Dead Of Winter (The Rift Book II)

by Robert J. Duperre

  He leaned further over the rail, gathered a wad of phlegm, and pursed his lips. The thick glob of spit slowly descended. When the strand broke the bead plummeted, landing on the head of a female zombie. The dead thing craned its neck back and stared up at him. Its skin was the gray shade of used-up charcoal and it had deep grooves in the side of its face, as if one of its brethren had decided to claw at it. The dead eyes sparked with life. The creature opened its mouth, revealing its few remaining teeth, and stumbled into the side of the building. The others apparently noticed this, because many followed its actions. In a few seconds two dozen of the undead were slamming their weakened, reanimated corpses against the hotel walls.

  A hand grabbed his shoulder and yanked him off the railing. Those same hands spun him around.

  “Don’t play with them,” Jamie Forrest said with a frown. “They aren’t toys.”

  “C’mon, Mister Forrest,” whined Christopher. “Doc Terry said you used to screw with them. Why can’t I?”

  “Because when I did it there were only a few. Now there’s hundreds. It’s bad enough when they just mill around out there. But what happens if they break through the barricade? You want them all in the building with us? How long you think we’d last if that happened? And not only that, but what happens if you fall over the edge? I already saved your ass once. I don’t want to do it again?”

  Christopher shrugged. Embarrassment flushed his cheeks. “Sorry. Didn’t think of that.”

  The older man rustled his hair. He smiled. “Don’t worry about it, kid. Just not again, ‘kay?”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Christopher. He saluted. Forrest saluted back, then spun around and headed inside.

  “I’m not a kid,” Chris muttered when his back the man’s turned, but there was no conviction behind his umbrage. The last thing he wanted to do was appear immature. He owed Mister Mathis as much for all he’d done for him. But there had been so much talking going on in the room, talk about subjects he wanted no part of. He had to escape somehow.

  Boredom overtook him so he stuffed his hands in his pockets and strolled through the sliding glass door. The suite they were in was large, but with the atmosphere surrounding the conversation going on in there it seemed to constrict him. Mister Mathis sat on the bed, being peppered with questions from Dr. Terry and his wife. Billy nodded and said, “I understand,” at the end of each inquiry. He’d shaved and buzzed his hair, and Christopher found it shocking how much younger he looked all cleaned up.

  Much too young to die.

  Forrest stood by the exit. He tipped his baseball cap to Christopher and gestured to the door. Christopher said, “Yes, please,” and Forrest acquiesced.

  Out in the hallway he could breathe. He slumped against the wall. The depression he felt wanted to strangle him. Mister Mathis, the man who kept him safe for the last few months and told him so many interesting things, was going to leave him. He was sure of it, but no matter what he said he couldn’t change the stubborn professor’s mind.

  At least they’d been able to patch things over with Dr. Terry. That gave Christopher some sort of relief. The first couple days after they arrived had been rough, with the old man constantly on Mister Mathis’ heels, berating him for lying. Mister Mathis told Dr. Terry that he only lied because he didn’t know what else to say, and Christopher guessed that was the truth. And when he did mention his true reasons for trekking the miles he did, all because a dream told him he had to help the pretty dying girl down the hall, the others reacted the way Christopher did – by laughing and thinking his friend a fool. But when they saw the sincerity on Mister Mathis’ face, when they heard how serious he was, they changed their tune, even Dr. Terry. Christopher guessed that was just the old man giving in to his wife, who’d acted as the girl’s doting mother for a long time and obviously hoped for a miracle.

  But now Mister Mathis was about to throw it all away. In his wish to protect a person he didn’t even know he was going to kill himself. Christopher didn’t understand. How could he do such a thing? How could he leave him alone with these strangers when he was the closest thing to family he had left? He found it hard to believe a man as smart as Mister Mathis could be so stupid. And selfish.

  Christopher shook his head. He put his ear to the door, heard them still talking inside, and decided he’d had enough. He walked toward the staircase. He’d seen a game room in the lobby. Maybe they had foosball. But it’s hard to play foosball by yourself, he thought.

  Yeah, but if Mister Mathis gets his way I’ll be by myself. I might as well get used to it.

  * * *

  “Are you sure you understand the ramifications?” asked Dr. Terry.

  Billy rolled his eyes. “Of course I understand, Doctor. This is the third time we have gone over this.”

  The old doctor shook his head. “I don’t like this. Not a bit.”

  “I know. However, it is my choice, and as I see it there is no other option available to you.”

  Dr. Terry resigned with a shrug. “You’re right. We don’t. She doesn’t. But I have to make sure you recognize the risks. I took an oath to preserve life, not end it.”

  “And you will not end mine,” Billy said.

  Jamie Forrest approached them. “So…are we really doing this?”

  Billy, Dr. Terry, and Mrs. Terry all nodded.

  “All right then. Let’s go.”

  The four of them exited the room. Billy looked for Christopher when they entered the hall but the youngster was nowhere to be seen.

  He does not want to see you do this, he thought. He is fearful for his own safety and yours.

  Forrest led them down the staircase past the first floor. From there they entered the huge basement. It was lit by twenty or so candles, giving it the eerie glow of a medieval dungeon. In one corner was a sizeable cage lined with empty bookshelves, and because of that Billy assumed it had originally been used to store the hotel’s financial records.

  A cot had been set up against the wall. Forrest stood aside and Billy walked through the steel bars. He proceeded directly for the bed, sat down, and rolled up his sleeve. Doctor and Mrs. Terry entered after him. The missus took the syringe her husband held out for her and then scrubbed the inside of his elbow with an antiseptic wipe. Dr. Terry fastened an elastic band around his bicep and held it taut. Billy’s heartbeat pounded in his ears. The veins in his arm bulged.

  Mrs. Terry frowned. “I’ll pray for you,” she whispered before plunging the needle into a waiting vein. She depressed the plunger and the red liquid gradually flowed into his body. Billy leaned his head back and sighed.

  “All right,” said Dr. Terry. “Her blood has been injected into you, as discussed. With the level of contaminant in there, along with a direct line to your heart, I’d say we should know for sure if you have the proper antibodies in about forty-eight hours. Forrest will come down to check on and feed you. Other than that you will be totally isolated. If you come out on the other side we can start the procedure. If not…”

  “I know what will happen,” Billy said. “I am not afraid.”

  “Well, thank goodness you aren’t,” replied the old doctor. “Because right now I’m just about to shit my britches.”

  Mrs. Terry placed a gentle, warm hand on Billy’s cheek, then detached the elastic from his arm, packed it away with the syringe, and stood up. She followed her husband out of the cage. Forrest, who’d been standing by the entrance, closed and locked the steel mesh door. He tipped his cap to Billy and then trailed the old couple out of the basement, leaving him alone in the flickering candlelight.

  Just like that, Billy was behind bars once more. And just like last time he was there by choice.

  He stood up, cracked his neck, and paced, counting his steps. It took fifty-three to cross from one side of the cage to the other, where the bookshelves sat. He ran his finger over the dusty surface. Something caught his eye and he abruptly stopped. He’d originally thought the shelves empty, but he’d been wrong. On the top shelf
sat a single, familiar-looking tome. He snatched it and held it out before him. A black cover with silver stitched printing stared back at him. The words glowed in the candlelight. The New Kingdom by William F. Mathis. His first book. He hadn’t laid eyes on a copy of it in fifteen years. With that much time having passed it would almost seem like reading a brand-new book. Perhaps the hours would move quicker than he thought.

  Curiosity overcame him and he opened the first page. He’d signed this copy in his tight, exacting penmanship. To Leon, may you grow up to be the strong black man I know you will be, WFM.

  Leon. Dr. Terry’s teaching resident. He’d seen the imposing young man a couple times over the last few days but they hadn’t spoken. Most of his time had been spent in the ball room, after all, away from the general populace, discussing possible courses of action while Marcy slept just out of sight. But judging by the loving condition the young man kept the book in it was obviously something very important to him. The old doctor had said as much, too, if he remembered correctly. He guessed Leon was simply too nervous or shy to approach him.

  He turned the page and that assumption fled back to the egocentric portion of his brain it came from. On the blank page before the dedication was another hand-written note. This writing was jagged and angry. You were our hero, it read. And you let us all down.

  Billy exhaled and closed the book. It was going to be a long two days, after all.

  He slept most of the time away, a strange, dreamless sleep that left him feeling more tired than when he put his head on the pillow. Twice a day Forrest came with a bowl of cold soup and a litany of questions designed to test Billy’s cognitive functions. He passed with flying colors each time, though Forrest always kept his hand on the butt of his revolver during these sessions. By the time he came downstairs the fifth time, boredom had whipped Billy into exhaustion. When Forrest unlocked the cage and held it open for him he didn’t move.

  “You’re all set, man,” Forrest said in a kind yet apprehensive tone. “Let’s go. The Doc is waiting for you upstairs.”

  Billy stood up, his body sore from inactivity. He grabbed the book – his book – off the cot and exited the cage. His every muscle hurt. His head pounded. Forrest stayed behind him as he made his way, painfully, up the long staircase, positive the man’s fingers were still tapping on his gun, just in case.

  They went up to the third floor and Forrest ushered him into his room. He found Dr. Terry sitting at the desk, a medical kit spread out before him. The old man gestured for him to take a seat.

  Billy sat down on the bed and removed his shirt. “Why did we not do this in the basement?” he asked. “Would that not have been safer?”

  “You could look at it that way. On the other hand, you could say that you had infected blood injected directly into your bloodstream, which means that if you don’t show any symptoms now you never will. I’ve seen enough RF victims to know that. I know how fast it spreads, and you don’t have so much as a fever.”

  “I see.”

  Dr. Terry examined him. When finished he stood up and wobbled to the door. “We’ll start tomorrow,” he said

  “Why tomorrow?”

  “You’re fatigued. Being down there in the cold and dampness can do that to you. You need your rest. This may take quite a few sessions, if it works at all. You’re going to need your strength. There are a couple boxes of crackers and a few cans of peaches in the plastic bag on the windowsill. Eat all of it and then get some sleep. I’ll be back to get you in the morning.”

  With that Dr. Terry left the room. Billy thought about getting up and doing as the doctor ordered but his tired body told him to lie down. He obeyed his natural instinct instead and placed his head on his pillow, listening to the constant murmurs of the dead wandering outside the window.

  In a matter of seconds he was fast asleep.

  * * *

  A knock at the door woke him. Billy muttered, flipped over, and ignored it. The knocking came once more. He sat up and yawned.

  “Come in,” he mumbled.

  The door opened and in walked a tall, familiar-looking black man. It was Leon. He carried with him a pitcher of orange juice and a glass. His face was a mask of indifference while he maneuvered through the room with purposeful strides. It was the first time Billy had seen him up close and he marveled at his beauty. Leon had wide cheekbones and thick lips. His eyes sparked with intensity.

  “Hello,” Billy said.

  Leon didn’t answer. Instead he placed the pitcher and glass on the end table, peeked at the windowsill, where the crackers and peaches remained in their bag, untouched, and frowned. He looked at Billy, directly, for the first time.

  “John told you to eat up. You didn’t.”

  Billy furrowed his brow. “John?”

  “Dr. Terry.”

  “Oh, yes. I apologize. I have been quite tired. I must have passed out.”

  The younger man scowled. “You want to help the girl? You have to take care of yourself.” He snatched the peaches out of the bag and threw them at him, a bit too hard. With his reflexes still stiffened from sleep Billy barely got his hand up before the can struck him in the face. He raised his eyebrows at Leon, cracked open the can, and ate a slice.

  The peaches were sticky, sweet, and delicious, and Billy cursed himself for not eating them earlier. He could already feel his energy returning as he greedily sucked down slice after slice until they were gone.

  “Sugar,” said Leon, leaning against the windowsill, watching him.

  “What of it?”

  “You were sugar deficient, that’s why you’re so tired. I told John – Dr. Terry – to keep you weakened while you waited in the cage. Just in case the worst happened.”

  Billy cocked his head. “Do you really think that would have made a difference?”

  “It might or it might not’ve,” Leon said with a shrug. “But just in case it did, I owed it to everyone to err on the side of caution.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “Of course it does.”

  Leon stood up. His massive shoulders arched back as he walked, proudly, across the room. “Now eat up,” he said. “And follow orders this time.”

  “Leon, wait,” Billy said. The young man stopped in his tracks.

  “What?”

  Billy reached over, snatched the signed copy of The New Kingdom from the nightstand, and tossed it to his visitor. Leon caught it. He held it in by his side and grimaced.

  “You forgot your book,” said Billy.

  For too long Leon just stood there, his eyes going from the book in his hand to Billy and then back again. Every so often he would open his mouth as if to speak only to snap it shut before words came out. Billy recognized the expression he carried, the inner conflict the young man felt, and ended his torment by speaking first.

  “I am sorry I disappointed you, son,” he said.

  This seemed to weaken Leon. His shoulders slumped and his head wobbled from side to side as he ran a hand through his close-cropped hair. After a moment’s hesitation he walked to the bed and sat down on the edge.

  “You were no different,” he said, his back to Billy.

  “Different from who?”

  Leon peered over his shoulder with a squinting glare. “From any other gangbanger I ever met,” he said.

  Billy grimaced but spoke in his usual calm tone. “In what way?”

  “You shot the kid. Right in the face, right in front of the courthouse.”

  “I did. And he deserved what he received.”

  “Bullshit,” Leon gasped. He spun around on the bed and faced him. “I don’t care what the guy did. I don’t care what he did to that girl. When you pulled that trigger you were no better than he was. The lowest of the low.”

  “Maybe,” replied Billy. “However, I do not see how that would have mattered to you.”

  The young man’s face dropped in exacerbation. “What? Are you serious? For a smart man you’re incredibly stupid. I looked up to you, man. You
were a hero to a whole generation of kids just like me, kids who grew up with nothing. You preached fighting the war for equality with talent, intelligence, and hard work. Hell, for a lot of us you were as important as Doctor King. But then…you gave it all away. Shooting that kid? It proved everything you wrote about, everything you ever said, was bullshit.”

  Billy’s heart dropped like a sunken tanker. For the first time, when he saw the face of Arthur Sweetney, his old teacher, in his mind, that face stared back in disgust. He found it amazing that five minutes alone with this young man had done what more than a decade in prison could not. It humbled him.

  “I am sorry, son,” he said. “I never thought of the effect it could have on the outside world. I only thought of myself.”

  Leon seemed taken aback by his reaction. His appearance softened and he stared at him with a look that bordered on compassion. “Uh, it’s okay, Mr. Mathis,” he said.

  “No, it is not. I have failed you. I have failed everyone.”

  “Is this why you feel like you have to save the girl?”

  Billy shrugged. “I never thought of it that way before this moment, but yes, I suppose that has been the case all along.”

  From then on out things went a bit smoother. They talked for some time and never during their conversation did Billy lapse into the role of lecturer. He let the dialogue flow smoothly, personally, in a way he’d never done before in all his life. He told Leon of his childhood – the hardest stories, not those the public knew about – and listened when Leon spoke of his own. Before long they were laughing together. Billy felt ashamed that he’d never let someone inside like that before. He made a mental note to do the same with Christopher the next time he saw him. The boy deserved at least that much.

  When they parted company Leon again ordered him to eat up because the procedure would begin after dinner tomorrow. Billy said his goodbyes. When the door closed behind the young man and he found himself alone, he sat cross legged on the bed and quickly downed everything before him. He wished he had his bag and notebook with him, for these were the types of revelations that deserved to be written down.