by Shana Festa
"Welcome to Asylum," said a male voice. Mack had come to greet his loyal subjects, gracing us with his noble exaltation.
He could have easily moved a few feet to the left, but instead stood directly behind me, forcing me to have to turn my body. What an inflated sense of self-worth. Were we supposed to bow to him, too? I fought the urge to snipe at his inconsiderate interruption.
I decided to keep shoveling food into my mouth. I would show him the same courtesy he'd shown me: none.
He continued talking, completely oblivious to the slight. "We're ecstatic that you've made it here safely. Above all, Asylum is a haven of mutual respect. We have but one rule here, and it's that we all do our part to keep this community running smoothly and safely. As your president, I take my role as the new commander-in-chief seriously and will do my absolute best to run what's left of our great nation to the best of my ability."
Wow, this guy was all pomp and circumstance, and the more he spoke, the more I disliked him. He exchanged introductions with Meg and Jake, and I knew he would make a big deal out of it if I didn't feed into his ego trip and kiss the ring. When I turned to introduce myself, he gave me an exaggerated look of shock, even adding the dramatic gasp.
"What happened?" I asked. Did I have a booger? Food on my face?
He stuck out a finger at Daphne, hard enough that I wondered if he pulled a muscle. "Dogs have no place at a dinner table, little lady. It's unsanitary."
"You've got a pile of rotting corpses festering in the Florida sun just a few hundred yards away, and you're worried about a dog at the table?" My inflection definitely relayed the fact that I found his statement preposterous.
He sneered at me, pointing to the back door. "Dog's eat outside."
Through the window, I saw a man seated at one of the umbrella tables in the courtyard. A German Shepherd ate from a bowl on the patio beside him. That was it, the last nail in the coffin of this man's character. I loathed him. I readied myself to deliver a biting retort, and Meg made a show of spilling her water on the table and her lap.
"Oh, dear," she said dramatically. "Will you look at what I've gone and done? I'm so clumsy. Emma, could you come help me clean up a bit?"
I narrowed my eyes at her and shot her a scathing look. Mack either didn't realize Meg was putting on a show, or didn't care. Without a word, I tucked Daphne back under my arm and stood, discreetly palming the rest of my turkey breast to give her once we got back to the room.
"Pardon me," I said to the man. Looking him straight in the eyes, I willed my bitchy self to lace my glare and words with sickly sweet venom. He was close enough to my personal space bubble that my chair struck his knees when I scooted it back, and I felt a bit proud of myself when he yelped in pain. "Sorry about that," I said, laying it on thick.
Meg came around to my side of the table and led me away by the arm. When we made it to the base of the grand stairs, I heard his southern drawl grow more pronounced.
Like one good ole boy to another, he nudged Jake with an elbow. "Women," he said.
"Thank you for allowing us to join the community. I'd better go make sure the ladies can find our room," Jake said.
Mack laughed at Jake, obviously taking his sarcasm for sexist male bonding. "Of course. Enjoy your evening, take in the grounds, and get to know the fine folks of Asylum. All new arrivals are to meet our talent coordinator in the reception hall for information on job opportunities when the seven o'clock bell chimes.
Jake nodded and caught up to us on the stairs.
* * *
I kept silent until we'd reached our fourth floor bedroom, but upon closing the door, I erupted like a volcano.
"The nerve of that fucking prick!" I blurted as soon as we were alone. "Dogs eat outside," I repeated, mocking Mack in a sniveling tone.
Meg chuckled at my imitation, and I went on.
"Who the fuck does he think he is?"
"Apparently, the president," added Jake, nonplussed.
"Yeah, well I certainly don't remember voting for him. He's rude, sexist, and I'll bet he's even racist!" I put Daphne down and paced the room, stamping my feet like a child in the throes of a tantrum. My fists clenched and I felt the forgotten turkey breast squish between my fingers. I sat on one of the empty beds and tore off small pieces for Daphne, who gobbled them up with vigor and wagged her tail between bites and stomped her little paws on the floor waiting for the next morsel.
"Do you think everyone else agrees with the way he runs things?" asked Jake.
"I didn't hear anyone speaking up, did you?"
"No, but that doesn't mean anything," he replied. "Given what lies outside these gates, it's easier to stay quiet and adapt to the status quo for fear of being tossed back into Hell."
"That doesn't make it right," I objected.
"I am only going to say this once, Emma." He grabbed the sides of my face and forced me to look at him. "Keep your mouth shut; go with the program. I don't like it any more than you do, but we haven't been here long enough to make an informed opinion yet. So unless you are ready to have us all tossed out on our asses, keep your objections to yourself."
I pulled my face out of his grasp but kept my eyes on his. "I get it, Jake."
"I hope you do, because it would be suicide to go back out there and try to make it on our own."
"Striker is managing just fine," I snapped back at him.
"Sure, if by fine you mean living alone in a metal box."
"Aren't you at least a little curious as to why he chose to live in that metal box as opposed to this place? That doesn't give you the least bit of pause?"
Jake looked at me, his eyes hard and cold. "He's a psycho, or hadn't you noticed that while you were making goo-goo eyes at him? What gives me pause is my wife flirting with another man."
His words knocked the wind out of me, and I sat there, mouth agape, staring at him in disbelief.
"It's like Adam all over again." He spat the words at me and left the room, slamming the door in his wake.
I sucked in a shaky breath and my mind sped through memories of my interactions with Striker, searching for anything that would have given Jake the impression that I was flirting with the man. I came up empty. There was nothing even remotely resembling a flirt. It didn't make any sense. Just yesterday, Jake had defended Striker when I'd been angry with him. I couldn't keep up with his mood swings anymore.
Daphne whined from the floor, staring at the last of the turkey in my hand, and I dropped it for her. Meg crossed the room and sat down on the bed next to me.
"Don't listen to him. He's not making any sense. You didn't do anything wrong, with Adam or Striker. I'd tell you if you had."
Her kind words pushed me to the brink of tears, and I thanked her. She was Jake's sister; her loyalty was to him, not me. I knew I'd done nothing wrong, but it felt good to have her validation. What didn't feel good, however, was Jake's insecurity.
I let myself cry for a few minutes before splashing water on my face and giving myself a pep talk in the bathroom mirror.
"Ready?" I asked Meg.
"For what?"
"I want to find Jasper and get some answers. And I also want to find the guy with the other dog and get his take on things."
Meg looked apprehensive. "I don't know, Emma. Jake was pretty clear about us not ruffling any feathers. Do you think it's a good idea?"
"Who said anything about ruffling feathers?" I asked her, a mischievous smile spreading across my face. "I just want to get to know some of the residents. You know, be neighborly and all that crap." What I didn't add was that if there was anything below board going on here, I wanted to find out. I was definitely glad to be off the streets, but I wasn't ready to hand over my trust and roll over obediently just because someone told me to.
Chapter 19: Lambs to the Slaughter
Before descending the stairs, I leaned over the railing and looked at the hall below, happy to see dinner was over and there were only a few women milling around doing cleanup. Wh
en I passed the landings to the third and second floor, I found many people gathered in the common rooms on each level. A few looked up as we moved by, and I noticed a few scowling in our direction, but mostly people smiled politely.
"Well," whispered Meg, "at least it will be easy to spot Mack's supporters."
"They'll be the ones giving us the evil-eye," I replied.
We stopped in front of the large grandfather clock. The antique timepiece towered more than a heads-length above me, and was intricately crafted in a dark mahogany. Its white face read five-thirty, which left ninety minutes to kill.
Daphne caught site of the other dog before we did and she squirmed to be let down to investigate. I didn't dare let her out of my arms this close to the tables for fear of reprisal, so we passed by the area quickly and stepped onto the back patio.
The sun set much earlier in the winter months. The fiery orb hung low in the sky and reflected off the water, serving as a backdrop against the man and his dog. Standing at the end of the boat dock, the man faced the water. His left arm hung at his side and patted the head of the German Shepherd seated beside him in a scene I'd expect to see on a Hallmark card with the words Thinking of You in cursive script across the top.
The dog's ears twitched in our direction, alerted by our footfalls across the paved area, and he nudged his master's outstretched hand in warning. Both turned around and regarded us with quiet reserve. I saw a tan patch on the man's upper arm that looked like a law enforcement emblem.
"Ow!" Daphne used her claws to dig into my chest. She launched herself from my arms and darted the remaining distance to the other dog. She stood in front of the sleek black animal and barked, though her tail was wagging. The dog still just sat there waiting for its master's command while Daphne sniffed its legs and chest. I feared for her, one bite from those massive jaws and it was game over.
Finally the other dog got tired of her yapping and planted a paw on her back, pinning her to the ground. She yelped in surprise and cried to be let up.
"Leave it," said the man, and it let go of its hold on her. I jogged the final few feet and apologized for my rude dog.
"I'm so sorry about that. Daphne's pretty strong willed."
"Not a problem," he said, bending to show her some attention. That's one thing I've noticed about dog people. We always greet the animals first.
"Who's this?" I asked. My hand was held out, palm up about a foot from the dog's face. When I was younger, my dad used to train police dogs, and he drilled it into me to never shove your hand in a dog's face. I waited for it to come to me.
"This is Boss," he said and took one hand off Daphne to pat his own dog at the same time. "Okay." He gave the dog the release command, and Boss padded over to me and sniffed my outstretched hand, giving it the lick of approval.
"Hey there, Boss." I reverted to baby talk whenever I spoke to dogs, and he responded with a husky bark. Bending at the knees, I brought myself down to his level without putting my face too close to his; another thing my dad taught me. Dogs are unpredictable, and I liked my face. I didn't want anything chomping down on it. Boss closed the small gap between us and panted happily as I scratched behind his ears. Then he knocked me over and attacked with a barrage of kisses as I giggled and tried to hide my face from the slobber.
He repeated the same warm greeting with Meg and when Daphne was tired of the man, she went back to trying to engage Boss to chase her. Boss looked expectantly at his handler, waiting for his command. "Go," he urged, and the dog took off down the dock with Daphne trailing behind yipping excitedly. The two played on the grassy area within view. Boss was smart and knew he needed to be gentle with her, and he frequently looked back at his master to ensure he could see him at all times.
"I'm guessing you're a cop, and Boss is your partner," I stated as he helped me to my feet.
"You guessed right. Corporal Tom Sweeny, Naples PD."
Meg and I returned introductions and we walked back, sitting down at one of the tables to watch the dogs.
"I'm not going to beat around the bush here, Corporal," I started.
"Call me Tom," he interrupted. "Titles don't mean much anymore."
"Okay, Tom," I continued. I tried to find a tactful way to ask my question, but as usual, I failed. "Is Mack a huge asshole?"
"Emma," Meg warned. She gave me a stern look that said be careful.
Tom laughed at my delivery. "Pretty much, what you see is what you get."
"Damn, I hoped I was just reading too much into things. Everyone just follows his lead?"
"Like lambs to the slaughter." He shook his head, not pleased with the status quo either. "Most of these folks are scared and desperate. They need someone to tell them to wipe their ass."
The dogs loped over to where we sat, tongues lolling from exertion, and Boss curled up at Tom's feet. The dog's posture was relaxed, but his eyes and ears remained alert, scanning the area constantly. Instead of jumping up in my lap, Daphne snuggled against the big dog and let out a long sigh of contentment that made me smile.
"Aw, Daph's made a friend," I said.
She opened one eye at hearing her name but closed it again and nuzzled closer to Boss.
I wanted to ask Tom to share his story, but I held off. Most, if not all of us, had horrific experiences, and I'd discovered early on that asking about it wasn't an efficient icebreaker.
"What do you think about the whole dogs eat outside thing?" I prodded.
"Heh," he laughed. "I'm just fine with it. It's the only real alone time I get around here."
"Sorry, it doesn't look like you'll be having much alone time anymore," I replied. "I've been banished to the kids table with you."
"So long as it isn't one of the cronies, I can deal."
Meg had sat quietly, observing the conversation, but having seen an opening, she chose to join in. "What can you tell us about Asylum?" she asked. "Is it really the last of our government?"
"Honestly, I don't know. Without knowing what's really going on out there, it's hard to tell what's truth and what's fictionalized to suit their needs."
"Is Mack really the president?" I asked.
"Assuming the elected president, vice president, and others before him in the line of succession are dead, yes. The secretary of defense is sixth in line to the presidency."
"That's a pretty big assumption," she declared. "Has anyone provided empirical evidence that they are actually dead and not just hiding, or cut off like the rest of us?"
"Nope," he replied.
I grabbed the bull by the horns and went for it. "So what's really going on here? Outside of the apparent dictatorship, I mean."
Tom cut his eyes to me. "Like what?"
"I don't know, but something doesn't feel right." I saw the officer's posture stiffen slightly. Boss felt it, too, and raised his head. I'd pushed too much and needed to find a way to back pedal. I knew I'd found a potential ally, but I didn't want to scare him off. I hoped Tom wasn't as good a cop as I thought he was, and decided to try another tactic.
"A man helped us get here, Striker. He wouldn't give us any details, but his message was pretty clear, and he warned us off Asylum." I held my breath, waiting for him to either sniff out the bullshit or buy it. It's not like it wasn't true.
His expression changed, and he looked interested. "I know Striker. How is he holding up?"
"I don't know what he was like before it happened, but he's pretty closed off and robotic. He's just going through the motions. It's sad and infuriating all at the same time," I confided.
"So he told you what happened?" Tom looked surprised.
"Yeah," I replied, hoping he wouldn't ask me anymore questions. I was talking about the outbreak, but it was clear that Tom had been referring to something else. Something that would have made Striker leave and not want to have anything to do with Asylum. I held my breath and waited for him to slip up.
"Man, I still feel horrible for that guy. He got a raw deal." Tom shook his head at the memory.
Boss' head snapped up and he growled, low and menacing. Instantly, Tom was on his feet, his weapon drawn.
"Sook," Tom commanded the dog. I understood, from years of hearing my father give commands in German, that he was telling the dog to find something. Boss took off at a sprint with Tom following behind.
I looked at Meg and shrugged. She returned the gesture, and we ran to catch up to the dynamic duo. We stopped near the wall. I hadn't noticed on our earlier tour, but the stone wall was shorter by the water's edge. Instead of a five-foot barrier of impenetrable stone, it was only about three-feet high, topped with razor wire. A zombie struggled in the wire, caught up when it fell over the wall in an attempt to breach the sanctity of Asylum's fortification.
Boss hovered at a safe distance, growling at the undead and pacing back and forth. Tom reached him and patted him on the head.
"Good dog," he praised. "Sitz!" Instantly, the dog sat on his master's command, but remained alert. His muscles were tightly coiled, ready to launch himself between Tom and the zombie should he feel threatened.
In a fluid motion, Tom stalked to the struggling corpse and unsheathed a long blade. Without pause, he plunged the blade into the soft tissue at the base of its neck and drove it upward until the hilt stopped its progression. The zombie fell limp as soon as the blade perforated its brain stem. Like someone had cut the power on an electrical panel, the nerves stopped firing and it was twice-dead.
I scanned the area beyond the wall and found it empty. Boss, too, relaxed, satisfied that the threat had been neutralized.
"Oh, poor baby," I heard Meg coo behind me, followed a moment later by the labored panting of my dog. Her little legs made it impossible to keep up, and she tired much faster from the exertion. Meg showed mercy on poor little Daphne and picked her up so she didn't have to make the journey back on her own. She was pooped.
The moment was lost. There was no way to reopen the conversation without it feeling forced, so I set it aside and we just chatted for a bit. All the while, I searched every movement for Jake. Not knowing where he'd disappeared to bothered me, and the more time that passed, the more urgency I felt to locate him.
