CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“I can’t stay here,” Meg said to the others.
“It’s hell out there, Dr. Perriman,” Rocky said.
“I know. And my daughter’s out there in hell. And my husband.”
“Getting yourself killed won’t help them,” Sonia said.
Meg wasn’t sure how long they’d stayed hidden in the meeting room. She’d powered down her phone, not knowing when she’d have an opportunity to recharge it. Rocky’s phone had died shortly after 2 a.m., but not before he’d tried to make four or five calls home. Meg had heard nothing from Ian and was unable to contact the CDC or Toolik. As far as she could tell, the entire communications grid had collapsed.
At least Jacob was asleep, exhaustion finally overtaking the stress and fear. His head rested in her lap and his limbs twitched restlessly. She hoped he wasn’t dreaming of deaders.
“They were shooting everybody,” Arjun said. “Sick or not, it didn’t matter. We were lucky to get out alive.”
The girl that was with him, Sydney, was also asleep, slumped against the wall and Arjun’s shoulder, snoring softly. The room was lit only by the red EXIT sign over the door and the burning city’s flames filtering through the windows, casting them all in steep shadows. Meg could only see everyone’s faces because they’d huddled together in the rear corner of the room, which was filled with desks, hard plastic chairs, and bookshelves. Meg imagined the room was used for Sunday school or discussion meetings.
Rocky, who sat facing the door with his rifle in his lap, said, “The shooting’s slowed down. They must’ve cleaned out the compound.”
“Or else the soldiers are all dead,” Arjun said.
“Mister Optimistic,” Sonia said.
“Hey, I can look at the bright side. At least the whole place didn’t burn down when the helicopter crashed.”
“That was our ride out of here,” Sonia said.
“And a chance to get some answers,” Meg said.
“Not to be disrespectful, but why do you think your information is so important?” Rocky asked.
“The CDC has plenty of brilliant scientists, and they’re probably already well on their way to pinpointing the cause of the outbreak. But this is a peculiar strain that is mutating so rapidly, it will be difficult to develop a vaccine. It would be like trying to kill a fly with a hammer. Every time you swing, you’re only hitting the place the fly used to be, not where it is now.
“I think the two stages of mutation I saw—the one recorded by my lab partner at Toolik Field Station and the one I observed myself the next morning—would help fill out the evolutionary chart of this virus. A researcher starting from scratch right now would only have samples from a day or so ago, and this thing likely stretches back tens of thousands of years.”
“So it’s been dormant all this time?” Arjun asked.
“No, not dormant. It was alive and changing. It was just waiting to be released from its prison.”
“Man. Wish I’d thought of that for a video game.”
“So we have to get you to the CDC,” Sonia said. “Maybe the colonel can call in another helicopter.”
“I doubt we can make it on wheels,” Rocky said. “We had a hard enough time getting that bus in here, and it was only a dozen city blocks. Things have gotten even worse since then.”
“Maybe the Army will take us in one of these trucks,” Meg said.
“Same problem. Traffic was functional when we were deployed, and even then we barely made it here. That was Wednesday night.”
“Only two days ago,” Sonia whispered. “Hard to believe so much has changed.”
“We could try to get back to the roof and check in with Col. Hayes,” Meg said.
“You don’t want to take your son out there,” Rocky said. “We don’t know if they’re still in the stairwell.”
“So we just sit here and wait it out?”
Rocky grunted. “I can go check it out. It’s faster to travel alone, and if I get in a bind, I don’t have to worry about hitting one of you with friendly fire. I can just open up Spray and pray.”
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t ask. I volunteered. Besides, I believe Miss Thorpe’s the ranking official right now, at least until Reverend Hairspray pops up.”
“I’ll give you permission, but only if you call me ‘Sonia,’” Sonia said. “And that’s an order.”
“Yes, ma’am. I mean, ‘Sonia.’”
Rocky stood and checked his gear. “Do you still have your two rounds?” he asked Meg.
She nodded.
“We’ll need to find you another mag. I don’t have a sidearm but this might help in an emergency.”
Rocky unstrapped a knife holster attached to his boot. He started to hand it to Arjun, and then changed his mind and gave it to Sonia. “Jab, don’t slash. Under the chin, in the temples, or the base of the skull. One of the eyes if you’re feeling lucky. Thrust in and pull out quick. Just like they teach us in Basic.”
“I’m not sure I can do it,” Sonia said.
“You might not have a choice.”
She pulled the six-inch blade from its holster and attempted a couple of feeble thrusts.
“Harder,” Rocky said. “Like you mean it.”
She did a little better.
“Picture one trying to eat your kid’s face,” Meg offered.
Sonia bellowed and swung the knife sideways, jamming the tip into a corkboard that contained pin-ups of Bible verses. She tried to pull out the blade but it was stuck. She had to place the sole of her sneaker against the corkboard before she could twist the knife free.
Jacob’s head twitched in Meg’s lap at the noise. Meg stroked his hair, hoping Hannah was still with Ramona. Maybe she should’ve kept Ramona with her, but if Arjun and Sydney were right, her daughter might’ve been killed upon their arrival at Promiseland.
Or she might’ve already turned…
Meg pushed her thoughts away from such horror. Things were bad enough without imagining worse.
“Like I told you, go in clean,” Rocky said to Sonia.
“Sorry,” she said, sheepishly bowing her head. “I don’t even have kids.”
“Rage is good. Rage makes you strong. But we need to stay focused.”
“You’d better go,” Meg said to the soldier. “I’m leaving at dawn, one way or another. Just as soon as there’s enough light to find Ian and Ramona.”
Rocky headed for the door. Arjun offered a soft “Watch your back.”
Rocky slipped outside without responding. Arjun checked the lock behind him.
They sat in silence for a while, all of them bracing for gunfire. Meg slipped into an uneasy nap, jerking awake each time she unconsciously relaxed and slumped toward the floor from her sitting position. She finally gave up and lay down beside Jacob.
“I’ll keep watch,” Arjun whispered. “You guys catch some Zs if you can.”
Meg awoke with a dry mouth and a throbbing head due to the tension in her shoulders. At first she didn’t know where she was and then it all came flooding back to her. Rocky hadn’t returned, and the others were asleep. Arjun had failed to uphold his promise, leaning against Sydney with his head tilted at an uncomfortable angle.
Meg checked her phone, expending some of the dwindling charge in hopes of contacting Ian. Still no messages, even though she now had a decent signal. She tried his number and it kicked over to voicemail. She left a version of the same message she’d left the other three times: “Call me as soon as you can, honey. The kids are fine. We’re at Promiseland. Love you.”
She wasn’t sure why she lied about being fine. She supposed she didn’t want Ian to worry about Ramona. Chances were good that he had his own worries, but at least he knew where to find her.
“Nothing?” Sonia asked, opening her eyes.
“No, but at least I’ve got a signal now. It’s cutting in and out.”
“We need to find a charger. And some electricity. And f
ood...and guns…and…everything.” Sonia sat up and wiped away the sleep. “Any news?”
Meg checked her Google News feed. The last story was dated the previous evening, with the headline “Worldwide Catastrophes Amid Virus Scare.” The hastily written article aggregated reports from several different news sources, including Al Jazeera, the BBC, CBS, and the Associated Press, listing natural disasters across the globe.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” she said to Sonia, reading some of the article aloud. An earthquake in Tokyo killed an estimated two thousand people, a mudslide in Brazil wiped out seven villages along the Amazon River, and a Category 4 hurricane rose suddenly out of a tropical storm and devastated the Georgia and South Carolina coasts.
“It’s not even hurricane season,” Sonia said. “I heard about some other storms yesterday, but it all got lost in the bigger news.”
“Yeah, they make it sound like it’s all tied together. Listen: The unusual events pale in comparison to the mysterious virus that is spreading from country to country and sparking waves of violence. Health officials are struggling to cope with the numbers of victims, and President MacMillan has imposed martial law in all fifty states. Symptoms include rash, delirium, weakness, and eventually fever, with the virus attacking the central nervous system. Emergency officials are advising the public to stay indoors until order is restored.”
“Same nonsense they were spouting from the start,” Sonia said. “If ever we needed real journalism, it’s now.”
“Maybe their reporters got eaten,” said Sydney, who’d awoken during the conversation.
“Well, they can’t exactly come out and say that the victims are dead but still trying to eat people,” Meg said, although she wasn’t sure why they couldn’t tell the truth. Maybe sometimes the truth was just too horrible to acknowledge.
Sonia stood and stretched. “The virus is one thing—you know yourself that there’s a scientific explanation, even if we can’t find it yet—but these disasters are another story. Sure, they’re natural, but they don’t just pile up like that. Something else is going on.”
“Maybe,” Sydney said, reading a Bible verse from the corkboard. “‘And he saith unto me, Seal not the sayings of the prophecy of this book, for the time is at hand.’”
“The apocalypse?” Meg said. “Or is it a coincidence that we just happen to be in a church where such beliefs are posted? I guess you get to choose your own adventure.”
“You’re right,” Sydney said. “God would never do anything so literal.”
“I can’t believe in a merciful God when all this suffering is taking place.”
Meg checked Jacob, who was still free of symptoms and sound asleep. She arched her back, working out the kinks from sleeping on the hard floor, and joined Sonia at the window. The flames in the downtown area had died down, but the skyscrapers were blackened and scorched. A thick haze hung over Raleigh, a mixture of fog and smoke. No cars drove on the streets, but there was movement in the shadows of the alleys.
At first Meg thought everything had gone back to normal—well, except for the traffic—and the populace was emerging as if awakening from a bad dream, but then she noted the unsteady gait of the figures walking the streets.
“Deaders don’t sleep,” Sonia said.
“There are more of them. I don’t see them chasing anyone, either.”
“So what now?”
“I’m finding my family, just like I said. Then I’ll worry about saving the world.”
“I’m still with you if you want me to be.”
“The more, the merrier,” Meg said, relieved to not face the struggle alone.
“You’re going out there?” Arjun, who was now awake, asked in surprise. “Last night they were shooting everybody and deaders were munching out like stoners at a breakfast bar.”
“Nobody’s shooting now,” Sydney said. “And we can’t stay here forever.”
Arjun looked confused. “Uh…I…”
“Count us in,” Sydney said. “We’re down for whatever.”
Meg woke up Jacob and drew her pistol. “I guess we check it out, then. As soon as Rocky gets back.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Hannah listened to the activity outside the truck while Ramona stirred beside her.
She heard voices in the courtyard, which provided both relief and worry. That meant the soldiers had won the battle, but they were likely to quarantine Ramona—or worse.
During the zombie incursion of the previous night, she’d crawled into the bed of one of the transport trucks. She put her hand in something wet, and then felt along the floor until she touched the body. The flesh was already cool, but she had no way to know whether the corpse was a soldier or a deader. The last thing she needed was for a deader to sit up and gnaw on them.
Hannah rerouted Ramona away from the body and then checked it more thoroughly. The figure was female, but the combat belt indicated a soldier. The woman’s skull was caved in, although Hannah couldn’t tell if the wound was from a bullet or a blow. She also didn’t know whether the injury came before or after death.
She pulled Ramona into a gap between stacks of ammo boxes and supply crates and dragged a canvas tarp over their heads. She sat with the shotgun pointed at the tailgate, tensing with every bang against the metal chassis. Stray rounds pinged off the truck like the notes of a twisted xylophone, and the cab windows shattered as a machine gun stitched a seam across the driver’s side.
Ramona clapped her hands over her ears in the dark. Hannah had no sense of time, so she couldn’t tell how long it took for the firefight to fade. Ramona fell asleep at some point, clutching Mister Grizz in a fierce hug, while Hannah plotted their escape in case of discovery. Eventually she fell asleep, too, until the first gleam of dawn leaked into the truck bed.
She pulled the canvas off them. Ramona stirred uneasily, sweat covering her face. Her skin was still mottled and flushed, with dark circles under eyes and creases of exhaustion in her face. Hannah put her wrist on Ramona’s forehead and detected a slight warmth—a fever of maybe a degree or two above normal.
Was she turning into a deader?
The voices grew louder, passing along the flank of the truck. A vehicle engine started near them, its low growl like an awakening beast’s. Hannah figured it was only a matter of time before someone looked in the truck bed. And they’d find Ramona was sick.
Ramona muttered something and Hannah shushed her. Then she crawled between the crates to the body. There was enough light to reveal the prone figure, and Hannah searched it for weapons. The spare magazines she found in a pouch were useless without the accompanying rifle. The only useful item she came away with was a two-way radio, which she secured in her backpack. Then she embarked on her plan.
She smeared her hands in the congealing blood and gore of the woman’s brains, scooping up as much offal as she could. Then she returned to Ramona and said, “This is going to be really gooey and gross, but it will keep you safe. Is that okay?”
Ramona nodded agreement, and Hannah smeared the blood all over the girl’s face, careful to stay away from her mouth in case the virus was still active. She added thick clot at the hairline to suggest a wound, and then wiped some on her sleeves for good measure. It didn’t hide all of her symptoms, but it masked the mottled marks of the infection. As long as no one checked her temperature, she might fool everyone for a while.
When she was finished, she wiped her hands clean as best she could on the canvas, and then said, “Listen, honey. We’re going to go out there and act normal, okay? And that means scared. We saw the zombies and we heard all the shots and didn’t want to come out. If anyone asks, we came to the church yesterday and you cut your head while we were hiding. Okay?”
Ramona nodded again, even managing a tired smile. The crusted blood and bits of meat on her face made her look like an extra from a haunted-house attraction, but given the carnage all around, she wouldn’t stand out that much. Hannah just had to make sure the girl wasn�
�t mistaken for a zombie by a trigger-happy soldier, but she wasn’t about to share that fear with Ramona.
“Ready?” Hannah asked.
“Is Mom here?” Ramona asked.
“We’ll find out.”
“Then let’s go.”
They climbed out of the back of the truck, Hannah careful to keep her shotgun draped in an unthreatening manner. Ramona was weak and her steps unsteady, but Hannah put an arm around her and pulled the girl against her hip. A moist slithering came from beneath the truck and an abraded hand with dirty nails reached toward them. When it came up empty, it clawed against the pavement and dragged itself forward another slick six inches. It repeated the motion and then a head appeared, blotched and raw, with great runnels of wet scars crisscrossing the flesh. One watery eye glared at them, and the mouth opened like a bottomless maw that issued forth a raspy growl.
Hannah didn’t want to use the shotgun, so she led Ramona away from the deader. When they’d gained enough distance, she looked back to see the hideous creature still crawled, its legs amputated at the thigh and the stumps trailing glistening red strings. Despite the activity all around, it seemed fixated on Hannah and Ramona, dragging its broken body forward under the morning sun.
A sentry must have spotted the zombie, because a shot rang, and then a second one, and its skull cratered.
“Keep looking straight ahead,” Hannah told Ramona. “Act casual, like you’ve been here all along.
They strolled into the Promiseland courtyard, stunned at the slaughter around them. A few civilians worked alongside the uniformed military personnel, tending to the wounded and collecting discarded gear. Other small teams were busy collecting bodies and piling them in massive heaps on the hard surface of the parking lot. The Red Cross tent was shredded, great rags dangling from its frame and waving softly in the breeze. Medics treated the more serious cases under the tattered canopy.
The brusque odor of chemical-tinged smoke filled the air, and charcoal-gray plumes rose along the horizon on all sides. A truck had pushed the crashed helicopter into the street beyond the walls, and crews collected the scorched and twisted metal along with the loose bricks. While soldiers stood guard outside, the workers fortified the opening with metal doors, steel beams, and thick pieces of corrugated tin. No zombies would be breaching the walls again unless another helicopter crashed.
Arize (Book 1): Resurrection Page 20
