Odium IV: The Dead Saga

by Claire C. Riley

  It’s pretty obvious what he was saying to us, and how far he’d be willing to go to enforce it. And it’s obvious that though he trusts me, he knows there’s some bad blood that he doesn’t understand between me and Ricky. I can’t help but wonder whose side he’ll take, if it comes to that. Ricky hasn’t liked me since I first arrived, and he hasn’t bothered to give me a reason either. All I know for certain is that if it comes down to it, I’m not a hundred percent certain that he’ll have my back—NEO or not.

  We head back outside, with Phil and Ricky going over to get the extra weapons and telling me and O’Donnell to make sure the area is clear just outside the gates. Alfie is there once again, a cigarette hanging from between his lips as he chats with Moo. I frown as we get closer. Moo can’t be more than thirteen, and Alfie looks much older.

  “What are you two up to?” I ask, sounding every bit the father of a teenage girl.

  Alfie pulls out his cigarette and looks at me, his eyebrows pulling together in concern. O’Donnell laughs from by my side.

  “He’s only fourteen,” she says. “Give him a break. They’re both just kids.”

  Moo turns to glare at O’Donnell. “I am not a kid.” Her cheeks flush red and I feel bad about calling them both out. I didn’t realize that Alfie was so young—otherwise I wouldn’t have said anything.

  “You shouldn’t smoke,” I say to him, to which he frowns even harder at me. I turn to Moo. “And you are a kid, and you shouldn’t be near the gate.” I think about Emily-Rose and what happened to her, and my stomach somersaults. Moo reminds me very much of her—young, feisty, and with a no-nonsense attitude. But she was also too trusting, and would no doubt make stupid mistakes, like kids do.

  Moo laughs. “I have the best shot in this place.” Her hand is on the gun at her hip, her gaze moving from me to O’Donnell. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

  “Almost the best shot, don’t get cocky, Moo” O’Donnell says before turning to me. “But she’s right. We teach our kids to fight, to shoot a gun, hand to hand combat, survival skills. Every person here can handle themselves.” She looks back at Moo. “Especially this one right here.” She says it almost proudly, and I’m guessing that she helped teach Moo how to shoot.

  “Anything out there?” O’Donnell says to Alfie.

  “A couple,” he says, stubbing out his cigarette, his brown eyes fixing on me as his shoulders straighten like he’s sizing me up. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  I have to force myself not to sigh in annoyance. Trained kids are great for survival—at least ours. Kids with overinflated egos are not good for their survival.

  “Well, Mikey and I are handling these ones, so you keep watch for Phil and Ricky while we clear the path.” She turns to the gate, waiting for Alfie to pull it open, and then she looks back over her shoulder, her gaze fixing on Moo. “You can help too.” She grins.

  “Watch and learn,” Moo says to me as the gate begins to open.

  I shake my head in annoyance at her arrogance, but can’t knock the kid when she quickly takes out a deader with a clean shot right between the eyes. She turns and grins and then pulls out the knife from her sheath and dives in to slash at another deader. She’s quick, I’ll give her that.

  “Are you joining in today, Mikey?” O’Donnell says with a grunt as she fights with a deader. It’s mostly bones, with just a layer of paper-thin skin covering it, and it’s completely naked, barring one shoe. One shoe. What the fuck is that all about? How do you lose your underwear but keep a shoe?

  She grabs at its neck, her fingers wrapping around the entire thing because it’s so thin, and she reaches back with her knife and stabs it through the forehead, and then lets it drop to the ground like an empty sack.

  Another deader is closing in on us and I jog over to it, noticing that it’s another one of the water zombies from a couple of nights ago. I wonder if it has only just managed to drag itself free of the mud surrounding the lake, or if this is another that washed up on the shore since then. It’s almost lost an arm in the process of dragging itself free, and now its limp, bony arm is hanging by threads from its shoulder. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before—in fact it’s pretty tame compared to some of the deaders. The grossest thing is the swishing sound it makes with every step, as if it’s filled with rank water and God only knows what else. And of course the smell. The smell makes me retch and gag, even being close to it. The deader is soggy and putrid, its skin bubbled in places where it’s previously been burnt.

  It lurches for me and I dodge out of its way and slash out with my hatchet, hoping to knock it off balance, but for an old deader it’s surprisingly able-bodied. It reaches forward with its one good hand, its mouth open wide, its jaws snapping open and closed as it dreams of chewing on my flesh. I slash at the reaching arm, chopping it clean off so that the only thing it can use to grab at me now is its teeth, and I take care of those by smashing my hatchet into its face. It cuts a straight line right through the center of its head, splitting it wide open like a watermelon. Even makes a super-cool popping sound too. I yank on my hatchet, pulling it free and dragging most of the deader’s teeth out with it.

  “Took you long enough,” Moo’s voice calls from behind me.

  She’s leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, that obnoxious look that only teenagers can have smoothed across her face. A swishing sound has me turning back around and I look back down at the deader with a frown. Its stomach is moving—minutely at first, but as I watch, the movements get stronger.

  “What the hell is that?” O’Donnell says.

  “Ewww,” Moo joins in. “Stab it, kill whatever’s in there.”

  I continue to grimace, dark curiosity burning through me, but the smell emanating from this thing is enough to tell me not to carve it open. Curiosity killed the cat, right?

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  “I really wanna see what’s inside of it.” Moo laughs.

  “I kinda do too,” O’Donnell says.

  I look up at her and she tears her gaze away from the deader. Her eyes connect with mine for a split second before she looks away, her cheeks flushed.

  “Yeah, I’m not opening that thing up. The smell is bad enough as it is,” I say, turning away.

  The growl of an engine has us all turning around as Alfie pulls open the large gate and a truck pulls out with Phil and Ricky inside. As usual, Ricky’s stare is fierce and Phil’s is casual. Nothing seems to faze that man, I think as I watch him blowing smoke circles out the window.

  “Hey, dudes.” He waves in our direction. “That looks like a keeper, Moo,” he says, nodding toward the deader on the ground.

  Moo grins. “I thought so, until this clown broke all its teeth!” She glares at me.

  I shake my head. “I’m too old for this shit,” I mutter, backing away from the still-swishing deader and heading toward the truck.

  O’Donnell matches my pace, waving goodbye to Moo, who walks back toward the entrance where Alfie is waiting to close the gate.

  O’Donnell and I climb inside the truck, and I take in the ammo on the bed of the truck. My eyes go wide as I carefully root through the small bag of grenades and the larger guns that I can’t even put names to. By the looks of it, there are even three homemade bombs, which is a scary prospect, because God knows who made them and how safe they are. O’Donnell watches me carefully as I go through the weapons, avoiding her stare.

  “You like what you see?” O’Donnell asks, and I look up at her. I’m not entirely sure that she isn’t goading me for the answer she wants to hear—that she wants me to say that I like looking at her. And in truth, I can’t say that I don’t. She’s a beautiful woman: thick dark hair, dark eyes, and beautiful curves. But I also don’t want to lead her on again, her own words from the previous night coming to mind.

  “Umm, yeah, there’s some big guns,” I say instead, deciding that this is a neutral enough answer.

  She lets out a laugh. “Big guns, huh?”


  I frown and then smirk, realizing what I said and the double meaning of it. “Oh yeah,” I agree, trying not to laugh. “Real big guns.”

  Guilt punches me in the stomach. I shouldn’t be joking about stuff like this with her. I know exactly what we’re both saying, and I’m doing what I just said I wouldn’t do. In a past life, I’m sure I was a woman, because I’m beginning to get as confusing as hell.

  “I like big guns,” O’Donnell says, holding my stare.

  I let out a slow breath. “I uhh…”

  “I’m joking, asshole,” she laughs.

  I smirk and drag a hand down my face, giving my beard a quick scratch. I look over at Ricky and Phil but they’re deep in conversation.

  “Calm down. Look,” she begins, reaching up and tightening her hair band nervously, “that was an asshole move the other night, but whatever, what’s done is done. Okay? I don’t want things weird between us.”

  Well shit, that makes things easier, I decide, yet the hurt look still on her face makes me realize that she’s fronting. But I accept her front because like she said, I’m an asshole, and it’s easier.

  “Sure, that sounds good,” I say, clearing my throat. “I’m sorry though, okay?”

  A pained look crosses her face, but she waves me away. “Yeah, okay, like I said, whatever.” She looks away and begins going through her bullets, fake counting them.

  It isn’t okay, not even a little bit, but instead of saying something to make it right I purse my lips and nod before looking out the window and shutting down the conversation completely.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The drive back out to the old barn is long, perhaps seeming longer because I feel so uncomfortable, but I feel it in my guts that we’ll find Adam today. One way or another.

  We park farther away from the barn this time, closer to where I parked my truck when we ran out of gas. We pull into the bushes by the side of the road, keeping the truck out of view of anything and anyone, before climbing out. I look around, realizing that my truck isn’t here anymore.

  “Where did my truck go?”

  “Aiken got it towed back to Haven. There’s not many decent trucks that still run anymore—can’t go wasting the ones we do find,” Ricky replies.

  I don’t know why, but it pisses me off to think that they towed my truck back and didn’t tell me. It’s mine, and it might not have gas in it, but it still runs…or it will when I get gas. Besides, there are other things inside it that are also mine. And Nina’s.

  “I should have been told,” I snap, surprising Phil and O’Donnell. But not Ricky. He lets a slow smile rise to his face, as if he’s been waiting to find that one thing that’ll really get to me. “It’s my truck,” I grind out, not caring that I’m showing my weakness.

  Ricky steps forward and tuts. “No, Mikey, it’s NEO’s truck now. Remember that. Everything you owned previously belongs to NEO—to Aiken. That’s how we work, and that’s what you agreed to.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but then close it, knowing that he’s right. This is what I signed up for. The spoils get shared, and everything is split equally. I don’t own anything at all. Not until I earn it.

  “I still should have been told,” I say, the words coming slowly as I try to contain my anger.

  Ricky goes to speak but Phil interrupts. “Yeah, dude, you’re right, you should have been. But it’s done now, no biggie, right? I’ll take you to the truck when we get back, okay?”

  I swallow down my anger and nod. “Fine.”

  I refuse to look at Ricky, knowing that with the way I’m feeling right now, if I do and he has that same smug look on his face, I’ll smash him in those pretty-boy teeth of his and get myself kicked out of this damned group.

  “Mikey,” O’Donnell calls from the edge of the field. She’s kneeling down and I walk over to kneel by her side. In her hand is a kid’s sneaker. “Is this his?” she asks.

  I take the sneaker from her, noting the blood splatter across the laces, and I turn it over in my hand and squeeze my eyes closed while I try to remember what he was wearing on his feet. But I have no idea. I don’t think I ever looked at his feet.

  “I don’t know,” I say and shake my head. I hold onto the shoe for a moment before dropping it to the ground. “I just don’t know.” I feel a pain in my chest, a tightening at the thought that when we were attacked, he was so frightened that he lost a shoe as he ran away. I squeeze my jaw closed tight and turn away from the field as I try to obliterate the image of his wide-eyed stare from my mind.

  “It probably is his,” Ricky says matter-of-factly. “I mean, it’s not like little kids go around losing shoes all the time, ya know? Should we go in there and try and find him first, before we take out the barn?” He points to the overgrown field. “Or should we head straight over to the barn and shoot the hell out of whoever is in there? I know what Aiken wants us to do first.”

  I know he’s goading me; setting me up for a fall, but I also don’t care right now. We had agreed to take out the barn first and look for Adam second, but finding his shoe and being this close to where he went missing, means that all previous plans are out of the window.

  Phil frowns. “Come on, dude, that’s not even a question. We need to head into that jungle and see if we can find him. Like you said, it’s gotta’ be his, so let’s lock and load and get going.” Phil reaches into his pocket and pulls out his cigarettes before lighting one. “It’s basically what Aiken told us to do anyway.”

  Ricky looks pissed that Phil has stepped in, and I use that to ground myself, balancing my anger out with some smugness of my own.

  “No, it’s not. We have to protect Haven’s people first, and strangers second,” Ricky bites out.

  “Well I’m going in and looking for him, with or without you. I’ll help with the barn takeout afterwards,” I say, giving Ricky a steady look.

  “We’re NEO, we stick together,” he retorts.

  “Well, if you’re a true NEO then you better come with us,” I reply, hoping like hell that O’Donnell and Phil both back me on this, or I’m going to look like an idiot. “Because I’m going into that field to find Adam, and these guys are going in with me, right?” I look at Phil first, and he nods without hesitation. Saving Fluffy bought me that card. When I look over at O’Donnell she looks a little warier, glancing toward the field and then across in the direction of the barn before taking a deep breath and nodding.

  “Sure, I’m in,” she says, but I can tell she’s not so certain that this is the right call at all, so I try to save the moment, for both of our sakes.

  “Look, we can take some of the homemade bombs from the truck, we’ll plant them around the back of the barn and head back to the truck. Set off the bombs, and go in and shoot whatever and whoever is left. I’m just asking for an hour to look for Adam before we start blowing shit up. They’ll never even see us coming. We’ll go in there, blow the shit out of them all, take their supplies, and head home with Adam and a truck full of weapons and probably food. We’ll go home to a hero’s welcome.”

  “Easy, tiger,” O’Donnell says, but I can tell she’s much more at ease with this suggestion, and I know it’s because she doesn’t want to go against Aiken’s wishes

  Even Ricky can’t disagree with my plan, though I can tell he wants to. “Fine,” he finally says.

  “Great, let’s do this,” I say, turning to look at the field. The plants are tall and thick, weeds and branches twisted together to create what seems like an almost impenetrable net. But if Adam went in there, then that’s where I need to go too.

  O’Donnell heads over to the truck and loads up the homemade bombs in to a backpack. When she comes back she only looks mildly concerned that she’s wearing a backpack full of explosives, which is a shit load less concerned than I would be.

  “You good with that?” I ask. “I can wear it if you want.” I do not want to wear it, but since this was my plan, I will. I’m thankful when she shakes her head.

  �
�Nah, I’ve got these babies.”

  “You made them?” I ask, and she nods.

  “Alright, let’s get going. I’ll take shotgun,” Phil says.

  “You can’t have shotgun if there’s no shotgun seat,” O’Donnell retorts.

  “Sure you can,” he replies, pulling out a machete. “I’m at the front, with the best view of the house. Therefore I called shotgun.”

  O’Donnell chuckles. “The best view is always behind me, you know that, Phil.”

  Phil laughs back and we all head to the truck and load up on as many weapons as we can carry without them being burdensome. Ricky grabs my elbow and pulls me to a stop right before I go after Phil and O’Donnell. I turn back to look at him, taking in his pissed-off serious expression.

  “What?” I snap, tired of his bullshit.

  “If you fuck this up,” he says, his dark eyes boring into mine.

  “I won’t.”

  “But if you do.” He shakes his head. “Just don’t go getting us all killed, or I’ll be pissed off and so will Aiken. I haven’t survived this long to be killed because of someone like you.” He pushes past me, and I want to feel offended by his comment.

  Someone like me? What does that even mean? He doesn’t know me. He hasn’t taken the time to even try to get to know me—the new me or the old me. But I don’t feel offended, because deep down I know that his comment is justified.

  I pull out my hatchet and follow them all, purposefully pushing past Ricky and O’Donnell and walking behind Phil since he’s the only one who seems to fully support me—even after the incident with his animals yesterday morning.

  I frown as I think about that. And I worry about who let all of those animals out, and why. To make me look bad? To get me killed? Or was it something else? Something worse? Or maybe I’m reading far too much into it and it has nothing to do with anything. Perhaps Phil had left the cover off Lavender’s hutch and she’d escaped and knocked over the other containers. She was tired yesterday morning; barely able to give me a quick glance before she’d fallen back to sleep. Was it because she was up all night playing hide-and-seek with her critter friends?