The Withered Series (Book 1): Wither

by Miles, Amy

  He uncrosses his legs, only to cross them once more before pressing back his shoulders and then raising his chin to meet me face to face. No hiding. No backing away. “I told you, that isn’t my way.”

  Tucking the blanket under my arms, I tap my finger against my leg, trying to get a read on him. Nothing about his posture screams guilt. No flush in his cheeks. He doesn’t look away, as if embarrassed by his actions. In fact, he seems rather confident that he did the right thing, despite my accusing glare.

  “Alright. Let’s say you are legit.” I concede for the moment. “That you only want to help me. Tell me what happened at the hospital? Why were you there?”

  There is a clank of metal and notice dog tags hanging from his neck as he stretches out his long legs before him. A ridge of muscles appear in his thighs as he flexes. “The hospital was overrun. My team and I did what we could to neutralize the threat.”

  “Your team?”

  He nods. “I had nine men under my command. We were on patrol in the area when we saw the lights go out. It didn’t feel right, so we decided to check it out. Once we saw the front doors busted open we knew it was a raid.”

  Despite the headache trying to drill a hole through the back of my head, his words bring clarity as I focus on this new information. I always did like trying to solve puzzles.

  “Do you know why they were murdering people?” He grasps his dog tags and slides them back and forth across the chain, stalling. “Cable?”

  He looks up as I use his name for the first time. His jaw flinches but he quickly averts his gaze. Even from his profile I mark the pinch of his with disgust. “They were on a blood run.”

  “A blood run?” I lean my head back against the cushion. The muscles in my neck ache from remaining upright for so long. I need at least another’s day of rest to recover. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He leans toward me, his lips slightly parted before he speaks. “How much do you know about what’s been going on?”

  I shrug half-heartedly. “I’m not really the news watching kind of girl.”

  “But you know about the deaths?”

  “Duh.” I rub my forehead, wishing I could search the apartment for a bottle of pain meds. This headache is a real bitch. “That one was kinda hard to miss.”

  I don’t know many of the details, only what the news anchors told us before the stations went down. What started out as a few bizarre deaths up north led to a country-wide outbreak.

  Death swept across our land like a biblical plague. Entire families wiped out in mere days. The body counts rose faster than could be controlled. Mounds of decaying bodies were tossed in landfills, mass graves set alight to prevent the spread of the disease. Hospitals were overrun. All the while I stayed close to my mother's room. I knew she wouldn’t get sick, not with being stuck in a clean room for risk of contracting a normal infection, but what about me? I figured the best place to be was smack dab in the hospital if I started to feel sick.

  The government gave us hope a month ago when they released the MONE vaccine. Our cure for an unnamed enemy. Our redemption.

  They were wrong.

  The injection that was meant to bring us salvation brought us a living hell. The death count may have slowed but the human mutations began within days of the drugs release. The government scrambled to figure out what went wrong with the vaccines but it was too late. Whatever this new pathogen was, it spread quickly through the populace.

  The Withered Ones were born. People not alive but not entirely dead either. They walk the streets, unblinking and unaware. The only sound they make is a rasping moan and shuffling footsteps. A zombie, for all intents and purposes, but nothing like we anticipated. I think I could have handled the flesh eaters a bit better.

  That was the beginning of the end.

  Desperation and the remaining scum of the earth rule the streets now. It was inevitable that gangs would form, prisons would empty, and evil would assume control, but the true fear runs much deeper. In the early hours of the night, you are left to wonder am I next?

  I suppose that is another reason why I didn’t run when things got bad. Where can I hide when our deadliest enemy may already be inside me?

  “We think the vaccines triggered some sort of chemical response in those already infected with the pathogen,” Cable informs me. His voice is lower now. His grave tone makes me want to hug myself and crawl back under the blankets and ignore everything outside this apartment. I tried to do that at the hospital, but the world came knocking. “I’m not sure anyone left alive really knows how it spread or even why. It hit so fast that there was no way to contain it once it spread.”

  “But someone must know the true source. I mean, they have a slew of symptoms to pick from, right?”

  Cable scratches the back of his neck. “That’s the problem. None of the symptoms are completely the same. Some seem pretty constant, like a fever, but it’s different for each person. Half the time it’s impossible to know if they’ve just come down with a cold. By then it’s too late.”

  He rubs his hands along his arm, scrunching up the black fabric. He stares beyond me, his expression as blank as those things shuffling along the streets below. “There were rumors at my base. People were suspicious of government involvement. Terms like population control and terrorism were thrown around. Other people thought it might have been some crazy Middle Eastern dictator that found a way to use chemical warfare on our food supply. Others thought maybe there was a mole in the CDC that tampered with the MONE drug results.”

  I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’d had similar thoughts over the past couple of weeks. I wouldn’t put it past the government to be somehow involved. Plausible deniability and all that crap.

  “But the Moaners started showing up after we were given the vaccine,” I chime in. “Shouldn’t that mean that was the cause of the mutations?”

  He turns his hands upward and shrugs, shaking his head. “Could be, or maybe it was just bad luck. The CDC was working on this mystery last I heard, but that was over a week ago. It’s been mostly radio silence since them. My guess is they ran out of time.”

  “Or manpower,” I mutter, shoving my hair back from my eyes. It clings to my cheeks, plastered to my neck.

  “That too.” Lifting his hat, Cable rubs his hair. It’s sandy blond, like the highlights along his chin, short and probably at one time was spiked but has since been matted down. “About a week ago I heard static on our comm channel. Nothing unusual, especially now, but a faint message came through that I’m not sure I was supposed to hear.”

  My hand falls away from my forehead. “What was it?”

  “The message said ‘blood is the key.’ That’s when the riots really began and we were called in. My guess is someone else was listening in on that same message.”

  I rest my head back against the futon cushion. “It’s not like that message was much to go on. How could someone take those four words and create such chaos?”

  “What other source of hope did they have to cling to?”

  “Hope?” I snort. “How does ‘blood is the key’ bring hope to those lunatics out there?”

  “It doesn’t, but if they want people to follow them they have to pretend that it does.”

  “So the leaders of these gangs tell people there’s something in blood that can save them and their brainless minions will do whatever it takes to get it?”

  “Pretty much. That’s why they hit the hospital.”

  I frown, thinking back to the odd sounds I heard at the hospital. “Was my attacker trying to collect my mother’s blood as some sort of cure? If so, there’s no way gutting her would have worked. I’m no doctor, but I’m pretty sure mixing the wrong blood is a bad thing, not to mention how easily it could be contaminated when collected incorrectly.”

  “Desperation drives people to crazy things, including what happened to your mother. I don’t know what they are doing with the blood, only that they are rounding up survivors for it.
”

  I heard the screams on the street, knew innocent people were being hurt, but I never dreamed they were being rounded up like animals. The idea sickens me, but a sudden idea makes me mouth fall open. “They’re making their own blood bank,” I whisper.

  “It would seem so.” Cable’s hands drop to his sides, his fingers uncurling against the floor. Color flees from his fingers under the pressure. “They are systematically taking out quadrants of the town at a rate faster than we can keep up. We are low on men. Half of the guys I came here with have turned, others were mowed down. A few are missing and presumed dead.”

  His jaw clenches. “Before anyone really knew what was happening, they hit every gun, pawn and redneck shop they could find to stock up. They raided grocery stores for food and blew up a shopping center after they depleted its resources. Then the bastards built walls around themselves. They are shut up tight near the center of town. I lost several good men trying to breach their wall.”

  “How could they build walls so quickly? It’s only been a couple of weeks.”

  An explosion rattles the window. Cable glances toward the window, his expression grim. “Like that. They blew up entire city blocks, downed buildings all around them. They have snipers on the rooftops. We try to get near them and they pick us off.”

  Wrapping my arms around me, I feel a shiver ripple along my spine. “Why not just drive a tank in here and blow them all to hell? Don’t you have jets or something with bombs?”

  “Sure.” He shoves his hat back on his head. “We could do that, and risk murdering hundreds, if not thousands, of innocent men and women in the process.”

  I notice that he doesn’t mention anything about children and figure he’s trying to gloss over that fact. I appreciate that side step. I’ve never been one of those people who liked seeing kids get killed in movies. It’s just sick.

  Lowering my head, I fight to ignore the growing ache in my neck. My muscles are taut. My stomach churns as I sink a little lower. I’m tired, more so than I ever remember being. My mother used to brag to her friends that I was the healthiest kid she ever met. I can count the times I had a cold as a child on one hand. The flu hit me once every couple of years. I guess I’ve hit my quota for a while.

  “I used to watch movies about the apocalypse,” I say, placing a hand on my stomach. Even though it is empty, I fear another bout of drive heaves may be in my near future. “Thought it was kinda cool, ya know? Even with all of the death and destruction I always saw it as a rebirth, but this isn’t life. It’s not even surviving.”

  I fall silent, thinking over the enormity of what has been lost and its only beginning. Things will get worse. They always do.

  For the first time since waking I become aware of the chill on the air. Cable’s long sleeves are pulled low over his wrists. His pants are tucked into his boots.

  “It’s cold.” He starts forward in response to my statement, as if with the intent of tucking in my blanket but I jerk back and he instantly falls still. “I meant it’s cold in general. Not that I’m cold.”

  He sinks back to the floor. “They took out this section’s power station last night. I don’t know what they are thinking. Blow that thing up and the rest of city goes off the grid, including them.”

  I bite my lower lip, thinking over what he’d said about them stocking up. If anyone in this city is prepared to wait out this apocalypse it’s them. “Maybe that’s the point.”

  “What is?”

  “If I wanted to take control of a city, I’d go after the essentials first: water, food, fuel and weapons. They’ve already done that. Now if they send people running scared, they have free reign over anything people need to survive. It’s the dead of winter. When the survivors begin to starve or the next ice storm blows through, people will be forced to come to them or die.”

  Cable tilts his head to the side and I spy the hint of a tattoo rising from the back of his collar. “Makes sense, only I don't think there will be any dealing. Those gangs are out for blood. You can’t negotiate with madness.”

  “Don’t I know it.” I rub the back of my neck to ease the pain. Multiple sites along my body ache. It’s hard to tell what pain is from my recent beating or from the fever. “Did you lose any of your men at the hospital?”

  “A few.”

  Silence hangs between us for a time, thick and impregnable. I should say that I’m sorry. Most decent humans would, right?

  “Did you kill that guy that attacked me?” His gaze hardens before he nods. “Good.”

  “Good?” He brings his knees up into his chest and links his hands in front of his laced combat boots. Splatters of dried blood cling to the soles. “You think killing a man is a good thing?”

  I shrug, trying to appear indifferent as I tighten my grip on my waist, desperate to ignore the tremble in my fingers. “He would have killed me.”

  “I reckon he would have. Still doesn’t make it right though.”

  His answer floors me. Glancing toward the door, I see his gun propped against the wall. I don’t know what kind it is, but it’s big and mean looking. A heck of a lot scarier than that pistol I lost. “Why do you carry one of those if you don’t intend to use it?”

  Glancing toward his weapon, Cable frowns and looks back at me. “Why do you carry a gun when you have no clue how you use it?”

  My mouth drops open. “How do you--”

  “I had to put the girl down that you shot. You missed her heart by a good half a foot. Bullet went through the top of her stomach. She was suffering when I found her.” He clenches his fists and looks up at me. “My guess is that you got off a lucky shot.”

  “So?” I bristle at the accusation in his voice. “At least I defended myself.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. You did, but that isn’t good enough.”

  “I told you, I’m not a Ma’am, so cut that crap.” I slant my body away from him and cross my arms over my chest. “I survived. That’s all that matters now.”

  “No.” Cable pushes up from the floor in one smooth motion. When I look up at him I’m shocked by the deep slump of his shoulders. His expression is slack, his eyes dull. “This world isn’t lost until we give up on it and I’m not about to do that.”

  I cling to the blanket, feeling exposed and wearied by this stranger’s whiplash morals. I should feel more gratitude for his risking his life to rescue me, but I don’t. Not right now.

  Instead, I decide to divert his attention. “Where is this place?”

  “East side of town. Not far from the river.” He walks to a window and peels back the curtain of black plastic. Hail pings against the window. An icy mixture streams down the glass panes like tears, cleaning away the filth. “It’s not my place. I had a friend who crashed here from time to time.”

  “Had?”

  He lets the plastic fall back into place then turns to look at me. This time it’s a hard, piercing look. “Yeah. Had.”

  I fall silent as he glances toward the empty armchair across from me and quickly looks away. I can tell he’s upset. We have all lost someone. None of us are immune to mourning, though I’ll admit I’m better off than most. There’s no one in my life that I care enough about to shed a tear for.

  “You’ll be safe here.” He says after a moment, visibly shaking himself. “You need to rest up a bit before you’re ready to move.”

  “Move?” I ask, feeling a little stupid for acting like a parrot repeating everything he says but my head still feels too light. Too unsettled. The quiver in my fingers has yet to fade and my stomach doesn’t seem ready to settle any time soon. I glance down the hall and pray that I can make it to the toilet in time if I have to.

  “We can’t stay here. The gangs are on the move, trying to expand their territory. My orders were to secure the quadrant near the hospital and return to base. It’s only a matter of time before this area is lost.”

  I drop my legs over the side and tuck the blanket around me. The dark blue fabric of the futon is faded and tatty, the
stuffing beginning to migrate toward the floor as I shift. “What about your team, squadron, or whatever you call it? Don’t you have others like you that you’re supposed to be with? Some commanding officer to report to?”

  I get the distinct feeling that he has no desire to speak of such things as he begins to collect his gear. I consider pressing him, almost eager to do so as payback for him getting an eyeful of me while I was passed out, but I let it go.

  Pursing my lips, I push up from the futon and rise unsteadily. I almost think that I’ve managed to pull it off until I topple backward, my head slamming into the cushion. Cable is by my side before I am able to recover.

  “I can do it myself,” I growl and shove off his hand. “I don’t need you.”

  He backs away but doesn’t go far. This annoys me. “What’s with you, anyways? You one of those guys with some stupid hero complex? Is that why you joined the military?”

  I glimpse a hint of a smile but it fades just as fast as it appears and I realize that this guy is tough, but not as tough as he wants me to believe.

  “I’m from the south, where people still have manners.”

  “And you’re implying that I don’t?”

  He shrugs. “A thank you for saving your life would be the normal response.”

  “I said thank you.” At least I’m pretty sure I did at some point.

  “Did you?” The corners of his mouth twitch. “It must have gotten lost in all of that self-righteous independence crap you’ve been spewing since you woke.”

  My mouth hangs open in disbelief. Is this guy for real? Now he’s going to lecture me on being a feminist? I start to whip out a comeback but he turns his back on me and heads for the door. “Where are you going?”

  He pauses at the door to don a jacket. I spy the name Blackwell stitched into his chest and wonder if it’s his name or if he grabbed the coat from another soldier. Reaching into his pocket he draws out a pistol.