“She stays here with me.” His eyes were unreadable beneath their large sunglasses.
Orson’s frown was wasted on him. Still, he shouldn’t be greedy. There was enough to go around. Orson settled for just dragging Nicole after him.
“Where are we going?” she protested. “Where are you taking me?”
“To teach you who’s boss around here.” Orson still had the rifle with him, but he intended to use the knife. Mostly for show, but a few nicks here and there would be fun too. The fact that Nicole remained in handcuffs made it better. The other knife and pistol were left with Hank.
Orson shoved Nicole into the dark furnace room ahead of him, lit only by the one flashlight he had propped up on the conveyer that took bodies into the flames. He closed the door behind him.
“Sit,” he commanded, pointing to a section of the sheet near the conveyor.
Nicole looked around hesitantly, but after Orson jabbed her in the back with the rifle muzzle, she obeyed. As she sat, Orson quickly undid the cuffs from one wrist, wrapped it around part of the conveyor’s metal structure above her head, and snapped it back on. He closed it tightly enough to make her wince. After he placed the rifle to one side, he took out his knife and showed it to Nicole. The blade flashed in the meagre light. Orson went up to Nicole and sat upon her crossed legs, a knee on either side of her hips.
“Oh, Nicole,” he hissed, stroking her face with his free hand.
She didn’t hide her disgust in the slightest. That was okay, that would just make this better.
“Nicole, Nicole, Nicole.” He grabbed her breast and squeezed, hard.
Her tough resolve faltered only slightly from the pain.
“You have an ugly face, did you know that? Great body though.” Grabbing the hem of her shirt, Orson pulled the bottom of it up over her face. Her bra was black. Orson forced her onto her back and began to undo her belt buckle.
“Wait!” she shrieked. “Wait! Stop!”
Orson had no intention of doing such a thing.
“I want to make you a deal!”
He laughed. “Honey, you don’t have anything I want that I can’t just take.”
“Yes, I do,” she insisted. “Where are you going to go after this?”
“What?”
“Where do you plan to go? Certainly not back to the prison. Where do you think you could ride out these zombies?”
Orson pulled her shirt back down so that he could see her eyes in the dim light.
“Where do you plan on going?” she asked again.
“A little place downtown,” Orson lied.
And she knew it. “You have no idea where to go.”
“Well, I don’t want to go anywhere you know of. I left that prison for a reason you know. Too crowded, no privacy.”
“I know a place that’s not overcrowded. And everybody there has their own room. Lots of privacy.”
“And where is this magical place?”
“Underground. Where the virus was created. The people who made it are holed up down there, riding it out. They hope to become the leaders of the new world once this is all over.”
Her eyes suggested she wasn’t lying. “And why would you tell me about it? What do you get out of it?”
“Well, not getting raped for one thing.” That seemed like a pretty good motivator to Orson. “And the safety of Jasmine and Isabelle. Once I take you there, you release them. And you let them take the truck; you won’t need it anymore. You can keep me as a prisoner if you like—in fact you won’t get in without me—but you let them go.”
Orson got off Nicole and thought about it. It made sense to him that those who made the virus would have a bunker to protect them from it. It’s what he would have done. And everybody knew that Marble Keystone had created the thing, and Nicole worked for Keystone, so she had connections.
“I’ll have to talk to Hank about it,” he decided.
Even in the gloom, he could see Nicole roll her eyes. “Sure thing. You go talk it over with your boss.”
Orson frowned. “He’s not my boss.”
“Isn’t he? Seems that way to me.”
Grabbing her by the front of her shirt, Orson yanked her upright, causing her to yelp in pain from her arms being wrenched and her head hitting part of the conveyor.
“I respect Hank,” Orson hissed in her face. “But he isn’t my boss. I make my own choices.”
“Okay, okay.” Nicole turned her face away from him and nodded.
Orson threw her back against the conveyor, causing her head to bounce off it again. He knew she was playing him. “How do I know that the moment I show up there, I’m not going to be executed or locked away for life?”
“Why would they do that? They don’t know who you are.” Nicole shifted herself into a less painful position. “Besides, after I open the main door, it’s a long walk down to where the people are. Anything could happen to me in that time.”
It seemed that Nicole was willing to sacrifice herself for the other girls. She had just fully admitted that Orson would have time to kill her later. It seemed preposterous.
“Do we have a deal or not?” Nicole demanded. “We’re going to settle this here in this room, now, or else I’ll never tell you how to get there or how to get in.”
Orson knew there were elements at play here that he didn’t understand. Nevertheless, he had always been so good at reading people, and Nicole wasn’t coming across as a liar. The only time she had lied was when she said that Hank looked like Orson’s boss, and she had said that to rile him up. Perhaps she figured this was the only way to save the mother and the child. Women always seemed willing to do anything for the sake of children.
“All right. We have a deal,” Orson finally said.
Nicole nodded.
“But I’m still pissed at you for what you did to my face.” Before she had any time to think about it, Orson wound up his fist and slammed it into her cheekbone. Blood gushed from her nose, and from a split that opened up in the skin of her cheek, as her eyes registered pure shock. For a third time, her head hit the conveyor. She gasped through her mouth, her nose no longer operable. Orson had broken it. Her eye immediately started to puff up and darken. Without anything cold, the swelling and bruising would soon consume the entire side of her face. Although Orson wanted to do more, it would have to suffice.
He gathered up his things and unlocked Nicole from the post. Half-blind and in the dark, she staggered ahead as Orson prodded her with the end of the rifle. The sun was searing to the eyes again, but not as badly as on his trip to Hank’s apartment.
“That was quick,” Hank commented as he listened to Orson shove Nicole toward the truck. He couldn’t see her face, but the other females could.
“Nicky!” Isabelle squeaked. “Are you okay?”
“I’m all right.” Her voice came out slurred and sounding as if she had a bad cold. She climbed into the truck past Hank and lay down, ready to be handcuffed again to one of the inside handles.
Orson got in and cuffed her. “So where am I going?”
“Head to Liam and Bunsen. Do you know where that is?”
Orson nodded. It was near the courthouse where his trial had been held.
“Go there. I’ll give you the next directions when we get there.”
Orson climbed back out, tapping Hank on the shoulder so that he’d come as well. Once both men were outside, they slammed the doors shut.
“So, where are we going? And what did you do to her?” Hank wondered as they got into the front compartment.
“I beat her up. And she says she can get us into the place where the creators of the virus are hiding out.” Orson started up the engine.
“Sounds like a lovely place,” Hank said with no emotion in his voice, making Orson wonder if he was being sarcastic or not.
“I assume you’re okay with that.” Despite what he knew, Orson had let a little of what Nicky said get to him. He didn’t want to discuss this with Hank. He wanted to make the decisio
n entirely on his own.
“Sure, we’ll go. I thought of some other places we might like to visit first, however. What does she get in return?”
“The safety of the others. We get to keep her, but the others get to leave in the truck. And I can think of a place or two that I’d like to see before going as well.” His mom’s house for one.
Hank nodded sagely, as if this made perfect sense to him. Orson sensed Hank was keeping something from him, but what that was, he couldn’t tell. He suddenly saw Hank as less of a friend, and more of a weary ally. Things were starting to go downhill. Orson wasn’t going to let that happen. He was going to make sure everything went perfectly, that everything went his way.
He ran over a zombie in a prostitute’s dress.
15:
Lauren Sanford – Day 15
Lauren Sanford could almost see, smell, and even taste the club around her. The music pumped into her head, causing it to bob along involuntarily. In this club, the lights were the kind that strobed, providing only brief glimpses of the dancing bodies around her. Men and women, all of them moving to the music, dancing in their own little worlds. Despite the dense crowd, not one of them touched Lauren. She had her own little dancing bubble. Boom, boom-boom, boom, went the bass. Boom, boom-boom, boom. Abby was in the club with Lauren, even though she hated clubs. She was dancing in front of Lauren, totally carefree, blissfully happy, perfectly in time with the music. Boom, boom-boom, boom. Even between the strobes, when the club was dark, Lauren could see her pixie face. Lauren wanted to reach out, to touch her, but she knew she could not. She would have to be content with watching, an invisible wall between them. Boom, boom-boom, boom. Then a hand fell on Lauren’s shoulder.
Lauren gasped, her eyes flying open, the club shattering. It was replaced by the Pummel Motel’s parking lot, with its buses and trucks and cars. She pulled the headphones off her ears and turned to look up at who had disturbed her. It was Private Winchester. It was always Private Winchester.
“It’s been half an hour,” he told her.
Lauren sighed and got up from her nook against the almost empty vending machine. She picked up the iPod and turned it off. It belonged to one of her charges, and she had borrowed it. Most of the songs, an odd mix of country and metal, she didn’t like, but there were some dance songs she could get into. Every now and then, she just needed a moment to herself, a moment to forget about what was going on. Then Private Winchester would show up and bring her back to reality. He couldn’t be blamed though; Lauren had instructed him when to show up. He also watched the kids for her while she was off.
“Thanks, Winchester.” She headed for the stairs that would take her back up to her room.
“Any time, Ms. Sanford.” He gave her a curt nod.
“And at any time you can start calling me Lauren.” She turned back to him, exasperated. For the past two weeks, he had been calling her Ms. Sanford, and for the past two weeks, she had been telling him to call her Lauren.
Winchester just smiled, knowing he had annoyed her. Lauren rolled her eyes at him and headed up the steps.
On the second floor, she held the railing as she walked down to rooms 28 and 29, looking out over the parking lot some more. Everything was sodden and gleamed with a wet shine from the torrential downpour they had yesterday and most of last night. All around the edges of the lot were the cars, buses, and trucks in which they had all arrived, as well as various scraps of everything else they could use to make a barricade: pieces of chicken wire, plywood, corrugated metal, spare tires, a downed tree, milk crates, empty vending machines, etc. Soon, Lauren was going to lose her corner. The vending machine would finally be emptied of its snacks and moved to become part of the wall, which spanned all three sides of the parking lot and continued around behind the motel, where it met up with the fence surrounding the pool back there. The pool was never used for swimming. They were drinking the pool water, using tablets and filters the soldiers had to filter out the chlorine and other stuff that had fallen into it. They made the water taste strange.
Outside the barrier, zombies moaned and groaned.
Lauren went into room 28 and found all of its occupants sitting there with all of the occupants from room 29 next door. More children had been brought in over the past two weeks, and all of those without parents came to Lauren. She had no idea how it happened, but she had become the caretaker of all orphans. The second room was given to them when an RV full of day-care children was found in the woods. Apparently, another woman had taken them there from the day-care, but then had gotten sick. Knowing what would happen, she had left the children. Thankfully, the soldiers found them while out looking for rations. Lauren slept in room 28 with all the youngest children, while Jon, her most helpful of helpers, stayed in room 29 with the older kids. Right now, however, they were all crammed into one room. Out of the mass ran Claire, who wrapped her arms around Lauren’s waist. All of the kids had bonded with her to some degree, but Claire had certainly become the most attached.
“I thought you weren’t going to make it,” she said into Lauren’s shirt.
“You know I’m always here for this.” Lauren detached Claire and made her way over to Peter’s makeshift crib. The little boy, still the youngest of all the kids, was taking a nap. Lauren gently picked him up, and carried him to the middle of the room, returning the iPod to its owner as she passed by her. As Lauren sat down, all the kids took their positions. Jon closed the door and sat in front of it, placing his hands over his ears. All the kids did the same. Some of the youngest had been given earmuffs that had been found, which they now put on. The ear covering wasn’t necessary, but it helped the kids keep slightly calmer. Lauren carefully put Peter on her lap and gently placed her hands over his ears; she didn’t need to cover her own.
Looking at her watch, Lauren counted down. When she hit one, a wailing siren started up in the distance. Many kids scrunched their eyes shut, clamping their hands down harder, not wanting to hear. It wasn’t very close, so it wasn’t that loud, but knowing what it meant frightened them all. Zombies had a tendency to gather outside the barricade, threatening to smash it down. The only solution they had was to send some soldiers far away each day to crank a hand siren. They would run the thing for an hour or more, drawing all the zombies in the area toward them. It was incredibly dangerous, and every now and then, one of them wouldn’t come back.
Some of the kids cried, but they did so silently. That was the most important part: for everyone in the motel to be silent. Although the siren basically drowned out any noise they made, they wanted to make sure there was absolutely no reason for the zombies to stay. Even after the siren stopped, they had to remain silent for a while, to make sure none of the slow ones was still around. Lauren always feared that one day the siren would be cut short; that those who were out there, risking their lives for the others, would be overcome by the wave of dead flesh.
Lauren looked around the room while she waited. She had become very good at waiting. In a place like this, patience was a must-have. Jon looked calm as he sat by the door, his mouth moving as he counted the seconds. Claire was at her side, one ear pressed against Lauren’s upper arm so that she had a free hand to hold onto her. Peter continued to sleep in her lap, but he would probably wake up before it was over. Lauren wasn’t concerned about that; he never cried. That probably meant that something was wrong, but the doctors in the motel couldn’t find anything. Leelo sat in a cluster of older kids, near Jon. She looked like she could fall asleep at any moment. Jason was tapping his foot, probably listening to music in his head as he stared at the ceiling. Lauren had learned other kids’ names as well, like Mike, Lisa, and Dakota. She hadn’t learned them all, not yet, but she was getting there. Abby should have been there with her. She would have learned all the kids’ names by now as well as their likes and dislikes, interests and hobbies. Abby had always been a lot better with kids than Lauren had.
She glanced into the corner where Mary sat. The woman had begun to come
out of her stupor, but she was still in a fog most of the time. She had her hands placed lightly over her ears, one of them still holding the bear’s arm. Mouthing the words to a nursery rhyme she sometimes repeated over and over, she rocked gently back and forth. Back and forth. Next to her was Dakota, one of the kids who had come in the day-care RV. She was memorable because of the big cowboy hat she always wore. Apparently, it had belonged to the man who owned the RV. He had given the motor home to the day-care woman so that she could drive them to safety, and given Dakota the hat in the process. All the kids seemed to admire both him and the day-care woman, saying they were superheroes. Lauren figured they were, in a way. Dakota was one of the few who didn’t cover her ears. One of her small hands rested on Mary’s knee while she looked up at the broken woman. Her other hand absently stroked the hair of the little girl next to her. Dakota had the maturity of someone much older than herself.
The siren went on and on and on. It was the worst sound that Lauren had ever heard, but she willed it to continue. Not enough time had passed yet for it to stop. Wailing and wailing it went, drawing the hordes toward it. Lauren had dreams about that sound. She dreamt that she was the one cranking the handle, and the zombies were coming for her. When there were too many, she stopped cranking, but the sound continued, and more and more zombies poured forward. They built up under the platform she stood upon, surrounding it, rising higher. And when Lauren looked down at the faces of the zombies, they were all faces she knew. They were people she worked with, or people she saw walking through her apartment building. Often it was her parents, her friends, the children she now supervised, and others from the motel. And Abby. Always, Abby was there. It was always her, rising up the fastest, gripping Lauren’s leg and pulling her down into the swarm. Lauren always awoke from these dreams crying.
Adaptive Instinct (Survival Instinct) Page 28