by C. Dulaney
Of course this pissed me off immediately, but I bit my tongue. Flying off the handle would only add fuel to the fire at this point. Twisting in the chair, I glared at Michael.
“I thought you said he understood all that? Why shit happens out there sometimes?”
The tenacity was starting to leave my voice, I could hear it. If I could hear it, so could the others. This was already a lost battle, only the realization was just dawning on me. What I had confused as nervous embarrassment before was now looking more and more like accusation and distrust.
“I know what I told you, Kasey. You need to understand, I’ve been running a lot of interference between the Guard and us. Up until now, Waters has been reasonable.” Michael took a couple of steps forward, one hand resting on the back of the chair I was sitting in, the other hand on his hip. “To be honest, I don’t know what the hell happened in the last couple hours that’s got him singing a different tune.”
He was speaking to everyone by this point as he walked toward John, his arms crossed over his chest and one hand rubbing his chin. It seemed Michael was reconsidering his stance, finally questioning his absolute loyalty to Waters.
“She’s not even the one who killed this last asshole and you know it,” Jake spoke up. I shot him a warning glance and then rushed to cover him.
“No, I take responsibility for what happened out there. That was my fault, not Jake’s.”
I leaned forward again, feeling a little more hopeful than a moment earlier. I studied everyone’s faces, for the third time questioning what I was seeing. Normally I could read people pretty well. I could not for the life of me figure out what they were thinking. My head was really screwed up, that was becoming painfully obvious.
“It doesn’t really matter who killed who. Waters is pissed, and he’s using Kasey as the scapegoat. Question is, why is he so pissed all of a sudden? And what’s he really pissed about? Cause it sounds to me like he’s all bent out of shape because we aren’t bringing in as many living folk as we should be. Or as many as he needs us to bring in. Think about that,” Abby said.
At least I knew where Abby stood regarding my…issues. She brought up a very good point though, one I hadn’t even considered. Being so preoccupied with my own problems, I automatically assumed this whole thing was about me.
“You’re not the center of the universe, murderer,” Ben said. His specter was hovering by my left shoulder.
Not real, not real, not real.
“Wait, so we’re not talking about whether or not Kasey should be benched?” Mia asked. She had been sitting on the couch with Jake up until then. Once the question was out of her mouth, she jumped to her feet.
“I believe that’s still on the table. What Abby’s sayin’ is maybe we need to be thinkin’ about what’s motivating Waters. Not two hours ago he was glad they killed that cannibal. Now he’s raisin’ hell and issuing this demand? That’s a good point Abby made. We need to consider it.” Jonah had been quiet this whole time. When he spoke up, everyone listened.
The dynamics in the den had changed so dramatically it made my stomach flip. I know I had a what-the-fuck look plastered on my face. That’s one step above the what-the-hell look that’s usually there. I must have been staring at Jonah, because he smiled and tossed me a cigarette. Before I could say thank you, he was whipping his naked-lady Zippo at me. Luckily, my hand-eye coordination was still sharp.
“John and I were actually talking about something similar before all of you came in.” Michael had paced all the way over to the opposite side of the room and was standing with his back to us. It’s hard to make out someone’s mood by the back of their head. If I had to guess, I’d say he was mad. “John, what’s your opinion?”
John took a breath and rubbed the space under his lower lip. “Let’s look at the facts. Since we started working for the Guard, we’ve been taking orders from Waters, correct? In exchange for this, he’s been making sure we get what we need. Fuel mostly. The rest, we’re pretty well set. He won’t tell us where all this shit comes from - the supplies he needs over at the prison, and whatever stuff we ask for. Up ‘til now, we haven’t really cared. We’re supposed to go around and pick up survivors that his guys find, either by radio or by those aerial scouts he sends out once a week. That’s not including the people we’ve found on our own, by radio and from just being out there riding our asses off. What was it he said about a month into this?” John turned to look at the back of Michael’s head.
Silence.
“Michael?” John asked again.
Michael’s upper arms were flexing but his back was turned. I couldn’t really tell what he was doing. The only thing I knew for sure was that he was being too quiet.
“Yo, Mike,” John said again, this time coming clear off the desk and stepping toward Michael.
“I heard you, John.”
“Shit…what’s wrong?”
“Waters said ‘Bring back every single survivor, no matter what.’” Michael slowly turned around and the look on his face shocked even me. “He never said anything about those already infected. We just assumed we weren’t supposed to bring them back. So we put them out of their misery. John…he said every single survivor, no matter what.”
“Son of a bitch,” Jonah muttered so quietly almost everyone missed it.
“So what’re we sayin’ here?” Jake asked.
John and Michael turned to face the rest of us, John looking slightly confused, Michael looking like his world had just been turned inside out. Which was something considering zombies roamed the damn planet. John decided to take the pressure off Michael and wrap up the meeting as quickly as possible. Under the circumstances, I couldn’t blame him.
“I think what we’re saying is, until we can figure out what the fuck is going on with Waters, we keep our heads low and Kasey off the rotation. Kasey, this isn’t saying anything about you or your skills. I think other people here have a problem with that, but not me. That wasn’t the point of this meeting. For now though, we need to be careful and play along. Least ‘til we figure this out.”
“Alright. I can go along with that,” I said.
Michael stepped away and resumed his hunched position facing the wall. That dude was doing some serious thinking. He was the military guy, maybe he knew a few things we didn’t. Maybe he was starting to wonder where Waters’ orders were coming from. Perhaps they came from the same place from which all the mysterious supplies were originating.
“Okay folks, I’m gonna go over the assignments again so we can get the hell out of here.” John picked up another paper from the desk.
My mind drifted off as he read through the watch and rescue rotation for the week. Thankfully I’d been able to force Ben away and replace him with thoughts of Gus, who was probably going crazy upstairs waiting for me. After I heard my name called for watch duty, I pushed myself out of the chair, said goodnight to everyone, and headed up to see my little buddy.
* * *
“You two go ahead and relieve the watch. See the rest of you in the morning,” Michael said, dismissing Abby and Jonah to the wall. “Mia, hold up a second.” He reached out and touched Mia’s arm as she and Jake were about to call it a night.
Mia caught Michael’s eye, then turned to Jake. “Catch you in the morning.”
Jake glanced between John and Michael with pursed lips. “Alright,” he said and strode out of the room. John followed and pulled the door shut. He kept his distance though, not wanting to crowd the already-aggravated brunette.
“What’s up?” she asked.
She was nearly as tall as Michael, five-foot-seven to his five-foot-ten, so she didn’t have a problem staring him down. Michael in turn crossed his arms and leaned back against the desk, studying her for a long moment before finally confronting her.
“I’m not going to ask what your problem is with Kasey for two reasons. One, I don’t care. Two, you’re going to work it out.” His voice was level and his face was deadpan, which any other time w
ould have been pretty damn funny. In this case, it was pretty intimidating. “We can’t afford infighting, so if we have to have this conversation again, there’s going to be some changes made. Understood?”
Mia flared her nostrils before answering, trying to decide if kicking him in the balls would be worth it. In the end, she decided it wouldn’t. This time.
“Yeah, understood. Is that all?”
Michael nodded. “Get some rest. You got a long trip in the morning.”
Mia bobbed her head and turned on her heel, stomping past John and throwing the door open. John watched her leave, craning his neck and making sure she was out of earshot before turning back to Michael. He casually walked over to him, arms crossed and head down, then peered at his friend from under lowered eyebrows.
“Something’s going on, and I don’t like it.”
Michael shifted his weight against the desk. “Yeah, but they’ll work it out. Whatever it is. I mean, I think I know, but trust me, it won’t be an issue.” He met John’s gaze and noticed the big man was frowning.
“I didn’t mean here.” John jerked his head toward the window. “I meant out there.” He let this sink in before turning and heading toward the door. Just before he stepped out he called back over his shoulder, “Makes you wonder now why Waters always gives us the run-around when we ask to visit the prison.”
Michael watched John leave, then leaned against the desk and chewed over his friend’s last statement for a long time before heading upstairs to bed.
Chapter Three
November 19th: Pency, West Virginia
“You know the drill, Caleb. Hands front.”
A man wearing a biohazard suit stood in the doorway with an odd set of handcuffs in his hands. The light from the hallway spilled over him and into the dark cell, outlining his silhouette and making him look like an astronaut. Caleb stood where he always stood; in the corner with his back against the coolness of the wall, his arms crossed over his massive chest, shoulders squared, and his knees always slightly bent. A man never knew when the chance for escape might present itself.
“And so do you. I want to see my wife,” the man called Caleb said, his deep voice graveled from thirst.
He knew these people wouldn’t let him die of dehydration, or starvation for that matter. They needed him too badly. He also knew the punishment for disobedience; he’d been disobeying the dirty bastards since Day One. A couple of days locked in a dark cell without food and water was worth it.
A mechanical hiss emanated from the suit as the man inside let out a breath, his hands lowering and clipping the “handcuffs” to his side.
“You’re predictable if nothing else. See you tomorrow.”
The Suit turned to leave, pulling the cell door shut behind him. Caleb launched himself from the wall and made a mad dash for the exit. The Suit was almost too slow this time. He had both hands on the lever, pulling and grunting, trying to slam the door shut on the prisoner’s strong hands. Caleb jerked and pulled with all the strength he had left, trying to force the door to open just enough so he could slip his shoulder between it and the jamb. No words were exchanged between the two, only heavy breathing and grunts of exertion. Sweat popped out along Caleb’s forehead, the muscles of his upper arms bunching and burning, his fingers turning white from the force of his pull. As always, his weakened state was slightly more than that of the Suit. Caleb let his fingers slip from the door just before it was jerked shut.
“No! Nooo! Let me out of here! I swear to God, I’ll kill every last one of you! Do you hear me?! I’ll kill you!” Caleb screamed until his throat was raw, knowing the man on the other side was long gone, unable to stop his fists from pounding against the cold steel separating him from freedom.
Seconds turned into minutes, minutes turned into hours, until finally his legs would no longer hold him and he collapsed into a heap on the floor. His throat was so sore he could barely cry, his hands red and aching from his assault on the door. He shifted his body until he leaned against the door, letting his head fall back with a thud. Caleb winced and pulled his knees towards his chest, supporting his weight with one big palm pressed to the cold floor. His breath came in ragged gasps, tears and sweat pouring down his face and bare chest. The only thing those savages would allow him was a pair of hospital pants, the thin kind. Otherwise he was bare, even down to his feet.
He thought about his wife as he sat there trying to regain control over his pain-wracked body. Memories of his wife, his son, and two daughters. The first two were stuck in this hellhole with him, whatever this hellhole was. He had yet to see the entire complex, his working knowledge of the facility being restricted to the tiny cell he occupied during “punishment,” another cell that was only slightly cleaner and cozier than the “punishment” cell, and the quarantine room he’d spent time in when he and his family had first arrived. His youngest daughter was missing; he hadn’t heard from her since that First Week. His oldest daughter was out there somewhere, too. On the outside. On her own. Thinking about them, his little girls, fighting the things they had run away from, brought a whine from his hoarse throat.
He coughed and ran a hand over his face. He had no doubt they were still alive. Had no doubt they were still fighting. If nothing else, at least he had that. He might be stuck in Hell, being forced to submit to invasive tests and blood workups every few days, forced to listen to the screams coming from what he assumed was the laboratory, forced to accept that he was helpless to save his wife and son, but at least his girls were free.
“I have to get out of here,” he said to the emptiness around him.
Except he knew he wasn’t really alone. In the far corner, close to the ceiling, the red light of a security camera blinked rhythmically. They were watching him, whoever they were. He had his theories, about who held him and his family captive, and what they were doing to all those innocent victims they had corralled over in the north section of the facility.
Caleb had lost track of how long he’d been separated from his family. Days, weeks? All sense of time disappeared inside his small cell. The only thing he was sure of was that his wife and son were still alive the last time he saw them. He was determined to find his way back to them, no matter what it took.
“No matter what it takes,” he whispered in affirmation, his eyes moving slowly towards the corner. His head and body remained still.
“I know you can hear me.” The corners of his mouth twitched, forming a menacing smile. “Yeah, you can hear me, alright.” After several minutes, he tore his eyes from the camera, squeezing them shut. Caleb set his jaw and curled one hand into a fist.
“No matter what it takes.”
* * *
“I take it he’s picked the hard way again today,” said a large man dressed in plain civilian clothes. He’d been lurking a few feet from the doorway, leaning against the wall, arms folded over his barreled chest.
One of the new security guys they dragged in, the scientist in the suit thought. Out loud he said, “Nothing for you to worry about. Don’t you have something you should be guarding somewhere?”
The security man caught the other by the elbow as he was passing by. “I can take care of that scumbag. Give me two minutes with him.”
“No. It’s fine.” The scientist was afraid of this man, rightfully so. “Leave him alone and get back to work.” He jerked his arm free and forced himself down the hallway, away from Caleb’s cell and away from the intimidating menace smirking behind his back.
“Have it your way,” the guard grumbled.
He watched the scientist scurry around the corner, shaking his head and wishing he hadn’t been stuck with such a bunch of cowards. While his duties at the CC suited him perfectly, the people running the place were turning out to be no different than the crew he’d sabotaged back at Blueville Correctional. As a matter of fact, the whole situation was eerily similar.
“Out of the oil, into the frying pan,” he mumbled. I won’t let it happen again. This time will b
e different.
* * *
“Kasey,” said a voice somewhere far away.
I couldn’t make out who it was, but I could tell it was female. It was so dark I couldn’t see anything, even though I knew the spotlights should have been casting some sort of light through the curtains of my bedroom window. I also noticed I was very tired and disoriented.
“Kasey,” that voice said again.
“Where are you? I can’t see shit,” I answered. I felt hands on my shoulders.
“Kasey,” the voice said, then the owner started shaking me.
What the hell? Am I asleep?
To test that theory, I tried blinking my eyes. That disoriented feeling made it hard to focus. It took several seconds for me to realize what I was looking at. Something was right in front of my face.
When it said my name for the fourth time, it also dripped slime on me.
“Holy shit!”
I tried kicking myself away from the deadhead on top of me. It had a death grip on my shoulders and was trying to shake me senseless. It was drooling spit and blood all over my chest, pieces of its teeth fell out onto the quilt with each snap of its jaws.
“Kasey!” it said again, this time so loudly it sprayed blood and thick mucus all over my face. I kept kicking my feet, trying to scoot away, frantic to wipe its infected crap off me.
“You can’t talk! No, you can’t talk!”
It pushed me down against the bed so hard, my body simply reacted. I drew my right arm back and belted that damn thing as hard as I could in the mouth. It fell backwards and hit the floor with a hard thump.