrain him. It took four men to pull him off. Rowan’s body crumpled to the floor in a heap. Olivia rushed to his side and knelt over him. Afraid to touch him, she sobbed over his face, which was beaten beyond recognition.
Lee struggled against the men holding onto him. His chest heaved as his heart threatened to burst forth from it. The room was dark, but all he could see was red. What had he done? Why had he done that? What possessed him? What would happen now? Finally, he stopped struggling against the men who held his arms.
What have I done?
They pulled him from the room and sat him down on the musty couch, the same couch he’d been drifting off to sleep peacefully on only moments ago. He he
ard the screaming cries from Olivia as they wrapped her in a blanket and took her from the room. By then, everyone was awake and had gathered outside to see what was going on. The gasps, groans, and screams filled the silence, penetrating Lee’s mind with horrifying images of what he’d just done. A young girl, no older than two, wailed in Luke’s arms as he looked on in horror.
An older woman named Hattie wrapped an arm around Olivia and guided her gently to her own room across the common room. She handed the girl a glass of water and knelt before her, whispering something, something to calm her Lee assumed. Olivia sat on the bed, unable to drink the water. The tears refused to quit their unending flow down her face. An overwhelming fear that Olivia would drowned in them started to overtake him, but that wasn’t right. People didn’t drown in their own tears. Not really. Lee wondered what was happening to him, if he was going crazy. If he had finally cracked under the pressure of the new world.
Soon, there were shouts for towels, water, the medical kits, and anything else that would be useful in keeping Rowan alive. Lee hung his head, resting his elbows on his knees to stare at the dirt ground. No one was paying him any mind at the moment. Instead, they were rushing to save Rowan. The ones that didn’t know how to help the young man looked on at Lee with fear in their eyes.
Lee was sure he looked like a monster to them. He sure felt like one inside; an uncontrollable beast.
Two familiar feet settled into his view in the dirt. “Lee, brother…what happened?”
The Irishman looked up to see Mac standing there, hands tucked into his pockets, his face drawn down in concern. There was no fear in his dark eyes, only sadness and worry.
“I don’t know,” Lee said in return.
Lee looked through the open door to Olivia sitting on the bed. She looked so frail wrapped in a wool blanket, shaking like a leaf with blood smeared on her hands. Unexpectedly, Lee’s vision jolted and everything changed. He saw his beautiful wife lying still on the kitchen floor, her body ripped open by the prying fingers of her diseased parents. He couldn’t save her from the pain and agony, her miserable lonely death, or the death of their unborn child. Again his vision jumped, and he was back on the couch, tears welling in his eyes.
Dead Soil (Book 2): Dead Road Page 19