by Jones, Isla
I was disappointed, yet a piece of me—buried deep beneath the dread—was a flicker of awe. The farmhouse, the camp, the barn—it was all rather unimpressive. But what was impressive was the sheer number of survivors I could count. I estimated them around the high fifties: half a dozen heads bobbing around the barn, visible through the glassless windows; four on the porch and stoop of the house; at least two dozen in the camp; countless bodies passing the grimy windows of the house, peering out at us; a handful of children chasing each other around the overgrown grass, but never breaching the mesh wire fence; and a band of armed survivors and soldiers that gathered between the vehicles and the farmhouse.
“Vicki!” one of the armed women hollered across the lot. “It’s Vicki!”
Two women broke away from the armed guard and bolted toward Vicki. She stumbled away from Mac, looking as if she was in a state of shock.
Mac smiled between the racing women and Vicki before he excused himself. He went towards the house; Castle and Leo followed.
I faltered—the two women all but lunged at Vicki and held her close. Intruding on a reunion felt rude, but I didn’t know what else to do. Ultimately, I decided to approach and hover a few steps behind Vicki as they mumbled soppy, broken sentences to each other. It reminded me, for a brief moment, of my sister.
In our early years, Summer had always loathed it when I shadowed her. Wherever she went, I would follow, particularly when she kept the company of her friends. As she was a few years older than me, she liked to think she was too ‘cool’ to have her little sister follow her around. I bet she regretted how cruel she was to me now; not because of the plague, but because when I was only eight—and Summer was fifteen—we were ripped apart from each other.
The foster system tried to keep us together, but it didn’t always work out that way. Perhaps that is why I kept such small distances between Vicki and myself. I wouldn’t know—It’s not like I have a psychology degree, and do things like that even matter anymore?
“Winter,” said Vicki. I looked up and smiled as she beckoned me over. Summer never did that, she never invited me to join.
“Hey,” I greeted, Cleo at my feet. We stopped beside Vicki.
“Winter, this is Lisa,” said Vicki, gesturing toward the heavily armed red-head in cammo. “And this—” She waved toward the brunette in regular clothing, but who had a machine gun slung over her shoulder. “—is Tatiana. Gals, meet Winter. We picked her up back in Santa Fe.”
“Oh. My. God,” said Tatiana. I blinked, stunned, before following her gaze to Cleo between my feet. Then I realised. “She is so cute!” said Tatiana.
“Oh,” I said. “Her name is Cleo.”
“Is she yours?” asked Tatiana, slinging the gun strap over her shoulder. I nodded as she dropped to one knee and went to touch the guarded Chihuahua. “Can I pat her?”
“Yeah, she’s friendly,” I smiled. All Cleo needed to be reassured was a slight nudge with my boot to her bottom. Cleo yapped, her tail wagging, then bounded right at Tatiana.
Lisa spared the pup a small smile, but then looked back at Vicki.
“Where should we set up?” asked Vicki. A disdainful side-glance at the camp told me she wasn’t keen on the outdoors.
“We’ll make room inside,” said Lisa. “C’mon. I’ll show you around. Are you hungry? Oscar’s just about to make dinner.”
“Oscar?” echoed Vicki, breathlessly. “Wow. Don’t tell him I said this, but I’m surprised he’s still … Well, you know.”
“I know,” laughed Lisa. “He’s a walking miracle.”
My interest piqued. “Why’s he a miracle?”
Holding Cleo in her arms, Tatiana jumped to her feet. “He’s not very good against the infectees. One time, we were on top of this car in the middle of the road, and I gave him a knife. There were a couple of them circling the car. Anyways, get this—he throws the knife at one them. And he still missed! Can you believe that?”
I didn’t believe it. But I hummed and gave a light shrug.
“If those infectees hadn’t already had their legs torn apart by my shotgun, we would have died that day. Oscar was no help at all.”
“Guess he’s lucky to be alive,” I said.
“You’re not wrong,” mumbled Vicki, and we set up the grassy farm to the shabby house ahead.
Inside was just as worn down as the outside, if not more. The walls, unpapered and unpainted, reeked of stale cigarette smoke. I suppose it was a reminder that people had once lived there. Yet, there were no family portraits on the wooden slabs that served as walls, nor any photographs propped up on the decaying tables littered throughout the house.
The brightness outside barely penetrated the murky grimed windows, and the sparse light that did seep through only illuminated the dust particles floating in the air. Shadows flittered in the corners, and each step through the house caused a creak to ripple through the groaning floorboards. Upstairs, people walked and talked, and I could hear them from below, muffled by the wood separating us. Lisa guided us through a living room, which was occupied by an old corduroy armchair that parted at the seams, and a floral couch with suspicious stains seeped into the upholstery.
The living room ended with an archway, where double doors had once been. The rusted hinges remained, but the doors were gone. The archway led into the kitchen, surrounded by chipped wooden cabinets; a scratched, retro refrigerator; a rickety wooden table in the centre, with three timber chairs and one broken chair. At the basin, with his back to us, was who I presumed to be Oscar; he was washing dishes.
“The plumbing works?” I asked, hope clinging to my voice. A shower, I thought, a real, working, fresh shower all to myself…
Plates clanged in the sink before Oscar spun around to face us. I saw that he wore elbow-length, pink cleaning gloves with white frills on the ends.
“Of course not!” shrilled Oscar. He peeled the gloves from his fingers delicately, but retained a dramatic air in his movements. “Nothing works around here! Honestly, is it too much to ask for a little help? I had to cart this dish water from the well myself. Nobody offered to help. But what can I expect around here?”
“Winter,” said Lisa, “meet Oscar—our resident drama-queen.”
Oscar sniffed and flicked his faded pink hair to the side. It was useless—his shoulder length hair fell back over his face straightaway. “Drama? No.” he said snootily. “But, queen? That I can live with.”
His violet eyes fixed on me, as if he’d only just realised I was there. He stepped toward me and I shrank back—the way he wielded those gloves in his hands concerned me. Was I about to be roped into helping in the kitchen? That wasn’t a role for me. Firstly, I am a terrible cook. I even burn toast. Secondly, I hate all things related to house-work.
“And who are you?” he asked, his voice dragging over each syllable.
“I already told you,” complained Lisa. “Her name’s Winter. She’s with the others. Now, when is dinner going to be ready?”
Oscar barked a shrill, bitter laugh. “You see this?” he asked me, accusingly. All I could do was nod, my wary eyes taking in his purple irises. Who wore contact lenses in the apocalypse? This was a first for me. “The way they treat me around here. It’s disgraceful. After I spend hours preparing a broth, and all anyone can do is ask me when it will be ready. Nobody asks if I need a hand—”
“Oscar, I’m sure there’s a hand around here somewhere,” interrupted Tatiana. She held Cleo against her chest and allowed her to chew on her finger, as if she was nursing a baby. I didn’t like that.
“Don’t you dare,” seethed Oscar. He pointed his fingertip right at her, and I noticed his chipped nail polish. “If I find one more infectee-hand in my backpack, so help me …” His favoured art of complaining trailed off the moment his softening eyes drifted to Cleo in Tatiana’s arms. A warm smile spread over his face, and I realised he was sort of pretty when he wasn’t shouting. I also realised he was wearing eyeshadow and mascara. “And what’s your
name little puppy?”
“Cleo,” I answered.
“Oh, she’s a treat!” he said. “Named after Cleopatra, I imagine?”
I nodded; ignoring the tug of my bag-strap pulling at my shoulder. I had the urge to switch the strap to my other shoulder, but I didn’t think it would feel much better pulling against a bullet wound.
“In that case,” said Oscar, “she will eat two dinners! I can’t accept another queen, but I will gladly take a pharaoh.”
Oscar swept into the kitchen and riffled through the cabinets. A few moments later, he reappeared with a slither of beef jerky pressed between his thumb and finger.
“Here you go, sweetie,” he crooned.
Cleo scoffed the dried meat down so quickly that I wondered if dogs could get indigestion. I would have to ask Vicki at some point.
Lisa used the opportunity to slink by Oscar. As my gaze followed her, I saw she was trying to sneak a peek at the massive pot of broth. Oscar noticed and stormed after her, then proceeded to swat her away with the pink rubber gloves.
“Well,” I whispered to Vicki. “He’s something.”
“You’ll get used to him,” she said stonily.
“Is everything all right?” I asked in a whisper.
“Dandy,” she spat. “Other than the fact that Oscar still hasn’t said hello to me. I don’t think he’s even noticed I’m here.”
I grimaced and decided to stay out of that. “So,” I said loudly, swinging my bag off my shoulder and onto the floorboards where it couldn’t hurt me anymore. “Where should I put this?”
“Upstairs,” came Leo’s familiar voice. He entered with Castle from the doorway to the left. “Everyone else will sleep in the barn.”
I knew he meant the others from the group. I didn’t argue—the house, no matter how stinky, cold, and creaky, was a better option for me; one I didn’t want to put at risk by questioning him.
“Is it safe?” asked Vicki. “The farm.”
“As safe as we can expect,” said Castle coolly. “It’s fenced all around the property and when the sun goes down, we will go dark. If an infectee comes, it’ll trigger the bells set up around the perimeter. The vehicles are parked behind the house, making it easier to evacuate.”
I thought that was strange. We’d parked at the driveway when we arrived a few minutes ago. Some of the soldiers must have moved a few cars to the back. I didn’t really understand why.
“An easier evacuation for us,” said Vicki. “Not for those in the barn or the camp.”
“Those of us in the house,” said Castle, “are the priorities. We do what we can for the others in the barn and camp, but, ultimately they are expendable.”
“Some of them are kids,” I said, horrified.
Castle’s bottle-green eyes snapped to mine; my lips clamped shut. Would he kick me out of the house for that? Did he have the power to do so?
And then I remember what Vicki had told me the day we’d met. Leo was just the beta—Castle was the alpha. He had more power than Leo. I looked away, mulling over their code names ‘beta’ and ‘alpha’. There had to be clues in there, somewhere, to their professions and what type of soldiers they were. I was leaning toward mercenaries.
Leo stepped into the kitchen and reclined against the cabinets. “You’re right,” he said, looking at me, “but so is Castle. We’ll do what we can for them if it comes to it. But they will stay in the barn.”
Oscar and Lisa, who had been listening, shared a peculiar look with one another. I picked up on it straight away, but I didn’t have to ask what it was about.
Lisa cleared her throat. “The wounded are in the barn, sir.”
Castle’s blazing eyes stayed on me.
“We can’t overcrowd it,” she said. “We should make them as comfortable as we can. Maybe we could relocate just the injured into the house? The basement or the attic, even?”
“Wounded?” echoed Vicki.
“A few have been injured,” said Castle. He glanced at Leo. “And I made the decision to keep them separated from the others. Hopefully, they will all heal.”
“Were they bitten?” I asked. It could take days for the virus to mutate in the body, to consume every piece of bone and flesh; but I’ve seen some turn within hours—I watched, hidden and silent, from beneath floorboards, from creaky attics. Staying quiet was the hardest part—even a stomach growl could give you away to the rotters.
“No,” said Leo. Apparently, he’d already been debriefed on the matter.
I frowned and shared a befuddled glance with Vicki. It was me who voiced the silent question between us; “But if they haven’t been bitten, I don’t see why it’s so important to keep them out of the house. And if there’s room in here, why can’t the others come in?”
Castle parted his lips to respond, and I got the feeling he wasn’t about to speak kindly.
Leo held up his hand and cut in, “Lisa, Oscar, Tatiana. Leave us.”
Tatiana handed Cleo to me before she disappeared through the door, followed closely by Lisa, and the mumbling, furious Oscar. Once the door swung shut behind them, Leo pushed himself from the cabinet.
“Leo,” I said, my anxiety and intrigue climbing with each passing second. “What’s going on? Should we be worried?”
“Winter,” he said with a sigh, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I think you should come with us.”
I tightened my hold on Cleo and stepped back. Vicki did the same.
Leo’s face lit up with a grin. “Don’t be so dramatic,” he said. “You’re not in danger, nor are you in any trouble. I want you—both of you—to know the truth.”
Castle’s jaw clenched at this. I had a feeling he’d protested. But if he was in charge, how could Leo overrule him?
“There is a private meeting about to start,” said Leo. He bent and snatched my bag from the floor. Then, he tucked it under his arm and jerked his head to the doorway behind him. “You’re both invited.”
11.
Sitting around the unsteady dining table, my wide eyes gave away just how out of place I felt. Somehow—I’m not sure how, but somehow—I’d managed to weasel my way into the inner circle of the united group. Vicki sat to my left, and Leo to my right. Cleo was on my lap, of course, chewing on the edge of the flaky timber table. Across from me, Castle lounged in his chair.
Castle was a puzzle—he didn’t know me, so I couldn’t fathom why he was so hostile in the way his gaze pierced into my own and his dark aura slithered over the table to lash at me. Despite his evident sentiments in my regard, he didn’t object to my presence at the meeting. It was then that I suspected there was more going on between him and Leo than I’d first imagined—there was no one leader.
“As you know,” said Leo beside me; though he looked at Castle. “We are transporting cargo across the country to Washington D.C. This mission was issued before the outbreak; the outbreak that was not supposed to happen.”
My head tilted, eyes looking up at Leo, searching his profile. I saw the faint shadow of a dimple on his cheek; he didn’t meet my eyes.
“These orders came from the pentagon,” said Castle. “The cargo was to be collected from Area 53—which we have since lost contact with—and to be protected at all costs.”
“Area 53?” I echoed, voice slick with disbelief. “As in the base that only conspiracists think exists?”
Castle’s steady green eyes slid to my own gaze. A jolt of electricity went through me; I shifted closer—almost unnoticeably—to Leo.
“The same way,” said Mac, “that conspiracists believed that Area 51 existed, were thought mad for decades, only for the CIA to reveal the truth. It was real.”
“Who are you?” It was Vicki. Her voice shook, high-pitched, and she stared at Mac as if she didn’t know him at all.
Mac averted his gaze to the table.
Leo answered for him, “We were Deltas.”
The Delta Force was an elite and highly secretive army faction of the U.S. military. Their exis
tence was no secret to the country, but their missions were—they operated incognito and no one even knew what their uniforms looked like.
“Deltas?” I said. “What do you mean you were Deltas?”
“I haven’t gotten my cheques in a long while,” said Adam. “Not sure we’re on the payroll anymore.”
“We will always be Deltas,” said Castle, eyes of green-steel on Adam. Adam stiffened in his chair and looked down. “We had our orders, and we are carrying them out.”
“Why are you telling us this?” I asked.
Leo glanced down at me. “There were others in our unit when we left with the cargo,” he said. “Five of them. When we lost contact with our mission controls and the point of drop-off, there was a disagreement among us.”
“They left,” said Castle. “Stripped themselves of their duties and left. But they tried to take the cargo with them. They want it—the cargo is invaluable. It must be delivered to the point of drop-off intact if we are to have any chance of surviving this plague.”
I sank into the chair. “The other group,” I whispered. “Are they … They’re the Deltas?”
“They were,” said Castle. “And now they’re nothing more than cowardly deserters. A crime punishable by death.”
“And they want the cargo,” said Vicki. Her gaze bore into Mac’s face, but he looked at Castle instead.
“The other group, it seems,” said Leo, “are recruiting survivors and telling them what our cargo is. They are using those survivors as ways in—they’re gearing up for an attack.”
“That,” said Castle, “is why the others are in the camp and the barn. Only top-priority personnel will remain in the house. If we are attacked while on this property, we will evacuate to the vehicles; including the RV that carries the cargo. Ultimately, the mission is our highest priority.”
Vicki gaped at Mac’s unreadable face. “You’ll leave the others to die?”
“They are the decoys,” I said. I looked at Leo. “You’re setting the rest of the group up, leaving them out the front of the farmhouse so that if the others attack…”
