Within These Walls: Series Box Set

by Tracey Ward

  “They were afraid,” Trent says quietly. “They didn’t know what to do, what to believe. The government had failed to protect them so they turned to another higher power. They turned to God. This doctor was promising them that God had chosen them to survive and it gave them hope so they ran with it.” He shakes his head sadly. “They just ran a little too far.”

  Sam nods in agreement, his anger fading. “Eventually everyone that was creeped out by the psycho got out. We formed a separate group and started looking for a new place to live. We needed a new Safe Zone. This island fit the bill.”

  “Weren’t there people already here?” I ask.

  “Yeah, lots. Luckily a lot of them were farmers that had been living and working here already. We came in, made a deal that we would help them clear it of the zombies if they helped us learn to live here.”

  “You people keep saying that,” I interrupt.

  Sam frowns. “Saying what?”

  “’Zombies’. That’s an old word isn’t it? From horror movies and mythology. I mean, I use it sometimes but almost everyone on the outside in the wild calls them Risen.”

  Sam chuckles. “Don’t let Taylor hear you say that. He already thinks you’re a Colonist and that’s their word. Westbrook came up with it. It’s biblical. Some kind of reference to Lazarus who was actually a good guy so I don’t get how it works, but that’s what the Colonists all call them. Risen.”

  Ryan glances at me. “What does Crenshaw call them? Devils?”

  “He makes me call them Wraiths.”

  He grins. “Nice. I like it.”

  Trent leans back in his seat, putting his book on a nearby table. “So your people came in and wiped out the zombies then that was it? You were just allowed to stay and live fat off the farmers work after that?”

  “No,” Sam replies, sounding offended. “We had a lot of really smart people with us in our group from Warm Springs. A lot of military from one of the outposts too. People who knew how to use water to make power and all that. People who knew how to fight. The farmers were happy to have us.”

  “Better you than the Colonists,” I say, trying to smooth over the feathers Trent ruffled.

  “Yeah,” Sam agrees. “Those people were glad to see us go. They thought that if we were willing to leave the Safe Zone, then we were just as damned as everyone else. They even tried to kill a few people before we got out. People that Westbrook said were tainted.”

  The door swings open, startling everyone. Stocky, or Taylor as Sam calls him, comes in with three plates carefully balanced in his arms. He nods to Sam.

  “You wanna open the door for me so I can pass them their dinner?”

  Sam jumps up. “You got it.”

  “It’s nothing special. Mashed potatoes, some pot roast, carrots,” he rattles off, looking right at me. “Couldn’t find filet mignon, sorry. And the house wine is water. You’ll find it on tap in the bathroom. Or the toilet, whichever you prefer.”

  “We’ll just have to make due, I suppose,” I tell him bitingly. “Hopefully the desert will make up for the dinner.”

  “I’ll see what I can find special, just for you.”

  “Joss,” Trent calls to me, “if he brings you anything chocolate, don’t eat it.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Trent.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  After that, after we eat and Taylor leaves us alone with Sam again with strict orders for quiet and lights out, we go to bed. Ryan pulls his mattress up close to the bed, positioning himself on the floor between me and the cage door. I don’t say anything when he does it. If it helps him sleep better, I want him to do it even if I don’t think I need protecting. Even if I don’t want to need it. I wait, lying perfectly still and silent, until I hear Ryan start to snore. It doesn’t take long. He’s had a long day. One I’m going to try my hardest to forget because despite what an impressive fighter he is, watching him in that arena was gruesome, morbid and terrifying. My heart has stopped and run faster than it ever should more times tonight than I want to think about. I also don’t want to think about what that means. That it’s all for him. That my heartbeats are tied to his, carried away and brought to a standstill by his actions. By his wellbeing. By his smiles.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Joss,” Ryan whispers sharply.

  Gentle hands shake me roughly.

  “Joss, wake up.”

  I pry my tired eyes open, trying to bring them to focus. To make sense of the Ryan shaped shadow forcing me awake.

  “Wh-what’s happening? What’s wrong?”

  “You were talking in your sleep.”

  “She was moaning in her sleep,” Trent says, his voice muffled and distant.

  “I got this,” Ryan tells him. “Go back to sleep.”

  “Gladly.”

  I run my hand over my eyes. My fingers come away wet.

  “I was moaning?”

  “And whimpering,” Sam calls from across the room.

  Ryan drops his forehead against my shoulder. “I said I got it, man.”

  “Only trying to help.”

  “I’m sorry, guys,” I whisper, feeling horrified. Ryan is sugar coating it. I was crying in my sleep.

  “Don’t be,” Sam says.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Trent asks, his words almost indiscernible. I think his face is seriously planted in his pillow.

  “Absolutely not, never, no, thank you.”

  “Cool. Can I take this opportunity to say that I find it insulting that our guard is sleeping on the job?”

  “Are you going to try to break out?” Sam asks him, already sounding like he’s falling back asleep.

  “Not tonight.”

  “Well then I’m going back to sleep. Let me know when you’re breaking out.”

  “I don’t want to ruin the surprise.”

  “Goodnight, guys,” Ryan says. It sounds like a warning.

  Either they listen or they’re already asleep again. Doesn’t matter, they don’t respond.

  “You okay?” Ryan whispers, his voice barely making a sound. It’s more of a stirring of his breath near my face.

  I shake my head, feeling humiliated and small. “Apparently not.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  I close my eyes hard, pinching them shut until I see bursts of light against the backs of my eyelids. A tear slips from the corner of my eye and runs down the side of my face. I cringe when it lands in my ear.

  “I don’t know. I think I had a dream.”

  Ryan settles on the floor beside the bed, his arm draped over my stomach. His hand is tracing slow circles on my forearm.

  “A nightmare? Was it about the Risen?”

  I chuckle darkly. “You mean the zombies?”

  “Infected?”

  “Undead?”

  “Humanly challenged?”

  I sigh, amazed that I’m actually smiling through my tears. I open my eyes to find him grinning at me.

  “I think it was about my dad,” I hear myself say.

  I don’t tell him that it was about my dad on Christmas day. That it was the same dream I always have and always ignore. The one about the tree, the door, the lights, the neighbor, the doll, the screams, the blood, the keys, the car, the days, days and days of being alone with nothing but my pink Hello Kitty bag full of snacks and treats left over from our road trip to grandma’s house. That I never opened the door. That I peed in that car, in addition to other things. That I found my dad’s iPod in the center console and I clung to it, silently sang the songs I knew were on it, but I never plugged it in, never listened to it because I knew if I made a sound or shone a single small light they’d find me. I don’t tell him that they found me anyway. The Risen, the zombies, the infected, the undead, the sons of bitches that stole my light. My life.

  I don’t tell him, but I know when he looks at me that he understands it. He gets it because he’s lived it. And because he sees me, like really sees me, and I want to hide from him bu
t I don’t. I don’t because it’s not so bad being seen. Not when it’s by the right person.

  “Joss, I’ll sit here with you until—“

  “Can I sleep down there with you?”

  He’s shocked. Me too, but I meant it. I mean it. I want it.

  “Can I?” I press when he doesn’t answer, only stares.

  “Yeah, yeah, of course. Yeah,” he stammers, making me smile faintly.

  I grab my blanket and pillow then slide down onto the floor, onto his narrow mattress beneath me. When I lay down on my side facing the cage door, I feel him hesitate. I think he’s scared. Scared of scaring me and I’m worried about it too but I want to know. I need to know if I can have him close like I think I want him to be and not freak out. Not break into a sweat or scream or run or punch him in the eye. I want to see if maybe it won’t be bad at all because I think, I hope, it will actually be better.

  And it is. When he lies down beside me, the length of his body running from my feet to my head, I feel safe. Secure. Like I’m open and vulnerable but it’s okay because my back… my back is covered. It’s against the wall. Against him. So when his arm hesitantly drapes over my side, I grab his hand in both of mine, pull it up against my chest and hug him to me hard. He’s so close, so close. It’s suffocating but I push past it because it’s worth it and I want it. I want this. I want him. I want me when I’m with him, when I’m strong and I’m fighting and I’m trying for other people. When I’m alive and I’m hopeful and I’m not just surviving. I’m living, I’m laughing and I’m in lo—

  ***

  “Wakey, wakey!”

  I snap awake, my body jerking in every direction. My elbow hits a hard surface and I hear a shout behind me. I roll across the floor, look at where I’d been laying and see Ryan lying on his back with his hands clasped around his face.

  “Jesus, Joss!” he cries.

  I tentatively reach out to him, not sure what I plan to do to help. “Did I hit you?”

  “Yes, you hit me. You elbowed me in the mouth. Who wakes up like that?”

  I drop my hesitant hand and glare at him. “A girl who grew up in the wild, that’s who. You shouldn’t have been so close.”

  He stares at me in shock over the top of his hands still clutching his face. “You were holding onto me!”

  “Is anything broken? Are you missing a tooth? If I knocked out a tooth, don’t swallow it.”

  “You are the worst,” he grumbles, sitting up.

  “What do you want from me? I’m not a nurse and I’m not especially maternal.”

  When he drops his hands I see his lip is swelling on the right side. I got him good and it makes me feel awful inside. Sick in the pit of my stomach.

  “An apology would be nice,” he says.

  “Ryan, I’m sorry I hit you beca—“

  “Nope, that’s enough,” he interrupts, putting up his hand to stop me. “If you keep talking you’re going to turn it around on me and the apology will mean nothing. Let’s leave it at you’re sorry you elbowed me in the face.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  “I am sorry.”

  “I know.”

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “I know you didn’t.”

  “I overreacted. I was wrong.”

  He grins. “Alright, Joss, don’t hurt yourself.”

  “If you two are finished,” Taylor calls from the doorway, “I’d like to get started so we can get it over with and I can go do something else.”

  “Like play Donkey Kong?” Sam asks, rubbing his eyes.

  Taylor glares down at him. “Were you sleeping?”

  “No.”

  “Are you lying?”

  “Yes.”

  “Perfect. They could have gotten out. Killed us all in our sleep.”

  “Nah, they’re cool,” Sam says, leaning back against the wall, completely unconcerned. He points to me. “That one is seriously damaged. No offense.”

  “None taken,” I say through gritted teeth. He’s not wrong, but still…

  Sam points to Ryan. “He’d never go anywhere without her and she’s here for something. Needs something. Neither of them is going anywhere. And him,” he says, pointing at Trent. “I’m pretty sure he could have gotten out whether I was here or not, awake or asleep or dead. If he wants out, he’ll get out.”

  “Your job was to watch them, not sleep.”

  “Are they still here? Then I did my job. I’m grabbing breakfast.” Sam jumps up, heading for the door. He stops to point at me again. “Princess has requested eggs over easy, by the way.”

  With that Sam is gone and Taylor is shooting me daggers. I shrug.

  “I mean, I wouldn’t turn them down.”

  He shakes his head, leans into the hallway and shouts, “Bring in the med cart.”

  Ryan leans against the bars of our cage, standing beside me. Trent comes to stand beside him.

  “What’s the med cart?” Trent asks.

  Taylor waves his hand. “Nothing major. We want to take some samples. Well, not we. The nurses and doc want samples. I want you gone.”

  Three more guards come into the room, one pushing a large metal cart that creaks and bumps over the uneven tiled floor of the hallways.

  “Samples for what?”

  “Information. We’ll just take some measurements on you. Do a few tests, if you don’t mind.”

  “And if we do?” Ryan asks brusquely, eyeing a large needle on the top of the cart.

  Taylor shrugs. “Then you leave right now.”

  He sounds broken hearted about the idea.

  “Just like that?” Ryan asks.

  “Just like that.”

  I shake my head. I’m not leaving this place, not until I get to speak to the council or someone of some importance. Not until I’ve tried. They can bring in all the needles, knives and scary med equipment they want, I’m not being bullied out of this place.

  “Do your tests,” I tell Taylor defiantly, staring him in the eye to let him know I understand what he’s trying to do. “We’re not infected. We have nothing to hide.”

  He smirks. “Not that you know of. But the infection rate isn’t what it used to be, not since The Cure,” he says sarcastically. “Thanks to that little beauty of a failure, the last we checked incubation took over a week before a person fully turned, meaning you’ll be locked in here for more than two. Are you prepared for that?”

  It’s nothing new. It’s nothing we don’t already know or haven’t heard from him before, but the time frame is daunting. We can’t be in here for two weeks. I’ve already been away from the Colony for too long as it is. People didn’t have a lot of faith in me as a person to begin with. I doubt they’ve held out any hope I’ll come back and that makes me so desperately sad inside. That I’m still trying but I know I’ve been written off because it’s what I would have done. I would have given up and gone numb weeks ago.

  “We don’t want to move in,” Ryan groans. “We just need to speak to someone. Someone who makes decisions for the group.”

  “How do you know you’re not talking to him? How do you know I’m not the Grand Poobah? The king of the island?”

  We all freeze when we hear a disembodied giggle from somewhere in the room. It’s small and light, childish. Girly. I scan the room, trying to figure out where it’s coming from. If maybe we heard it trickle down through a vent or if there’s someone hiding somewhere in the room. Then one of the guards bends down, throws open the doors on the bottom half of the cart and there she is. A young girl with long dark hair and brilliant, shining blue eyes peering out at us. She blinks against the sudden light, then her eyes fix on us inside the cage, taking each of us in one by one. She can’t be more than ten years old. Probably closer to nine. To eight.

  “Beth, what the hell?” Taylor asks, exasperated.

  She frowns, looking away. “I’m sorry, Taylor.”

  “What are you doing in there?”

  “Playing
hide and seek with daddy.”

  “Does he know he’s playing this game with you?” Taylor asks suspiciously.

  “No,” she mumbles reluctantly.

  “Cheater. Get out of here. You’re not supposed to be in here, you know that. It’s dangerous.”

  She goes to climb out of the cart but stumbles. One of the guards reaches down to help her out, to stand her up until she’s there in front of us, vibrant with flushed cheeks, a clean face and hair and a daddy out there somewhere looking for her.

  My throat begins to close up, making it hard to breathe.

  “My mom lets me in here all the time,” she whines.

  “Yeah, when it’s empty and it’s just you and her. Seriously, sweetie, scram. Your dad will kill me—“

  The doorway is filled with a tall man with brown hair, only one hand and brilliant blue eyes. Eyes the exact shade of the little girls.

  It’s her dad and my eyes are on fire.

  “Taylor, have you seen Beth?” he asks.

  Taylor silently points one stern finger at her face.

  The man sighs with relief. “Come on,” he tells her, his voice annoyed but affectionate. “Let’s go.”

  She walks toward him reluctantly, taking her sweet time. “But I was going to help Taylor with the prisoners.”

  “You’re eight years old, baby. Let’s worry more about taking your bath and less about becoming a warden.”

  “Called it,” I breathe, watching her go.

  “What?” Ryan whispers.

  I ignore him. I keep my eyes glued on the girl. On her dad.

  “Hey, brat,” Taylor calls after her, holding up a small, rustic doll that had been in the cart with her. It’s ratty from use. Kind of an ugly thing. “Don’t forget Little Miss, Little Miss Can’t Be Wrong here.”