I don’t know you, Mina said.
The dead are your gift. We have given them to you to match your desire. Murder opens your mind to us, and we can see you, but through the mirror, you can now see us. We are in you.
A mirror? Mina asked. You need the reflection. But who are you?
We are timeless, and beyond time. Share this reflection and open the world to pain.
The world is in pain already, Mina replied. Someone watched the other video. The dead are everywhere, and I’m lost.
You are found. You already know what you are. They buried it within your shell. You can find us there, waiting for you. We have always been with you. We are the dead. We are you.
I’m not dead. Mina reminded the voice. I never wanted this! Just let me go!
Observe.
***
Mina was standing in a body that wasn’t her own.
She knew it wasn’t her body because she could barely remember her name. She wasn’t Mina—she was “Rachel.” Rachel was pale and thin, with thick, red hair pouring out of her head. Scattered memories of blood and pain invaded Mina’s consciousness, and she found herself, or Rachel, staring at the man she betrayed.
Patrick Griggs stood beside a magazine rack filled with copies of Hustler, Penthouse, and other magazines for whatever your sexual fantasies required. A big gun was hanging from his hand, and he was staring at Mina.
Not Mina. Rachel.
She wanted to talk but couldn’t. She couldn’t feel anything, but she could see. She could hear.
“Mina…” Patrick tilted his head and stared into her eyes.
He knew it was her! But how could he know? She was Rachel. She was dead.
She was a zombie.
You’re one of them. The mocking voice returned. You’re one of us. You are everywhere and nowhere. You’re all of us and none of us.
Another side effect from drug withdrawal. Mina was a damaged woman—she knew she wasn’t “normal” because the doctors told her she wasn’t.
But this is real, Mina. This is the real thing.
Patrick stared. He didn’t move.
A man outfitted in army gear walked into the store. He pointed a big army gun at Rachel’s face.
“Wait,” Patrick said, putting his hand on the weapon. “She’s not attacking. She… I can see something…”
The soldier didn’t drop the gun. “What’re you talking about? She was about to kill these people!”
Rachel/Mina twisted her stiff neck around. Huddled in the corner of the store was a man of medium height and build, glasses on his eyes, hair framing his face. He stood behind a teenage girl decked out in black makeup and tall black boots. Her short black hair was brushed over her forehead.
“You see that?” Patrick asked.
Rachel returned her gaze to Patrick and the army guy.
“She was coming right for us!” the teenager shrieked.
“Fuck this,” the soldier said.
“No,” Patrick said, “wait a minute. Something’s different. I feel that she… recognizes me. She looks like… damn, I could swear she looks like…”
“You’re not making any sense!” the soldier said. “She’s dead man, look at her.”
“Move out of the way if you’re scared,” Patrick said. “Play hero and get these people out. I want to see what happens next. She might be trying to tell us something. I mean… just think what we could do with these dead people. They can’t feel any pain, so just imagine the potential if we used them in movies…”
“That bitch is dead,” the girl in the black outfit announced. “I got better things to do than wait around and wait for you dicks to argue.”
In an instant, the corpse was forgotten by everyone but Patrick, who continued to stare.
“Ma’am, I suggest you watch your mouth,” the soldier said. “We’re here to help you.”
“Speak for yourself,” Patrick said. “I’m here for pussy and shooting things, because it’s fun and nobody can stop me.”
“That’s the way it should be,” the girl in black continued. “We got chased in here by them things and we’ve been making plans. This stupid bitch walked in here and started messing around, but it wasn’t nothing we couldn’t handle. We don’t need you. A lot of good you did, anyway, jackass.”
Patrick chuckled.
The man who stood behind the teenager sighed. “I’m Jeremy. Look, sorry to be a pain. This is my step-sister, Stacy. I’m doing what I can to… you know…”
“You’re not doing shit!” she corrected him.
Jeremy ignored her. “There’s going to be a bunch of survivors at a party. They’re calling it the Festival of Flesh. Going to be an orgy, I guess. We’ve seen other people and they’ve heard about it and they’re telling others. I think everyone’ll be there.”
“We’re not about to sit around and let these dead fuckers take away our chance to live for one more night. One more wild night!” Stacy’s fists were clenched.
“Where?” the soldier asked.
While Jeremy gave directions and Stacy protested, Patrick’s eyes lingered on Rachel/Mina. Mina thought she could dig deeper, find out more about the woman’s body, but she didn’t feel like it. Patrick was staring at her.
She wanted to reach out and touch him. She wanted to ask him for forgiveness and tell him she made a mistake. Even in this hallucination, she understood she caused Patrick heartache. He used to share his deepest secrets with her. He wept into her hair while confessing he didn’t know if he had a soul, or if he had the ability to kill people because he wanted to, and not feel anything. He tried to find himself; a middle-aged man who wanted to learn what kind of man he was, and she gave him a chance to discover it, but she ate a man in bed while trying to make a movie. She destroyed his career.
This was all guilt. That’s what the doctors were going to say.
But the doctors are dead.
All he wanted was her. Could she feel his arms around her, even in this cold body? Could she touch him? If there was a way to give him anything, to give him something to make him feel like a man, he could make her feel like a woman. When he revealed himself to her, she was a discoverer plunging to the depths of the ocean to find priceless treasure. Warmth would slide into the back of her head, and she would think about smiling, or she would think about things she used to think were pretty like faeries and plastic dolls that had their eyes removed. The doctors said she couldn’t feel anything, but they were wrong.
reached for Patrick.
The soldier snapped back into reality when Patrick shoved the hand away.
“Are we done here?” the soldier asked.
“What the hell’s wrong with me?” Patrick asked, lifted his gun, pointed it at Rachel’s head, and a bright spot jumped in front of Mina’s eyes.
***
She awakened to a sticky bed. Jim stood over her with the camera in his hand. The ringing in her ears subsided, and the delusion faded. She knew where she was and what she had done.
“You heard the voice?” Jim asked.
“Kill me,” she answered.
“The voice spoke of mirrors, didn’t it?”
“You got what you wanted. You don’t need me to come with you.”
Jim tilted his head and looked at the bloody mess on the bed. “I observe the beauty of the artist until I’m satisfied. I always look for other art forms, other voices, other expressions of beauty and wonder.”
Moving her arms through the puddles of blood, she touched the severed legs and remembered the hapless victim. She turned her head and saw that his eyes were still open, yet they moved slowly within the skull. His mouth wasn’t covered in duct tape.
“I cut his bonds,” Jim said. “You can have whatever you want.”
A limp, heavy arm flopped onto her chest.
“But I won’t linger,” Jim announced. “I’ve seen the dead eat the living and I’m not impressed. I have a world to destroy.”
Mina’s limbs froze, and she forgot how to
move, how to resist. All along, this was what awaited her. This was what she deserved.
The corpse draped its other dead arm over her body and dragged itself across the bloody sheet. Foul gas that broiled within its stomach escaped through its mouth in a slow groan.
She didn’t forget how to scream.
VEGA
“I’m not staying in this tin can for much longer,” Vega announced.
Sergeant Charles didn’t reply, but continued to scan the monitor to watch for the crowd outside to thin. The oppressive heat inside the Stryker was making it more uncomfortable, and Griggs farted several times while he dozed; Vega remembered the sandwiches they ate at the house before finding Vincent.
Bob had been alive then. But he chose his path. It was stupid to regret her decision to chase after Shanna, because Bob would have found a way to get himself killed. She didn’t need to know anything else from Griggs about what happened; Bob was a damn good soldier, but he was no match for Traverse, and his decision to make a go of it himself and charge into the fight was suicidal.
“Time’s running out.” Sergeant Charles wiped sweat from his forehead. “We have shit for ammo and those damn things are everywhere. I’d say we’re overrun, but I’m not a worst-case scenario guy like Crater. We’ve still got work to do.”
It was the only course of action. Damn her headache and rumbling stomach. Forget all the bloodstains and tattered gear. She might be half-naked and low on bullets, but she wasn’t about to let any dead motherfucker get its hands on her.
Death was part of a soldier’s life. She’d seen children die before. She’d seen them cry over the corpses of their mothers, and sometimes, they fired machine guns at her. No matter how tired she was—or how many stars appeared when she took more than two steps because of her damn concussion—she would do whatever it took to stay alive.
“Let’s figure this out now,” Sergeant Charles turned to her. “I have to take a leak, and I’m baking in here. You know these men?”
A man of action, a man who didn’t screw around. But like her, he was fighting his own war in the concrete jungle.
Bob had been fighting for something, too, and he wanted her to find her own battle. She thought it was violence for the sake of violence, and then it was for a little girl she didn’t know, one innocent out of thousands who deserved to be saved.
The sergeant wasn’t her enemy. “We’re all strangers here,” she said. “You and I had the same OP, but I don’t know you from a hole in the wall.”
“I think the rest of my team’s wiped out.” No emotion. A statement of fact. “Have you seen Crater?”
“Gone,” Vega said. “Only wish I put the bullet in his head myself. And my crew’s wasted, too.”
“I’m John, by the way. I actually go by John Charles. Someone said it and it stuck. I’ve heard about you. You’ve got a rep for being a hardass merc.”
“I don’t know about the hard part, but the rest I can agree with.”
He sighed. “Selfridge is the FOB, so that’s my objective. I need to know who’s coming with me, because this is still a military OP. We’ve got two civilians with us, and we’re not exactly a rescue team.”
“We’re not exactly a team,” she corrected him. “So let’s make a decision.”
Vincent said, “My business is out there, on the street. I can do just fine on my own.”
“He’s telling the truth,” Vega said. “Vincent here kept his shit together and did some serious damage out there.” She addressed the arms dealer. “You risked your life to help me. I appreciate what you did.”
“I was high as shit,” he said. “Not thinking straight.”
“Bullshit,” Vega said. “We could use your help. Your house isn’t too far from here…”
“Never said it was my house,” Vincent said. “I came from the ghetto, but I ain’t living there.”
He knew how to handle himself in a combat situation, and he was clearly a pragmatist. She didn’t know if she could trust him—hell, she didn’t know if she could trust John Charles—but her choices were limited. In a firefight, the only man she ever trusted was Miles, and he was gone.
“You need to want in for the right reasons,” Vega said. “I want to do it because I can. I got no family, nobody that gives a damn about me. We could all join the party and kill each other, or go out there and start tearing shit down. There has to be something good left, and I’m willing to fight for it because I can. What about you, Sergeant? You got family?”
“Not in a long time,” he whispered. “I want the same thing you do.”
She looked to Vincent.
“Got a girl, name’s Chanell. She’s a dime and all that, but I had her along for the wrong reasons. Love’s bad for business. She’s a good girl and deserves a good man, but it ain’t me. There ain’t no business now except living and whatever comes with it.”
She said, “Look man, I don’t know you. I don’t know what you’ve done or what you’ve been involved in. I’m not a cop and I’m not even affiliated with the U.S. military. I’m a merc. I’ve killed people for money. I’m not exactly looking to save the world, and I can’t promise there’s a pot of gold at the end of this rainbow, but fighting, fucking, and drinking are what I do best.”
Vincent smirked. “That’s some real shit, and I respect that. I got nothing invested in helping you, but I got everything invested in these streets.”
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Vega said, “but if this thing spreads quickly, then your money doesn’t mean a thing.”
“Might not be about the money no more.” Vincent stared at the two soldiers. “What’s your plan?”
She looked over at John Charles, who nodded to give her the okay. He was comfortable with her decision to include Vincent, because he understood that an experienced ass-kicker might increase their chances. There was still a wild card to consider.
“Wake Sleeping Beauty,” she told Vincent.
“I’m fucking awake.” Griggs moaned. “Don’t let that child killer touch me.”
“We’re going to Selfridge Air Base,” Sergeant Charles explained. “To reassess the situation and report in.” He addressed Vega. “Our equipment was on loan from Selfridge, but I don’t know who Crater’s contact was. Our objective was to apprehend a specific target and bring him to Selfridge, but our mission was classified.”
Griggs sat up. “Your good friend Bob said they would have bombed this place to shit if it weren’t for your mission. So you can assume your operation came from military higher-ups. Bob said time was ticking, and they still haven’t wasted this place, which means it’s out of control, and it could mean Selfridge is overrun.”
“There’s nowhere else to go,” Vega said. “That’s the rallying point, the Alamo.”
“Your target’s heading there,” Griggs said. “Traverse, the man who took Mina from me, I’d like another crack at him.”
Vega thought for a moment, why would Traverse go to Selfridge? She was still pissed at Bob for withholding information; he didn’t tell the whole story, most likely to protect her “best interests”. If Traverse wasted Bob, then how did Griggs survive? How did he know where Traverse was going?
She decided to keep her suspicions close to her chest.
“I’m not babysitting you,” Vega declared. “You saved my life twice, but I’ve seen you looking—make a move for me and I put a bullet in your map. Are we clear?”
“Crystal.” Griggs shrugged.
“The plan,” Vincent said.
“We hit up your gun shack and then walk north near the freeway to Selfridge. We commandeer vehicles along the way if we can. Now we’re battered, tired, sore, I’m half-naked, and we feel like shit, but if we move quickly and avoid the crowds, we can make it.”
“I would like a new truck,” Griggs said under his breath.
Vega waited for Vincent’s response. He was dependable in the field, but she didn’t know what the sergeant could bring to a firefight, nor could she trust Di
rty Harry. Griggs seemed to speak sarcastically because he disconnected himself from whatever was happening around him. She remembered how he blew away the woman in the house without even flinching. Vincent had risked his life to protect her, to find a little girl out in the ruins with no benefit to himself. He put everything on the line for a complete stranger.
“I’ll walk,” Vincent said, “and we’ll talk. I’m expecting compensation. You want to use my product and my time; you’ll pay like everyone else. And Traverse is a hard nigger. I got no beef with him, but you’ll need heavy shit.”
“Whatever,” Vega replied. “Just don’t expect—”
The radio cracked to life, and they turned their heads to the console, their breath locked in their throats.
“… Outer perimeter breached. Civilians ordered to stand down… they keep fucking coming! Everyone’s bugging out and we can’t tell who’s alive or dead. Ordered to fire at anyone not wearing fatigues. Orders to abandon base. All hell broke loose–don’t come here! It’s over! It’s all over! This shit’s all over the state! We’re pulling out!”
The message repeated itself from the same point. John Charles was the first to move toward the radio, and they watched him play with the dials. Vega couldn’t move. She kept listening to the message repeat; Bob told her she needed to find a reason to fight, and she refused to give up. She thought her world crumbled when Miles was killed, and she did all she could to put Shanna out of her mind. The fight for the little girl’s survival had brought her resolve crashing down, and she couldn’t acknowledge it even happened. The girl’s name was nothing more than a distant echo, an emotion she once felt, a tragedy that belonged to someone else.
Sergeant John Charles performed the sign of the cross, and his voice shook. “It’s on loop from eight hours ago. This transmission’s old. Everything’s working again. Signals aren’t blocked. But…”
Griggs chuckled. “Vega, you should know something about me: I’m not one for pulling out.”
The Queen of the Dead Page 7