Cities of Rust

by Ariel Bonin

  CITIES OF RUST

  CITIES

  OF

  RUST

  ~

  ARIEL BONIN

  Copyright © 2016 Ariel Bonin

  Turn & Walk Publishing

  Cover Design by Amy Anderson

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-1530025664

  ISBN-10: 1530025664

  For Peyton—my inspiration in life

  Prologue

  The hotel lobby was a mixture of aromas, from freshly-brewed coffee to expensive cologne. Lindsey Scott inhaled the smells of a new day as her husband Jared, took her hand and led the way to breakfast. The chic restaurant came into view, a perfect example of modern design with its angular reds and boxy shades of gray. A hostess in black slacks and a white blouse met the couple at the entrance, signaling for them to follow after she'd retrieved two menus from a slot on the wall.

  They sat down across from each other at a small table by the wall of windows that looked out over the busy St. Louis street one story below. Taxis honked in the distance as a cluster of people hurried over the crosswalk during a red light.

  When the hostess left, she was quickly replaced by a young man in similar attire. "Good morning. How are we today? My name is Eli and I'll be taking care of you. Can I start you out with something to drink?" he asked with a wide smile.

  "Orange juice for me," Jared said.

  Lindsey looked up from her menu. "Hot tea, please."

  As Eli went off in search of their beverages, Lindsey noticed that the business man at the table next to them had left his newspaper behind. She reached across the short space and plopped the heavy weekend paper onto their tabletop.

  "Sports?" she asked her husband.

  "Yeah, thanks," he replied, accepting the thick section of paper. This morning he was wearing his beloved jersey. The Cardinals had won a close game the night before, and witnessing it had been incredible for the both of them. He'd chosen to wear it again today to show support for his favorite team.

  While flipping open the front page of the New York Times, Lindsey was immediately aware of the large number of upsetting articles, all of which had to do with the mysterious explosion that had taken place at a Sacramento manufacturing facility two days ago. The couple had heard about it right before they'd left for St. Louis, but didn't see it as much of a danger since it had occurred so far away. Authorities and the government had ruled out terrorism and were speculating that it was just an unfortunate accident, claiming the lives of everyone inside and leveling the houses in the immediate vicinity. Well over one hundred people remained in the hospital with life-threatening injuries. The American people were assured of their safety and told to carry on with their normal routines, but to keep the families and victims in their thoughts and prayers.

  While reading the rest of the paper, Lindsey noted the continued unrest with Russia, North Korea, and within the U.S. itself. Every block of text portrayed the same message: never-ending death, fear, and hate.

  She'd just started in on an article about a meeting at the UN when Eli returned with their drinks. She accepted the small tray of all the fixings for tea, and then placed her order—two scrambled eggs with cheddar cheese, bacon, and wheat toast.

  After dipping a tea bag into the mug of hot water, she returned to the article. A deep frown settled between her brows as she read the troubling accounts of various conflicts around the world.

  "Hey," Jared murmured across from her.

  After a moment, she glanced up, breaking her intense concentration. "Sorry. There's so much going on. It's pretty scary…"

  He reached over and lifted the crinkly paper out of her hands, neatly folded it, and placed it on the windowsill next to them. Then, he clasped her left hand and rubbed his thumb over her smooth knuckles.

  "Let's just enjoy today—we're in the city, we're together—no distractions. Okay?"

  Lindsey gazed into his bright green eyes and flashed back to the night before as a hint of a smile played at his lips. She pictured the darkness of their hotel room and his body moving over her as he brought her to an explosive peak. They'd made love without any protection—the first time since losing Daniel. She wasn't ovulating, so most likely nothing would become of it, but the action left them in a place where they could be open to the idea of conceiving again.

  "I love you," she whispered, squeezing his hand.

  "I love you, too, baby."

  A waiter rushed across the floor of the dining room and over to a flat-screen television hanging above the bar. He switched the channel away from highlights of last night's game to an image of a man in official military garb standing behind a podium decorated with the presidential seal.

  "Turn it up!" someone yelled from the other side of the busy restaurant.

  Silence covered the room like a thick blanket as the television got substantially louder.

  The Secretary of Defense stood tall as grim lines cast new shadows over his face. When he spoke, his voice reflected that same grimness.

  "Good morning. By now you are all aware of the explosion at the TurnerCorp facility in Sacramento, which has left a community in mourning. We have gotten reports of an illness that is swiftly moving through the hospitals where the injured are located. Subsequently, residents surrounding the blast have come down with the same illness. We are urging everyone from the Sacramento area: if you are having flu-like symptoms, you need to report to the nearest hospital. We ask the same of anyone who has been in that area and traveled—stay put, do not board a plane or any other mode of public transportation—seek immediate medical attention. American government and military forces have been taking extensive precautions to prepare our country for the threat of this highly-transmittable illness. As of three hours ago, 208 cases have been reported in Seattle, Los Angeles, Atlanta, and St. Louis."

  A collective gasp rose from the rapt viewers, which had doubled in size as people from the lobby now lined the area near the restaurant entrance. Lindsey exchanged a worried glance with Jared as fear weighed heavily in her stomach, extinguishing any hunger she'd felt only moments before.

  "We are declaring a state of emergency in those cities, and are in the process of setting up FEMA refugee centers within designated quarantine zones. All citizens are encouraged to seek out these safe zones. You will be provided with food, shelter, and military protection. I have spoken with Head Researcher Dr. Virginia Hardy at the Center of Disease Control and was assured that their team is working around the clock…"

  "I don't like this," Lindsey whispered.

  "Me neither. I think we should get out of the city," Jared said as he sat to one side and reached into his back pocket.

  "I'd feel safer at home," she agreed.

  She watched him extract his wallet and slip out a crisp ten-dollar bill—more than enough to cover their drinks—and drop it onto the dark tabletop. He rounded the table and took her hand once more, guiding them out as they wound through the crowded room. They took the elevator to the tenth floor and got their bags, which were already packed since they'd planned to check-out after breakfast. They walked quickly to the parking garage next door and found their dark gray sedan exactly where they'd left it the day before. After tossing their bags in the backseat, Jared got behind the wheel as Lindsey strapped into the passenger seat.

  It seemed that news traveled fast, because the streets were bustling on a whole new level when they pulled out of the parking garage. People weren't watching where they were going and more than once Jared had needed to slam on the brakes. Tension wasn't lacking as they navigated through downtown St. Louis, one clogged intersection at a time. Droves of people were headed for the designated safe zone, but just as many had the same mindset as Jared and Lindsey and were trying to leave the
city.

  At one point, they had stopped for a fender-bender two cars ahead, and the couple passed the time by listening to breaking news reports on the radio. Lindsey angled herself toward Jared as she attempted to extend her aching legs, and spotted something in the alleyway just beyond them. At first she thought someone had fallen and another person had come along to help, but when she squinted harder, she realized that the "helper's" face was covered in a sheen of blood and looked to be chewing with wild enthusiasm.

  When she began to lean closer to Jared for a better view, he said, "Hold on," and jerked the car around the accident scene as a police officer waved them through. Lindsey fell back into her seat and stared blankly at the passing scenery. The disturbing image would not leave her mind, but she didn't even know what she'd seen. She wanted to say something to Jared, and opened her mouth to do so, but saw that he was concentrating on the road ahead and opted to let him focus. Besides, it couldn't have been that…right?

  Hours passed and Jared finally merged onto Highway 40, which ultimately came to a complete standstill. The blazing sun continued to beat down on them as mid-day turned to afternoon. Jared glanced at the dash and let out a heavy sigh.

  "I'm sorry, but I need to turn off the A.C. or else we're going to run out of gas."

  "Okay," Lindsey conceded, the knot in her gut tightening evermore.

  Within minutes the car's interior went from cool to roasting, and the couple simultaneously rolled down their windows. Lindsey gathered the damp strands of her long blonde hair away from her heated skin and tied it up into a messy bun.

  They watched the blue sky turn yellow, then orange, and, finally, a dusky purple as darkness descended. Traffic hadn't moved for almost an hour. Jared switched off the ignition and leaned back, scrubbing his tanned hands over his tired face.

  "This is absolutely ridiculous," he muttered with a frustrated groan.

  "You've got that right," a voice said from the car next to Lindsey.

  Jared dipped his head and met the eyes of an older gentleman wearing a Titans ball-cap. The man gestured to the easy flow of traffic opposite them, which led into the heart of St. Louis.

  "You can tell that they don't want us to leave! It's a trap, if you ask me," he said with a frown. Lindsey wasn't sure who "they" were, but she assumed he meant some kind of higher power, like the government—or maybe even God himself. "Ain't nothing safe about being in the city during times like these."

  "Where're you from?" Jared asked, making friendly conversation.

  "Joplin. Came up for the annual gun show. I'm starting to think it wasn't worth it," the man grumbled.

  "Oh, Mike, stop it. Complaining and second-guessing yourself isn't going to change the fact that we're stuck here," said the woman next to him. She was perhaps a tad younger than him, slightly overweight, and sported a black bob haircut.

  Mike raised his eyes to the car's roof, ignoring her quick retaliation. He jabbed his thumb at the passenger seat and said, "My wife, Julie."

  Jared nodded and introduced himself. Lindsey gave the woman a quick wave and said, "Hi, I'm Lindsey."

  The two couples continued to chat into the evening, until a trio of helicopters flew over the highway, luring people from their vehicles. Lindsey was beyond stiff, so she welcomed the opportunity to get out and stretch. As she stood next to Mike and Julie, Jared exited their sedan and pocketed the keys.

  Suddenly, a ruckus of screams and shouts rose from the traffic behind them, and Lindsey swung her head toward the frightening sounds. People began to rush away from the city, bearing down on them. When she turned to speak to Jared, he released a shout of pain as a crazed man bit into his shoulder. Blood spurted from the wound, but the man didn't stop, burying his teeth further into the mess of muscle and torn flesh.

  "Jared?" Lindsey gasped in shock. Her brain was firing off messages of alarm, but she couldn't possibly believe what she was seeing—was someone really eating her husband?

  Jared's cries of pain persisted as the grotesque man dragged him to the ground. Lindsey willed her feet to move and started to round the car, unsure how she could possibly help but reluctant to stand by and do nothing, when someone grabbed her from behind. Another solid form bumped into her and she stumbled to the wayside, bracing her shaking hand on the vehicle in front of their car. She whipped her head around to look for Jared and saw another person, a woman this time, clamping onto his bare arm. He reached for Lindsey as he shuddered and violently coughed up a mouthful of blood. She extended her slender hand, but was yanked backward before their fingers could touch.

  "No!" she shrieked. "Jared!"

  Mike wrestled the blonde to her feet and propelled her forward. She fought to get back to her husband, but the fleeing crowd was like a strong current and proved to be too powerful for her.

  "No, please!" she cried. "I can't leave him!"

  "We can't help him, Lindsey! You have to keep moving!" Mike yelled.

  She didn't want to keep moving, but her feet did anyway. She followed Julie through the masses in a wet blur of tears. After what felt like an eternity, they ended up in a neighborhood off the interstate. Flames in the street threw dancing shadows against the looming apartment buildings. Mike tested a side door and found it unlocked. He guided the women in and shut it behind them. Florescent lights flickered overheard, creating a freaky, distorted reality as they proceeded down the empty hallway. Faint screams echoed somewhere inside the building and a chill seeped into Lindsey's veins. They ascended two flights of stairs and entered another corridor. Mike chose a random apartment and paused outside of the open doorway. He reached into his plaid shirt and produced a handgun. Lindsey eyed him warily.

  "I have a permit to carry," he whispered.

  "I don't think that matters now, Michael," Julie retorted, breathless, and without amusement.

  After clearing the empty apartment, Mike returned to the women and they slipped inside. He locked the door behind them and moved a large armoire to block it. Lindsey dropped onto the couch and hung her head, allowing the tears to fall. She sobbed uncontrollably and experienced a curl of nausea as she remembered her last sight of Jared. She barely made it to the kitchen sink before she threw up, the acid rolling in her stomach. A gentle hand caressed her back.

  "I'm so sorry, honey. I can't imagine what you're feeling right now. If you need anything at all, we're here…" Julie murmured.

  Lindsey shook her head and wiped her mouth on a paper towel. She slipped out from under the woman's hand and returned to the couch. Lying on her side, with her knees pulled up to her chest, she thought about how much her life had changed in the course of twenty-four hours. The night before, she'd fallen asleep in a luxurious bed with her husband by her side. Tonight, she was in an abandoned apartment with two strangers and a lonely couch.

  As much as she wanted to give up, some part of her refused to do so. Like Mike had said—she needed to keep moving. For what, she did not know, but time would tell.

  Chapter 1

  Andrew Flynn didn't know the date and time of his wife's death, but he remembered the weather. It'd been a canvas of dreamy blue sky, only interrupted by the bright winter sun. Unusually warm, it had felt like a big "screw you" from Mother Nature, as if the world was mocking his pain. How dare it carry on around him like another day in paradise, when he imagined his entire being shrouded in black clouds? They weren't living in paradise though. Far from it, actually. It had been eighteen months since the start of the end; seven since he'd lost his wife. His marriage to Kelly hadn't been perfect, but that made them just like any other normal couple outside of the honeymoon phase. They'd had many differences, but at the end of the day, their love had reigned.

  Unfortunately, it wasn't enough to save her when she started hemorrhaging after the birth of their son, Jacob. The pregnancy had been unexpected, but welcome at the time. Their preteen daughter, Zoey, filled her role as an older sister, but with some reluctance. Andrew knew she blamed him for her mom's early demise. There wasn't
anything anyone could have done, what with their limited resources, but her age didn't allow her to see past that.

  He'd had his fair share of struggles, like everybody else, but couldn't have carried on as a widower without the help of his fellow survivors. The group holed up at a private elementary school outside of St. Louis had become a second family to him and his children. Approximately forty people occupied the two-story space, turning classrooms into private living quarters and the large cafeteria into a common area. Long fences lined the outside, providing an extra layer of security. Someone was always on watch, generally one in the roof's bell tower, and at least one more on ground level where an old school bus provided a decent platform to see over the fence. Over time, they'd learned to secure their surroundings and never drop their guard.

  No one knew many details about the illness that created the Turners, or at least, that was what the media had called them before the cameras stopped rolling. The TurnerCorp blast had released some kind of volatile chemical—nothing humans had ever crossed in such a large quantity. The walking corpses craved anything with a beating heart and, ironically, lived up to their name. The infection started with a bite or scratch that left the victim hallucinating, vomiting blood, and with an abnormally high fever, among other unpleasant symptoms. Once the infection worked its way through and the victim died, they would reanimate as a ravenous monster. The only thing that could kill them was a shot to the brain. And, unfortunately, even without a bite or scratch, if the brain wasn't destroyed previous to a human's original death, they would still come back as a turner, thanks to the toxic chemicals that had traveled through the jet stream and polluted the air everyone breathed.

  Andrew had killed his fair share, but it never seemed to get any easier, quite like his preceding career as a captain in the United States Army. Three tours overseas had trained him well, but nothing could have prepared him for the shitstorm that put mankind on the list of endangered species. Still, he knew his way around a weapon and how to manage people. Naturally, he'd fallen into the role of the group's leader, a responsibility he shared with one other survivor.