Betrayal

by Michael S. Gardner

  With a sigh, he set his feet on the floor, placed his elbows on his kneecaps, and buried his face in clammy hands. Each breath came out with a wheeze.

  “Muerto que anda,” he muttered, feeling the life drain out of him as each second passed.

  He thought of Kimberly. Mi amor.

  Oh how he’d wanted nothing more than to take the sisters far away from this shambling outpost on the verge of imploding. To take them out in the world and let them explore what beauty remained while they still could. Now, though, he knew his role would be played by observing them from the next life.

  His sickness had spread too far and too fast. Life had seen fit to take him from the one he loved before he could truly explain how he felt about her.

  He stood, and it felt like the floor had been pulled from beneath him. Catching his balance on Carol’s desk, he noticed his nine millimeter staring back at him. Rafael eyed it, hated it, but knew that it was his one and only peaceful escape. His last gift to young Kimberly.

  The gun felt like an anchor. He pulled and pulled until finally it came into his grip.

  “I’ll not let myself become one of them, my love.”

  He set the barrel against his temple, feeling the life being pulled from him in terrible increments by the sickness, and squeezed the trigger.

  Rafael dropped as he received a click from the firing pin. The empty pistol clattered across the hardwood floor and came to a stop under the cot on which he’d been sleeping. The head of security, the one man in the godforsaken place that actually cared about Kimberly and her sister, drew his last breath knowing what he’d become.

  ***

  “I’ve got Denise Richards,” Jared said, sighting a once beautiful and busty dirty blonde in his crosshairs. Her arms were outstretched, her hands scratching and scraping at the brick wall. Her clacking teeth and vacant eyes were almost humorous from the roof. Holding his breath, he dragged his index finger across the trigger and gently squeezed. Denise’s head jerked back and she fell with the mass of the horde gathering around the store.

  The hollers and moans crept up the wall like a swarm of spiders, and the collective of bashing reverberated up. For a brief moment, the walls appeared like Jell-O; waves of brick bounced and receded. Jared wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his jacket and targeted a half-naked, rotund woman. Her wrinkly tits hung on the hump of her moldy stomach. He tried to take his eyes off her bloated nipples, but they were like the eyes of a hypnotist; he was briefly transfixed by their drooping gaze.

  “We ain’t got all day,” said Trevor from beside him.

  Jared shook himself out his trance, focused on the bitch’s one good eye, and fired. She staggered back and fell on two of the dead, effectively reducing their rotting bodies to mush.

  Trevor slapped in a fresh mag, chambered a round, and took ten well-placed shots.

  “Wooh!” He rested his rifle on the roof. Turning to Jared, he said, “You see that? Man, if those jarheads woulda just taken their time, they might still be alive.”

  Jared scowled, and Trevor raised his hands.

  “Take it easy, bud,” said Trevor. “Enjoy it while you can. Another twenty minutes or so and the streets’ll be clear.”

  “Whatever you say, man.”

  Jared took aim at someone who had a faint resemblance to Mark, the lost survivor.

  ***

  The dead woman pushed her arms out as far as they could go and pulled at the air. Gunnery Sergeant Bell added to the imagery by puffing on his cigar and blowing smoke in front of him. The woman appeared as if she were jumping out of the darkness as tendrils of polluted mist rose above her. She wriggled and fought with the big man’s grip, moaning and swiping in Mark’s direction.

  Mark felt his neck tighten and his heart trying to punch through his ribcage. “What the hell are you doing with… with that—”

  A slight pinch on his arm brought his eyes from the dead woman to the doctor, who had just stuck another needle in Mark’s arm.

  “Calm down,” said the doctor. He looked past Mark and nodded.

  “No, wait,” Mark said as Bell lowered the woman onto him.

  Her hands tightened around his shoulders and he let out a scream as her teeth clamped down on his neck and pulled free a slab of flesh. He heard more than felt the skin peeling away. Crimson burst from the wound and formed sleek rivers that bled down from his neck to his chest.

  “What the,” he screeched, feeling his entire body warm up.

  “Don’t worry,” said the doctor. “When you wake up, everything will be much better.”

  Mark’s neck went slack, his head lolled to the side. The doctor was smiling as he depressed the plunger of the needle down. An even more fiery feeling washed over his body.

  “Close your eyes, Mark.” The doctor slid his glasses up his nose. “You have nothing left to worry about.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Chandler Briggs, an ex-convict jailed for killing his wife and the piece of shit that was fucking her behind his back, crumpled the empty pack of cigarettes in his hand and tossed them. Taking one last drag from the smoke between his lips, he exhaled and leaned back against the door to Carol Beswith’s office. He dropped the butt and put it out with the tip of his boot.

  Never bet on red, he thought, remembering the last breath as it escaped that whore’s mouth as he choked her into the next life. His lips arced into a slight grin as he looked down the hall. Still, years after his passing, the farm home’s builder had his pictures hung on the dreadful, peeling, maroon and white wallpaper. Chandler wondered what good ol’ Jonah Swanson would think about having a criminal roam the halls where he’d built a life for his family.

  Oh, but neither Carol nor any of the other colonists knew the truth. They’d likely throw his two-hundred-and-fifty-pound ass over the walls if they found out what he’d done. Instead, much to his liking, they had made him a security watchman after only having been in this hellhole for a week. And the best part was that he was the person to take care of the killers, the rapists, and the thieves. There was no jail in the Colony. No, that would mean a use of precious resources that they’d never had. Rather than a judge and jury, the Colony only had Carol, Raphael, and him to answer to. And when your sentence was carried out, it typically meant banishment.

  Chandler couldn’t count how many times he’d watched the scum of the earth, people much worse than he could ever have been, beg and plead to stay within the confines of this fine establishment. But once the gates were open, there was no coming back. There was only the deadlands.

  With his position came a rightful feeling of power, and he never looked back. Not once. Fate had seemed fit with giving the man a second chance. After the jail pigs decided to bail, setting free every prisoner on their way out, he’d realized this wondrous truth.

  Walking up to one of the pictures and studying a smiling family, his lungs tingled. Chandler sighed. There were no more smokes located anywhere inside the Colony; his last pack had been from Bell’s personal stash. Hopefully Spence and the others—

  A crash from Carol’s office set his eyes on the door.

  “Raff?” he said, gingerly taking a few steps toward the door.

  Receiving no answer, he leaned forward and knocked three times. Fearing the worst, Chandler wrapped his hands around the knob and slowly pulled open the door.

  ***

  “Over here, Alicia,” Kimberly said, tugging on her sister’s arm.

  Alicia had no idea where they were going, but she found herself quite scared traversing the shadows.

  Kimberly stopped them when they arrived at the fringe of the north wall. The two-story home in which all the leaders lived had only one window that was lit. Alicia focused on it as her sister told her to stay put and keep quiet. She wondered why the house was so dark. Maybe it had to do with all those people crowding at the detached garage. Was something wrong? The people, around this time at night, were usually hanging out in the slums, talking and arguing with one a
nother. Sometimes fighting until one of the security guards broke it up.

  A chill ran down her spine when she turned to see Kimberly approaching the security guard monitoring the two buses. Something was indeed odd about this particular night in the Colony. Alicia placed her arms around her shoulders and hoped Kimberly knew what she was doing.

  ***

  Mark came to and shielded his eyes from a blinding light.

  Payton’s laugh echoed off the hollowed-out space that might have once been a patient’s room.

  Squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing them with his fists, Mark sat up. His chest felt tight and he coughed.

  “Don’t worry,” Payton’s voice said from somewhere nearby. “Just cough it all out and you’ll feel like a new man.”

  Mark, with his eyes still closed, heaved and hacked until a slimy mass shot out from his throat and splattered on the floor. He sucked in a breath and tilted his head back.

  “Before you open your eyes, Goodman,” said Payton, “you should turn around.”

  A hand blanketed Mark’s shoulder and helped him to his feet. Mark, still unsure of where he was and what exactly had happened, fell to his knees heaved until more of the maddening substance spewed out of his mouth. He opened his eyes and, this time, wasn’t met with burning light. Instead, he saw a dull white wall filled with medical trinkets and a bed to his right.

  The image of that rotting thing taking a bite out of him and the smiling doctor injecting him with… something came forth. Mark immediately threw his arm to his neck and felt his fingers run across a jagged gash.

  Odd, he thought. Why the hell doesn’t it hurt? And why the hell am I still alive? He looked up to see Payton staring down at him. The man had a strange blue-orange aura around him, and his eyes… they were no longer orange; they appeared the same steely blue as when the man had left the Colony a week ago.

  “What… What the hell did you assholes do to me, man?”

  Payton grinned as he extended his hand. “Come with me. I’ll take you to the Doc so that he can explain everything. It’s a bit much to hear for the first time, and I figure it’d be best to hear it from the person who not only did this to you, but to us. All of us.”

  As the Corporal opened the door to the hospital rooms, Mark furrowed his brow. “All of us?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Jensen Holloway was a small man, maybe in his late thirties, with a widow’s peak, a repulsively flat nose, and was missing more teeth than Kimberly wanted to count. He had, for the last month or so, been coming onto her so strongly that on more than one occasion Kimberly had feared for her safety. Thankfully, a little over a week ago, Raff had put him in his place with a few fists and a stern warning. She saw the devil in Jensen’s eyes that day, and he’d yet to speak a lick to her since.

  Now, however, it was his turn to have some fun with the teenager.

  Kimberly strode up to him and he tilted his head. She noticed his lips were flustering. She stepped up to face him and batted her eyes. “Hi,” she said.

  “The hell do you want?” Jensen spat behind him.

  “To talk.”

  “‘Bout what?”

  Kimberly put her arms behind her back, lowered her head, and kicked softly at the ground. “About what happened the other day,” she finally answered as she looked up to him.

  Jensen took a step back and surveyed the yard. Was it possible he was waiting for Rafael to pounce on him from some spot out of sight? He sure looked around like the head of security was lurking about. Did he not know that Rafael had come down with the sickness?

  “Heard your boyfriend’s sick,” he said, laying his eyes upon hers.

  Kimberly nodded and lowered her head. “He is… and I heard what he did to you.”

  Rubbing his jaw, as if the mere mention of the assault brought a spike of pain, Jensen waited for her to continue.

  “I-I told him to just leave you alone.” Kimberly lowered her head once more, knowing that the next words spoken were going to be a lie, possibly even a blemish on what she and Raff had, but Alicia needed her, needed something better than this. “He’s been real bossy as of late, and I just wanted him to calm down. I-I told him that I didn’t want to be with him anymore.”

  “That so?”

  Kimberly bit her lip. “Then he…” She nodded to him and blinked several times.

  Jensen spat again, and Kimberly hoped he couldn’t see the grimace on her face or feel the revulsion flowing within her.

  “So, why are you here?”

  Forcing away her hate for this despicable pervert, she took a step forward and put on her best fake smile.

  “I-I want to make things right.”

  The grin that formed on that bastard’s face was one she’d not soon forget.

  ***

  Mark found the doctor sitting in a leather office chair, staring out one of the windows in the maternity ward on the third floor, and he had that strange glow enveloping him as well. After leaving his patient room on the seventh floor, Corporal Payton had led Mark down through the stairwell to here. Some of the rooms they had passed contained the dead, housing them as if they were patients themselves. What concerned him the most, though, was the fact that the they regarded him as one of their own. No longer did they taunt him with their growls and snarls. They only eyed him as if they were lesser beings and he was some sort of divinity they now worshipped. When he’d mentioned something about this to Payton, the corporal only laughed it off and said that there was much more than meets the eye.

  The doctor shifted in his chair. “Have a seat, Mister Goodman.” To Payton, he said, “Has Bell briefed you of your upcoming mission?”

  “He has,” the corporal replied. “And I’m really looking forward to meeting up with an old friend.” Payton’s cracking knuckles accentuated his statement.

  Mark chewed it over for a moment. “Are you guys going after Trevor and the rest?”

  “That, my newfound friend, does not concern you,” the doctor said.

  Mark turned back to the doctor. “And why is that, exactly? Not to mention, what the fuck have you done to me, to the Sarge, and Payton?”

  The doctor dismissed Payton with a wave and glanced out the window.

  “To answer your first question, Mister Goodman, there are forces at work beyond your control—at least for now.” Before Mark could respond, he held up a hand. “As for what I have done to you and your friends. Well, to put it bluntly: I’ve infected you.”

  Gritting his teeth, Mark said, “I think that’s a little obvious, Doc. Don’t ya think?”

  The doc briefly chuckled. “You can call me Frank, Mister Goodman. Frank McQuade.”

  “All right, Frank, why don’t you tell me exactly what it is that you did to me?”

  Frank leaned back in his seat, set his hands on his lap, and laced his fingers.

  Mark’s lips twitched as he waited for the answers he so desperately sought.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Jonathan followed Trevor and Jared through the night vision scope attached to the .243 rifle. The two men were taking their time wading through the piles of corpses strewn about the street, gingerly approaching a grocery store that, strangely enough, seemed unscathed from the exterior. Smears of blood could be seen through enhanced vision. The sight was maddening, and the mechanic was grateful that he’d drawn the shortest straw and was stuck up here doing recon.

  Though the last shot had been fired nearly an hour ago, his ears were still ringing something horrible. He looked to the walkie-talkie beside him and wondered if he could even hear Trevor if he called for him.

  At least we’ve got enough ammo to last us a while, he thought, looking back to the stockpile they’d found inside the pawn shop.

  Jonathan felt a pinch in his gut. Dinner wasn’t agreeing with him. He rubbed his tummy and grimaced.

  “Should have never mixed beans with mixed fruit.”

  He peered once more through the scope; Jared was entering the store, looking from side
to side. The streets were awash with death, and none of it appeared in motion. Swinging the rifle and scanning the perimeter, Jonathan confirmed that, at least for the moment, it would be safe for him to relieve himself. Luckily, the pawn shop had a bathroom connected to the manager’s office. He’d always wondered if places like these had such accommodations, and now that he was bounding down the steps, fearful that he might lose his load, he was grateful this place did.

  As he slammed open the entry, his eyes adjusting slightly to the darkness, Jonathan yanked down his pants and plopped down on the wintry ceramic.

  When his business was finished, he scanned the facilities until he found an unused roll of toilet paper under the sink to his left. Pulling up his pants, buttoning them and then the belt, Jonathan released a sigh of relief.

  “Glad to see you’re still doing what you do best, Redman,” said a hauntingly familiar voice from the doorway.

  Jonathan snapped his neck up to see the silhouette of a man and two brilliant orange orbs where his eyes should be. A third orange circle briefly lit up. The man let out an audible exhale, and through the darkness Jonathan could see the swirls of smoke as they fizzled away.

  ***

  Chandler approached Rafael with an air of caution, his hand on the trigger of his loaded pistol.

  “Raff,” he called out.

  The head of security was making his way to his feet, but details were washed away in the blackness of the room.

  “You all right, man?”

  Rafael grunted and, before the ex-con could react, lunged at him, swiping away his pistol and sinking his teeth into Chandler’s neck. Chandler’s scream was cut short as the head of security ripped free his Adam’s apple. Forcing himself away with a right hook that threw Rafael off balance, Chandler fell back, trying unsuccessfully to breathe. Covering the wound with his hand, knowing that it was a fruitless gesture, he closed his eyes as blood geysered forth with each frantic heartbeat.