Two minutes later, Nick, George, and Ayden met us at the gate. We all crowded into the little watch box and stared at the monitor.
There wasn’t much discussion. The others studied the blurry image on the screen and seemed to talk through a mental telepathy I wasn’t privy to.
Nick broke the silence. “Get the boat.”
The boat was the same army snowmobile-tank hybrid that had saved Mia, Monica, and I months earlier.
George did not hesitate. “On it.”
“Ayden, can you man the BP? I need all the firepower we got trained on the gates when we open them.”
BP was code for Bright Point, what the City vets called the lighthouse.
Ayden, snow melting in his beard, nodded.
The walkie krrched. George’s voice came from the speakers, making Nick twist the knob atop the device, tuning it for clarity.
“I’m firing her up now,” George said. A rumble of an engine reached us through the radio waves, but it was loud enough to be heard from the garage too.
“Ayden,” Nick said, enunciating each syllable carefully, “get that light on A section and keep it there.”
“Aye-aye, boss.”
Almost instantly, the monitor flashed white. A few seconds passed before it could adjust to the surge of brightness.
The woman in the snow stopped. Her energy renewed, she jumped up and down and flailed her arms more crazily than before. Her mouth opened as she screamed. I couldn’t hear that, however, despite being within shouting distance of the newest arrival. The wind was blowing much too hard, and the advancing snow-tank drowned everything else out.
Stone said, “George is here.”
“Record time,” Nick replied. He turned to me. “Grady, can you get the gate open?”
Before I could answer, Nick tossed me the keys. They unlocked the breaker box just outside the watchtower. I slid by Stone into the snow. It only came up past my shins, whereas the trenches were almost higher than my head. The maintenance crew kept the walkways shoveled and plowed as best as they could, but the storms were so frequent, it was impossible to keep them clear for more than a few hours, but I had gotten pretty good at navigating through it—I definitely had my “snow legs.”
The box was located inside a telephone booth-sized building a dozen or so feet beyond the gate. I had never done this before, but I figured it couldn’t have been too difficult. I stuck the keys in, which made a button light up green. I pressed it. A grinding noise began from what sounded like deep within the ground. Because of the snow, the gates only parted about fifteen feet, just big enough for George’s tank to slip through.
I stepped out of the box as he motored by. He nodded and gave me a thumbs-up.
The snow was coming down hard again. I could barely see through the haze of white. Still, I wasn’t cold. An odd warmth ran through my body. It was the result of knowing others out here had survived.
What exactly was that warmth? I think it was excitement, but mostly, I think it was hope.
Thirty or so feet from the entrance, George lifted the woman from the snow and into the snow-tank. Once they came back through and I closed the gate, I followed them inside the watchtower.
George guided the woman to a nearby chair.
Nick radioed into the hospital, letting them know they’d have a new arrival soon. Nina Hart, her voice a mixture of curiosity and joy, said they’d be ready.
“Gonna try to warm her up a bit first,” Nick replied.
The woman was whispering. I could barely understand her words.
“They’re c-c-coming.” Her teeth were chattering so hard, I thought they were going to break. “We h-have to l-leave.”
My stomach sank. “Who’s coming?”
The woman tilted her head toward the floor as tears streamed down her cheeks. She lifted the corner of the blanket Stone had given her and wiped them away. I wasn’t sure how old she was—closer to Mia’s age probably—but in that moment she seemed like a frightened child.
“I didn’t w-want to leave…but Tariq, he ch-changed. He started g-going c-crazy and talking ab-about the d-dark. And the others started doing the s-same.”
I took a step back. Was this woman already infected?
Nick bent over, looked the woman in the eye. “Ma’am, don’t worry, okay? You’re safe here.”
“They’re c-crazy. They’re g-gonna kill us.”
“Guys…” Stone whispered.
My neck creaking, I faced him. George and Nick did the same. He was pointing at the monitors on the wall at our back. The cameras outside did not consistently pick up sound. The weather made sure of that. Fewer things were louder than the wind anyway, but we didn’t need speakers to hear what erupted through the cold.
It was gunshots.
I am no soldier. I could never be. The amount of discipline and mental fortitude required by America’s finest was beyond my capabilities, but the time spent out in the frozen wasteland had toughened me up. Not much, just enough to shake the fear I felt and kick my ass into gear.
I turned toward the monitor. The curtain of white made it difficult to see who had fired the shots. I had expected only one or two people—the stranger named Tariq that the woman had spoken of—but there were six more figures approaching through the whirling snow.
I sensed the presence of others too. Not the people, but the monsters. They followed tragedy and despair; they bred evil.
As I leaned forward, squinting to get a better look, another series of gunshots rippled through the air. I dropped with the others.
The barrage went on for a solid thirty seconds. Bullets thumped into wood and whined off metal, and nearby, the humming from the closest generators stopped.
Another thirty seconds later, the lights in our section of the City died.
“Everyone okay?” Nick asked.
“Define okay,” Stone answered.
George was fumbling with his walkie. He called the rest of the Scavs, told them to get ready to fight.
“Grady,” Nick said, “you, Stone, and the young lady get inside.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice. I had hoped my days of violence were long behind me. I was all for avoiding conflict. We might have had the home court advantage, but these people had the power of the darkness on their side, a power which seemed to grant immunity to the deadly effects of the current climate.
I led the way down the steps as the wind battered us from seemingly all directions. Even the places I’d suffered frostbite burned with pain. I ignored it as best I could.
Halfway down the steps, a gust rocked the entire tower. The metal support beams groaned like dying animals, louder than the blast of wind in our ears. Stone lost his balance and stumbled into the woman, who was between us. They both crashed into me. I gripped the railing with both hands, fighting against their weight. Splinters dug through my gloves and pricked my flesh—more pain to add to the list. Spinning around, I bent and helped them back to their feet.
Once I reached the snow, which wasn’t deep since the maintenance crew had plowed that evening, I helped him and the woman down the final few steps.
We rushed through the trenches and made it to the tunnels’ entrance. I pressed my keycard against the reader. The light glowed a violent, almost mocking red and stayed that way for nearly twenty seconds before it faded. That wasn’t good. It should’ve instantly turned to green if the backup generators hadn’t taken any damage yet.
Stone, leaning on a single crutch, unzipped his coat a few inches and plunged his hand beneath his many layers. Once his fingers closed around the lanyard his own keycard dangled from, he yanked it off his neck. The clasp broke in a spray of plastic. As he held it against the reader, a roar of guttural screaming cut through the wind. These were not the screams of people in pain; these were the screams of people who had lost their mind. Animalistic. Angry. Terrifying.
The woman nearly collapsed with fear. I had her upper arm, holding her up.
The front gates behind us cr
eaked, and then began shaking. The glow from the lights didn’t stretch that far, but I could picture what was happening by the sounds alone. The infected had reached the entrance and were now slamming something against it. It sounded like two-by-fours, but I would later learn that wasn’t the case. They were using their heads, bashing them against the ice-crusted metal until blood poured from their noses and brows.
The keypad glowed red, and I tried the card again, praying it would work. Nothing happened.
We’d have to enter from a different point, but the nearest door was a quarter of a mile away. We’d never make it through the snow, especially with armed crazy people outside the gate. Still, we’d have to try—
Just as a burst of wind lit my skin with cold, the door burst open, and out came the other Scavs.
Zoe Quintrell led the charge, clutching an assault rifle to her chest. Beside her was Chad Oldman, a meathead in his mid-twenties; Aaron McKane, who was only nineteen and had once asked me how I managed to score a cutie like Eleanor upon our first meeting; and Stu Whitmore, a balding man of about fifty with wireframe glasses covering eyes that brimmed with intelligence. They, too, held rifles of some sort, scary-looking weapons you’d see in video games.
Stu was the only one to stop and help us into the sweet, sweet warmth of the tunnel. The others didn’t notice us; they kept their focus on the mission, but they were too late.
The front gates were breached. The strangers had already broken through. They rushed the watchtower, their guns spraying fire into the darkness, creating a strobe light effect, which got me thinking that an epileptic seizure was on the horizon for myself or someone else.
I froze at the threshold and listened to the screams and the shots. I had to fight. I had to fight, because this was our home.
“Get her to the hospital,” I told Stone, but he wasn’t listening. He limped past me—well, limped isn’t the right word. He struggled, but he moved fast. As his jacket brushed against mine, I reached for him, saying, “Wait, what are you—”
He might have been partially crippled, but he knew the importance of stopping this before it got further out of hand, same way I did. If these crazies got inside…I didn’t want to think of that.
One of the Scavs yelled out in pain. “I’ve been hit!” The deep, gravelly voice belonged to Ayden Peck. “Oh shit, man!”His body thudded into the snow about not far from where I stood.
I grabbed the woman’s shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Listen,” I said, “go straight for about fifty feet, and then turn right. You’ll see a painting of a rose on the wall. When you do, turn left, and the hub is right there. Get inside with the others.”
The woman shook violently.
I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a penlight. I shoved it into her palm. “Go! I’ll be right behind you!”
Reluctantly, she took it, and then she disappeared into the shadows.
Turning back into the snow, I saw Stone near Ayden. I shined my bigger flashlight at the scene. Ayden was clutching his stomach. The snow around him drank up the pulsing red leaking from his body. Then he no longer writhed. He went stiff. I thought he was dead.
“Grady!” Stone shouted. “Help me get him in!”
I lurched forward and just as I did, more shots flew in my direction. I dove into the nearest mound of snow, waiting, my heart beating wildly in my chest.
It took another moment before I felt safe enough to make my move toward Stone and Ayden. Stone was up and dragging him through the trench. Somehow. I stumbled their way, more shots and screams on the air.
Fifteen feet away from me, Stone suddenly cried out in pain. It was as if an invisible hand had slugged him in the chest. He spun and collapsed in slow motion.
“No!” I shouted, no longer caring about my lack of cover as I advanced.
“Stone, Stone, Stone,” I started saying, kneeling down in the snow and ice next to him. Hot tears stung my eyes. My throat began constricting. Each one of my heartbeats threatened to break my ribs.
I reached out to touch him. My gloves were gone, but I didn’t remember taking them off. They couldn’t have been off for long because my fingers still had feeling. Fleeting feeling, yes, but feeling nonetheless.
I almost wished they had gone numb, because when I reached down to grab Stone's arm and help him up, I felt the warm blood leaking down his upper chest.
For what felt like an eternity, I stared down at my best friend, seeing his eyes glaze over in the blue-white glow from the flashlight and hearing him mumble in pain. All of our memories played out before me in a blur, all the good times. I had already lost Jonas, one of the original Musketeers, and now I feared I was losing another.
“Stone…” I croaked. I doubted he heard me over the skirmish happening around us, but a smile that was more like a grimace stretched his lips.
“I’m—I’m okay, man. I’m okay.”
But even in the low light I could see his dark skin draining of color, becoming the shade of a weathered gravestone. He wasn’t okay. He was the furthest thing from okay.
Still, Stone would never give up on me, and I wasn’t about to give up on him. I crawled through the snow, dimly aware of the burning sensation of the cold against my flesh, of aggravating old, healing injuries. I found the flashlight only a few feet from Ayden’s body. He stared up at me with lifeless eyes.
A pang of sadness stabbed at my heart, but I didn’t let it linger. I could mourn him later. Right now I needed to get Stone inside, out of the weather and away from the fighting.
Gunfire continued nearby. Each passing bullet felt closer and closer. I took the flashlight and swung it around in an arc, trying to map our journey back. The door was only thirty or so feet away. It seemed much farther, however.
Kneeling by Stone, I removed my skull cap and pressed it against the spot he’d been shot. He screamed and convulsed.
“C’mon, man,” I said. “Stay with me.”
I shined the light down on his face. His eyes fluttered open and then closed, the sign of a person not staying with me. There weren’t too many positives to look for in this situation, but I tried my damndest. One thing we had going for us was the fact we were already in the City, a place with medicine and a doctor and nurses. The journey wasn’t as long as before, and if we had made the one from Prism Lake to just past the Kentucky state line, we could definitely make this one. I scooped Stone into my arms, grunting with his weight, and I moved forward, never looking behind.
I know I say things don’t go right for me, more so than others—and I know things almost always eventually tend to work out—but it is hard to be an optimist while living in a supernatural winter wasteland. So, when I held the keycard up to the reader, I fully expected nothing, and that was what I got. No light glowed, not violent red or dim or green. The power in this section of the City had died completely. It was both a gift and a curse. No power obviously meant no lights, but it also meant no locking mechanism on the door. I pulled it open, barely hanging on to Stone in the process.
“Hold on, buddy,” I mumbled.
Through the tunnels I sprinted. I sprinted until I found a sliver of light in the distance.
The hospital.
This new brightness lent me a burst of energy. I moved faster than I thought possible. The burning sensation in my arms and chest subsided. My breathing became steady and even. The worry and fear stayed in my mind, especially whenever I heard the thunder-crack of another gunshot, but, for the most part, I pushed those emotions to the back of my mind. Fear, pain, exhaustion—none of that mattered right then. All that mattered was saving my best friend before it was too late, and then finding Ell, Mia, the baby, and Chewy.
As it happened, I bumped into Eleanor seconds before stumbling through the hospital door. Her face shined with tears. Her eyes were bloodshot and drooping. She wore a heavy winter coat, a knitted hat with a fuzzy pink ball at its apex, gloves, scarf, the whole nine yards. Her mouth was set in a grim line of focus. She was so focused, in f
act, she didn’t even notice me. Granted, the lights weren’t the brightest, but Stone and I were the only ones in the corridor at the time.
This was so surprising, I said nothing. My voice had decided to go on vacation.
After a few rushed steps, Ell stopped on a dime and spun around. Her expression melted. “Grady?”
“Ell,” I croaked.
Happiness flashed in her eyes. During that second you would’ve thought she was crying with joy instead of fear. This emotion didn’t last long, however. Her gaze fell upon Stone in my arms. I hadn’t looked down at the spot he’d been shot since coming into the light because there was no time to. Now that I had stopped, I saw just how much blood there was. My hat was soaked, and a steady stream of drops pattered the floor around my snowy boots.
Stone wasn’t moving either. His eyes were closed, and I couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not.
“Stone?”
He didn’t answer.
“Stone?” I shifted. It took every last bit of strength inside of me not to shake him violently. Gaining composure, I rocked him gently instead. Stone would’ve killed me if he knew I was doing this, but he was so out of his mind at this point, I doubted he could’ve told me his own name. When this light jostling proved fruitless, I shook him a little harder.
Still, nothing.
His left hand, the one holding the blood-soaked hat up against his wound, fell, and the hat hit the corridor floor with a wet slap.
Ell screamed in shock and horror. I thanked whatever higher power lived above us for that, because at that point, my brain had totally shut down. I forgot how to do almost everything aside from breathe and blink.
Scream? My mind said, What’s that?
The problem with shouting for help now was that so many were distracted by what was going on outside the gates that no one was around to hear us, and we needed help.
Stone wasn’t only my best friend, he was my family. We may have had different skin colors, different DNA, different blood, but that meant nothing. Our bond was unbreakable. I mean, how many people do you have in your life who you could punch in the face around noon, and then play Xbox with a few hours later like nothing happened? Maybe none, and that’s understandable. A relationship like that is hard to find.
Whiteout (Book 5): The Feeding Page 6
