The shower was lukewarm and did little to ease the aches in my body, but it was still welcome. My back and legs were covered in multicolored bruises from the crash and the fight with the zombies. My knee was inflamed. I pressed my fingers against the puffy flesh and triggered a dull ache that took a few seconds to fade away. There were grazes on my left ankle and hands. I’d gotten off lightly. I let the water run over my knee, trying to ease the stiffness that had built up overnight.
After drying myself off with a threadbare towel, I went back into the main room. The clothes Jefferson had given Ryan and I were identical: blue overalls, a thin black T-shirt, socks, and underwear. Apparently, we were expected to provide our own footwear. The others wore identical blue overalls, too.
Tom, Mason, Fitch, Gretchen, and Danielle went to get food as a group. Ryan and I tagged along, but we kept to ourselves. No one else seemed interested in making conversation. Fitch stayed at the back of the group, trailing along in sullen silence, but Gretchen, Tom, and Mason chatted amiably with each other as we made our way into another, much larger, temporary building to get breakfast.
The meal was an insipid selection of beige food. Watery scrambled eggs, bread that had been barely waved near a toaster, almost raw boiled potato. I ate. It was bland but warm. Ryan pushed his food around his plate.
Gretchen directed most of her attention to Danielle—a dark-haired woman in her thirties. Her face was thin and pale. Combined with the haunted look in her eyes, it gave her an almost spectral look. When Gretchen introduced Ryan and me, she greeted us in a quiet voice, then looked away. Gretchen sat with her while they ate, talking quietly.
I’d almost finished my meal when Ryan nudged me. “What do you make of this place?”
I returned to my first thought—that it seemed more like a prison than somewhere anyone would choose to live. I shrugged. “I haven’t really thought about it.”
Ryan frowned and looked around the room at the twenty or thirty people sitting at the mismatched collection of wooden tables. “It just seems… wrong. This is supposed to be a safe zone, but Faraday seems to be able to do whatever he wants.” He leaned closer to me. “And there’s the people living outside, the one percent or whatever you want to call them. Doesn’t that seem weird to you?”
“I’ve spent the last few months trying to avoid being eaten by the living dead. Nothing is weird anymore.”
“Nah, it’s weird.” Ryan rubbed his chin. “The question is, what are we going to do about it?”
The urge to burst Ryan’s bubble was almost irresistible. He was a naive fool for thinking he could do anything. Even more of a fool for thinking I was going to help him. Not that he was really talking about the camp as a whole.
I let my initial reaction dissipate, then chose more careful words. “There’s nothing you can do about Sara. Faraday’s in charge here. He’s not making any secret of what he’s doing and no one is stopping him. Which means they either don’t care or they’re in on it somehow. Either way, you aren’t going to change anything.”
Ryan clenched his teeth. The anger and frustration from the night before was returning.
I started eating a piece of bread and hoped the conversation was over.
Ryan leaned across the table and tapped Mason’s arm to get his attention. “What’s the deal with Faraday?”
Mason shrugged. “He’s in charge. That’s all you need to know.”
“Of everything?”
“Just the camp.”
“So, what about the rest of the city? There must be a chain of command, someone telling Faraday what to do.”
“I told you, the one percent run this place, just like they always did. As long as Faraday keeps the wild zombies out, they don’t care.”
“What do you mean, wild zom—”
Ryan stiffened.
He was staring toward the entrance. Faraday was standing there, surveying the room. His gaze reached our table and settled on me. I ducked my head to scoop more of the flavorless eggs into my mouth and hoped the movement looked natural.
I kept my head down, but a few seconds later I sensed movement off to my right. When I looked up, Faraday was standing beside our table. The conversation died down.
Faraday frowned at me. “What’s your name again?”
“Marcus Black.”
“You’re the damn fool that got himself surrounded by zees out on the highway.” It wasn’t a question. His eyes narrowed. “Black… I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?”
I tried to look confused. “I wouldn’t have thought so.”
My heart sank as realization lit up Faraday’s eyes. “You were at that camp a couple of months ago. We picked up two survivors, but we left you behind because you’d been bitten.”
“No, I—”
The denial was a mistake. Faraday moved forward until he was standing so close our noses were almost touching.
“We lost an entire cleanup crew in that camp. Best as we could tell, they got overrun by a massive group of zees. You know anything about that? Marcus?”
I knew plenty about that. It hadn’t been my fault, but I doubted Faraday would believe me.
I frowned. “No, I didn’t see any cleanup crew. I stayed in the camp until dawn, but there were too many of those things around, so I left.”
“So, you weren’t bitten?”
“Not properly. My jacket protected me. By the time I realized, it was too late.”
“Where did you go?”
“I went back to sleeping rough for a while, like I had before I found the camp, then I ended up in Sanctuary.”
Faraday stood in front of me, staring. I tried my best to look nonthreatening but didn’t drop my gaze. Men like Faraday were like wild animals; they sensed fear. He let out a breath, and I caught a hint of bacon.
“The woman you were with, Lucy, she told me a lot about you.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Really?”
Faraday nodded slowly but didn’t elaborate.
The silence had spread from our table to the rest of the room, conversations gradually dying down as everyone sensed the growing tension and turned their focus to Faraday and me.
Behind Faraday, the door opened and Jefferson walked in. He looked around the room until he spotted Faraday. He walked slowly over and stood silently beside the captain.
Without taking his eyes off me, Faraday turned slightly toward Jefferson. “Yes?”
“The tunnel crews are back, Captain.”
“And?”
“There’s still a lot to get done, and they’re running low on supplies. There was another breakout in the eastbound tunnel. We lost two more men.”
News of the deaths didn’t seem to affect Faraday. He just nodded slowly. He considered me for a few seconds then straightened.
He looked across the room to where four of the helicopter crew that had picked me up were sitting. “Alpha Team, let’s go.”
The soldiers stood immediately and headed toward the door. Faraday looked at Jefferson. “Get this lot moving.”
“Yes, sir.”
Faraday started to walk away, but Ryan stood. “Captain.”
I saw Danielle flinch. Gretchen put a hand on her arm.
Faraday turned slowly to face Ryan. His brows arched. “Yes?”
“I want to see my fiancée.”
I glanced at the gun clipped to Faraday’s belt. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see him draw it and shoot Ryan there and then.
“No,” Faraday said. He turned and walked away.
Ryan moved to go after him, but Jefferson grabbed his arm. “Leave it, man.”
Ryan clenched his fists but didn’t struggle.
Jefferson waited until Faraday had left the building, then let Ryan go.
“What tunnels was Faraday talking about?” I said.
“The ones for the old SkyTrain. We’re still working to close them off and stop the zees from wandering in that way.”
Most of the SkyTrain ran aboveground, but the do
wntown stations were underground, and one of the lines ran east beneath the water. Jefferson was right. The tunnels would be an easy access point for the dead to break into the city.
Or for someone trapped inside to break out.
“What would I have to do to get onto that work group?” I said.
Jefferson sniffed and rubbed his nose. “There’s room, but you’d need authorization from Captain Faraday.”
I didn’t need Jefferson to tell me how unlikely Faraday was to approve the switch. The tunnels might still be the answer, though. If I could find a way through them, I could get out of the city. Maybe I could find another secluded spot to continue my work.
Except I couldn’t. I’d lost the scalpels and the shadow was gone. Both had been a part of me for over half my life. Abandoning them would be like leaving a piece of myself behind, an arm or a leg. I wouldn’t do that.
Jefferson checked his watch. “Okay, people, it’s fun time.”
His voice was loud and almost excited. Ryan glared as though the presence of such positivity was an insult in itself.
Mason and Tom gathered up our plates and took them across the room to a table that held half a dozen black plastic trays. Gretchen nodded to Jefferson and headed outside with Danielle.
Ryan tightened the zip on his overalls. “Have you seen Sara today?”
Jefferson shook his head. “No, I’m sorry.”
“Does he do that a lot?” I said. “Taking women from the camp, I mean.”
A strained look came over Jefferson’s face. The man was clearly uncomfortable with his commanding officer’s behavior. “Sara is the fourth. That I know of.”
When Ryan spoke, his voice was flat and cold. “Do they come back?”
“Look, man, you need to—”
“I need to know what’s happened to my fiancée.”
Jefferson held Ryan’s gaze for a few seconds, then sighed. “No. As far as I know, none of them have come back.”
Ryan’s face went pale, but anger blazed in his eyes. I thought about Danielle’s demeanor and the way Gretchen treated her so gently. Two puzzle pieces I hadn’t known were missing clicked into place.
“It happened to Danielle, didn’t it?” I said. “A friend or family.”
“Their daughter,” Jefferson said. “She and Gretchen adopted a twelve-year-old girl about seven years ago. They came into the camp together…”
“And Faraday took her.”
Jefferson nodded. He was making an effort not to look at Ryan. If he had, he’d have seen a man whose anger was about to boil over. I could almost see him trying to formulate a rescue plan. I had to discourage him, I didn’t need the attention from Faraday.
Changing the subject, I said, “What’s this C detail that Faraday has us lined up for?”
“It’s one of the cleanup crews, out on the water.”
Ryan frowned. “What are we cleaning up?”
Jefferson smiled grimly at him. “The dead.”
Chapter 8
Blood and Water
A plain white van was waiting for us by the camp’s entrance. The driver had hung his arm out of the window and was tapping impatiently on the door. According to the logo on the vehicle’s side, it had once belonged to a one-day painting and decorating company. The rear doors were open. Wooden benches, from a school by the look of it, were bolted to the floor in the back.
Fitch, Mason, Tom, Ryan, and I were apparently all on the same detail. One by one, we climbed into the back of the van. The air inside was stale, with a faint hint of sweat. As soon as Jefferson closed the door, sealing us in, the van lurched forward. There was a pause and the rattle of metal while the gate rolled open, then we were moving again.
We rode in pensive silence—Ryan brooding over Sara, Fitch biting the remains of his fingernails on his little fingers. Mason stared at the floor, deep in his own thoughts while Tom pulled out a battered paperback, some sort of science fiction novel, and read.
The rear windows were grimy, making it hard to see where we were going, but I recognized the curve of the road that cut beneath the city’s viaduct and alongside the sports stadiums. The truck swung around a corner, and Mason slid along the bench and into me. He gave me a look that was half apologetic and half Why’d you let that happen, then resumed staring at the floor.
Less than ten minutes after leaving the camp, the van rolled to a halt. Muffled voices came from outside, then the back doors clattered open to reveal a man in a black soldier’s uniform. He was middle-aged, the sides of his neatly groomed hair splashed with gray, and held an assault rifle in the almost casual manner of someone who was used to living under the threat of violence. I wasn’t sure if that meant from zombies or from workers trying to break free of Faraday’s tyrannical rule.
“Mornin’, Lambert,” Mason said.
Lambert gave him a short nod and beckoned to us.
We clambered out of the van. It was parked beside the wall, in the shadow of a row of high-rise buildings. Once, they’d been some of the most expensive properties in the city’s downtown. In the dim fall light, they looked gray and dusty, devoid of lights or any other signs of life. Two more of the defensive platforms hung from the wall, one on either side of a black, metal gate. Each platform held a solider armed with an automatic rifle.
The driver climbed out of the van and greeted Lambert. Then he leaned against the hood and lit a cigarette.
Lambert led us across to the gate. He unlocked it and pulled it open just far enough for us to get outside. Mason went first, leading us out onto the seawall, the pathway that almost completely encircled the city.
We fell in behind Mason as he led us along the path to the entrance to a marina.
Behind us, Lambert called out, “Good luck with the floaters!”
I took a look back. Lambert was standing beside the open gate, grinning.
Mason raised a single finger at the men and headed down a metal walkway to the docks.
Before the zombies made their appearance, there would have been thirty or forty boats moored there—including some massive luxury yachts belonging to the city’s rich and famous. Now, only a dozen vessels bobbed beside the strips of concrete jutting into the water, and most of them were small. A single large boat was moored at the far side of the marina: the Elisa. Presumably the rich and famous had fled to safer climes. Maybe I could do the same?
The thought stuck with me as we walked past a twenty-foot motorboat. The deck was open to the elements. All I’d need was a key and I’d have a way out of the city.
A bigger motorboat waited for us at the end of the concrete dock at what had once been the stop for the water taxis that served the area. The boat’s captain—an aging bald man with a thick mustache—was already on board. He had the tanned, leathery skin of someone who’d spent most of his life out in the open. His overalls were old and smudged with oil and dirt.
“Ah, fresh meat!” he said.
Mason gestured toward us. “This is Marcus and Ryan.”
“Welcome to floater duty,” the captain said. There was an unfamiliar edge to his voice, Mexican maybe. He wasn’t smiling.
He waved the five of us onto the boat, then pulled away from the dock.
“You’d better hold on, it’s a bit rough today.”
The boat’s engine sputtered and coughed, then caught and drove the boat out across the inlet. The water was choppy. The boat lurched as a particularly big wave hit the bow. Fitch clutched at the side railing.
It was cold out on the water. It wasn’t raining, but the wind had picked up, and my overalls did little to ease the chill.
The captain looked back over his shoulder. “My name is Eduardo. You can call me Captain or Eduardo, it’s up to you. Just don’t call me Ed or I’ll throw you overboard.”
Ryan grinned, but Eduardo didn’t return the favor.
The boat cut through the water, turning left toward the Cambie Bridge. On the city side, the heads of the guards keeping watch for the dead peeked over the wall.
The opposite side of the inlet was largely undisturbed. Some of the buildings had been damaged, and there were a couple of abandoned cars. And the dead. Always the dead.
Two clusters of them stood at the edge of the water. They watched us as we passed, probably attracted by the sound of the engine.
Metal shipping containers formed a barricade about a third of the way across the bridge. A lone soldier stood behind the barrier, his rifle resting on top. He was leaning casually against the container, yawning.
A group of soldiers worked near the supports on the far right of the bridge, well away from the city. One of them was sitting on the bridge’s railing. She was wearing a harness, and two other soldiers were checking it.
“What are they doing?” Ryan said.
Eduardo looked up at the bridge. “The soldiers? They’re wiring all the bridges ready for the big one.”
“An earthquake?”
“The big zee.”
Fitch looked up at the bridge, his face creased with concern. “There’s a big group of zombies coming?”
“Not as far as I know,” Eduardo said. “But it’ll happen one day, and when it does, they’ll blow the bridges and seal off the city.”
“I heard the army is starting to make progress on getting rid of all the zombies,” Fitch said.
Eduardo snorted. “Not round here. We’re the only city left in the Pacific Northwest.”
Ryan arched his eyebrows. “What about Seattle?”
“We lost contact with them two days ago. Way I hear it, a few zees came in on a boat. Port security had gotten complacent or they were just dumb. Either way, no one knew about the outbreak ’til morning.”
A siren wailed. It rose and fell in pitch, like something from an old war movie. At the sound, one of the soldiers working to rig the bridge with explosives raised his rifle to his shoulder. He sighted down the weapon’s scope. Five seconds later came the snap of a gunshot.
The soldier stayed motionless for a few seconds, then lowered his weapon and gave a thumbs-up. The siren died down.
The boat hit another wave and lurched.
Serial Killer Z: Shadows Page 5
