I finally sit back with a gasp. My stomach is so full that it sloshes when I move. My mom, too, has consumed all she can. The bear’s silver fur is now a deep red, peeled back from the muscle and organs. I have to turn away or there’s a very good chance that I’ll empty my stomach, and then I would just have to go through the whole process of eating again. My stomach sours, and I taste acid on my tongue.
At least my lingering disgust means that the monster hasn’t taken over my whole brain yet. I still have enough sense to hate myself.
“Now what?” I ask, my voice flat.
Mom gives a satisfied sigh and wipes the blood from her lips onto her hand, then looks down and licks the last droplets from her skin. She refuses to waste a single drop.
“Now,” she says, “we select a few of the others to come for dinner.”
“Select?”
“Of course. Does this look like enough food to feed everyone who’s starving… Rippers, you call them?”
I dart my eyes back to the corpse, and I have to agree. What’s left isn’t nearly enough to feed them. And we can all guess what will happen if there’s a meal like this to bicker over. I have no doubt that it would end in bloodshed. I think asking them to share a ration would be too much for even the most civilized of Rippers.
For a brief second, I feel guilty. I’ve clearly eaten more than my share. So much that my belly is distended, full to the brim. Even rising to my feet takes effort and caution.
Mom and I stand over the bear. “We shouldn’t have killed it,” I whisper.
“There will be more.” I wish I could have her confidence. She is the scientist, after all, and she sounds so sure of herself. I want to believe it’s true.
I catch sight of a few dark strands trailing from the bear’s claws. I reach down and pluck them between my fingers. “Is this my hair?”
I can feel my pout but I’m powerless to stop it. I don’t have enough hair left to spare even a few strands. I reach up to my head and feel a fresh patch where the hair was torn from my scalp. “I didn’t even feel it,” I mutter. I hate to think about what would’ve happened if its claws had come just an inch closer. Would I have survived a direct hit? Would my armor have stopped the claws from penetrating? I assume it’s hard enough to stop a bullet.
My mom hooks her arms through mine. “I’m proud of you, you know.”
“Sure. Thanks.” What else can I say? I can only assume this was the bonding experience she’d been hoping for. Except, instead of feeling closer to my mom, I feel farther from myself. The whole walk back to the train, I’m on autopilot. I’m completely unaware of where I am, or even my mom at my side. I let her lead, following blindly.
I’m numb.
I guess that’s a pretty good outcome, actually, considering the violence and gore I just experienced. Maybe I’m in shock.
As I see the train in the distance, I start to become more aware of myself and my surroundings. Like waking from a dream.
The soil beneath my feet is not as dry and crumbly as it was at our last stop. The air smells different. But as I take a deep breath, my lip curls, baring my teeth in a growl. It smells of blood.
I look down at my clothes. They were pretty tattered to start with, barely offering me any kind of real modesty, but now they’re splattered with blood, drying into a crust that rubs against me like sandpaper. “Shit. Pretty hard not to tell them what we found when we’re covered in the evidence of it.”
My mom frowns and opens her mouth to reply. But her words never come. Instead, she’s interrupted by a loud shout. Shout is a kind word for the guttural shriek that pierces the air.
“What the hell was that?” I pull away from my mom’s arm and spin in place, tilting my head back and forth, using the echo to pinpoint the location. The train. It’s coming from the train.
I don’t think, I just run. I can hear my mom keeping pace behind me. I have no idea what to expect at first, but the closer we get, the more of a picture I start to put together.
The smell of blood wasn’t just from my clothes. It becomes an overpowering stench the closer we get to the train. I swear I can feel a bloody mist sprinkling against my face. And the sounds. Grunts, moans, and something all too similar to when we peeled the fur from the bear’s muscles, a kind of sinewy tearing.
I hop over the coupling between two train cars and lower instinctively into a crouch. I would like to think I’m prepared for anything. Another rival group of Rippers? A whole pack of wolves? Humans with AK47s and bazookas?
Nope. None of those things. In fact, there is nothing except our small ragtag group of survivors.
In pieces.
What. The. Fuck.
14
Kenzo
Are we there yet?
Memories of childhood road trips fill my head, but this… this is nothing like our old holiday drive to visit Grandma in Colorado. I know every kid thinks that being forced to sit in a car for hours on end is torture, but this… this gives new meaning to the word.
I swear I’ve done most of the walking with my eyes closed. It’s so flat, it’s not like I’m going to trip over anything. Besides, I trust Ellis to keep an eye on me.
The prickling sensation on the back of my neck, where Ellis’s eyes are focused, makes me think maybe I’m wrong to put such unwavering trust in him. There is at least a small part of him that’s just dying to tear into me… but I’m beginning to suspect it’s more than just a small part.
I’ve seen him gritting his teeth, clenching his fists, turning his head away. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was holding his breath. It’s deceptive, because he looks nearly human. All except for those eyes, pure black the whole way around. The scientist in me is curious about whether they are what make it so easy for him to see in the dark, or maybe it has something to do with protection from the sun, like extra melanin or something.
But then I remember that it’s all my fault, and I’m right back to hating myself all over again. I can’t bear to think about the positive aspects of his transformation. He shouldn’t have transformed at all. None of them should have. The original Shredders weren’t from my meddling—that was some other scientist in some other laboratory—but if we followed the chain of transmission, we would see that a lot of them are from my hand. Judith. Ellis. Kelly. And everyone they turned after that. Maybe Lori… The guilt weighs heavily on me, and I imagine it always will.
But maybe my blood can atone for my sins, cure them, set things right.
Bob, for some unknown reason, doesn’t seem to blame me like Kelly does. I mean, I changed his daughter’s genetics. You would think he’d hold at least a small grudge, right? I would, if the roles were reversed. But there he is, bobbing around without a care in the world. I don’t think he’s entirely sane. I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or bad.
Howell’s grumbling has been the soundtrack for our trek. Hours of muttering under his breath, but I can’t catch more than a few words. “Idiots… not how it’s supposed to be… better be right…” The scattered ramblings of a broken man? Possibly. But it’s more likely he’s just complaining. He had this whole trip all planned out before shit fell apart, and I guarantee it involved lots of soldiers (of the human variety) with big guns, and there probably wasn’t a portion to be traveled on foot.
He keeps pulling out a map that he can’t possibly read in the dark, scratching his head, before stuffing it back into his pocket. “Not there…” he mumbles. He’d better not have gotten us lost.
I stumble over something spongey and teeter before regaining my balance. God. My feet are throbbing. They’re way past sore, but at least they’re bordering on numb now. I glance down at my shoes. They weren’t made for this kind of hike. Although, I swear the ground isn’t nearly as hard and packed as it was before, so at least I have that to be grateful for.
It’s hard to put measurements to the small details, especially when we only come out during the dark and I can’t see anything. Bob has his flashlight, but he refuses
to use it. Says we have to save the batteries, but I have no idea what we’re saving them for. I wish I could use one to take a look at what I tripped over. It was a softer consistency, not something we’re used to these days. Soft implies life.
I take a slow breath in through my nose. Is it just my imagination or does it smell different? Fresher, somehow. We’ve been heading north for well over a week; I would imagine if we go far enough, we might meet the ocean. Hell, the arctic! Could you imagine? I wonder if there’s still ice left in the polar caps.
Though Ellis is nearly silent in his gait, the absence of sound from behind me has changed in some intangible way. I turn and see Ellis has stopped.
“Are you okay?” I ask. Howell doesn’t stop walking, of course. He keeps plodding along, muttering. Bob stops a few paces ahead of me, watching, listening.
Ellis’s head is bowed low to his chest, and he shakes it slowly. “I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can. You’re like a genetically altered super soldier! Look, my feet hurt too, but we have to keep going. Sunrise is coming, and we haven’t seen anywhere to take shelter. We don’t have a choice. If I can do it, so can you.”
“No, you don’t understand. It’s not my feet.” He scoffs softly, shaking his head at the ridiculous notion that he could possibly feel any physical strain.
I take a step closer, and he quickly backs up. “Don’t,” he hisses.
“What is it?” But the way he’s rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, I think I know what the problem is.
He’s hungry.
“I can’t keep you safe. Not even from myself.” He won’t look at me; it must be bad.
I’m already scanning the landscape, suddenly wide awake. “We just need to find you something to eat.”
“I’m so sorry, Kenzo…” I turn back to him, something about his voice grates against my spine. He finally looks up and his eyes are matte black, bottomless pits in the lightless landscape.
What is he apologizing for? A sick, sinking feeling begins in my gut, creeping down my limbs. I take a step back, and Ellis matches me, keeping me from retreating. With each step I take, he mirrors it.
My heart stutters in my chest, and Ellis tilts his head, listening to the unsteady beat. I try to make out his shadowy features, and I would like to believe there’s anguish there. Guilt.
“A cure, Ellis. We’re so close.”
“Are we, though? We could be walking straight to our deaths. Well, your deaths. Human deaths. When the sun rises, you’ll all be dead, but I’ll still be alive… right? That was the whole point to the mutated virus strain. So then, I’ll just be alone… and starving. Maybe it would be better to simply kill you now. I can be merciful, make it quick… and then I would still be alone, but at least I wouldn’t be hungry.”
I have to remind myself to breathe. My heart is like a hammer against my ribs, the air scraping the sides of my throat. I lick my lips, but there’s no saliva. Every single part of my body is currently focused on one sole function: survive. Adrenaline floods my bloodstream, my pupils are already dilated as wide as they’ll get, my muscles are primed to move.
Too bad we have no hope of being able to fight off this threat.
I can feel Bob at my back, slowly easing away from us. His self-preservation instinct has kept him alive this long, but I suspect this may be the end of the road for all of us. There’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
Is Howell even aware of what’s going on back here? I have the urge to peek over my shoulder, but I won’t take my eyes off of Ellis. Maybe if I maintain eye contact, remind him of everything we’ve been through together… “Stop, Ellis. Think about it. We’ve known each other for years. Years of service to the compound. Those citizens… they need us now, more than they ever have before.” Ellis doesn’t stop in his slow progression. I know his resolve is crumbling.
I need to get through to him! When I open my mouth, however, it’s not to bring up our friendship, every favor I’ve ever done for him. Something deep inside me realizes that it won’t be enough to break through the blood-lusting haze currently blinding him.
No, instead I say something even I wasn’t expecting.
“Lori.” Her name flutters past my lips, a mere whisper, but then I say it again with more confidence. “Lori!”
Ellis stutters to a halt. “What… what about Lori?”
Now I know I was right; he feels something for her. This is not the time to analyze whether it’s friendship or something deeper than that, but I won’t hesitate to use this in whatever way will keep us alive.
I need to tread lightly. “Lori has been struggling with hunger too. She’s been so strong, resisting it for so long.”
Ellis’s brow furrows, but his mouth relaxes. I’ll take that as a good sign, that he’s no longer baring his teeth at me. He lowers his hands down to his sides.
Bob clears his throat and carefully makes a dangerous gamble. “Maybe we could help you… take the edge off, like Kenzo did for Lori, like I did for Kelly.”
I hear the clack of Ellis’s teeth as he bites down hard. Even the suggestion is hard for him to handle.
“Run, Ellis. Run ahead and look for shelter, and we’ll… prepare you a snack.”
When he moves, a part of me thinks it’s too late, we didn’t get through to him. This is it, this is how I die.
But instead, he bounds off toward the horizon, and my weak human eyesight quickly loses track of him in the darkness.
My fight-or-flight response flags and I collapse to my knees on the ground. “Oh god, I’m gonna barf.” I plant my hands down and lower my head, waves of dizziness pulsing through me.
“Hey!” Howell shouts after Ellis. “Where do you think you’re going?”
What a jackass. I guess that answers my question; he didn’t have a clue, as focused as he was on his so-called destination. He comes trudging back to us, his grumbling now directed at us. “What the hell! What’s going on back here?”
“We just saved all our lives. You’re welcome.”
Bob and I sit down and go through the now-familiar motions of preparing a cup of blood. “Not you,” Bob says, shaking my head when I offer him my arm. “You’ve been losing too much blood as it is, what with feeding Lori. And now, with the lab ahead, I imagine they’ll need your blood for tests.”
Bob reaches towards Howell and he jumps back. “Hell no.”
Bob levels a glare at him, but I doubt Howell can even see it. “You will give some blood. If you want to survive this little trip of yours, you will help.” His voice doesn’t even waver. How can he be so calm after what we just went through? We nearly died!
Not that Howell seems to care. He snorts out a breath, but as it soon becomes very obvious that we’re not going anywhere without his cooperation, he grunts and finally gives in.
By the time Ellis returns, we have two full cups set out for him, a fair distance away from where we’re sitting, just in case he can’t control himself in his frenzy. I know that he can smell it. His feet set a frantic pounding pace as he descends on the meal. I plug my ears to the slurping and gulping. Ugh. That is so gross.
“How close are we?” Bob asks. That man is a saint, sensing that we need a distraction. Plus, you know, this is the million-dollar question. Are we there yet?
For a second, I don’t think Howell’s going to answer him. I mean, why would he? He likes to have all the power, all the control, but there’s another emotion that I’m not expecting as he grinds his teeth together. Frustration, maybe?
He scratches his head once, and then reaches into his pocket and pulls out the map. He flattens it down on the ground between us, and we all lean forward. It’s hard to make out more than the barest details, so Bob pulls out that flashlight. I guess this is what we’re saving those batteries for, and I gotta say, it’s a worthy cause.
The flare of electric light is enough to blind us all, but I can’t help but open my eyes wide despite the flash of pain. I need to know. Where the hell
are we?
Howell stabs his finger down on the paper. “Best I can tell, this is where we left the train.” Sure enough, it’s just before where the tracks would have crossed a river. “And here,”—finger stab— “is where the lab should be.”
“There’s nothing there,” I state the obvious, looking at the blank space under his finger. It looks like it’s smack dab in the ocean.
Bob drawls, “Yes, because they’re going to put the top-secret research lab on the map. Geez.”
I hate that he has a point.
Using my fingers against the scale in the corner—one thumb length equals 10 kilometers—and then trying to squeeze my brain into translating metric into numbers I can understand, I look deep into the surface of the map, as if it will impart some great wisdom.
“But…” When I look up into Howell’s face, I can see that I’ve come to the same conclusion that he has. “The landscape isn’t right. The coast should be right over there. There should be waves, sand. We should’ve been able to hear it or… smell it by now.”
As soon as I say it, I remember that I have noticed small differences to the ground and air, but nothing that would make me think we’re anywhere near a beach. I stand up and strain my eyes into the darkness. Yeah, as if squinting will somehow make everything clearer. Howell pans the flashlight back and forth, but the darkness just swallows up the beam.
Until it glances off of Ellis, standing straight in front of us.
“Jesus!” Howell startles, dropping the flashlight and grabbing at his chest. We’d better not have come all this way just to have him die of a heart attack.
Ellis steps forward to join us at the map. I tense as he crosses into my personal space, ready to run if I need to, but Bob, totally relaxed, just pats the ground, inviting him to sit. “Tell us what you saw out there,” Bob says, cradling his chin in his cupped hands.
The Shade Chronicles | Book 2 | Predator Page 13