Her reasoning parallels his own for not pursuing any of the women at his camp.
“You know, the more time I spend with you youngins, the more I share too much.” And the last one was killed. He drops the truck into drive.
“What do you mean, old man?” Serena asks.
“I shared a lot with Becky and not the other women who actually sought to be a part of my life.”
“She’s the one who’s dead? Then do me a favor and don’t share,” Serena snaps. She waits a few seconds. “I was cold. Aren’t you going to jump my case?”
“No. You’re not wrong.”
“Why aren’t we driving this trail? Find this Chad and the baby?” Serena asks.
“They weren’t intercepted by biters. Living people did something. It cost Becky her life. I owe it to her to find out. I owed the brother of the man I came to Memphis to retrieve. So far, I’m batting a thousand.”
MIKE GRIPS KELSEY’S hand, hoping his warmth will transfer into her cold fingers. He practices in his head how to tell her she lost a leg, when the anesthetic wears off.
Being an amputee wasn’t a handicap a year ago. People would lose a leg and climb Mount Everest. Now, a finger scratch means death. And they might have to take her other foot. God, you want to advise me on this one? Mike folds his hands in prayer with Kelsey’s hand in between his palms. I won’t promise more than to help this woman get to her home. What do I tell her…how do I tell her she lost her leg?
No.
Don’t let her wake up and ask me to end her. I couldn’t.
The hermetically sealed door opens. The doctor enters, without the guard, carrying a tray with a covered dish.
Mike lowers his hands to the bed. “What kind of private residence has a medical lab with doors they would use for quarantine?”
“Count yourself lucky my boss allowed you entry.”
“You said boss before. In case you haven’t been outside lately, there’s no place left to spend money,” Mike says.
“We’re paid in the walls that protect us and the food he feeds us. And once the world is restored, we’ll be provided for,” the doctor says.
Mike doesn’t bother to explain what he witnessed. “Aren’t you worried about how the earthquake damaged your wall?”
“Keep praying. Pray my boss doesn’t decide you’re a liability. He has a germ phobia.”
“Then why allow us inside?”
“You’ve been outside, exposed for ten months. Damaged. Hurt. I needed to test your blood.” He puts the covered dish before Mike.
“Are we diseased?” Mike asks.
“There are new antibodies in your blood. No sign of the R1. Tell me about your survival since the infection infestation.”
Mike doesn’t know medical jargon, but he caught R1 and blood. “By not having the guard in here, you think I’ll trust you more?”
“If I don’t have a reason to keep you in here, then I’m to release you immediately. The girl won’t live without medical care for the next few days,” the doctor says.
Mike pops the seal on the dish. Steam wafts out. He tosses a fried cube of meat into his mouth. As he chews, “This isn’t chicken. It has a fish taste, but not a species I’ve eaten before.” Mikes chews a second piece. “I had goat in the Middle East. They ate a lot of goat. It wasn’t bad when prepared with spices and wrapped in a pita.”
“It’s alligator,” the doctor says.
“I thought it didn’t freeze well. This’s good.”
“It’s fresh. My boss keeps live ones to eat.”
“This man has a private army, a medical staff, access to a plane and live exotic food. My God. Millions have died, and this man lives in luxury.” Mike chews another bite. “How do you have electricity?”
“Solar panels. I don’t want to blackmail you, but if you don’t assist in my research, then I’ll have to have you put outside the wall. Your friend…”
“Kelsey. Her name is Kelsey.”
“Kelsey may not live. But the longer she stays here under my care…the more her odds improve.”
Blackmail. But stories and some blood are a simple payment. “I lived in St. Louis.”
“Not one of the original cities where the plague was released,” the doctor says.
I cared nothing for the origin of the end of the world, but now… He chews another alligator nugget. “Doc. You got a name?”
“Dr. Jack Griffin,” he says.
Mike nods. I’m still a test subject. Must get him to see us as people. “Panic gripped the rest of the country. It fell apart quickly, and it didn’t. People operated normal for weeks as stories emerged from the targeted cites. Police still arrested criminals. Milk was still on shelves. Gas. Gas was an issue. Then the first undead arrived, caused a panic. Everyone who cooperated, even those who fortified a makeshift wall, split. They clogged every road leading out of the city.”
“Our pilot confirmed as much. It didn’t spread fast, but it shut down the country’s infrastructure.”
“People hung together through the mild winter. The cops kept order, and many joined the preparations for the caravan to Fort Leonard Wood. It kept people busy until it left. It never made it. A herd wiped out the survivors.”
“Is that when your back was damaged?”
“After I survived the herd, a group of cannibals attempted to make lunch of me, but I escaped.” Mike embellishes the rest of his escape and time on the road before Kelsey.
Dr. Griffin jots notes. “You’ve never been exposed? No bites? No fluid exchanges?”
“I targeted the Decoms at a distance. No chance of blood splatter. When I was within a few feet of them, it was while they consumed the caravan, and I was running. If I had stopped to fire, they would have overwhelmed me.”
“And I only am escaped alone to tell thee. For without Ismael, there shall be no rendering of the fate of the white whale.”
“You a literary man, Dr. Griffin?” Mike tosses the next to last alligator cube into his mouth.
“Of the classics.”
“I never read Moby Dick. Saw the movie. Saw a lot of shit in war. Nothing like the day the herd brought down the caravan. You’re lucky to be safe in here.” Mike eats the last of his delicacy.
“Safety depends on your point of view.”
“Thanks for lunch, Doc.”
“You’ll be back on bread and water. I’ve convinced my boss I need you in quarantine to recheck your blood in a few days. He’s worried about how the infection has mutated.”
“I don’t have this R1, do I?” Mike asks.
“Yes. But she doesn’t. Somewhere, you were exposed, and she wasn’t.”
“What does that mean? I’ll turn into one of those creatures?”
“From my limited testing of subjects—my theory—you’ll become a living corpse when you die, even if it’s from natural causes. She will not, unless she is bitten.”
Mike stares blankly at Dr. Griffin.
“Another theory, St. Louis was a target. I think a defective batch of the R1 was released and only attached itself to people, making them carriers, and not turning them into monsters.”
“WHY ARE WE bothering to cross the Mississippi?” Serena tosses her pack into the boat.
“Guns.” Ethan turns the winch crank, releasing the towline cable, allowing the boat to slide into water. Days ago, he dumped a craft in the water. This time, he figures on loading the boat, hauling the loaded boat and all equipment back to the camp. “You finally arrive at this party?”
“I still don’t see a point in saving all those people who wouldn’t save you.”
And Gentarra. Does she feel the same way? Fuck me. God damn it all to hell. Rule one. You. It’s all about you. In ten months, I’ve not put a woman in my life who could distract my thoughts, and I’m still alive.
Serena snaps him out of his distraction. “Go find your friends. Those people at our camp aren’t worth helping. Most are worse than sheep.”
“What about you?”
> “I keep doing stuff to stay alive I shouldn’t.”
“What have you done?” Ethan asks.
“Sometimes, when I find food, I eat. I don’t bring it all back. I don’t hoard it, but I eat some,” Serena admits. “I’m not a gatherer. Gentarra allows me to go outside to circumvent Chet’s actions. But damn, he’s good. I can’t follow him. He’s found some place even the knights have failed to locate.”
“You’re bringing back food, right?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not wrong. You’re placing yourself in danger, and hunger slows you. If you die—who goes hungry?”
“A few people. Or meals are spread thin.” Serena’s face brightens.
“You don’t eat excessively, do you?”
“No.”
“Being out there, you must have an edge. You do more than those protected by the walls. If you’re not hoarding, and you share to better the group, you’re doing okay.” Ethan reaches to undo the cable. “Get in the boat. I don’t need it escaping.”
“You’re saying what I did was okay?”
“Not in the least. Most days, I’ve done terrible shit to remain alive. And what I’ve done keeps others alive, so they can live safe in my camp and don’t have to deal with this new world.”
“Gentarra takes on the group’s burdens. You two make a nice fit.” She considers the distance from the makeshift boat ramp to the boat. “I thought you were a crippled old man. You get in the boat. I’ll release the clamp and pull the truck forward.”
“You know, if you weren’t correct...” Ethan tosses his pack in the boat.
“You’d pink my white ass,” Serena teases.
“Wow. You’re going to make my life interesting.” Ethan wades into the water, grabbing the bow.
“A lot of men say that. Do you hoard supplies from your people?”
“No, but when I’m out gathering, I use what I find to keep me safe first and bring back what I can to share. The alternative is I die, and they get no supplies. I locate large, untouched stashes, and I bring teams to gather what we need.” He flops over the rail, worse than any landed catfish.
Serena leans over the edge of the boat as the Tennessee shoreline grows closer. She waves her arm to signal Ethan to maneuver away from the boat already tied to a tree.
Ethan notes no imagination’s needed to determine the firmness of her bottom, tight, teardrop curve of her ass as it hangs out of her jean shorts. Normally, he doesn’t allow women, let alone girls above jailbait age, to hold his attention, but she has fire. Ethan summons his best father voice, the one he never got to use. “You know, in this world, you’d think you’d want to wear something a little less revealing. Leather is the best option.” My canvas duster coat prevents bites as well.
“Creeper. You’re fucking old, dude. Don’t be checking out my ass.” She flexes her cheeks, tightening them, and stretches her toes to elongate the leg on purpose.
“It’s difficult when I can count the freckles from here.” Ethan slows the motor.
She flashes her impish grin before leaping to a rock protruding from the muck as the boat bumps the shore. “Why didn’t you get guns the last time you boated over here?”
“I did. Sort of. I escaped with a platoon of soldiers. They were all killed as we reached the bridge to cross the Mississippi.”
“And you think it’s safe to come back? If the fucking US Army fell to the Nachzehrer, what the fuck chance do I have with a creepy uncle type?” She ties the anchor line to the same tree as the first boat. “I got a bad feeling about this.”
“Did you not get much love as a child?” Ethan pockets the boat keys.
“Fuck you. You know, ever since that stupid cartoon made the gingers-eat-souls joke, I’ve never heard the end of it.” She slogs toward dry ground to avoid gushing water under each of her steps.
Ethan hangs off the end of the boat, lowering himself to the mud.
“All those teasing shits are now dead.” The wind rustles the leaves. “How the fuck do you know we won’t be surrounded by swarms of Nachzehrer?”
“I don’t. But there was another aftershock while we crossed the river, and each one keeps drawing them north. The base should be near empty.” Ethan checks the first boat. Keys dangle from the ignition.
“What about the soldiers?” Serena asks. Mud covers her shoes.
Dead. The ones who earned a flag. Any others… “You seek answers to a lot of variables of which I’ve no knowledge.” Ethan’s boots sink into the mud.
“I don’t want to die with such a fucking old dude,” she says.
“I don’t plan to die in Tennessee. It’s a few miles to hike to the base. We should be able to find a truck to bring back the guns. You possibly could pilot the other boat back across. More guns for the group.”
Serena’s impish grin sobers. “Some of them won’t leave. And I may not have gotten to graduate high school, but if your camp wouldn’t be badly damaged from the earthquake, you have to be a few hundred miles away.”
“Four.”
“Fuck me. No way. Why did you travel to Memphis?”
“Thought I had one last chance to visit Elvis.” Ethan smiles
“The old, hip-shaking singer. I thought he was in Vegas.”
Ethan shakes his head. “You younglings.” He imagines his palm deflecting off his own forehead in a vain attempt to understand the youth he keeps saving. “I made a promise to my people I would do all I could to bring any surviving members of their family into our camp. We received a radio message from the base, confirming one such person was alive.”
“The knights found you alone on the bridge.”
“I failed,” Ethan admits.
“Four hundred miles is an impressive measure to fail at,” she says.
“You don’t have to face the brother.” Ethan marches parallel to the road he knows runs along the river.
No matter how much the aftershocks draw the undead, stragglers always crop up.
“Then why go back? Stay here, protect our group. With these guns, you could. Your people must be doing fine if you’re able to leave them for a fucking eight hundred mile-journey.”
“They’re doing well because I risk all outside our walls. As we grow, so does our need for more people.”
“And you can feed them?”
“Yes. I seek out survivors, but only when we’re able to support them.” Ethan fudges a bit on how his system works.
“Say I go with you. What do I get to do there?”
Typical kid, what’s in it for me. “We put you to a job you’re best suited. If you can shoot, you’re placed on guard duty. If you have a talent, like welding, you’re assigned to a construction-repair team. If you lack a skill, we’ve labor work. Building new fence or, when we scavenge supplies in groups, packing what we recover. A lot of stores up there are untouched. “
“Sounds like a fairy tale. A fucking twisted one, but in this world, I’d take it.”
“Do you cook?” Ethan asks purposefully.
“Because I fucking have tits I’m expected to make you a sandwich?”
Ethan smiles at the desired response. “We feed the camp. As it grows, more people who know how to cook food will be needed.”
“Gentarra does some.”
Ethan spots his chance to learn more about the matron. After some of the stunts she pulled in the back of the SUV, he wonders if madam wouldn’t be a more appropriate title.. “What’s her story?”
“You like her?” Serena teases.
“About as much as I like you. She wants to travel. I like to know who I might have to trust to watch my back when I close my eyes. A better question is how you made it this long?”
She swigs from her canteen. “I run.”
“I’ve a bad knee. No running.”
“Out here, everyone must run.”
“Consider all you know is wrong,” Ethan says.
“I don’t go out much with others. The knights have a tendency to use a sacrificial l
amb technique when they get into trouble.” She clarifies quickly, “Gentarra doesn’t know.”
“Chet?”
“No. He only goes out alone.”
“Why do I think you know of his stash?”
“The store he raids?” she asks.
“You know its location?”
“No. Not yet. I know where it’s not, but I haven’t been able to scout for it for a while. I already told you he loses everyone who follows him. Plus, I want to ride him like a stallion.”
“I could have lived without knowing that,” Ethan says.
“I saw your eyes. You desire to stick it in Gentarra.”
Ethan holds back a smile and the male bravado demanding he brag about his conquest. “Why didn’t you find Chet’s stash?”
“He caught me following him. Now he watches for me. Another girl followed him, too, and she got bit. No one else tried after that,” Serena says.
“And you still stand in line to be his concubine?”
“He’s smoking hot. And better him than the knights,” she says.
“He’ll tire of those girls,” Ethan says.
“Maybe not before he runs out of food,” Serena says.
“Let me explain how many different outcomes are going to end badly in that scenario.”
JADA SLIPS TWO forty-five-pound plates from one side of the leg press. “Your turn, little girl.”
Emily worms her way into the seat. She ignores the throbbing of her cased arm.
“You sure you should be out of bed so soon after…” Jada removes another set of plates from the opposite side, keeping the machine balanced.
Emily places her feet on the angled panel. “I got my brains bashed in. Doc says if I get woozy or dizzy to report back to the infirmary.”
Jada flashes a smile. She pats the metal frame, devoid of any weight. “This part weighs twenty-five pounds. If you do ten reps easy, I’ll add a plate. We’ll work those chicken legs until your arm heals.”
Emily pushes up, allowing Jada to flip the release bar lowering the full pressure of the weight on her shaky legs.
“Too fast. Slow. Under control.”
No Room In Hell (Book 3): Aftershocks Page 23
