by Peter Clines
A few slow footsteps thudded in the hall. A lone voice moaned, and the replies sounded distant. The junkie padded back down the hall and the sound of its feet faded.
‘Then I thought he wanted to make up,’ said Holly. ‘He comes back a week later and we have this wild, crazy couple of days and I think everything’s going to be good again.’ She shook her head hard enough that the short wisps of her hair stood on end.
In the distance the pneumatic arm hissed again, and the door clicked against the latch plate.
Angie lowered her hands. She opened her mouth and slapped her fingers across her lips again. Her eyes clenched shut in concentration. ‘I think,’ she whispered, ‘I think they’re gone.’
‘But everything wasn’t good,’ said Holly. She was still staring at the bat. Her fingers traced the dark, sticky spots on the blue weight. ‘He was just infected. He was like you. No control. He just wanted sex and didn’t think about me at all.’
‘I don’t feel good.’
Holly climbed to her feet and looked down at the other woman. ‘It’s not fair,’ she continued. ‘Why do you get to become one of them and I don’t?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Holly glared at her. ‘Junkies stay together,’ she said. ‘They make packs. I could’ve been with my family all this time. We could’ve been together.’
Angie trembled. A vein pulsed in her neck. Another one throbbed on her forehead. She looked up at the woman.
‘But I’m immune,’ said Holly. ‘I never get to be with them.’ She held up the bat with one hand. ‘No one gets to be with them. If I could’ve been infected, I wouldn’t’ve had to—’
Angie’s tremble grew into a shake. She gritted her teeth and twisted up into a crouch, wrapping her arms across her stomach. ‘Holly,’ she hissed, ‘I think I’m—’
Holly jabbed her with the bat. Right on the breastbone, just above her boobs. Angie dropped back to the floor.
The baseball bat poked out again. And again. Angie knocked the aluminum shaft away. Holly smacked her in the shoulder with it. It made a thick, meaty sound.
‘Everyone leaves me,’ she snapped. ‘Everyone!’
She pulled back and swung the bat again with both hands. It caught Angie in the side of the head. Her cheek sagged and a pair of teeth pitter-pattered across the carpet. One of them clicked against a desk leg.
Angie snarled through her broken mouth and leaped up. The bat caught her in the head again and she spun on one foot. It was a graceful move that ended with her collapsing on the desk.
Holly raised the bat over her head and brought it down hard. The desk echoed with the impact, even padded by Angie. She tried to roll over and brought her hand up to ward off the blows. The bat mangled three of her fingers. She let out a grunt that became a wail.
The next strike shattered her elbow. The next one cracked her collarbone. The next one came in from the side, hitting the soft tissue of her belly. It knocked the air from her lungs and something ruptured inside her.
It took five minutes for Angie to die. Holly kept beating the body for ten. Just to be safe.
* * *
She left Angie in the office building. There were no junkies in the hallway, or in the stairwell. She found one asleep in the lobby, a young man, and crushed his skull with a pair of blows from the bat. Then she wiped the weapon clean on the dead man’s shirt.
Not far after Universal City the Cahuenga Pass became Van Nuys Boulevard. She spent the night in the back room of a grocery store that had been picked over by looters. An hour of searching in the morning gave her a few lone mystery cans and some chocolate bars that had fallen behind a register. They went in her backpack and she continued north.
Holly kept her eyes peeled for a bicycle. She couldn’t believe she’d never thought of that before. Such a perfect way to travel these days. Van Nuys Boulevard was too shopping-oriented, though. Not many apartments. She found a sports store later that afternoon, but it had been looted. It didn’t look like the type that had bicycles anyway.
Another day of walking. Three more grocery stores. Five times she had to hide from junkies. Once was a huge pack, like the start of a marathon. They were chasing a pair of cats. She watched from a small restaurant patio. She hoped the cats got away and got back to their families.
She was in the heart of the valley, at the intersection of Van Nuys and Sepulveda, when she saw him.
A man stood in the southern half of Sepulveda. He was young. His dark hair was cut short. He was wearing a rumpled suit. An expensive one, like Paul used to wear.
‘Hi, there,’ he said. He didn’t call out. His voice carried across the silent intersection.
He was moving slow. There was a pistol tucked in his belt and a dark gym bag slung over his shoulder. He was calm and rational.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked. ‘I’m a doctor. I can help you if you’re hurt or—’
‘I’m okay.’
‘Good,’ he said with a nod. ‘My name’s Sam.’
‘Holly.’
He nodded. ‘It is really nice to meet you, Holly. Which way are you headed?’
She pointed up Sepulveda with the bat. ‘North.’
‘Anywhere in particular?’
‘Maybe.’
He spread his arms in a gesture of trust. ‘I’m headed that way too. Sacramento. Maybe we could travel together.’
Holly closed her eyes and gripped the tape-wrapped handle of the bat. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Things ended messy with the last person I traveled with.’
PREDATOR AND PREY
It had been six months since the world ended.
For Barney and his team, it had been some of the best months of their lives.
Of course, the current delay made that easy to forget. He came back down the hall and gave Monica a questioning look. She shook her head and her long braid swung back and forth like a pendulum. Barney rolled his eyes. ‘What’s the hold-up, guys?’
Big Jay and Derek looked up from the lock. ‘Hey,’ said Derek, ‘it’s not a normal office door. Sue me.’ He tried to sneer, but with his buck teeth and sharp nose it just made him look more like a rodent.
‘It’s been five minutes.’ Barney shook his head. It made his whiskers scratch on his collar. ‘Get it open.’
They nodded. Derek pushed the pry bar along the edge of the door. The metal teeth worked down alongside the frame and he threw his scrawny weight against the bar’s length. He felt for the right vibration and gave Big Jay a nod. The large man shook his right leg. It was probably still sore from his first attempt to kick the door open. He’d almost snapped his ankle on it.
‘Move, big guy,’ grunted Derek.
Big Jay spat on the carpeted floor. He loved spitting and pissing in buildings he never would’ve been let in the lobby of three months ago. He tugged his cap down over his ears. Then he threw his weight behind his foot and planted it above the doorknob. There was a loud crack and a bang as the door slammed open and into a wall. They all winced at the sound.
Noise could mean trouble. It attracted the junkies. Granted, it was rare for them to come inside. Even rarer for them to travel through a narrow stairwell up to a high floor. But Barney didn’t have the number one team in Los Angeles because he took chances. He gestured for Epi, Sarah, and Mel to hit the exits again and make sure everything was still clear. Mel and Sarah gave him a quick salute. Epi nodded, and the spikes of his mohawk wobbled.
Six months ago a virus had popped up in China. It damaged the brain and turned people into babbling, twitchy berserkers who tried to eat everything—and everyone—they could. If they survived three or four weeks of madness without someone else killing them, the junkies still burned out and died from malnutrition, exhaustion, or fever cooking their brains. If you caught it, one way or another your number was up.
It was spread by bodily fluids, which was bad because for the first week or so the virus just made people forget their inhibitions. People in China, India, Russia, an
d all the Stan countries did a lot of the same things as everyone else when they didn’t have any morals holding them back. So the disease spread fast. Most places managed to restrict travel to and from Asia. Not fast enough, though. Thirteen weeks ago it showed up in North America, and in less than a month it had turned the United States into tons of isolated communities and sanctuaries.
Which was where the outsiders came in. People in sanctuaries still needed food, medical supplies, and sometimes they just needed to get themselves from point A to point B. They’d pay good money for it. Or they’d pay somehow. Every city had people who were skilled enough, crazy enough, or stupid enough to go outside and dodge the wandering packs of junkies.
Barney’s team fit two of the three categories. They were good enough to get a regular, high-paying deal from the Feds. Barney reported to Bradbury every other week or so for a list of supplies the director needed scavenged from across the city. His team did little jobs in between. And they tried to stay ahead of the competition.
Pretty good for an Iraq vet who’d ended up stocking shelves in a grocery store.
Jay and Derek stood by the door of suite 551. Charlie crouched between them. They had out their pistols and the creaky AK-47 that looked tiny in Jay’s big paws. Charlie batted some dust from his sleeve and they all watched the gray cloud spread out into the room. Nothing disturbed it.
‘Looks clear, boss,’ said Derek.
Barney walked forward and peered through the door. There was a small reception area right up front with a curving desk. A few plush chairs sat to either side. He stepped over the threshold and looked around. The others followed him in.
There were two offices on either side of the reception area. The doors were blank, but the room on the left looked slightly more ornate and executive. Behind reception was a frosted glass wall with walkways on either side. Barney peered around it and saw a long meeting table. There were more plush chairs. ‘This doesn’t look right,’ he said.
Two of the outsiders took the office to the left. Two more took the office to the right. Chit read a business card from the desk. ‘Interweave Incorporated.’
Barney looked at Charlie. ‘You sure we got the right place?’
‘Yeah, I’m sure,’ said the round-faced man. ‘Room five-fifty-one.’
Chit tossed the card at him and pulled another one from the tiny rack. ‘Says they’re efficiency consultants.’
Charlie shrugged. ‘Could be a cover.’
Monica stepped out of the left-hand office. ‘We got nothing, boss.’
‘Nothing here, either,’ said Andi from the opposite doorway.
Barney frowned and scratched his beard. ‘It’s got to be here. Check all the closets and drawers for false backs or hidden panels or something.’
Chit wandered into the office on the right. Sounds of shuffling and tapping crept out of each room. Monica let her hands settle on her hips. ‘Didn’t sound like this place was supposed to be that hidden once we were inside.’
‘No,’ said Barney, ‘I didn’t think so, either.’
‘Didn’t Bradbury say it would all be clearly marked and easy to find?’
‘Yeah, but it wouldn’t be the first time he hasn’t been completely straight with us.’
‘Fuck him, that’s what I say,’ said Charlie. ‘We don’t need that jackass.’
‘No we don’t,’ said Barney. ‘But we need that fortress-sanctuary they’ve turned his building into.’
‘Whatever.’
A disappointed mutter echoed out of the right-hand office, followed by the thump of a gloved fist on a wooden panel. ‘Nothing,’ said Derek.
Barney looked at Charlie again. ‘Are you sure we’re in the right place?’
‘Yes,’ snapped the smaller man. He pulled a battered messenger bag around his hips. He flipped it open, shoved a rubber-band-bound Thomas Guide out of the way, and slid out a clean manila envelope. He thumbed through the contents and removed a crisp sheet of paper covered with tight writing. ‘Instructions and directions,’ he stated, ‘from the hand of our lord and master himself.’ He ran his finger along the page, then stopped to squint at something. His eyes went wide and his lips opened up.
‘You fuckwit,’ sighed Monica.
‘Hey,’ snapped Charlie, ‘his threes and his fives look a lot alike. It’s not my fault.’
‘Where are we supposed to be?’ asked Barney.
‘It’s just a little mistake,’ said Charlie. ‘We’re in the right building and all that, just the wrong office. We want to be in three-three-one. Two floors down.’
‘Okay, everybody,’ said their boss, raising his voice. ‘Charlie screwed up again. We want to be—’
‘Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,’ said Derek in the right-hand office. Jay let out a low whistle.
Barney went to look. Monica and Charlie were right behind him. Monica let out a whistle that matched Jay’s.
The wall across from the executive desk had slid away like the side door on a van. Behind it was a well-lit closet dominated by matching metal racks. The bottom third of each one was a set of drawers.
The top two-thirds were weapons.
Matching rifles were lined up in quartets along the top of both racks. There were at least three different types. Below them was a double-row of pistols. The handguns sat in groups of two and three, grips out. A pair of gleaming shotguns sat across from them, with ammunition drums the size of softballs.
‘Boss,’ said Derek. He’d found the matching panel on the other side of the office. Hidden behind it was a long-barreled rifle with a huge scope. A collection of knives and blades were laid out on a shelf below it.
‘Holy fuck,’ whispered Charlie. ‘We’ve died and gone to the Matrix.’
Chit and Jay dashed over to the other office. Now that they knew where to look for the release, they found even more hidden closets. ‘Body armor,’ called Chit. ‘Holsters. Belts.’
‘And food,’ shouted Jay. ‘There’s a ton of food here.’
Most of them scampered over to the other office. Monica reached up and pulled one of the rifles off the rack. It was a strange, futuristic thing with the trigger in the front, a snub barrel, and a see-through magazine along the top. ‘What is all this stuff?’
‘That’s a P90 you’re holding,’ said Barney. He pointed at some of the other rifles. ‘Those are M4 carbines. That’s a German G36.’
‘Eight years in the Army finally paying off?’
‘Yeah, cause I’ve been doing nothing with it the past couple months,’ he said. He picked up one of the shotguns. ‘AA-12. Automatic assault shotgun. The one with the long barrel over there’s some kind of sniper rifle.’
‘Jesus,’ Monica said. ‘What’s it all doing here?’
Barney shook his head. ‘Some gun nut executive,’ he said. ‘We’re looking for a hospital, not an armory.’
She picked up a square-topped machete with a well-worn wooden handle. ‘Maybe it’s part of the same set up? That’s the hospital, here’s the guns, food’s over there?’
Barney shook his head again. ‘There isn’t enough here for a squad of guys. It’s just random stuff someone collected and put in a hidden closet to impress chicks.’
‘Consider me impressed,’ Monica said. She loosened the strap on the P90 and slung it over her shoulder. ‘Think I might keep this one.’
‘Might as well. This is top of the line stuff and it’s all going to waste here.’
Derek came back in with an empty holster strapped to his thigh. ‘Give me one of those pistols,’ he said. ‘Time for a serious upgrade, y’know?’
Jay followed behind him. The big man had a foil pouch and was shoveling food into his mouth with his fingers. ‘Chicken and rice,’ he said. ‘It’s good.’
‘Okay, everybody listen up,’ said Barney. ‘Charlie didn’t screw up as bad as we thought. We lucked out, but we don’t have time to waste, so it’s going to be like Christmas Eve.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ asked Chit.
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‘Everybody can take two things. That’s it. We know this place is here, we’ll come back once we get Bradbury his supplies. But for now we’ve got a schedule to keep and we can’t get bogged down with this stuff.’
‘What about food?’ said Jay. ‘Does food count as one thing or two?’
‘If you want to grab some food and shove it in your pack, fine. But don’t go crazy with the weapons trying to turn yourself into some kind of badass. Especially you, Derek.’
They stuffed random pistols into holsters they’d grabbed from the other room and hefted rifles into the air. Barney hung the AA-12 on his shoulder and grabbed an oversized pistol he was pretty sure was special forces issue. Monica strapped the machete to her thigh in a nylon sheath. Jay and Charlie filled their backpacks with the military-issue rations they’d found.
Five minutes later the outsiders moved out and headed down to the floor below, all praising their good luck. Chit smashed the card reader on the third floor landing, twisted some wires, and the door opened with a clunk of released magnets.
Suite 331 was what they’d expected. It was a quartet of white rooms that looked like it belonged in a hospital. Or maybe a sci-fi movie. There was an operating table, drawers filled with stainless steel equipment, and a collection of machines with electrodes and paddles and coiled cables.
Sarah and Derek were with Charlie. The round-faced man read items from his list one by one. He had a knack for pronouncing the long chemical names, or at least getting close enough that anyone else would know the name when they saw it. The extensive directions explained where each item should be, what it looked like, and how it was packaged. Sarah searched for it on the shelves. Derek followed her around with the packs as she loaded them up with small cardboard boxes, blister packs, and plastic bottles.
It took half an hour to fill all three bags, just like Bradbury said it would. He’d also been keen on them leaving everything else, so Monica swatted Jay’s hand when he tried to pocket a bottle of Vicodin. He knotted his eyebrows at her, but put the bottle back on the shelf.
