by Mark Tufo
I know I'm grasping at straws. And I know if that’s the case, then Sam is as good as dead anyway. These people are beyond our help. Doc Roger was adamant about that. Still, what if he is here? What if I could see him again? Just to see his face, one last time.
Before I even realize what I'm doing, I'm running down the metal stairs, jumping them two at a time. An overpowering urge to find him is all I can think about. All I can feel. It consumes me, blocking out the shouts and dismay of the others. I ignore them all. There’s only one thing I care about right now. Finding Sam.
I approach the first oval pod and yank my knife out, slashing recklessly at the sticky substance. It cuts surprisingly easy and within seconds a face appears. I pull impatiently at the white gossamer strings with my bare hands, revealing a young woman. Her face is serene, pretty, and still very human. But not Sam. Abandoning her, I move quickly onto the next one and start the process all over again. The dark hair of the man in this pod jolts my heart like a shock-wave, and I yank harder at the mesh-like substance. But it quickly becomes evident he’s not who I'm looking for. Maybe the next one. It has to be the next one.
"Bixby." The shout is very close to my ear, but the voice sounds so far away. Like Luke is yelling at me through a tunnel. He blocks my way, a solid wall of immovable flesh. I ram his shoulder and push by him, trying to get to the next pod. That might be the one. It has to be the one. It has to be Sammy.
"Bix," Luke yells at me again. His arms engulf me from behind and lock around my chest, lifting me off of my feet. Preventing me from reaching the next pod.
"Let me go!" I scream. "I need to see. I need to see if he's here."
"Stop it," he yells, but I flail at him like a mad woman. "I said...stop it..." he grunts in pain as I kick him hard in the shin, but he doesn't loosen his grip. “Bix, it doesn't matter." He finally manages to yank the knife out of my hand, preventing me from doing him any harm. "Do you understand? It doesn't matter if he’s here. He's beyond our help."
He drops me hard, back onto my feet, and spins me around to face him. His fingers dig painfully into my arms.
"Do you understand?" he shakes me so violently, my teeth rattle. “Even if he is in here, you can't help him. Listen to me!"
He shakes me again, and just like that, the cold knot of reality clenches tight in my gut, accompanied by an overwhelming sense of loss. It's like a hard slap to the face and I stop struggling. He's right. He's fucking right. It doesn't matter if Sam is here. I can't help him. I can't save him. I can't have him back. I can't ever have him back...
The trembling starts in my legs. Tremors shoot out over my entire body, causing all my muscles to go weak. If Luke wasn't holding me up, I'm pretty sure my legs would’ve buckled underneath me. But the pain. The pain is the worst. It pierces my heart like a dull blade, twisting and turning with every damn inch. It feels like I'm losing Sam all over again. The raw emotion comes spilling out of me in a shrieking moan.
"Whhhhhhhy?" Biting back my tears of grief, I pound on his chest, wanting to inflict the same pain.
"I don't know why, Bix," Luke whispers as he grabs my hands, stilling my assault. His eyes are twin pools of hurt, reflecting my own misery back at me. "But I'm so sorry."
He pulls me close to his chest. I let him. Broken, defeated, I don't have the energy to protest. His heart beats against my ear, the rhythm soothing as he strokes my hair. His voice is thick with sorrow; he keeps repeating over and over, "I'm so sorry."
He has nothing to be sorry about. I want to tell him that. I want to tell him how grateful I am for his unselfish support, and friendship, and love. But I don't say anything. I just let him stroke my hair in numb silence.
I eventually become aware of the others around us. I ignore the quiet murmurings and Dom's muttered, “Told you she was a Nutter Butter." I really don't care what he thinks. Luke's protective arms holding me close are the only thing real to me at the moment.
"It's all set, Whitman," Kingsley interrupts, avoiding eye contact with me. Like he's scared shitless my crazy is somehow going to rub off on him. “We have to go."
I can feel Luke nod against the top of my head.
"Just give us a minute, will ya."
"You got five minutes, tops. After that I'm blowing it, whether you're out or not." Kingsley mutters, before ushering everyone else up the stairs. Their boots on the metal walkway echo about the cavernous room before I hear the door shut behind them, leaving Luke and me alone in the silent tomb.
He rocks me in his arms, back and forth. Like a parent with their child. It's comforting. It feels nice.
"You okay?" he questions finally.
"No." My answer is muffled against his chest.
"You will be."
"I know."
A bit more rocking.
"You ready to go?"
"I think so..."
He sighs, his breath stirring the hair on the top of my head. "I hear a 'but' in that voice."
I smile sadly. He knows me so well.
"Look at them, Luke. They aren't mutated or evolved or anything like Doc Roger said. They still look human. What if they can be helped? What if we’re about to take hundreds of innocent lives?"
He looks. I watch his face harden into a determined mask.
"I know what this looks like. But you saw the same thing I did, Bix. You saw what they turned into at St. Joseph's. Are you willing to take that chance? Are you willing the risk the lives of Amy, and Liv, and everyone else at the Grand on that slight chance? Because I'm sure as hell not."
He knows I agree with him. I'm not about to risk any more of the people I care about. But still, it tears at me, what we are about to do. And what if Sam is here?
"But what if, Luke? What if they can be saved? What if what happened to the hybrids at St. Joseph's really was caused by the docs' meddling?"
His troubled brown eyes stare into mine. "Then if there truly is a God, may he have mercy on our souls for what we are about to do. Now let's get the hell out of here before Kingsley decides not to wait for us any longer. I think our five minutes are up."
I follow him out the door, his hand gripping mine tight. Like he’s scared I’m going to lose it again. But I don’t even look back.
We join the others back on the road. They watch our approach warily. Kingsley has the detonator ready in his hand, and he raises an eyebrow at Luke. Luke glances over at me, almost if asking permission. I nod at him. I'm ready. It's time to get this over and done with.
"Do it," Luke says softly, and Kingsley plunges the detonator.
After everything we had been through these past few days, seeing the building collapse is totally anti-climactic. Following the initial explosion, the building simply just collapses in on itself, over in a matter of seconds. Its destruction is so serene and incidental. Like it shouldn't even be this easy.
I keep looking nervously over my shoulder, waiting for that other shoe to drop. But it doesn't. No leeches come barreling out of the trees, looking for a meal. No hybrids leap at us from the shadows, aiming to rip our heads off. There's just a sense of...finality. And if Sam is one of the infected in there, then I guess this is my last goodbye. It's time to let him go. Until we meet again.
No one utters a word as we watch the mushroom cloud of dust start to dissipate into the air. There simply are no words for what we’ve done, I guess. I just hope to God we made the right call. But the longer we watch, apprehension starts growing in my chest. The injury on my back where the hybrid had sliced me open starts itching like crazy, the thoughts itching at my brain just as bad.
I reach for Luke's hand again, needing his touch right now. His reassurance. He looks down at our clasped hands in slight surprise, then back up at my face. His surprise quickly turns to puzzlement, furrowing his brow. His eyes silently ask me what’s wrong.
"What if there are more?" I whisper.
Epilogue
The quarry warehouse sat alone and abandoned in its valley of dirt and sand. No footsteps marre
d the earth around the squat building, a testament to it having been forgotten about. No one had been in the old quarry, or entered this building for quite some time.
Inside, shadows danced and played with the dust motes that floated lazily in the feeble rays of the setting sun filtering through the barred windows. A fine layer of dust covered the warehouse floor, disturbed only by tiny prints of the odd vermin that dared to wander through looking for a hopeful tidbit.
One such critter scampered through now, darting in and out of the pillars of white that dotted the floor like chessboard pieces silently waiting for some master to move them about.
It paused at the base of one pillar; its nose daintily sniffing the air. It had made this place its home for a while. It had felt safe enough. But tonight...something seemed different.
The pillar shifted slightly and the mouse stilled. Wary but not afraid, its beady little eyes traveled up and stared curiously. It watched as the pod-like structure shifted again, causing dust to fall noiselessly around it. The next pod shifted. And then the next. A shimmer seemed to encapsulate the whole building, like an unseen wave of electricity had swept over its inhabitants.
Arms erupted from the mesh covering, causing the little critter to finally squeak in panic as it darted away. Its brain, too undeveloped to understand the birthing happening around it, did instinctively know that to stay in the open would mean certain death.
Its tiny, furry body squeezed underneath the door and scurried into the night leaving the warehouse behind.
In moments the warehouse came alive with movement. Arms flailed at the sticky substance, ripping and tearing it away from the bodies underneath. Humanoid beings arose from the pods, re-emerging back into a world they had already been born into years ago. No cries or screams accompanied this birth. It all occurred in complete and utter silence.
One re-born toppled from its covering and landed in the dust on its knees. Shaky hands tore at its chest, leaving a deep groove of crimson across the entwined rings tattooed just above the left breast. Smoky gray eyes opened in panic and its parched throat, weakened from months of disuse, struggled to form the one word screaming loudly in its head.
"Bixby."
About the Author
Other works by Michelle Bryan
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Awaken (New Bloods Trilogy Book 1)
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Ascension (New Bloods Trilogy Book 2)
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Grand Escape (Strain of Resistance Prequel)
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Coming October 2016 Strain of Defiance (Bixby Series #2)ABOUT THE AUTHOR
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Biography
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Michelle Bryan lives in Nova Scotia, Canada, with her husband, son, and two crazy felines. Besides her family, her other passions in life consist of chocolate, coffee, and writing. When she’s not busy being a chocolate store manager or spending the day at her computer, she can be found with her nose stuck in any sort of apocalypse book. Please visit her on Facebook, Goodreads, and Amazon or follow her on Twitter @michellebry101. She would love to hear from her readers, so feel free to leave comments or ask questions.
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Website: http://www.michellebryanauthor.com/
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Facebook Author: https://www.facebook.com/MichelleBryan.Author/
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Link for Strain of Defiance book 2: My Book
Strangers By David Moody
Chapter 48
FORTY-EIGHT MILES NORTH OF THUSSOCK
‘You all right?’
He just looked at her, struggled to focus, took his time to reply. ‘Sorry. Tired.’
‘It’s getting awful late. What are you doing out here at this hour?’
‘Not sure. Lost, I think.’
‘I’ll say. Where you heading?’
‘Can’t remember,’ he said, embarrassed, and he laughed like a child.
They blocked each other’s way along the narrow pavement. The silence was awkward. Joan’s dog Oscar tugged at his lead, keen to get home and out of the rain. She tugged back. He’d have to wait.
‘I’m cold,’ the man said, wrapping his arms around himself.
‘I’m hardly surprised. Just look at you. You’re not really dressed for it, are you?’ Joan continued to stare at him. What was he... mid-thirties, perhaps? He looked about half her age. His nipples showed through his wet T-shirt and she couldn’t help but stare. He was shivering, but that was only to be expected. She was cold herself, and she’d a vest, a blouse and a cardigan under her anorak. In the dull glow from the streetlamp between them, she thought he looked beautiful. ‘You’re not from round here, are you?’ she asked.
‘You can tell?’
‘It’s the accent,’ she giggled. What the hell are you doing, Joanie? She felt foolish... silly, even, like she was back in school, flirting. There was just something about him... she knew she should get home, but she didn’t want to go anywhere. Oscar whined and pulled at his lead again and she cursed him. ‘I should really be getting back,’ she said.
The man nodded, chewed his lip. ‘Okay.’
‘What about you?’
‘Don’t know,’ he answered. ‘Not sure.’
For a second she thought she detected an unexpected vulnerability in his face and she liked it. It made her pulse quicken, reminding her of times long-gone, times all but forgotten. Memories of youth clubs and dance halls... tongue-tied boys, all cocksure and confident with their mates, suddenly stammering with nerves when it came to asking her out. She remembered the makeup, the skirts, the dancing and the alcohol... knowing they were watching her, wanting her, knowing she had the power to make or break them with a single word, with just a look.
Stop. You’re sixty-eight. You’re a grandmother. Get a hold of yourself.
Normally she’d be wary of men like this, intimidated even. But not him. Not tonight. He was no threat, he was just... lovely.
‘You’re very pale. Are you sure you’re okay? They said it’s going to rain tonight, and you’ll not want to be caught out here in just your shirt.’ He didn’t react, just stared. Oscar pulled again and this time she yanked his lead hard, making him yelp. ‘Is there anyone I can call for you? Maybe get someone to come and pick you up?’
‘No one.’
Joan half-turned away, then stopped. You really shouldn’t be doing this, Joanie. She looked at him again. ‘You’re very handsome.’
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t react at all, just waited under the streetlamp, watching her watching him. She moved closer, then stopped again. She looped the dog’s lead around the bottom of the lamppost then smoothed the creases from her skirt and moved closer still, tucking rogue strands of grey hair behind her ear. What the hell was she thinking? She didn’t know anything about this stranger, hadn’t ever seen him before. Her head was telling her to do the right thing, to just keep walking and get home. Douglas had said he didn’t like her taking the dog out late at night like this, but he’d left her with no choice because the lazy old sod hadn’t been prepared to get off his own backside and do it himself, had he? He didn’t care anymore, not like he used to. To be honest, neither did she. They were bored of each other and had been for a long time. She pictured him now, back at home in front of the TV. He probably hadn’t even noticed she’d gone out.
She decided she’d rather stay here than go home. There was something the way this man looked at her, the way his tall, muscular body made her feel inside, and those eyes... full of life, full of promise. She felt a warm glow inside become a burning need; a re-awakening of forgotten feelings she hadn’t experienced in a long, long time.
Stop this, Joanie. Get a grip. You’re missing Downton.
‘I should really be going,’ she said.
‘Don’t. Please.’
His unexpected protest surprised her. Delighted her. He took a single step nearer and they came together under the streetlamp glow, almost touching. He unzipped her fawn-coloured anorak then slipped his tr
embling hands inside and ran them all over her flabby body. And she reciprocated; holding him, stroking him... kissing him with lips that hadn’t kissed like this in an eternity. He fumbled with his jeans while she struggled with her knickers. He gently lowered her down onto the wet pavement then ripped the gusset of her tights open as Oscar barked in protest and strained at his leash.
And who he was didn’t matter. And who she was didn’t matter. And the temperature and the time and the weather and the openness of where they were and what they were doing... none of it mattered. Because at that exact moment, there was only them.
In the morning they found the dog, still tied up, barking then whimpering. And close to Oscar, under the streetlamp, head in the hedgerow, legs sprawled across the blood-soaked pavement, mutilated, violated... they found his body.
Chapter 49
The sun sneaked through between gaps in the clouds, dappling the ground with racing patches of vast shadow and light. The sky overhead was more grey than blue now, summer’s last gasp disappearing fast. The end of August was in sight. Michelle didn’t know where the last twelve months had gone and she didn’t much care. As long as they’d gone, that was all that mattered.
The air smelled good out here, so very different. All around them were empty fields, nothing but space. The number of buildings had steadily reduced the longer they’d been driving, and now there were almost none. There were more trees than anything, huge pines which had been here forever, standing impervious and resolute, untroubled by the kind of trivialities and complications which had recently combined to make her life such an impenetrable cluster-fuck of hurt. The contrast with where they’d set out from this morning was stark. Back home in the Midlands, nature made way for man, but here the opposite held true. The road twisted and wound endlessly; the hills, rocks, rivers and forests dictating the way. You’ve got to get used to this, she told herself, this place is home now. But it was so very different to the sprawling suburban maze they’d left behind. Just a single road left to follow, no other traffic, no noise other than the car, just them.
