Safety (One Eighteen: Migration Book 1)

by Christopher Wiig

  “I'm like 'I'm sorry I killed your man! It wasn't on purpose!' and trying to keep her jaws off my neck. A coyote ain't a wolf but she was near big as one.”

  “Benson is on fucking autopilot, still smashing this poor AO over and over again with the butt of his rifle, everywhere BUT the head. And she's rolling around on the ground snapping and flailing, and her shirt's coming off and... rigor mortis is KIND to the ladies, let's just say.”

  I tried not to laugh. I failed. Jackson wolf whistled.

  “And Mac cannot get his shit together enough to get this coyote off me. He's trying, don't get me wrong, but he's laughing so hard he can't get the fuckin' safety off on his rifle. Then she gets a paw past my arm and lunges in and I am fucked. Sincerely.”

  Franks paused for a few moments, milking the silence.

  “Then right when she's got her teeth around my neck who dives in to save my life? Her fuckin' mate, risen from the dead.”

  “He pulls her right off me and that gives me just enough time to get my shit together and drop the rest of my clip on both of them. Never seen anything like it.”

  Franks paused for a moment, reflecting as he reassembled his rifle. “It was kinda sad, killing her. They coyote, not the chick. Beautiful animal.”

  Jackson Tate slow clapped and Franks gave him the finger. The both grinned.

  “Nice work, fellas. This girl is span and spic," he said, snapping the clip back into the now spotless rifle. Jackson looked longingly at the weapon.

  "Mind if I shoot her some time?" Jackson asked as he handed Franks the inspected, loaded magazines from the table, "Best I've got is an AR-15."

  "Be my guest," Franks said. "I plan to stick around for a few days and recharge my batteries before I head up to hockey country. I could go for a shoot."

  We talked nonsense for a few minutes over some of Mr. Hurley's liquor, then Jackson saw us out. He knows his guns. Something to keep in mind.

  I offered to walk Franks back to the Civic Building, where Horace had put him up. I was eager to pick his brains. Everything I needed to know Franks knew, and he'd been dropped in my lap. I tried to talk around what I was asking. I didn't exactly tell him I was leaving, but I guess all of the questions gave me away.

  "It's actually not that bad out there," he told me. "Use your ears. AO's make a lot of noise and you can usually hear them coming once they see you. They're only quiet when they're wandering.”

  “So be quiet if you can, and fast if you can't. Fresher ones might be as fast as you, but they aren't coordinated. Give yourself a little room to move and put shit between you and it. Jump over things. It's not hard to get one to fall down.”

  ”Avoid buildings, tight spaces, and anywhere dark. Don't get surprised and don't get yourself cornered. What else?” He paused for a moment, considering.

  “Don't panic. Shoot when you have a shot and conserve your ammo. That's the key right there. It doesn't matter how many times you pulled the trigger if all the AO's are still alive.”

  “And never fire your last bullet. If you gotta take out thirty AO's with a fuckin' claw hammer you do it, but you save that last bullet in your magazine.”

  “I watched Baker get torn to shreds by those fuckers, dry firing away at his head with an empty revolver. He was praying that one of those chambers would have a round in it. Save your last bullet. You may need it for yourself."

  I nodded and we both chewed on that depressing piece of advice for a while. Then I checked to make sure that nobody was around to overhear and I got serious with him.

  "Hypothetically, if someone was going over the wall... what would their chances be?" I asked. He snickered a bit.

  “Someone like you?” Franks asked. I shrugged.

  “Hypothetically, yes,” I said. He smiled.

  "Their chances would be fantastic in this cold. I haven't seen a fast mover since the temperature dropped below freezing.

  They're still out there, and a few of them are still dangerous in the cold depending on how warmly dressed they were when they died, and where they've been hiding. And if they can't find anything to kill, some of them do hide so it's possible to come across one that's quick, but pretty unlikely.”

  He thought for a moment, then went on:

  “Now, the crazies, them you've got to worry about. THEY'VE got guns, and some of them are organized in to these little... cults I guess. Or families. They group up.”

  “Unfortunately they're not all stark drooling nuts either. You can't always tell." I nodded, thinking of Sarah. "And every time you drop one,” Franks said, “it turns into an AO, so it's like the two for one special."

  "So you'd say a guy like me, hypothetically, could hoof it two miles and back, and make it?" I asked.

  "Hypothetically?" he said, "I'd say you're chances are 60%. You're not stupid and seem in good shape, besides the hand.”

  “Chances are higher if you move slow, move careful, and don't panic. If it's that big a deal I could go with you. It's no sweat off my back. No offense boss, but your town is boring." I considered it, but decided against it.

  "No, leaving's almost as bad as using electronics. Horace would have a fit if he found out you were helping me,” I told Franks.

  He gave me a strange look and after making sure that no one was around said, "What's the deal with that anyway? They took my stopwatch, and a bunch of other stuff. Said I'd get it back when I left. But the way Horton-"

  "Horace," I corrected.

  “Horace, yeah. The way Horace looked at it... I'm not getting that shit back, am I?"

  I shrugged.

  "They think it drives you mental, like the radios," I told him and he raised his eyebrow. I was curious about that look. "Why?" I asked him.

  "Well, the Sheriff's office..." Franks said, pausing as if he was deciding whether or not I was trustworthy then continuing, "It's got a generator in the back. It was partially covered with a tarp, but I've seen gennies before.”

  “My dad used to have a couple for his business in case the power went out, and this one looked just like that one. Now it wasn't hooked up or anything. But they've got it." I shrugged, trying not to make too much of what he told me, but I was shaken.

  The pills, the God-damned pills. I know I'm missing something. My mind screams at me to figure it out, but right now I just can't. It's like trying to remember the name of an actor that's just on the tip of your tongue. Sarah and Horace... I know something, but I can't work it to the front.

  FUCK.

  Forget it (for now.)

  We talked about other things the rest of the way back to the Civic Building (mostly about Galveston.) He says there was nearly a hundred thousand people on that island when he left, and probably a lot more by now. That's not counting Cruise ships and barges that are as temporary housing.

  Houston's a mess, but when there's a critical mass of fighters and guns, they even plan to start expanding. The belt buckles were right.

  Don't mess with Texas.

  I've got so much more I plan to ask him when I get back. Franks is a gold mine of information, between his military background and the fact that he's trekked the exact route we need to follow.

  I need to pick his brain.

  But I'll worry about all that tomorrow.

  Tonight I go over the wall. Maybe one more pill before I go. Climbing's going to hurt, especially with only one good hand. If I'm careful... if I listen, and move slow, I can do this.

  Sixty percent.

  Fuck... could be worse.

  Jonas Waight

  60% on top of things

  [File Notes:]

  She dog eared a page.

  We're dealing with an important document, maybe one of the most important documents of this new era and she's dog-earing pages like it's a

  [Long pause]

  like it's a Harlequin romance novel.

  The page is completely ruined now. The crease in the page is deep enough you can see it with the naked eye. She might as well have taken a highlighter t
o it.

  When I tried to explain to her that it was HISTORY she was removing from the vault, not "Highlights for Children", she became completely irrational and suggested that the page had already been dog eared and she'd simply left it as is to PRESERVE it's integrity.

  As if I'd overlook something like that. She suggested that Moore or Vaughn may have done it and that perhaps it was something I should look into. The arrogance of that woman infuriates me.

  The page is unimportant, Jonas is talking about Sarah giving him Pomegranate juice. I'm highly skeptical that this particular passage drove a man to suicide. Even the reference to poison that she finds so important is a non-event. The girl asks if Jonas THINKS she may poison him. She doesn't poison him, nor is there anything remotely related to Castor plants or anything else of note.

  She wanted to grasp at straws then, and presumed to tell me the story of Hades and Persephone as if I was a (Long Pause) as if I were a child.

  It may just be a cheap, dollar store notebook to her, but to me, she's being allowed to touch something sacred and if she can't appreciate that then

  [Long Pause]

  Sacred is a poor choice of words.

  The page isn't ruined because of a simple crease, and I'm being irrational. She's caused minor damage to a document, and it's nothing to give myself hypertension over.

  I'll speak with her further after I'm in a more rational frame of mind and encourage her to be more careful. She's made it further than any of the analysts, with the exception of myself, and it's important that I don't sour her on the project.

  Strike entire section from the File notes when typed.

  The talk of the TAs organizing is interesting. We've heard the same rumors from some of newest refugees. I'm not sure if this is an encouraging trend, or something to be concerned about.

  The signals seem to cause behavior so violent that no sort of socialization is possible, so this may indicate that either people are recovering (at least to the point of desiring socialization company) or that the transmissions affect different people in different ways.

  [Long Pause]

  Or that far more people have been affected than we thought, and we're only noticing the ones with the severest disorders and the rest are hiding among us.

  [Pause]

  Consider the ethical issues of allowing some of our Transmission Affected to congregate. It might be interesting to see if they form these sorts of communities in captivity.

  Chapter 7:

  Dispatches From the Bathroom Floor

  “Here I am,

  Stuck in the middle with you.”

  -Stealers Wheel, Stuck in the Middle with You

  [Personal Notes:]

  AO attacks at and around Checkpoint Delta on the Causeway bridge had slowed significantly in the last few weeks, (since the delivery of the journal) but we were wrong in thinking they'd shrunk in numbers or dangerousness. There was a major incident tonight, the first since the journal arrived.

  We'd thought the whole area was being brought under control by the Rangers, and was nearly safe enough to start moving into Houston proper. There were even anecdotal reports of the AO's being... well... not exactly docile.

  But uninterested.

  The timing of the opportunity was fortunate, as it seems like thousands of people have joined our thriving little island this month, filling us almost to capacity. We even had to retrofit a few more ships to house them. Adrienne's been thrilled to have so many new people to talk to, and new things to buy.

  The attacks started shortly after we moved a few...

  [Short Pause]

  well I'd guess you'd call them squads, of soldiers into the edges of Houston.

  Since the army is really more of a half-army, half-militia, I'm not really sure what they call the groupings. They all have regular army leading them, but anyone with a gun can join and I'm not sure I'm comfortable calling that "Army."

  Things were quiet and then suddenly there they were. The AO's came on them in force and pushed them right back onto the bridge checkpoint. The alarms sounded and that sent the island into a minor panic as people scrambled for their weapons and holed up in their homes and businesses, but the AO's seemed to lose interest in the soldiers once they crossed the bridge.

  I rushed right to the vault when I head the sirens. I had to make sure the journal was secure. Once I was sure it was I went home to calm down Adrienne. I just wish I could have taken the Journal with me. The thought of something happening to it still bothers me.

  [Short Pause]

  I'm also glad Adrienne was all right.

  [File Notes:]

  I've been petitioning for more time with the journal. I feel like there are things in it that will be important. We're spending so much time trying to figure out how the AO's work and hardly any time studying how they REALLY effect us as a society.

  This journal would be important even if it wasn't causing good men to kill themselves. It's frustrating that it's only the deaths and not the information that keep the brass interested.

  If Vaughn hadn't hung himself they'd probably have scrapped the project by now, the same with Moore's poisoning. Sometimes

  [Pause]

  sometimes I feel like the journal...

  [Long Pause]

  never mind.

  It's not important. But I've got to find more useful information. They Brass will keep things going, at least for a while. But only out of respect to Vaughn and Moore. But if nothing useful comes out of it

  [Long Pause.]

  Yes.. if it wasn't for the deaths they'd throw the whole project away.

  February 20th, 2008

  If I were a cat, I'd be down to two lives right now. Unfortunately, I'm a human being (which by my calculations puts me at around negative six.) Much of this becomes academic if the bathroom door doesn't hold, and it's already splintered pretty badly.

  There's something out there that I think is a man. I know it wants in.

  I've always been curious about how I'd react at the point of my own death. Would I be frightened? Cowardly? Stoic? Resolved?

  It turns out, I'm amused.

  It could be the Tylenol with Codine Em had stashed in his medicine cabinet, but considering I'm sitting here trapped in a bathroom due to my own monumental stupidity, it could be genuine. I'm glad I kept the journal in the pocket of my jacket instead of my in my knapsack. I lost my knapsack, and it's comforting to know I kept my God damned diary on me and left my extra ammunition in my pack.

  At least I've got something to do while I wait this out.

  Where to start? From the beginning I suppose. I hope I have time to finish. I never know when he'll come back.

  Sgt. Franks caught up with me as I was finishing my preparations by shaving my head bald. Romans soldiers used to do it, and it made sense to me. Gives the enemy one less thing to grab, and the Dead Things have a grip like a pit-bull's jaw. They don't let go until you kill them.

  "Cue ball!" Franks said, slapping my back. He laughed when I told him I was modeling my new look after his own closely cropped hair.

  "It's a good idea," Franks said, laughing, "But that's not why I did it. I was getting dreadlocks. I just couldn't keep it clean."

  I have to admit I don't hate the way it looks. There's something neat and clinical about a shaved head.

  "You can't come with me," I told him, "Everyone's going to notice you missing for a whole day. You're kind of a celebrity."

  It was true, the whole town was buzzing. Greenly doesn't have a lot of eligible men left, and Franks was getting plenty of attention. I feel pretty certain that if Caroline wasn't "with" Alex, (assuming she is) she might have considered making a run at him. I think Alex could tell too, and it made him feel a little old.

  He wasn't upset he had competition, but he was upset that his competition's resume up to this point mostly included “not dying.”

  "So he shot some fucking zombies," Alex griped while he poured meat and vegetable filling into small cer
amic ramekins. He liked preparing for the feast, but wasn't so sure the guest of honor deserved his place yet.

  "I've shot fucking zombies. You shot fucking zombies. Horace probably shot some zombies, with the bullets he didn't eat. B... F... D..." Alex said, covering the filling with a think layer of mashed potato from a pastry bag.

  Alex might have been a little jealous of Sgt. Franks, but that didn't get in the way of him showing off. Horace let him into the good stuff and he whipped up miniature shepherd's pies for the whole town. The Civic Building was filled to capacity, and Horace even brought in a few kerosine heaters.

  Alex and I spent the evening enjoying the food while Franks told stories and enjoyed his celebrity. Alex sulked right up until Franks told him it was the best food he'd ever had, and from that point on, even Alex was drinking and making merry.

  "You should see the restaurant I had in New York if you like this," Alex said to Franks said, throwing back a slug of whiskey he'd opened for the occasion.

  "Steaks like you would not fucking believe. Thick as a goddamned Bible, I kid you not. Used to have them shipped in overnight from Omaha. Deglaze the pan with a little Cognac, some black pepper and you're DONE. That's all the sauce you need my friend." Alex would give Manson a second chance if he told him he cooked a good pork chop, so it wasn't hard for a likeable guy like Sgt. Franks to get on his good side.

  Sarah was dressed to the nines, and spent the entire night in Franks' eye-line, giving him silly, coy little smiles when they made eye cont-