Break Free (Book 3): Through The Frozen Dawn

by E. M. Fitch

  "There aren't as many of us left," Marco went on to say. "Started with a few thousand. But we're down from that now."

  A few thousand humans. The thought was staggering. That was enough, enough to start over, to clean up the world, to save it. Emma and Jack were floored. And they were less scared than before.

  The NNA had strict rules. There was a procedure to follow, they explained to Emma and Jack. First step: secure new arrivals. Second step: integration.

  "It's less scary than it sounds," a man named Corey grunted. He caught Emma's eye and then shifted uncomfortably, moving towards the front of the marching line.

  It wasn't wooded where they were, mostly fields and the occasional smattering of houses. They saw the fence coming from a distance away. Emma wasn't sure it wouldn't be seen from space.

  It was massive, concrete and brick and chain link all meshed together, but the gate they had built at the center looked like something out of Jurassic Park, something that could ward off a Tyrannosaurus Rex. The two hung doors were wooden, like thick reinforced barn doors, only several stories high and wide enough to fit a tanker truck through. The columns supporting it were concrete and thicker than the length of Emma's body.

  The fence sloped down from there, sweeping from the highest point to a more modest twenty feet high. It was a patchwork of ingenuity after the massive gate, parts welded into place, all kinds of materials used to keep the infection out of this protected little part of the world. It went as far as Emma could see in both directions, though her eye kept getting drawn back to the entrance.

  "Pretty impressive, huh?" Marco said, sidling up to Emma. He nudged her casually with his elbow, his eyebrows bouncing up and down on his forehead. Emma cringed away and then remembered herself, smiling in apology. "That's the base camp for this winter. There's a few of them, gates I mean, that size. Wherever we end up for the winter, we build a giant entrance like that, easier to come and go when we get new machinery."

  "What happens to the old gates?" Emma asked. She envisioned the old wall crumbling, the press of the infected too much for it to handle without people manning it.

  But that was not, as Marco explained, the reality. Behind each gate, all six of them, there were small towns. People had chosen to stay, live, raise families, and keep the wall intact. There were many different jobs and each individual in the community was assigned one, some were Scroungers, like Marco and the rest of this group, but there were cooks and laundresses, garbage men, handymen, builders, farmers, and a group of people dedicated to clearing the fence, patching up the holes, and cleaning the infected that collapsed against it.

  It wasn't until they were almost directly beneath the entrance that Emma realized the gate wasn't their only defense.

  "Watch your step here," Marco cautioned, offering a hand to steady Emma. She thanked him but didn't grab for his outstretched fingers. Her eyes were downwards, looking through the grates that stretched without end from were she stood to the opening gate. The doors were opening slowly, a single man stepping out and calling to their group.

  "Who do you have there?" the stranger called. Jack waved and introduced them but Emma couldn't look up from the grates.

  The New North America had dug a pit, a large one, there would have been no way to jump across it, and filled it with infected people. They roamed, knocking into each other, snapping their teeth. Their bodies were emaciated, all sharp angles and protruding bones, and they began to crowd before Emma, their bony and broken hands reaching up, some able to stick their fingers through the grate to scrape at Marco's shoe. He moved aside without even looking down, obviously accustomed to this.

  The men started walking across, the pitch and intensity of the infected shifting as they did, they followed like sharks under water, snarling up at the boots that walked above them. Jack followed them slowly, after a look back at Emma. She froze.

  It was Marco who came back for Emma.

  "You okay?" he asked, looking from her to his feet. An older biter, probably in his sixties when he turned, was reaching up for them. His fingernail caught on the grate and slowly peeled off his finger, the black flesh underneath giving it up with ease. The deaden bit of nail hung off his finger at a right angle. Emma shuddered and looked up.

  "You use them like this? For what, defense? From who?"

  "Other people," Marco answered, shrugging in sheepish acknowledgement. "It's our moat."

  "But if they can't get out, how-"

  Marco looked towards the gate and waved. In answer, a section of the grate was peeled back towards the wall, retracted, like a gym floor hiding away a pool underneath. The men still walking across gave it a wide berth. The infected below shifted though, heading towards the opening, waiting for someone to slip.

  "It opens?" Emma asked in a whisper. Marco nodded.

  "But only when and where we decide it does," he answered. "C'mon, it's time to meet the Council."

  ~

  That night, Emma dreamed of shifting grates and floors opening to swallow her whole, a pit of rotting teeth and yellow eyes waiting to tear her to pieces.

  Jack was already awake when she shot up.

  "You okay?" he asked, looking over at her. The New North America had set up for the winter in the remains of an old summer camp. Tucked behind the massive gate, a collection of long cabins, some smaller ones, a mess hall, even an office sat on the edge of a modest lake. It was stocked with fish, or so Marco said, and the water was clean enough to drink. It was the perfect set up for a group this size, a great place to wait out the winter. The cabin they had been offered for the night was small, only one room really. The lantern Jack sat by illuminated the entirety of it. There was a wash station with a jug of cold, clean water, some packaged food, an old arm chair, a wood stove, and one large bed. Jack made her take the bed. Apparently they were in one of the married bunks. Jack had insisted after Emma had another mild panic attack when she was told she would be assigned to the women's dorms.

  "I'm fine," she murmured, getting out of bed and pouring herself a glass of water. It was an odd sensation, drinking out of a glass, when for so long she had been slurping from plastic jugs and water bottles. It felt clean, and oddly familiar in a homey sort of way.

  When they first arrived, they had been taken directly to the Council. It consisted of two men and two women. Emma and Jack sat facing the four of them, the only people in the office the Council used as their headquarters. Chairs were stacked around the edge of the room, though only two were placed before the Council's long table. Emma assumed the space doubled as a meeting hall, or even possibly for some kind of entertainment.

  No one had said any one person was in charge, but there was a subtle deference, Emma thought, for one of the men, Harris. He was balding, with only wisps of white hair at his temples. He stood straight and tall, like a rod was fused to his spine; even after he sat, he was stiff and formal. He spoke little, allowing the others to orient Emma and Jack, and maybe it was that, his quiet nature and stiff posture, the way his eyes seemed to focus and absorb information that Emma and Jack didn't even want to offer. Or maybe it was the shifting of the others, the way they seemed to orient themselves around him, always glancing in his direction before committing to an answer. Either way, it was clear to Emma, there may be a Council, but Harris was the leader here.

  The orientation itself was straightforward and simple. There were rules, many of them, it seemed, but it was all so much like before, like Emma was a child again, that they seemed pretty commonplace, almost expected. It reminded her of the old movies she had seen as a kid, the ones where young women lived in boarding houses and had curfews and expected behaviors. Only these rules of conduct applied to the whole town.

  It was Marco who explained to her why they were in place at all. With downcast eyes, he filled her in after the Council had released them. Before there were rules, before they even began their expansion down south, there had been people who took advantage of loss of government and police force. People were
hurt, scared. It was Harris, not that this surprised Emma, who insisted they needed conduct rules. Miranda, Samuel, and Carla agreed. They named themselves leaders, the new Council, and the New North America was born.

  Most of the rules were as expected. No murder, no theft, no attacking one another. Some seemed like they were out of another century. There were dorms for the men and separate dorms for the women. There were smaller homes and cabins, like the one Emma and Jack were in, reserved for married couples and families. There were nightly curfews and penalties for not getting to your assigned bunk on time. It seemed a little extreme to Emma, policing people's private behavior like that. Though Marco said, when she mentioned it, that things hadn't been good without it.

  Marco had been kind, almost too kind, Emma thought. Well-intentioned and sweet, though she wondered if that was because he was just being nice, or perhaps that even though they had hundreds of people to live with, single women might still be a commodity. She tensed after she realized this. That was not an option for her, even taking Andrew out of the picture completely.

  "I hope they get here soon," Emma murmured, stirring under her blanket. There was a pop from the wood stove as the flames found a pocket of sap in one of the dead branches. Jack nodded, looking thoughtful. She wasn't sure why, but since they arrived she had had a burning feeling that her sister and Andrew were still alive, that they had seen the explosion and were on their way with Anna and Bill. She couldn't explain it, except for maybe that seeing so many other people alive, living and well, had stirred some kind of hope for humanity that she didn't even realize she still possessed. She still couldn't be positive that she wasn't the youngest person left alive, a title she had joked with her sister about so often. Still, there were more people here than she had seen since the outbreak of the infection. The thought drove her wild with hope.

  "I wanted to talk to you about that actually," Jack said softly, turning in his chair and locking eyes with her. Emma nodded for him to continue, swathing herself in the comforter. "When they get here, I want you to consider saying Andrew is your husband."

  Emma stiffened, shock at his suggestion rapidly being replaced with anger.

  "I am not doing that," she said.

  "I know," Jack placated. "But listen, if you have to live in the dorms, how much harder is it going to be to conceal that you've been bitten? Won't anyone notice when you're weirdly obsessed with having your own utensils, never sharing a glass? And what if you're not careful, what if you infect someone-"

  "You think I don't take this seriously?" Emma spat, firing up even as her eyes drifted to the glass she had just used, to the way she had placed it alone, on a shelf all by itself.

  "No, I know you do," he said softly. "But wouldn't it be safer?"

  Emma drew a deep breath. "Not for Andrew," she replied. She lay back down, cocooning herself in the blankets, before Jack could reply.

  ~

  Life in the New North America was busy and distracting. Which was good. Every passing day without sign of her sister and friends was a blow.

  Emma had spent every night after dinner wandering around the front gate while Jack paced the perimeter. The infected in the moat would still be awake when she got there, the moaning and growling audible even from beyond the massive gate. She would stay there until the sun went down and the infected fell silent, watching for her sister. Emma caught the attention of the man who sat guard. He was older, past sixty, and had completely given up on all hair trimming. His face and head were covered in wiry, uneven gray bristles. His name was Willy, and he was probably insane. Though how anyone sane could sit there for hours listening to the moaning of the infected, she wasn't sure.

  "Can I tell you a poem?" he'd croak every night, waiting for Emma to nod before he'd begin.

  As I was going up the stair,

  I met a man who wasn't there.

  He wasn't there again today.

  I wish, I wish he'd stay away.

  Willy recited the same poem, nightly, until Emma asked if he didn't know another. She tried to teach him The Owl and the Pussycat, thinking he was strange enough to find it amusing. It didn't stick. He just repeated his crazy poem again and cackled, actually slapping his knee in amusement. His laugh was wheezy and a little scary, like something you'd hear in an old horror film.

  Other than the bizarre poem, he didn't speak to her at all. Once she let him finish it, he fell silent, humming discordantly as he leant back in an old folding chair. She paced, a little distance away, but always in sight of the main road leading into the New North America, the road that would lead you directly over the moat.

  If Kaylee and the rest were alive, anywhere in the area they were last seen, they would have seen the explosions. That city lit the sky. And how long would it take them to get into the territory of the New North America? If they had taken a car, not that long at all, a couple days tops.

  So they must not have a car. Because it had been a week now.

  ~

  "Hand me that there, will you?" Jack grunted. Emma reached for the hammer and passed it up, Jack pounding nails into the tree he was leaning against. She braced her body against the ladder he was up on. Though no matter how much she pushed, it still seemed wobbly to her.

  "Almost lunchtime, you two!" Marco called from down the line. Jack grunted again, nails hanging from his lips.

  Emma had been made to move to the girl's dorms. But she and Jack had insisted they work together, both choosing to work on erecting the new, temporary external fences. It kept Emma away from the cleaning and food prep, both areas in which she was initially asked to help. It wasn't because she didn't want to help in that way; (although, if she was honest with herself, she really didn't) it was that it was unsafe for her to be so close to the food and clean water that everyone else would consume. She didn't trust herself enough to not infect the population. She hated even being in the dorms, the constant paranoia of keeping track of her toothbrush and water bottle, the fear that another girl might accidentally, or innocently, borrow something of hers and kill herself in the process.

  She kept herself separate from the rest, terrified of getting too close and hurting them. Terrified that they might discover her secret, the reason her leg was so mangled.

  Only Marco had asked about it. He had come to walk her to their work detail, giving up scavenging for the week to erect fencing with her, and had caught her as she was still getting dressed. They may have separated the males and the females, but that still didn't allow a maximum amount of privacy. Either that or Emma was seriously running late, most of the building had been cleared out by that time.

  Regardless, he had seen her leg as she hastily pulled her jeans up and didn't say anything at first, only asking about it later when they were seated next to each other at dinner. He often sat with her and Jack at the picnic tables lined up outside the mess hall.

  Emma had lied, backed up by Jack, and Marco had let it drop. Still, his attention made her uneasy. He was friendly and warm and open, though a little too old for her. But all in all, if she hadn't been infected, here at the end of the world, she could see herself being flattered, or maybe even a little interested, in him.

  But even then, there was Andrew. Andrew, who she couldn't forget, even though he was still, inexcusably, missing.

  "Pick your poison," Marco said, strolling up towards Emma with a handful of cans. "No, I know, stew, right?"

  Emma smiled at him, before averting her eyes. She had a terrible feeling that she was leading him on, though she couldn't seem to help it. She took the can that he offered, trying to avoid any brush of his fingers. He didn't seem to notice her stiffening when his thumb stroked hers.

  "Baked beans for you, Jack?" he called up. Emma placed her can on the ground to help steady the ladder again, Marco helping. "Or maybe stew, too?"

  "Whichever you want, Marco, thanks," Jack said. He tossed the hammer towards the paper bag full of nails and peeled his gloves off. Jack blew warm air onto his fingers as Marco handed
over the beans.

  "They've got a fire going a hundred yards or so that way," Marco pointed. He started in that direction with a jerk of his head towards Emma. "C'mon. It's much better warmed-"

  A scream followed by a pop of gunfire interrupted him. Three cans hit the ground and rolled together as Emma, Jack, and Marco took off towards the center of town. They tore passed a group of confused women, arms full of wild herbs, the last of the season. People were running from the center square, a patch of bare and beaten down earth that served as a main gathering point. The long cabin that served as the girl's dorm was directly across from the dusty square. The mess hall was to the side. The building itself was too small to fit the entire population of the town at once so canopy tents had been erected outside, rows of picnic benches underneath. One of these was flipped over as a man crouched behind with a shotgun. The blast from his barrel could be felt from across the square, Emma's teeth shook.

  From the girl's dorm, a creature staggered out. Her name had been Nicole, Emma recognized her. She slept not far from her in the dorms last night. Her toothbrush was also red.

  She had been scattered and disorganized, a decade or so older than Emma. She had had children once, and a husband, but she was alone when she found the New North America. She was a cook, but had talked just last night of trying to start up a reading group.

  She was now infected.

  The shotgun blasted a hole through her chest, though of course this didn't stop her. Her entrails dragged from behind her, leaving vivid red streaks in the dust as she staggered forward. Someone put a bullet through her temple and she fell, a heap of seeping, dirty infection.

  There were two other bodies already bleeding out in the square, three dead altogether.

  "What happened?" Marco murmured in horror, walking forward to help in the clean up.

  Emma turned to Jack, tears sparking in her eyes. His teeth were grit and he didn't speak.

  "I have to go," she whispered.

  Chapter 14

  "I can't stay here, Jack," Emma hissed. The sun had set and Emma and Jack were back in the cabin they had used that first night. The dorm was sealed. No one was allowed in there. "You know I can't!"