Atlas (Apocalyptic Cries Book 1)

by Adalie Jordin

  Shit.

  Running on nimble feet, I backtrack down the corridor the way I came. Following it past the entrance, I skid around a corner just as the whoosh of the door opening reaches my ears.

  Thank fuck!

  Peeking around the corner, I spy Mr. Penguin stepping out of what I’m assuming is an office. A lamp's soft glow halos Mr. P’s body from behind, sending an elongated shadow spilling out into the hall as he turns to glare at the man exiting the room behind him. The new guy is burly, with short cropped dark hair and a nasty scar slicing through one eye. His pace is quick and clipped, like he can’t get away fast enough.

  He’s clearly just as frustrated with Mr. Penguin as Mr. P is with him, if the way he brushes past him as he leaves is anything to go by. Mr. Penguin — is he Price, or is that the other guy, and Mr. P is York? — lets out an exasperated sigh and encloses himself in the office once more.

  Receding around the corner, I press my back into the wall and take a deep breath to calm my frantic nerves.

  That was close.

  My mind races with the implications of what I heard… Who was Josephine and how did I not know someone here died? Or is she somebody they both knew from Before? Who’s ordering them around? Because they clearly aren’t operating on their own.

  Commander Nyler makes the most sense, but I can’t be sure without proof.

  Glancing down at my watch, I realize I only have about an hour left before the guards make their rounds. Time to step this shit in gear.

  I’ve only been in this part of the Sports complex a couple of times, usually taking another way to gain access to the gym, but it’s not hard to orient myself and before long I’m standing in the hallway that houses ‘the door’ I’ve come to find.

  Seeing no one about, I look around for a place to buckle down and hide for a while. A pile of half-full storage crates in a corner across the way will do just fine. Crouching down behind them, I pull off my messenger bag and place it on the dusty floor beside me, then sit cross-legged and pin my eyes to the door, crossing my fingers I’ll see some movement tonight.

  Even if I don’t, the half-conversation I eavesdropped on is enough to keep my mind occupied for a while. I need to figure out who those men where, and what their place is here at The Compound, that’s for certain.

  Scrounging around in the messenger bag, I pull out a granola bar and quickly realize the error in my snack choice. It has a plastic wrapper that is bound to be loud as fuck.

  Making sure the coast is clear, I shrug, ripping open the bar and downing half of it in one bite. It’s chalky and tastes a bit like day old fruit rings, but it’ll do to keep me awake for now.

  Listening to music on my phone through some old headphones that’ve seen better days, I settle in to wait. I only have about thirty minutes before I need to get my ass out of here to avoid patrol.

  ◆◆◆

  Completely zoned into a song by some red-headed English dude that was popular Before, I don’t notice the faint clicking at first. When a loud clank resonates down the hall, I about jump out of my skin.

  Yanking my earbuds out, I stuff them into the messenger bag and sit up on my knees, peering through cracks in the boxes for a clear view of the door. It’s dim, but the light from the keypad reflects a green glow off the solid metal. I’d guesstimate the thing at six or more inches thick.

  They really don’t want anyone getting in. Too bad.

  It becomes apparent the clicking sounds are locks releasing from the inside. A freaking ass-ton of them by my count — but the door has yet to swing open. I have my phone ready, brightness on the lowest setting and the sound on silent so the camera shutter noise doesn’t alert anyone to my presence.

  After two more tumblers fall, the massive door yawns open, revealing absolutely nothing beyond. Again, it’s pitch black, but I can hear the shuffling of feet on the opposite side of the onyx veil.

  As a shoe becomes visible in the minimal glow of emergency lights scattered along the ceiling, it strikes me that the door hinges had been entirely silent. Somebody got smart and greased the squeaky bitches. Clever.

  I can use that to my advantage.

  A large black bag, with a slight shine to the material, is lifted into my line of sight, and I quickly pull my phone up in front of my face to start recording. A man waltzes into view with a full face-mask covering his features, his body in head to toe medical protective gear. I hadn’t seen it before, but even his shoes are covered in those medical mesh-things surgeons where into operating rooms.

  Curiouser and curiouser.

  The thing he’s carrying must be heavy, because he lists to the side a bit as he hefts it higher into his arms, then up onto his shoulder.

  If I hadn’t loved watching old crime shows Before, it probably would have taken me a lot longer to figure out what he was transporting.

  A fucking body bag!

  I almost drop my phone as shock rolls through me.

  Why the fuck does he have a body bag?

  I gag. I’m genuinely surprised when my nutritional bar from earlier doesn’t make an encore appearance. This is some messed up shit.

  The man can’t be Commander Nyler, his frame isn’t bulky enough, nor tall enough to be that snake. Which means my suspicions were right, and this isn’t just some secret man cave for Atlas’s main bastard.

  He struggles some more, grunting, as he gets the end of the bag through the threshold, almost dropping it as, what I’m assuming is a corpses head, bangs the edge of the frame.

  “Fuck!” He mutters, too low for me to make out a distinguishing voice.

  “What’s going on up there? You taking a peek or some shit?” The words stream from the darkness behind him. “Don’t be a perv. Shut the damn door, worm.”

  New guy’s shout tells me two things. One, the person in front of me toting around a dead body is low on whatever food chain they’ve got going on, and two…. There are stairs beyond the door. Dude number two had said, “… up there.” Now, that could be a turn of phrase, but I doubt it. Just one more tidbit of valuable information I’ll keep in mind when planning my break in of the place.

  The flunky mutters something under his breath, but it isn’t loud enough for me to hear. I’d guess he’s cussing out the other guy.

  I would be.

  He unceremoniously tosses the body bag off to the side of the entryway, where it lands with a solid ‘thump’. Something inside makes a wet sloshing sound, and again I have to force down my food.

  Stomping around, PPE-dude puts his full weight into it as he presses one shoulder against the steel door and pushes it home.

  I almost make a huge mistake at that moment. Having leaned forward to get a closer look without realizing, my phone bumps a box in front of me, causing it to slide forward the tiniest bit. The small hissing sound has the guy whipping around — damn good hearing — trying to discover the source.

  I hold my breath a few beats, heart racing in my chest, only releasing it on a silent exhale when he gives a dismissive shrug.

  “Fucking rats.” He gripes.

  Turning back, he hefts the body bag onto his shoulder once more, one end hanging low down his back. I still haven’t managed to get a clear view of his face, but that doesn’t stop me from snapping images of the incriminating scene.

  Wanting to follow him, I stop recording and stash my phone in the back pocket of my jeans. Quickly but quietly, I gather my messenger bag and wait for him to get a ways down the corridor before slipping out behind him.

  I’m getting pretty good at this sleuthing shit, mishap not included. Not getting cocky though, that’d be an amateur mistake.

  PPE-dude turns into a cluttered side hallway, filled with what appear to be old hospital gurneys pushed to the sides of the walkway, leaving the middle clear. It’s a bit brighter than the hall before, so I slow my pace, not wanting to be seen.

  Stopping next to a red door halfway down, he lowers the body unceremoniously onto the closest gurney. He fumbles arou
nd a bit before reaching into a pocket hidden in his protective gear and pulling out a set of keys. They jangle together as he flips through them, looking for the right one. Finally getting the door open, he reaches into the room beyond and flips a switch.

  Light pours into the hallway, and I quickly duck behind a gurney. Peering over the top, I watch him collect his haul once more and take a few stumbling steps into the room, stamina apparently waning.

  I’d be tired, too, carting around a dead body like a bag of rotten potatoes.

  He becomes careless, no longer seeming worried someone could wander by, and leaves the door open, providing me a perfect view of the horrors within.

  Holy. Fucking. Hell.

  It’s a cold storage room, like what meat packaging factories have. Only this one is being used to house half a dozen corpses on metal examining tables. The back wall has a giant oval door with a metal latch. A growing fire burns bright orange through a square vent-hole underneath as PPE-dude stokes it with a long iron rod.

  It’s a gods-damn incinerator.

  Soot and other particles stain the bottom of the door, cascading down to the grey concrete floor, which is surprisingly pristine. Large circular lights hang from the aged ceiling, placed over each of the stainless-steel tables. They’re all off at the moment, but bright industrial lights keep the room well-lit. The only other wall I can see from my vantage point has medical posters featuring human anatomy plastered across it.

  One in particular catches my eye as it looks newer than the rest, less professional. Maybe even hand-drawn. It’s weird in a way I can’t explain, and I quickly pull out my phone to capture a picture of it and everything else in the room before stashing it away again.

  PPE-dude straightens from his bent position by the fire and, after opening the furnace, goes to collect the newest body in their collection. I expect him to toss it straight into the flames, but I guess they’re running low on medical examiner bags or something, because after walking out of my sight line I can hear the familiar zing of a zipper being pulled open.

  It’s not long before his panting grunts reach my ears, and he’s walking back into view, body in tow.

  My eyes widen to that of saucers and I let out a cry, quickly covering my mouth to stifle the unchecked screech. The Fates are smiling on me today because he doesn’t seem to hear me over the sounds of the furnace — I don’t even care about that right now, though, because I fucking recognize the person he’s about to turn to ash.

  CHAPTER 6

  Hunching my shoulders, I try to make myself smaller as Mom, Dad, Jer and I follow the head honcho through the large group of people milling around us.

  I haven’t seen this many non-infected humans in one place in months.

  I’m in awe — and slightly overwhelmed.

  When a creep of a man, Donnel, had stumbled upon my family holed up in an old convenience store across the city, I wanted nothing more than to lock him out and wait for him to leave. But Dad was far kinder, and being the type of person he is, let Donnel into the store, offering him some food from the little we possessed.

  Donnel refused, claiming he had more than enough to eat where he was staying, and that he was willing to bring us back with him if we could answer some questions first. I was instantly suspicious, I mean… what could he possibly want to know? Was this some trick, and he had buddies waiting somewhere to come loot our hard-won supplies?

  Turns out, he needed to know our blood types, ages, if we’d been in physical contact with an infected in the last forty-eight hours and whether or not we had any communicable diseases.

  So, basically, a lot of personal shit that before the spread of what the news called Outbreak Dead Rain, would have been protected by HIPAA laws and highly rude to ask about. Now, it kind of made sense. If we were infected, or could spread another disease, I guess it would be pretty bad to have us around. I didn’t get the blood type question though… Why should that matter?

  Apparently satisfied, Donnel had pulled a small hand mirror from his back pocket and signaled to someone outside. I started to panic, looking around for some kind of weapon to defend us with, but I needn’t have tried.

  Pointing out the window, while keeping his skeevy gaze on my tits, Donnel directed our attention to a military convoy vehicle pulling up to one of the gas stalls.

  He’s with the military? I didn’t think they existed any longer….

  Turns out, they don’t. Not officially anyway. When we’d been escorted to the place we are now, a University campus Donnel called The Compound, we found that astonishingly, over two-hundred people were housed within its confines.

  Bedraggled and likely smelling of week-old sweat, our family was stopped inside the newly-constructed front gates and introduced to a military commander named Nyler. He ran The Compound, with a select group of ex-military members called Atlas that had formed their own sort of ‘militia’ after the fall of mankind to the Zerks. The infected.

  He told us how happy he was that more ‘Pures’ had been saved, slapping Donnel on the back with a gleeful expression. After introductions were made all around, Commander Nyler’s attention staying just a tad too long on my mother’s pregnant physique, he’d led us to this inside common area, where we’re now surrounded by so many people I’m still dumbstruck.

  “Over there is a map of the grounds that’s been updated since our little… renovations to the place.” Commander Nyler says over his shoulder to my dad. I try to listen in as best I can despite the noise of the crowd. “It’s still a work in progress, but the gates and barbed-wire fencing were finally completed last week, so that’s been a major safety improvement.” His smile is slimy as he relays more details about The Compound, and I really can’t bring myself to like the guy. There’s just something off about him.

  Stopping at what would have been a reception desk Before, he leans an elbow on the top of it and turns back to face us. “Now, Donnel had to’ve asked you all the basic entry questions for you to even be here right now, but we actually have some more in-depth information we need to gather before we can assign your family a unit.” Giving his attention to an older, gentle looking lady behind the reception desk, he just keeps talking - and talking. “Meet Gladys. She’s our records keeper — we were delighted to find her and her son holed up at a police station right after all this craziness started. She’ll be askin’ you some additional questions, and then she’ll take you to meet Nurse Nance for your physical exam.”

  I cringe. Our what now?

  Seeing my expression, he pastes on what should be an encouraging smile, but on his face it falls completely flat, morphing into more of a leer than anything else. “Don’t worry, pretty girl, it’s just a precaution. Gotta make sure you’re as fit as your daddy says you are.” He winks. Fucking winks at me.

  Douche.

  Gladys takes that moment to pipe in, her voice grandmotherly and calming after having to endure Commander Nyler’s brash tone. “Don’t worry, dears, we’ll take good care of you. Don’t let Nyler here make you think otherwise. If you’ll just come with me….” Standing from her rolling chair, she grabs a clipboard from the desks surface and steps off to the side, toward a closed door behind the reception area.

  She leads us past the barrier and through a hallway lined with improvised exams rooms. At the end of the hall is another desk, this one much smaller, with a woman in nurse’s scrubs sat behind.

  “This is Nurse Nance,” Gladys intones, handing the woman the clipboard she’s brought. “She’ll be the one performing your exams today. Just do as she instructs and you should all be done in time for dinner.”

  Dad steps up to talk with Nurse Nance, but I tune him out as I continue to take in our surroundings. Gladys begins to head back down the hall the way we’d come, but stops right beside me instead, meeting my gaze.

  “Sweet girl, you don’t have to look so worried. You and your family will be just fine here.” Her smile is gentle. Genuine. “Commander Nyler may seem intimidating, but what hi
m and his Atlas crew have established here is going a long way to ensuring humanity sticks around for the next couple hundred years or so.” Cupping my cheek, she meets my eyes with her rheumy blue gaze. “It’s easy. Just answer a few questions, get a physical like you would at any yearly doctor’s exam, and make a list of things your good at so they can figure out where you’ll best be able to help out in the community. Chin up.”

  I pull away from her slowly and give her my first real smile of the day. “Thank you, Gladys. I’m glad we had the chance to meet you today.”

  “Oh, pish posh. I’m just the paper gal. But I am glad you and your loved ones are safe now. Be seein’ you.” Continuing merrily down the hall, she disappears from sight.

  Jeremy catches my attention with a tug on my shirt. “I like her,” he states, all matter-of-fact. “She reminds me of Grandma. I miss her.”

  Pulling him into my side for a hug, I reply, “Yeah, buddy, me too.”

  ◆◆◆

  That’s her! That’s Gladys PPE-Dude is shoving into the fire like week-old trash!

  Anger builds at his treatment of her torn, naked flesh, and it’s physically taxing to hold myself back from rushing over to him and kicking his punk ass right in the nads.

  I don’t want to look too closely, I really don’t, but it’s like I can’t help it. A force outside myself demands I take note.

  Unable to do anything else, my eyes explore the expanse of Gladys’s exposed flesh. I can see pock-marks all down her arms that indicate dozens of injection points, along with strips of bare muscle where it looks like someone has sliced her fucking skin off.

  Her wrists have dark, deeply purple, bruising around them and I’m almost positive she’s been restrained at some point — I’m sure if I could see her ankles, they’d look much the same. There’s something off about her face, I don’t know if it’s because she’s passed on, or something more, but it doesn’t look how I remember. Maybe torture did that to a person though….