The Colony

by Kathleen Groger

  Adam waved his hand to the right. “Look at all this stuff.”

  The room was what my grandparents would have called a den. The walls were paneled in faux-wood. Electrical equipment, computers, and papers covered a dark desk. An old-time microphone sat in front of speakers and boxes with more dials than I could count.

  “It’s a ham radio.” Adam lifted up the microphone.

  “A radio made of ham? Really? You need to sleep more than me.” I sat on a scarred coffee table in front of a black leather couch.

  “No. My grandfather had one. You can talk to people all over the world with it.”

  I jumped up. “Can you work it?” If he was right and other people lived, maybe we could contact them.

  “No. You need electricity. That tower outside is for this radio. I should have realized what it was.”

  Hope whizzed away like an untied helium balloon. I shouldn’t even have considered the possibility of contacting anyone. I turned. A map of the United States filled with colored push pins hung on the wall. “Whoa. Look at this map. What is it? One of those put-a-pin-where-you’ve-been deals?”

  “Maybe places the guy talked to on the radio?” Adam picked up a pile of papers from the desk and flipped through them.

  The map shifted out of focus. It felt like needles poked my eyes from the inside. I blinked, but it didn’t help. I was going to have to let him watch my back while I rested or I would collapse. “Do you care if I lie down for a minute?”

  “No. Go ahead.”

  “Can you wake me in an hour?” I stifled a yawn and glanced at my watch.

  “You can sleep longer if you need to. I’m going to go through these pages. Seems like some strange stuff.”

  “Thanks. An hour should be good. Besides, it’s going to get dark soon.”

  Adam shuffled the papers. “We should probably stay here for the night. Who knows where the next house will be.”

  “Maybe. Wake me if you find anything important in there.”

  He nodded.

  It was only an hour. One measly hour wouldn’t get me killed. At least that’s what I chanted in my head. I reclined on the leather couch and set my gun on the table. My eyelids closed and I gave in to my exhaustion. Sleep wrapped me in its embrace.

  A bang vibrated through my head. Heart racing, I opened my eyes, grabbed my gun, and bolted up from the couch. Another bang like the closing of a cabinet door rang out. That had to be what woke me. I glanced around, searching for Adam.

  I checked my watch. I’d slept two hours instead of just one. I peered into the kitchen. Adam stood at the counter fiddling with something I couldn’t see. I lowered the gun and counted to ten, concentrating on slowing my heart rate.

  “How was your nap?” He asked with his back to me.

  I didn’t think I’d made any noise, yet he’d sensed my presence. Maybe I was still groggy and had made a shuffling sound without realizing it. I tried to convince myself, but… I ran a hand across my forearm and the rules written there.

  “You should have gotten me up.” I holstered the Glock and walked into the kitchen. The flowery wallpaper and yellow counters reminded me of my grandma’s house. “What are you doing?”

  He turned and presented two plates and water in two mugs. “Making us a snack. I even poured the bottled water into a mug. Like civilized folk. Here.”

  The plate of crackers and peanut butter spoke to my stomach. “Thanks.” I sat on one of the counter’s vinyl bar stools and inhaled the food. I sipped the water from the black mug with a white Z logo.

  Adam devoured his food even faster than I did. “Wish they had some soda. Do you know how long it’s been since I had a Mountain Dew?”

  “Coke was the best. You know, stores probably have some left on their shelves. The Walmart by my old place did.”

  “Yeah, but it’d be warm and that would be gross. Know what else I miss?”

  “Red meat, fresh fruit, bread? I could list them alphabetically, but I’m guessing you have something particular in mind. Burgers?”

  “Pizza.”

  I sighed. “Oh. My. God. Yes, pizza. Pepperoni pizza.”

  He rubbed his belly. “French fries.”

  “Stop. No more. I can’t take it.” I laughed, but was serious. I’d lived on granola bars, nuts, and dry cereal, and my stomach rumbled its annoyance at me not feeding it pizza or fries.

  “Sorry. Hey, while you were sleeping, I went through the papers.” He grabbed the stack from the counter.

  “Anything useful?”

  “Maybe. Most of these were printed from websites and blogs on the internet. This one mentions the Great Discovery.”

  I snatched the sheet he held.

  Pearan Chemicals found deposits of mineral-rich oil in the Gulf. While analysis continues, energy proponents have stated the cache of oil is large enough to end the United States’ dependence on foreign oil…

  I scanned to the end of the article.

  This is a game-changing find for the United States. Some have heralded it the Great Discovery.

  “Didn’t you say your dad worked for Pearan Chemicals?” I handed him the paper.

  Oil. This whole disaster was set into motion because of oil. Dad had always said the war over oil would kill us, but he’d meant if the Middle East got nuclear weapons. Boom. World War III. Not eradication by earthquakes and mutant creatures. And I still didn’t see the oil/Rasper connection.

  “Yeah. He did.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Hey, I used the map to figure out the route we need to take.” He grabbed my hand and dragged me back into the room full of gadgets.

  I didn’t blame him for not wanting to talk about his dad. I know I didn’t want to talk about mine.

  “Look.” He had pulled out all the map’s pins from the Midwest to New Jersey.

  “So, we’re in Missouri.” I dragged my index fingernail over the map. “South of St. Louis. We need to get to where?”

  Adam tapped the map at the spot he had starred where Pennsylvania and Maryland touched. “Here. It looks like we’ll have to go about 750 miles.”

  “We’re gonna need to find a car with keys and gas.”

  “We have the bike.”

  “Yeah, but I won’t have an ass left if we travel that far on that vibrating motor. Besides, if we hit rain, the bike will suck.” Part of me wanted to keep riding the dirt bike. I hated to admit it, but I liked wrapping my arms around him—a sacrifice I was going to have to make until we found a car. Then I realized something. Something I should have thought about before. I bit my lip.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Shouldn’t this house have a garage? God, what if Raspers are out there?” The crackers fought their way up my throat. I swallowed hard.

  Adam dragged his hand across his chin, and then pulled out the gun I had given him. “It doesn’t have an attached one, but we never investigated the other side of the trees, did we? How did we miss that?”

  I wanted to believe it happened because I was so exhausted, but it had been simple carelessness. A foolish mistake. Total stupidity. I drew my gun and nodded to him.

  We left the kitchen single file, past a laundry room, and found the side door. A breezeway led from the house to a brick garage no more than twenty feet away. Trees lined one side. I should have checked what the trees blocked.

  We stopped on opposite sides of the garage door with our guns held up as if we were cops making a bust. Adrenaline spiked my heart rate. I raised one finger at a time. At three, I slammed the door open. Both of us pointed our guns into the darkness. An overpowering stench almost knocked me backward.

  “Chlorine?” I coughed and pulled my shirt up over my nose.

  Adam covered his face too. “I think so. We need a light.”

  “I’ll get one.” I coughed again. I kept my eyes on the open door as I retreated. When I reached the house I ran to the kitchen, grabbed the flashlight out of my bag, and made it back, gasping for breath. I flicked on the light and shined it into the
garage. I stepped forward and scanned the space.

  What the beam illuminated tore a scream from my throat.

  5

  The flashlight fell from my hand and rolled across the floor, spotlighting the object commanding center stage. The chlorine fumes burned my throat.

  “Holy shit.” Adam coughed and tucked the gun at his back.

  My stomach dropped. The light illuminated the macabre display of a human skeleton next to a dark-colored, ancient-looking, sedan-style car. The bones were twisted in an unnatural pose, as if the person had died in severe pain. The jaw hung open, locked in a permanent scream. I covered my mouth to keep from throwing up.

  An industrial-sized tool chest, which once stood as tall as me and twice my width, now lay on top of the leg bones, trapping the body in place.

  Adam bent over, picked up the light, and jumped over a twelve-inch-wide crack in the garage floor behind the car. “The tool cabinet must have fallen during an earthquake and pinned the guy. Sucky way to go.”

  “He probably suffered for a long time.” I swallowed, fighting another wave of nausea. He had probably screamed and screamed for help that never arrived.

  Adam turned from the skeleton to me and cocked his head. “How long does it take for a body to decompose?”

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  “Well, for some reason, I think I saw on TV that it’s a couple of months or so.”

  “What difference does it make?” My voice cracked and I backed into the breezeway. I needed air before the chlorine choked me to death.

  “Why didn’t the Raspers take this body like they took all the others? Most people died either from natural disasters or Rasper attacks four months ago, and those that didn’t turned into Raspers. And they took the dead bodies. Why not this one?”

  “Maybe they didn’t know it was here?”

  “I doubt it. It’s like they can smell a body from miles away. Maybe the chlorine somehow blocked the scent?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” I walked to the doorframe and leaned against it, still holding my gun.

  Adam pulled his shirt over his nose, crouched next to the bones, and shined the flashlight all around. “Check that out.”

  His light shined on white granules—most likely chlorine—spread across the garage floor and pushed up against the walls.

  “I thought chlorine only came in the disc things.”

  Adam shrugged. “I think it comes in a powder, too.”

  “Weird. They should have put it in their green pool instead of the garage.”

  “What do you think it’s for?”

  “No idea.”

  Adam stood up and rubbed his arm. His white bandage reflected in the dim light like a beacon.

  “See anything else?” I needed to get out of here. Something wasn’t right. “Hurry up.”

  “He has his right fist clenched. I think he’s holding something.”

  An invisible army of ants marched across my skin. I took a step forward.

  “Think we should open the hand?”

  “If you do it. I’m not touching dead-guy bones.”

  “I didn’t picture you as the type to be freaked out by some bones.”

  “It’s not just bones. Look, there’s still some hair on the skull. Creepy.” I shuddered and crossed my arms, gun out front. Why hadn’t the Raspers claimed this guy? What made him different?

  “Fine. I’ll do it. Hold the light.”

  I stepped over the gaping chasm in the floor and took the flashlight. “Faster. The smell’s killing me.” I coughed again, the chlorine burning my throat.

  Adam pried open the fist. With a slight tug, the bones fell apart and clattered to the cement.

  “Eeww.”

  “Didn’t expect that.” He pushed away the pieces and picked something from the mess.

  My mouth went dry. Oh, God. He touched the pile. “What is it?” The words came out in a hoarse whisper.

  Adam stood. “Looks like the type of map you get at a rest stop. Do you want it?” He pushed it at me with a Joker-worthy grin.

  “No.” I stepped back. My foot slipped on the edge of the gap. I almost fell, but caught myself. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Once we got back inside the house, I stuck the flashlight into my back pocket.

  “Can you pour a bottle of water on my hands? I gotta get this skeleton ash crap off.” He put the map on the counter and held his hands out over the sink.

  I got a bottle from the case and poured it into his palms.

  He wiped them and then rubbed them almost raw on a towel hanging on the handle of the stove. “Okay, let’s see what’s so important that the guy held onto it when he died.”

  Adam blew bone dust off the paper and an icy shiver sliced through me. He unfolded it and blinked at the map.

  “What?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Well?” I resisted the urge to tear the sheet from his grip. I so didn’t want to touch it.

  He held it out to me. My skin crawled with more imaginary insects. I rubbed my arms to stop the heebie-jeebie sensation. I bit my lip, then, with the tips of my fingers, took it by the top left corner and set it on the table. Someone had drawn a picture of an anchor and scrawled the words 300 Seed Plot across the top of a map of Missouri.

  “What does it mean?” I leaned over the map and rubbed my hands down my jeans—to the point my palms turned fire-engine red.

  “Not sure.” He shrugged. “What’s up with the—” He cocked his head as if he heard something, stuffed the map in his pocket, and pulled out his gun.

  “What’s wrong?” I raised my gun.

  “I—”

  Glass exploded in the front room.

  Adrenaline shot through my veins, screaming for every muscle to assume battle stations. I sprinted to the wall and looked down the hallway toward the front door. The crunch of broken glass and the wheezy breath of Raspers filled the air. “Oh, God. They’re inside.”

  Two Raspers came around the corner.

  I fired and fired. My gun clicked empty.

  “There are more—” Adam stepped in front of me.

  I loaded the extra magazine I had in my pocket.

  “The bike.” Ears ringing from the shots, I waved him back and fired again.

  “It’s a goner. We’ve got to get the hell out of here.” Adam grabbed my arm and yanked me into the hall that led back to the breezeway and the garage.

  I jerked away. “I need my bag.” There was no way I was leaving my backpack. It had everything.

  He said something, but I didn’t hear what. I couldn’t think. I had to get my bag. It was my life.

  I raced back to the kitchen and came face to face with a Rasper. Two rapid shots later, he went down. I dove, slid, and snagged our bags.

  An explosion ripped through the air. The kitchen filled with broken glass. I turned. A Rasper was halfway through the kitchen window. I fired and she dropped onto the counter.

  Wheezing sounded behind me. I spun. Another yellow-skinned Rasper blocked my way to the breezeway. He brought his hand up and pointed his index finger stinger at me.

  I pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. I pulled again. No. I was empty.

  The Rasper cackled a throaty laugh. Oh, God. I backed up and fumbled with my bag’s zipper. He sauntered toward me. Got closer with each passing nanosecond. I had to get my other gun. Not enough time.

  I reached for my knife.

  The Rasper’s head exploded.

  Blood sprayed the walls and splattered my jeans. Holy hell. I jumped back, hit the counter, and brushed against the other dead Rasper’s arm.

  Adam stood over the Rasper he’d shot in the head. “Come on. We have to go. Now!”

  Heart beating quadruple time, I ran, leaping over the body. I wasn’t going to wait to see if he vomited a Bug. We raced back to the garage. Adam pushed me through the door and slammed it shut. I whipped out the flashlight and flicked it on. The smell of the chlorine made me cough.


  Adam grabbed one of the large-wheeled, industrial tool chests and rolled it against the door.

  I dug in my bag for more bullets. Inserted them, pushed them down. Got three in, dropped four.

  The tool chest rattled.

  I shoved in two more bullets, then pounded the magazine home.

  Adam said something.

  “What?” I shook my head and tugged my ear. He spun me around and pointed. I wrinkled my forehead. What did he mean? The body? He pointed again. Not at the skeleton, but at the car behind it.

  I nodded and raced to the passenger side, remembering at the last second to leap the gaping crack in the floor. We climbed in and I tossed Adam’s bag in the back, but there was no way I’d let mine go.

  Adam touched the empty key hole.

  “Try the visor.” I yelled.

  Adam gave me a blank look. With a silent plea, I pulled his visor down. Nothing. I opened the glove compartment. Bingo. I handed the keys to Adam. He dropped them in his lap. As he fumbled with the keys, a sense of despair blanketed my heart. The Raspers had tracked us. Found us. Almost killed us. We had to go.

  Adam got the car started. He grabbed his seat belt and I clipped mine, too. I shined the light back at the door. The toolbox slid to the side and the door opened. “Go!”

  Adam turned on the headlights, dropped the car into drive, and jammed his foot on the gas. The car jumped, then caught. The vehicle crashed into the garage door. I pitched forward, and then the seat belt slammed me back.

  The door had broken enough to let light in, but hadn’t shattered. We were still trapped.

  Adam threw it in reverse and revved the engine. The car was the size of a tank. We had to get out. I turned and caught the faces of two Raspers coming up behind the car. Their mouths were open, like they were screaming. My breath caught. “They’re behind us.”

  Adam glanced up at the rearview mirror and his eyes widened. He shoved the car into drive and hit the gas with what sounded like a yell.

  I shut my eyes.

  The car crashed through the door. The seat belt stole my oxygen and dug into my chest. I tried to scream, but couldn’t. The car pushed forward, then jerked to a stop. A Rasper stumbled and stopped at the wrecked garage door. “They’re still coming.”