by D. J. Molles
“Antibiotics,” Shelley murmured. “He does look like shit.”
Shumate looked down at Lee, flanked by Shelley and James, while Kev still knelt down and stared threateningly at Lee, as though there would be nothing more pleasurable for him than to gut Lee where he sat. The first instinct for Lee, despite everything else bogging him down, was to stick his chin out and meet that threat head on. But he was trying to play a smarter game than that. A game where the stakes were much bigger than bragging rights on who was tougher.
The time would come when they would see who was tougher.
But for now, Lee avoided eye contact with Kev, chose instead to look intimidated and plaintively up at Shumate while he tried not to think about how deep in the shit he was burying himself. Tried not to think about his chances. Tried not to run the numbers in his mind, because he knew they wouldn’t be pretty.
Shumate looked amused. “Antibiotics, huh?” he nodded slowly. “Okay. We’ll look for some while we’re scavenging today.” He gave Lee a friendly wink. “After all, you gotta take care of the things that keep you alive, right? And you’re gonna keep us alive out there? Aren’t you, Captain? Because us living means you living. Right?”
Lee looked at each of their faces. Shelley filled with suspicion and bitterness. James smiling like a buffoon. Shumate with his eyebrows raised up, as though waiting for an answer. Kev still fixated on Lee like a cat watching a mouse hole. And in the background, still slowly putting on his gear, the Quiet Man, whose expression remained enigmatic.
Lee nodded. “Yes. I’ll keep you guys alive.”
***
Shelley drove the van erratically, blasting through twists and turns and slowing down to a crawl in long straightaways. The occupants in the back jostled around, bumping against each other and the blank side walls of the cargo area, and no one seemed to notice but Lee.
They’d allowed him out without the hood over his head, which was a step in the right direction. Optimism would have been too strong a word to describe what he felt, but he counted it a minor victory. Plus he had felt he had successfully steered the conversation away from the fact that he’d been about to snatch Shelley’s pistol from her waistband before Kev called him out.
Now he sat sandwiched between James and the Quiet Man, his back to the driver’s side wall, away from any doors. Deuce had tucked himself between Lee’s legs, a surprising show of trust coming from such a skittish dog, but Lee supposed Deuce trusted him moreso than he trusted these strangers. They’d tied another cord around his original bindings, and then slip-knotted it around the dog’s neck in a makeshift leash.
Up front and across from Lee, Shumate huddled between the driver’s seat and passenger seat, directing Shelley where to go as he read from a map he had splayed out before him. And Kev sat with his shoulder to the side doors, still staring at Lee with violent intensity.
Lee used his time to think. He didn’t know where they were going—Shumate was simply directing Shelley to go left or right, and not using street names to guide her. Based on the angle of the sun, Lee figured they headed predominately west. And if he were to go by last night’s conversation, they were headed into some sort of urban area. He could only hope that they had the sense not to wander into a larger urban area, where the number of infected might be so large that no amount of early warning would save them.
He’d already run through possible scenarios, and decided on the most likely ones. If yesterday were any clue, they would have two people in the van. Shelley seemed to be the driver, and Shumate had been the one that waited with her yesterday, while the other three made the rounds, seeming to keep the van close by. He wasn’t sure whether Shumate always stayed behind with Shelley, but he felt it might change on a daily basis, and believed that Shumate might not want to spend a lot of awkward time in the van, engaged in a staring contest with Lee.
So Lee discreetly assessed the others, breaking down body language, size, how well they appeared to handle themselves, and prioritizing them. Picking his “favorites,” so to speak.
First was James. He was small, thin, and young. He was fidgety. He talked too much. He joked too much. He laughed too much. That was weakness on display. A sign of someone who was not confident in himself, or his abilities. The big boy talk was overcompensation, like a bird ruffling its feathers to make itself look bigger. The joking was a sign of nerves.
Lee put James at the top of his list.
Then there was Shelley. Much the same evaluation as James, but she seemed a little rougher around the edges. The only reason she scored worse than James was because she showed a willingness to inflict pain, and a willingness to receive it to get what she wanted—signs of sadism and sociopathy. That made her a little more dangerous in Lee’s mind.
Next was the Quiet Man, whose name still remained a mystery to Lee. He was almost tied with Shumate, but the deciding factor had been that Lee knew something of Shumate, and very little of the Quiet Man. Lee knew that Shumate had survived the attack on Johnston Memorial Hospital, which meant he had some hard stuff in him after all. The Quiet Man seemed like he knew what he was doing, but perhaps simply knew that when you stayed quiet, people filled the silence with mystery and foreboding. He could have been a used car salesman, despite looking like someone that had done some criminal enforcing back in the day.
Last on the list was Kev. Kev was everything Lee didn’t like about the others, but lacking any visible cracks of weakness. Kev was a mold of every wild-eyed spec-ops goon he’d ever met that decided to go down the mercenary road because the pay was better and the rules were looser. The kind of guy that enjoyed killing, but didn’t get carried away by it. Always cautious, always suspiciously aware of everything, always ready to drop the hammer at the slightest provocation. Like a shark, glassy and languid when it’s cruising the ocean, but you know that with two twitches it could be ripping you apart.
Lee did not like Kev one bit.
“Turn right,” Shumate intoned, and the van took the corner in jarring fashion, pinning Lee’s back against the wall, before straightening out with a chirp of tires.
Lee leaned forward just enough to see past James and Shumate and out the windshield, where he could see what once had been a sleepy town. Red brick buildings rose all around them, short and squat. Black lampposts that did little but collect trash blown about in the wind. Gutters with desiccated bodies in them.
“Sit back,” Kev said quietly. “You don’t need to see where we’re going.”
Lee sat back, focused on the dog between his knees, idly scratching his fingers behind the dog’s ears while his mind raced and his stomach churned sickly. He was right about Kev. The guy was confident. But could Lee turn it into over-confidence? One of two things would happen by Lee cowering. Either Kev would relax and stop viewing Lee as a threat, or he would sense that something was up and become even more guarded.
“Slow up,” Shumate mumbled, craning his neck to see their surroundings. He pointed out the window to the right. “Pull up to the curb there. Yeah. Right here.”
Shelley guided the van right, braked slowly, then put it in park.
The van rumbled into a high idle then settled down after a minute.
Shumate turned around. He looked at Lee first, as though Lee had said something strange, then at the others. “Alright. Our guest and his dog will stay in the van. We’ll open the doors so the mutt can get a good whiff of the air. Then we’ll start working our way down the block.” Shumate raised a single eyebrow. “I’m gonna go ahead and join you guys this time. Who wants to stay with Shelley and our new friend here?”
James raised his AK-47 partially out of his lap. “Yeah, I’ll stay.”
Shumate’s fingers stroked his leather gunbelt. “Hmm…”
Lee stared down at Deuce, trying to look like he didn’t give a shit who they left in the van with him, but he couldn’t help his pulse pounding like a man who has set a trap and watches his prey wander closer and closer to it. Of all the people in the van, Ja
mes was the most likely to make a stupid mistake and open an opportunity for Lee to escape.
Leave me with James, Lee tried to will the situation into reality. Leave me with James. Everything will be fine. Just leave me with James.
Shumate grimaced. “Nah…I mean, no offense, James, but this guy…” he wagged a finger at Lee. “…this guy is a sneaky sonofabitch. Kev, why don’t you sit in the van today? Keep an eye on our friend here.”
The barest hint of a smirk broke across Kev’s lips. “Sounds good to me.”
It was everything Lee had in him to keep his eyes on Deuce, keep his fingers gently touching the fur, and to not react. After a moment that was just long enough that Lee felt he’d demonstrated how little he cared, he looked up at Shumate. He winced and let out a shaky breath.
“Man,” he said in a sickly voice. “I’m burnin’ up here. I’m not gonna be any good to you in a coma. Please…”
Shumate opened the van door. “Relax. We’ll find you some medicine.” He hopped out, looking around cautiously while James and the Quiet Man joined him on the curb. He put a hand on his pistol belt. “Now, whether or not I give you that medicine depends on how much help you are to me. So why don’t you focus on that for now, okay?”
Shumate gestured to the back door of the van. “James, pop those doors. Get some nice air flow goin’ for our dog.”
James sauntered over, his rifle swinging lackadaisically in his hands. “What? You didn’t trust me to sit with the dog guy?” He popped the back doors, gave Lee a dirty look and walked back around.
Shumate smiled. “I trust you. I just trust Kev more.”
James nodded. “Nice. Thanks for that.”
The air moved languidly through the van. Deuce raised his muzzle to it for a moment, his nose working. Lee watched the way the dog’s ears twitched back just slightly. The way his mouth tensed, just a bit. Like he was about to growl. He smelled something he didn’t like. But he never growled or barked. Instead, he just looked at Lee and then rested his head on his knee with a huff.
Shumate rapped his knuckles on the side of the van. “Does that mean we’re good?”
Lee shrugged. “They’re here. He can smell ‘em. But they’re not very close.”
Shumate sucked on his teeth. He seemed unconvinced. “We’ll see,” he said.
Then he and his two companions turned their backs to the van, and it seemed any further conversation was put on hold. Their shoulders cinched up, their heads scanning back and forth, weapons held at a low ready. The Quiet Man moved out first, followed by Shumate and then James in the back. They crossed the brick sidewalk and dipped cautiously into an alley between two storefront buildings and disappeared.
Lee watched them go, his brain working quickly as he tried to breathe evenly and steadily to control his heart rate and to appear relaxed, or at the very least subservient. The three of them would stay close enough to hear whatever signal Shelley prearranged to give them if the infected showed up. Probably a honk of the horn. And if they were close enough to hear that, they would be close enough to hear a gunshot or a scream. Especially with all the doors open.
“Fuck, it’s cold,” Shelley complained from the front seat.
“You’ll be alright,” Kev murmured as he settled into position, taking up the entire opening of the side doors. He faced the back of the van, leaning against the front passenger seat, with one leg hanging out the open door and the other tucked up to his chest, his rifle resting there on his knee, the muzzle partially pointed at Lee.
“So,” Kev said conversationally. “Captain Harden. The savior of humanity. The Navy SEALs, Army Rangers, and Force Recon all rolled into one man—all of their strengths and none of their weaknesses.” He smiled mockingly. “Pretty fuckin’ impressive.”
Lee leaned back, took a breath, leaned forward again.
His stomach began to turn.
“Heard some pretty interesting stories about you,” Shelley joined in.
Kev nodded. “We all know how Shumate likes to exaggerate, so I figured I’d try to get some information straight from the horse’s mouth.”
Lee snapped the other man a look. “You don’t trust Shumate?”
Kev seemed to ponder the question before answering.
Shelley snorted. “He never got bit. No one survives a bite.”
Kev’s answer was more reserved. “I know the difference between a bite mark and a burn scar.”
Lee nodded. “The same thought had crossed my mind.”
Still situated between Lee’s feet, Deuce let out a low, mumbling growl.
Kev’s eyes fell to the dog.
Shelley turned in her seat. “What was that? What’s that mean?”
Lee shook his head. “It means they’re here. But we already knew they’re here.” He looked out the open back doors at the street that stretched out behind them. Quiet. Still. Very little wind to stir anything. “He just got a whiff. The closer they get, the louder he gets. I think we’re okay for now.”
Kev watched the dog for another moment, but Deuce quieted, then laid his head down. Kev raised his attention again. “So how much of this shit is true? You really some fucking super soldier with bunkers full of shit all over the state?”
Lee touched Deuce’s neck, his fingers finding the rope that tethered him to the dog. He shook his head slowly. “No.”
Kev leaned his head back. “Don’t play coy. I said Shumate exaggerates. I didn’t say he’s a bald-faced liar. There’s clearly something going on with you. Besides, I found you with a tac vest and full magazines.”
Lee quirked an eyebrow, not making the intuitive leap that Kev apparently was.
“I see a man with full magazines, it means something,” Kev explained. “It’s a rough world out there these days, and ammunition is used up pretty quickly. But here you are with full mags. So either that was all the ammunition you had, and you’ve been hiding for the last several months—which means you’ve got a hell of a hiding spot—or you’ve been out running and gunning like the rest of us, but you just have a shit load of supplies.”
He pointed to Lee’s bandaged head. “I can see you’re a little banged up, but that shit is recent, which means your story about someone trying to kill you could be true. But this gets me to thinking, because no one just tries to kill someone else out here and doesn’t search the body afterwards and take every damn thing they have. Boots, knives, ammunition.” Kev showed his teeth. “Hell, I’ve even seen people eat each other because they’re fucking starved. Especially these last few months. Weather’s getting cold. Food’s getting scarce. Seem to be more infected now than ever.
“But here you are with a knife, six magazines of ammunition, all your clothing on your back and your boots still on your feet when—if you were legitimately being killed—you’d’ve been left stripped naked.” Kev cleared his throat. “But you know how this all makes sense?”
Lee closed his eyes. He swallowed, trying to ignore the nausea, and discreetly slipped his fingers under the rope collar around Deuce’s neck, loosening it just slightly. “How’s that?”
“The guy that tried to kill you wasn’t doing it to survive. It was an assassination attempt.”
Lee blew a breath and opened his eyes. “Assassination?”
Kev tapped his own head and smiled, proud of himself. “And random bums that don’t mean anything don’t get assassinated. They get murdered and robbed. Only important people get assassinated. Which means you’re an important person, at least to somebody.” Kev leaned forward slightly. “I think having some bunkers full of supplies would make you pretty fucking important to some people.”
Lee could feel his stomach tightening, saliva beginning to run. “Sounds like you’ve got me figured out.”
Kev shifted his position. The muzzle swung slightly more in Lee’s direction.
The movement did not escape Lee. His heart skipped, gave one solid pound, then began to hammer. His head buzzed with fever and adrenaline, nausea and nerves coiling in his
gut like a live thing trying to come out. He already didn’t like the line of questioning Kev threw his way, but the furtive slide of the muzzle in Lee’s direction sealed it. It was one of those moments when Lee knew that things were about to go very bad for him. Knew it like the smell of a violent thunderstorm.
Shelley looked back. “Kev…”
“You know where that fucking GPS is, don’t you?” Kev said.
Lee looked up at him. “I have no fucking clue.”
Deuce perked up, looking out the back. He growled, loudly.
Shelley swore. “What’s that mean?”
Kev swung up onto one knee. “Shut the fuck up, Shelley!” He pointed the rifle at Lee’s chest, and began talking quickly. “Now we got even less time, so let’s get to it. You might have Shumate fooled with your act, but not me. You know where that shit is, and you’re gonna fuckin’ tell me, or I’m gonna start punching holes in you and deal with the consequences later.”
Lee had both hands under the dog’s collar, had loosened it now so that it would come off with one quick swipe. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about! The GPS was stolen, man! Eddie Ramirez has it!”
“And where the fuck is Eddie Ramirez?” Kev raised his voice slightly.
Despite the commotion inside the van, Deuce continued to stare out the back, growling louder now, long, warning grumbles that ended in a chuff.
“You know where he is. Or at least where he’s heading to.” Kev smiled savagely. “And if you don’t think that I’m about to pop you, you’re in for some misery.”
“I’m gonna throw up,” Lee croaked, leaning forward.
“What?”
“I’m gonna throw up…” Lee coughed, felt the saliva stream down the corners of his mouth and spill over his lips, hanging from him in long glistening strands as his stomach began to heave. His eyes watered and he blinked them rapidly, trying to keep an eye on Kev.
“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me right now?” Kev shouted.
