People around the room nodded, and a few even looked relieved.
Parker moved to reclaim the stage, but Harwood turned slightly to put his back to her.
“And then,” he said, “we’re going to stop pretending we’re at some country club.”
Parker’s face twisted in anger.
“You think it was bad back at Hope?” Harwood said before Parker could interrupt. “That was nothing. There are groups of zombies out there that are thousands strong. If one of them hits this place, there won’t be anywhere to hide, and there won’t be any way to fight back. Every single person in this town will get torn apart. You’ll end up dead, or worse.”
The room fell silent.
He jabbed a finger at the crowd. “We are at war! It’s time we started acting like it.”
It seemed like everyone in the room looked at Parker. Her jaw was set, her lips pressed into a thin, pale line.
She fixed her eyes on Harwood. “And how exactly do you propose we do that?”
“Starting tomorrow, every single person will become responsible for the defense of this town. You’ll be taught how to fight. You’ll be taught how to take orders.”
The thin-faced man grinned in approval.
“And we’re going to fortify,” Harwood said. “There’s a construction site a few miles away. There’s lumber and other equipment. We’re going to go get it, and we’re going to build defenses so that when, and I mean when, the next zombie horde rolls through here, we’ll be ready.”
I could see Parker choosing her words carefully.
“We all appreciate what you and your men do here, Captain.” She paused. “But we are not turning Sanctuary into a military camp.”
“I’m not sure you’re the one that should be deciding that.”
Parker stepped forward until she was only a few inches away from Harwood. He was a foot or so taller than her, but she stared up at him, her face rigid.
“Let me make this very clear, Captain. I’m the one who has been charged with keeping these people safe. I am the one who should be deciding this.”
“With all due respect, Allison, when it comes to keeping people safe, you don’t have a very good track record.”
Parker flinched as though she’d been hit.
Before she could respond, a woman called out. “How dare you!”
The crowd parted as the woman whose son had been killed, Mercy, pushed her way to the front. “You’re the one murdering innocent boys!”
“I did what had to be done,” Harwood said.
“Monster!”
“Your son was the monster, Mercy.”
Mercy screamed and ran at him. Her hands clawed at his face, and he had to twist away.
“Mercy, no!” Melissa said.
She dived forward and wrapped her arms around the woman’s waist. Harwood pushed Mercy back. He slapped her across the cheek, the sound sharp.
The crowd gasped.
Mercy struggled in Melissa’s grip, railing and screaming at him. Tears streamed down her face. A woman joined Melissa and helped her pull Mercy away.
Agitated chatter filled the room. Two men shoved at each other until their friends separated them. The meeting room doors were open, but two of Harwood’s men were blocking the exit, their hands resting on their rifles.
“Please,” Parker said, “everyone stay calm.”
A woman in front of me shouted. “But what are you going to do? What about Harwood’s idea? It sounds good to me.”
A handful of voices added their agreement, but as many people looked doubtful.
Parker looked at Harwood. She held his gaze for a few seconds then took a deep breath. “I’ll be talking to Captain Harwood. Together, we’ll come up with a plan.”
Harwood smiled at Parker’s emphasis on the word together. He looked at the men at the back of the room and gave a slight nod. They stepped aside.
“Now please,” Parker said, “it’s late. Go back to your homes. We’ll continue this in the morning, once we’ve all had a chance to calm down.”
There was more muttering and disgruntled chatter, but most people seemed satisfied, and gradually, the crowd began flowing out of the room. Parker watched them leave, concern etched across her face.
Harwood was watching them, too, but he seemed slightly annoyed, as though he hadn’t quite gotten the outcome he was hoping for.
Melissa pushed past him and spoke to Parker. She nodded, but her lips were pressed into that familiar line again.
I waited for the crowd to thin a little then started to make my own way out. Santos stepped in front of me.
“Hold on, the captain wants to talk to you.”
I moved to go around her, but she blocked me. “It won’t take long.”
Captain Harwood was already walking across the room in our direction.
He paused when he got alongside me. “Let’s go outside.” There was no threat in his voice, but Santos was watching me intently.
I nodded, and Harwood led me out of the town hall.
He directed me toward the tree in the center of the square. “Have you thought any more about my suggestion?”
“About joining your team?”
“Yes.”
“Like I said, hunting’s not really my thing.”
Harwood regarded me for a minute. “I think you can see what’s going to happen here. Parker’s losing her grip. One more ‘incident’ like today, and she’ll be gone.”
“You sound pretty confident that’s going to happen.”
“It’s only a matter of time. We’re living in a war zone. Bad things happen.”
We reached the tree and stopped. The moon was shrouded in clouds, and the bulk of the tree shaded us from view. Melissa and Parker came out of the town hall. Someone I didn’t recognize followed them out and locked the door. The three of them stood on the steps for a short while, talking, then went their separate ways.
I watched Melissa head down the street toward the houses. I felt like a spy, lurking in the shadows.
Harwood continued. “Look, we’re going on a supply run tomorrow. I’m taking some civilians from the town, and I want you to be one of them.”
“Why me?”
“Because I know who you are, who you really are.”
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “Who I really am?”
“Yes, you can hide it from people like Parker and her grease monkey, but I can see beneath your mask. I’ve served with people like you.”
“I’m not a soldier.”
“Not in the traditional sense, no. But you have a killer’s instincts, and that’s something I can use.”
I shook my head. “I haven’t even decided if I’m staying.”
“You’ll stay. There’s nothing for you out there.”
I tried to look noncommittal.
“Listen, Marcus. Parker’s right, the human race will come back from this, but she’s not going to like it when it does. It’s not just the zombies out there. Gangs are forming. People are taking sides. Parker isn’t equipped to deal with that kind of threat. One way or another, the people here are going to see that.”
“Especially with you to help things along?”
Harwood smiled at me. The town hall might not have gone how he’d wanted, but his voice was full of the confidence of a man who knows he’ll prevail eventually.
The idea that he might have let the zombie in to help his cause hit me. It seemed all too plausible. I had no doubt he was capable of unleashing a swarm of zombies on the town if he thought it would serve his purpose.
I had the sudden urge to slam a knife into his heart. The shadow twitched as I imagined the blood flowing over my hand.
“Sorry, but I really don’t like picking sides,” I said.
“You’ll have to, eventually.”
“Then I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”
“It may be too late for me to help you by then.”
“That’s a risk I’ll have to take.”
The cap
tain held my gaze for a few seconds then bowed his head. “In that case, I’ll say good night.”
“Good night.”
The captain and Santos walked away. The shadow and I watched them go.
Chapter 36
Supply Run
I woke early the next day, instantly alert. It was five a.m.
I’d decided to go along with Harwood’s request and go on the supply run, but I still had plenty of time before I needed to be at the gate. I tried to get back to sleep, but the shadow intervened. It kept replaying the last few days’ events—my time with Ling, the loss of my tools, the burned zombie, and the way I’d killed him. Should-haves and could-haves burrowed deep into my mind and stayed there, firing little doses of frustration and self-doubt until I gave up and got up and went to the shower. The water was cool, and the stream was weak, but it felt good anyway.
All being well, I was planning on coming back from the supply run. I’d learned my lesson from the last time. I needed to prepare, put together a plan that would get me safely away from Sanctuary, and then execute it. The first step was to find somewhere I could wait out the winter.
Ling had said the construction site wasn’t suitable for them, but maybe there was a smaller building, or maybe I could build something. I smiled grimly at that—I didn’t have the skills to build a bird table, let alone a shelter that would stand up to winter storms. More likely, I’d be able to scope out supplies and then find somewhere more practical nearby.
As I dried myself off on the thick towels in the bathroom, I thought about Harwood’s offer. He had a point. The world really had changed, and when push comes to shove, civilization breaks down very quickly. All that guilt starts to overflow, and people revert to their natural state—animals.
Still, I had no intention of siding with either side.
I didn’t trust Harwood, and the idea that he even thought he understood the real me was terrifying. In a way, it was also oddly comforting. The thought that there might be people in Sanctuary that would empathize with me enough for me to be able to work flickered through my mind again. I frowned and tutted. I was being an idiot. Harwood wanted people he could control.
Parker I was less sure about, but Harwood’s assessment of her situation seemed accurate. She was losing her grip on the town. He clearly had his supporters—not everyone was as loyal as Melissa.
At that, I paused, and the memory of Melissa’s lips against my cheek surfaced. I crushed them back down before they could take root, but they lingered at the periphery of my mind as I made breakfast.
The fridge in the kitchen was turned off, presumably to save power, and there was no milk, but a paper bag held four small bread rolls. I found a jar of peanut butter in the cupboard. There were cereals, too, and I poured a bowl, using a splash of water to take the edge off the dryness. It wasn’t exactly a feast, but it would do.
I found a small backpack hanging on the door to the house’s basement. Melissa hadn’t mentioned there was a space under the building. Possibilities flashed through my head as I found the light switch and turned it on. Fluorescent lights sputtered to life, bathing the basement in a harsh white glow.
It was a simple space—concrete floor, whitewashed cinder block walls. A sagging bookshelf laden down with yellowing magazines stood against one wall, and a huge sofa dominated another. It was brown leather and, other than a thick layer of dust and a smattering of cobwebs, looked almost new. There was a pool table, also covered in dust. Four cues sat in a rack hanging from the wall nearby.
I walked slowly around the table, my fingers trailing across its surface as I played out a dozen scenarios in my head, all of them featuring the zombie I’d killed the day before. I stumbled, my feet catching the edge of a jagged crack that cut across part of the floor.
Dismissing the thoughts of zombies, I took the stairs out of the basement two at a time and flicked off the lights, grabbing the backpack as I closed the door behind me.
There was a clock hanging on the wall in the kitchen. I focused on its soft tick-tick-tick and waited for it to tell me I should leave.
The shadow was a constant presence—like a pressure against my mind. There was guilt in Sanctuary. I should be the one to deal with it. The basement was the key. The shadow’s whispers crowded around me like the people at the meeting, but this I was used to. The shadow had been a part of me almost as long as I could remember. I let its words wash over me, not resisting but not succumbing either.
I left as late as possible before meeting Harwood and the others at the gate. After the town hall meeting, everyone would know my face, and I wanted to avoid the inevitable thank-yous and claims of “you’re a hero.”
By the time I got to the main gate, people were already climbing into the white trucks I’d seen the day before.
Santos noticed me arrive and gave me a curt nod that was almost respectful. She stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled. Harwood heard her, and she pointed toward me.
When he saw me, the corner of his mouth turned up into a slight smile, and smug satisfaction filled his eyes. Seeing it made me want to walk straight past him as though my presence were mere coincidence. I resisted the urge, but the shadow took note, bumping Harwood up its list of future subjects.
“Glad you could make it, Black,” Harwood said. He pointed to the rearmost truck. “You can go in Bravo.”
I nodded and made my way to the back of the truck.
Santos was standing beside the open tailgate, an automatic rifle hung over her shoulder. She smirked and offered me a hand. I ignored it and climbed awkwardly up into the truck. Laughing, she tossed me a sheathed knife. The handle was worn, but the blade was sharp. I clipped it to my belt.
Muscles was already sitting on a tool chest that was bolted to the truck bed. He was leaning against the vehicle’s cab. A baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire sat on the floor at his feet.
He slapped his hand against the space beside him on the chest. “Hey, bro, you can sit here.”
I didn’t have much choice; it was either the chest or the truck bed. There was a heavy metal clunk behind me as Santos closed the tailgate.
“Sit down, Black,” she said. “We don’t want you falling out of the truck and breaking your neck before we even get there.”
Muscles shifted around, bouncing with excitement like a five-year-old. Leather straps hung from the back of the cab to give people something to hold on to while the truck was in motion. Muscles grabbed one. I joined him on the chest and did likewise. Santos got into the front of the truck with Novak. The engine roared to life.
Metal rattled, and I heard the creak of the gate being pulled back. There was a dull pop, and a small cloud of black smoke billowed out of our truck’s exhaust as we pulled away.
Muscles’s excitement was palpable. As the vehicles rolled through the gate, he slammed the side of the truck and shouted, “Woohoo!”
Santos tapped against the glass and glared out at him. Muscles twisted his mouth, looking guilty, then called, “Sorry!”
She shook her head and went back to looking out the front of the truck.
Muscles elbowed me hard in the arm. “She’s got a thing for me, bro.”
My eyebrows twitched up in surprise. He grinned and flared his eyes. This was going to be a long trip.
I got a closer look at the rest of the town as the trucks rolled through it, weaving their way steadily past abandoned cars, a couple of burned-out vans, and an ice cream truck that stood incongruously on the lawn of a church.
There were other signs of the zombie outbreak. Smashed windows and broken doors, cases of clothes strewn across the road, discarded toys. It took me a while to realize what was missing. There were no bodies, and no zombies.
Once we got into the forest, the trucks picked up speed. They bumped and bounced over ruts and potholes, splashed through puddles. Muscles was having a great time. He grinned and kept letting out little whoops of delight, quieter this time to avoid Santos’s wrath. His baseball bat slid
loose and began rattling around the truck’s bed. I gripped the leather strap and hoped the jostling wouldn’t tear my arm out of its socket.
Eventually, the truck slowed then bounced heavily as it turned onto a main road. A few minutes later, we merged onto a highway.
Now that we weren’t riding the roller coaster of the road from Sanctuary, Muscles decided it was the right time to make conversation and unleashed a rapid-fire stream of words, bouncing from topic to topic without really giving me time to do much more than nod and indicate my assent with one-syllable words.
It suited me fine. I ignored most of what he was saying and studied the scenery around us instead, trying, and failing, to work out where we were.
We traveled the highway for maybe an hour before the trucks took a smaller road. A couple of minutes after that, we reached the beginning of a construction road. It was narrow, just wide enough for one vehicle with the occasional wider stretch for passing. The trees on either side had been cut down. Every now and then, we passed piles of building materials, mostly gravel, but some wood and barrels of something or other. Each time we did, the trucks slowed, and Santos made notes on a pad.
The trail cut directly through the forest, climbing steadily. The going was slower, but we still had to resort to holding on to the leather straps until the trucks reached the crest of a hill and pulled into a small clearing. Santos and Novak got out of the truck.
Muscles retrieved his errant baseball bat then held his hand out for Santos to help him down. She gave him a withering look, which he responded to with a broad grin. He hopped out of the truck.
Santos glowered at his back, and I sensed genuine hostility there. Clearly, something about Muscles rubbed people the wrong way. I jumped down off the truck and walked over to where Harwood, Novak, and two other men that I didn’t recognize were standing next to a sign that read Future Home of Sunrise Pines.
Ahead of us lay a lake, the water glistening slightly in the morning sunlight. The road continued on for a few feet before diving down the hill, cutting through the forest for a mile or so until it reached the lakeshore and the broad expanse of the construction site itself.
Serial Killer Z: Volume One Page 45