Bone And Cinder: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (Zapheads Book 1)

by Nicholson, Scott

  “You okay?” Mackie asked her.

  “Safest place she can be right now,” Herrera said, patting her head as if she were a dog.

  “Think you could do me a favor?”

  “You askin’ me?” Herrera said.

  “No, her.”

  Rebecca nodded, her eyes hopeful now. She knew that Mackie’s request would be nothing more than a ruse to separate her from Herrera, and she was obviously grateful for the gesture.

  “I’m pretty parched. Haven’t felt well the past few days. Think you could find some water for me?”

  Herrera laughed. “Maybe the junkie should learn to fetch his own water.”

  Rebecca gave a pleading look to Krider. After a beat, he nodded slightly. Rebecca jumped from Herrera’s lap and jogged toward the exit.

  “You’re looking better,” Krider said after she left.

  Mackie shrugged.

  “Ready to make that run now?”

  “I have something else to do first.”

  “Oh?”

  “Favor for a friend.”

  “What’s the favor?”

  “Doesn’t concern you. But while I’m out...I can pick up a few supplies.”

  “Where is this favor going to take place?”

  “Faculty Hill.”

  “Not a bad test. You’ll be taking Dante with you...and that kid, Artiss.”

  Mackie couldn’t place the name, but Artiss was obviously one of the two male students. “You’re sending one of the students with us?”

  “You’re sending one of the students with us?”

  Krider shrugged. “He volunteered. Wants to earn his keep, I suppose. And it never hurts to have a little more experience.”

  “Why just three of us? An extra person means more security, more supplies we can carry back.”

  “I need people here. It’s not like this is the only supply run we’ll make. Go fetch Dante and Artiss, Herrera.”

  Herrera stood and as he moved past Mackie, he placed a hand on Mackie’s left shoulder. He leaned close to Mackie’s ear. “Every time I see you, seems you and me get a little closer to having a problem.” Herrera exited the student union.

  “Y’know, the man mostly does what I tell him,” Krider said. “But if he wants to kill you as badly as I think he does, there probably won’t be much I can do to stop him. Maybe antagonizing him like you are isn’t the way to go.”

  “You should get rid of him.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You wanna talk about unstable? There’s no greater threat to any of us right now than Herrera. How much longer before he decides he doesn’t have any reason to stay loyal to you now? How long before he decides that maybe he should be in charge?”

  Krider would never sanction Herrera’s death, and even if he did, Mackie had no intention of letting Krider live. But if there was even a slim chance that Mackie could convince Krider that Herrera was a threat, it would make his job easier. And maybe save other lives in the process. Every survivor mattered in a world where there weren’t many to spare.

  Until then, it wouldn’t hurt to make Krider a little paranoid.

  Krider smiled. “Maybe there’s a little truth in what you’re saying. But no one else here, including you and McRae, has the skills Herrera has. And we need those right now. You think it’s just the brain-fried crazies we need to worry about? What about the other survivors that may find us and decide they want to take what’s ours? Dog eat dog.”

  “He needs to go, Lucas. For all of our sakes.”

  Krider laughed. “No offense, chief, but how exactly would you propose we ‘get rid of him’, even if I was agreeable to such a notion? You’re sure as hell not up to the job.”

  “Let me get near a gun. I’ll make it happen.”

  Krider stood and gently cuffed Mackie across the cheek with an open palm. “Friend, your ass isn’t going anywhere near a firearm until you’ve proven to my satisfaction that I can trust you not to do something stupid. Right now, you still want to kill me. In time, I think you’ll understand that’s not the best option for our community. Herrera stays. I can keep him on a leash. Been doing it for years.”

  Herrera walked in a few moments later with Dante and Artiss. Dante carried an assault rifle, but Artiss appeared to be unarmed.

  “Try not to take too long with this,” Krider said. “Bring back as much food and beverages as you can carry. Medicine and first aid supplies are also a priority. And don’t stir up too many Zapheads. If they’re active or moving in herds, get back here and report.”

  “You’re really going to send me out there without a weapon?” Mackie said.

  Herrera drew his Ka-Bar knife and held it out to Mackie. It was the knife he had used to murder the Wendover kid in the dining hall. Herrera’s wolfish smile told Mackie that this fact wasn’t lost on him.

  Mackie tucked the knife into his jeans. “And what about Artiss? Does he get a weapon?”

  “I’d rather not send him out armed,” Krider said. “Inexperienced kid like that. And besides, if I gave him a gun, you might be tempted to relieve him of it at some point. If he sticks close to you and Dante, he’ll be fine.”

  “I’m not a kid,” Artiss said, and Herrera snickered.

  That’s when Mackie noticed Artiss’ shoes. Red high-tops.

  The guy in the stairwell.

  “You left me to die,” Mackie said, coldly.

  Artiss backed away and held up his palms. “Hey, man, no offense. I didn’t know what was going on.”

  “Maybe I’ll get a chance to return the favor.”

  “Gentlemen,” Krider said. “We’re on the same team now.”

  “For now,” Mackie said.

  “I believe this is yours.” Krider tossed Mackie his backpack, empty and crumpled. “Pack as many supplies as you can. Look for other bags and boxes on Faculty Hill for transporting food and drinks. Try to be back by nightfall. I don’t think it’s too wise to push your luck, and in the dark, somebody might mistake you for Zaps.”

  “Where the hell are we going exactly?” Dante asked.

  “Mackie knows the way,” Krider said. “And Mackie...” Krider pressed both palms against either side of Mackie’s face, gently at first and then with an increased, less-friendly pressure. “Try to keep a clear head.”

  13.

  The sun was tame and orange, tufts of high clouds scudding across a blue sky. Mackie, Dante, and Artiss walked across campus heading for the highway that ran parallel to the main commons. Faculty Hill was less than half a mile west, over a rise of wooded ridges.

  As they passed the dining hall, Mackie saw Rebecca standing near the gazebo in the courtyard to the right. She held a bottle of water. Mackie stopped and she jogged over.

  Sayles and Meredith stood nearby, sporting assault rifles and wearing their military fatigues as if on duty. Meredith gave a nod to Mackie and he returned it.

  He took the water bottle Rebecca offered him as she approached. “Thanks.”

  Her eyes couldn’t quite meet his. “Thank you for...for getting me away from him. He gives me the creeps, but I’m scared to disobey him.”

  “Stay as far away from him as you can. There are a lot of places here where you can hide. Try not to sleep in the same place for more than a night or two. If he comes looking for you, you want to keep him guessing. But after I get back, if you want to stay close to me, you can.”

  Her expression soured. “I don’t want to hide. And it’s not your job to protect me.”

  ““What you want is less important than what will keep you alive. And while I’m gone, maybe you can help Desiree take care of Allie.”

  “How long will you be gone?” she asked.

  “No more than a few hours, I hope.”

  She made no move to step aside and let Mackie be on his way.

  “Was there something else?” he asked.

  “Those are bad people, aren’t they?” she said softly.

  “Yes.”

  “And you used to w
ork with them?”

  “Yes.”

  “They brought drugs here. Emma and Todd, I think they’re using—”

  “Using what?” Emma and Todd. The couple Mackie had spotted on the bench earlier. “Pills? Heroin?”

  “Heroin, I think.”

  “You saw them shooting up?”

  “No, it was afterwards. They were in the library. Something about them didn’t seem right. There were needles lying nearby.”

  Mackie nodded. Krider’s bullshit about sobriety and clear heads applied only to Mackie and those he needed for various tasks and favors. But the rest of the Evans-Lawson population...of course he would prey on their desire for escapism and use drugs as a way to control them. Mackie had seen it coming early on.

  “You can’t worry about what they do,” Mackie said, feeling like a hypocrite delivering the same “Just Say No” bullshit he rejected himself. “And stay away from that stuff. Better stay sharp if you want to get through this.”

  “We going or what?” Dante called out, evidently assuming command of their little mission. He and Artiss had walked some distance ahead, but stopped when they realized Mackie wasn’t behind them.

  “I’ll be back soon,” Mackie said. “Try to look after each other.”

  “Sure,” Rebecca said. “Somebody’s got to be civilized around here.”

  Mackie gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, and then caught up with Dante and Artiss. He opened the water bottle and took a long lukewarm pull.

  It tasted like rust.

  ###

  As they moved along the deserted highway between stranded and abandoned cars, they talked quietly in sparse, clipped sentences. Mackie offered few details about himself, but listened as Dante and Artiss exchanged heavily condensed bibliographic sketches of their pre-Zap lives.

  Dante and Artiss were both natives, and Mackie found that a little surprising, at least where Artiss was concerned. Evans-Lawson had a student body comprised of relatively few native North Carolinians. Artiss, according to what he shared with Dante and Mackie, was a local farm kid on a basketball scholarship. He had planned to major in Sports Medicine. Mackie commented that maybe Artiss could provide some first aid if Zapheads ripped one of their arms off.

  “No way,” Artiss responded. “Can’t stand the sight of blood.”

  Dante had little of interest to share about himself. Divorced. A mechanic at a tractor supply shop in Pecks Mill. No kids.

  They talked about where they were when the solar storms hit, and how they had dealt with the sudden shock of watching people around them drop dead. And how they had adapted when some of the survivors went on violent rampages. Dante bragged about killing a female Zaphead with his bare hands, showing off a scar she’d raked on his shoulders as if it were some kind of love bite.

  “One good thing about this,” he said. “I’m up to my eyeballs in debt, but right now, who gives a shit? No debt collectors calling now. I figure now my life can be whatever I want it to be.”

  If life hands you a shit sandwich, find a pack of mayonnaise. Laughable.

  But the mood quickly grew somber as the body count along the road piled up, stalled cars reeking with the stink of death. The group fell silent as they moved further west among the Victorian-style row houses, Dante out front with his assault rifle.

  They passed a Zaphead in a ditch to the right of the highway, a shirtless man in tattered chinos attempting to climb his way onto the blacktop, dragging behind him legs that were obviously broken.

  “Too dumb to feel pain.” Dante lifted his assault rifle, but after thinking better of wasting a round of ammunition and creating noise that might attract others, he hopped into the ditch and pounded the Zaphead’s skull with the rifle’s stock. It reminded Mackie of watching his grandfather kill snakes with a garden hoe after they had wandered into his yard. According to folklore, a beheaded snake wouldn’t die until after sundown. Mackie was pretty sure folklore didn’t apply to Zaps.

  They made the right turn onto the road leading up to Faculty Hill a little more than twenty minutes later.

  They had encountered no Zapheads or other survivors. Mackie wondered if the Zaphead population had moved on, maybe heading for the cities where there was more to destroy. Any survivors must have already wandered onto campus or else fallen victim along the way.

  The houses on Faculty Hill sat on either side of a cul-de-sac. A small patch of forest leading back to campus bordered the row of houses on the left. The cozy homes were wooden-sided single-story dwellings, each framed by a small expanse of lawn. The yards were scattered with the usual debris of domestic life: barbecue grills, toys, various lawn decorations, and flower beds that had quickly gone to weeds.

  Mackie chose not to look closely at the still form of a small girl crumpled in front of a large outdoor playhouse, a cloak of flies covering her skin and clothing.

  Dante turned his head away when he spotted the girl, apparently not as tough as his talk. Artiss covered his eyes with a hand and made a choking sound.

  “Are we doing this as a group or splitting up?” Mackie asked.

  “I don’t have a weapon,” Artiss said. “I should probably stick with one of you.”

  “I’ll check out this place,” Dante said. He pointed to the first house on the right, the one opposite of the yard with the dead girl. “You comin’ with me, Artiss?”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  Dante kicked open the front door, his assault rifle held out in front of him. He eased his way inside. A few seconds later, Mackie heard him give an all-clear, and then Artiss followed.

  Mackie listened for the sound of gunfire or a shout of distress. When he heard neither, he walked across the pavement to the house on the opposite side, checking the house numbers until he found the one that matched that of Dr. Lehman’s friend, Ms. Kinney.

  He tried the doorknob, found it unlocked. The house Dante and Artiss had entered may have been unlocked as well. If that was the case, then Dante had expended unnecessary energy and made noise that could have alerted potential threats. They still didn’t know what kind of stimuli triggered the Zapheads. It was possible they were lurking just out of sight, or maybe dozing in the dark like vampires.

  Krider thought he was assembling a crack team with the addition of the Guardsmen. But that obviously wasn’t the case. Dante, Sayles, and Meredith were likely little more than weekend warriors, potentially useful, but certainly lacking in the training and ferocity that Herrera—and possibly McRae—possessed. These days, overconfidence could get you killed.

  The house was thick with humidity and stale air. Mackie heard grunting and thumping coming from the kitchen to his right, his view blocked by a row of cabinets. He drew Herrera’s knife and walked slowly into the kitchen.

  A Zaphead—Ms. Kinney, he assumed—-swatted frantically at a black cat perched out of reach atop the refrigerator. The cat’s eyes were wide with a delirious panic, and Ms. Kinney—in shorts and a tattered blouse, her breasts clearly visible through the rips in the fabric—reached for the cat with raw, primal rage, her body crashing loudly against the refrigerator with each upward thrust.

  She could easily have reached the cat with the aid of one of the kitchen table chairs no more than a few feet away, but she obviously didn’t have the mental capacity to reach that conclusion.

  A ripped bag of dry cat food had spilled from the kitchen counter to the floor. Kitty had found enough food to keep itself alive before the crazy Zaphead lady found it and forced it to seek refuge on top of the refrigerator.

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” Mackie said. He had no qualms about putting her down even though she was—or had been—a woman. She was just like a problem dog or a snake in the yard.

  But Dr. Lehman obviously cared a great deal for her, and Lehman was the only honest-to-God friend Mackie was sure he had right now. He wasn’t sure if that made this easier or harder.

  Ms. Kinney stiffened at the sound of his voice but didn’t turn, apparently fixated on the cat. Mackie grip
ped Ms. Kinney’s shoulder and spun her away from the cabinet. He glanced into her eyes for any sign of humanity or recognition of his presence, but all he saw was the mad, sparking chaos of the mutated mind behind them.

  He lifted Herrera’s blade to her throat and slit her carotid artery, sidestepping to avoid the ruby rush of arterial spray.

  Mackie gently lowered her to the kitchen floor and folded her hands across her lap. He rested a hand atop hers as she twitched and gasped, her last few moments of life leaking from her severed carotid.

  “Dr. Lehman loves you,” Mackie said softly. “He’s sorry and he loves you.”

  He didn’t want to believe the day would come when he would do the same to Allie. Even if there was no hope, no possibility of a cure, he could take care of her. Keep her comfortable. He’d find a way.

  And maybe Dr. Lehman would have done the same for this woman. Mackie was making rules for himself that he wouldn’t allow others to apply. But he could live with that.

  And maybe die with it.

  He closed Ms. Kinney’s eyes with his fingers, the sparks in them already cooling to darkness. The cat remained frozen atop the cabinet, its back arched and ears flattened against its triangular head.

  Mackie placed the knife on the kitchen island and approached the cat delicately, his hands raised and palms facing out. Mackie spoke in the most soothing tone he could conjure. “Hey, sweetie. It’s okay.”

  The cat locked its wide, frightened, green-eyed gaze on him. Mackie reached out an unhurried hand. He was at least a good foot and a half taller than Ms. Kinney, so he would have no problem reaching the cat if it stayed put.

  He stood on the tips of his toes and placed his palms beneath the cat’s rib cage, all the while delivering a gentle cadence of soft words. His family had always kept cats around, so he had some experience with calming agitated felines. He lifted the cat from its perch and nestled it in the crooks of his arms as he flattened his feet and lowered himself to the floor.

  The cat, scared as it obviously was, made no attempt to strike out at Mackie. A fearful animal, yet one well treated by the humans in its life and not yet ready to shed its domesticity and revert to its feral nature.