The Dead Saga | Book 7 | Odium 7

by Riley, Claire C.

  “That’s what all the women say.” He laughed and winked.

  6.

  Nina

  “Well?” Highlander said, tightening the strap over my shoulder.

  For the first time ever, his expression was serious and I saw the man he was when he wasn’t being an asshole. His bottom lip was a little bigger than his top, and he had stress lines around his mouth—which I saw then because he was so close to me. He smelled faintly of sweat and oil, but it wasn’t overbearing, thankfully. I could smell the leather of his cut, and when I looked closely I could see the crude stitching around his patch.

  “Nina?” Stormy said my name as she placed her gentle hands on my back.

  Everyone was looking at me. Their eyes focused and intent…on me. I felt like I was under a microscope, everyone watching to see how the virus had changed. How it had mutated at the infusion of a new piece of equipment. The torture device being the equipment and me being the virus, of course.

  My mouth felt dry, my stomach queasy.

  I looked down at my arm, seeing the contraption attached to it, the rudimentary pieces welded and stitched together. I couldn’t tell you accurately what it was made out of, but I saw metal and leather and some kind of hard plastic that was the color of skin, but wasn’t fooling anyone into thinking it was a real arm—mainly because attached to the end of where my wrist should have been was a solid metal piece where, I guess, my hand should have been.

  “Can you move it okay?” Stormy asked.

  “Lift your arm up so I can check the hinges,” Balls said.

  “Is it comfy? Is it rubbing?” Stormy spoke, her gaze now moving over the fake arm.

  “Is it too tight around ya chest, Nina?” Highlander asked, standing back.

  “Does it hurt? I can put more padding in,” Stormy said, her gaze going back to me then.

  I couldn’t find my voice. My tongue lay flaccid like a dead fish in my mouth, like it had been washed up on the riverbank and the hot sun had dried out its flesh so that one little movement would split it wide open, revealing the putrid insides to the world.

  “Can ya fuckin’ speak, woman?” Highlander growled, getting irritated with my nonverbalness.

  “I…” I couldn’t get any words out still, and even I was getting annoyed by myself. I shook my head, my eyes filling with tears that I didn’t want to shed. “It feels fine,” I said, clumsily grasping at the thin threads of my sanity. “It doesn’t hurt,” I said to Stormy. I lifted my arm and Balls examined the underside of it. “It’s not too tight,” I said to Highlander.

  I chewed on the inside of my lip, biting so hard that I tasted blood, but it was good because the sharp sting of pain brought me back to myself.

  “It’s heavy,” I said, moving my arm up and down and testing it out. It creaked a little at the elbow and Balls grabbed a can of oil, squirting a little on. I moved it again and the squeak was gone. “I didn’t expect it to be so heavy.”

  Highlander was doing a weird little side smirk, like he thought he did good and so he got to be smug about it. Balls hadn’t looked at my face once, his eyes moving over the different parts on my new arm.

  “It’s just because you’re not used to the weight,” Stormy soothed kindly. “They made sure that it wasn’t any heavier than an arm usually is, but it will still take time to get used to it.”

  I nodded an okay. It was a firm nod, like I got it and was okay with it, when in reality I wasn’t sure that I was. But I’d go with it regardless. My problem, though, was that I didn’t see what the point was. I still couldn’t do anything with it. It was still just a useless appendage at the end of my stump that was good for nothing. But then I saw Highlander reaching down into a dirty gray gym bag by his feet and pulling out another part, a metal contraption that looks like a pair of cooking tongs. He reached over to my fake arm and inserted the tongs into the hole at the end, and I heard a derisive click as it connected.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “Women belong in the kitchen,” Highlander said seriously. “Thought this would help ya whip us up some burgers or some shit.”

  All of my softness evaporated and I was once again Nina—the Nina that no one fucked with. The Nina that grown men like that piece of shit should cower before. My eyes narrowed to slits and my top lip turned up in a snarl.

  “Are you fucking kidding me!” I snapped. I swung for him when he started to laugh, the plastic and metal connecting with his forearm with a nice-sounding bump. “One arm or not, I will punch your face in!” I yelled as he laughed more and more.

  And then I was all but lost in my rage—at him, at Scar, at the whole damn world. I swung for Highlander, and when he sidestepped me and tried to move behind Balls I swung for Balls instead, because I was quite happy to take both of those bastards out.

  I was panting, a light sheen of sweat on my forehead, when Highlander and Balls—both still laughing—held up their hands in defense.

  “All right, all right, wee one. Tell stumpy to back off, I was only joking,” Highlander chuckled. “It was just a test, and ya passed with flyin’ colors.”

  I stopped swinging and stared at him. “A test?” I snapped. “What test? Did you need some steaks thrown on the barbeque too? I swear to God I will beat you to death with this stupid thing!” I swung at him again and he grunted in pain, a grin still on his face as he grabbed me and swung me in to his body so that my back was against his chest. He held me tight to him, never loosening his grip.

  “I wanted to see if you were still in there,” he said against my ear. “Thought the best way to find out would be to piss ya off, and I was right, Queen B, you’re still in there. You’re still alive and kicking, and this thing,” he said, tapping on my stupid fake arm, “is strong as shit so stop hitting me with it, not because it’s gonna break but because it feckin’ hurts.”

  He shoved me forward and I stumbled, catching myself on the edge of the bed with my hand and stupid metal tongs. I spun to glare at him, my gaze going over all three of them. They all looked so happy with themselves, like they’d done something amazing.

  Behold, we created an arm that holds a metal tong.

  Bravo.

  Give us all the accolades and awards we deserve.

  “This is stupid,” I snapped. “This is useless to me! So my weapon now is a plastic stump to beat the dead with? What the hell use is that?”

  I was angry—more than angry. I was filled with rage that was growing like a furnace that someone was throwing logs on. I didn’t want to lose my shit like that, but it was really hard not to.

  “Calm ya little tits, Queen B, we’ve got other shit we can put on it,” Highlander said, reaching into his magic bag again. That time he pulled out a machete, and I almost cried. “Figured this would be a good place to start.”

  I watched him like a lioness stalking her prey as he came closer, switching out the tongs for the machete. It clicked in my fake arm in much the same way the tongs did, only this time my arm felt heavier. Not just in weight, but by burden.

  I was burdened by that machete. By these people and their kindness.

  I swung my arm—gently at first, and then more forcefully—quickly realizing that to get the right amount of strength I needed to put my whole body into the swing. I didn’t have a lot of strength in my bicep and shoulder anymore, but I could work with that. I could get strong, I could fight. I could save myself instead of being a victim.

  I felt powerful once more.

  Like a woman coming back from the brink of death.

  I was strong, like a Viking warrior—bloodthirsty and ready for battle.

  “I…” I stammered, my gaze going to my arm and then back to them repeatedly.

  Balls took a dramatic bow. “You’re fuckin’ welcome, Nina.” He pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and lit one, blowing out the smoke dramatically. Stormy hit him in the arm and ordered him outside, and he saluted me and left.

  Stormy looked between me and Highlander before excusi
ng herself and leaving us alone. There was nothing between me and Highlander other than mutual respect and equal dislike. I think that made us friends.

  “Thanks,” I said, finally. “This.” I held up my powerful arm and almost poked him in the belly with the sharp blade.

  He took a step back and chuckled. “Like Balls said, you’re very fuckin’ welcome. Ya gots ta be careful with that thing though. It’s sharp as hell and you’re not used to the reach of it yet.” He took a deep breath.

  “Are you saying I have short arms?” I gasped almost playfully, and I grinned.

  The grin felt strange on my face, like it belonged to someone else. I guess it did. It belonged to the old Nina, the one that died with Scar. But I guessed she wouldn’t mind if this Nina borrowed her smile for a little while.

  “I can get other things to attach to it,” Highlander said, pulling out a little black book from the pocket of his cut and flipping it open. “I was thinking a mace would be cool.” He showed the pad to me, and on it was a design of a sort of club with a skull carved into the end, long spikes coming out of it in every direction. “Devil’s Highwaymen style, obviously.”

  “Obviously,” I agreed.

  I looked up to him and then back down at the pad, my fingers reaching out to run along the image as I tried to imagine it on the end of my arm like I was some sort of crazy medieval warrior.

  “If that’s too brutal though… I mean.” He shrugged.

  “No, no, I love it,” I said, the grin back on my face as I looked up at him. “You can really do that?”

  “Fuck yeah, I can.”

  “Wow,” I said with genuine admiration. “Maybe we could even do one on a chain, maybe, like, so I can swing it and clobber the dead with it.”

  “It’s clobberin’ time!” Highlander said, a deep rumble of laughter coming from him.

  I frowned, the smile still on my face, because I recognized the line but couldn’t place it. And then I remembered it. It was from a movie that Ben used to watch all the time.

  Ben…

  God, how long had it been since I’d thought of him?

  My smile grew bigger and I felt like he was there with me. So was Mikey while I wore the machete attachment. And the club with the skull carved in it, would represent Shooter.

  I realized that I wasn’t alone at all; I’d have them all with me.

  “It’s clobbering time,” I said with a laugh.

  “You’ll need to strengthen your arms and shoulders,” he warned, putting the notepad away. You’ll need to build your strength back up for everythin’, Queen B.” He pinched my side. “You’re a skinny wee thing. I could snap ya like a twig.”

  I raised an eyebrow and lifted my arm. “Like to see you try,” I taunted, and he barked out another laugh.

  “Come on, let’s go show Shooter.” He started toward the door but turned back when I didn’t move. “What’s got up ya arse now?”

  “Did he know”—I lifted my arm, gesturing to the badass weaponry attached to my body—“about this? Did Shooter know about it?”

  “Know about it?” Highlander scoffed. “It was his idea.”

  He turned and left the room, and I stared after him in shock. I’d thought that Shooter saw me as weak and broken, someone, or something that he could now protect. I’d fought him every step of the way, thinking that he wanted me as his good little girlfriend, cooking, cleaning, and making babies, when in reality that wasn’t what he wanted at all.

  Shooter wanted me strong and capable. He wanted the fierce Nina back, even if he was opposed to the very idea that women could protect themselves and didn’t need a man to protect them.

  I didn’t know what to think about that. It went against the ideals that I had held about Shooter. He may have backed away from me, but it hadn’t been because he didn’t see me as his equal; it was because he was giving me space.

  God, I’d gotten everything wrong. And if I’d gotten this wrong—Shooter—what else had I gotten wrong, I wondered.

  7.

  Mikey

  I swung my knife around, slicing the deader across its bony neck and cutting it from its shoulders. The head hit the ground, bounced once, and then rolled a foot away. I walked over and stabbed it through the skull, my blade going in through its ear and out the other side. Its jaws stopped snapping immediately and I pulled the knife back out before moving on to the next deader.

  “There has to be a better way to get rid of these things,” Marley grunted as he stabbed his spear through the head of a deader. The resulting splatter as he pulled the weapon back out showered him in gore, and he gagged.

  “Don’t puke,” Moo called over with a laugh. She ducked underneath a deader’s outstretched arms, coming up behind it and slamming her hunting knife into the back of its skull.

  Marley wiped a hand down his face to clear away the rotting gore. “I still keep thinking this is one bad trip, man,” he said, looking decidedly green.

  I kicked a deader’s knees out from under it and it slammed into the ground, taking the brunt of my blade to the back of its neck. It didn’t sever the head, but it would have if I’d pushed a little further. Instead I placed my booted foot on its head and gritted my teeth as I pressed down.

  The weak skull collapsed under my weight, and the soft leather of my boots was coated in graying zombie brain. I took a step back, feeling no remorse.

  “That’s it, I’m gonna hurl,” Marley said, turning to the side and retching.

  Moo laughed manically, raising her two knives into the air victoriously. “I win, I win!”

  I grinned and shook my head. “Marley, man, I thought you were made of stronger stuff.” I tutted and stalked toward him.

  He was still bent at the knees, hurling noisily as Moo came and patted me on the back. “Told you he wouldn’t last five minutes out here.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “All right, all right, no need to be smug about it.”

  “I’ll quit the smugness when I get what you owe me,” she retorted, holding out a hand to me. “Hand it over!”

  I sighed exaggeratedly and reached into my camo pants pocket for my last remaining Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup.

  She snatched it away and shoved it deep in her own pocket with a haughty grin. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mikey. Same time next week?”

  “Fuck no, you hustled me.” I laughed and surveyed the area, making sure we’d gotten all the deaders.

  “Can I go back now?” Marley asked, standing up straight.

  I shook my head. “Grab a shovel, man. Dig a hole for your puke and then you can help us drag the bodies to the truck ready to drop in the pit.” Moo looked at me with hopeful eyes, and I smiled. “Go on, you’re done for the day. Get cleaned up and eat your candy bar in peace.”

  She thanked me and skipped off like any other kid her age would. But she wasn’t just any kid. Moo was one serious little badass. She could shoot better than most grown men, and her knife skills were just as impressive. Her mom, SJ, did a great job with her.

  The low groan of the wooden gate sounded out as Moo headed back inside, and I sheathed my knife and grabbed the first deader’s legs before starting to drag it toward the truck.

  It took an hour or so to get all the bodies piled in the bed of the truck, and then I sent Marley back inside. I didn’t mind taking the bodies to the pit myself; it wasn’t far—maybe half a mile or so. Far enough away that we didn’t smell them rotting in the sun, but not so far that it took long to get there.

  When I got there, I reversed the truck to the edge and then put the handbrake on before turning the engine off and climbing out. I pulled up the material around my neck so I didn’t have to breathe in the death scent too much, and then I climbed up on the back of the truck and into the bed of it. I could hear a low groan coming from inside the pit, and I took a quick look as I dropped the door of the bed so I could roll the bodies into the hole easily.

  Inside the pit was a live deader…wait, that’s an oxymoron, because those
things were neither living or dead, they were the living-dead, I guess. Whatever, it was there, half buried in other deader bodies. I guess it must have strayed into the hole and slowly started to sink into the putrefying depths as its feet went through the mushy, decomposing bodies. I stared down at it, feeling no sympathy or remorse, feeling absolutely nothing for the thing. It was once a human—a woman, from the looks of it—at one point. Maybe it was someone’s mom, or sister, or girlfriend. It was someone’s something, that was for sure. But now it was this thing. This non-human thing that would kill everyone and everything it could sink its teeth into.

  Logically, I knew that it wasn’t its fault. That there was little reason, or point, in hating it. Or hating its kind. For one, it felt nothing—no remorse, no grief, no guilt or shame. It only wanted to eat. The woman it used to be was long dead. And so was anyone who might have known it before it became an it. No point feeling hate toward something that didn’t care, right?

  And for two… I guess I covered everything in point one. Don’t hate what doesn’t care, doesn’t feel, and doesn’t deserve your hate.

  Pulling my pistol out, I aimed at its head, focusing hard until I knew that I was in the right place, and then I squeezed the trigger, letting off a single round into its skull. It stopped moving right away, its bone-thin body slumping forward onto its fallen brethren.

  I rolled the other bodies from the truck bed into the pit, burying the deader in more deaders, and then I closed the hatch and climbed back in my truck.

  Heading back to NEO, I took the longer route and swung by the small lake about a quarter of a mile from camp. I bet at one point the place was a real haven—a total beauty spot, with its shimmering lake and tall trees lining the banks. There was even a small beach area, though it was manmade and not natural, but I bet it was still great in the summer. I bet kids would have driven out there and camped for weeks at a time, sunbathing and swimming during the day, probably drinking and fucking at night. That’s what kids did back then, whether we liked it or not. Now, though, the place was a deserted hellhole and people only went there to kill off the things that washed up on the shores and then stumbled upon Haven.