The blowhorn either blares earlier than usual this morning, or I’m so far gone in my dreams that I missed resting. My head is wrapped in Luke’s arm, and he sluggishly pulls away, getting out of bed.
“Let’s go, Ky. Get up. Get to your room so you can get suited and not miss breakfast.”
I roll out of bed, craving another hour. Dragging my feet to the hall, the one person I never want to see me come out of Luke’s room catches me every morning. Each time I open the door, he passes, meets my eyes, and without a good morning, looks away. Each morning, I walk to my room with a red face, embarrassed Marc knows I sleep with my brother.
Usually, I wouldn’t care. Yes, I’m older and can’t sleep alone out of refusing to relive the nightmares that bring out the killer in me. Because yes, it kills me to relive them. Yes, this is a new room, and yet my old room still haunts me when I’m alone. The things that happened in there still crowd my dreams. And yes, Luke’s right. It’s something I will have to get a handle on.
Creations don’t know fear, I remind myself, hoping if I drill it in deep enough, it will become true.
I dress in the required jet-black suit, bulletproof vest with my name stitched into the right side of my chest, combat boots, scarf that I keep tied around my neck, gloves that I tuck into my pockets, and head gear that I hold and will not put on unless necessary. It’s heavy, and I’m still not used to it after wearing it for the month and a half I’ve been here.
Luke’s waiting for me by my door when I yank it open. “You didn’t sleep well?”
“I don’t remember sleeping,” I admit.
“You whooped my ass all night. Were you dreaming of fighting? Is it getting worse?”
I did dream about fighting, but not fighting the ones who haunt my nightmares. “Yes, I was. No, it’s not getting worse.” I close the door before we start to the stairs. “I was dreaming about fighting here. It wasn’t a nightmare.”
“Good.”
The mess hall is mellow. Everyone is still half asleep and lacks energy. We are usually greeted by calm chatter and people walking around. Not today. They’re all quietly sitting at the tables, eating. I’m guessing it may have something to do with the vaccines they’ve been administering. Whatever the disease they’re trying to fight is, it seems more like they’re trying to find the cause of it.
“Kylie and Lukahn, may I have a word with you?” Jord requests as we approach the food counter.
We straighten, standing at attention. “Yes, sir,” we say in unison.
“Your units will join another chief’s for today. We need the two of you for something else.” He stares at us, transmitting something with his eyes. I can’t read into it. “Respond!”
“We understand.”
He nods and turns on his heels, heading out of the mess hall.
I grab two trays, handing Luke one. “What do you think it is?”
“Not sure,” he looks over his shoulder, “but they’re preparing to leave, so we’ll find out after breakfast.”
I grab a roll and continue down the line as I throw glances over my shoulder. “Maybe it has something to do with why they brought us into Separation so early.” I spoon hard scrambled eggs on my plate before moving on to the porridge.
Luke follows, taking the same food as me. “I don’t think so. Did you see the way he looked at us?”
I spoon up some hash browns and grab a carton of milk. “Yes, it was peculiar.”
We sit at an empty table. Usually, we sit with the other leaders of our draft, but before we leave, we need to figure out what we may be getting into. Or what we are leaving for. Luke wouldn’t admit to experiencing worry, and aloud, neither will I, but every day we ride the lines of being discovered.
“He’s suspicious of something. Or maybe curious.”
“What have we done to make him curious?”
“I cannot say.” Luke takes a bite of his roll and adds, “The only thing I can think of is your episode,” he says, chewing.
“I don’t think so, Luke. No one was around.”
“The nurse was around.” He takes another bite. “She could have said something.”
I’ve failed to consider that. “Do you think she suspected something and reported it?’”
Mockingly, he states, “Let’s see, Ky.” He drops his fork down after picking it up. “After she administered the shot, you were dazed and incoherent. You bolted out of the hall the moment she turned her back. And,” he practically sings, “regurgitated on the side of the building. Not to mention your lack of fight.”
I breathe in, taking in the truth of his perspective. “This may be what he wants to talk about. Maybe check how we move and respond to see if we’re affected by the vaccines.”
“I can’t be sure. Maybe. Seeing as we have no choice but to go, we’ll find out soon enough.” His eyes drop to my plate. “Eat your food. You’ll need the energy,” he says, pointing around my plate with his fork.
“You’re not worried about what we’ll get into?” I ask, picking up my roll.
“Why worry about something I have no control over? Good or bad, it’s going to happen. We are always prepared for the unexpected. Just pay attention to detail. And read between the lines of what they say.”
I eat my food, going over his words. At the last sip of my milk, Jord comes to our table. He nods toward the door as he says, “Let’s go.” We rise and follow him out. Everyone’s glares pinned on the back of my head nearly burns a hole through me. And if Cory’s in here, witnessing the personal request of his commander, I’m bound to be questioned by him on my return. If I return.
Luke and I get into the backseat of a black Humvee. Jord and a man I don’t recognize are in the front. The unknown man wears his tinted goggles tight over his eyes, and his scarf sits upon his chin with his mouth exposed. I watch him, curious as to why he’s chosen to wear the goggles in the truck. We are in the clear; there’s nothing requiring the extra protection.
“Luke,” Jord calls light-heartedly, a different personality peeking out from his usual hard-ass façade. “Your rank is being tested by Marcain, huh?”
“I will remain top in the ranks, Sir Jord. There is no test,” Luke answers confidently, unaffected by the implication. Unlike Jord’s slack shoulders and upbeat tone, Luke sits as though he’s got a stick stuck up his ass, never allowing anyone to see him relaxed or comfortable in public.
“He’s cutting it pretty close,” Jord continues. “Make sure you hold your rank. There is a promotion to captain waiting for you if you remain number one in ranking.” He turns in his seat to face Luke.
“I understand,” Luke says, a thought cutting off his words.
“What about you, Kylie? You and Collins are neck and neck. That brawl against Marcain set you back.” He chuckles. “It’s quite amusing how it’s the same cadet that’s causing the two of you trouble.” He turns in his seat and steals my gaze. “Is there a falter with him?”
I’m sitting behind him, and I do my best to not show how his insinuation has thrown me for a loop. Keeping my spine straight and my face blank, I assure him, “No, sir.” But I feel small at the mention of my hesitation with Marc and how noticeable it was.
“With Marcain, you were not at your best, Kylie. Now,” he carries on with a husky chuckle, “you put up a damn good fight. Very entertaining. But I know from what I’ve seen from you, you can do better. Much better.” He faces forward. “I thought you two were going to go against each other.”
I would’ve preferred to go against Luke. I wouldn’t have been so easily distracted. “It appeared Collins wanted to fight against Luke. I fell in line and went against Marc, sir.”
He nods slowly, eyeing a building sitting in the middle of the desert, nothing in the distance but red-dusted mountain hills and landslides. The light from the rising sun rests on the tip of the small home. Two bedrooms, tops, and maybe a kitchen with a neighboring living room. Nothing but a front door and a window on each side of it is visible on the structure.
&n
bsp; “Off road there,” Jord says to the driver, pointing to the structure. “Where did that come from?” he says to himself. The truck pulls in front of the house, kicking up dust that blurs our destination. “Lukahn, Kylie. Go check it out,” Jord commands.
We exit the truck. Luke takes one side and I the other. We meet at the front, dust slowly settling around us.
Luke steps first, and I follow. We pull our guns from the holsters resting on our lower backs and cross the dirt to the small house.
I reach for the knob.
Luke puts out his hand, stopping me. He extends his index finger.
I wait.
He points to his ear and then the wall.
I listen, hearing nothing but the rumbling of the truck. Luke nods for me to go ahead.
I reach for the knob again, turning it. It’s unlocked, and I nudge it open.
Neither of us enter, waiting on the wooden door to finish whining open. It knocks softly against the wall before swinging back toward us an inch or two.
The sun beams have burst through the entrance, lighting a wood floor, table, and a wall with floral wallpaper. I nod at Luke to go in. He nods in agreement, and we enter with caution, guns aimed and loaded. I always keep a bullet in the chamber with the gun on safety. It’s quieter to click my automatic handgun off safety than to cock it back to load it.
The heat of the desert has warmed the wood and the wall plaster. The mix of smells burns my nose. A room to my left, small like a closet, is empty. The home is quiet; I’d likely hear a bead of sweat glide off my forehead and sizzle on the wood floor.
A squeak in the floorboard sounds in the shadows of a room the sun doesn’t reach, just beyond the wall that’s parallel to the entry. I whip around to Luke, making sure he heard it too.
He nods after looking around on his side once more. He had opened a closed door that exposed a toilet and sink.
On my side, there’s only this dark room where something just moved in. Luke moves to my side, swiftly but quietly.
A light reflective surface shines in the room then charges for us.
I fire. Two shots boom through the silence. A soft thump, and something collapses, falling lifeless onto the floor. The sound comforts my slight rise of panic. We cautiously approach the body on the floor.
“Good job, Ky. You saved us from an attack by a coyote.”
“I didn’t know it was a coyote,” I say mildly. His sarcasm annoys me. “If I did—”
“Shh,” he hushes urgently.
Nails are scraping along the wall to our left. My heart rate spikes, startled by the unexpected noise. We’ve let our guards down. The coyote must have only been a diversion.
We examine the area, seeking the thing or person that caught us by surprise. Nothing’s here.
“You heard that, right?” I whisper.
“Yes,” Luke utters. “Let’s move.”
Back-to-back, him facing the door and me facing the room, we walk stealthily from the shadowed room.
More sunlight has snuck into the living area, brightening the pinks and oranges of the floral wallpaper. It depicts flowers falling from a blossom tree. It’s nice but is old and outdated.
Luke abruptly stops behind me, causing me to nearly stumble over him.
He doesn’t breathe. He nudges my back, and I hold my breath and remain as still as possible though I’ve not seen what’s caused him to falter. I turn around, shoulder to shoulder with Luke, staring at a man and two children in the shadows near the door.
They are, I notice as I examine them cautiously, not average humans. Their gray skin is beaten, scratched, broken, and torn.
Bruises cover their bodies. Some wounds need stitches, but they do not bleed. Their hair is matted with dirt and rubbish I’m assuming they have picked up along their journey. The two little ones growl at us.
My brows twitch, hearing the unanticipated sound. The angry faces suggest we are the weird-looking ones, the ones who will cause them damage.
The corner of my mouth twists upward, holding back a grin as I realize we are the ones who will cause them damage. They’re right to growl.
“I’m going to shoot them,” I say low to Luke, but sure, at this distance they can hear me. I just don’t care.
The little boy screams and charges at Luke and me. Teeth bared, canines sharpened into skin-shredding points. Tongue black with white buds. His lips have splits displaying red under his colorless skin.
Luke kicks him back before he can reach us, boot ramming into the boy’s chest, not killing him but knocking him off balance.
At least, it was supposed to. The boy only takes a step back and charges again, making a sound I can only describe as a hungry snarl. Luke kicks him harder, and the boy stumbles backward into the legs of the other one who may be his father.
Jord and the man from the truck rush through the door. The girl disappears into the shadows, but the father and son remain, mouths open, teeth bared, drooling growls escaping them. They crouch like animals preparing to attack.
I don’t do well with things I don’t understand.
Raising my gun, I cock it back, aiming at the man. I fire as he jumps for Jord.
The little boy groans, and without a word or perceivable movement, the unknown man blasts him with a shotgun. As I watch the little boy fall to the floor, lifeless, I’m tackled, hitting the floorboards.
Tiny hands and feet claw and pull at me. I turn over to fight the little girl who had disappeared into the shadows.
“Eyes and mouth closed, Kylie! Lukahn, do not let it bite her. Don’t let it scratch her,” Jord says urgently, shoving a point in my direction.
If I close my eyes, I have no way to defend myself. But I shut them, following orders. No way will your leader tell you to block your defenses without knowing something you don’t.
I blindly punch the air, working on getting the wild child off me. She claws at my suit, and I’m grateful they’ve made us wear them.
“Kylie, stop, don’t move,” Luke says.
I cover my face so the girl can’t scratch it. A single shot bursts through the air. The small body is thrown off me.
I jump from the floor, searching for her corpse. I shoot it twice. Once for panicking the heck out of me, and the second for being so little and having that much fight in her.
The man continues to groan on the floor.
My bullet went straight through his skull. And yet, he rises.
Dead weight limply gets up from the floor. First facing the wall, his head quickly jerks toward us.
I’m in awe, not able to think, not able to respond to his actions. A man—dead—I know he’s dead. I shot him in his head, a temple shot straight through. No one could survive that.
“Lukahn, shoot,” Jord’s slow yell pulls me from my study of the living dead man. “Head shot!”
Luke’s gun rises in my periphery. One shot rings out, and the man’s head knocks back, his face now pressed to the back of his skull.
Pulling my eyes away from the new astonishment, I rest them on Luke. I throw out my hand for his firearm. “Lemme see that.” How was he able to do it and I wasn’t?
Putting my gun back in its holster, I take the weapon Luke holds out to me. It’s much heavier than mine. Removing the magazine, I notice the bullets are not the same. It’s a nine-round modified magazine, but with the remaining three bullets in place, there’s only room for two more.
I pop out one of the bullets. It’s heavier than the typical round for this M9 with a completely silver casing and a green line of liquid centered in the bullet from the rim to the tip. I hold up the bullet between my thumb and index finger, and ask Jord, “What just happened?”
“We currently do not have a name for them. We only know they exist, are dangerous, and contagious. Their bites and scratches turn you.”
“Like them?” My question is flinty, but if it were only Luke and I talking, my voice would have been squeaky and high-pitched. It would have expressed how irrational I feel about th
ese living dead humans you can shoot―in the head―but not kill regardless of the bullet being used.
“Yes. Something worse or nothing at all,” he responds numbly. “We’ve been researching the issue, researching the actual dead product and the—” he stops, thinking with his index finger bent to his bottom lip, “—live corpses.”
“We suspect them to be dead although we identify them as appearing alive,” the driver says in a deep, hollow, emphatic voice. “But they are truly dead. They do not portray their humanity as we do. When cut open, the heart is dead with no blood flow, but the brain is alive, and it functions for motor response. However, personality and logic are absent. Reasons for why this has occurred, or what this is, remain inconclusive.”
“In hopes to terminate them,” Jord starts, “we brought in Creations to experience this half of the war before the big one. Creations are the only ones who seem to be able to survive the virus when administered the vaccines.”
Neither of them follows up, waiting for Luke and me to respond. I’m not sure what it is they’re expecting us to say. We—I—have no opinion. We have no say in the orders they give.
“What’s the bigger war if they are not it?” Luke points to the child corpse.
Neither of them respond. When it becomes clear Luke and I aren’t moving on until we get an answer, the unknown man, still wearing his goggles, finally says, “Preparation has been set in motion for the Vojin’s threat to enter our atmosphere and conduct world domination.” My expression remains at ease, but the news is more than shocking. They know about us. Our plan. “They have informed us they will soon come. And we will be helpless.”
Luke nods. “This, the dead corpse, is why we are early. The threat is the reason for this Separation.”
“That is incorrect,” Jord responds. “The corpse is our war; saving our country’s humanity is essential. Maintaining the human race is our priority. The walking dead were unexpected, yes. Fighting them alone is ineffective. Separation is for their defeat. They are spreading like wildfire, multiplying nightly.” He starts toward the door. We follow, and he continues, “The Vojin are what hastened the early arrival. We do not know their plan, only that there is a threat in place. We do not take threats lightly. Human or extraterrestrial, dead or alive.” He exits the house, heading for the truck. “Let’s continue on this journey. We’ll show you why we have brought you two out here today and away from your units.”
Imminent Threat Page 10
