Hank appeared beside Hatcher. “Let’s load them in the trucks and RV’s. We can take them to the compound.”
Hatcher blanched but turned to Roger. “Can you control them?”
Roger gave him a curious stare as another scream echoed across the park. “What do you mean, ‘control them’?”
“I mean, can you keep them from fighting with my people?”
Roger’s brows knit. “You mean our people, don’t you?”
Hatcher clenched his jaw. “This is no time for semantics. Can you control them?”
Roger glanced at those remaining and nodded slowly. “Yeah.” He turned to Hatcher, his face serious. “I can.”
“Then get them loaded. Those with guns load last.” Hatcher slapped the man’s back then moved to the outer edge of the camp. He shouldered his rifle and scanned the shadows.
“You heard the man!” Roger yelled. “Everybody load up. We’re bugging out!”
Simon forgot how difficult it was to try to ride while drunk, much less while trying to keep control of his shotgun. He tucked the barrel between the frame and the exhaust and didn’t even think that about how the heat might set off the other cartridge.
He revved the motorcycle and shot over the curb and onto the street. His alcohol saturated brain barely registered the pale bodies darting between the edges of his vision.
He accelerated, shifting gears with muscle memory and tried to put as much distance as he could between himself and the traitorous sons of bitches at the camp. Let the Crazies have them. Most weren’t worth eating anyway.
The chill night air stung his face and his eyes watered without ceasing but he continued to push the bike. When he finally thought he may have put enough distance between himself and the camp, he slowed the bike and stopped near a burned-out gas station.
Simon allowed himself a deep breath to try to cleanse his thoughts. He knew he needed to do something. He needed to kill Squirrel. He needed to kill Sailor. Hell, he needed to kill most of the bastards who refused his orders.
But he had to stay alive to do that.
Movement along the edge of his headlight jerked his thoughts back to the here and now and he kicked the bike into gear again. “I ain’t getting et. Fuck all y’all!”
He goosed the bike forward again and wobbled until he picked up speed. He had no idea where he was going or where he had been but he wanted to put distance between the Crazies and himself.
Simon felt the chill air turn cold and his joints began to ache. He glanced up at the moon and caught the silhouette of a large building.
He instinctively slowed the bike and his headlight came to rest on a hotel marquis. He stopped and looked at the building again, his eyes straining in the darkness to note any movement.
“What the hell?” He turned the bike into the parking lot and weaved around the handful of cars left to the environment.
Simon turned off the engine, stepped off the bike, and pulled his shotgun from its cradle. He strained his ears in the darkness, listening for any sound of movement. This was one of those rare occasions he wished his exhaust wasn’t so damned loud.
He stumbled toward the broken glass doors leading to the lobby and paused when the glass crunched under his boot. He listened again for any sounds of the Crazies. He wobbled as he realized he had been holding his breath and leaned toward the concrete framework holding the remains of the door.
Simon gave himself a moment to get his bearings then stepped into the lobby. He staggered past the overturned furniture and fought the urge to gag at the stench of death that seemed to permeate the building.
He walked to the elevator and reached out for the button before grinding his teeth in frustration. No electricity meant no power for the damned lift. He turned and marched toward the stairwell.
His heavy boots made little sound on the overly- padded stairs but he held the shotgun at the ready in case something decided to make him a midnight snack.
Simon huffed and puffed as he nervously made his way to the top floor and scanned both directions in the darkness of the hallway. The air was stuffy and still reeked of death.
He pushed his way down the hallway until he came to a door ajar. A child’s backpack lay on the floor, preventing it from closing entirely.
He pushed the door open slowly and felt a slight breeze. The air was fresh and cool and he could see through the room by the moonlight streaming in the open balcony sliding glass.
He quickly checked that the room was indeed empty then kicked the backpack away from the door, allowing it to shut and lock behind him.
Simon tossed the shotgun onto the bed and stepped to the balcony, his head clearing in the cool night air. He leaned against the rail and stared out across the darkened city.
In the distance he could make out what looked like lights moving between buildings. He leaned forward, his eyes fighting the alcohol to focus. His first thought was the military had returned but then he noticed the single headlights intermixed with the larger vehicles and he knew.
His camp was on the move.
Dr. Carpenter lay strapped to his bed, a thick line of drool escaping the corner of his mouth. His eyes appeared glassy and Carol pulled her penlight from a jacket pocket. She flicked the light across his eyes and checked for pupillary response.
She sighed heavily and slipped the light back. She crossed her arms and studied the man. Something wasn’t right and what bothered her most was the fact that before the generator, he could have moments of pure cognizance before the rage overtook him. Now, rather than simply dulling the pain, the machine seemed to keep him stoned.
She walked to the steel table and reached for the frequency knob. Slowly she turned it in one direction and watched as his body responded with twitches and grunts. His eyes suddenly widened and he inhaled deeply to scream when she dialed it back. His lids grew heavy again and he gurgled as a smile spread across his face.
She tried to adjust the frequency the other direction and he actually seemed to sober somewhat. He snapped his head in her direction and for the first time since Dr. LaRue had returned and ordered the generator used, he appeared lucid.
She held the frequency knob and stared at him. “Doctor Carpenter?” He blinked at her and nodded slightly. “Are you still with us?”
He cleared his throat and worked his lips, trying to clear the spittle from his mouth. “I’m here, but…my head feels like it’s full of cotton balls.”
She smiled at the sound of his voice and bent to check his eyes again. “I’m going to use a penlight. Please let me know if this bothers you.”
He nodded slightly as she checked his pupils again. He winced but kept his eyes open for her. He looked at her with a weak smile. “Did I pass?”
She clicked the light off and pulled a rolling chair close so that she could sit at eye level with him. “You appear to be responding to the frequency generator quite well.” She glanced at it then back to him. “Would you mind terribly if we try to fine tune it?”
He shook his head. “Be my guest.”
She rolled the chair over by the generator and reached for the knob again. She paused, then told him, “Are you aware of your earlier response to the frequency we had it set at?”
He shook his head. “I feel like I just woke up from a very long sleep.”
“Dr. LaRue had set it when your pain response lessened but it left you in an almost catatonic state.”
He raised a brow at her. “That’s odd.”
“I thought so too.” She turned back to the generator and took the knob firmly in her hand. “I want to make micro adjustments until we find a setting that has you the most coherent.”
He nodded at her. “By all means.”
Slowly she advanced the frequency and he would either nod or shake his head. “I can feel the pressure build when you…no!”
She turned it back and studied him. “You are aware of sine waves, yes?”
He nodded, his face twisting with the pressure. “Of course.”
“I have a theory.” She swallowed hard. “I think that the increasing frequency has highs and lows for each set of parameters. Each frequency set has an optimum positive and negative effect.”
“I’m not following you.”
“Think of it like a roller coaster. Each megahertz is like the highs and lows of a roller coaster. The lows would be the painful part, the highs the relief from that pain. But each has a different effect on your cognizance.”
Charles nodded as he pictured her analogy. “And you want to see which frequency has the most benefit.”
She nodded. “But I fear that to find that optimal frequency…you may have to endure intense pain.”
Charles sighed and seemed to slump in his bed. “Tell me this. If you find that optimal frequency, will I still have to be bound to this damned bed?”
She licked her lips nervously. “I don’t know. That’s really not my call.”
He shook his head. “Then I see no reason to attempt it.” He turned away from her. “If I can’t be allowed to assist in finding a working treatment for myself, then just turn it to the vegetable setting and leave me be.” He sighed heavily. “I’d rather not know when I piss myself.”
She hung her head and bit back a curse. “If we can find that optimal frequency, it would go a long way toward possibly getting you released to go back to work.”
He turned and faced her. “What does Vivian say about this?”
Carol shook her head. “She had to be sedated. It appears she was using uppers to stay awake.” She glanced away, unable to meet his gaze. “They removed all of the CNS stimulants so that she couldn’t abuse them any longer.”
Charles shook his head. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” He blew his breath out hard and turned to her. “Okay, then. Let’s do this. If there’s the slightest chance I can get out of this bed and take a shower, then I’ll go through hell to do it.”
She gave him a soft smile. “I’ll cycle through the lows as quickly as I can.”
Charles nodded and took a deep breath. “Let’s get started then, shall we?”
7
Roger and Hatcher watched the last of the vehicles pull away from the park before starting their four-wheelers. “This could get nasty.”
Roger turned to him and smiled. “I would say that Nasty is my middle name, but we both know that’s bullshit.”
“Just be ready for anything.” Hatcher kicked the four-wheeler into gear when Roger reached out and grabbed his shoulder.
“Check it.” He pointed across the campfires at the lone individual casually strolling through the grounds.
“What’s he carrying?”
“A pipe.” Roger ground his teeth. “That’s the son of a bitch that tried to throw me by shoving that thing into my tires.”
Hatcher’s eyes widened. “Like he knew what he was doing.”
“Does that cock sucker look enraged to you?” Roger smirked. “I think he’s their leader.”
Hatcher slid his pistol out from the drop leg holster and held it in his left hand. “We could take him out.”
Roger pointed to the edge of the camp. “They’re closing in. They’ll cut us off from the others if we don’t—”
“Too late.” Hatcher nodded toward the road. “We gotta go back the way we came in.”
Roger’s faced paled as the bodies began rushing from the shadows, their pale skin glowing orange in the fires. “Now. We need to go NOW.”
Both men goosed the accelerators and threw gravel as they spun the four-wheelers around and shot in the opposite direction.
“We can meet back with the caravan near the hardware store.” Hatcher’s voice was nearly lost to the drone of the engine and the wind rushing past.
Roger nodded and slowed his machine, allowing Hatcher to take the lead. “It’s your show, man. I’ll follow.”
The pair worked their way around the park and were about to transition to main paved road when Hatcher stood on the brakes, sliding the four-wheeler to a stop.
Roger locked up his machine as well, his mind racing as he wondered why the sudden stop. He watched as Hatcher raised his pistol and fired into the darkness. Roger reached for his own weapon, preparing to engage as well, but he didn’t see anything.
Hatcher pointed the pistol into the air, his head slowly panning the area ahead of them. “They either tried to cut us off or there were stragglers.”
Roger nodded, but part of him questioned the man’s actions. Is he seeing shit that ain’t there?
Hatcher kicked the machine into gear again and slowly pulled away, Roger on his tail. They had only traveled about a hundred yards when Roger saw the creature sprawled on the pavement, dark pools forming around it. He slowed the four-wheeler and tried to get a good look at it. The skin looked mottled and gray. It almost didn’t look human.
He goosed the accelerator and pulled alongside Hatcher. “Did you see that thing?”
Hatcher gave him a ‘duh’ look. “I shot it didn’t I?”
“No, I mean the WAY it looked.” He glanced behind them then back to Hatcher. “It’s like they’re changing.”
Hatcher shrugged, his eyes still scanning ahead. “I think they changed when they started bleeding out their eyes and trying to eat people.”
Roger sighed and dropped back, allowing Hatcher to take the lead again. From the corner of his eye he could see the lights from the caravan just blocks away. He knew that soon they’d be grouped together again.
Safety in numbers.
Simon studied the direction that the gang went. He tried to get his bearings but knew that he couldn’t. He leaned against the rail and continued to watch as they snaked through town. He knew that they were headed toward the industrial park.
He watched as small fires popped up along the trail and he wondered if they were set on purpose or if the piece of shit vehicles his people had were dropping out, their engines catching fire as they fled.
He dragged a chair from the hotel room out to the balcony and dropped into it. He continued to watch his gang sneak away in the darkness, his anger and hatred for them growing as they put more distance between them.
He noted two single headlights shoot between houses and come up behind the train of vagrants. He continued to study the direction they traveled and knew that the locals had to be holed up in one of the abandoned factories or warehouses in the industrial park.
He propped his boots on the rail of the balcony and pulled the last cigarette from his vest pocket. It has been smooshed and was bent nearly into a hook shape but it would smoke all the same.
He flicked the red-tipped match with his thumbnail and sucked on the filtered end. The match was dropped to the concrete floor and he exhaled blue-gray smoke in the night air. “I’ll find you.” He sucked on the cigarette again, wishing he had his whiskey. “And I promise, you won’t like it when I do.”
Charles sat up in his bed, practically inhaling the food that Carol had brought to him. He had to force himself to chew, to try to take his time.
He paused, mid-bite and looked to her. “Sorry. I just feel so hungry.”
She shrugged and gave him a knowing smile. “It’s okay. Trust me, if I had been fed through nothing but an IV for days, I’d be hungry, too.” She reached for the tray and he moved it away from her.
“Not done yet.” He scooped up the last of the scrambled eggs and quickly shoved them into his mouth.
“You shouldn’t overdo it. Your system has to have time to—”
“I feel great.” He set the spork down on the tray and gave her a smile. “Seriously. I don’t know what frequency you found on that generator, but I feel better than I have since this whole thing started.”
She set the tray aside and pulled her pen light. She flicked it across his eyes again and he held them open wide for her. “So?”
“There’s still some blood present.”
He nodded, “Well, we knew I was infected so that’s to be expected.”
She sat down beside him
. “What gets me is, there’s less blood than before.”
Charles gave her a hopeful look. “Do you think that maybe the generator is causing the medications you tried to actually work?”
She shook her head. “I can’t know that.” She stood up quickly and reached for the rubber gloves. “But what I can do is take some blood and look at the viral load you have now and compare it to the previous samples.”
Charles thrust his arm forward. “Hit me.”
She wiped at the vein in his arm with an alcohol pad and pulled the cap from the syringe. “I don’t think you should get your hopes up just yet. This is all—”
“It’s okay.” He interrupted. “I know.” His face suddenly turned solemn. “Right now, there’s little to actually be hopeful about, but it doesn’t hurt to have some.”
She slipped the needle through his skin and into the vein. “You’re right.” She drew three vials worth of blood then set them aside.
“I am afraid that I have to bind that arm again.” She refused to look him in the face. “I know you’d rather be beaten than bound, but…”
He nodded and laid his wrist back into the binding. “Protocol.” He sighed. “I understand, but please, let the chain of command know that I’m feeling much better and I’m actually eager to get back to work.”
She buckled the strap and patted his arm. “I’ll get this to the lab and my next stop will be with the command duty officer. He has pull.”
Charles gave her a lopsided grin. “Thanks.” She turned to leave and he quickly added, “If you need me for anything, I’ll be right here.” She gave him a puzzled look and Charles chuckled. “That was supposed to be a joke.”
She smiled broadly and pushed the door open. “I haven’t heard any humor around here in a very long time.”
Candy watched in wonder at the number of people that came marching in through the staging area. She saw women, children, older men and some younger men, all looking like they had been held captive in the bottom of a slave ship. Their clothes were rags barely held together with crude stitches. Many were gaunt, their eyes dark. Filthy skin and greasy hair seemed to be the norm.
Caldera 5_United We Fall Page 5