Pestilence: The Calling Series

by Faulks, Kim

  One based on honesty and love.

  As I hit the door and pushed through, my steps felt lighter, just like the thud in my chest.

  Hope filled me as I stared through the shadows in the shower room. Faded light sliced through the gloom right over the massive showerhead. I lifted my gaze to the glass segment in the ceiling and stared at the sickening yellow clouds. Now, if only we had some way to heal the weather and undo all that had been done.

  I kicked off my boots and eyed the bank of open shower stalls. I was lucky, I had a shower at home, but not one so big and spacious.

  I closed my eyes, remembering the coconut-scented wash Mom used to buy for me. I’d give anything to return to that time, to tell them how much I missed them. I’d wrap my arms around them tight and wouldn’t let go, not to breathe…not for anything.

  I sat on the long bench on the side of the room and peeled the thin gray socks from my feet, then came my jacket. I glanced at the glass window in the door as I shrugged the heavy leather free.

  There was no sound from outside, no thud of footsteps that I could tell. Still, I watched the glass as I worked the belt buckle and then the button on my jeans.

  Trust.

  There was that word again. The one that stilled my fingers, the one that made me weak. My pulse picked up pace, thundering like a locomotive through my chest as I rose from the seat. I popped the button, and eased the zipper low. I didn’t even have to push my jeans down anymore. They tumbled like a damn avalanche to my feet.

  No matter how many cans of food I ate, no matter how many biscuits and cakes I made with water and oil, the weight just slipped from my body. It was the days searching, the endless hours spent rifling through cupboards and bathrooms that made me lean.

  Too lean. I lifted my hands to my shirt and snagged the hemline, raising it enough to reveal my stomach.

  The fabric trembled under my hands. I took one last look at the window before I yanked the shirt over my head. I wanted to go further and step out of my panties and bra. But I couldn’t, not yet.

  My trust was such a fleeting thing, like an animal racing for safety. Not yet…I took a step forward and headed for the shower. Not yet, but one day. I grasped the steel lever and pulled. Water gushed from overhead, hard, sudden…slamming my heart against the inside of my chest. I shoved my hand under the spray, cupped the stream, water trickling through my fingers as I lifted them to my face.

  It smelled sweet, and fresh. I opened my mouth and licked. No sour taste, no bitter smell. I lifted my gaze to the showerhead. The steel was shiny and smooth, not pitted or rusted.

  I closed my eyes and took a step. The hard spray hit my face and cascaded, running down the length of my arms. My lips curled as I stood there…a shower. A real, glorious shower. A hum vibrated my lips, even with the weight of this world inside me there were blinding moments of perfection.

  Some brackish-looking muck sat in a small white container on a shelf. I reached in, scooped the gunk into my hand, and winced. Kenya was right, the stuff smelled foul. But back home, I was down to using detergent. The stuff smelled nice, but it left a film of sweat and dirt behind, on my clothes and on me.

  This stuff…I gritted my teeth and ran a line along my arm. This stuff looked like it’d scrub the damn streets clean. I washed, and lathered, spreading the muck in my hair. Strands squeaked under my fingers as I coated and rinsed. I shoved my hand under the edge of my bra and skimmed my breasts, before reaching for the hemline of my panties.

  I washed fast, glancing over my shoulder to the window in the door, and stood under the spray. This moment was better than a belly full of food, to be washed and clean, to be safe with people I could talk to—and I could get to trust. I hit the lever and shut the water off as my thoughts turned to Kris.

  He was an asshole, even the end of the damn world didn’t change some people. Water ran in rivulets as I walked to where my clothes were and grabbed a folded towel from a pile on the bench. Everything about this place was just as it would’ve been back then, folded, clean, neat—as though time for them had stood still.

  Work gave people purpose.

  And in purpose there was always hope.

  I dried my body and wrapped the towel tight while I slipped my wet underwear free. The sweat pants hung from my hips. I yanked the string tight and tied it in place before I dragged the clean shirt over my head.

  The fabric smelled like the gunk in the shower. But the cotton was soft against my skin, and right now I’d take comfort over smell any day. I gathered the Bible and my clothes in one hand, my gun, jacket, and boots in the other, and made for the door.

  The room was quiet; actually, this whole place was quiet. I crossed the room, catching sight of the rows of bunks. Only four were piled with blankets, one with stuffed animals. Photos covered the wall…all except for one bed, the blankets made neatly with precision, the pillow so lonely compared to the others. There were no mementos of family, no hint of the life left behind.

  A faint call echoed from outside. I dropped my gear near an empty bed, slipped the gun under the pillow, and made for the sound. The yell turned into a soft cheer, and I followed that sound, turning left instead of right. My bare feet slapped the smooth floor. The sounds resurrected the woman running along the street, desperate for freedom.

  My steps stuttered, the boom of my pulse filled the space. I tried to stop the memory. But terror rose like a wave inside me. My fingers were trembling as I reached for the door. Movement came from inside the room as Damon rose from the floor.

  All heads turned as I pushed open the door and stepped through.

  “There she is!” Damon called, his eyes drifting from my damp hair to my bare feet.

  But it was Kenya who took a step forward. “Everything okay?”

  I gave a weak nod, but inside I was reeling. I wanted to be strong, wanted to be hard like stone, uncrackable, unmovable. I wanted to be a mountain that reached for the sky…but inside I was soft—I was so fucking soft.

  “Hey,” she murmured, her steps blurring as she crossed the floor.

  I bit down on the inside of my cheek. Pain flared. I wanted that pain, needed it. It anchored me, it stilled that slow slide inside, the one that was falling into the depths of despair.

  Warmth moved against me as Kenya stepped close. Her arms felt alien, her touch unwanted, unneeded, and far too much like my Mom’s. Strong arms pulled me against her. She didn’t seem to care that my hair dripped, or my arms were folded across my chest. I was giving all the signals, all the ones that made me strong.

  “Shhh, it’s okay. It’s okay. I understand just how you’re feeling. Let it all out, let it all out.”

  Her fingers skimmed my hair, her body so warm. I could feel myself crumbling, rock by rock the mountain started to fall. I could see the others, Damon and Chuck made an attempt to look somewhere else.

  “It’s a hard world out there, and you look like you’ve been on your own for quite some time.”

  Her words invaded, pulling boulders down from the mountain I held inside.

  “The dog’s not yours, is she?” Kenya murmured.

  One lone tear slipped as I shook my head.

  “Didn’t think so, not your character to beat up an animal. But you go right ahead and be weak, just for a moment. We’re all here to protect you. We’ll stand guard.”

  And that’s just how it felt. All these years. All the loneliness, and the hurt and the desperation, I could never stop…never, ever stop, not for a minute—not for a second. Not for the dreams, not for the memories.

  I’d pushed them down, closed off, drugged out. Anything to stop feeling, to stop remembering. You wouldn’t last long in the present when you lived in the past.

  “We lost our families, too, all to the plague. My Mom and my brother. Dad was long gone, shacked up with some younger woman years before. I’d just started working here, when the first wave struck. Can you believe it? Fucking fate. Fucking fate.”

  I stood there, letting her t
alk about her life and rub my hair. I listened, until I finally felt solid. The mountain was still standing, a little shaken, an avalanche at its feet. But it was good, it was there, and I could always rebuild, one rock at a time.

  “Thank you,” the words were raspy and harsh. I swallowed and dropped my arms. “Thank you.”

  Kenya stepped away, giving me a smile. “Any time. It’s hard to be a woman, especially in a world as cruel as this. Us girls gotta stick together, right?”

  My lips curled, the smile weak, but honest. “Yeah, we sure do.”

  “Good,” she smiled and stepped away. “Now to add one more female to the pack.”

  White blurred as the hound limped. But this time there was a wide white bandage strapped across her chest.

  “I cleaned the wound, stitched and bandaged,” Damon stepped as Pitt limped close. “I also gave her a shot of antibiotics. You can thank the vet clinic Kenya raided last month. She’ll be okay, just a little sore. She’s been through some rough times, looks like she was confined at one stage and starved. But we’re working on fixing that, aren’t we?”

  He bent low enough to scratch between her ears. Pitt still limped, sweeping past his hand. I knelt against the floor and reached for her. Brown eyes shone with love and warmth.

  She moved against me, lowering her thick head to sniff my cheek, and then gave a soft lick. I wrapped an arm around her good side, and pulled her close. She smelled of honesty and iodine.

  “And now, food,” Damon called.

  “Hands…” Chuck snarled, dragging my gaze high. “For the love of God, wash your hands. Twice. And make sure you get under your nails.”

  Damon shook his head, and gave a laugh. “Yes, Mother. Through there,” he motioned to a door at the end of the room, “is the kitchen. Food’s all ready, so help yourself.”

  “I found some canned food when I raided the vet clinic, good stuff that’ll give her some extra fat. Come on, I’ll find it for you.”

  I shoved up from the floor and followed Kenya through the doors. The smell of the food hit me like a punch to the face. My stomach tightened and acid rose before the vise around my gut released. Real food. My mouth watered with the thought. Not canned, not a mixture of everything I could find.

  Kenya stepped into the kitchen, rose on her tiptoes, and yanked open a cupboard. “I know they’re here somewhere.” Cans were yanked out, some shoved aside. “Ah, here they are.”

  She wrestled three large cans from the back of the cupboard and set them on the bench. Behind me was a counter fitted out with cookers, steamers, water purifiers, and mountains and mountains of food. Some had no labels, some were worn and dented. But some were fresh, green sprouted from styrofoam boxes. Green was everywhere. Thin stalks of lettuce, spinach even…and tomatoes. I reached for the bowl at the back, smooth flesh dimpled under my touch. I cupped my hand. This had to be a dream. Tomatoes, real tomatoes.

  “How?” The word slipped from my lips as I stared.

  “Damon’s got a green thumb, and I rigged a hydroponic set up in the hospital’s atrium. That’s what I look for when I go hunting, seeds, anything that is still salvageable. We make new ones from the food we grow, and we just multiply.”

  “For yourself?” I turned to catch her stare.

  “For ourselves, and to trade. The Mighty aren’t very smart, and the Lost Boys have better things to do than to worry about a petty thing like vegetables.”

  “Lost Boys?” It was the second time she’d mentioned the name.

  “A group of outcasts that occupy the steel district. I’ll be meeting them tomorrow, you can come along if you want?”

  Meet? I shook my head. No one met anyone, not anymore. We only hid, we only survived.

  “They don’t hurt us, we’re safe,” she turned, yanked open a drawer, and grasped the first of tens of can openers. “Not the Lost Boys, or The Mighty. We’re off-limits to everyone.”

  “Why?”

  She turned her head, the brown in her eyes hardened. “Because if they want the damn cure, then they’d better fall in line. We’re the only ones that can give them that, so they’ll go out of their way to protect us, and trade for the things we might need.”

  “Like a book.”

  Kenya gave a nod, and her stony stare softened, turning to pain. “Yeah, for a damn book. I’d been trying to find a way to get close to him for years, and all he’s asked for was that damn thing. He has it now. He’ll shut himself away, until harvest day, anyway.”

  “Harvest day?”

  “It’s the day we give blood. We all get tested, The Mighty, Lost Boys…everyone. There hasn’t been a case of the plague since Kris started testing and giving us boosters. But he keeps checking, he keeps working on a cure for good. We call it harvest day, the day when everyone gives us samples to test. The last one was five days ago, but I’ll need to go back tomorrow.”

  “So, needles.” I suppressed a shudder. One fear was replaced with another.

  “Yeah, but don’t worry. He gives you something to make up for it…a little boost, Kris calls it. It’s really a shot of antibiotics dosed with some killer non-pathogens that he’s created. They make you feel good, actually better than good. No one’s been sick, not from the plague, not from anything, since we’ve started taking them. We call it the miracle drug.”

  Heat rushed to my face. I dragged my arms down and turned away.

  “I already saw them, you know. No need to hide now,” she murmured and worked the can opener around the rim of the can. “We all do what we have to do, Harlow. There’s no judgement here.”

  The heat burned, spreading across my cheeks to run down my neck. I wanted to tell her the reason. I needed to explain. But the words were frozen, wedged tight in the back of my throat.

  Happy birthday, Harlow…

  Sarah’s voice rang inside my head.

  I miss you, my pain in the ass big sister…

  I missed her, too. I missed her so much, I drugged myself to not remember, to not hear her at all. The ping of the can opener echoed, drowning out my sister’s voice. I watched Kenya scoop half the massive can into a bowl, and then turn toward me.

  “No judgement, remember? That goes for yourself, too. We’ve all done things we wouldn’t have done before. But that was before…”

  She smiled as I grabbed the bowl from her hands.

  There was no judgement…not in this moment—not on this perfect day.

  There was only food, and, for the first time in a very long time…friends.

  7

  The sudden boom of laughter rocked the room. I stilled with the fork at my lips and stared as Chuck leaned backwards with a thin, pale ear of corn in one hand, and the other flailing around mid-air.

  Meat juice ran down his face as he leaned forward. “And then he said, no, you’re looking at it all wrong. The glass isn’t half empty, it’s completely full. It’s filled with half liquid, and half gas.”

  Kenya groaned, holding a plate still full of food.

  Damon shook his head and gnawed on a bone.

  “Get it?” Chuck roared. “Half gas!”

  I waited for the words to have an impact…and waited, and waited. I didn’t get it.

  Kenya’s groan turned into a snigger.

  Damon’s stoic expression cracked with the hint of a smile.

  My lips curled at the edges as I watched this giant of a man rock with laughter and clutch his belly, and I realized it wasn’t the joke they were laughing at—it was him. His laughter was a contagion in itself.

  “Oh, it hurts,” Chuck cried and clutched the side of his belly.

  Tears brimmed from red rimmed eyes. A trail of blood welled from under one nostril and then slipped to the top of his lip.

  Kenya stopped, reached into her pocket, and then held out a piece of torn fabric. “Your nose, dude.”

  The laughter ended. His gaze went straight for me as he grasped the cloth and smashed it to his nose. “I apologize. So sorry.”

  “It’s okay,�
�� I muttered and chewed.

  “Just too much damn excitement,” Chuck boomed and gave me a wink. “Good food, and great company.”

  But the meat lost its taste as the laughter died. I stared at my plate. Juices were all that were left. My belly bowed, eyelids dropped as I swallowed the last bite. Deer, Kenya told me. Tasted better than canned chicken ever could. I glanced over at Kenya, who’d watched all of us intently, before she picked at her food.

  I would’ve given anything to eat like this before…maybe she wasn’t hungry?

  Soft snores echoed from beside me. Pitt jerked and ran in her sleep, one chewed ear twitched while she whimpered. A pale bone was trapped under one massive paw. She’d eaten, gulping the food down until she couldn’t swallow any more.

  We were all full, stuffed to overflowing, giddy on company and the rush of red meat. I stared around the room, taking in the sofa and the row of chairs. Along the opposite side was a cabinet and cupboards, just the kind you’d keep needles and equipment in. A specimen room, that’s right, where they collected blood. Now, it was a dining room, filled with chairs from the waiting room. Home. Just like my building was home.

  They wanted me to stay, I could feel it in every hopeful glance, every too wide smile.

  “Come on, let’s get this washed up so we can get some sleep ourselves. I’m heading out again tomorrow. You’re can come if you want, I could use the company.”

  “It’s her polite way of saying we’re bloody useless,” Chuck’s nasally voice cut in.

  “Not useless, just specifically talented,” she gave a wink and rose from her seat. “It gets lonely out there, and dangerous if you’re not careful, and I could use someone to watch my back. Not everyone’s a Lost Boy, and not everyone knows what we’re doing…or cares.”

  Saving the world, yeah, that’s right. I stood and followed, leaving Pitt to whine and snore. “Sure, I can come.”

  The Calling hummed in my veins like a familiar song once forgotten. I knew the tune. It led me here for a reason. To help them…I glanced over my shoulder as Chuck dabbed his nose and then looked at the blood. God knew they looked like they needed all the help they could get.