Cassie lunged at Lyssa’s face, gnashing her teeth and growling, and Lyssa didn’t even try to move. But the girl’s feet slipped on the wet floor and she crashed into the wall, hitting her head.
All movement ceased as she slumped to the floor.
“Oh no,” Ramon moaned. “Oh, my Cassie! Honey, please. Can you hear me?”
She opened her eyes and turned her head. Her lips pulled back in a snarl.
“Listen to me, honey.” He had the waist of her pants in one fist and was pulling her back to the tub. He reached around beneath her neck with his other hand and began to lift her up over the water. “You need to—”
Cassie’s arms were a blur of motion, reaching, grabbing, slapping. “No water!” she screamed.
The sound of her voice pierced Lyssa’s eardrums, skewering what little remained of her sanity.
“Noooo! No water, Mama!”
“Okay, honey,” Ramon yelled. “Okay, no water, honey. Please, you need to calm down. Please, we’ll take you to your room. You need to rest.”
He lifted her away, the muscles in his arms and chest bulging from the strain, his shirt twisted and sticking to his skin. Cassie continued to struggle, but she quieted as soon as they left the bathroom.
Lyssa lay on the floor for another minute, unable to move. Water dripped down her face and into her mouth.
It tasted salty. She wasn’t sure if it was tears or blood.
* * *
“No,” Ramon said. “Absolutely not. It’ll just traumatize Cassie even more if you take her over there.”
“You heard what Marion said,” Lyssa whispered. “He told us to keep her body temperature down.”
Ramon raised his hands in frustration. “How can you believe him? How can you be so— so blind, so trusting, yet question everything I say?”
“Look, Rame. I don’t know if he’s right or not about being able to save her, but I do know that if we can slow the infection, it’ll buy us some time. Cooling her body down will slow viral replication and its spread.”
“And so will heating it! The body’s natural response to a viral infection is to raise its temperature, Lyssa. That’s why we have fevers. Heat prevents viral replication.”
“You want to raise her temperature?”
He hesitated, and doubt flashed across his face. “I’m saying it makes more sense than putting her back into ice water. Besides, do you really want to go through what happened back there again?”
“No! That’s why I suggested this. She probably believed she was drowning.”
He shook his head and sighed. The scab on his cheek had been torn off. A drop of blood had oozed out. “This Marion guy is a complete stranger, Lyssa. He doesn’t know anymore than we do about what we’re dealing with. For all we know, he could be harming Cassie even more.”
“Even more than what? Our daughter is dying, Ramon. We have to do something! And Marion’s going to find Drew.”
“And he used us! Drew preyed on our willingness to trust him so he could conduct his secret experiments. He’s just as much to blame for this epidemic as the government! God, Lyssa! Would you listen to yourself?”
“I can’t just stand here and do nothing.”
He stood away from her. “You’ve always been like that, blissfully blind to the truth, happy to believe whatever other people tell you while ignoring the one person most qualified to give you the best advice possible.”
“You? Who was it keeping secrets from me? Who signed a contract with the people responsible for this whole fucking catastrophe happening right now? Not me! And certainly not Drew! He’s trying to stop this!”
Ramon glared at her but didn’t deny her claim.
“I’m taking her, Rame. It’s the only way we’ll be able to keep her cold without traumatizing her. She doesn’t want to be in the tub.” She turned toward the bedroom door and checked Cassie. The girl was lying peacefully in the dark, her chest rising almost imperceptibly. Whatever small amount of energy she’d had was completely spent.
But for how long?
“We’ll wrap her in ice, then. No tub.”
Lyssa turned back to Ramon. “No. I’m taking her. You need to stay here and wait for Marion to get back.”
“No, Lyssa.”
She went into the room and sat on the edge of the bed and placed her hand on Cassie’s forehead before jerking it back. The skin was already beginning to warm. She reached beneath Cassie and began to lift her, blankets and all.
“You’re not going,” Ramon told her.
“I’m not arguing anymore.”
“Neither am I.”
She heard a metallic click, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She turned and came eye-to-muzzle with Ramon’s pistol. “What are you going to do, shoot me, just like you shot at Sam?”
She saw the uncertainty in his eyes and knew he wouldn’t, though for a moment she thought he might.
He raised the pistol again, as if he’d try one last time to convince her of the folly of her decision. As if he was trying to convince himself that he had it in him to actually make her do what he wanted.
“Please, Lyssa,” he said, lowering it. “I’m begging you not to put our daughter into that butcher’s freezer.”
CHAPTER SIXTY SIX
Lyssa gagged at the stench that wafted up at them when she opened the cellar door. She found the light switch and flipped it on.
“Bulb’s out.”
“Maybe,” Ramon answered.
The house had power. Light from the kitchen spilled weakly down into the basement’s depths.
She covered her nose and stepped down the stairs. Her footfalls sounded as if the darkness below was eating them up. Even the harsh rasp of her breath was flat on her ears.
Ramon groaned as the stink of the rotting meat grew stronger.
“It’ll be better inside the freezer,” she said, more to reassure herself than him.
She reached the bottom, barely able to see in the gloom. She found a second switch and flicked it up. Nothing happened.
“Might be a blown fuse.”
She pursed her lips and turned left. The darkness swept in, smothering her, growing so thick she could barely see the walls now. She held her hand up in front of her face and it was a ghost of a shape. Now she wished she’d thought to bring a flashlight. She guessed Locke might have one in a drawer in the kitchen— everyone had a flashlight in the kitchen, didn’t they? She could go up and find it, and they could try again.
No, Ramon might change his mind.
“The freezer might be on the same breaker,” he said, his voice tight. He was trying not to breathe.
She knew what he was telling her. Maybe the whole basement was on the same breaker. The freezer might not even be running.
Then what?
He’s gloating. He wants me to be wrong.
The thought propelled her forward.
She strained her ears, hoping to pick up the soft hum of the freezer’s condenser. But it was impossible to hear much of anything over Ramon’s strained breathing. Unlike her, he couldn’t bury his nose into the crook of his elbow or his shoulder, not while carrying Cassie. With each step, she expected him to turn around and take her back home. But he followed, moving forward just behind her. She could sense his resentment in every step, every breath, every muttered curse.
She felt her way along the cinderblock wall to where he said the door was. Now she was totally blind. Her fingers found the doorframe and traced its edge. “There’s no switch.”
“Never mind that. Just hurry.”
She slid her hand to the side and found the knob.
“It’ll be worse inside.”
She hesitated, took a deep breath and felt her stomach roll. Then she turned the knob. The tumblers quietly rattled and the springs twanged.
“Wait!” Ramon whispered.
Lyssa froze.
“I thought I heard something just now. Upstairs.”
The house ticked and sighed aroun
d them, but other than the flutter of her heart and the rasp of their breathing, she heard nothing.
More determined than ever, she tightened her grip on the knob and pulled. The door came away with a sticky crackle as the magnetic weather stripping released its hold. Cool air gushed out, bathing them in the putrid aroma of decay, mixing with the cloying scent of damp cement and mold. The stench caused her to reel back a moment.
“Jesus,” he said, gagging.
Lyssa stepped forward into the pitch darkness. In her mind, she pictured the chamber as he’d described it, its dimensions and the table in the center. She was glad she couldn’t see the blood splatter or the desiccated animal carcass.
But her ears picked up the faint hum of the condenser. “The freezer’s still working,” she said. “I can hear it.”
“I don’t hear anything.”
She felt around for the light switch by the door. Found it. Flicked it up.
Still the lights did not come on.
“Lyssa?” Ramon whispered. “Are you sure about this?”
She slid a foot forward, a hand still on the wall. She felt like a kid venturing out into the deep end of a pool for the first time. Then the wall was gone away from her and she was floating now, treading water. If Ramon’s description was correct, the freezer door was directly opposite the entryway. She reminded herself of the table in the center of the room.
Another step forward. Then another. Her foot touched something, a metal basin or tray, scraping. She kicked it out of the way, sending it skittering across the floor. Instruments crunched beneath her heel.
“Lyssa! We should go back. Something’s not right.”
She took another step and her foot came down on something new. It felt hard and cylindrical beneath her sneaker. She applied some weight and it shattered with a soft crunch. She realized it was a bone, and her stomach did another flip.
Another step— more instruments. She kicked these out of the way, too.
The freezer was definitely on. The sound was growing louder. She estimated that it couldn’t be more than eight or ten feet ahead of her.
There was a dull thump overhead.
“Was that you?” Ramon whispered. She could hear him close behind her now, edging his way forward, could almost feel his breath on her neck.
“No.”
“Lyssa, stop.”
“We’re almost there,” she panted, and dragged another lungful of air from her elbow.
Her leg contacted something rigid about halfway up her shin. She stopped, bent slowly, reached down. It felt like a tube of some sort, metal. She worked her fingers along it, until—
It was the table. On its side. Ramon hadn’t told her he’d knocked it over.
Almost there.
The electrical hum was much louder now.
“Careful here,” she told him, and tried to push the table away, but it was heavy and wouldn’t budge. With one hand still on it, she began to circle around.
More instruments. She cleared them out of the way, sweeping her foot hard to the side. Now the other end of the table. The opposite wall had to be right about—
Her fingers brushed against something sticky, and yet strangely furry.
The carcass.
She shivered with disgust.
But the fur was moving, writhing. It felt like it was climbing her fingers. A sob escaped her throat. She pulled her hand back, shaking it as bile entered her throat. She flung the maggots away from her.
The buzzing grew loud then— not the hum of the freezer’s condenser, but the swarm of flies. They rose around them, surrounding them. They filled her ears and nose and mouth. They crawled over her skin and tried to get into her eyes. Lyssa opened her mouth to warn Ramon, but the flies swarmed in. They were on her tongue, in her throat. She coughed and backed away.
Ramon was scrambling, cursing. He was already trying to get out. There was a crash as he fell. She heard a body hitting the floor.
“Cassie!”
“I got her!” Ramon cried, choking.
“Wait! Don’t—”
But he wasn’t listening anymore. She heard him banging, slipping. She heard metal objects sliding across the floor, hitting the walls. Then the crunch of another bone breaking underfoot.
“Ramon!”
She had no idea where she was now, no idea where the door was, so she followed his sounds, orienting herself to the jiggle of the door handle. Aiming for the swoosh of air as he pushed it open. The flies were all over her, on her arms and face, crawling on her neck, getting in her nose, under the collar of her shirt. She swiped blindly at them, her eyes squeezed shut. They burrowed into her hair.
She followed his footsteps. He was gasping now, coughing, spitting the flies from his mouth. She heard the door whisper shut, and suddenly she was alone. He’d left without her.
The flies were in her ears, struggling weakly to untangle themselves from her hair. She swatted wildly at them, lost her balance and fell. She felt them squish beneath her hands, felt their tiny legs and wings twitching on her skin, gore-bloated bodies exploding and releasing their vile contents, bilious sacs of congealed yellow fat and unlaid eggs.
Somehow, she found the door. She worked the knob and pushed it open. She heard Ramon on the stairs, struggling. She caught up to him as he reached the door to the kitchen.
And then it was flung open and light and fresh air was streaming in.
Ramon fell through, Cassie a limp ragdoll over his shoulder. They tumbled to the floor. Ramon was hacking, spitting dead flies onto the floor.
Lyssa slammed the door shut behind her and fell beside them. But then she saw the feet beneath the table, three pairs of them standing in the doorway.
And she realized they weren’t alone.
CHAPTER SIXTY SEVEN
“Drew noticed the trail coming from your house through the wet grass,” Marion explained. He was carrying Cassie in his arms. “That’s how we knew to check next door for you. What the hell were you doing over there?”
Neither Ramon nor Lyssa answered.
Drew led the way. He kept an eye out for the infected. Ramon and Lyssa came next.
An old man dressed only in bloody pajama bottoms, his skin a pale green in the dim light, lurched toward them from the road. Half his chest had been blown away, and his left arm was missing from the elbow down. Neither injury seemed to be bothering him any. The urine bag dangling between his legs, however, kept tripping him up. And the oxygen tubing wrapped around his face jerked his head back whenever the gas tank attached to the other end of it snagged along the ground.
The other man who had arrived with Drew and Marion slipped behind the old zombie, easily ducking out of the way as it swiped its intact arm and stump at him. Lyssa didn’t recognize him. She eyed him warily as he disconnected the tank, then slipped the end into the Stemple’s mailbox and shut the door. Once he was satisfied the old man would stay put, he jogged up the walk to join the others on the Stemple’s porch.
A young boy stepped out of the house. “It’s about time!” he said. “They’re coming. I’ve seen at least fifty.” He actually sounded excited.
“Stop exaggerating,” Drew growled. “And get your ass inside the house where I told you to stay.”
“Aw, I want to help. Why can’t I help?” He held up an axe. The edge glinted, but was clean. He gave it an experimental swing and accidentally wedged it into the porch railing.
“Watch where you’re swinging that, kid!” the stranger said. He grabbed it away from the boy. “You heard the old man. Fun time’s over.”
“What fun? I was inside the whole time. That’s not fun.”
They piled into the house and shut the door. Marion immediately took Cassie to the living room. Ramon and Lyssa followed.
“Stay here,” the stranger told the boy.
“And you’re an asshole.”
“Enough!” Drew yelled. “I don’t want to hear that kind of language. Both of you!”
He dropped to his knees
before Cassie and leaned over her. For a second Lyssa thought he was sniffing her face. When he looked up, it was to frown at Marion. “Where’s the bite?”
Marion reached over and gently unwrapped the sheet from around Cassie’s body. He showed Drew the mark on her arm. “It happened a few hours ago, just as I described. She had wandered outside. Her father found her down the street.”
Drew leaned over again. This time he stuck his nose close to the wound. This time the inhale was clearly audible.
He is smelling her! Lyssa stepped forward, alarmed. What the hell is he doing?
“This bite is self-inflicted,” Drew said, straightening up. “She bit herself.” He raised Cassie’s arm and held it to her mouth. The distance and angle matched.
Ramon shook his head. His face was red. “Bullshit! Cassie wouldn’t bite herself hard enough to draw blood! Why would she?”
“Attention, maybe.” He stood up and faced them. “I’m not a psychiatrist, but given what I’ve seen from you two lately, that would be my guess.”
“Drew!” Lyssa exclaimed. “Why are you talking like that?”
“Don’t assume you know me,” he said. All his former charm was gone. “Because you don’t.”
Lyssa blinked back her confusion. She opened her mouth but she was too stunned to speak.
Marion stepped between. “Let’s focus, people.” He turned to Drew. “Are you saying she’s not infected?”
“No, she is. This child is very, very sick. Can’t you feel the heat coming off her body? Her eyes are sunken and her lips are badly chapped. This has been going on for days, maybe even a week, not hours. I can’t understand how you two haven’t noticed it before.”
“We’ve been a little busy trying to get away from dead people!” Ramon snapped.
“You’ve been too busy running away from your son.”
“How dare you,” Lyssa shouted. “You son of a bitch!”
Marion stepped between them. “This isn’t the time. What are you saying, Drew? How can it be weeks? The reanimation virus—”
“It’s not that. It doesn’t smell like reanimation virus. Those who have been infected by it have a distinctive smell, like burning plastic.”
S.W. Tanpepper's GAMELAND: Season Two Omnibus (Episodes 9-11) Page 71