The Remaining: Fractured

by D. J. Molles

  Doesn’t matter, Lee decided.

  It didn’t take long. Lee watched him fade, watched the breath go out of him with the blood. Pressure in his veins dipped down to unsustainable levels. Not pumping to his brain. Systems shutting off. Maybe he wasn’t clinically dead right then, but he was no longer conscious, and death was no longer something you could haggle over in an emergency room. Nowadays you were dead the moment the bullet hit you, though it might take minutes, or hours, or even sometimes days.

  Maybe Lee was dead now. Maybe that bullet from Eddie Ramirez was the one that would eventually kill him, but it was just taking its sweet time.

  He came to his feet. Wandered over to Shumate’s body. Rolled it with his foot. Shot through the chest. Probably did some damage to the heart and lungs. Probably all of seconds for him. He bent down, groaning as the ache in his bones seemed to grow. Rifled through Shumate’s pockets, found a bottle in Shumate’s jacket. A white bottle with a fish on the front.

  Fish Mox, it claimed.

  500 milligrams of amoxicillin.

  Captain Mitchell had a thing for predatory fish. Had a favorite called an Oscar. Lee remembered talking with him about the upkeep of fish, remembered Mitchell saying he had a medicine cabinet full of medications just for his fish. Just pop a tablet in the tank, let it dissolve in the water. Not FDA-grade, by any means, but it’d do for humans in a pinch.

  He rattled the bottle, heard about a half-dozen tablets ringing around inside. Hoped Shumate hadn’t replaced them with rat poison, just to fuck with him, but wasn’t sure if it really mattered at this point in time. Wasn’t sure if he could even reverse the infection.

  He looked at the weapons lying on the ground, but knew that he could barely carry himself and his rifle, let alone any more firearms or ammunition. He pointed himself in the direction of the van and began putting one step in front of the other. He realized about halfway there that this was more than just the fever getting to him. It was the crash that came after combat. When your body shut down after all those little stress toxins had been purged from your body. When your body simply threw its hands up and said, “I’m done.”

  He’d seen guys fall asleep standing up. Fall asleep in the middle of a firefight. Bricks and mortar became soft pillows. Cement floors became feather beds. Like a junkie crashing. It felt like you could sleep for days.

  Put a pill in your mouth, Lee ordered himself. Get some water from the van—God I hope there’s water. Don’t close your eyes. Don’t stop moving for a second. Go get Deuce. Gotta remember to get Deuce.

  He fumbled with the bottle of Fish Mox. Managed to defeat the child-proof lid. Rattled a tablet out. A big, round, white pill. Popped it in his mouth. It tasted bitter on the back of his tongue. Powdery. He couldn’t feel it dissolving very much on his tongue, then figured there probably wasn’t much saliva to dissolve it in. His mouth was dry and gummy.

  He reached the van, leaned into the back.

  Lot of blood. Some bullet holes. Either Kev or Shelley had been ripped apart in the back. There were pieces of them on the concrete behind the van, like little bits and pieces of two broken toys scattered about and intermingled.

  Lee laughed.

  He rummaged around in the darkness, finding objects and squeezing them to see what they were. A can here. A box there. Something fleshy over there. Finally, he felt a plastic bottle. Picked it up, felt the weight of it like picking up a gold bar. Relief, and a desperate want that overpowered his fatigue for a moment.

  He pulled himself out of the van and looked at his prize by starlight. An unopened bottle of water. Factory fresh. He twisted off the lid, hands trembling. Put the bottle to his lips and drank, got enough of a swallow to take the pill still sitting on his tongue, but then his dry throat seized on him and he coughed and spluttered.

  He bent over slightly, felt the cold water running down his tongue, over his lips, dripping off onto the pavement. It was one of the most wonderful things he’d experienced in his life. The relief of drinking that water. The quenching of that desperation. He lifted the bottle again, drank with more self-control this time and managed to get two gulps in.

  Good enough for now, he thought. He would need more, but right now, he needed to get Deuce. And they needed to get somewhere safe. Somewhere out of town…

  Then he thought about it. Out of town wasn’t safer. He had the whole goddamned night ahead of him, and he had no idea where he was, or in what direction to go to get back to safety, or even which direction safety was in. Besides that, he barely had the strength to carry himself and his rifle. How the fuck did he think he was going to get that damn dog down from the roof on a ladder?

  Could just leave him.

  “No,” he murmured to himself. “Fuck that.”

  He took another small sip of water, capped it and slid it into one of his pockets. Then he lumbered clumsily into the van, searched around for another bottle and perhaps something to eat. Came up with an old candy bar, smashed and melted, but still in its wrapper, however deformed it was. Found another bottle of water. Then he leaned up through the two front seats and turned the van off and plucked the keys from the ignition. Before that, he noticed the gas gauge hovered over E.

  He stumbled out of the van and looked up at the building across the street where Deuce was probably pacing the roof, cold and alone. “I’m sorry, buddy,” Lee’s voice was a dry croak. “I’ll come get you tomorrow. I’ll get you tomorrow. I promise.”

  Like a sleepwalker, he made his way to the front door of the sporting goods store and went in. Forced himself to turn around and lock the door behind him. Made it to the stairs. Looked up them like they were a mountain.

  One foot in front of the other.

  And he did.

  One shoulder leaning against the wall, rifle clanging against the bannister, water bottle and chocolate bar cradled in his arms, he made his way slowly but surely up the stairs and finally found the landing where the stairs twisted. For some reason it felt warmer there, so he just collapsed where he was.

  Eyes drooping, head nodding, he finished the first bottle of water and took nearly a full minute to manage unwrapping the candy bar. He knew he needed hydration. He knew he needed calories to help his body fight the infection. But his extremities were cinderblocks. His muscles were useless putty. He got the top of the candy bar unwrapped and took a bite.

  Chewed.

  Chewed.

  Swallowed.

  Fell asleep.

  CHAPTER 23: COMMUNICATION

  Angela burst through the door of Marie’s shanty without a word or a knock, ushering Sam and Abby in before her. Marie stared at their sudden appearance, taken by surprise. She’d been about to give herself a wipedown. She was still mostly dressed, but her plaid shirt was unbuttoned and open and she quickly pulled it closed when she saw Sam.

  Marie took one look at the woman standing in her doorway and saw the trouble scribbled across Angela’s face. Marie immediately doused her surprise and quickly buttoned her shirt. She motioned the three of them in. “Come on. Get in here.”

  Angela pushed her two kids into the shanty. She pointed to the far corner, where a few plastic crates served as both tables and chairs. “Go sit over there,” she ordered, stiffly. Angela turned to Marie, emotion cracking through the wooden expression. “We have to talk.”

  Marie braced herself, glancing at the kids. “Jesus, Angela...”

  Angela hissed the words, as though she were afraid the children might hear, which was mostly unavoidable at this point: “Greg just threatened the kids!”

  “What?” Marie was taken aback. She didn’t like Jerry, didn’t buy any of his bullshit, suspected the shootout between him and Bus wasn’t as clean as he wanted everyone to believe. That disgust for Jerry trickled down to his associates, which included Greg. But Greg had never been anything but cordial to Marie, and helpful to anyone that needed anything from him.

  The statement from Angela simply did not compute.

  Angela looked
at Abby and Sam, stepped a little closer. She lowered her voice even further. “Marie, there’s something going on. Something bad.” She touched her head like a headache was encroaching. “Did you know Keith is missing?”

  “Keith Jenkins?” Double hits.

  “Yes. Keith Jenkins,” Angela nodded fiercely. “Nobody knows where the hell he went! And then Jerry calls me up into his office and basically accuses me of…of…” she searched frantically for the right word. “Conspiring, or something! I don’t even know what he was accusing me of! But he was making it sound like it was my fault that Keith went missing.” She balled her fists over her face. “And then I go back to my house and I find Sam…crying, Marie. Crying. And he won’t fucking tell me what it’s about!”

  Marie rubbed her forehead. Massaging the haphazard information into her brain. “So what does Greg have to do with all of this?”

  Angela threw her hands out. “Because I saw Greg walking away from my house! And then I find Sam and Abby in there, scared to death and they won’t tell me what happened!” She made an unpleasant noise of frustration. “You tell me what that means! I’m just putting two and two together!”

  Marie put a hand on her shoulder. “Alright, Angela, you need to calm down.”

  Angela took a deep breath and held it for a minute, blinking rapidly.

  “I’m here for you,” Marie said. “Anything you need.”

  Angela became very serious. She shook her head. “No. No, you can’t just offer that. You need to know what you’re getting into.” She looked around again, around the entire shanty as though she might have missed someone that stood quietly in the corner eavesdropping. “If you want me to stop talking, I’ll understand. But if I tell you everything, then…then…”

  Marie didn’t know quite what to say for a moment. She lowered her head, searched Angela’s eyes, then finally said, “This is more of Jerry’s bullshit, isn’t it?”

  Angela nodded.

  Marie’s face became resolute. “You tell me everything, Angela. That piece of shit wouldn’t dare touch me.”

  They sat at the edge of Marie’s bed, side by side, their backs turned to the kids. Angela took a deep breath and launched into it, starting at the very beginning. Starting with how Bus had really died. Marie closed her eyes as she listened, as though the words brought her physical pain. It was a difficult story for Angela to tell, and it was difficult for her to tell Marie specifically, knowing the danger she was putting the other woman in. But when Angela would stall out, when the words would become too much, Marie would prod her along gently with a nod. Marie absorbed the information silently, bearing the burden with Angela.

  When Angela was finished, the two women sat without speaking for a moment.

  Marie looked at the ground, rubbed her palms on her legs. “Angela, Keith was helping you.”

  “Yes. He was talking to people for me.”

  Marie looked up at her.

  Angela covered her mouth, horrified. “No…”

  Marie put a hand on Angela’s knee. “There are a lot of people around here that can’t keep a damn secret, Angela. A lot of people that will run to Jerry or Greg as soon as they know something. Given the threats Jerry told you, I don’t think he would have let Keith slide if he found out what he was doing.”

  Angela was stricken. “So what happened to Keith? Do you think they have him locked up somewhere?”

  A new voice chimed in: “Mr. Keith is dead.”

  Both Angela and Marie turned their heads and found Sam standing there, head down.

  A simple statement of fact. Like he read it from a piece of paper from which he derived no meaning or understanding. Just sounding out consonants and vowels, making syllables and stringing them together to form a sentence that meant nothing to him.

  Angela moved to Sam and knelt down, taking him by the shoulders and looking him in the eyes. Suddenly the reality of his statement crashed down on him. Sam sobbed, choked, stumbled over the words like they couldn’t get out of him fast enough. “He’s dead! I wasn’t supposed to tell you! Greg told me not to tell you, and now Greg’s gonna kill us! He’s gonna kill all of us, and he said he’s gonna smash Abby’s skull, and I think he’s gonna do it! He’s gonna do it, I just know he’s gonna do it! They killed Mr. Keith! They killed Mr. Keith and now they’re gonna kill us!”

  “Alright, alright,” Angela pulled him in, held his shaking frame. Her own eyes were squeezed shut and from the creases came wet streaks. Still sitting on the crates in the dimly lit corner of the room, Abby’s bottom lip stuck out, emotion welling on her face. Though she didn’t quite grasp the details of the situation, she knew that bad things were happening.

  “Sam,” Marie spoke steadily. “How do you know they killed Mr. Keith?”

  “I saw them do it,” Sam sobbed. “I saw it!”

  “Who did it? Greg?”

  “No…the other guy.”

  “Arnie?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where?”

  Sam hung his head, pointed in the general direction of the Camp Ryder building. “In the back lawn. Way back there.”

  Marie and Angela glanced at each other. Marie opened her mouth for another question, wanting to know how they had killed him, but she realized that it wouldn’t help her piece any more of this together, and Sam probably didn’t want to recall what he’d witnessed in any more detail.

  Angela wiped her nose, her eyes. “Marie…I have to get them out of here.”

  Marie looked at Angela like she was insane. “What? No!”

  Angela stood. “We’re not safe here!”

  Marie made a gesture around her. “You’re not safe out there! Where the hell do you think you’re gonna go?”

  “But Greg…” Angela cut herself off with a glance back to the two children. Didn’t want to say what had come to mind. “We have to figure something out.”

  “There’s nowhere, Angela.” Marie was vehement. “OP Lillington is all but abandoned at this point. OP Benson and Smithfield are both run by Jerry’s crew. Jerry’s pulled back the patrols. Those roads aren’t safe anymore. They were barely safe when we were patrolling them. Who knows what’s out there? The only route Jerry has patrolled is between us and Smithfield, and you sure as hell aren’t welcome there.”

  Angela looked surprised. “What happened to Lillington?”

  “I don’t know.” Marie took a step in, lowered her voice. “Professor White’s group and Old Man Hughes’ group were the only ones staying there, and White’s group has moved back here. Old Man Hughes never supported Jerry, and they’ve cut him off. There hasn’t been any contact between them and us since this shit went down. There’s no telling what the hell happened to them.”

  Angela raked her hair back, her face flushed. “Well, it seems like we don’t have a lot of options.”

  Marie crossed her arms. “I don’t…”

  Angela pointed. “Those are my kids! My kids! And I’m running out of options on how to keep them safe, Marie. Because if I can’t take them somewhere safe, then what else can I do?” She raised her eyebrows in question. “What else can I do, Marie?”

  Marie didn’t have an answer for her.

  She looked at Marie, angry and ashamed at once. “Look at us, Marie. What are we doing? This is our home. If we can’t be safe here, and we can’t go anywhere else, then there’s only two other options.” She held her fingers up. “We can either sit around, scared to death, and hope someone else comes along and solves the problem for us. Or we can start doing something about it. And I’m not prepared to just sit around, Marie. Not when the kids are on the line.”

  Marie rubbed her eyes. “Angela, you know I’m with you. But right now it’s just us.”

  “There are others.”

  “We don’t know who they are.”

  “We’ll find out.”

  “And end up like Keith?” Marie shook her head. “Come on, Angela!”

  “What about the other groups?” Angela said. “What about the pe
ople at Broadway? What about the people at Newton Grove? They’re our friends! And you’ve all but written off Old Man Hughes and everybody from Dunn, but you don’t know. They could still be out there. They could still be alive, and wondering if they have any friends left inside Camp Ryder. And we’re here, Marie. We’re here and we need help. We just need to figure out how to get a message to them.”

  Marie spoke evenly, but with an edge of irritation. “We’ve got no access to radios. We can’t leave the camp. We can’t trust anyone to deliver a message for us. Barring smoke signals, I don’t know how else you plan to contact them.”

  Angela compressed her lips, looked intensely thoughtful. “We don’t have the luxury of going on what we know. We’re gonna have to take a leap of faith. If any of those other groups know anything about what happened here at Camp Ryder…then maybe they’re keeping an eye on us. Maybe someone is watching.”

  Marie looked dubious.

  Angela nodded. “It’s a long shot, but do you have anything better?”

  Marie considered it for a moment. She mulled some things over in her head. Made a face as she discarded one idea, looked thoughtful again as she considered another. It became obvious by the gravity of her facial expression that she was settling onto one idea. One that could be dangerous.

  She glanced up at Angela. “I’ve got something we can try. But you have to let me handle it.”

  ***

  It was dark by then, but not quite late. People still milled about the camp. The fires had just reached their brightest and hottest points, from which they would gradually die down over the course of the next few hours. Black silhouettes crowded close to the flames, backs turned towards Marie as she strode through The Square, shoulders hunched against the cold. A small child standing beside their parent looked in her direction and Marie couldn’t tell whether it was a young boy or girl, their eyes glistening in the firelight, the side of their face a molten glow.