by Brown, TW
“Welcome back,” Mackenzie whispered and then yawned.
“April is sick,” Juan managed, his throat incredibly dry.
“Yes, we kinda figured that out,” another voice made Juan twist his head toward the door. Keith was standing there with a stern expression.
“They want to kill her.” Mackenzie’s mood shifted dramatically and her expression darkened, the sun slipping behind storm clouds.
“We want to get her off this island,” Keith clarified. “She is a danger to not just herself…” he motioned at Juan, “…but others as well.”
“She is a human being!” Mackenzie insisted.
“And she is sick beyond our ability to help,” Keith said calmly.
Juan listened to the two and had a feeling that this was not the first time they’d had this discussion. It almost sounded practiced, each line coming so automatically.
“So that is what we do now if somebody gets sick? We just kill them?” Mackenzie challenged.
“If somebody is a danger to those of us here trying to survive, then yes.”
“Juan?” Mackenzie had turned to him, her eyes pleading. “Are you okay with this?”
Juan sighed. It was not that he was okay with what Keith was suggesting, not if it became some sort of regular policy. However, he did think that it would have to be considered on a case-by-case basis. Just like with Frank and Donna? the voice in his head taunted. He shoved that memory away and returned to the situation at hand. He looked from Mackenzie to Keith. Both of them saw the answer in his eyes before he spoke the words.
Mackenzie had jumped up and run from the room, her sobs fading as she left the house. Juan felt something in his gut twist. He wondered if this was what a deal with the devil felt like. You got what you wanted…but not really; and at a price that wiped out any good feelings that you might have been able to salvage.
“It’s the right thing and you know it,” Keith said from the door. Juan’s gaze came up and caught the man’s eyes, causing him to actually take a step back. “Hey…you know why we have to do this.”
“But that doesn’t mean that I have to like it,” Juan said flatly.
“And you think that I do?” Keith shot back.
Juan considered the man for a few seconds. He looked into his eyes—Juan’s mother had always said that eyes were a window to the soul—he searched the man for a few long and silent seconds before answering.
“Yes…I do.”
Keith had left.
April had been kept locked in a basement with two people guarding her at all times. Nobody was allowed in to see her. The community had been shocked when word spread. That was when the people demanded some sort of trial. There had been a meeting of the citizens and it had been voted on.
Juan actually felt a surge of relief. He could step away from this and let the people decide. But still, Mackenzie did not come home. She had gone to stay with some woman that Juan did not recognize. Not that such a thing was any amazing feat. Juan hardly knew the names of any of the people that had come to live on Sauvie Island. That had always been Mackenzie’s role. He was the public face (against his will he would often add) and she was his connection to everybody. She would casually use a person’s name when they would come up to greet him or ask him a question.
The one thing about the trial that he was most thankful for had been the fact that, as the supposed victim, he would not be judge or jury. Unfortunately, he did not escape being questioned as a witness.
When the trial was over, and having been present at a few, Juan had to admit that this one was a lot more fair and less full of legal mumbo-jumbo, the verdict had come back in less than ten minutes. April was found guilty. The suggested sentence was that she be banished from the island. When it was announced, the only audible reaction came from Mackenzie.
Two days later, there they stood. The entire community had come out to see it, and Juan was reminded of something he had either, heard, read, or seen in a movie about the olden times. People had always come out for the executions back in those days. Had they reverted to that sort of thing so fast?
“How could you?” Mackenzie wept. She pulled away from Juan’s grip and started up the beach.
Juan watched until she climbed the stairs that led up and through the bordering trees. When she vanished, he felt something shut down inside of himself. He shot a glance to Keith who had smartly pulled up several feet short of reaching him.
“What do you want?” Juan muttered.
“She’ll get over it,” Keith said. Juan’s head snapped up, but he quickly realized that the man had not said it with any sarcasm or ill intent. “This is about her mom…not about you, and not about that girl.” He hiked a thumb over his shoulder towards the boat that was vanishing in the distance.
“What do you want?” Juan asked again, sensing that the man had something on his mind.
“We have been keeping an eye on something, and you should know about it.”
“Why? What is so important that you think I need to know about it? And since you waited for everybody to be gone, I am assuming that it is being kept secret.”
Keith gave an appreciative nod. “Thad said that you were a helluva lot smarter than you like to portray. But here is the deal. We have been watching a plume of smoke for the past few days. It starts up about an hour before dusk and is gone in the morning. That indicates a camp.”
Juan shook his head. He had already decided that he was done going out there. If others wanted to do it, he was not going to stop them, but he was finished when it came to putting himself in danger. A person could only roll the dice so many times before the wrong number came up and took you out of the game. They had a farm system set up; they had chickens, sheep, cows, and horses for crying out loud! If people found them and wanted to join the community, Juan would worry about that and make those decisions as the need arose. But as far as going out there—
“The plume is getting closer,” Keith said, snapping Juan out of his thoughts. “And it is not just getting closer, but it is obviously coming our way. We think they may be here soon…two days at the latest.”
***
“I swear to God that I ain’t seen no baby!” the man spat through a mouthful of blood.
“And I still don’t believe you!” Cynthia said as she kicked the man bound to the water pipe in the basement of the house that they had retreated to after overwhelming and capturing the roaming sentry.
“I would totally start talking if I were you,” Glenn said from where he stood behind his wife holding the rifle.
“Look…I told you all that I know,” the man managed through the shortness of breath that came from at least two broken ribs.
“Then I guess we just kill you and go out to see if we can find somebody that will be of more help,” Cynthia snarled as she drew the knife from her belt.
The woman leaned down and grabbed a handful of the man’s hair, yanking it back and exposing his throat. She placed the blade against his skin and started to apply pressure when the man began to plead and beg. Cynthia paused and looked him in the eye, nodding for him to talk.
“If there is a baby, then it is probably being held over at the high school,” the man blurted. “I’m just a nobody. They don’t let most of us near that place.”
“Where is this high school?” Cynthia asked, her voice immediately changing to one of silky kindness.
“Center of town. That is where you will find the biggest concentration of those freaking zombies.” The man gave an honest shiver.
Cynthia glanced over her shoulder at Glenn who gave a shrug. That made no sense. Unless…
“Why would they pick someplace like that?” Cynthia pressed. “Why would they want zombies around?”
“Because a bunch of those folks don’t turn. There is a whole group of ‘em. And they are working to put an end to this…” The man seemed to regain some of his confidence and defiance. “They are going to find a cure, make it so that folks don’t die anymore when the
y get bit.”
Without warning, Cynthia flipped the large knife in her hand and slammed the pommel into the man’s temple. He slumped, his head lolling to the side. She checked him briefly to ensure that he was still alive and turned to her husband.
“I have a very bad feeling about this,” she whispered.
“Which part?” Glenn said, a hint of nervous laughter in his voice.
“I think some of this stuff is starting to make sense. You say there was a woman with Ann, that she was torn up and that Ann killed her to quote “put her out of her misery” just as you guys swooped in to rescue her?”
Glenn nodded. Obviously his wife had figured something out. That made one of them, he mused. Right now he hardly recognized this woman who looked like his dear, sweet Cynthia. In the past hour or so, he had seen her attack a stranger and then interrogate him with a level of fierce brutality that he had never imagined could exist in the woman he loved.
“You want to share?” he finally asked as his wife stood silent, pinching her lower lip between her thumb and index finger as she worked through whatever idea she had come up with from the information that she’d gleaned.
“Obviously there is a lab of some sort in the area. They probably have a group of individuals that are immune to this and are trying to isolate the reason.”
“Okay…so why kidnap a baby?” Glenn asked.
“It could be a few reasons,” Cynthia spoke, but it was clear that she was actually just thinking out loud as she spoke with a near monotone and continued pinching her lower lip and staring at a spot on the floor. “If they are doing experiments, then a child is a wonderful supply of clean and untainted material. Also, if they have any way of determining immunity, they could make that determination early. There could be any number of reasons.”
“Jesus,” Glenn gasped. “What a bunch of sick bastards.”
Silence fell and Glenn had to struggle not to break into his wife’s thoughts. She was coming up with something and he would just have to wait. Meanwhile, his eyes continued to drift to the man tied up to the water pipe. He had been worked over pretty good. Cynthia had used a rubber mallet that she found in the basement and given the guy a few good whacks. Where in the hell had that level of brutality come from? Surely it could not all be from having seen her brother and his wife dead and turned.
Could it?
“Let’s go,” Cynthia said, bringing him out of his thoughts with a start.
“Where to?”
“We will start with that house you were at when you split up with Kyle and Mel.”
“Why?”
“Because zombies are stupid and easy to manipulate, plus we need a distraction.”
“But what about him?” Glenn indicated the man still slumped over and tied to the water pipe.
“Yeah,” Cynthia said with a shrug, “what about him?”
“Are we just going to leave him tied up?”
“You got a problem with that?”
Glenn felt his mouth open, but he could not force out any words. Who was this person standing before him that looked like his wife? The vet who had cared for others and always been the first to step in and help when it was needed?
“Don’t you think that is a bit inhumane?” Glenn asked.
Cynthia looked at her husband with a hard glint in her eyes. He took a step back, now more unsure than ever before as to what had become of his wife.
“You mean like stealing an infant from her mother? Or maybe like killing people, turning them into the living dead, and hanging them from a garage? Is that what you mean?” Her voice rose in pitch and volume as she spoke, causing Glenn to actually cringe.
“Listen,” he finally said after regaining his composure, “I understand. You think their deaths don’t weigh on me every single second? I was with them and left. I ran away!”
“You—” Cynthia’s features softened and she stepped to her husband, but he jerked away and cut her off before she could say another word.
“I was a coward! That is the long and short of it. I knew that they were going to die if they did what they planned, so I ran away. You can say what you want, but we both know the truth.”
“You came for me, you came because you were not going to leave me to this alone,” Cynthia whispered as she stepped up and sunk into her husband’s arms. “And that was not being a coward, that was being my husband.”
Glenn said nothing. The lump in his throat had grown and threatened to choke him if he uttered another word. He held his wife and let her hold him. After several moments, Cynthia withdrew.
“I know that my actions might seem irrational and out of character, but I am tired of being scared every single day. The best way to defeat that is to take control,” she explained.
“But does that mean torture and God knows what else you might have planned?”
“It means using any means necessary to get Mel and Kyle’s baby back. We either succeed or die trying. But just like them, we are in this together. If I am going to go out, it will be on my terms, not some mishap where I get bitten by a zombie or die of infection from a cut I receive climbing through a fence.”
Glenn considered his wife’s words. He thought it over and realized that if he were in fact going to die—and these days that was more likely than not—then it should be on his terms. And now that he was with the person he loved more than any other in the world, he could stand beside her and accept whatever it was that fate had in store for them.
“So…what is your plan?” he asked his wife.
Cynthia smiled an evil Cheshire grin. When she had finished explaining, Glenn actually felt that her plan had a better than fifty-fifty chance of success. These days, those were pretty damn good odds.
***
Ronni woke with a start to the shout of her name. It had sounded like her dad, and he was not far away. She jerked upright. Wait, she thought, why wasn’t he here with her?
She looked around and could not figure out where she was at all. The sky was almost a solid color of gray as clouds created a dense layer up above. The lightest of mists was swirling in the air giving promise of the rain to come.
Ronni took a closer look and realized that she was up on some sort of massive rock. But that was a very small part of the picture. She could hear the moans of the zombies and looked around to discover that there were a lot of them gathered around the rock she was on.
Getting to her feet slowly so as to be able to withstand the rush of dizziness that came, as well as a strong desire to be sick to her stomach, she was able to get a better look at her surroundings.
She was in a small clearing in the woods. The zombies that were reaching and trying their best to get her were actually a minor number compared to the ones that were on the ground. That had to be her dad’s doing.
That thought brought the question back to the front of her mind. Where was her dad? Had she in fact heard him calling her name? Or had that been just part of a dream that she could not remember?
She glanced down at her arms, wincing at the ugly redness that was forming around where she had stapled the long cuts shut with a staple gun. She could not currently understand why she had done such a thing. Her memories of the events from back at that house were hazy and hard to recall with any degree of clarity. What she did know for certain was that she needed to get down from this rock, find her dad, and then get back to that big farm with all the people and tall fences.
She checked her personal inventory and was thankful when she discovered a small water bag that she had somehow managed to keep on her belt. She unscrewed the top and drank greedily. The water was probably the sweetest thing she had ever tasted in her life. As soon as she finished, she was hit with a pang of remorse. That had been the last of the water. What had she been thinking by drinking it all?
Looking around, she realized that she had no way to escape. There were too many of the zombies still surrounding her rock. Plus, even if she could get down, she was in no condition to try and run. As
it was, she could barely stand.
“Where are you, Dad?” she cried softly.
She could tell just by looking that he had obviously tried to kill all of the horrid creatures that had gathered. Judging by what she could see, he had probably decided to stop when there had gotten to be so many on the ground that the ones still animate were getting close enough that they would have been able to reach out and grab them—pull them off the rock and rip them apart—if he had killed too many more.
What did not make sense to her was why he had left her. That caused her to start looking just a bit closer at some of the zombies. If she saw the face of her dad in that bunch, she did not know what she would do. Maybe that would be it; perhaps she would just end it herself right here and now. If her dad was dead, she would have nobody. She saw no reason in trying to stay alive if she was going to be alone.
She turned slowly, taking in each face that stared back up at her. When she was finished, she was at least confident that he was not one of the zombies that had her trapped.
The frustration and hopelessness only grew as she continued to stand there staring at the undead. Her choices were non-existent as far as she was concerned. She could not make it off this rock, and if she could, she was doubtful in her ability to find her way back to that farm.
The tears started to well up in her eyes and the tightness in her gut became so much that she had to find a way to let it out. The only thing that she could think of was to scream.
Ronni tilted her head back and shrieked. She dumped all of the pain and frustration into that anguished sound. She felt her anger build; anger at herself for not seeing that her dad had loved her with all his heart.
All her life, it had just been her and her mom, sister, brother, and the occasional aunt or uncle who might stay for a while when they were out of a job or something. Her dad had always just been a story. He was no more real than a character in a book. When he’d come home, she didn’t know what to think of him. He was trying too hard, dumping all these feelings on her that she did not know how to handle. How could she love this man who she did not know? Just because he went by the title of “dad” did not make him anything to her.