Break Free (Book 3): Through The Frozen Dawn

by E. M. Fitch

  "It had to be deliberate," he said, his voice low and soft, "for there to have been that many. I've seen hordes before, groups of hundreds that could knock through buildings. But thousands like this? It's like they were herded."

  Emma felt sick. Herded. Like cattle. Only they weren't. It seemed a horrible, callous thing to do; to use infected people as weapons, use the disease that had ripped the entire world apart for petty territory disputes.

  "Either way," Jack continued. "We're gonna have to ditch the car. We want this wall intact."

  They threw their backpacks over first, then the rolled up sleeping bags they had found. They didn't have much else. Ahead there was a billboard, a rusty ladder leading up to a platform. Jack and Emma walked straight to it without discussion. Dawn was only an hour or so away.

  ~

  The city that had look so close, shimmering in the daylight, was not so close when you had to approach it on foot. But, with the wall behind them and the open forest ahead of them, they were at least safe from the thousands of infected that had descended on them in that small town.

  Jack must have been right, Emma thought. It was an intentional attack. Someone drove them in there. Of course, this did not make her feel any better about what had happened to Kaylee and the others. If the horde was directed to attack the kidnappers, then they were probably overrun as well.

  Emma didn't mention this. Jack's one rule was that Kaylee and the rest were alive until it could be proven different. Emma kept her mouth shut.

  There was an ease to Jack's presence, she could acknowledge that. Over the days they traveled, Emma and Jack moved among the trees like shadows. They hunted in silence, skulking through the forest, treading lightly on the wet and springy dead leaves. The underbrush was sparse now, dry bits that scraped at their legs.

  The rifle he found her was light. She found it easy to aim. And the animals, so unused to silent humans, were easy to pick off.

  That was her job, the animals. The four legged variety, at least. His was the infected, those brought stumbling and keening at the sounds of the gunshots. Whenever they heard it, the sudden crash and moan, she stopped immediately, shouldered the rifle and brought out her hunting knife.

  More often than not, she didn't need it. Jack's machete was quick and sharp. They'd leave the bodies still leaking dark blood unto the leaves and moss, take their kill, and find a quiet hill to skin it on.

  "Do you think you're infected?" he asked one night. The sun was set and Emma cleared her throat loudly, surprised as she always was by the ruff husk of her voice after having spent so many hours silent. She shrugged as she answered, wiping the grease of the turkey they roasted from her fingertips.

  "I don't feel any different," she said, staring into the fire. The memory of the flame bit at her calf and she shifted positions, drawing her legs underneath her. The city was closer now. During the day, they could make out the cars that clogged the highway, see the reflection of light on the intact window panes of the high rises. "But it's not like I can test it out."

  Jack grunted, tossing a turkey bone unto the flames. It cracked, spitting marrow into the heat. Bubbles erupted along the fissure lines, glistening against the blackened bone.

  The woods came alive around them, as they always did after dark. Even now, the last of the tree frogs croaked into the cold air, the cicadas not completely gone. Thankfully the mosquitos had finally all died off. Emma hated the cold, but loved not having to slap at her face every minute or so as one of the annoying bugs whined passed.

  But even with the persistent life of the forest, noisily resuming its routine all around them, something was missing, something off. Emma knew Jack believed her sister was out there, searching for them. A pang in her chest reminded her all too well of what she thought. She ached and longed for her sister, for Andrew, and at the same time grieved them silently, replaying her memories of them, so as not to lose them forever. It struck her funny that most of her vivid memories of both her sister and Andrew was them yelling at her. That face they both made, pursed lips, eyebrows drawn, Kaylee looking down her nose and Andrew's eyes widened in disbelief of her stupidity; it changed the pang into a subtle ache and brought a smile to her face. She loved them both, missed them terribly. And felt their absence.

  Here with Jack, they may as well have been the last people on the face of the earth. And night's like this one, when the only noises were animal, accentuated by darkness, she felt they might be. She frowned, knowing what poor company she made for the end of the world. She couldn't even be touched.

  "I'm sorry you're stuck with me," she said suddenly, breaking the stillness between them. He jerked up from his own thoughts, surprised.

  "I'm not. You're a better hunting partner than even Quinton was."

  It was like a small, faded punch to the stomach at Quinton's name and she saw Jack flinch as well. But then he smiled determinedly.

  "Not that he wasn't great," Jack added, the words slow and thoughtful, "but you're so tiny, I don't think the animals think of you as a threat. Also, you're damn quiet."

  She lapsed into silence again. The fire popped and Jack rose to add a few of the larger logs they had scrounged up.

  "You're sure that animals don't get it?" he asked. Emma was used to their conversations by now, silence punctuated by random questions, she answered without pause.

  "I'm sure. Cynthia told me. She injected squirrels and things, no change. She even got some into a raccoon once, let it bite something. Nothing happened other than some really pissed off rodents."

  She didn't ask why he wanted to know, she could see his thoughts as easily as if they were swirling in the faint smoke from the fire rather than beating around inside his brain.

  "If we find others, I mean other than Andrew and Kaylee," she clarified, he nodded. "I'm gonna take off, let you settle in without me, I mean."

  She had been expecting argument, anger. Instead he laughed, a soft breath of amusement. She straightened, annoyed. "I'm not joking."

  "I know you're not," he answered softly, keeping his eyes on the fire. "Why?"

  "You know why," she bit out. "I'm not safe."

  "You know who won't be safe? Me," he continued, not expecting her to answer, "when I have to tell Kay and Andrew that I just let you wander off without me."

  She grunted, ignoring the pang in her chest that always occurred when he talked about her sister and Andrew like they were still alive. But even if they were, his excuse was weak.

  "I like it here," she said, keeping her voice quiet and low. "It's... it's not so easy, being surrounded all the time." Emma cut off, squirming uncomfortably. She rose to her feet, gathered her sleeping bag around her and sat again, engulfed in the silky warmth. She had never expected to feel the loss of human contact so keenly. She had been so young when the infection broke out, thoughts of intimacy had left her grimacing. And as she got older, as the thought of being close enough to someone, touching unrestrained, grew clearer, it still remained unfocussed. Not so much unfocussed, she could admit that to herself in the darkness of the nearly empty woods. Andrew is who she thought about, even then, back before the world fell to madness. But he was off limits, clearly infatuated with her sister, and never looking her way longer than to offer a friendly game of cards. But still, there was the hope of someone, something happening to her.

  And then she was bitten.

  She was alive; she had that. She could shoot and feed herself, breathe the clean wooded air, enjoy the sunset and the soft music of the forest as night stretched over it. She wasn't ungrateful for those things.

  But the thought of returning to live with others, people who didn't know she was infected, who would rub against her, knocked into her playfully, contact she would have to shy away from or feel the plunge of guilt in her stomach if she didn't; it was more effort than she thought she could make.

  And if they did find Andrew and Kaylee, part of her felt that would be even worse. Wonderful yes, to know they lived. She longed for that, pra
yed for it nightly. And yet, they would never let her go. Instead she'd live with them, watch Kaylee and Jack grow inevitably closer, push Andrew farther away and possibly, if she had any decency at all, into the arms of a girl who could love him. Her chest clenched with loss at the thought. Better to stay here, blanketed by solitude, enjoying the gifts life still had left for her, not hurting anyone anymore.

  "My uncle was a priest," Jack said suddenly into the quiet. Emma started from her own thoughts, squinting over at him. "I used to wonder about that, living celibate. But his life was also amazing. He traveled all over, mostly indigent areas. He wore that collar like a bulletproof vest. There was this one time," Jack's voice creaked with amusement and he laughed as he looked over at her. "He was walking around the docks in who-knows-where and just strolled right up the gangplank to a cruise ship."

  Emma opened her mouth, but Jack waved her off. "No, of course he wasn't a passenger on the cruise. It was docked for the day, letting the actual passengers off to explore the area. So anyway, he sits down at the pool, enjoying the afternoon, when a waiter comes and asks him if he wants a drink and what room to bill it to.

  "So, being a priest and not wanting to steal a drink he tells the guy he's there with his boss; which, he pointed out to me is God and so yes, he's always there with him; but he didn't want to charge the drink to a room and could he pay in cash? He was told he could and so he did. He spent the afternoon sipping a coffee and relaxing by the pool. When it was time to depart, he casually strolled off and went about his day."

  She laughed, enjoying the feeling of it bubbling up inside of her as much as the story Jack told. "He was a great guy, happy, full of life. He really loved what he did. He didn't have a wife to share his life with, but he was content, just him and God and the people he helped."

  Emma sobered at this, nodding. "Don't you see though? I want that, too." She gestured around her, the darkness of the woods lit now only by the glow of the flames. "Here I can't hurt anyone. I can be happy. And sure, celibacy isn't something I think I would have chosen for myself, but..." she trailed off in a shrug. Jack snorted.

  "No, I wouldn't have picked it for myself either. Priesthood is a calling, I saw that with my uncle. I have never felt called in that direction. But I guess you-"

  "Don't have much of a choice now," Emma finished for him with a sigh.

  "Have you ever?"

  "Had a choice? I should hope so! I'm not that bad to look at."

  "Not what I meant," he managed through a grin. "I meant, had you ever... I mean before you were bit..."

  "Oh!" Emma caught his meaning and felt the warmth of a blush heat her neck. "Erm, no. No, I haven't."

  He hummed a sort of understanding noise and she grit her teeth. "I was only fourteen when this all started!"

  He looked a little surprised at that but grinned over at her. "I realize. Doesn't mean you wouldn't at least have a game of Spin the Bottle under your belt."

  "Oh, no. Not even that," she sighed a bit and he caught it, making her huff. "Maybe someday someone will test it out for me."

  He stiffened and she noticed, but he didn't chide her. She cleared her throat, encouraged. "Would it be wrong, you think? To let someone?"

  "Rape you, you mean?" the stark and straightforward way he said it chilled her, but she nodded anyway.

  "Not... not provoke it," she clarified. "But, if it happened, if I couldn't fight them off. I mean, it's a possibility! Isn't it? Out here," she gestured around, felt the panic and wild uncertainty grip her. Jack stayed very still, his eyes watching her.

  "If you couldn't fight them off, how is that letting them?" he asked quietly. She shriveled into her bag.

  "By not telling them, not saying I've been bit, that I'm infected," Emma whispered, having already played this scenario out in her head a million times, trying to convince herself she could put the pieces of herself back together if she had to.

  "Even if you did," Jack said softly. "They probably wouldn't believe you."

  "Then I'll say it," she said, "and give up struggling."

  Jack didn't answer and she didn't look over when she heard the rustle of his sleeping bag. The fire sparked and spit, the cracks of bursting sap loud in the clearing. She hated to think about it. Hated that it played through her mind so often anyway. If someone raped her, and turned, then she'd know. She couldn't think of another way to find out, wouldn't test it on anyone but someone who deserved it. And even in that scenario, maybe the hypothetical he wouldn't deserve it.

  She lay on her side, cushioned on a thick layer of mostly dry pine needles and encased in the warmth of her synthetic sleeping bag.

  "Em?" Jack whispered over the crack of the fire. She hummed in acknowledgement. "If someone was trying to hurt you, why not just spit in their face? Save you some hurt, wouldn't it?"

  She was quiet for a long while. She had thought of that, too. In some ways, she was more dangerous a weapon than anyone on earth. But she had dismissed it quickly. "Because," she started, not even sure if Jack was still awake to hear her answer, "if he hadn't done anything yet, he'd be innocent still."

  ~

  They reached the city after another two days of hiking. It was cold enough now to warrant gloves and warm boots. The woods dwindled around them. Suburban homes and shopping malls lay in ruins as they neared the crumbled high rises. They found a sporting goods store and traded in their worn shoes and coats for the warmer wear still hung on racks inside the store. There were newer bags and camping gear, winter sleeping bags, and Emma felt richer than she had in a long time wrapped in the down of her new coat. She kept Andrew's leather jacket. Not because she thought she'd find him, but because she knew she wouldn't.

  There, in the suburbs, Jack began collecting materials for his bombs. Quietly, he lay out his supplies in the garage of an abandoned house they found. The windows had already been boarded up and there was an attic with a pull down staircase in which to hide. As soon as it was fully dark, he and Emma would find a car and drive into the city, scout for any survivors holed up in there before they strategically collapsed all ways out.

  There weren't that many infected around them. Emma guessed that most were wandering the city.

  "Is that dynamite?" Emma asked, tossing Jack a can of peaches. He grabbed it and nodded. "Where did you find that?"

  "Construction company a few streets over," he answered, peeling the tin lid back. He tipped the can towards his mouth and thick juice dribbled to his chin. "I don't have any blasting caps this time, but these will do."

  "I would think so," Emma murmured, eyeing them before she propped herself in the corner.

  The car Jack found was a convertible. It would be useless in the daytime, too easy for the biters to attack, but it was perfect for what they needed. He had ripped a white sheet off a bed and tied the ends to a broom handle, handing it to Emma. She sat in the back seat, steadying their white flag, as he drove them over a bridge into the city. He blasted the radio, an old punk rock CD they had found in the glove compartment, and she kept the white sheet upright and flapping behind them.

  They drove for an hour but no one called out. The infected didn't stir and other than the crunch they made under the tires, you wouldn't have even known they were there.

  After they had driven the outline of the city, Jack mentally mapping where his bombs would need to go, they stopped their car close to the center. At Jack's instructions, Emma propped the white flag against a flat expanse of building. Jack took a can of spray paint from his bag. In large, black letters, he wrote:

  City will be bombed in 2 days. Any left alive?

  He left the can next to the white flag and turned towards the car.

  "We'll come back tomorrow."

  Chapter 10

  "Where have you been!"

  The question was shot at them from across the lot. Kaylee felt her brow scrunch in confusion. Andrew stiffened next to her. Patricia was charging across the space, people moving quickly to get out of her way. The crowd shrunk a
way, backs hunched over individual fire pits and huddled around individual sources of food. Firelight lit the enclosed space of the Circle. Kaylee had time to notice two men spearing chunks of cabbage from a shared can before Patricia stepped in front of her and cut off her view.

  "Where?" she asked again, making it clear that she expected Kaylee to answer.

  Anger rippled through Kaylee. Other than the protection of numbers, this group offered very little assistance. They didn't pool resources, didn't share food. Kaylee had been left alone to scavenge for Anna and Andrew or else they wouldn't eat. She didn't mind it, couldn't blame them. But she found it obnoxious that now they would take offense to her and Andrew leaving.

  Was it the motorcycle? The fact that they had something now of value and based on Kaylee's windswept hair and the sack of food she carried it was obvious to everyone around her?

  She wasn't sure. But she didn't care either way. Patricia had no claim on her time and though it was nice to have a base to work from, Kaylee knew they could survive without it.

  Patricia was waiting for an answer, and so, Kaylee noticed, were the men and women pretending to ignore them.

  "We were out," Kaylee answered, shrugging. The skin around Patricia's eyes tightened.

  "With transportation?" she asked.

  "No."

  The lie came instinctively. Kaylee was sure it was obvious, even as she spoke, that she wasn't telling the truth. She didn't care.

  "We'll find it," Patricia said, her voice low but carrying. "Every working vehicle is property of the Circle. If you haven't been told that before, you've been told now."

  Kaylee watched Patricia's back as she turned and strode away. Her shoulders were tight and she walked with the stiff gait of anger. Her cousin, James, was dead; Kaylee understood that. It didn't matter. They weren't a part of this group, not really. They were squatting, just like so many of them seemed to be. Wasn't that what the Walmart men called them, Squatters? And yet, Kaylee mused as Andrew tugged her arm towards Anna and Rebecca, none of them ever left either. Groups would venture out during the day, find what food they could, squirrel away supplies and weapons so no one else in the Circle could find them, but they never broke out on their own. Kaylee had assumed this was because there was safety in numbers, the reassurances of many weapons should a horde overtake them. For the first time, she was wondering if maybe none of them could leave, even if they wanted to.