by SD Tanner
Terry announced their arrival. “Hi gang! This is Angela. She’s joined us from Ruler’s camp.”
A man dressed in a blue hospital gown waved at her. “Hullo Angela! Welcome to the nuthouse!”
“Speak for yourself,” a well-built, middle-aged woman. “Don’t listen to him, Angela. Nobody here is nuts other than him!”
Despite the apparent harsh words, it was clear they were teasing one another, and she smiled at the genuine affection between the two combatants.
“So, are you here to be infected?” a young man asked.
She shook her head and seeming to notice her discomfort, Terry said, “No, Angela is a trained nurse and I’m showing her around.” With that comment, he waved to the group and ushered her out of the door. “They’re scheduled to be infected in the next few days.”
“They seem happy about it.”
“They are happy. They know we need the Infected to stay alive, and this is something they can do to help us. Many of the people who choose to be infected are older and they just want to help.”
“That’s very brave of them.”
The fact that people were willing be infected with a virus that would change them and potentially kill them was horrifying. She realized that life had become so desperate people would die to save what little was left of mankind. It was inspiring and she wished Bud and Jenna were here to see it. She had no doubt they would have volunteered. Thinking of them made her sad again and she set the memory aside.
“Yes, it is,” Terry agreed.
The next room was a small one with only two beds, and in one bed was a tiny figure she initially mistook for a child. Over each bed was a large nametag and looking up she saw, ‘Major’, written in big black lettering.
“Who’s that?”
“Ah well, he’s a special case. He caused a bit of trouble and was infected as a punishment, but it didn’t work out and he’s been in a coma ever since.”
“A punishment?”
“Yeah, he killed some of our people.”
They left the quiet room and went to the room opposite it. It was another small room with only two beds. A dark haired man was lying with his arms and legs straight out, and he seemed to be asleep. When they walked into the room, she noticed a doctor standing against the far wall examining a monitor, and he turned and looked at them.
“Farrington! This is Angela. She’s a trained nurse.”
Farrington looked her up and down and said fussily, “We need more nurses.”
Terry stopped at the foot of the man’s bed and retrieving a chart from a slot, he flicked through the pages. “So, we still don’t know what’s going on with Jacob?”
“No. No, I don’t. He should be dead, but he’s not and I’ve run every blood test I can think of, and he’s not infected with anything.”
Puzzled by their concern, she asked, “Why should he be dead?”
Giving her a worried look, Farrington said anxiously, “Because his spinal cord was severed. He’s shattered five vertebrae in his spine and he has no spinal fluid left. He should be dead, but he’s not and, even though he can’t use his legs, he can use his entire upper body. It doesn’t make sense. His Thoracic Vertebra are shattered, his legs are broken in at least nine places, and we’ll never be able to set them properly and even if we did, he still can’t walk without a functioning spine or spinal fluid.”
Nodding, she conceded. “He should be dead.”
“But I’m not,” Jacob said, from his prone position on the bed. Awkwardly, he pulled himself up into a sitting position, and she immediately reached for the controller to adjust the bed. As the bed slowly ground its way up to support his back, she placed his pillows behind him so he could lean back comfortably.
Jacob smiled up at her and said, “Thank you.” Looking over at Farrington, he asked, “Why does it bother you that I’m not dead?”
“It doesn’t,” Farrington replied sharply. “It bothers me that you might have a new version of the virus, because if you do, then I might be able to use that to continue to develop the designer virus.”
“Are you in any pain at all?” Terry asked.
Jacob shook his head. “No…well my back aches a little bit, but nothing major. It’s just awkward not being able to use my legs.”
Terry pulled back the light blue blanket covering Jacob and his legs were covered in stitches, with flexible plastic rods running down each side and tape securing them to his legs. Surprised, she asked, “Why isn’t he in traction? Surely that would help the legs heal in a better position?”
“There’s no point,” Farrington replied bluntly. “What good would it do? He can’t walk because his spine is destroyed. Even if his legs weren’t shattered, it wouldn’t make any difference to his ability to walk. You need a spine to walk.” Glaring accusingly at Jacob’s legs, he muttered, “You need a spine to live, so I don’t know why this man isn’t dead.”
While Terry prodded Jacob’s legs, she studied Jacob and he looked back at her with steady brown eyes. For some reason she didn’t understand, she smiled and he smiled back at her. In that instant, she felt a connection to him she couldn’t explain, but she wanted to stay with him. For the first time since the outbreak of the virus she felt comfortable and she didn’t know why, only that it had something to do with Jacob. She reached across and took Jacob’s hand thinking he had an odd aura to him. Holding his hand and feeling his strong, but gentle grip, she sighed contentedly.
While they still looked at one another, she said with a slight smile, “I’ll take care of you.”
CHAPTER SIX: Little Devil (Hull)
Woah, she’s hot, he thought idly as he checked out the platinum blonde standing in the queue of prisoners. He was waiting for Ruler outside Battery Park. Prisoners were being processed and they were either sent inside the Financial District buildings, or to the trucks that would transport them to NYU. It was fundamentally the same operation as the camp. Most people were cattle to be used as food, but those who were young, healthy and attractive were earmarked for the demons to possess. Ruler had promised to make a little devil of him, but he still wasn’t sure what that meant. So far, all Ruler had asked him to do was oversee the set-up of their new camp.
Right now he’d ordered the Black Army to process the people they captured when they took over Manhattan. Gray had owned the Black Army, and since he went missing at the prison where they held Pax, he was presumed dead. The Black Army was composed of the men he deemed to be worth more than food for the demons, but not good enough to be part of Hull’s Army.
There were around fifty thousand people being held in Battery Park. The Black Army were having them form a long and untidy line leading out of the park to the middle of a large three-way intersection. A row of men sat observing the people as they walked by, and flagged whether they should go to the nearby buildings or the trucks. Most of the people were being sent to the buildings. Hunters were restlessly roaming around the queue, largely docile, but every so often, like a badly trained dogs, one would become rabid and attack a prisoner. When that happened, other hunters would join in to drag the person away and eat them alive while the other prisoners watched on in horror.
He knew the demons held tight control over their hunter packs, and any slip like that was deliberate and only done to be cruel. He supposed it kept the demon super hunters amused, and the prisoners standing in line looked exhausted and frightened. Many were already thin and some badly injured. Women, children and men stood in the line, holding one another up, and shuffling dejectedly as the line slowly moved forward. He thought humanity looked like a sorry bunch of defeated assholes. Sneering to himself, he decided their future was their problem to deal with. His plan was to use the demon super hunters and their hunter army to take control of Staten Island. He estimated, between the two islands, they would have over a hundred thousand of the living to control, but with so many demon super hunters, he didn’t figure it would be difficult. His main issue would be keeping the prisoners fed, but
with Ruler’s taste for killing, he also figured it would be a declining problem as less people would be left alive.
Growing bored with watching the prisoners, he returned his gaze to the stunning, well-stacked, platinum blonde. He began to walk towards her and shouted. “Hang on! I want that one with me.”
The woman turned to him in surprise and he saw she had brilliant blue eyes. Very hot, he thought, I’ll have her. Looking more confused than frightened, wide-eyed and curious, she continued to watch him. Walking up to her, he admired the curvaceous body that was barely hidden underneath a short dirty blue gown. On her feet were a pair of men’s running shoes, and her white blonde hair was disheveled and half pinned to her head. With smudges of dirt or maybe blood on her cheeks, she looked like a sexy grown up street urchin. She’ll clean up nicely, he thought.
“Hello darlin’,” he said with a leering smile. Flicking his head at the men in black, who were directing people to either the buildings or the trucks, he said with some honesty, “You should come with me. Neither of these options are very good.”
When the woman said nothing, he asked, “What’s your name, luv?”
Still watching him, the woman shook her head and still didn’t speak.
“Okay. Well I gotta call you something so…’ He studied her closely. “You look like a bombshell, baby, so I’m going to call you Blondie.”
Blondie, as she’d just been named, looked back at him blankly. Grabbing her arm, he led her away from the line she was standing in and back to his truck. Licking his lips, he thought she looked to be in better condition than any of the other survivors and he wondered why. Not that he cared. With all the recent events, he hadn’t been with a woman in a while, and he was looking forward to enjoying her later. Leaving Blondie in the truck, he turned to the line and saw Ruler arriving in his long, black limousine. The vehicle was a stupid vanity of Ruler’s, and the stretch limo was difficult to navigate through the cluttered streets and it drank gas, but he was the Devil and he could do as he pleased.
Walking over, Ruler spotted him and said happily, “I like your plans to take Staten Island.”
He hadn’t spoken to Ruler about his plans, but he was used to him reading his mind. “Then you know I’m wondering when you’ll be making a little devil of me.”
Since they’d spoken at the hotel, he was feeling more comfortable with his decision to join Ruler. On reflection, he realized what bothered him was being unimportant, but now he’d singled him out for special treatment, he was happy with his choice. He simply hadn’t wanted to become one of Ruler’s victims, but he was much less concerned about seeing others suffer.
“Oh, I’ve already taken care of that.”
That confused him. As far as he could tell, nothing had changed. “How?”
Ruler looked around the lines of people queuing to be assigned. “Pick one and think about what you want to have happen to them.”
He raised an eyebrow and studied the queue of dejected looking prisoners. At random, he picked a tall man who must have once been powerfully built, but was now so thin his elbows looked bony, and his collarbone protruded above his torn and baggy t-shirt. With no forethought, he thought one word, ‘die’. To his amazement, the tall man crumpled to the ground and was obviously dead. Before he had a chance to speak, several hunters ran to the dead man, and dragging his body ten feet away from the queue, they settled down to enjoy their meal. He could hear the sound of cloth ripping while they eagerly sought the still warm flesh.
Stunned, he turned to Ruler and asked, “Did I do that?”
With a casual wave of his hand and a superior smile, Ruler replied, “Have another go.”
This time he chose one of the men from the Black Army who was sitting at the table assessing people. As far as he was concerned, they were composed of men who were worth nothing to him. The fact that Hull’s Army was more competent than the Black Army had played against him when Ruler chose the better of the two armies to become possessed by demons, and he’d lost his entire army. Allowing his resentment to rule, he thought, ‘burn’. Instantly, the man at the table leapt from his seat and began to spin, shrieking loudly, and flames erupted from his body.
He grinned. Somehow Ruler had given him the ability to inflict whatever he wanted on someone without any effort. This is going to be fun, he thought.
“Doesn’t work on everyone.” Tapping his head, he added, “It’s all in the head, Hull. Reality is bullshit. Your own bullshit to be exact. If you think something is true, then it is, but a strong will can’t be told its truths.”
“But how am I doing this?”
Ruler chuckled mirthlessly. “You’re not. I’m doing it.” He tapped his head again and then his own. “We’re connected now. Mind to mind. You think it and I’ll make it happen, but like I said, it won’t work on everyone. Pick your targets wisely.” As an afterthought, he added, “And try not to kill the people we can use.”
The burning man had stopped screaming and was whimpering and crying, while he moved feebly on the hard road. His clothes were burned and he was like a still moving charred corpse, with blackened skin and red flesh showing through like welts. Now more smoking than on fire, the man was clearly in agony and he continued to flail feebly. Irreverently, he thought, ‘barbeque meat for the hunters’. With that thought, several hunters jogged over to the prone man, and began to tear into his burned flesh to reveal the still bleeding body inside. The man howled in pain and he thought, ‘shut up’, and instantly the man became silent. Still alive, but now somehow silenced, the man was slowly consumed by hunters mouthful by mouthful, while he bled out.
Grinning, Hull turned to Ruler and put out his hand. “I’m in.”
Ruler grinned back at him and taking his hand, he firmly shook it.
He and the Devil sealed the deal.
CHAPTER SEVEN: Another birth, another star (Gears)
After their meeting, everyone went their separate ways to get on with their assignments. Captain Ted was leading the combat shooters clearing the Isle of Wight of hunters. Kat was coordinating the survivors to travel on the transport ships to the Isle of Wight. It would be an eight-day journey by sea, and they planned to get the transport ships underway as soon as possible. Mom was on their cruise ship with Lydia’s baby, Pop was still at the Ranch, and Nelson was busy managing the islands while Pop was away. Benny and his road team had already left to rendezvous with them in Union City, New Jersey, just across the Hudson River from Manhattan. He was with his own team flying to Wolfie’s base in Lake Lanier.
Wearing a fully loaded tactical vest, he was spilling out of his narrow seat on the bird and he heard Pax through his headset.
“This is nice, huh. The three of us on a mission together. It’s been years since we went on a real mission.”
He looked over at Pax and nodded. It was true. Five years ago he was in a car accident that left him with the deep scar that ran down his face. The air bag in his vehicle failed to deploy, and he was propelled face first into the grill of a semi. At the same time as his accident, his girlfriend of eight years dumped him. They were hard days, but his brothers rallied around and supported him through the extensive surgeries he needed to reconstruct his face. Not being a vain man, it wasn’t the scar that bothered him, but more the unfamiliar face staring back at him in the mirror. He’d survived those difficult years, but they’d left him feeling hollow and directionless. Somehow the end of the world renewed his sense of purpose, and he felt oddly grateful to have a simple enemy and a clear mission.
TL harrumphed irritably. “Sounds like Gears found himself an opportunity to get us all killed.”
“Shaddup, TL,” Pax said rudely. “Are you gonna be a little bitch the whole time, ‘cos I will punch you in the head.”
Not wanting TL and Pax to start a fight in the bird, he said equally as rudely, “I told you before, shaddup Pax. You’ve had your turn bein’ a pain in the ass and you took full advantage of it. Now you’re gonna give TL some airtime.”
>
Completely ignoring his supportive words, TL glared at him. “You piss me off too, Gears.”
“Yeah, I know. I piss myself off some days.”
TL stared back at him morosely. “And you’re ugly to look at.”
Pax chuckled happily. “Well, now, you see, that ain’t bein’ bitchy. That’s jus’ bein’ truthful.”
Shaking his head at his brothers, he watched as Hatch landed on the helipad at Lanier Lake Island. Once landed, they headed to the main tourist building on the base where they were met by Jackson. With his shaved head, and covered in piercings and tattoos, he could be mistaken for a rough and dangerous biker. Despite his appearance, he knew Jackson was a solid guy and was one of Wolfie’s most experienced team leaders.
After giving one another a biker style handgrip, he asked, “Where’s Wolfie?”
“Havin’ a baby.”
Pax frowned. “Well, he ain’t the man I thought he was.”
Jackson gave Pax an exasperated look. “He isn’t havin’ the baby.”
He shook his head. “Don’t worry about Pax. We think he left part of his brain with Ruler and he didn’t have it to spare.” Turning to his team, he added, “Go get a coffee and me and Ip will go talk to Wolfie.”
Leaving with Jackson and Ip, he heard Pax complain. “Why does she get to go?”
Walking into the main tourist building, he saw people were rushing about frantically and he asked, “What the hell is goin’ on here?”
Before Jackson could explain, they’d already walked into the makeshift surgery, and in the middle of the room was a woman lying on a table. Their main doctor was a man called Doc, and he had his arms up to his elbows in a bloody incision across the woman’s belly. The woman was clearly dead, and Doc was pulling a bundle of bloodied, tangled limbs from her corpse. It felt like déjà vu, and this was exactly how Lydia’s baby was brought into the world. Wolfie’s face was creased in sorrow and he was still holding the dead woman’s hand. Doc immediately cleared the silent infant’s mouth with a stubby forefinger and began to gently rub its chest. Within moments, the baby let out a loud howl and its bloodied limbs moved in protest.