Plague World (Ashley Parker Novel)

by Dana Fredsti

We both raised our heads and stared at the still-flaming debris littering the surface around us. As if on cue, more explosions came from the Point, and the sound of gunfire.

  Team America, fuck yeah.

  JT cocked his head to one side.

  “I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that that’s our signal.”

  I made a noise that was a cross between a laugh and a sob.

  “Can’t stop the signal, Mal.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Seals lolled about on both the sandy beach and the rocks, seemingly immune to the carnage in the bay. Several snapped and barked as we came aground, but none seemed motivated to do more than galumph a few feet out of the way. Good thing ‘cause being foiled by seals at this point would’ve been downright embarrassing.

  JT and I hopped out of the boat and dragged it further up onto the sand, further annoying the local seal population. We grabbed the goody bags Viper had given us and made sure our weapons were locked and loaded. I touched the hilt of my new katana just to reassure myself that it was still there. What did it say about me that I couldn’t wait to try it out?

  I kept it sheathed, though, opting to carry one of the Glocks. I figured if we did run into trouble, it was more likely to be the kind toting firearms, and I’d yet to figure out how to parry bullets. JT had a Glock, as well. I don’t know how much target practice he’d logged, but I trusted him to get the hell out of the way and let me take point.

  The light was fading fast as we climbed the rocks, trekking about fifty or so feet to a dirt trail that—according to the schematics—led up to the Cabrillo Point lighthouse. We didn’t need or want to go that far, though. Our destination was only a short distance up the trail, to one of the old gun escarpments.

  “Look for tracks,” I said softly as we jogged up the path. JT had regained some of his usual ebullience, and there was a distinct spring in his step now that he was back on terra firma. He wasn’t quite as Tigger bouncy-trouncy as usual, but a nature trail wasn’t exactly the best place for free running.

  We rounded a bend and found ourselves in front of a pair of pitted metal doors set into the hillside itself, tracks running out from under them. Back during WWII, a big damn gun had been rolled out on these tracks to help defend San Diego from the possibility of invasion by sea. Although to my shady knowledge of history, San Diego had never actually been invaded.

  “This is it,” I said quietly. I pulled on one of the metal handles set into the doors and was rewarded by a surprisingly squeak-free movement as it opened toward me, revealing the dark tunnel beyond.

  JT peeked inside.

  “Got a flashlight?”

  “I don’t need one.”

  JT shot me an exasperated look.

  “It’s great that you’re all that and a bag of super-powered chips, miss wild card. But some of us can’t see in the dark. Guess I’ll just have to follow you and feel my way along.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “Remind me to keep you and Cheeky separated in the future. How about you just put a hand on my shoulder?”

  “I’ll take what I can get.” He put his left hand on my right shoulder, and we cautiously entered the tunnel, following the tracks, boots crunching softly on the gravel.

  The temperature dropped a good ten degrees once we got more than a few feet in, a little more than uncomfortably chilly. There was a little ambient light from what remained of daylight, revealing that whatever had been mounted inside was long gone, leaving just the empty tracks and a low-hanging ceiling hewed out of the rocks and fortified with cement.

  “Creepy,” JT said. I had to agree with him, although it was also cool in an old haunted-mine sort of way. Under normal circumstances—without the possibility of running into armed enemies—I might have enjoyed exploring it.

  The further we went, the darker it got—it wasn’t exactly pitch black in the tunnel, but it was close. JT’s hand stayed firmly on my shoulder as I led us slowly down the tunnel, the rock ceiling dipping uncomfortably low in places. I ducked under a particularly low-hanging outcropping.

  “Watch your—”

  “Shit!”

  I winced at the meaty thwack sound JT’s head had made colliding with the outcropping.

  “—head,” I finished lamely.

  “Yeah, thanks for that. As a seeing eye wild card you need work.” After a few more minutes of slow progress, he asked, “Do we know where this ends up?”

  “As far as I could tell from the schematic, this should lead to the lower level of the facility,” I said. “It wasn’t clear on what it was we’d find there, though.”

  “No handy dandy map to the dungeons?”

  “I think they call them ‘holding chambers’ these days.”

  “Well, la-di-fucking-dah.”

  We both laughed, then immediately stopped as the sound echoed up and down the tunnel, bouncing off the walls.

  Just as the silence returned, a low, ominous rumble shook the tunnel. Little pieces of rock crumbled off the walls, hitting the ground with small clattering sounds. I was suddenly very aware of just how old this place was, and how easy it would be for the whole thing to collapse.

  “Earthquake?”

  “Or the boys having more fun,” I said. “Either way, let’s keep moving.”

  As we moved further along, both the temperature and the angle of the ground rose a little bit. We reached a bend, the tunnel curving sharply to the left. Here it became more of a corridor, the rock walls giving way to cement, dim lights flickering from weak bulbs enclosed in little metal cages, spaced out at regular intervals along the ceiling. It wasn’t much, but enough that JT could navigate on his own.

  Neither of us spoke as we continued along. The odds of running into someone increased with each step we took, and the element of surprise was pretty much the only thing we had going for us.

  After another ten minutes or so, the corridor came to an abrupt end. It dead-ended into another metal door painted the same dull gray as the walls, rounded rivets bordering the edges and a wheel in the middle, like something you’d see on a battleship.

  JT took hold of it, muttering, “Leftie loosie, righty tighty,” and gave it a yank to the left. Sure enough, the wheel creaked reluctantly, but it turned. When it stopped, he pushed the door open a few inches.

  The creak made me wince. We waited for a minute, listening for the sounds of footsteps or voices, but heard nothing.

  Good.

  JT gave the door another push, wide enough to peek through the gap into yet another corridor. Another few inches and I stepped cautiously through, leading with my Glock… just in case.

  This corridor stretched off left and right about fifty feet on either side before making sharp L-turns going in the same direction. The floor was dusty, as if it hadn’t seen any use in a while. JT and I looked at each other dubiously.

  “We’ll make better time if we separate,” I said, my voice low. “Just try and stay out of sight, and if you see anyone from our team, get them out back through the tunnel.”

  JT shook his head. “Splitting up’s a bad idea.”

  “I think it’s worth the risk,” I argued quietly. “We need to get them out of here as quickly as possible.”

  “But if we separate, you won’t have backup.”

  I bristled. “Neither will you.”

  He shrugged. “I usually don’t need it. Last time was an exception.”

  “Hey, the only reason I got caught was because they used you as bait.”

  “And I’m truly sorry for that, but I’m not gonna let myself get caught off guard again.”

  I held his gaze. “Neither am I.”

  He nodded slowly. “Fair enough. But if you do need me… holler.” He looked around appraisingly. “I think I can get some speed going in this place. I’ll take left, you take right?”

  “Sounds good.” I started off down the hall, then stopped and turned back. “JT… no twerking.”

  “I promise nothing.”

 
He flashed his manic grin and vanished in the opposite direction.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  When I reached the corner, I took it cautiously, Glock leading the way. This hallway was empty, too, but there were metal doors spaced out every ten feet or so. The doors had small windows with bars set into them, like old-fashioned prison cells. About a hundred feet down, the hall turned yet another corner.

  How big is this place?

  I moved slowly and quietly, pausing to peer into the cells. Each had a utilitarian cot, but other than that, they were empty. As I neared the next turn in the hallway, I heard something, and stopped short. Then I inched up to the turn, heart hammering my chest so loudly it almost drowned out the voices coming from a cell around the corner. Stealing a glance, I saw a door about twenty feet away. It was partially open, and I could smell the hot copper odor of fresh blood, along with the sharp tang of sweat and unwashed flesh.

  “Sooo good. Fresh and tasty.”

  “Please… stop. No more.” The voice was so twisted with pain, I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman.

  “Shhh… just relax. It’s just a little piece.”

  “Nonononononooo!” The rising wail of agony in that cry got me moving again. Switching the Glock to my left hand, I unsheathed the katana and crept toward the cell. Whoever was inside was far too occupied to hear me approach. They also didn’t hear my horrified intake of breath when I reached the door and looked.

  The room was splattered with gore, looking like a modern art major had taken a can of red paint and Jackson Pollocked the place. Several dead and naked bodies, missing large amounts of flesh, lay in one corner, crumpled as if tossed aside. The smell they gave off was truly foul.

  Two more people, also stripped of clothing, were strapped to cots by their wrists and ankles, more restraining straps around their waists, necks, and across the thighs. Both were bleeding from gaping wounds all over their bodies. I recognized them both—Carl and Red Shirt. Carl was dead, his eyes staring sightlessly off into the distance, a frozen scream testifying to the horror and pain of his death.

  Red Shirt was still alive, screaming in agony as someone slowly and methodically carved a piece of flesh from her thigh with a wicked sharp blade, the kind my dad used to gut fish.

  That someone was Jake, a man who had been bitten and then trapped in a cabin with his wife and daughter during the outbreak in Redwood Grove. Like Gabriel, he was a half-deader, which meant he was partially immune to the virus, but still needed to eat human flesh in order to stay alive. His sanity went on permanent vacation after he’d eaten his wife and child.

  I wanted to feel sorry for him. He hadn’t asked to be turned into a monster. But something about him repulsed me on a visceral level. There was no fixing that kind of crazy.

  Jake had the same placid smile on his face he’d had when we’d caught up to him in a swank cabin above Redwood Grove. He’d lost all concept of right or wrong, and was feeding off of several women, only one of whom made it out alive. He’d gone missing during the fire that nearly killed Simone, and most of me had hoped he’d died.

  Red Shirt’s scream broke in the middle, dissolving into gulping, hopeless sobs.

  I gripped my katana with my right hand and pushed the door further open with my left so I could slip inside. One quick cut and it would be over.

  I froze as Jake suddenly turned. His gaze fell on the door and slipped past it as he held out the piece of flesh to someone out of my sight line.

  “Want a bite?”

  “No,” the unseen speaker said, voice so low and guttural that at first I couldn’t identify it.

  “Awww, come on! You have to eat, right? And she’s sooooo fresh and tasty!” The cajoling in Jake’s voice was horrible, a parody of a mother trying to get a fussy child to eat its vegetables. He wiggled the thing, blood dripping between his fingers. “It’s wa-ah-fer-thin!”

  “Get that the fuck away from me!”

  My heart stopped.

  Jake giggled and tossed the divot of flesh toward the speaker. It landed with a splat on the ground, right in front of a pair of black combat boots, the type that I wore… that all of our team wore. There was a metal cuff around one ankle, attached to a chain.

  Oh no no no no… please no.

  My gaze traveled slowly up those boots to unwashed black BDUs crusted in gore and dirt, then to a black thermal, equally filthy. Slowly, reluctantly, I forced myself to look at the hollow-cheeked, jaundiced face above the shirt—denim-blue eyes sunken into the sockets. His mint-gold hair was lank and dull against his scalp. His wrists were shackled against the wall.

  “Gabriel?”

  I said his name before I could stop myself.

  Both of them looked at me, Gabriel’s head snapping around so quickly I could hear his neck crack. The horror in his eyes broke my heart.

  “Oh my god, Gabriel…”

  “Hey!” Jake’s smile widened with genuine pleasure, like a host greeting a new guest to his party. “Ashley, right? You’re here for dinner, and right on time!” He approached me, bloody hand outstretched.

  I extended the point of the katana toward him.

  “You want to back the fuck away, Jake.”

  He shrugged and stopped.

  “Sure, whatever. Just hurry up or it’ll get cold.” He grinned over at Red Shirt, still sobbing hopelessly as she lay there, waiting for more pain and death. “Don’t want it to get cold, right?”

  Giving him as wide a berth as possible, I cautiously stepped further into the abattoir and moved toward Gabriel, my heart pounding in my ears.

  “Stay away from me,” he rasped.

  “I’m here to get you out,” I said as gently and calmly as I could under the circumstances.

  “Just get out of here.” His voice became a thick growl, somehow less than human. The smell of sweat and despair rose from his body.

  “Gabriel…”

  “No!” He shook his head fiercely.

  “I’m here to help, Gabriel.”

  “No!”

  I held out my free hand pleadingly, my focus on the man I was pretty sure I loved.

  Bad mistake.

  Jake barreled into me, knocking me sideways into the wall. My head hit the concrete with a dull crack. The last thing I heard was Gabriel yelling my name as the lights went out.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  “I’m sorry… so sorry.”

  A voice whispered in my ear as my consciousness tried to swim up to the surface against a tide of pain and dizziness.

  “I’m so sorry, Ash… so sorry.”

  My eyes fluttered open as I recognized Gabriel’s voice. His face was right above mine, looking blessedly normal.

  I smiled up at him through the throbbing in my skull.

  “Sorry… so sorry.”

  Why are you sorry? I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t get my voice to work. I couldn’t move my arms or legs either.

  Something shiny moved into my line of sight. A sharp blade, glinting in the fluorescent lights.

  Gabriel looked down at me sadly. “I’m really sorry… so sorry…”

  He lowered the knife and sliced into my forearm.

  * * *

  I jerked awake just as the knife bit into my flesh, the pain excruciating. A scream ripped through my throat. The blade cut deeper, then leveled out, oh so slowly moving down my arm until it finally dipped up and out, taking a piece of me with it. I felt the warmth of my own blood running out of the wound, cold air stinging the raw meat left behind.

  “Sorry, so sorry,” a voice whispered.

  Not Gabriel, my pain-fogged mind told me. Thank god…

  Jake crouched next to me, tears streaming down his face as he shoved the piece of me into his mouth, rocking back and forth and muttering the same words he’d said when I’d found him eating the remains of his wife and child.

  I tried to sit up, but as in my dream, I couldn’t move my arms and legs. They were secured tightly to one of the cots, another strap around m
y waist making sure I wasn’t going anywhere. I also became aware that my Kevlar armor was gone, as were the rest of my clothes.

  Naked, tied to a cot and being snacked on by a crazy man. My day had officially reached its nadir.

  I thrashed for a moment, the metal frame creaking loudly as I tried to wriggle out of it, but Jake—crazy as he was—had done the job well. Maybe if I wasn’t so sick and dizzy with pain I could have broken at least one of the restraints, but for now I wasn’t going anywhere.

  Jake abruptly stopped rocking and a smile curved his mouth, the tears drying up as if he’d turned off an internal faucet. He turned and crooked a finger in a “come here” gesture.

  “Your turn,” he said brightly.

  “Fuck off.”

  If I craned my head, I could see Gabriel a few feet away from the foot of my cot, hands bunched into fists as he glared at Jake. If it was possible, he looked even worse than he had before Jake had bushwhacked me. Sweat poured down his face, and his body shook as if racked with chills.

  “Don’t be stupid.” Jake frowned. “You need to eat, and this one’s even better than the last. She didn’t have much staying power. But this one—” he patted my bare thigh, “she’s really tasty.”

  I suddenly realized Red Shirt’s sobs had stopped. Turning my head to the side, I saw the cot on which she was lying, still strapped down, and most certainly dead.

  “I will fucking kill you, you crazy son of a bitch!” I thrashed against the restraints again, rocking the entire cot back and forth in my effort to get free.

  Jake grinned down at me.

  “And she’s stronger, too. She’ll stay fresh for a long time.” He slid the blade into my skin again, the other arm this time, slicing through skin, fat, and some muscle, taking his time.

  I will not scream, I will not scream, I will not scream…

  I screamed.

  “Stop it, God damn you!”

  Chains rattled as Gabriel lunged toward him, only to be brought up short by his shackles. He grunted in pain as the metal dug into his wrists and ankle.

  Jake shook his head sadly.