I feel Ryder’s hand on my back, urging me onward like always. It’s a warm, steady reminder to keep going no matter what, and to never look back. It reminds me of the tearful conversation we had many months ago about what I’m supposed to do if something should ever happen to Ryder…
Never look back.
I’m not as foolish and naïve as some people might think I am. I’ve known for a long time that there’s a very real possibility that Ryder will die in this world we live in now, and that if it does happen, it will most likely be because of me. He told me once that he considered love a weakness in this world, and he’s not wrong. If we ever got in a bind and couldn’t get out, Ryder wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice himself for me. I know that, and I hate it. I would be left with not only a broken heart, but the weight of that guilt crushing me, making it impossible for me to ever recover and move on.
Is that what will happen to us? Will I lose Ryder someday because of his love for me?
I shake off those morbid thoughts and focus on my surroundings. Now is definitely not the time to get wrapped up and lost in my own thoughts. Hopefully there will be time to think later, once we have a chance to rest and catch our breath somewhere safe and warm. Besides, Ryder would never let any of us give up like that. There’s nothing he won’t do to keep us safe and alive, no boundary he won’t cross, no danger or obstacle he won’t face for us.
“They’re gaining!” Reese shouts, warning all of us that we need to pick up the pace.
But Naomi is already struggling to keep up. Any faster and I have no doubt that she’s going to fall behind. If we go faster, we’ll leave her behind. If we don’t, we run the risk of the zombies catching up to us. Even though they’re slower than us, they don’t get tired like we do, and they can just keep coming and coming and coming. There’s nothing stopping them from chasing us all night long if we can’t lose them now.
Movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention, and I turn my head. There’s a zombie stumbling along, probably just joining the heard now as we’re running through. What catches my attention most is the white garment hanging off of thin, bony shoulders. It’s dirty, tattered, and covered in dried blood and guts, but there’s no mistaking what it is.
A lab coat…
“That one has a lab coat on! We have to be getting close!”
“Head for the trees,” Ryder orders. “We have to assume the lab is in that direction. And hopefully the trees will slow them down more than they do us. If it comes to the worst, it’ll give us something to climb and a chance to catch our breath while we handle them.”
We adjust our course, angling until we breach the trees. They grow in thick enough that not much light reaches the ground, and it’s darker than any of us would like, but we push onwards, trying to put more distance between us and the undead. I can hear their moans of anguish, and they sound far too close for comfort. There are more of them scattered throughout the trees, and they join up with the herd, closing the gap between us.
One lunges out from the trees, reaching out for me with chipped, dirty fingernails that have dried skin hanging from them. Without even thinking, I bring my gun up and squeeze the trigger, blowing part of its face off. Congealed blood that looks like jam spatters the bark of a nearby tree, and the zombie spins away and falls to the ground, quiet and unmoving. I hear Ryder leap over the body and he pulls up beside me.
“Nice shot. Ready to do it twenty more times?” he asks. He manages to sound like he’s not out of breath, but I’m too winded to even consider answering him. I just suck in another lungful of air, trying to ignore the burning ache in my chest as I force myself to keep going. It’s times like these that I envy Ryder’s military training that has always set him apart from the rest of us.
We haven’t gone more than a mile from the river when we run into the fence. There’s a thick concrete slab coming up from the ground that’s as high as Ryder’s waist and impossibly thick, and above it starts a thick chain-link fence that’s nearly ten feet tall with barbed wire encompassing the entire perimeter. It looks like it was built to withstand any type of disaster, including an attack from the undead. The gate is thick metal with studded spikes all over to keep anyone from getting too close. It’s smeared red with the blood of anything that tried.
Madison gets as close as she can and begins to scream. “Help us!” Over and over again she screams, while the rest of us back away from the horde as far as we can without hitting the spikes on the gate. The horde comes into view, and there’s far too many of them for us to fight. We can’t go back the way we’ve come, and with the gate closed behind us, there’s nowhere for us to go.
Ryder puts himself between me and the horde in front of us, and he brings up his assault rifle, taking a powerful stance. Every time he squeezes the trigger, a zombie drops to the ground, unmoving. But more trample over them and continue to make their way toward us, a seemingly unending mass of death. I can hear Madison still screaming to anyone possibly alive inside as the horde moves closer, closing the gap quickly.
“Madison, tell them about Todd!” Aaron shouts, taking a shot at the nearest zombie.
“Right,” she says breathlessly. She turns back to the gate and screams, “We’re here to help you! My friend is immune! We know about the cure!”
Nothing happens. The gate remains closed and the zombies continue forward, drawing nearer and nearer. I bring up my weapon and fire. I take too long to aim, but I can’t be like Ryder and Reese, or I’ll just waste ammunition. And we can’t afford that right now. A few well placed shots are better than several poorly aimed ones that miss their target. A bullet to the chest won’t slow them down any; the only way to stop them is a bullet to the head.
Madison keeps screaming behind us, but I tune her words out, choosing instead to focus my attention on the dangers in front of us. Her words turn to white noise, allowing me to steady myself and zone out. Everything around us cancels out—gunshots from Ryder, Reese, and Aaron’s weapons, Todd banging on the fence as he demands we be let in, Daisy and Naomi’s incessant chattering as they quickly freeze to death—and I’m suddenly in my element. Even though it takes longer than is good, each of my shots takes down a member of the horde, and I’m damn near holding my own besides the likes of trained military members.
Our group is pressed back against the gate, as far as we can. The horde is hardly twenty yards away from us, and still coming. I pull the trigger one more time, and nothing happens. I’m out of ammo, and I’m down to the last magazine in my pocket. The empty one hits the ground as I eject it, and I dig the new one out of my pocket, feeling satisfied hearing the click that tells me the gun is ready to fire again.
“Please!” Madison screams, her voice shrill and carrying easily over the sound of the zombies and gunfire. “Help us so we can help you!”
What if there’s nobody inside? What if we came all this way and we’re too late to help? If that gate doesn’t open, we’re going to die, and it will all have been for nothing…
From behind us, there’s a loud groaning sound, like gears that haven’t been used in years are suddenly springing to life once again. I grind my teeth, clenching my jaw to try and combat the sound as it assaults my ears. Slowly but surely, the gate behind us begins to open, and Naomi shoves Daisy through the second the gap is wide enough. Naomi follows closely behind, along with Madison and Todd. Ryder grabs me by the shoulder and shoves me through the gap, backing through himself as he continues to fire at the horde, chipping away at them.
The gate closes behind us just as suddenly as it opened, and it shuts with a loud thud. I hear one of the undead hit the gate with a sickening splat as it impales itself on the spikes. Thankfully I don’t have to witness it, but I can still hear them on the other side, moaning and stumbling around, trying to get to their prey. They can sense that we’re on the other side, whether by smell or hearing or some paranormal sixth sense I’m not sure, but they definitely know that we’re here.
Ryder embrac
es me tightly, pulling me to his chest and wrapping his arms around me so tightly I can hardly breathe. His own breathing is harsh and ragged, and I can sense the fear and urgency behind it. We came so close to dying just now, and Ryder knows it. He knows that he almost lost me and his brother, and there was nothing he could do to save us. Knowing him as well as I do, I know that this will weigh heavily on him for a very long time.
When Ryder lets go of me, we turn away from the gate and face the building in front of us. Surprisingly, it’s not that massive of a building. It’s only one floor, but the walls stretch up higher than a normal building. There’s only one door that I can see, and it looks like the gate on the fence. The walls are black, and there are no windows along the bottom, only tiny rectangular ones well above our reach. The glass is most likely bullet-proof, making this place a truly impenetrable fortress.
The metal door cracks open, and we hold our breath, waiting for someone—anyone—to step out. But the door stops moving, and after a minute, it becomes apparent that nobody is coming. We can’t stay out here forever, and we’ll never be able to get that gate open by ourselves, so our only choice is to head inside and hope that we haven’t made a huge mistake.
With his weapon raised, Aaron takes the lead, followed closely behind by Daisy and Naomi, who are both shivering so violently it’s a miracle they can still stand. Their lips are an alarming shade of blue, and there’s no telling how bad their feet are right now. We need to get them out of their remaining wet clothes and in front of a fire as soon as possible or they may end up losing some toes…or worse.
Ryder is the last one through the door, which closes behind us automatically. Beneath our feet is a red tiled floor the color of fresh blood that makes me squirm nervously. There’s not really anything here except for an empty hallway that smells nauseatingly of disinfectant and decay that couldn’t be washed out. The hallway is deathly silent except for the sound of our breathing and our boots hitting the floor. There’s no machinery, no human voices, no undead moaning…nothing.
What have we gotten ourselves into?
“Hello,” a small voice says from the end of the hall. We all turn to find a curious looking man standing there, alone. His hair is thinning on the top and gray on the sides, and he’s a little on the heavier side, probably because he’s well into his fifties. I can’t see the color of his eyes from here, but they’re dark and analytical, hidden beneath bushy eyebrows and thick-rimmed glasses. He doesn’t say anything else, just stands there and stares at us as if he were a nature geek that had just found Big Foot.
As the leader of our group, Ryder steps around me and moves to the front. I stay close behind him in case anything goes wrong, but this man doesn’t look very threatening to me. He doesn’t even appear to have a weapon anywhere on him—no gun, no knife, not even something to use as a club. All he has is a dingy white lab coat, and a lanyard around his neck with some form of identification, which I can’t read from this distance.
His eyes flick to me, and he smiles. “My name is Dr. Richards, or Carter, if you’d like,” he says, though it sounds like it pains him to be so informal. “You were looking at my identification, correct?”
I nod my head, unable to speak as my mouth has gone paper dry. There’s something off about this man, something that I can’t put my finger on, but it upsets me greatly. He may be human, but he’s not normal. I can see it in his eyes. They’re cold and uncaring, and not just because of any horrors he’s witnessed. It’s almost as if there’s a madness deep within their depths, and every fiber of my being is telling me to get away from this man as quickly as I possibly can.
I move closer to Ryder, taking comfort in the warmth and safety he offers. “How many of you are left?” Ryder asks. I notice that he’s lowered his weapon, but his finger is still near the trigger, and he’s ready to fire without any hesitation. “Why does this place feel so deserted?”
“Because it is,” Dr. Richards replies in a matter-of-fact kind of way. “I’m the only one still here. The others died or fled long ago. I alone remain here to continue work on my precious cure.” His eyes flit to Madison. “You said you have a friend who is immune to the infection?”
She nods, looking as uncomfortable as I feel. “My boyfriend, Todd. He was bitten during a supply run, and after battling the fever and sickness, he started to get better. That was some time ago. He has a scar on his arm from the bite, but he’s not sick anymore.”
Dr. Richards smiles. “I’d like to examine this scar of his, if you don’t mind.” I notice that he’s not asking for Todd’s permission, he’s asking for Ryder’s. Ryder glances back and Todd shrugs.
“I’m cool with it.”
He sticks out his arm and Dr. Richards moves in closer, putting himself very close to our group, and to Ryder’s weapon. He pushes his glasses back up his hooked nose, and he peers down intently at the double crescent moon shaped scars on Todd’s arm. They’ve healed wonderfully and are no longer red and puffy, but the paleness of the scars makes them still very distinguishable from Todd’s normal tan color.
Dr. Richards traces the scars, and Todd fidgets nervously at the physical contact. He’s not much of a people person, with the exception of Madison—most of the time—and it’s pretty obvious from the way he pulls as far away from Dr. Richards as he can get that he’s not exactly comfortable right now.
But if Dr. Richards notices, he doesn’t seem to care. He just examines the wound closely, and when he’s done, he flings Todd’s hand away as if it were poisonous. Todd looks at us with an incredulous look on his face, and he narrows his eyes at Dr. Richards’ back as he walks back to the end of the hall. Without as much as a backwards glance at us, he says, “Follow me, please.”
“Wait!” Ryder says, stopping Dr. Richards in his tracks. “Our friends fell in the river. They’re going to freeze to death if we don’t get them warm, now.”
Dr. Richards looks them over. They’ve both stopped shivering, but their lips are still turning blue and their breathing is sluggish and labored. Daisy’s eyes are hooded, and they both look unsteady on their feet, like they’re ready to collapse and take a nap right here in this room. “Very well,” he says, pursing his lips. “I have warm clothes where we’re going next.” He leaves the room, managing to sound like he doesn’t care that our friends are freezing to death right here in front of him.
We all look to Ryder to make the final decision. He doesn’t lower his weapon, but he follows Dr. Richards down the empty hallway, his boots echoing loudly in the overwhelming silence. “Come on, guys. We came all this way…no turning back now.”
Chapter Ten
Dr. Richards takes us through a series of hallways that bear evidence of the horrors outside. The once cream colored walls are stained red in many places, and clusters of flies buzz around some of the darker spots, scattering as we pass by but quickly returning to their meal. Dr. Richards pays them no attention, and doesn’t offer any information about the many rooms we’re passing in the hallways. He just walks with his head held high and a slight urgency to his steps, like he’s almost excited to take us wherever we’re going.
This hallway makes me uncomfortable. It’s obvious just by glancing at the stained walls and floors that many people probably died in this place. Whatever happened here happened long ago, but it doesn’t make me feel any more relaxed or comforted. If people died here, then there’s most likely any number of the undead lurking around this little laboratory.
But how is Dr. Richards still alive if there are zombies roaming around these halls? He doesn’t carry a weapon as far as I can tell, and yet he’s managed to survive for as long as he has. What happened to the zombies? They can’t have just up and vanished.
Unless it wasn’t zombies that died in these halls…
“Is something troubling you?” Dr. Richards asks, taking me away from my thoughts. I realize that we’ve stopped at a closed doorway, and everyone is looking at me intently, as if waiting for something. “Feel free to s
peak your mind.”
“How many people killed themselves in these halls? And why?” My voice shakes as I speak, and Dr. Richards raises a bushy eyebrow at me. “This place is obviously fortified to withstand any kind of disaster. It has an impenetrable fence, still manages to have electricity even after so long, and I’m guessing would have had plenty of supplies and ammunition. This place was built to withstand anything. Why would anyone kill themselves rather than stay here?”
“You’re smarter than you look,” Dr. Richards says flatly. I don’t know whether to be insulted by his insinuation that I look like a moron, or be creeped out by the fact that he’s so nonchalant about my questions that border on accusations. “What made you think of suicide and not the undead?”
“You don’t carry any kind of weapon,” I point out. “There’s no way you could have survived a zombie infested building for so long without at least one, and yet here you are, unscathed. All of that blood in the halls didn’t come from zombie attacks, or there would still be zombies here, but there’s not. The blood in those halls came from normal people dying but normal means, not paranormal.”
“You’re right that it came from normal means,” he says, sneering at the thought. “But not entirely right about the suicide. This was more of a murder-suicide spree carried out by a handful of my weaker researchers. They couldn’t stand the thought of what was going on outside these walls, and they panicked, choosing the coward’s way out. Unfortunately, they decided to take the rest of us with them.”
“How many people did they kill?” Reese asks, finally speaking up. “And if everyone here was killed, how are you still here?” His grip on his weapon tightens. “How do we know you weren’t the killer?”
Dr. Richards barely spares Reese a glance. “I’m not much of a weapons kind of man. My excellence lies in my mind, not my motor skills. As to your first question, the death toll reached nearly forty when it was all said and done. Many died in these halls; some were hunted down in their rooms while they napped. Once we got this place cleaned up and returned to optimal conditions, many of the remaining personnel here decided to flee. Maybe to return home to loved ones, or to find a peaceful place to die I’m not sure. I’m assuming you noticed the lab coats outside? They didn’t make it far. It wasn’t long before I was the only one remaining.”
Zombie World (Zombie Apocalypse #3) Page 13