This Rotten World | Book 4 | Winter of Blood

by Morris, Jacy

  When she had disappeared, Rudy was thankful. He didn't want anything to do with a person like that. She would do anything to survive, and that meant sacrificing one of them, perhaps killing one of them, if it suited her needs. That was not what they needed. Not even a word of thanks. It still bugged him.

  "Let's call it a day," Tejada said.

  Rudy flinched at the word "day," instantly reminded of the poor man's demise. He had never really liked Day. He didn't think anyone did. He was the sort of guy that you just tolerated having around. He was another body. He did his job, often with snarky comments and an attitude that made it seem like he thought he was above all of the menial tasks that Tejada doled out. But he did his job, and he was another living person, even if he was unlikeable. But he was gone now. One cruel twist of fate and it was all over for him.

  He thought of Amanda and how that could have been her. It sent chills up his spine, and his sweat cooled on his body. Even now, fate was spinning its web, tossing out strands that could take down each one of them. A toothache, a virus, frostbite, the entire world seemed comprised of traps, like some sort of twisted horror house, and in addition to all of that, they had the normal things to worry about—starvation, exhaustion, broken bones, and the hordes of Annies that wanted to eat them.

  They did their trick, circling through office buildings and industrial plazas until they lost their tail. They heard no more shotgun blasts. Either the lady was dead, or she survived, but she wasn't any of their concern now. They found a secure office building on the corner of Evergreen Parkway and Cornelius Pass Rd. It, too, was surrounded by a wrought-iron fence, offering at least a modicum of protection.

  They did their up-and-over trick, smashed a window, and then sat inside, as far away from the broken window and the chill breeze that howled through it as they could get. As soon as they stopped, Rudy felt the cold. He felt it in his hands, his arms, his cheeks, but most of all, he felt it in his feet.

  "I want hot soup in all of you," Tejada said as they set up their bedrolls. "Get them socks off, and dry 'em out over the stove. Make sure you don't burn the damn things. Nothing smells worse than a burnt set of sweaty socks."

  They did as they were told. While they each took turns heating up soup to eat, they sharpened their hatchets on a whetstone. They were silent, but for the hiss of the propane stove, the occasional bubbling of boiling soup, and the rasp of metal being dragged across whetstone, a rectangular hunk of artificially manufactured silicon carbide.

  Rudy sat on the industrial carpet of the office building, feeling naked without his shoes on. Tejada came by and checked his feet, his face, and his fingers for any blackening or telltale signs of frostbite. They had only been outside for four hours, but it felt longer. Pushing through the snow that came up to just below his knee had been an excruciating workout. He felt soreness settling into his hips, and he dreaded doing the same tomorrow. Perhaps the sun had broken the snow up a little bit. Maybe tomorrow would be easier.

  When his time to make soup came ready, he opened up a can of split-pea soup. He hated it, but he was trying to make it through the shit in his pack that he actually didn't care for. He would save the good stuff for later. They broke up and redistributed the contents of Day's backpack. They spread cans of food and handfuls of ammunition around the room, along with extra socks. They left the underwear in the bag. No one was quite willing to go that far.

  Inside Day's pack, they found nothing personal, and it seemed as if with his goods shared out among them, he had all but disappeared. Brown lay in the corner with his back to them, silently muttering a prayer, his lips moving along with the words. Rudy didn't believe in religion, but on the odd chance that there was someone up above, a cruel prankster, he gave himself a moment to send up a kind word for Day.

  When his can of soup was ready, he wrapped one of his damp socks around the can and sat in the corner. Amanda was next up at the stove. He held the can for a long time in his hands. When his fingers started to feel like fingers again, he placed the warm can on his feet, working it along each of his toes until he could feel them as well. He couldn't imagine what the temperature would be like in the mountains. It couldn't possibly be worse than here, at least, that's what he hoped.

  When Amanda's soup had heated thoroughly, she came back and sat next to him and went through the same routine that he had. Despite the spaciousness of the office, they all huddled together in one corner of the building. He didn't know if they were afraid to be separated or if they just wanted the comfort of other people around them, but no one went off to find their own corner to sleep in.

  When the sounds of praying, slurping, and sharpening had stopped, they made their beds, and they went to sleep, as silent as they had ever been. Day had not been the most beloved of men, but he had been one of them, and his absence was felt. It was a long time before any of them fell asleep, tucked into their sleeping bags, wondering who would be next.

  ****

  Walt drew first watch. He sat next to the glowing square of the busted window, listening to the crunch of snow as the dead kept their own watch on the other side of the wrought-iron fence. There were fewer Annies in the area. They had moved through the populated part of Beaverton, and now sat in a pocket of industrial buildings. The parking lots were empty, but for a few cars here and there.

  A quick search of the office building had revealed nothing other than a few disposable snacks and candy. There had been no bodies for once. Starlight reflected off of the snow, but he kept back from the window. There was no point in winding up the Annies in the darkness. He didn't know if they would be able to see him through the busted window, but he didn't think it would be worth risking it. You didn't tease a hungry lion by waving your hand in front of its mouth.

  A cold wind blew in through the window, and he shivered in the darkness. As always, his thoughts ran to his place in the world. Who was he? How did the others think of him now? Was Tejada impressed by him? Did he consider himself equal to the other soldiers?

  He broke off his line of thought and chided himself for being childish. It didn't matter. That type of thinking had always gotten in the way of his own happiness, and none of it mattered. It didn't matter what people thought of him, just as it hadn't when he was a kid, and his mother would treat him like shit. He should have known it then, but the world was a different place, bound by things like social-standing and respect. The only standing that really mattered was whether you could stand on your own two feet every morning, whether you could get up and fight. He could do that. He was doing well.

  The rattling and crunching from the fence-line began to get to him after a while, and he almost wanted the wind to pick back up, so it would drown out the noise. Though it was frigid and made him shiver every time, the sound the wind produced as it rushed through the broken window was soothing, even if it was a little eerie.

  It reminded him of a song. He couldn't name the song; he had never been good at remembering such things. It was an old song he thought, from before he had been born… maybe the 80s. It had a lot of strange sounds, a haunting sound, like the wind. He smiled as the notes from the song played in his head. His chapped lips split in the process, but he smiled anyway.

  He was almost on the verge of remembering the words, when he heard a crunch outside the window—a footstep in the snow.

  Quietly and slowly, he brought his rifle to bear on the window. He didn't want to think about how one of the Annies had gotten through the fence. If the fence had fallen, they were all sorts of fucked. He wasn't going to fire unless he needed to. If the fence was down, one shot would bring them boiling over to the window, and he didn't fancy running in the dark with potential crawlers underneath the snow.

  He held his breath, and he heard the sound again. He reached over his back, his arm moving a centimeter a second to avoid making noise. He felt the handle of his hatchet and grasped it firmly. The small office was too small for American Express, his preferred Annie dispatch method. The hatchet would ha
ve to do.

  With another snowy crunch, a torso appeared in the empty window frame. He swung his axe, and the creature dodged him. What the fuck? He turned to see the barrel of a shotgun leveled at his face, and he opened and closed his mouth, shocked to find one of the living staring him down.

  It was the woman from before, her cheeks rosy pink, her lips chapped and bloody.

  "Don't make a fucking peep," she hissed.

  He stood still, his brain warring in his head, self-preservation and tribalism duking it out in his brain. Warn the others and possibly die, or shut the hell up and stay alive… maybe. What would Tejada do? He had no doubt about what Tejada would do. Tejada would scream and make a move on the woman, but he wasn't Tejada. Never had been. He was just Walt, a guy that wished he was Tejada.

  As if she could read the internal struggle in his mind, the woman said, "Back up, hero." Her voice was softer than he expected.

  He did as he was told, a shotgun in one hand and a hatchet in the other. When his back was up against the wall, he stood, waiting.

  "Drop 'em. Quietly."

  He squatted down slowly, setting the hatchet and his rifle on the gray carpet of the office floor.

  "Kick 'em over."

  He kicked them over.

  "Turn around."

  Oh, man, this was getting worse by the second. He turned around, figuring he had come this far, he might as well go all the way with his cowardly actions. With his face facing a generic landscape painting, barely illuminated by the reflection of moonlight off snow, he was able to make out a flowery landscape. He was trying to determine what color the flowers were when he felt the ice-cold kiss of a shotgun barrel against the base of his neck.

  "Who are you guys?" the woman asked.

  Who are we? he wondered. The question was loaded in so many ways. Who are we? Hell, I don't even know who I am. Are we friends? Are we soldiers? Am I included in that? "We're survivors," he said.

  The lady jabbed the barrel of the shotgun hard into the base of his neck. "No shit," she said. "What are you doing out here?"

  "We're just moving through."

  "For where?"

  "That's none of your…" He cut off his words as she jammed the barrel of the shotgun deep into his neckmeat. He gasped in pain.

  "Where?"

  "The beach," he said.

  She let out a smirking laugh, quiet, but just audible enough for him to hear.

  "You dummies are never gonna make it."

  Alarms went off in his head. "What do you mean?"

  "Walking around helping people. You know what you get when you help people, soldier?"

  "I'm not a…"

  "You get hurt," she said. He thought he heard a tremble in her voice, some sort of damage coming through. There was a pause, and under the howl of the wind, he heard her swallow. "You lost a man today. Was it worth it?"

  "You're still alive, aren't you?" he said.

  "Stupid boy," she said.

  "My name's Walt. We're not going to hurt you."

  "No names. We don't need names now. I want your food, and then you'll never see me again."

  He didn't know what that meant. Was she going to kill him? He didn't think she would kill him. That would be suicide with the Annies outside and the others down the hall. His brain started working again, after the momentary shock of being taken unaware by something that he had assumed was an Annie. He could hear Tejada's voice in his head, saying something salty about assuming.

  "You're not going to shoot me," he said.

  "Oh yeah, what makes you say that?"

  "Because you'd be dead if you did. You'd bring more Annies–"

  "Annies? Is that what you call them? The dead?"

  "Yeah."

  "That's cute. Just give me your food, and I'll get the hell out of here."

  "What happened to your shopping cart?"

  "There was too many of 'em. They knocked it over. I couldn't get away fast enough. I had to leave it all in the snow."

  "So, you followed us?"

  "I just need the food."

  "We have plenty of food," he said. "Why don't you just stick with us?" He didn't know why, but he liked the idea. Maybe he liked her. Even with a shotgun placed on the back of his neck, he realized that he didn't mind. He hadn't really talked to a woman in some time. No one on the Nike campus had been interested in his overtures.

  "It's not just for me. You think I needed all that food for myself? If I was that stupid, I would have been dead a long time ago."

  "There's more of you," he mused. Then he was dizzy, his head swimming. When the world righted itself, he realized that he now had a thundering headache, and he was on his knees.

  The woman was stuffing food into her own sack. He tried to say something, say anything, but his tongue seemed to have grown three sizes bigger in his mouth. He watched her cinch up her own backpack and throw it on with practiced ease. She gave him one last look, and he saw the guilt in her eyes, but the set of her jaw let him know that she wasn't going to change her mind about what she was doing.

  "Stay safe," she said.

  Walt balled his hands into fists and placed them on the ground. He eased forward, leaning on his arms. When he was able to lift his head again, she was gone. He managed to push himself to his knees, and he stumbled to the window. She broke a trail in the distance, and he wondered how he was going to tell Tejada that he had just been robbed at gunpoint. The child inside said, "Don't tell him. He'll never know otherwise." But he knew Tejada. The moment he didn't pull out food and eat with the rest of them, he would have to spill it all anyway.

  Leaning on the wall to keep his balance, he stumbled to the back of the office building and prepared to face his destiny… a square-jawed, square-headed destiny.

  Chapter 11: Ordered Not to Die

  "From now on, two people are keeping watch. I must be slipping in my old age. I don't give a fuck if we're locked in a bank vault, two of you motherfuckers are staying awake."

  "You want us to go after her?" Whiteside asked, a strange leer on his face.

  Tejada didn't like that look. He knew what was on Whiteside's mind. He was reacting in the only way he had ever been taught to, with violence and anger. Tejada wouldn't let Whiteside catch the girl. He wouldn't be responsible for that type of situation. But the question did bear examination. You want us to go after her?

  Did he? The answer should have been "No." But there was something else there, a part of himself that he thought had been destroyed in the Target parking lot along with Day, a sense of compassion and responsibility. He had sworn himself to protect a country that no longer existed anymore. He had sworn to protect the citizens and their freedom, sometimes even from themselves. He had lost a man because of it. But wasn't that what their job? No, those were the old ways.

  "I'll go after her," Walt said.

  Tejada's head snapped up. He wasn't angry at the boy until just now. "You can barely stand on your own two feet. You couldn't chase your own tail without falling over. Now go sit over there, and I don't want to hear another word out of you."

  Walt slunk over to the corner and plopped down awkwardly, pointedly ignoring the looks of the other soldiers. Even Rudy and Amanda were looking at him. He had never felt so goddamned weak in his life.

  "She said there were others," Rudy said.

  Tejada ran his hand over his scalp. The hairs did not poke at his hand as they should. This meant his hair was getting too long. Maybe he was slipping.

  "I can do it," Allen said. "Gimme Brown and Epps, and we can check it out."

  Goddamn it. They seem to want to do it.

  "And what are you proposing to do?" Tejada asked.

  "Keep out of sight. Use my rifle. Make sure she gets home alright."

  "No, it's too great of a risk," he said.

  "What if she has children?" Amanda asked. "What if she's out here trying to provide for her kids."

  Children… he silently cursed Amanda. She had known the one damn thing that w
ould break him down. Say what you would about the woman that had robbed Walt, but if she was a mama bird and there were a couple of baby birds waiting back at the nest for her, well, that wasn't something that he could have on his conscience, and he was already spending most of his spare time digesting Day's death, among others.

  "I must be out of my mind," he said. He walked over to his backpack and fumbled around until he found what he was looking for. He tossed it to Allen, who caught it in mid-air. "Night-vision." He had kept his night-vision goggles on hand just for a moment like this. It was a shame they didn't have more of them, but they hadn't been standard-issue during the deployment. They were his own. "Epps, Brown, you keep a watch on Allen's ass while he takes his shots. Don't let anything get near him. If you guys follow this gal and you see trouble, you double-time it back here, and that's the end of that. You got that?"

  They nodded their agreement.

  "Remember this, your lives are worth more than hers. If it comes to sacrificing yourself or saving that woman, you are ordered… you hear me? Ordered!... to not sacrifice yourselves."

  They nodded their heads, but he knew the decision they would make. It was who they were, but maybe they'd at least think twice before putting themselves at risk.

  "Alright, get your asses out of here. You got some ground to cover."

  They gathered their gear, and Tejada watched them leave, hoping that he would see all three of them back safely.

  "Masterson, Rudy, you're on guard duty."

  Tejada crawled back into his sleeping bag and counted dead soldiers until he fell back asleep.

  ****

  Allen led the way with Brown and Epps following.

  "Why'd you have to say 'Epps?' Why couldn't you have said Masterson?" Epps complained.

  They crunched through the broken snow wake of the woman, moving quickly along her tracks. The world through the night-vision goggles was a green haze. He could see the dead moving along with them. The soldiers hopped the wrought-iron fence around the office building, and then they trucked ahead, outpacing the dead easily.