“Contact!” The lead soldier’s voice echoed through the hallway, and Broussard felt a chill run up his spine.
“Don’t shoot!”
He recognized the voice and pushed past the soldiers. “Carol! It’s me!” He stepped in front of the armed escorts and carefully pushed the soldier’s barrel down and away from her. “We came for you.”
She seemed to deflate as she sighed, a wide smile forming. “I’m glad you’re back. You need to see this.”
Simon used a clean towel and some water to gently wipe the remaining shaving cream from Lana’s head. He stepped back and gave her an approving smile. “You really look good.”
“I look like a chemo patient.” She stood and glanced in the mirror then paused. She cocked her head to the side and slowly raised a brow. “Hey…I do kind of look good.”
Simon slipped out of the door and looked in the bedroom again. “It’s entirely up to you, but…” He held up a cloth bag. She looked inside and saw an array of makeup.
She actually laughed as she rifled through the stuff. “Oh my god.” She lifted an eyeliner. “I think this kid was going through a goth stage. Everything in here is either black or dark purple or…” She lowered the bag and shook her head. “I think I’m too old for that shit.”
Simon leaned against the door jamb and squinted at her. “I dunno. I could see you in black lipstick. Or maybe that deep purple. With your skin tone, I think it would look sexy on you.”
She groaned as she pushed past him. “I wonder if there’s any tanning salons still open.”
Simon laughed to himself as he fell into step behind her. “I bet we could find some spray-on stuff.”
She turned and gave him a dirty look. “No way. I’m not turning orange.” She stepped back into the bedroom and rifled through the clothing. She found a longer pair of pants and a pair of biker boots that were almost her size.
She continued looking through drawers when Simon stepped closer. “We may be some of the last people on the planet.” He wagged his eyebrows at her. “You could always go topless.”
She gave him a deadpan stare. “You ever sunburn your nipples? Not fun.” She turned back to the closet and Simon laughed. Suddenly he sobered and turned back to her.
“When did you sunburn your nipples?”
She laughed and pushed him away. “I didn’t say it was me.” She pulled out a black tank top and slipped it over her head. She continued to dig through the clothing then paused. “Then again, I didn’t say it wasn’t me either.” Simon narrowed his gaze at her playfully and she snorted. “A girl has to have her secrets.”
“That’s not cool.” He sat down on the bed and watched her holding items up and discarding them one at a time.
“Some of these aren’t too terrible.” She pulled out a red, plaid flannel shirt and slipped it on, tying it under her breasts. “I could be the farmer’s daughter.”
Simon grinned as he leaned back on the stack of pillows. “I like role play.”
She rolled her eyes at him and continued digging. “Check it.” She pulled out a black motorcycle jacket made of fake leather. “Too much bling for my tastes.”
Simon shook his head. “Let’s stick with the farmer’s daughter look.”
“Let’s don’t and say we did.” She tossed the jacket next to him and continued rummaging through the clothes. “There’s nothing else in here that I’d wear. I guess I’ll be Biker Barbie.” She slipped the jacket on and spun a slow circle. “What do you think?”
He cocked his head to the side and leered at her. “You could rock that look with some eyeliner and purple lipstick.”
She huffed and kicked at his foot. “I’m too old for goth.”
Simon shook his head. “I disagree.” He glanced up at the ceiling. “Who was right about shaving the melon?”
She huffed as she reached past him. “Fine.”
Simon pushed off the bed and stepped toward the door. “You put on your war paint and I’ll see if they left anything edible.”
“Don’t open the freezer,” she muttered as she sat down at the dust covered makeup table. “And don’t drink the milk straight from the carton.”
13
Buck slid along the wall in front of the store and strained to listen as he approached the entrance. He turned to Hatcher and shook his head.
Hatcher leaned close and whispered, “It may be too early for them. They might be sleeping.”
“I guess we’ll find out.” Buck stepped away from the wall and stood at the front doors, shotgun at the ready.
Hatcher slid along the wall and swung his rifle around, sweeping the open doorway. Broken glass crunched under his boots as he stepped into the store.
The stench hit him like a physical wall and he fought the urge to retch. He tried breathing through his mouth, but his tongue snapped back instantly. He nearly jumped when Buck tapped his shoulder and pointed to the left. Hatcher nodded and watched the young man peel away and angle across the front of the store, his shotgun leveled.
Hatcher slowly worked right, checking each aisle as he went. He reached the end and noted the black stains scattered about on the floor. The flies made it look like the black puddles were moving. This is fucking disgusting.
“Clear,” Buck called from the other side of the store. Hatcher relaxed somewhat and stood more erect, the rifle drooping from his shoulder. “Where the hell could they have gone?”
Buck approached from the other side of the store, the shotgun slung over his shoulder. “No idea,” he sighed and kicked at a stray can on the floor. “Could be they figured out we knew where they were hiding out when Tweedle Dee and Tweedle—”
“Don’t,” Hatcher cut him off. “Hank and Charlie are good guys. They had no idea this is where the Zulus were hanging out.” Hatcher cursed at himself. “Hank was right. I should have told people.”
Buck groaned as he leaned against a checkout counter. “So either they figured we’d be back and bailed, or….” He trailed off.
Hatcher shrugged. “Or what?”
“Maybe they went out hunting last night and got stranded?”
“I doubt it.” Hatcher pointed to the hundreds, if not thousands of empty cans scattered across the floor. “I don’t think they needed to go out.”
“What the hell?” Hank barked. Both men turned and watched as he and Charlie came storming through the store from the rear. “I thought you were going to signal us? If we didn’t hear gunshots you were dead, remember?”
Hatcher pushed off the counter and slung his rifle. “Empty.”
“No shit,” Hank muttered. “I knew we should have gone back yesterday and leveled the damned place.” Hatcher bit back his scathing reply and turned for the door. “Hey, where you going?”
“Home.” Hatcher turned and waved his arms. “Although the smell is really starting to grow on me, I’d rather not be standing in the middle of it.”
Hank looked at the pharmacy section. “I’ll be right behind you.” He spun on his heels and smiled at Charlie. “Topostuff, remember?”
Charlie nodded and fell into step behind him. “For Wally.”
Hatcher motioned to Buck. “We’ll be at the truck.”
Hank trotted to the pharmacy area and flipped on his flashlight. “I can’t see shit back here.” He pushed open the half-door and stared at the short aisles of drugs. “I don’t reckon they put these things alphabetically, do they?”
Charlie shrugged. “Beats me.”
Hank turned the corner and froze, his LED beam lighting up a bald and pale old man squatting on the floor, his hand blocking the light from his eyes. “Please! Don’t shoot!”
“Incredible.” Broussard breathed the word as he stared at Kelly. “And you’re sure that it wasn’t our cure that did this?”
“The DNA profile doesn’t match.” Carol sat back and stared at the armed men training their weapons on Kelly. “She may have already had a case of strep when the cure came through, or…I don’t know.”
&nbs
p; Broussard stiffened and turned to her. “There’s something you need to know.” Carol felt her stomach drop at his tone. “Dr. McAlester…changed. He became very much like a Zed. He killed some men on the ship and was caught eating one.” He averted his eyes and shook his head. “The cure mutated either before he was exposed or it mutated inside him.”
Carol felt her mouth go dry. She reached for the printouts of Kelly’s tests and handed them to Broussard. “Does this profile look familiar?”
While he scanned the printout she eyed Kelly cautiously, fearful that she could suddenly become violent like Kevin had.
Broussard dragged his satchel closer to him and rifled through the contents. He pulled out the profile taken from Dr. McAlester and compared the two. “Oh my…”
“They match.” It was more a statement than a question.
Broussard gave her a nod. “Nearly identical. The variances could be due to any number of things. A different mutation, environmental factors or even contamination.”
Carol gave Kelly a sad smile. “I guess it wasn’t just you.” She looked away. “Sorry about that.”
Kelly hung her head and nodded. “Once again, I’m nothing special.”
Broussard stood upright and turned to her. “Quite the contrary, my dear.” He turned to Miller. “Depending on her personality type prior to exposure to the cure…”
Miller nodded as he came to his feet. “Genetic lobotomy.” He turned to Kelly, a bit more excited. “What were you like…how would you describe yourself prior to the initial infection?”
“I was a bitch,” Kelly stated flatly. “Just ask Doctor Ponytail over there. Hell, I’m still a bitch, right, doc?”
Miller looked to Carol for answers but didn’t find any. “Were you prone to violent outbursts?”
Kelly shrugged. “Nothing worse than keying a guy’s car.” She averted her eyes. “Or maybe putting sugar in the gas tank.”
One of the soldiers groaned. “I had an ex do that once.”
“Cut the chatter,” the team leader barked. “Man your station.”
The soldier turned and grimaced. “Dude, it was a classic.”
The team leader glared at him and the soldier suddenly stiffened, his attention back to the front doors.
Miller sighed and gave Broussard a defeated look. “I have no idea. Perhaps.”
“What are you two talking about?” Carol asked.
Broussard laid out the theory that the mutated cure acted much like a frontal lobotomy, changing the personality of those who were exposed.
“Since the Dr. McAlester we knew was a sheepish and timid man, it changed him into a bloodthirsty killer. Theoretically, it should have an opposite effect on somebody who was already violent.”
Carol turned to Kelly and studied her as her mind considered the possibilities. “What about somebody who isn’t either? Somebody who is kind of stuck in the middle of being timid and violent?”
Kelly sneered at her. “You mean a bitch, right? I already admitted to that.” She crossed her arms over her chest and raised a brow at her. “Why do you think I ran off those other two women? I’m not sharing the food in here with those two.”
Carol’s mouth dropped open. “You what?”
“I ran them off.” Kelly smirked at her. “The window was closed so I spoke softly to them so you couldn’t hear. I told them that you wanted to chop their heads off and examine their brains. That you were crazy and thought you could ‘release their demons’ if you could poke around in their heads.” Kelly smiled and it didn’t reach her eyes. “It helped sell the story when you stood up there and waved at them with that stupid scared look on your face.”
Carol pushed away from the counter and turned to Broussard. “I’m ready to leave whenever you are. We can take my research with us.” She turned to Kelly. “I have blood and tissue samples. We won’t need her.”
“That’s good,” the team leader stated, “cuz she wasn’t going back with us.” Broussard stepped forward, ready to protest when the soldier turned and faced him. “If she’s ready, then I suggest you get packed. No sense in pushing that time window, doc.”
The expression he wore told him that it wasn’t a request.
She tugged at the last of the thin fishing line and tied it off. Simon winced and glared at her. “That really fucking hurts.”
“It’s the best I can do on short notice.” Lana bent low and bit the fishing line in half. “There.” She stepped back and stared at her makeshift stitches. “Let’s get it cleaned up and wrapped.”
Simon wished again that the owners of the house had been drinkers. He could really use a shot of something strong to deaden the throb in his arm. He tried to ignore her as she dressed the wound again and wrapped the same ACE bandage on it.
“There. All done.”
He struggled with the oversized t-shirt he had found but got it over his head. “Give me a hand?” She stood back and clapped her hands three times. “Funny,” Simon said. “Now get this thing over my head, will ya?”
She slipped his wounded arm through the t-shirt. “There ya go, big guy.” He took a moment to catch his breath then turned for the door. “Let’s move. Maybe we can find a—” He froze in the doorway. “Woah. Hold up.” Simon grabbed Lana with his good arm and pulled her back into the house. “Look.”
She followed his pointing arm across the parking lot and to the front of the grocery. She watched two armed men walking out of the store. “Are those your cagers?”
Simon squinted in the morning sun and shrugged. “I can’t be certain from this distance, but I’d bet money it is.” He gave her a sad smile. “Who else could it be?”
She searched his face. “You don’t look like you want to rush over there and kill them.”
Simon leaned against the living room wall and really thought about it. Slowly he shook his head. “I guess I don’t.” He looked down at her and gave her a crooked smile. “All I really remember is…hating. Hating them for everything. Taking my people. Humiliating me.”
“Not now?” she asked, her voice soft and low.
He looked down at her and shook his head. “No.”
Her painted-on brows scrunched as she tried to figure him out. “What changed?”
Simon tried to think about it. “I don’t know.” He slumped against the wall and couldn’t give her a rational answer. “When I think about what I really want? All I can picture is you and me. Either out on the open road or…”
“Or what?” Her eyes narrowed.
He turned and looked inside the house. The family pictures still hanging on the walls, the bright colored curtains, the easy chair and the big screen television; it painted an image of a classic American home. “This.”
Lana’s face couldn’t hide her surprise. “Seriously?”
Simon gave her a slight nod. “Would that be so horrible?”
She glanced through the house then back to him. “I guess not.” She suddenly grinned up at him. “But I thought you were too good for a dump like this?”
He snorted a short laugh. “I don’t think there will be a huge rush on the housing market anytime soon.” He draped his good arm over her shoulder and led her to the kitchen window. “The world is pretty much our oyster.”
She settled in next to him, wrapping her arms around his middle. “As long as your cagers don’t find us, right?”
Simon groaned. “Right.”
14
Hatcher opened the door of the truck and stepped out, his eyes wide. “What the…”
“We found him inside.” Hank led the old man across the road, his over-shirt tied to the man’s waist. “He was hiding in the pharmacy.”
“He’s lucky I didn’t cut him in half.” Charlie muttered. “Skulking around in there, looking like a damned Zulu.”
The old man trembled as Hatcher set him down in the truck. “What’s your name?”
The old man shook his head slowly. “I’m not sure.” He looked up at him with ruddy eyes. “I remember that I
have a wife…” He swallowed hard. “Had. I’m not sure she made it.”
“Okay.” Hatcher looked to Buck. “Hand me a water.”
He twisted the cap off and gave it to the old man. “Easy now. Not too fast.”
The old man sipped the water and leaned his head back, his eyes closed. “I remember…too much.”
“But not your name?”
He shook his head again. “Eduardo keeps coming to mind, but I can’t be certain.”
Hank scoffed. “He don’t look Mexican to me.”
Hatcher shot him a hard glare. “He was infected. It’s not like they don’t all look alike.”
“Point,” Hank muttered.
“I’m sorry, son.” The old man took another sip of the water. “My memory was shit before this happened. That much I do know.”
“It’s okay, gramps.” Hatcher stood and looked around the area. “I don’t guess you know where you lived, do you?”
The old man thought for a moment. “I remember the front door was blue.”
“Yeah, that helps,” Hank muttered again.
Hatcher came to his full height and turned around. “Why don’t you and Charlie head back. Radio if you happen to see anything that might lead us to Simon.”
“Simon!” The old man sat up, his eyes wide. “Now him, I remember.”
Hatcher turned his full attention back to the old man. “Go on.”
The old man shuddered. “That damned shotgun. If it weren’t for that shotgun, they would have killed him the first night.” He closed his eyes and grimaced.
“Yeah, that sounds like Simon,” Buck said low. “I don’t guess you know where he went?”
The old man shook his head. “He was gone when I woke up. We were supposed to make him more arrows, but…” He trailed off. Suddenly he sat up. “He’d been shot. In the arm.” He pointed to his bicep. “It looked bad, too.”
“So he probably didn’t get far,” Hatcher said as he scanned the area.
“He had a woman.” The old man took another sip of water. “She was helping him.”
Caldera 9: From The Ashes Page 8