Respire

by Cody Prough

  Romero groaned, running her hand over the back of her neck as she moved towards the houses, pausing. “Nobody came back in yet?” Romero’s question caught George off guard just as he was starting to relax, he jumped up when she spoke. “What? Oh, uh…yeah, no. Most of ‘em are downstairs with boss man now.” George’s face flushed as he looked away, continuing to work. Romero continued to watch him, holding her stare for what felt like entirely too long, then glanced at her men. “The basement you said?” George nodded, moving to grab some supplies. Romero watched him for a moment before heading inside the house.

  Patrick had been watching the scene from upstairs, his barrel hidden behind a curtain, he had his rifle trained on George at first, then to Romero. If he hinted at them, he was going to make it personal and light everyone up. His position now reminded him of a story about an infamous gangster, Jimmy something. He was perched on a building and emptied an entire magazine at his rivals. If Patrick recalled correctly; he missed every single one of them. He only hoped he would have a higher body count if it came to it, not including his own.

  But much to his surprise, Romero went inside alone while her squad smoked and George loaded up the supplies. Now it was up to Lamar to not be spotted and the show could begin. As she entered the house and the boxes were being loaded into the bus, Patrick moved the sight of his rifle along with one of the grunts working alongside George. He could hear her slowly walking through the house, no doubt checking it over.

  Lamar heard her entering, the door creaked open as she walked into the front of the house. Her boots slowly moved across the floor, while Lamar’s finger gently ran over the trigger guard. The barrel of his shotgun aimed towards the closet door nearest to the kitchen. His breathing surprised him by being steady.

  Her feet were practically dragging, as Lamar tried to track her across the house. With the floor creaking and the sound of his beating heart in his ears he had a hard time placing her, but by his best estimate she was by his door.

  Hurry up and move, lady...

  Lamar took a deep breath, holding it as he readied himself. Much to his surprise and relief, he heard her moving into the kitchen, and ultimately into the basement. Her boots stomping down the steps as she proceeded to the second basement door.

  When she pushed the door open, seeing the residents of the Sick Ward all huddled in a corner confused her, but she was more confused when she looked to the right and saw a body covered in a sheet. While registering this, she took a moment to look to her left.

  Steve held the .45, standing just out of reach at the side of the door with his gun trained at Romero’s head. When she entered butt of his gun slammed into her with force. It knocked her down on top of Tennessee’s body, the sheet tugged off as she dropped her gun and spilled to ground. Steve, wasting no time, grabbed her roughly by her arms and forced her up, blood pouring down her face, she was barely aware of what was going on when the barrel of the .45 was shoved at the base of her spine. “If you move, you’re a cripple.” He pushed her towards the stairs roughly, she stumbled, falling. “Fuck…filth …” Steve let out a laugh, un-fuckin’ believable. They’re lootin’ and takin’ us hostage. An’ we’re the filth?

  “Hey, if you don’t tell your men to stand down when we get out there. Mine’ll kill all of ‘em. Then we’ll start slowly rippin’ off your fuckin’ fingernails. Got it?” Steve shoved her into the wall, pressing the gun against her back, moving his lips by her ear, whispering delicately. “And if you don’t tell me where she is, I’m going to make this even slower for you. Understand?” Steve pushed her up the stairs again, keeping his gun pressed against her, but still couldn’t help but let out a stifled laugh at the last remark: “Hijo de puta.” Romero sneered at Steve as she was pushed.

  On the front lawn George was helping load the last of the supplies into the bus, he risked a glance up at the window, where Patrick had since vacated. It must be about time, George took a few cautious steps back, the other guys were bullshitting about playing cards later, something about breaking out their beer rations. Lamar had moved from the closet and relocated to the back of the house when Steve emerged from the basement, then to the side nearest George, out of view of Romero’s squad.

  When Steve emerged into the front yard with the barrel of his .45 pressed to Romero’s tailbone, Patrick emerged from the south side of the house, opposite from Lamar. As Patrick became visible one of the guards pulled his handgun, before he got off a shot Patrick fired a spray of three bullets in quick succession, hitting the man in his torso. The bullets ripped through, barely missing George. Before the other two men could react everyone had their guns trained on them.

  After being forced at gunpoint to move their dead friend over to Dorian’s final resting place they were hogtied by Lamar and left in the backyard shed. Romero, having now been tied to a chair as Steve’s captive, was taken upstairs for interrogation. Steve had requested he be left alone with her. Patrick and Lamar obliged, especially after seeing the selection of tools he was taking upstairs with him.

  Patrick, deciding to take it upon himself to relieve Lamar from guard duty, sat in the kitchen with George, who while unarmed also wasn’t tied up, and watched the back shed while they passed the time. Leaving Lamar to head into the basement, he was trying his best to keep people fed, but many of them were getting weaker by the hour. They all sat in the house, waiting, while the sounds of Romero’s screams were heard throughout the house.

  Chapter Twenty

  While Patrick and Lamar were meeting Steve, Sarah was starting to pay attention to the surroundings around them as they continued their drive. The bus had been silent, the moon giving enough light to look around as they drove on. She could see the signs for the highway speed by her, the bus was moving west towards Mahomet.

  Doc was recovering from his beating in the back, Sarah was trying to remember her name, Romeo? Ramirez? Richardson? It had an R in it. Was watching the surrounding areas as the bus turned a corner, shooting past the run-down Williams gas station. “Gotta make sure none of those lurkers are comin’ after us.” Romero glanced at Sarah, then down to her hands again, having fallen protectively over the baby. “Y’know, that’s gonna’ make you valuable.” Romero used her free hand to point at Sarah’s stomach, grinning. Sarah felt a chill go through her entire body. That? My baby? “I… don’t know what you mean.” Romero let out a chuckle, looking back towards the side of the road. “Relax, puta. That baby’ll be your saving grace.” Romero fell silent, Doc was in the back making some staggered sobbing noises.

  Sarah and Doc, along with a few others, were forced into the back of the school. The supplies they managed to take with them the first time were offloaded into the armory. They were herded into the locker rooms (to be strip searched by their own gender, at least there’s that) and then placed in the classrooms on the second floor. Sarah was put into another room with a woman she didn’t recognize, but the woman was taken out just as quickly as Sarah came in. Two guards were placed in front of the door with shotguns, and that’s where Sarah was left when Romero went away. Presumably to talk to Tommy. She had been separated from the other Sick Ward residents, but she could hear some of them. From what she could tell they were all in this same hallway, with the exception of the men.

  When Romero finally made her way down the stairs into the basement Tommy was in his janitor’s closet with someone. She waited patiently while people were carrying on around her. She had been stopped a couple of times, receiving preemptive congratulations from a few of the grunts shuffling about on Alverez or Crater’s squads. Martin, one of the older members of the militia, stopped for a while and talked, apparently Crater and Alverez were heard murmuring some disapproving remarks about her promotion. By the time Tommy was done with his meeting roughly an hour had passed, but it felt much longer.

  As the door opened a man in a white suit stepped out: from head to toe he wore black leather shoes, white dress pants, black formal belt, silky black button-down shirt, no tie, and a
white suit jacket. In his hand, held lightly, was a silk handkerchief he was using to open the doors. He didn’t seem to acknowledge Martin, looking directly at Romero. “Hello, my name is Canard. Jacob Canard.’ Romero opened her mouth to speak, Tommy’s glare from behind Mr. Canard told her otherwise. “I was told you brought in some…unwilling participants for me. I’ll need them brought to the front. I’m having a convoy escort them and I to…” Jacob stopped, looking back at Tommy. “I’ll be out front, Mr. Warlock.” Jacob cut himself off, heading away up the stairs. Not stopping to look back, apparently uninterested in further discussion with Romero.

  “Romero, come in here, I need to talk to you for a minute.” She went into the office; and informed Tommy about Doc, and most importantly his expertise. Tommy had decided to keep him. They needed a doctor on staff for their men. Mr. Canard would simply have to do without; something told Tommy they didn’t need doctors anyways.

  “Lock the door.” Romero obliged. Tommy didn’t waste time, they started pawing at each other like horny teenagers. Tommy ripped Romero’s clothes off her, tossing her up on his desk. The smell of whiskey hung in the air, coming off his breath in heavy waves. After a rough tumble around his office, Romero left with knowledge that she was going to also be his new number two from now on.

  Sarah was ushered out of the classroom just minutes later by Martin and someone named Peter, to the school’s fenced in blacktop. She was taking it all in, there were maybe a few dozen people scattered in clusters, and there was a motor pool full of vehicles, along with, she could only assume, enough guns and explosives to take on half of a third world dictator’s army. She saw, with much amazement, that several supplies were being loaded into an old moving truck that was in line up ahead of the black Hummers. It took off after it was nearly full of an array of weapons and ammunition.

  She was assessing the situation as best she could, eyeing a spotting in the fence when Jacob appeared next to her. He had a cigar in his hand, now. But it was unlit. He had silently crept up next to her, as she was still analyzing the schoolyard. He simply stood by her for a moment while she looked around. “So, Miss…” Sarah remained quiet while Jacob lit the cigar, placing it in his lips and lighting it. “Suppose it doesn’t matter much, does it?” He puffed on the cigar, offering it to Sarah. “Want a puff? Don’t worry, dear. One won’t hurt.” One of the Hummers pulled up, all black tinted windows, the door opened.

  How has anyone kept vehicles in such great condition…

  Inside Sarah could see several armed men with sleek black rifles with attached handgrips and scopes, highly modified variants of the National Guard’s standard issued M4A1s and Kevlar vests. Most of them were not familiar to her, most likely they weren’t even from this state. Jacob slowly got into the Hummer, looking back at Sarah. “I strongly encourage you to follow. These men do not tend to be as kind to their guests as I…”

  Sarah looked at Jacob finally, her lips trembling. “Where are we going?” Jacob puffed cigar smoke of his window, away from Sarah. “The chain does not stop or start with me, darling. I’m simply here to get people and bring them back.” Sarah slowly moved towards the Hummer. A circle of Tommy’s men appeared to be looking at the convoy, whispering had started in the crowd, the vehicles parked behind and ahead of hers were loaded with other Sick Ward citizens and more people she didn’t recognize—more captives—and armed guards. “If you’d be so kind as to hurry in, I’ll give you as much information as I’m permitted to.” Sarah got in. Jacob delicately put the cigar out in a clean ashtray. “We’ve spent many months now setting up facilities around the country and looking for people. We think you all may present unique opportunities, being from ground zero of this…particular issue.”

  Sarah felt cold all over, her skin starting to break out in goosebumps. This was a surreal feeling; she didn’t know what was about to happen, but something told her that it wasn’t going to be any good for her or her baby. “Where are we going?” Sarah repeated, her voice sounded so distant in her own ears. “West, my dear. Our associates in this state will be continuing their ventures and wars as they see fit, you are to rise above such petty squabbles. You and whomever else we need.” Sarah rested her hands, placing them protectively over her baby. She closed her eyes, not allowing herself to cry in front of these men.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Sent south to their death, Romero’s men marched. Their hands were tied together, at least they were not executed on the spot, as one of them would often remark on their trail. One of them offered some information about the school, the other one mentioned some meetings Tommy had been having, but nothing of substance. They were allowed their personal knives and a bottle of water each, and were told to keep walking until they came across another town or died. Steve didn’t care which. Back at the Sick Ward, the canary yellow school bus turned war rig sat idle in front of the house. The supplies loaded inside, George, the extremely fresh recruit and easily the most nervous, camped out inside the bus on watch with Lamar. They were talking about their lives pre-Lurkers: which football teams they were fans of and what kind of barbecue had been better. Down in the basement the last few survivors kept to themselves, ignoring the screaming from Romero while they gathered their personal belongings and spent an irritating amount of time finding Beansie, who kept trying to avoid them, but was eventually crated with his food and water.

  Steve walked out of the bedroom, sweat was pouring down his face, his hands were soaked in blood, he was taking sharp, painful breaths. “Can’t fuckin’ believe it.” Patrick was sitting in the hallway. He had a toothpick he was moving around thoughtfully while he journaled.

  Romero stopped screaming, though it probably had more to do with the gag Steve shoved in her mouth than lack of pain—Steve had been working for some time. “Taggin’ me in?” Patrick looked over at Steve, he had a crazed look in his eyes, they were bloodshot, and he seemed exhausted. “Don’t need to, Patrick. I think I got all we need to know.” Steve walked around the corner, bending over and coughing violently. Patrick stood up, giving Steve a worried look. “Want me to…” Patrick stopped, Steve slowly got up, wiping his mouth. “They were taken out’ve the school before Romero left. No clue where, but we’re runnin’ out of time. I bet you that fuck Tommy knows where I can find her.” Steve coughed, covering his mouth and groaning. “What’re we doin’ here, Steve?” Patrick creaked open the door, looking at Romero.

  Two fingers nails had been pulled out in her right hand, her left hand had been broken by hammer in several places, a knife stuck out of her right leg, twisted at the point of entry. In her mouth, the tail end of an old dishrag was sticking out, her left eye bulged open (the right eye swollen shut). Her face was twisted into a grotesque horror, it appeared in her panic she had started to swallow the rag and suffocated. “Shit… I guess that’s it.” Patrick pat Steve on the back, grimacing at the sight but unable to look away. His eyes were transfixed on Romero’s one good eye. I wonder how long he kept goin’ after she told ‘em.

  “I’ll uh… get the shit out of the room for you.” Patrick turned his gaze away slowly, trying to hide his revulsion. “Go check on your people downstairs.” Steve slowly moved towards the stairs, his legs steady but slow under him. Patrick took several deep breaths, moving his way into the room.

  After getting the useful items out of the room, Patrick covered Romero with a sheet that had been covering the bed. “Rest in peace, I guess.” He had a hard time looking away even after she was covered. After he forced himself out of the room and into the hallway, he grabbed his rifle, which had been leaning against the wall, snatched his new supply bag off the ground and went downstairs to join the rest of the Sick Ward.

  The newly obtained war rig was slowly making its way to the school with George behind the wheel, Lamar beside him and Steve and Patrick riding in the back. The residents of the Sick Ward were in the bus with the rest of the makeshift war party, now down to just a handful of people, it was a silent ride.

  Ch
apter Twenty-Two

  Patrick glanced to his left, out of the bus window. At the speed they were going, moving around cars and sliding in the snow, they’d be there far too late. Of course, Steve seemed to be running off pure anger at this point. Patrick didn’t like it; he hardly knew the guy, and this would just make him more unpredictable. “Steve, y’know she may not be…” Steve kept his eyes forward, his face held that passive anger to it. Patrick looked at him, then at the bus with the remaining people, and finally Lamar and George; who were fast becoming best friends up front talking about who had better lyrics, J. Cole or Andre 3000.

  The ungodly noise that a lurker makes before it attacks is sharp, high pitched, and unique to itself. That’s how, moments the Sick Ward knew what was coming. The only thing worse than hearing them approach was the sense of dread it brought.

  Patrick’s eyes shot open, he looked around and started shouting to everyone. “It’s a fuckin’ swarm! George, gu…” The deafening shrieks were closer, Patrick put his gas mask on. Lamar threw his on as well. The bus started hurling itself down U.S-150 into Mahomet proper, swerving around cars. The beasts were gaining on them, now. Patrick was making out at least seven, some coming from the side. Most of them were full grown, a few of the younger ones followed at the rear.

  Compared to the noise of shrieking, the AK-47’s shots barely registered in everyone’s ears. Patrick’s shots were quickly followed by Lamar from one of the side windows near the front. Steve, having snapped to, took up a rifle and assisted Patrick at the rear.