Those Who Remain (Book 3)

by Priscila Santa Rosa

  And I didn’t feel a thing.

  Well, duh! You’re a freaking zombie.

  My body’s barely keeping itself together. I’m rotting away.

  Hunger turns into fear, and fear into panic.

  I want to cry, but no tears come. Instead, a loud ringing pierces my skull, splitting it in half. I fall onto the floor, hands over my ears.

  Give me meat. I want to sink my teeth into meat. I want to eat... I want to bite. Please... Give it to me! I’m hungry. I’m so hungry!

  The door opens with a metal clank. I stand, eyes racing to see who’s there. My breathing accelerates and I feel my muscles flex in anticipation. It’s almost like some outside force is controlling my body, preparing it to pounce. I’m not a pouncing kind of guy; I’m more of a “let’s rest on this sofa for a few hours and watch TV instead” kind of guy. I don’t want to jump at anybody or bite their flesh, ripping their throat and letting blood run freely to the floor as I stuff my face with entrails and nerves and veins...

  “Danny.”

  I try to focus on the person speaking, but I can’t. My eyes keep moving from her face to her neck. I’m mesmerized by the skin. There’s a vein there, pumping blood. I lick my lips and pass my lumpy arm over my face to dry the drool from it. I am fucking disgusting.

  “Danny, I brought you food, but you need to stay calm. Can you do that for me?”

  I recognize the voice: it’s the doctor from before.

  I should bite her. She brought the cure. She took Roger and Lily away. She ruined everything. I should bite her neck.

  She kneels and I hear the click of a gun. Above us, beyond her neck, beyond her body, a guy points a gun at me, eyes narrowed. I nod at him with a smile. I’m not happy or excited, nor do I think the situation is remotely funny, yet I can’t stop smiling.

  And then she does it: she places a tray of food on the floor next to me and lifts the lid to reveal—

  Soup. Fucking soup.

  “I don’t want that,” I growl, barely holding myself down. Every part of my body is itching to attack her. “I don’t want that! Don’t give me that! I don’t want it! I want meat.”

  “I know that, but you can’t.”

  Our eyes finally meet. “Why? I’m hungry. Please.”

  “You’re making progress, Danny. The cure is working, but it needs help. A diet low in protein is important right now. You want to go back to normal, right?”

  I nod, muscles tight. My head starts to throb, pressured by an invisible force, followed by a prickling sensation that goes from the back of my neck to my hands. I narrow my eyes at the doctor, silent, as she takes a spoon, fills it with the hot liquid, and moves it toward me like I’m a little kid being stubborn about his veggies. The thing is: I let her. I wait until her hand is close and then I grab it, pulling her body, her neck, hungrily toward me.

  My teeth almost sink into her flesh when a splitting headache blurs my vision again. When I wake up, my shoulder is back in place. The doctor and the guard are gone.

  There’s only the soup left. And it’s cold.

  THE HUNTRESS XIII

  January 22nd, Friday, 6 am

  We step out of the truck into an underground garage. Beside our vehicle there are four more parked trucks. The doors of the garage close inward with a loud metal clank, followed by electronic beeping: probably a lock that requires an access code.

  Danny and Mouse can’t keep still; even inside the truck they must’ve sensed the change of scenery and temperature. I stay close to them, determined to act if the soldiers try anything.

  We wait as they take off their winter gear and store it in lockers next to the trucks. This reveals their gray shirts with “Security” written on the back, and pants with thin orange stripes down the side.

  They guide us toward a service elevator big enough to hold everyone here with room left for others. Its walls are painted washed-out yellow, with rays of white below printed CDC letters. We go down one floor before stopping.

  As the doors open, a plain white lobby appears. A few potted plants, two waiting benches, and cameras in every corner greet us as we step out. The reception counter is empty of employees. Instead, we follow the squad to another entry point. A metal door slides open after the team leader inputs a few numbers. I try to catch the code, but he positions himself purposely to hide the panel.

  That’s the second set of security measures we’ll need to bypass in case of an escape. I don’t like this, but nobody else seems bothered. Roger’s too worried about Danny to care, Tigh’s probably very pleased with the tight security, and the Doctor has stars in her eyes already, excited by the possibility of working on the cure.

  That leaves me to be the realist. Father’s voice finds its way back into my mind. What’s your exit strategy? You better have one, and quick.

  Next, we arrive at a security checkpoint. A single camera watches us on the opposite side of the entry point. It’s installed high on the wall, but leaning down to focus on the space immediately below. It blinks red, so it’s recording us. Two heavily armed soldiers stand guard while another brandishes a handheld body scanner to check us for metals.

  Simon turns to us. “You need to leave your weapons behind. Only security personnel are allowed to bear firearms inside the base.”

  I tense up with the thought of being stripped of my weapons. Perhaps to reassure us, Tigh steps up first, gives his handgun to Simon, and lets the guard check him for weapons.

  While everyone’s attention is occupied, I take a few steps back and move behind Mouse. He’s taller than me and will hopefully hide what I’m doing from the camera. I take out my hunting knife and stick it in Danny’s back, underneath his shirt, sinking it inside his body only enough as to not create a noticeable bulge. It unnerves me somewhat to hurt him on purpose like that, but it needs to be done. He growls at the intrusion, but nobody notices.

  I loosen the knots around Mouse’s wrists just enough so as not to make it immediately obvious that he’s free.

  The guard checks Maria, then Roger.

  I’m next. I give my rifle and smaller knives to Simon. While one guard passes the baton over me, another lists every weapon I have in a little notebook.

  When the infected’s turn comes, the security guard hesitates and stares at them, disgusted. He attempts to pass his baton over Mouse, but the proximity excites the infected. The knot holding Mouse’s wrists falls off immediately as he lunges and grabs the guard, attempting to bite the man’s face. A few drops of saliva slide from underneath the duct tape down Mouse’s chin.

  “Get it off of me! Get it off!”

  I pull the zombie off and hold him in place while Roger ties his wrists again. In that brief instant, we lock eyes. Roger knows what I did, or at least suspects. My knots don’t untie themselves on their own.

  It was a risk, but it worked in the end. Unsettled, the guard is too busy cleaning himself of dirt and saliva to bother checking Danny. “Just take these things away. Just go,” he mutters, waving us to leave.

  Human error. The inescapable flaw in all security systems.

  I let everyone go first, including Danny, and position myself behind him. The instant we leave the guards behind, I lift his coat a little and take the knife out again. He wrestles at the contact, but with both hands tied, he can’t do much. I slip the weapon into my jacket.

  You never know when stabbing someone is going to be a thing.

  Next is an anticontamination chamber.

  “It’s going to get loud,” Simon says. “Get ready.”

  He opens the metal doors with another code. The chamber is tight and barely fits all of us. Roger and I stand shoulder to shoulder, with Danny growling. The duct tape is falling off, revealing his lower teeth and lolling tongue.

  We stand still while a bright light passes over our bodies and jets of air come out from the sides. A loud alarm goes off, red and yellow lights blink madly, and an electronic voice repeats “Contamination breach” over and over again. Maria places
both hands on her ears.

  “Just stay still,” Simon shouts above the chaos. “I’m going to override it.”

  From my position, I see him pass a card over a small panel with a red light. The light turns green, and the alarm shuts off.

  Outside, a woman dressed in a lab coat with thin, vertical yellow stripes pricks our fingers for a blood sample. She doesn’t bother examining Danny and Mouse. She places a drop of blood on a white piece of paper and waits for it to turn green before letting us move forward.

  The deeper we go, the tenser I get. I feel like an animal being herded to the slaughter. Yellow and white walls and bright lights never seemed more ominous. Besides the marked numbers on the walls, everything else remains the same: fluorescent lights and the metallic sound of our footsteps. I’m automatically planning our escape. Steal a card, find the password, or maybe shoot the damn panel with a stolen gun. Then what? What about the guards? Or the other security checkpoints? There’s no stealthy way to leave this place with that anticontamination chamber. The second Danny steps in there, the whole base will know where we are. Unless he’s cured, which means he needs to stay in here until that happens. If that happens.

  After a few minutes of marching, we stop. Simon nods to his soldiers and they take Danny and Mouse’s bonds from Roger’s hands.

  “We’re moving them to the quarantine labs,” he says to Tigh. “Then the Captain will decide what to do with them.”

  “You’ll use the cure on them, or you won’t get it.” I walk forward to face him. “That’s the deal.”

  “There’s no deal, but what do I care?” He snorts, acknowledging my presence for the first time. “You sort it out with the Captain. I’m sure she’ll be very intimidated by your demands.”

  Maybe she’ll be intimidated by my knife, then.

  After a whole trip in silence, the Doctor finally wakes up from her daydream. She places a hand on my arm, perhaps noticing my hostility or fearing I might say the wrong thing.

  “It’s okay, Lily. Give it time. I’ll talk to them.”

  She seems to think they’ll listen to her just because she’s a doctor. I’m not so sure that’ll happen.

  Roger watches with a frown as the soldiers take our pair of zombies away. I slowly intertwine our fingers together and receive a strained smile in return. It’s going to be okay. I want to say that to him, but I’m not a good liar.

  With a last glance back at Danny, I follow them forward. We turn, crossing various hallways. I try to memorize the way back to Danny, but they all look the same and have very few distinct markers I can keep track of. I do make note of the cameras, two at the end of the each hallway. There are a few hatches on the way that might provide access to the ventilation system, but that’s about it.

  We’re rats in a maze, and I don’t think there’s any cheese at the end of it.

  “The Captain wants to talk to all of you, so get comfy, because she’s a busy person,” Simon informs us as he leaves us inside a meeting room. He locks the door after making sure everyone is seated.

  As the others look around, I place my feet on the table, aware of the camera in the corner, watching us. Two hours pass. Nobody talks; we’re silenced by tension. Making a prisoner wait is all part of the game, but it doesn’t rattle me like they want it to. Instead, I use the free time to think.

  The base seems well equipped and in good shape. No blinking lights, no broken doors, not a speck of dirt anywhere, much less blood. The pleasant room temperature suggests their heating system is working, so they have the energy to spare. The walls appear to be newly painted with the CDC colors and logos. This might be real. Honestly, deep inside I still have my doubts. Danny’s situation made me hope for the best, but shutting down my paranoid side is impossible.

  And that’s good, because paranoia keeps me alive. Father’s lessons keep me alive. Or make me crazy like Mom suggested.

  I shake my head at the thought.

  The door opens. A woman walks in with two soldiers at each side. She looks at me briefly, then sits down across the table and waves the men to leave. Her uniform is rumpled, sleeves folded and collar unfolded. She has dark circles under her eyes, and her black hair is silky straight, reaching her shoulders. She’s wearing a small badge that says “Head of Security.”

  Placing her elbows on the table, she opens a smile. “Welcome.” She checks her watch, then shakes her head slightly. “I’m sorry for the wait. I’m Olivia Irons, head of security. I understand you’re all exhausted from the trip, but I need some answers before you can rest. I want to make it clear that this isn’t a hostile investigation, but I have protocol to follow. Protocol that keeps everyone alive.”

  The doctor stirs in her seat. “We understand. We’re happy to answer any questions,” she says with a smile, one received only with a nod. I keep my mouth shut, despite not being happy at all with this situation. It’s too soon to trust any of these people.

  “First, I would like to know who you are. This CDC base was built in an undisclosed and isolated location to protect it from contamination and allow for the research of dangerous pathogens. I’m very curious about how you ended up here.”

  This time, Tigh takes the lead again. “I’m Sergeant Nelson Tigh.” He turns to Maria, who’s staring at him like he grew a second head. “She’s Doctor Maria Paz. I was on a mission to protect and evacuate her hospital’s medical personnel. She was the only one left. Following Army protocol, which mentioned the existence of this place, I decided to escort her here.”

  Irons nods and points at Roger and me. “And you two?”

  “Lily Hunter is our guide, and this is Roger Gilmore, sheriff of the town of Redwood. We crossed paths, and they decided to help us deliver the briefcase to the right hands.”

  “I see.” Irons’s gaze runs over us, and I stare directly at her, defiant. Finally, the Captain rests both arms on the table. “About the briefcase, I find it incredible that any of you would know about it, much less find it. So tell me: how did you come by Spencer’s work? Did you meet him in person?”

  Roger rubs the back of his neck before answering, “We aren’t sure, actually. We met someone who claimed to be Spencer. He was pursued by a group of mercenaries and fled before we could question him further.”

  I narrow my eyes at Roger. I’m not sure telling her everything is a good idea. I feel exposed and vulnerable to this stranger. She has our weapons and Danny. Should we just trust her this quickly?

  “If he left, how are you in possession of the briefcase?” Her tone is colder, eyes fixed on Roger as if trying to open his skull to unveil a secret. She probably thinks we killed Spencer. I would, in her place.

  “That’s where we come in,” Maria says, drawing the sharp eyes of the Captain to herself. “On our way here, we found an abandoned car in the middle of a highway. The briefcase was inside. The driver committed suicide with a shotgun, but I’m not sure if he was Alistair or not.”

  “And then?”

  “There was a note attached to it saying we should bring the briefcase to Akimi and mentioning that it belonged to Alistair Spencer. I recognized the name and told Tigh to open it. There was a notebook inside, and a vial.”

  “You read the notebook, is that right?”

  She nods. “He describes the formula there. It was then we were sure it was the cure.”

  “Thank you for answering my questions.” Captain Olivia places her hands on the table and inclines her body forward. Is she finished with the interrogation? I really want to leave this room. “Officer Orwell tells me you wish to make a deal. Apparently it involves a pair of diseased subjects you brought.”

  I waste no time. “We want them cured. Especially the younger one. He’s a friend, and his name is Danny. So if you want the briefcase, you better cure him.”

  Irons’s voice is calm. “But the fact is, Miss Hunter, you don’t own the briefcase in the first place.”

  Instinctively, I want to reach for my knife, but the table is too wide. If I’m g
oing to threaten her, I need to be closer. “We have it. So, yes, we own it.”

  Her smile already annoys me. There’s a coldness in it, one that’s very calculated. “You found it by chance, but that doesn’t make you the owner. In fact, I’m the owner.”

  “Last I checked it was Alistair Spencer’s briefcase.” That’s when I feel Roger’s hand over mine under the table. I glance briefly at him, confused. He raises one of his eyebrows at me. The message is clear: what are you doing? I frown in response. My message is clear too: I won’t stop until I know Danny is going to be cured.

  “He was a contractor employed by the CDC. The government promised a pardon for his crimes if he worked with us. He agreed. Thus, his research is ours to use. As this is the closest functional CDC base and probably the last one in the region, that means all the contents in the briefcase are mine.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “So, what are you going to do about it? Take it back by force?”

  “I would think that’s unnecessary. We both want the same thing.” The older woman stands, walking a few steps with both hands behind her straightened back. “As soon as Atlanta’s headquarters contacted us about the virus, our scientists started to work. But they needed samples, test subjects to analyze the disease, so I sent teams out to catch these ‘zombies.’” Silence hangs for a minute. Olivia slumps her once-straight shoulders. “None of the teams came back. So, you see, the scientists had no infected to study. You brought me two. If you return the briefcase, I’m more than happy to allow the research team to work on them.”

  “That’s great. That’s all we wanted,” Roger says, pressing my hand harder so I won’t interrupt.

  “Of course, I can’t guarantee Spencer’s serum will work. That’s outside my power. But I have full confidence the team we have here will do everything they can.” She walks to the door and opens it. “Come in, boys.”