by C. Dulaney
“I can’t do this anymore, dude. Swear to God, feels like my skull’s about to blow the fuck up,” Jake mumbled to Jonah.
Those two brought up the rear, weapons at the ready, keeping Kasey and Mia in the middle of the group. Gus padded along wherever he liked, trotting and sniffing the air, occasionally zigzagging to the ditch and peeing on the grass. The group envied his freedom and lack of concern.
“We’re almost done. Hang in there,” Jonah answered. Neither looked at the other as they spoke; their bodies were tense and their eyes constantly scanned the surrounding area.
Jake snorted. “Bullshit. We’ll never be done.”
Jonah chanced a glance at the younger man. “Just hang in there. Don’t lose your shit yet. Might need your sorry ass later.” He returned to his survey of the first set of houses they’d come upon since leaving the Humvees.
The two houses on his right had gone to hell. Their owners were most likely dead, not that it mattered anymore. To Jonah’s left was an old abandoned motel, the kind with exterior doors. The windows were cracked and shattered, dirty and ripped curtains flapping in the light breeze. Doors were broken in, shutters fallen off or hanging askew, weeds growing up through cracks in the concrete sidewalks.
“Don’t lose my shit,” Jake muttered. “Look around, cowboy. Whole world’s lost its shit.” He snarled and adjusted the rifle against his shoulder, face set with a look that usually preceded a swearing fit. “You wanna explain what the fuck happened back there at the washout?”
Jonah visibly twitched and actually turned his head to focus on Jake. “What do you mean?”
Jake’s eyes widened. “Oh, I don’t know…maybe the goddamn deadhead death squad that saved our fuzzy butts back there?”
Jonah relaxed a bit. “Yeah, I don’t know. I’m sure we’ll find our answers at the Command Center.”
“Sure as hell hope so. This shit’s gettin’ real old, real fast.” Jake shook his head and turned back to guarding their flanks. Jonah swallowed hard and wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.
* * *
Mia and I walked in silence, Gus trotting this way and that all over the road. Pency was quickly coming into view, and from what I could see, it was a ghost town. There were vehicles and garbage all over the place, no people, and absolutely zero zombies. Fast or slow. At first glance it didn’t make any sense. But after what we’d seen on the way there? It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out. Whatever those things were, the Terminators, the people that weren’t people, they were killing the dead. It wasn’t much of a stretch to assume that they left the living alone. They’d left us alone back at the washout. Saved our asses, as a matter of fact. They’d had plenty of opportunity to eat us, but had left us untouched.
Mia and I had finally settled back into our comfortable rhythm again, after so many months of fighting and tension. She’d finally realized that I was going to be okay. Might be crazy as a shithouse rat, but I was okay. After realizing this, her mood and attitude had relaxed; knowing she could once again lean on me when she needed went a long way in easing her mind.
“Stay sharp,” Michael said over his shoulder.
We were entering what I suppose you’d call the suburbs of Pency, though the town wasn’t much bigger than any of the others we’d traveled through during the past year. We could see the downtown area already, so it couldn’t have been that big. Hopefully our path would take us around what used to be the busiest part of town, and not through it. On the heels of that thought, I overheard Michael asking Rabbit which way we needed to go. I chuckled to myself, and Mia elbowed me. It was reassuring to have the old Mia back. She jerked her chin with a serious, knit-eyebrow look, telling me to keep my head in the game. I cleared my throat and went back to inspecting each car and house we walked by.
Everything was empty, quiet. There was nothing there. However, I did understand her thinking: don’t assume, don’t get lazy. A few seconds after passing a dingy motel on our left, I overheard Jake and Jonah talking about the washout. The last thing I heard gripped my heart and there was a click behind my eyes.
The goddamn deadhead death squad that saved us...
My boots crunched to a halt. Mia almost fell in her haste to turn and see what was wrong. I barely heard her snap her fingers to get Michael’s attention. I whirled to face Jake, who had already come to an abrupt stop to keep from barreling into my back.
“What did you just say?”
He glanced at Jonah, then back at me. “Uh…this shit’s gettin’ old?” Jake darted his eyes to Michael, Mia, and Rabbit. They appeared to be watching our perimeter, but really they were interested in just what exactly had jumped up my butt.
I waved off his reply. “No, no, before that. About the washout?”
“Oh, yeah.” Jake smiled, then instantly frowned. “Wait, you mean the deadhead death squad thing, or the fuzzy butt thing? Cause I’ve seen your butt and I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.” He started gesturing with his hands, attempting to create an air-butt, which was funny considering he had a rifle in them. “Nice and smooth. Seriously…don’t kill me.”
I ignored his joke and stared at the pavement. “I’ll be damned.”
“C’mon now, it wasn’t that bad!” Jake took a few steps away from me.
“What is it, Kasey?” Mia asked. Michael repeated her question. After a moment I raised my head and met their eyes.
“The deadhead death squad is an army.”
* * *
Caleb fought like an animal, months spent in a holding cell seeming to have no effect on his strength and speed. The preparation room into which he’d been dragged had one large observation window, and that morning he’d watched a group of his fellow prisoners being herded out of the laboratory next to him. Except something had been wrong with them. Looking out that window, he’d seen his son, Ryan, in the middle of the group. From that point on he screamed and yelled, punching at the door and the walls, throwing himself against the window, lost in a complete fury over what they’d done to his son, what he feared they’d done to his wife, Liz.
“Let me out!” he screamed, not for the first time. He repeated his order while beating his fists against the window. Over and over he yelled, until his voice began to crack and his punches became weak.
“Think.”
Turning his back to the window, he rubbed his bloody knuckles and paced the room. Caleb had been kept in isolation almost his entire time at the facility. He had no idea how many survivors were still there, no idea what the scientists were doing to them. He now knew the fate of his son, but what of his wife?
They’ve been splitting them up into small groups.
He whirled around to face the window. He didn’t have any evidence to support it, yet he knew in his gut it was true. Which meant that whatever the scientists were doing, they were doing it a little at a time. If he saw Ryan in this last group but not Liz, there was a chance she was still…
Still what? Alive?
He rubbed his chin, his brow furrowed with deep creases. The group he’d just seen looked alive. Something had been off about them, but they definitely seemed to be flesh and blood humans. Not like the dead he’d seen a year ago. He knew those had been dead, or the undead, zombies, whatever. Ryan—no, Ryan had been alive. Those bastards had done something to him, but he wasn’t dead.
Why not me?
It didn’t make any sense to him why he’d been kept separate from the others. Had there been others like him? The wing he’d been kept prisoner had several rooms.
He flexed his hands, noticing the bleeding had already stopped. The muscles of his forearms tensed and relaxed as he curled and uncurled his fists, and it was then something odd occurred to him. He extended his arms, turning and rotating them around, tightening all the muscles in his biceps and triceps.
I’ve always stayed in shape, what’s the big deal?
At age fifty, Caleb was in excellent physical condition. He wasn’t vain by any means, he was disciplined when
it came to staying healthy. He studied his contracted muscles, then his eyes fell again to his hands, which had actually clotted less than forty-five seconds after they’d started bleeding.
So what? I heal fast. What the hell does that have to do with─
His pacing stopped. Caleb stared at his hands. His face fell slack, his eyes widening slightly, his brow smoothing.
They culled the herd.
At that moment he was very certain the neighboring rooms in the detention wing of the Command Center were not vacant.
* * *
David looked on as Evelyn directed the three guards. They had the last batch of subjects restrained in the lab, which was little more than an old cafeteria-turned-assembly line. Rows of metal tables lined the room on both sides. Down the center was an island, also metal, where the two scientists did most of their work. Once the subjects were restrained on their metallic beds, they’d be hooked up to three separate IVs, each pumping a different solution into their bloodstreams. Solutions that David and his counterparts across the country had slowly perfected over the course of thirteen months. A “cure” to stem the tide of death.
It probably wasn’t ethical, what they had done. But surely it had been necessary. The world was no longer black and white. Now they lived in shades of gray. Admittedly, he wouldn’t be living much longer. The first thing he would do, once this last group was released, would be to send Evelyn and the three men still working at the Center on their way—services no longer required, have a nice day. The second thing he would do would be to walk back to his office, kiss the only picture he had of his wife and three sons, then eat the barrel of his 40 S&W.
The only thing that might stop him would be the men in the isolation cells. Once Evelyn and the guards were gone, there would be no one to care for them, and the six subjects would waste away and die. They had served their purpose well, now they were of little practical use. If it hadn’t been for them and others like them all across the country, the work and progress made by David and his colleagues never would have been possible. That fact, however, did nothing to stem the guilt he felt growing inside him.
“Dr. McAlister?” His assistant was walking toward him, wringing her hands.
“Yes, Evelyn?”
“The subjects have been prepped.”
Also known as restrained against their will, he thought. Aloud he said, “Thank you. I’ll prepare the therapy bags.”
Evelyn nodded reluctantly, then turned and walked curtly from the room, the three goons following her out. David sighed, his eyes roaming the enclosure, making eye contact with each person strapped to a metal table. Their mouths had all been taped shut, a lesson he had learned early on. There’s nothing quite like sticking a person while they scream and rant in your face. He felt guilty enough as it was. Their eyes—they still pleaded with him.
This is for the greater good.
He wondered how his counterparts across the country were managing, how they were coping. He wondered if any of the other facilities were even still up and running.
They have to be. The odds are in our favor.
David walked to his workstation. As he began preparing the IV bags, he felt confident once again that they would beat back this wave of death. He ignored that gnawing voice in the back of his mind that kept insisting the other Centers were dead, the other scientists were dead, and he was nothing but a damned murderer.
No. No. We will fix our mistake.
* * *
“Let’s pick it up, people,” Michael said and, indeed, picked up the pace.
The four of us jogged behind Rabbit and Michael, passing car after car and finally realizing there were no zombies inside trapped by seatbelts. I commented on this to Mia, who replied with a shake of her head. I gave Gus an order to scout ahead, and the little beagle darted forward to search and investigate the road fifty yards or so ahead of us.
Thinks he’s hunting.
I guess he was, in a way. The further into town we trotted, the clearer it became that we’d be met with no resistance. It was very odd and something we were absolutely not used to. Most of us had gotten to a point where we couldn’t even remember a time when we didn’t have to constantly look over our shoulders. We had trained ourselves to react to every noise, investigate every stink, and this city was devoid of both. It should have eased our minds.
It had not.
“Sure wishin’ we’d brought a vehicle,” Jake panted behind me. I snorted. My legs were beginning to burn, too.
The street Rabbit had led us down looked like a dead end, but the closer we got to “the end,” I could see it continued into the woods.
“Well that’s just great.”
“Huh?” Mia asked. She was panting too. I said nothing and kept jogging.
Sweat was working up on my brow and under my bra, which annoyed the hell out of me. Sweating in November was bullshit. Michael had been in a hurry ever since my epiphany, though I don’t know why. The damage had been done. If the CC had in fact been using folks as guinea pigs to create some sort of army, well, they’d succeeded and we were too late to stop them. Of course I was completely ready to accept I was wrong. I was really hoping I was wrong.
“Almost there. Half a mile,” Rabbit said. I think he was the only one not out of breath.
Did they have any idea what we’d do when we got there? At no point along our trip had we put our heads together and come up with an “endgame” plan. I guess they were all thinking the same thing I had been since leaving the prison: we’ll figure it out when we get there. Except I’d seen a thing or two since then, and as far as I knew I was running on borrowed time. I wasn’t as gung-ho about rushing in blind as I had been before. My legs were wearing out and my sides were hurting a little, so I didn’t have the energy to worry too much about it. When it was all said and done, we’d jogged approximately three miles when the CC finally started coming into view.
“Well,” Jake said. “That’s gonna be fun gettin’ into.”
The six of us stared ahead at two sets of towering fences, both topped with razor-wire. Gus was sitting patiently at the foot of the gate. The second fence had a gate as well, though it looked more complex than the first. Behind the second gate was a brick wall, taller than either fence. It had some sort of large door built into it, with a symbol in the center. It looked like a bird with flames around it, like a Phoenix. The door was also made of brick and blended in almost perfectly with the wall itself. I spotted three guard shacks on this side of the wall. They were empty, though that still added up to around twelve altogether. And the worst part? Everything looked electronic. The gate locks and door lock all took keycards to open.
“Jesus. Why not dig a moat too?” Mia said.
“Someone please tell me we’ve got a key.” I slung my rifle and planted my hands on my hips, anger blooming in my chest. All this way, and for what? To be locked out with no way of scaling the ginormous wall. Sure we could cut through the fences, but the wall?
“I suppose we could use our melee weapons. Beat the shit out of the locks. Maybe that would pop the doors,” Jake offered. Rabbit and Michael were talking hurriedly to each other and hadn’t heard his brilliant idea.
“No, Jake. We can’t use our melee weapons.” I enunciated through gritted teeth.
“Why not? Might work.”
“Why not?” I spun on him and threw my hands in the air. “Because we don’t have our goddamn melee weapons! We left them in the Humvees!”
“Okay, okay,” Jonah said and stepped between us.
He put his hands on my upper arms and pushed me back lightly. I, in turn, thrust outward, throwing his away, and rammed both my hands against his chest. He stumbled backwards, fell into Jake, and they both hit the ground.
“Easy, girl,” Mia warned and led me away by the hand. That scuffle finally got Michael’s attention and sent Gus after Jonah’s boots.
“Hey, c’mon. Knock it off,” Michael barked.
He threw us all chastising looks bef
ore turning back to Rabbit. They were studying something in the corporal’s hands. Something that looked like a credit card smeared with blood. After another minute or so, Rabbit jerked his chin toward the wall.
“Let’s move.”
* * *
“Who the hell is that?” Van asked. He was leaning forward, staring at a small-circuit television screen, studying a shot of the outside. Six people, all armed, were entering the outside gate.
“Move.”
The new guard stepped up and shoved the younger man aside. It didn’t take him long to identify the grainy figures entering first the outside gate, then the inside gate, and finally the wall entrance itself.
How the hell are they still alive?
Back when he escaped from Blueville Correctional, he had made certain that the zombies attacking the northern gate would infiltrate the prison walls, and he’d be long gone by the time the dust had settled. He had assumed his enemies would be killed.
That bitch Kasey and her gang of trash.
He’d been wrong.
After wandering south-southeast for nearly four weeks afterward, a group of National Guardsmen found him and brought him to the CC, where he’d quickly been employed as a security guard. Seemed they were having trouble keeping their watchmen. He had been living comfortably ever since, right at home with conditions not unlike his former job. The people he was in charge of guarding may have been innocent civilians, but he treated them as prisoners nonetheless. They were kept in a cage, after all.
How the hell did they make it out of that prison?
He only saw one stranger in the group, though that hardly mattered to him. He didn’t waste any time wondering how they’d gotten their hands on a keycard. They were still breathing and breaking into his facility. That was all the information he needed.