“It’s about fifty feet tall,” Chris told them. “It varies in height in spots because of the quality of the building materials and the stability of the ground and everything, but for the most part, it averages around fifty feet tall all the way across. Two hundred yards in front of the Wall on this side, every tree, bush, building, whatever has been completely cleared out. Even the grass has been dug up and razed, and they’ve sprayed pesticides to keep all plant life dead.”
“Why would they do that?” Kimberly asked.
“Can’t have trees and tall grass hiding the infected,” Ethan answered for Chris. He looked at the soldier and prompted, “What else?”
“Not much else, man,” Chris replied. “Except for the fact that if you step into the two hundred yard no fly zone, you’ll get your head shot off by a sniper on the Wall.”
“Well, fuck,” Ethan muttered. “You couldn’t have mentioned that sooner? And don’t tell me it wasn’t relevant.”
“Wasn’t going to say it wasn’t relevant,” Chris argued. “Just that it didn’t initially cross my mind because I’ve never been on this side of the Wall before, so it’s never come up.”
“Never come up,” Ethan muttered, scrubbing his hand through his hair. “Fine, I’ll pretend like I believe that. What are the chances we’ll be able to get someone to listen to us without shooting us on sight?”
“I…honestly have no idea,” Chris confessed. “Once again, it’s something that’s never come up. We were always told that everyone behind the Wall was infected with the virus and contagious. The thought of someone walking up to the Wall and wanting to have a chat with someone there was inconceivable, so there were never any protocols written for that kind of thing.”
“I’m so sick of words like ‘protocols,’” Kimberly said. “I got enough of that shit from Alicia, and now I get to hear more of it? Great.”
“It’s the military,” Ethan replied. “What else do you expect?” He turned his focus back to Chris, who stared down the road with a blank look on his face. “What else do you think is important that we know that’s never come up before?”
“I think that’s all I can tell you,” Chris said. “The little I know is piecemeal. Which is probably still more than what conscripts know.”
“Conscript?” Kimberly repeated.
“Yeah, the draft is back in force,” he said. “They made us all register for it, good and proper, alongside the other guys who registered in the past. Except this time, they made the women register too. Unless you have religious, physical, or mental reasons for not being able to be drafted, everyone gets to participate in the big clean up.” He shook his head. “Things are definitely not the way they were when I was growing up. I guess the threat of a total zombie apocalypse will do that to the world.”
“How did the rest of the world fare in all of this?” Ethan asked. “We’ve always thought that everybody was involved, that the whole world was affected by the virus, and we’re only just now learning that that apparently wasn’t true.”
“The southeastern United States was definitely the solitary passenger on the good ship SS Shitstorm,” Chris said. “There were very, very minor outbreaks, mostly around airports and some universities, and those got put down quickly. The world learned from what happened here. I think the key words now are ‘constant vigilance.’”
“What about civilian life?” Kimberly asked. “Is that still the same?”
“As can be expected, considering the changes,” Chris said. “I told you about the blood tests, but for the most part, everyone goes about their business. They spend time with friends, they go to the movies, they eat out at restaurants, all the stuff that typical life is like. It’s just that more of them do it while armed.”
“Sounds positively idyllic,” Ethan grumbled, thinking back on the trials and tribulations he and everyone he knew had been through for two years. The constant fear, the running, the hiding, the foraging, everything felt like it had been unnecessary. He shoved the bitterness aside. There was no point in dwelling on it right this second.
Kimberly tapped his arm to get his attention, and he slogged out of the bitter thoughts he’d been wallowing in to look at her. “I think I see a diesel truck up ahead,” she said, pointing down the road toward one of the many vehicles shoved along the shoulder.
“Can you tell how badly it’s banged up?”
“Not from this far away,” she said. “We’d have to get closer to check things out.”
Ethan looked at Chris. “You want to take the lead?” he asked, remembering what he’d promised Kimberly about including the man and not treating him so much like a prisoner.
“Sure,” Chris said. He held his hand out toward Ethan. “Can I have my rifle back?”
Ethan stared at him, trying to gauge the wisdom of handing Chris’s weapon back to him. Finally, he took the rifle off his shoulder, holding it in a two-handed grip across his torso. “Rules,” he said. “Number one, and the most important, if you see something, don’t automatically shoot it. At least give us the chance to check things out and see what it is and whether or not it actually deserves shooting.”
“Agreed,” Chris said. “No jumpy trigger fingers.”
“Number two, don’t shoot either one of us,” Ethan said. “Don’t shoot yourself, either.”
“What makes you think I would shoot myself?” Chris asked.
“You would be very surprised at what some people would feel themselves driven to at the sight of what we’ll probably face at multiple points on this trip,” Ethan said. “Shooting targets on a rifle range is a hell of a lot different from shooting people. And they are people. Never make the mistake of thinking of them as monsters. They aren’t. They’re just people, sick people, through no fault of their own. They should be pitied, not hated.”
Chris hesitated, and Ethan could understand why. It was hard to deal with being told something that ran counter to one’s training, just like it was hard to deal with learning that the world was far different than what he’d thought for two years, that the world had moved on without the southeast. The soldier nodded, slowly, as if he were coming to some sort of understanding.
Ethan extended his arms, holding out the rifle. Chris took it, running his hands along it caressingly. “What do you say we team up and try to save the world?”
Chapter 25
Remy remembered the way Brandt had gotten them into the Tabernacle the year before, their mad, awkward scramble up and over the dumpster with Cade’s mostly unconscious body and the sheer relief she felt once they’d made it inside the darkened building. They’d taken the same path into the building this time, though she didn’t feel the relief that she’d felt before. This time she felt sheer terror and fear.
Dominic was still out there, and he had no idea how to get in here with them. What if he got killed trying to find the entrance? What if he never actually made it to the Tabernacle? Remy didn’t know if she could handle that. The thought made her want to vomit.
“Can I please go out and look for them?” she asked, her voice echoing in the cavernous main room filled with folding tables and chairs and scattered papers. They’d already searched the premises for impending danger, and once they’d discovered they were safe, Cade had dropped to the floor to start gathering the papers that had been left on the hardwood. That was where she was now, snatching up papers and stacking them haphazardly in a pile nearby, Jude and Keith doing the same on the other side of the room.
“Remy, I need you here,” Cade answered, her words directed towards the floor.
“What for?” Remy demanded. “It’s not like I’m doing anything.”
“Then get busy doing something,” Cade snapped back.
“This is so fucked up,” Remy grumbled. She snatched up a token sheet of paper and slammed it onto one of the folding tables. The slap of her palm against the tabletop echoed throughout the room. “You’re just going to leave them out there?”
“No, I’m not,” Cade said. “Do
minic is a very capable man. They’ll be fine and—”
Remy slammed her hand against the table again. “You don’t know that,” she said. “They might need our help! Ask Jude how he feels about this. His sister is out there!”
“What do you care?” Cade shot back. “You’ve never cared about anybody but yourself!”
“That’s not true!”
“That most certainly is true,” Cade said, rising from the floor to face Remy head on. “Why are you even here? It’s not like you give a shit about Brandt!”
“What the fuck, Cade?” Remy demanded.
Keith approached, stepping between the two women before either one of them could resort to blows.
“Ladies, cut it out,” he ordered. “You too, Cade,” he added when she opened her mouth to say something. “We’ve got more important shit going on. Stop bitching at each other. Cade, why don’t you let Remy go outside and wait on top of the dumpster? She’s not being of any use in here, and we could probably use a lookout.” Remy glared at him, and he held his hands up defensively. “What? I’m on your side here!”
Remy spun on her heel, snatched her backpack up from where she’d left it on the floor nearby, and stormed toward the exit they’d come in through with every intention of doing exactly what Keith had suggested.
“I’m sorry. I’m just so on edge,” Cade said to Keith.
Remy paused outside the door to draw in a deep breath of the shockingly clean air, trying to steady herself. Cade wasn’t the only one on edge. She made her way to the dumpster they’d climbed to get inside the fence that surrounded the building. She settled down on the dumpster’s cold steel lid, tucking her feet underneath her and leaning back against the fencepost, staring at the street beyond the Tabernacle.
The circular tower of the Westin loomed over everything like a behemoth. It looked so dark, so threatening, even in the daylight that reflected off its remaining windows. It was in that building that her life had so irrevocably changed, that she’d felt the pain of teeth sinking into her arm and the jab of needles when Ethan had dosed her with the medication to prevent her from turning. It was in that building that Ethan himself had turned and attacked her, destroying in that one instant any love and positive feeling she’d had for him.
Perhaps she hadn’t truly loved him if her feelings could be changed so easily?
The thought was a revelation, hitting her with the ferocity of a lightning bolt to the chest. She hadn’t ever loved him, at least not like that. Sure, she’d loved him like a friend, and she’d even been attracted to him. Who wouldn’t be drawn to his vivid green eyes, dark blond hair, and the sardonic way he smiled at the world? But, as multiple women’s magazines would have told anybody who’d picked them up before the world fell apart, physical attraction didn’t equal love.
Remy tried to shake loose from those depressing thoughts and focus instead on what was in front of her, watching for Sadie and Dominic. When the mental image of Dominic crossed her mind, her attention turned fully onto him instead of her job.
Now that was an attractive man. Remy hadn’t seen it before, not when they’d first met, when Dominic had been part of Alicia’s crew and had broken into their safe house and kidnapped Cade. She’d shot him then, a near-perfect bullet plugged right into his shoulder. Unfortunately, it hadn’t been where she’d actually aimed at—she’d been aiming for his head—but that had worked out in the end. He turned out to be a damn good ally despite that and despite the near constant animosity he’d gotten from the survivors from Atlanta that they’d gathered in Woodside. Remy had to admit that he was a better person than she was; she didn’t know that she would have been able to tolerate the looks of hatred and bitterness lobbed at him daily. She would have left long before all that had started.
Not that she’d had a choice in whether or not to leave. Derek had refused to give her the cure like he’d given Ethan. He’d kept putting it off, giving her excuse after excuse, until she hadn’t been able to take it anymore.
She looked down at her hands resting against her thighs and flexed them, curling and uncurling her fingers. She still didn’t understand what had happened to her, why she appeared to be invincible to the infected. It terrified and enthralled her at the same time, and she itched to test her limits with them, to see how far she could go before they tried to kill her.
As if on cue, a single infected woman stumbled out from behind one of the Army Humvees abandoned in the parking lot beside the Tabernacle. Remy sat up straighter, looking her over with naked curiosity. She looked like she was in her early twenties, dark haired, wearing a thin tank top and jeans that were tattered with wear and tear, a variety of tattoos covering her visible skin. Her earlobes had been stretched, and one of them had a large black plug in it. The other was ripped through, like someone had tried to fight her off and had snagged the piece of jewelry and torn it out. There was a small piercing in her eyebrow too, and another tiny jewel in her nose. She looked like she’d been at a concert when the virus had claimed her, and Remy imagined the chaos that had ensued at venues like that, when the virus had broken out in the general admission, standing room only places and torn through the mosh pits like a knife through tissue paper. She shuddered, glad that she hadn’t been at a concert herself when the virus had gotten to New Orleans.
No, you were just in jail is all, her brain reminded her, and she mentally ran from the thought as quickly as she could. She shoved herself into a standing position on the dumpster and walked to the edge closest to the parking lot, leaving the gate behind her open so she could get away from the infected woman quickly if it came to that. It was about time she started testing her limits. In the middle of a fight wouldn’t be the ideal time to find out that her apparent power and control over the infected petered out the more there were around her.
The infected barely noticed Remy as she moved to the edge of the dumpster and stood there, staring down at the dirty, tattered woman. On impulse, Remy reached for her sheathed bolo knife, but she stopped herself as her fingers brushed the hilt. She didn’t need the knife, she reminded herself. She was, by all appearances, immune.
Remy took a deep breath and sat on the edge of the dumpster, then slid to the ground. Her tennis shoes barely made a sound when they met the pavement. The infected woman immediately drew to attention, stumbling around to look at her, shuffling with the weariness of someone who’d walked long, hard miles and was exhausted. Remy could sympathize.
The woman staggered toward her, a look of obvious hunger on her face, then stopped short when she got within arm’s reach of Remy, a note of confusion creeping over her face. She reached out, her arm wavering in the air between them, and Remy fought the urge to take a step back as old impulses fought for control. She wrinkled her nose at the smell coming off of her, invading her senses.
The woman stank. There was no other word for it. The odor coming off her was of unwashed bodies, sweat, dried blood, vomit, feces, and urine, all mixed into a perfect perfume that could probably be called Eau de Disgusting. On closer inspection, she looked like she had two years’ worth of rankness collected on her skin, clothes, and in her hair. It was enough to make the strongest stomach yak.
Remy pressed her wrist against her nose to block the smell and breathed through her mouth. She took a cautious step toward the infected woman, her curiosity overcoming her normal aversion to the infected. The woman stared at her as she moved closer, and she lifted her dirty, desiccated hand again. This time, Remy didn’t back away and the woman’s fingers brushed against her shirt. She managed to stay still for almost twenty seconds while the sick woman edged closer and closer to her, and then she backpedaled away from her, her instincts taking over. Controlled by her animal brain, Remy drew her bolo knife and raised it in a sharp swing, embedding it into her neck. The blade ate through the thin neck, cleaving into the muscle and veins and tearing down to the spine, where the edge of the blade stopped, unable to go any further. She wrenched the blade free. Blood splattered on the pavem
ent and down the front of the woman’s shirt, and Remy felt an unexpected pang of regret at what she’d done.
The dead woman stumbled closer to her, her hands grasping at Remy’s shirt like she was begging with her. She looked into the dead eyes and imagined she saw horror and pleading inside them. Seemingly of its own accord, Remy’s hand raised the bolo knife and struck again, slicing the rest of the way through the neck, severing the spinal cord. The now truly dead woman collapsed to the pavement bonelessly, lying in a heap at Remy’s feet, her head rolling to rest several feet away.
“Oh God,” Remy breathed. Her hand went slack, and the knife tumbled from her grip to the pavement with a soft clang. She staggered backwards, bumping into the dumpster and sagging against it. She slid to the ground, balancing on the balls of her feet, grasping her head with her hands. “Oh my God, what did I do that for?” she asked out loud, her voice sounding stuffy to her ears, like she was fighting to not cry. She sat up straight, banging her head against the dumpster. “Why am I even upset about this? It’s just a fucking infected woman.” She had an impulse to stick her foot out and kick the body. Another impulse to not harm the infected warred against it. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes hard enough that she saw stars, and she blew out a slow breath.
“What the hell is wrong with me?” She shook her head, attempting to shuck the foreign thoughts from her mind. This was so unlike her, to feel anything resembling pity for the infected.
She tried to distract herself from those thoughts and focused on her surroundings. She was supposed to be watching out for Dominic and Sadie’s return, and instead, she was out here having a meltdown. She scooped her bolo knife up from the pavement, took a rag out of her back pocket, carefully cleaned the blade, and returned it to its sheath. Taking a second to make sure she still had all of her belongings, she chose one of the large military trucks parked in the small parking lot alongside the building and went to it, hopping up onto the step by the passenger door and grasping for hand and footholds to climb up on top of it. It was exhausting work at first, but as she scrambled onto the edge of the opened passenger window’s frame, she felt herself getting into the groove of climbing until she stood on the roof of the cab, the cool mid-morning breeze ruffling her hair. She squinted into the brightening sunlight, her dark eyes scanning the street for any sign of her two remaining companions.
The Becoming: Redemption (The Becoming Series Book 5) Page 15