by Angel Lawson
I’m in the middle of hunger-induced fantasy about breaking both of Butch’s legs when one of his men saunters up to the cage. I search his hands for water but he’s only carrying the key. Fear knots in my belly and I watch helpless as he unlocks the door and nods at Miranda. “Get up.”
Panic flashes in her eyes but she looks down at Rebecca. She juts her chin and pushes her shoulders back. I get it. If her sister can survive, so can she.
“You’re strong,” I remind her quietly but I struggle with the urge to vomit as the door clinks shut and they disappear down the hall.
“Any ideas yet?” I whisper to Walker around the lump in my throat.
“I just need an opportunity,” she replies, but doesn’t get a chance to explain further because the man who took Miranda returns alone. He’s headed back in our direction. Miranda said that in her time here the sex trade moved slow. Maybe one or two a day. People just didn’t have the funds or materials to barter. But the guard is back again, this time stopping at the other cage. My hands clench around the bars as he looks around Walker to Jane.
“New girl, yeah you,” he says, pointing to Jane. “You’ve been picked.”
Jane stands, brushing off her backside. If she’s scared, she doesn’t show it. My sister is a complete and utter enigma. She’s terrified of the smallest thing outside the Fort, but this guy? She looks at him like he’s beneath her. Well, just like she looks at the rest of us.
“That’s not going to happen,” Walker says, moving between the guy and Jane.
He laughs. “No? What are you going to do about it?”
There’s a beat, an infinitesimal pause, and I swear the guy realizes he’s screwed one second before Walker lunges at him. Faster than a blink she chops him across the windpipe with her hand while simultaneously kicking him in the knee. He flails and she grabs his arm, flipping him over her shoulder. He lands with a thud, his head cracking on the cement floor.
“Get the keys,” I shout to my sister, but she’s frozen, watching the scene unfold. I rattle the cage to get her attention. Rebecca stands next to me, eyes wide.
Walker’s got the guy on the ground, her foot crushing his throat, by the time three other men race from the back. The tell-tale sound of electricity buzzes in the air and I follow the noise, seeing the spark of a taser. Walker bolts for the door, racing past tables and toppling chairs but a burly man stands at the entrance, blocking her escape. Two of the men grab her, one getting punched in the nose in the process while the one with the taser tags her on the back of the neck. It takes two zaps, but she falls.
I wait for them to bring her back to the cage. Instead it takes two men, one with a bloody nose, to drag her in the other direction, down the hallway Miranda disappeared down earlier. Just as they turn the corner movement catches my eye and I see Jane walk out of the cage. Walk, not run. She kneels by the man Walker assaulted. She touches his cheek.
“Stop!” The remaining man shouts. He grabs her by arm, holding the taser as a threat.
“He’s injured,” she says, barely sparing the man or the fired-up taser a second glance. She continues to check his pulse as though the man isn’t a threat. My sister is either more insane than I gave her credit for, or she has way bigger balls than I realized.
“Yeah, your friend beat the shit out of him. Back off. I’m not letting you do the same.”
“I’m a doctor,” she says. “I can help him.”
He pauses, taser still raised. He’s a medium-sized guy, balding and with more gray hair than not. Even now the saggy skin from his belly hangs behind the fabric of his Kentucky Wildcats T-Shirt. The hard lines on his face imply he’s not used to having a woman tell him what to do. At least not recently.
I don’t blame him for not wanting to take a chance after Walker’s assault. They don’t realize Jane’s harmless, although it’s pretty obvious.
“She really is a doctor,” I say. It’s a lie. Well, not the medical kind he’s talking about but she’s a doctor of sorts. “And she’s pretty useless in a fight.” He gives me a wary look. “Seriously, you should let her look at him.”
“I’ll zap you if you try anything.”
“And he’ll die from internal bleeding if you don’t let me help.” Jane sweeps her brown hair over her shoulder and begins her examination. Rebecca and Jennifer, the other girl from Jane’s cage, watch with me. They think they’re watching my sister perform an act of kindness. I know she’s never done such a thing in her life.
So I wait.
The injured man groans and coughs. From the cage I can see the bruises already forming on his neck.
“Help me turn him,” Jane says in an authoritative voice. When he doesn’t react she looks at him with hard gray eyes. “Now.”
He makes a decision and moves into action, kneeling by Jane and using both hands to gain leverage under his friend’s back. I eye the taser sticking out the back of his pants.
“Hold him like that,” she says, and I catch the tiniest movement with her left hand. She slips something out of her sock and in a quick stroke, she stabs the man in the neck. He grabs for the spot, his fingers finding the stick end of a needle, but his eyes roll to the back of his head before he can act.
She picks up the needle, inspects it, and puts it in her pocket.
I blink, shocked silent.
“Hurry!” Rebecca shouts. “Get the keys!”
“Oh right,” Jane says, removing them from the man’s belt. She moves slowly—why is she so slow? But Jennifer has already leapt from her open cage, picking them up. Before Jane has even taken a step, we’re free.
“What is that?” I ask Jane. I’ve already got the taser in my hand.
“A sedative. It should buy us some time.”
“You’ve had that all along? In your sock?”
“You fight with your weapons—I fight with mine.”
“We have to get Miranda,” Rebecca says, tugging my arm. I look at Green and Jackson, knowing they need to be released, but the women are in direct harm. I grab a knife from one of the men on the floor and hand it to Jennifer. “Cut their binds and get them off that wall. If we make it out alive we’ll come back for them.”
She runs off and I turn to Rebecca. “Can you lead the way?”
“Yes, I know where the rooms are,” the girl says, her voice shaking.
I grab the remaining weapons off the two men on the floor. Two guns, a large hunting knife. I give one to each person, and keep one gun and the knife. Jane gets the taser. I’ve got no clue if they know how to use them or not.
Jennifer cuts the binds and the men fall to the ground in an exhausted, nearly unconscious heap.
“Come on,” I wave to lead with Rebecca.
The hallway is dark, having no windows for light, but Rebecca and Jennifer lead us quickly, their shoeless feet quiet on the hardwood floors. I’m impressed by their bravery but they know better than the rest of us how important it is to get out of here. As we approach the doors on the left side of the hall I hear a crash behind the door. Voices raise—a male and female. I reach for the handle, gun drawn.
“Watch the door and hallway,” I tell the others. Jennifer nods, brushing her hair out of her eyes. I twist the knob and fling the door open, revealing a bed with messy covers. The bed, thank god, is unoccupied. I step into the room and hold up my pistol.
By the footboard are three people. One is Walker. I’m not as surprised as I should be that she’s up, curly red hair wild around her face. I stare at the broken bottle she’s got up against Butch’s neck. Blood drips down the column of his throat and even though he’s trying not to look scared I see the fear in his eyes.
The other man is someone I’ve never seen but unexpectedly, has a long barreled rifle aimed at Butch. As soon as we enter he swings the gun on us.
“Easy,” I say, keeping an eye on the man. He wears thick black-rimmed glasses and has a slight build. Definitely cleaner and less redneck than the Winchesters. “Walker, you okay?”
�
�I’m fine,” she says, but the sound of heavy footsteps in the hall cuts off any reply and all eyes move to the doorway.
“Watch him,” I tell Walker as though she needs instruction. I push past the other women and see a skinny man coming our way. He’s one of the men that works behind the bar.
He’s carrying a gun with purpose but skids to a stop when he sees the three of us step into the hallway. I stand in the front, holding both the pistol and knife, willing him to force me to use either or both to get out of here alive. Jennifer holds up her knife, Rebecca aims her gun, and Jane flips the switch on the Taser. It buzzes to life.
The man is frozen, his greasy, shaggy hair flopping around his shoulders, and he drops his gun to the floor. “Don’t kill me,” he says, holding up his hands. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
I look over my shoulder at Butch. “Seems like you’ve got a traitor on your hands,” I say, flicking my eyes to the unidentified man who seems to be on our side. “If not two.”
“You know nothing, bitch,” Butch says spitting in my direction. Walker presses the glass to his throat and he swallows nervously.
The man next to him says, “Shut your mouth.”
“Who are you?” I ask, really looking at the man helping us. His skin is dark—a light brown, as well as his hair. He’s from the Middle East, Indian or Pakistani perhaps. He’s slight but holds his weapon with confidence.
“I came for the girls, Rebecca and Miranda. I was sent by their father.”
Rebecca hears her name and peeks around the corner. Her face brightens for the first time since I’ve known her and she rushes into the room.
“Avi?
Avi.
His face breaks into a smile. “Beck, thank god. I’m sorry it took so long.”
I stare at him and hear a small sound behind me. I turn and face my sister. Her hands tremble and she stares at the man. She’s shaken for the first time since we were captured.
Yep, we’ve found the man we traveled all this way to find. My sister’s partner and the other half of PharmaCorp, Avi Patel.
Wyatt
Near Savannah, Georgia
Late Winter
The morning sunrise glints off the clean blade before I plunge it into the man’s stomach, jerking it upward for optimal damage. The light fades, but doesn’t fully extinguish from his beady eyes. I kick him in the wound and he falls over, knees hitting the pavement with a crack.
“You’ll never stop us,” he grinds out as his last breath.
I swing the blade and take off his head. It drops to the ground with a hollow thud.
“You’re probably right,” I agree to the corpse, wiping the blade on his shoulders, covering the purple bars with thick blood. “But I’ll keep trying anyway.”
*
At first, the sound of the waves is startling. Not because it’s unusual but because it’s familiar. The ocean hasn’t changed. The waves roll in and out. The tides shift.
It’s one of the reminders that we’re trespassers on this magnificent planet and nature will continue its daily rituals despite our destruction.
I sit on the weathered bench, tucked under a creaky gazebo, and stare out at the Atlantic. The sky is a winter gray, the wind cold and bitter. But there’s no smell of the dead out here, which is one reason why I like it so much. The breeze comes off the ocean—it’s fresh, salty, and untainted. Spring is on the horizon.
We followed Erwin’s plan, moving south to the coast. The ultimate goal was to build his army, increasing the size and skills of the recruits in preparation for the battle headed our way. As far as plans go it wasn’t the best one, but I’m a solider at heart and until I figure out my next move, I stay.
This first winter, nine months after civilization came to a screeching halt, was brutal. Even in the moderate south, the temperature and conditions brought complications we weren’t completely prepared for. Fresh food disappeared, the gardens and farms frosted over or were consumed by efficient animals. We still had access to vehicles but they took constant maintenance and a rotating crew for siphoning gas. The generators we needed to run the base took most the fuel. The lack of central heat was something we’re unaccustomed to. The Army bases aren’t equipped with fireplaces or proper ventilation for fires. Clever members of Erwin’s team come up with solutions.
The apocalypse, quite simply, is an exhausting time to live in.
As the air turned colder, the people did, too. The living separated into two distinct groups. Reality settled into bones, occupied minds. Depending on how you wanted to face the future, some saw it only as a depressing, bleak horizon. Life was getting hard and it was only compounded by the fact that we continued to fight one another as well as the infected.
The other group, presented with the same reality, made the choice to work and build what we could. Nothing permanent, but learning to survive was a necessity. It made people desperate to join our cause even though they’d never seen or heard of a Hybrid in their lives.
Me?
I still had debts to pay.
Erwin doesn’t keep track of me as my official job is ’Scout’. I leave the camp on my own or occasionally with Jude, who has appointed me his mentor. I don’t mind passing along the tricks I’ve learned over the years and he’s got good instincts—I think from hunting at such a young age. Together or alone, I spend my days wandering the southern half of Georgia looking for signs of life—human, Hybrid, or Eater.
I play a game in my head as I comb the countryside—a game similar to the one Alexandra and I used to banter about on patrol. With each living being I track, I identify them into one of three categories; recruit, hide, or kill.
The new recruits train on the Eaters, learning to use the weapons in the armory at Erwin’s most recent base. It’s dirty work and there are casualties, but it’s a necessary evil.
The Hybrids? We keep an eye on them. Kill the ones that travel alone and hide from the ones that don’t. I haven’t seen Chloe herself since the battle at the Vaccine Center. Cole, either—although I assume he’s dead or toiling away in the PharmaCorp labs.
And Alex?
The last time I saw her she was headed into the belly of the beast, looking to stop this whole crazy war with her sister. All I know is that she failed and the Hybrids continue their push south. I haven’t heard word from her since that day and not one of the Hybrids I’ve caught gives me the information I need. I have little choice but to push the dark-haired girl with a big heart and a wise mouth out of my mind.
A chorus of feet beat on the boardwalk of the tiny beach house, racing in my direction. The children’s skin looks dark against the steel gray skies and white beaches, but their smiles are bright with glee. They pass me with barely a glance, kicking off their shoes and heading to the sand with shouts that are muffled by the waves.
I keep vigil while the children play, my gun always in hand. A hunting knife sits on the small ledge. The Eaters are few on this little stretch of the island—evacuated in the early days of the infection. A fire took half of the homes. A bad storm took a dozen more. I killed the remaining roamers before I ever let the children set foot near the place.
The smallest, Garrett, runs back to the boardwalk and my back straightens, looking for danger. There’s nothing but dunes, sea grass, and abandoned houses.
“Wyatt, Wyatt…” he calls, grabbing my coat with sandy hands. I check him for wounds.
“Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
He looks up at me with soulful, brown eyes and holds up his hand. Palm flat. “Look what I found.”
My worry subsides and I pick up the smooth, coiled shell. “Good find. I’ll put it with the others,” I tell him, slipping it into my pocket.
He runs back with the others and as unsure as I am about so many things in life, right now I do know I’ve followed her final request. She didn’t want me to just take the kids back to become soldiers. She wanted more than that. She wanted them to live.
Chapter 4
“He
y man,” Davis calls, jogging across the airfield’s abandoned and weedy runway. Although he is still hulking, tall and muscular, my partner has slimmed down over the cold winter months like the rest of us.
“Morning.” I eye the fuzzy strip of hair over his lip. “You decide on a new look while I was gone?”
He falls into step and walks toward the mess hall with me. I ran out of food twenty-four hours ago. I just hope they’ve got something to eat in there. He runs a hand over the barely-there mustache. “Parker suggested it.”
I raise an eyebrow but keep moving. “Did she?”
He shrugs. “I thought I’d give it a shot. I mean, what else is there to do?”
He’s got me there. The worst part of the cold months was the ever-pressing boredom. We spent the first six months of the apocalypse in a never-ending battle. First with the Eaters. Then with Jane. Next with Chloe and the Hybrids. In hindsight, I think we may have just needed to be busy. The alternative leads to a variety of pastimes—the least damaging is growing facial hair at an attractive woman’s suggestion.
“How was your mission?” he asks. We approach the Mess Hall door and a solider quickly opens it from the inside. Even behind the walls the doors are locked. I nod at the kid, who can’t be older than sixteen. He’s dressed in a full combat uniform but that’s only because of the massive warehouse of clothing and supplies Erwin has access to. Even Erwin won’t send minors into the Death Fields; at least, not yet.
“They’re looking for us,” I confirm. “I killed three Hybrid scouts over the last twenty-four hours. They don’t know our exact location but they’re close.”
“Jude said the same thing; well, he killed two and lost track of one. He got back an hour ago.”
“In one piece?” It was his first solo scouting mission.
“A couple of scrapes, but yeah, he held his own.”
There’s a massive pot of oatmeal on the counter—no longer hot—but better than nothing. I scoop a bowlful and grab a spoon before heading to the long table in the middle of the room. It’s midmorning and the hall is quiet.