by Sean Platt
Episode 4
CHAPTER 22—ADAM LOVECRAFT
Adam fell hard to the ground, hands flying to his nose, screaming as he tried to stop blood gushing between his splayed fingers.
“Come on!” One of the men grabbed him roughly by the back of his jumpsuit and dragged him from the building. He dropped Adam to the icy ground and landed a devastating kick to the young man’s soft middle.
Adam scrambled for his blaster, but he couldn’t see where it had fallen with all the red blurring his eyes.
“Should we look for the one that escaped?”
Adam blinked toward the gravelly voice as he tried to recover. It belonged to a pug of a man, waving a long blade he clearly wanted to use to catch and cut the freed girl.
“No,” said Black Hat. “We don’t need ’er. We’ve got a replacement.”
“What?” Adam gasped, a second before he took a second kick to the ribs.
“You heard him.” Pug yanked Adam up to his unsteady feet before throwing him back to the ground just behind the horses. Pug leaned in and pressed his gun barrel into Adam’s temple.
“Careful,” a gray-bearded man said to Pug. “He looks like a wily one—might want to watch your hands.”
Gray Beard nodded toward Pug’s full mitts, one holding the sword, and the other freshly outfitted with a blaster.
Pug said, “He’ll be no trouble. If he is, I’ll cut him to pieces.”
Gray Beard grunted, then went to the coach, grabbed another chained collar, attached one end to the back of the carriage, and approached Adam.
Adam screamed, hoping to capture Colton’s attention—assuming his companion was still back in the building where Adam had left him before running off like a fool.
Pug put his blaster to Adam’s skull, holding him down as the other man opened the collar and lowered it onto his neck, laughing as he clamped it shut.
“Let me go!”
“Shut up,” Black Hat snarled, his whisper harsh. “You’ll attract the zombies!”
As if on cue, a wave of moaning rolled in from behind them. Adam turned and saw six zombies shuffling one by one from the building back close to where he’d left Colton. To his minor relief, they were the slow-moving sort, but they were still close enough that they could easily catch the group if the carriage didn’t get rolling.
“Uh-oh,” Black Hat said. “Looks like the show’s gonna start early.” He ran back to the coach and climbed back to his spot up top as the other men followed, all diving inside.
The woman Adam hadn’t set free wailed as the zombies approached, still 20 feet off but closing in quickly.
Adam scanned the snow, searching for something—anything—he might use as a weapon.
He saw only puddles and some debris awkwardly piled against the side of the building (which was impossible to reach anyway). He’d have to fight the undead barehanded.
The woman, still screaming, backed away from the approaching zombies. Adam balled his fists, heart racing, bracing body and mind for certain attack.
He thought through his training at City Watch, which involved precious little close-quarters combat and virtually no unarmed fighting. However, Adam had spent the past half dozen months in solitary confinement going over and over moves on his cell’s cold concrete floor until ducks and parries were automatic reflexes. Whether or not those moves would be effective . . .
The three zombies in front flailed with outstretched arms and tromped through the dirty snow directly toward the woman. Adam readied himself to kick at the closest monster’s knees. He’d deaden the undead’s legs, then kick its skull into mush once it had fallen.
Just as the first zombie was about to make its move, though, it fell back, covering its ears as if in excruciating pain, shrieking an unholy cry like an animal trapped. The zombies just behind and beside it did the same thing. The swarm receded like a wave from the shore, all six zombies backing away from the still-screaming woman.
What the hell?
Adam turned and saw Black Hat half grinning, holding a small red cylinder high in the air. Whatever it was seemed to be emitting some sort of frequency—or something—that only the zombies could hear.
So that’s how they keep the zombies away.
Black Hat reached into his coat, retrieved his blaster, and hit three zombies in three shots, their rapidly disintegrating husks dropping to the ground. The second row of zombies were still backing up, shrieks growing louder as Black Hat fired another three shots. The undead fell into bloody chunks, plumes of steam rising from the snow.
Adam was impressed—and horrified—by Black Hat’s accuracy. He turned back to look up at the stagecoach.
Black Hat returned the blaster to his coat and looked down at Adam. “Don’t thank me just yet, kid.”
If he was going to die, Adam was determined to be brave on his way. He straightened his shoulders. “What do you mean by that?”
Black Hat chuckled, then turned, sat on the wooden bench, and snapped the reins to set the horses in motion.
Adam screamed from behind the stagecoach. “What do you want with us?”
The man ignored Adam as the horses began moving, the chain pulling taut and jerking Adam forward.
After the stagecoach had passed two alleyways and was slowly approaching a third filled with broken-down trucks lurking in open doorways into dozens of buildings likely teeming with zombies, the woman turned to Adam. Her eyes red and wet, she asked, “Why didn’t you set me free first?”
Without any idea what to say, Adam told her the truth.
“Because the other girl looked like my sister.” He forced himself to hold her gaze, instead of looking down. “I’m sorry, I thought I’d have more time.”
She scowled. “You done pissed them off.”
“Who are they?”
“I don’t know. They came up on us and killed the man we were teamed with, then they put us in chains and forced us to follow.”
“How long have you been chained up?”
“An hour before you came.”
“And you have no idea what they’re planning?”
“None, but whatever it is, it ain’t good.”
Adam stared at the back of Black Hat’s head.
No, it’s not.
He’d heard stories at City Watch about bandit slavers in The Barrens. He’d figured it was a myth, since the ones who told the stories had never seen it with their own eyes. Now, here in The Outback, being dragged behind a black-hatted devil, Adam wondered if the men were taking them as slaves to some godforsaken hell and if maybe death would be better.
He imagined the pug bastard trying to have his way with the woman . . . or with him. He looked like the type to rape slaves. And maybe eat them once finished.
He looked back again, hoping against hope that Colton had forgiven his reckless decision. But he saw no sign and after another minute of walking decided: death beats slavery.
CHAPTER 23—SUTHERLAND
Sutherland returned the knives and pliers to their box, one by one—partly because he preferred that his favorite tools always stay neat, and partly because he enjoyed the ritual of show, making each movement matter as the traitor stared captive from his chair.
Sutherland wondered how well Connor could see him, with blood filling both of his eyes and all that flesh around them so crimson and bloated. Probably not well, especially considering the excruciating pain he must be feeling, pain eating through his cells, into his brain . . .
He snapped the lid shut, thinking of Oswald. The doctor had never had a stomach for torture, either as participant or observer. Leadership wasn’t for the weak. Men in charge had to be capable of doing what others would not, including the extraction of the information needed for survival, the sort that would never be surrendered any other way.
And yet as he walked to the door without any parting words to the traitor, he wondered if Connor had really surrendered all there was. Maybe he would return later, to see if an evening alone with his pain mig
ht make him even more talkative.
Sutherland stepped out of the chamber and fell immediately back, startled, against the door he’d just closed behind himself.
He straightened his shoulders as the four men approached, feeling suddenly stupid for not having his sword. Something Gallus would do: an idiot’s move. Now that idiot, Gallus, was marching down the hallway with three men walking as guard. His gait, and the way he was looking directly at Sutherland like a child looking to unseat his older brother, gave him away. Gone was the subservient look Gallus usually wore. No, this was the look of a traitor about to betray the one man who could keep Hydrangea safe.
Sutherland squinted, trying to get a better look at the three men walking a slight step behind Gallus. No use—he couldn’t remember their names, no matter how hard he tried to dig back in his memory. Their hands brushed against their sidearms, almost caressing them as they walked. The three men drew, barrels leveled at Sutherland as he stepped toward them, then stopped just a few feet shy. Only Gallus held no weapon, and yet his betrayal was loudest of all.
“What’s going on here?” Sutherland demanded.
Gallus was trying not to blink or sweat, just as Sutherland knew he would try to speak without splinters in his voice. But Sutherland also knew that Gallus was only a kid and wore his gumption like another man’s hat. The harder Sutherland glared, the more difficult it would be for the turncoat to maintain his composure. Sutherland would snap the man like a twig, then throw him into the fire to burn. Once down, the other three would crumble like loosely packed dirt.
But Gallus’ voice didn’t crack. Almost booming he said, “You have violated Article 19 of The Patriot’s Constitution and are hereby under arrest.”
Sutherland laughed, trying not to bristle. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He tried to sound even, waving his hand at the three men and their silly guns. “And please, put those away. This entire place reeks of danger. Traitors are growing like weeds.”
Sutherland narrowed his eyes and peered at each man in turn, before settling on Gallus. “We must cease the mutiny before it occurs. Right now there’s still time for everyone to make the right decision. The decision that will keep you and your families safe.”
Without flinching Gallus said, “Under the law, I am acting leader until such time that a free election is held.”
It was one thing to be stupid, another to suffer such delusions of grandeur. If Sutherland didn’t feel the moment’s true danger, he might almost feel sorry for Gallus and his potentially fatal mistake. If Gallus was willing to back down now, Sutherland might spare his life.
“Enough,” Sutherland snapped. “This is stupid. All of it.”
He thrust out his arm, planning to grab a weapon from the closest soldier—what was his name?—but the guard flinched back and fixed his aim harder on Sutherland.
Sutherland looked at Gallus.
“Don’t do this.” Sutherland tried to keep his voice bold and not show any sign of weakness, let alone begging. “You’re making the worst mistake of your life. You know who I am, you know what I’m capable of.” He lowered his voice to a low murmur, almost a growl. “You know what I’ll do, to you and everyone else involved in this coup.”
Gallus turned to his left. The name Benson leapt into Sutherland’s head—perhaps that was the soldier’s name.
“Don’t you dare,” Sutherland snarled, taking a step back and hating everyone in the hall—himself most of all—for forcing his retreat,.
Sutherland opened his mouth to give Gallus one final warning, a chance to cease his stupidity and maybe save his pitifully insignificant life. But before Sutherland could form words, two of the three guards circled behind him while the third—and surliest looking of the three—raised his weapon to Sutherland’s forehead, silently daring him to move.
All four were fools to believe they could usurp him.
“You are a traitor, and you know what happens to traitors at Hydrangea.” Sutherland held his even tone, eyes still drilling into Gallus. “You will pay for this, boy.”
Gallus looked past Sutherland, toward the two guards behind him. “Take him into custody and free Connor Vinson,” he said, without the slightest quiver.
Sutherland allowed his hands to be shackled behind his back—no need to tussle with no chance of winning. Forced to surrender doesn’t mean done. Let Gallus have his little victory. He’d be less prepared when Sutherland sprang into action.
Yet Sutherland couldn’t resist one last dig at the traitor. Softly, almost sweetly, he purred, “I am going to slowly peel the skin from your body, everywhere but your face. That I’ll save for last. Oh, the fun I will have.”
“Our options are clear, gentlemen,” Gallus said, turning from Sutherland. “If he violates any of our laws as we see them, pull the trigger and shoot him dead.”
CHAPTER 24—ANA LOVECRAFT
Ana sat on Dr. Oswald’s examination table. His office was in a secure section of The Station, several tunnels down from the living quarters. She looked around, surprised at how much the room resembled a City 6 doctor’s office, clean and sterile. She wondered if Egan had been able to smuggle medical equipment from one of The Cities or if the old train station had been built with a doctor’s office inside it.
So far, Oswald’s office—and the long hallway leading to it—was all she’d seen of this sector, which was sealed off by a barricade and two guards who had apparently forgotten how to smile. The hall sprawled for some distance leading into darkened corridors where Oswald said he’d conducted experiments on infected subjects found in The Barrens. Ana felt a slithering chill at the thought of being so close to infected subjects—and perhaps to already-turned zombies.
Somewhere deep inside—likely in cells forever altered by the virus—Ana could still feel when the undead were near. She could feel it now, an anxious patter of her heart that swore something wasn’t right. The hammering thud tightened her chest and made her feel like she was sweating more than her clammy brow suggested.
She wasn’t sure if her reaction was to Oswald, who himself had partly turned zombie before arresting his transformation with the robotic enhancements; if it was her brain messing with her because Oswald had informed her of the infected down the hall; or if she truly felt them nearby.
Oswald went to the adjoining room to check on something, leaving Ana to nurse her rising anxiety. She closed her eyes and tried to think only calming thoughts. But closing her eyes brought visions of zombies: chomping through the guards at the checkpoint, then snarling on their way toward the living quarters, feasting on the men, women, and children who lived here until there was no one left.
Perhaps even worse than the thought of zombies rampaging through the tunnels would be for the virus itself to seep into the population and spread like the filthy disease that it was. A disease that had wiped out most of humanity so many years ago. A disease seemingly eager to finish the job.
And for all The Station’s precautions, Egan was still undermining his people’s safety by not quarantining Calla in the secure area with the rest of the infected. If the girl began to turn before someone noticed, she could make The Station a memory.
Oswald stepped into the room and looked at her oddly. “Are you OK?”
“I just feel really nervous,” Ana admitted. “My heart won’t stop racing.” She paused, swallowed, then went ahead and asked what she didn’t want to. “Are there zombies nearby?”
Oswald looked at her, something playing at the corner of his mouth, a decayed eyebrow slightly raised. “You can sense them?”
“Yes.” Ana nodded, now meeting Oswald’s eyes. “Ever since I was bitten. I can feel them when they’re close.”
“Me too,” he said. “There are zombies topside, roaming The Barrens. I feel them all the time. But at the moment, we’ve only one subject, infected but not yet turned.”
“How close are you to finding a cure? Be honest. I want to know how long Egan plans to keep me prisoner.”
She knew the w
ord prisoner sounded ugly, but Ana said it anyway. The doctor sighed, not correcting her.
“I can’t say for certain. We’re taking it day by day, but without more human subjects, it’s difficult. Believe me, no one’s more motivated than Egan to find a cure. It’s his daughter’s life on the line.”
“I know,” Ana said, conflicted. “How is Calla doing? How long do you think she has?”
“I can’t say.”
Ana looked at Oswald’s robotic hand and half-metal face, suddenly getting an idea. “If she does get worse, can’t you replace her limbs with bionic parts, like you did with yourself?”
“I didn’t operate on myself. I had others, trained surgeons, to help me. We don’t have the staff here, let alone access to the parts or equipment required. Besides, in most cases, the virus infects the brain early on, which would render any attempts to salvage limbs pointless. While much of my body had atrophied, the infection hadn’t affected my brain. The odds of that being the case with anyone else, especially Calla, are statistically impossible. I think I can keep the virus at bay a while longer. Maybe as long as six months or with luck even a year. But I hope your blood will be the key to a cure before that.”
Ana hoped that was the case: she didn’t think she could stay in The Station another year—not without her brother and Liam or something to make the tunnels feel like her home.
Oswald asked Ana to roll up the sleeve on her blue tunic.
She turned away as he moved the needle closer to her arm. Ana had never been particularly afraid of needles but couldn’t stand to watch as they punctured her skin. She waited patiently as Oswald filled four vials, then placed a small bandage on her arm. The doctor thanked her and carried his tray of vials through a large sliding metal door, beyond which she saw a room full of coolers.
She sat in silence, wondering how Liam was doing. Wondering if he’d found Adam. Earlier, Egan had offered her access to a monitor—one of the screens he didn’t allow The Station’s residents to watch for fear of exposing them to State propaganda. He told Ana that she could watch The Games to see how her brother was faring. She’d thanked him, but had said no, unable to bear the thought of seeing Adam while she herself was helpless to do anything to save him. That would make her feel more like a prisoner than she already felt. Instead she asked that he let her know if anything happened. Neither had to say what she meant by anything.