Chapter Twenty-Two
Tuesday morning, eight a.m. Vicky never liked the meetings, and with the funeral yesterday, she nearly didn’t come to this one. Now she’d arrived, she realised maybe she should have listened to her gut. As she walked up and down in front of the line of people leaning against the wall, every face stared at her like they wanted to kill her—everyone but the guards and Stuart.
Barefoot as always, Vicky paced the blue crash mats and breathed in the familiar smell of bleach. The cold rubbery surface gave way beneath her every step as the padding took her weight.
Vicky splayed her toes out as if to press every part of her foot into the soft mat. The more connected she felt to the ground, the more stable she would be in a fight. Half the people in there looked like they’d challenge her that morning.
After Sharon and Dan had made it perfectly clear who they held accountable for the death of their children, many of the other Home residents seemed to have got on-board with their way of thinking. Everything had been fine until the new girl showed up!
The screens on the canteen’s wall played footage of the long-grassed meadow. A large patch had been crushed beneath the feet of the funeral goers, and three wooden crosses protruded from a mound of churned-up earth. To look at the image nearly robbed Vicky of her zeal, but she had to go on; they all had to go on.
“Aaron, from the farm,” Vicky said, her raised voice carrying through the vast room.
“Jack Blythe.” She looked at Sharon and Dan.
“Lola Blythe.”
“Alvin Blythe.”
The four names grabbed the attention of the room and Vicky let the silence hang for longer than felt natural. Just a few weeks ago she hated talking to large groups of people; now, she manipulated the silence as a skilled orator would. She held so long, half the people leaned forward in anticipation of her next words. “Moira killed the last three and still—hopefully—has Aaron imprisoned. I say hopefully because the alternatives don’t bear thinking about. The barbaric community at the bottom of the hill has existed next to Home for years—”
“And we’ve been all right so far,” Dan Blythe called out.
The guy had been through hell, so Vicky replied with as gentle a tone as she could manage. “Tell that to Aaron.”
Silence ran through the place.
“If he’s still alive, that is.”
It hurt to make the statement. If Vicky had returned to the prisoners in the two days she’d promised them, she would have busted them out yesterday. But everything had changed when the children were killed; she had to make sure the people at Home were ready to put a stop to Moira before she waded in. Sure, they had the pen of diseased, but if that failed, they’d have to fight.
“Imagine being dropped into a dark pit full of diseased,” Vicky said. “Or being put in a hole and having decapitated heads dropped on you while you scream.”
Some of the faces in the room twisted at the mention of Moira’s form of torture.
“Imagine being fed pig swill covered in used sanitary towels. Imagine having such a bad stomach you shit yourself every time you sneeze. Not only that, but you have to live on hard concrete ground with no covers and twenty other people witnessing your shame. Imagine being covered in festering sores and feeling like you’re going to freeze to death every night.”
People shifted where they stood, clearly feeling discomfort at Vicky’s words. And so they should.
“Imagine being laughed at, kicked, and made fun of all day, every day. Imagine being chained up and taken out to hunt the diseased for no other reason than it gives your captors pleasure.”
Again, Vicky let the silence linger. The faces looked no less angry with her, but they seemed more engaged with what she had to say.
“Moira does this to people, and she’s going to do it a hell of a lot more.” Vicky’s pulse sped. “She’s going to move in on this community, and she’s going to do this to all of you. We were training to go to war; we all knew that. I, for one, would rather be prepared”—she pointed at the wall of monitors in the canteen—“than be caught out when an army of people turn up outside. If we’re going to remain safe, we have to hit them first.”
A few of the faces changed. Anger gave way to the slow dawning of acceptance.
“What Moira’s done to the Blythe children cannot go unpunished.”
Some people nodded.
Vicky punched her left palm with her right fist and her voice echoed in the cavernous room. “Even if I have to go on my own, I’m going to take the fight to her. I refuse to lie down and wait for her to come to us.”
Although Vicky had more, Stuart stepped forward from the line of people. “I’ll go with you.”
A few seconds passed—a few long and drawn-out seconds where it looked like Vicky and Stuart would be on their own—and then Flynn stepped forward. He might be pissed off with her, but he said, “I’d follow you to hell and back, Vicky, you know that.”
A wet swell of emotion bulged in Vicky’s throat and she nodded as she fought to gulp it down.
Serj and Piotr, Mary, Jules, Jacob … one by one, the people of Home stepped forward and pledged to fight beside Vicky.
“This isn’t about liking me,” Vicky said while she paced in front of the people, one or two stepping forward with every passing second, “this is about protection. About making sure we’re not taken over by a psychopath like Moira. About making sure she doesn’t get to anyone else in this place.”
When just Sharon and Dan remained pressed against the wall, Vicky walked over to them. “I’m so, so sorry for your loss. Nothing can bring your children back, I know that, but I’m going to make sure Moira pays for what she did.” Pains streaked up the sides of Vicky’s face from clenching her jaw, and spittle shot from her mouth. “I’ll cut her eyes out and leave her heart in so she has to feel the pain for as long as her body will let her. I won’t rest until she’s dead, I promise you that.”
Both Sharon and Dan watched Vicky. Their eyes glazed as the tears built up inside of them. First Dan, and then Sharon, nodded at Vicky’s promise.
Vicky clapped her hands together and the crack of it snapped through the large room. “We go in five days’ time,” she said. “Ready or not, we need to take the fight to Moira’s community and roll right over them.”
More nods than before, the room finally seemed to be warming up to Vicky’s suggestions.
“Until then, I want everyone preparing for war. We need to make more weapons. Spears and clubs will be best.”
A wave of nods ran up and down the line.
“Any questions?” Vicky said.
Stuart raised his hand and the people around him sighed.
Vicky nearly did too, but Stuart had been the first to support her. “Yes, Stuart?”
“What if we lose?”
“We fight to win.”
The least definite answer she’d ever given him and Vicky waited for his comeback. Instead, Stuart nodded and said, “Okay. I’m ready.”
No one else seemed to have any questions, so Vicky said, “All of you need to rest up and get ready for this. We need to have fire in our bellies and courage in our hearts.”
The crowd dispersed and the guards came over to be with Vicky. All except Scoop, she hadn’t been at the meeting either.
Before Vicky could ask the others if they’d seen her, she noticed a disturbance in the exiting crowd. A woman rushed against the tide, shoving them away as she elbowed her way through.
When Vicky made eye contact with Scoop, her heart kicked. Before she could get close, Vicky called, “What’s up?”
“Meisha,” Scoop said, and Vicky’s stomach plummeted.
Wide-eyed and breathless, Scoop hissed, “She’s gone.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Vicky stood back and looked at the space on the wall where the spare key had been, while Serj addressed Scoop. “But how long do we give it?” He stood in front of the door to Home, a new lock in his grip. “That key cou
ld fall into the wrong hands.”
“Longer than a day.” Scoop shook her head, the whites of her eyes wide in her dark face. “Jesus, Serj, you need to give Meisha longer than that.”
Just the three of them there, Vicky didn’t know where she stood on the argument. After all, Meisha could be dead; or worse, she could be in a cage in Moira’s community. And what then? Wait until Scoop could accept that possibility, and hope Moira didn’t raid them with her newly acquired key in the meantime? But then again if they didn’t give her a chance to return, then they would be cutting the next generation loose. And if they did that, what the hell were they fighting for?
Vicky looked out of the large window to the left of the huge front door and watched the long grass. The sun shone brightly, making her eyes itch. At least she had good weather today. It would have been worse for Meisha to go out amongst the diseased in the rain. A heavy downpour always made it harder to hear the fuckers approaching.
A deep sigh and Serj walked close to Scoop. Holding both of her hands with his, he spoke in a soft voice. “I get where you’re coming from, and were I in your situation, I wouldn’t ever want to change the locks, but think of the worst …”
Looking back at Serj through a glazed stare, her attention shifting from one of his eyes to the other, Scoop said, “I’m drowning in thoughts of the worst. Whenever I let my guard down, thoughts of the worst overwhelm me.”
Vicky stepped closer to Scoop and put a gentle hand against her slim lower back. “We have to protect everyone else’s kids too, Scoop. If the spare key’s fallen into the wrong hands …”
Scoop’s shoulders slumped and she dropped her head as she stared down at the blue linoleum floor. “Can we just give her a little longer? She left a note saying she was going out to find supplies. If she’s gone to the local town, she shouldn’t be back yet anyway. Surely we need to give her enough time to do that?”
The appeal melted Vicky’s heart. To see a fellow guard and friend in such distress … Were it Flynn, she’d demand they never change the locks. “Maybe we should give her a bit more time,” she said to Serj.
Piotr and Flynn had gone to the farm to check on supplies, so the decision had to be made between Vicky and Serj.
Serj drew a deep breath before he finally shrugged and turned to Scoop. “If you remain by the door and wait for her, you can keep an eye out for anything untoward. That way, we can wait a little longer.”
After she’d nodded at him, Scoop said, “Thank you.” She looked at Vicky and repeated, “Thank you.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“I’ll be glad when we don’t have to do this anymore,” Serj called after Vicky as he ran behind her toward the small but thick wooded area between them and the pen.
Vicky didn’t reply. Instead, she focused on the trees up ahead, the grass whipping at her as she sprinted through it. Whenever they led a pack this way, the woods meant the difference between life and death. If they kept their wits, they could get through the space and open up enough of a lead for the final stretch.
The diseased screamed as they chased the pair. A wall of sound, it challenged Vicky’s resolve and a buckle snapped through her stride.
When Vicky entered the woods, it muted their cries. For a second, the sound of her own heavy steps and ragged breaths rang out louder than the mob on their tail.
Vicky heard Serj enter the woods behind her. Despite his fitness, whenever he ran he breathed like an asthmatic in the middle of an attack.
The sound of the diseased entered a few seconds later and their collective roar seemed to shake the trees. Vicky and Serj had picked up more of a crowd than ever before. Fuck knew how many, but when Vicky glanced back, they stretched the width of the woods.
Vicky did her best to push her panic down and searched for her route out of there. It didn’t matter how many chased them, her objective remained the same—get the fuck out of the woods well before they did.
A heavy pulse and tightening lungs dragged on Vicky’s progress. She pulled greedily at the pine-scented air and continued to focus in front of her, twisting and turning her way through the tightly packed space. She kept tabs on Serj by listening to his panting breaths. Apart from that, they were on their own until they got to the ropes.
When Vicky burst from the woods, the sun burned her eyes. The same happened every time and she squinted while running blind. Every footstep rolled when it landed on the uneven ground. One wrong step and she could break her ankle. If she did, she’d expect Serj to leave her behind—she wouldn’t stop for him.
The few seconds of blindness seemed to last an age before Vicky’s sight returned. She was now no more than fifty metres from the two ropes hanging from the tree. One for her, one for Serj.
The grass whipped at Vicky’s thighs again.
When Vicky got close to the ropes, she leapt and reached out. Driven by her momentum, she grabbed the rope and swung forward over the pen of diseased. She shimmied up it while it moved.
The rope next to her swung when Serj landed on it, but Vicky didn’t look across. Not yet.
Once at the top, Vicky turned to face the approaching pack. It didn’t matter how many times she saw the tidal wave of insanity, whenever a horde of the fuckers chased her, cold fear wrapped her in a constrictor’s grip.
Vicky’s knuckles ached from how tightly she held the rope. She watched Serj climb for a second before looking at the lead diseased at the head of the pack.
The packs always had a leader, sometimes two, and that leader would always be the most adept. It ran the fastest and looked the strongest. Vicky always feared it and figured if any of them would get to her, the fucker in the lead would.
A few seconds later the alpha jumped at Vicky’s rope. Not quite zero co-ordination, but not far off, the brute flailed in her general direction, hit the knot at the bottom with its face, and fell down the steep slope.
The knock from the diseased set Vicky’s rope swinging again and she watched the others make even more pitiful attempts at reaching her as they fell, one by one, down the short and sharp hill leading to the holding area below.
Although she still fought for breath, Vicky found her words when she turned to Serj. “I’ve had enough of this now. This has to be the last time. We need to take these fuckers to Moira.”
The diseased had all fallen into the trap now, yet Serj still looked down at them as if they could rise up and attack him from their current position. Without taking his eyes off them, he reached up and pulled the rope attached to the first gate. It swung shut with a loud crash.
Vicky tugged the other rope so the new arrivals could mingle with the rest of the horrible fuckers. As she looked at them, she continued to breathe heavily and said again, “This is the last fucking time.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
After Serj had lured the diseased down to the opposite side of the pen, Vicky slid down the hill and closed the inside gate behind them. She backed off, closed the outer gate, and scrambled back up the small hill. Even with the open space and strong winds between her and the pack, their rancid stench still smothered her.
Vicky lay down on her belly and hid in the long grass so she could watch them. They had well over two hundred diseased now. Surely it had to be enough to take down Moira’s community.
Serj looked over at Vicky before he pulled away from the mob. Each of them moved to the rhythm of their own torment as they watched him disappear. Some swayed from side to side, some slashed at the air as if locked in a battle with a figment of their own imaginations—if they even had imaginations anymore. Some of them bit around them as a dog would when trying to catch a fly. Despite their seeming individuality, something locked them together. They seemed to have a hive mind. It drove them and could call them all to the same cause. It could be used to get them to Moira’s community.
***
“So how are we going to do this?” Serj said and Vicky jumped as he slid down next to her.
“How did I not hear you?”
<
br /> Serj shrugged. “I waited.”
“Huh?” Vicky said.
“I waited down there for you to come to me.”
“How long have I been here?”
“Fifteen minutes at least.” Serj watched the diseased too. “There’s something hypnotic about them, isn’t there?”
“And stupid,” Vicky said. “They’ve watched the space you disappeared into for the entire time. You’d think one of them would have turned around by now.” As if on cue, a small diseased no bigger than a six-year-old wandered through the pack. “It’s never easy to see children like that, is it?”
“Poor kid,” Serj said. “She looks like she’s looking for her mum. Even though it’s been over ten years, I still can’t believe the curse that’s been put on this world.”
Fire burned beneath Vicky’s cheeks. If they knew she’d helped release it, she’d be out of Home within seconds. Another thing the community could hate her for—and rightly so this time.
Vicky pushed the thought of Brendan to the back of her mind. The memory of the school bus in Summit City took its place. The sight of the diseased kid must have stirred it up. She thought of the splash when the glass smashed against the ground as the bus fell. The children’s screams flying from the toppled vehicle. The blood.
“We need to get them to Moira’s community while keeping them as far from Home as possible,” Vicky said, trying to forget her memories. “You’ve seen how we can lead them off a ledge. We need to do that at the top of the hill and let them fall into the complex at the bottom. If this lot crash against the chain-link fence, hopefully it’ll collapse.”
“Hopefully?”
Vicky turned to look at the man. “You want guarantees from me?”
A flicker of something flashed across Serj’s mahogany gaze, but he didn’t say it. Maybe he did want guarantees but realised the absurdity of it. “When shall we do it, then?”
The Alpha Plague (Book 6) Page 9