by Fitch, E. M.
"Where do you think we should go?" Kaylee asked, looping her arm through Jack's. In any other circumstance, it could have been a romantic stroll through the snowy woods. He squeezed her arm affectionately against his body, lending some of his heat. She moved towards him, resting her head on his shoulder, taking comfort in the easy cadence of his steps.
"How do you feel about the coast?”
"Hmm, love it," she hummed, memories of salt air whipping her hair, the brine and the heaviness of sea air as it hit her tongue. Already, through her memories, she could feel the sun warming her skin, leaving it pink and somewhat freckled. Maybe it wasn't a safe place she needed to land. With her arm linked with Jack's, hope was rising in her chest.
"I don't think we're that far from it actually," Jack murmured.
"Not if we could get our hands on a car," Andrew agreed, his voice traveling back through the pines.
"I've always thought about holing up on some island," Jack said. "Spending my days fishing, swimming. And we wouldn't have to worry about winter there.”
"Or the infected getting at us," Emma murmured. "Can they swim, you think?”
"Imagine not having to hear that noise anymore," Anna said. Already they were nearing the front gate, they could see it through the chain link fence they followed. The sun was dying, the infected slowly dropping with it, but still their moans float through the air, landing like a contagion in the air around them, coating the pines and the snow covered ground, tainting it all with sickness.
"Imagine not having to see anyone using them like that," Emma said. Distaste saturated her tone.
"You know the best part of all of this?" Jack asked. He moved from Kaylee and leant forward against the chain link fence, his eyes out to the plains in front of them. He wasn't looking at the massive front gate, his eyes didn't stray to the pit of the infected. He kept his gaze towards the east, towards the cool, purple night sky descending. "The best part about the world falling apart and the infection happening at all?”
"Nothing," Andrew muttered. Kaylee agreed with him. The infection had cost her her father, her mother, her life. It had tainted her younger sister, drove them from their home. Andrew's father was gone, his mother gone. Everything was gone.
"It's the freedom," Jack murmured, his eyes still on the open, snowy spaces. "There's nothing to take it away from us, not if we don't let them."
Chapter Eighteen
They waited until Patrick called another meeting. This one would be early, at dawn. The men's dorms were still not cleared for habitation, so the group would meet there. Everyone from before, with the exception of Emma and the rest.
Emma and Jack were already up, tugging at their boots laces and pulling on gloves. The wood stove was pumping a steady heat, thanks to the logs Anna had gotten up to throw in. But outside the wind beat at the wooden side of their cabin. It whistled through the loose panes of the windows.
"Heading south really doesn't sound that bad right about now," Emma said, her teeth chattering.
"You can hang back, if you want," Jack offered again. Emma shook her head. It made sense for her to go. Anna was still stuffing whatever supplies she had found into bags. Kaylee was organizing food. Andrew was perched by the window, watching through the blowing drifts of snow in case Patrick or one of his men came looking. Emma didn't think they would, Patrick seemed to keep them all pretty entertained last time. Still, if someone did come looking, Emma didn't want them to find the girls alone. She wanted Andrew there. And she couldn't let Jack go alone to warn the Council. He needed back up.
She brought her gun to her coat pocket, crammed it in so that it wouldn't fall out into a snow drift, but kept it accessible should she need it quickly. She prayed she wouldn’t.
The Council slept all together in separate rooms in the main building. Emma was sure it would be convenient that way, should trouble arise. It was also the nicest of the buildings in the camp, not a cabin, like the rest, but a full house. She had always seen it from the square, two stories, white siding, screened in porch. There were even rocking chairs, leftover reminders of a time before the infection.
The early morning sky still hung in dark curtains. The stars had started to fade with the coming of the sun and it forced the sky darker, a vast sheet of black. Song birds sensed the approach of dawn and began their mornings, soft calls into the darkness, the beginning of a new day. The sound of Emma and Jack's boots was muffled in the powdery snow. There was no noise at all, save for the errant bird song.
None of the lights were on in the main house. Jack knocked on the door, not too loud but enough that it shook the window pane. The glass lit orange after a moment, the hiss of a lantern flaring to life loud in the stillness.
"Who's there?”
Harris admitted them after the loud snap of a bolt being undone. He left Emma and Jack to sit alone in the front room. The walls were lined with mismatched sofas and armchairs. The center of the room had four long couches that were squared off, facing each other. They were worn and faded, but even for that, they were the most luxurious things Emma had sat on in a long time. She settled back to wait, letting the cushions absorb her body weight. Jack paced the small spaces left between furniture.
Emma noticed, for the first time really, the laws of the New North America written in large, black letters over the fireplace. They weren't written on anything, just painted right on the wall, extending the entire length of the drywall behind and above the fireplace. She remembered Kaylee asking about them and shrugging them off. But, staring down at her from the wall like they were, no consequences listed, just absolutes of what not to do, Emma saw now how menacing they could be.
Jack stilled by the lantern, blocking most of the light in the room. The fireplace wasn't going; it sat, a dark empty, pit in the middle of the room. Jack's features were elongated, shadows streaking from his most prominent features. In this low light, his skin looked darker than ever. His eyes were shaded, pits like the fireplace.
Harris didn't address either of them when he came back into the room, though he sat closest to Emma, on the square cushion next to her on the couch. She shifted at first, wondering why he chose that seat out of all the seats in the room, but it became clear when the rest shuffled in. They all sat opposite each other, four couches that squared off in the center of the room. Emma must have taken Harris's normal spot without knowing. He alone was well-groomed, obviously taking a moment to drag a comb through his hair before he rejoined them. Miranda wasn't even dressed yet. She had just pulled her winter jacket on over her sweatpants. The laces to her boots remained untied, hanging and trailing behind her the floor. For one horrid moment, Emma was reminded of Nicole's entrails, how they dragged behind her after she was shot, the shotgun blasting a hole through her abdomen and chest, the bloody streaks it left in the dirt behind her.
Harris cleared her throat and Emma pushed the image from her mind, waiting for Jack to start.
He told them first that they were leaving. They all sat up sharply at this, obviously not expecting it.
"We just had our first snowfall!" Carla exclaimed. "You can't be serious. Why would you leave now?”
Miranda and Samuel offered murmurs of agreement, their eyes darting from Emma to Jack. Jack stared at Harris, ignoring the others.
"There's going to be some trouble," he said, speaking plainly. "And we want nothing to do with it. We want your word, after we tell you, we'll be free to go.”
The others didn't move, but Harris nodded starkly, watching for Jack's reaction.
Jack spoke clearly but quickly. He told them about Michael, about Patrick's brother raising an army outside the gates. He told them about Patrick stirring unrest, about the meeting they were in at that very moment. He named the men he knew who were there. Emma interjected quickly to tell them Marco was not. She hoped he would be spared from whatever was about to happen.
"I can't tell you what to do," Jack finished, shrugging. His voice was nonchalant but his posture wasn't; he stood, tense
and restless, the lantern hissing behind him. His shadow threw itself across the room, a giant in the empty space among the Council. "But I'll hold you to your word. We're leaving now. C'mon, Emma.”
She rose to join him, stepping to cross in front of Harris. She turned when the glass behind her broke, almost falling in his lap. She sucked in a breath, cold air flooding the room from the broken window pane.
Everyone froze. It was hard to see in the low light. Jack stepped forward, the lantern glow extending to the floor space in the center of the couches, and then he stepped back quickly, knocking the lantern to the floor. The flame hissed and spit, but that was low compared to the cracking fuse that had almost reached the lip of a duct-taped can.
The homemade grenade exploded with a pop like a cherry bomb. Screams lit the small room as shards of metal flew like shrapnel. Even through her bulky coat, Emma could feel the sharp sting of the metal as it cut like blades into her skin.
"Emma!" Jack screamed her name and she stumbled forward, tripping over Harris's feet and landing on the floor. Her ears were ringing with the force of the bomb and she saw stars when her head connected with the corner of an arm chair. Hands were yanking her to her feet, feeling down her body.
"Don't," she slurred, "Jack, wait." He pulled her down behind a couch, peaking over the top to look towards the broken window. She put her hands out, feeling along her arm for the throbbing points. She caught the corner of a twisted bit of metal and gave a sharp tug. It came free, tearing a small chunk of her arm out with it. She whimpered, placing the piece gingerly on the floor before feeling for more.
Harris was muttering behind her. He had jumped up and landed behind the couch they had both been sitting on. She saw his hands flitting over his chest and legs. There were no blood stains, Emma must have absorbed the blow for him.
Lucky me, she thought savagely.
She could hear Jack speaking to him, even as she found another shard that had grazed her shoulder. It wasn't embedded in her flesh, but it had cut her. Emma could feel the warmth of the blood as she pulled her arm out of her sleeve to check. It dribbled in a thin stream down her chest, staining the cloth there. She pressed her palm to it, staunching the flow.
"What was that?" Harris asked, his voice low. He had a gun in one hand, the barrel cold gray steel in the dark. "Miranda? Sam? Carla?”
No one answered. Emma frowned. The explosion was odd. Not just that someone had thrown it, not just because someone obviously wanted them injured and scared, but because it didn't seemed to be designed to kill. Hurt terribly, yes, but Emma would heal from this. The lantern that had been knocked over when Jack jerked back was still on its side. She reached for it, placing it on the carpet between their two couches. In the glow, she watched as Harris's eyes ran over her, darting from bloodstain to bloodstain.
He didn't have time to ask if she was okay though. The light of the lantern had caught something else. A hand stretched up into the glow. From where Emma sat, she could see the shard of metal that had sliced its way into the palm.
"Miranda," Harris whispered. A snarl answered.
Emma had never seen anyone turn at night. It shouldn't have been possible. The infected were asleep at night, there was no way to get bitten. She stood, looking down at the mess of bodies on the floor. They reached forward into the light, their lower limbs tangled, their chests rising like a snake charmer's pet. Miranda and Carla and Samuel, each with slices in their exposed skin, bits of metal penetrating their bodies. Their snarling faces stared up at Emma, hissed at the light. She recoiled from their eyes, already staining yellow, from the twitching limbs and muscles that quivered with newly born infection.
"How?" Harris asked, grief weighing his words. His hands ran over his chest again, stroked his forearms. He looked from his blood free clothing to Emma, mouthing the word again.
"The explosive," Jack said, pulling Emma back down and kicking at the lantern. With the tinkle of broken glass, the light extinguished and three newly infected people fell with a thud to the floor, unresponsive.
The can was packed with infection. In what form, Emma wasn't sure. The flesh of an infected body? The blood and tissue from some sleeping corpse? They had filled the can, stuck in an explosive, taped it off, and then threw it without regard, not caring who caught the disease coated shards in their skin.
Emma felt sick.
"It's starting," Jack whispered. As soon as the light was extinguished, Emma could hear them, too. Soft footsteps were rustling in the snow. A low chuckle escaped and floated through the cold, winter air. The soft noise passed through the broken glass until it died among them. Jack nodded towards the nearest window, crouching as he made his way over.
"The others," Harris whimpered, looking from Jack to the bodies they were leaving on the floor. Jack shook his head. There was nothing that could be done for them now. He was about to reach for the window when a beam of light cut through. Jack ducked, pulling Emma close to him. She could smell his sweat, even through his coat. He pressed them both back to the wall, the beam of light passing so close that it lit the top of Jack's head. Strands of his inky black hair shone golden.
Outside, someone whistled. The light cut off and Jack scrambled to the back of the room, ducking behind a sofa that had been squashed in the corner. Emma and Harris were right behind him.
Moments later, light flooded the room. The three behind the couch huddled close together.
"I thought you said they were all in here," someone murmured. Emma thought it might be Corey. She wasn't sure.
"Thought so," another grunted. "Doesn't matter. We got most of them anyway.”
With the introduction of the light, the moans and snarls picked up again.
"Here, biter, biter, biter," Corey crooned. From the shadows cast agains the wall, Emma could see that he was holding something out, swinging what looked like, to her, a teddy bear. "Time for breakfast.”
"They're not pets," someone admonished.
"No, but they do serve a purpose," Corey responded. Emma could hear the grin in his tone.
The three infected on the floor snarled. Furniture scraped along the wooden floor as they pushed through, lunging for Corey. He laughed as he backed out the front door, keeping the infected bodies in the full light of the lantern to keep them moving.
"What about Harris?" a cold voice asked from the front porch. Corey was still moving backwards, the infected Council members still following him, like feral dogs in search of a treat.
"Must have slipped out back," someone answered. "We'll get him.”
The light shut off, the darkness settling back down. Emma peeked from around the couch, seeing the backs of the men as they hovered over the infected bodies that collapsed in a heap. They had led them down the stairs, just to the edge of the square. The empty women's dorms were just in front of them, the mess hall not far away. People would be rising soon, waking to find the infection breaking out again, the Council just about gone.
One of the men upended a bag. Several misshaped lumps fell to the snow with dull thuds.
"This'll keep 'em busy for a bit.”
"Scatter them around, make it look random," Patrick advised. Someone kicked the mysterious lumps around, circling the bodies of the infected. Then they left, walking back towards the men's dorm and the meeting they were all supposed to be having.
It wasn't until Emma and Jack tentatively left the porch, their eyes searching the darkness for bullets or the sharp gazes of watching men, that Emma found out what the lumps were.
Forest animals and birds, necks broken and wings torn, lay in scattered piles around the sleeping bodies. Emma's mouth bobbed open slightly, even as the muscles of her throat froze.
They were leaving them food, something to keep the infected Council members in the square when the sun rose. They wanted the infected as visible as possible, wanted panic but wanted it controlled. Emma pulled her gun, watching as Jack did the same, intending to end this now and then run, get the others and run for the gate an
d never look back.
Before either could pull the trigger, a smooth voice called out from across the square.
"Well, well," Patrick drawled. "Thought that was you, Jack. And you, Emma, got a little something on you, don't you?”
A beam of light circled on Emma's abdomen, tracing its way along her bloodstains.
She heard the shock in Patrick's voice when he spoke. "How in the hell-“
The gunshot surprised them all. Harris stood in the center of the square, over the bodies of his fellow Council members. Fire lit the end of the barrel as he pulled the trigger over and over again. Amidst the shouts and confusion, Emma felt Jack's hand find hers. He dragged her around Harris, through the square and into the woods. The crack of gunshot and bullets tearing through the trees echoed all around them. The camp woke to a black dawn, shouts echoed from across the grounds. Emma and Jack tore away, ignoring the brambles that caught on their skin and in their hair. Emma's breath came sharp and fast, pressure building and then searing in her lungs.
It wasn't me, it wasn't me, it wasn't me.
The words pound in her brain to the tune of her heartbeat. Her new injuries burned and throbbed in sync. She wasn't sure why it was so important, only that it was. It wasn't her that infected those men at the dorms. There were bird remains there, too. It was them, it wasn't Emma. It had been them all along.
"We have to go. Now," Jack said as soon as he caught sight of the cabin. Kaylee was already waiting for them in the doorway. At the sight of her sister and husband barreling through the trees she called for the others.
"What happened?" she asked, her voice breathy and low. She passed a bag first to Jack and then another to Emma.
"No time," Jack muttered, grabbing for her hand and shouldering the bag. "Let's go.”