“They’re sick,” he replied.
“Sick with what?” she asked, suddenly worried she would contract whatever they had. She couldn’t afford for her body to be weakened any further.
Cameron shrugged. “Probably the flu or something. It’s been going around.”
Regan cringed at the thought of the many germs and viruses the cooperative’s members had to be spreading among themselves. While they certainly had a great food stockpile and they seemed to have fresh water, the sanitation wasn’t the best. There were too many people living in too small of a place, and with too little air circulation, for them to have good sanitation. Her own room was stuffy, even with the tiny window, but at least it was separate from others.
“Don’t you think the sick should be quarantined?” she suggested.
“Carla says it’s a virus and it will run its course.”
“What if it causes other problems. Isn’t pneumonia a concern?” she pressed.
“I don’t know. I’m not a doctor. No one here has any real medical training. Carla said she used to work in a nursing home. She says the strong will survive. Those who are weak and get too sick will die or be forced to leave because they’re useless. Natural selection,” he muttered.
“Is that the company line?” she snarked.
“Regan, please. I like you. Don’t let them hear you talk like that. This is for the best. Carla is looking out for the best interests of the people living here,” he whined.
Regan couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She could read between the lines. Carla was purposely letting the people become sick. It boggled her mind to think anyone could be so ruthless. When Geno had been sick, the rest of them had pulled together to help him. She hadn’t been fond of having to take care of Geno and picking up the slack, but that was definitely better than the option she was faced with now.
“Where are we going?” she asked again.
“This is your new room,” he said, pushing open a door into what had to be a broom closet; it was half the size of the closet she had been stationed in. It was in the basement, and felt completely isolated from the rest of the building. She would be truly alone now. There wouldn’t be the mumble of voices passing or the sounds of activity beyond her small space. She looked down at the floor and saw what looked to be an old futon mattress folded in half. Regan cringed at the sight of it. She was convinced it had been home to a family of mice. Up high in the wall, there was another tiny window, barred and barely open, that looked out on a brick wall that couldn’t be more than a foot away. She’d have air circulation, but not much.
“What? Why? I had a room,” she protested, panic making her voice screech at the thought of being locked in the dark prison of a space.
“That was your room when you were going to be an active member of the cooperative. You’ve been moved down here until Carla decides she can use you.”
Regan shook her head. “No way. I can’t be in here.”
“You won’t be in here all the time. You’ll have to help out more with the cleaning and other chores.”
Swallowing, she nodded. “Okay, well, let’s do that. Right now.”
He actually looked guilty. “I’m sorry.”
“Let me go then. Come on, Cameron. Right now, I’m nothing but a burden, eating your food and taking up space,” she insisted, hearing the whine in her own voice now that she was faced with this tiny closet of a life. “Kick me out on the street, please.”
He cringed, stepping back from her as if to distance himself. “It’s not up to me. Carla thinks you’ll be valuable once you understand the way things work.”
Regan was shaking her head. She could feel panic rising in her chest for real now. “No, I won’t be. I don’t follow orders.”
He laughed harshly, and suddenly she heard a hardness in his voice she hadn’t recognized before. He wasn’t the innocent kid she’d thought he was. Or, at least, he wasn’t anymore. “You will follow orders, Regan, like everyone else, and it’s obvious you know what you’re doing out there. She wants you. She is going to use you to make us stronger. You need to wait this out. Once she feels like she can trust you, you’ll be given privileges. You’ll get to eat with us and participate in some of the other activities.”
She scoffed. “I’d rather not. Let me go and I’ll never bother any of you again.”
“Sorry, someone will come for you later,” he said, gently pushing her into the room before closing and locking the door.
The familiar panic was back. Small, dark spaces were not her friend. She hated being trapped. Claustrophobia was a very real problem for her. She shut her eyes, trying to pretend she was somewhere else—anywhere else—as she backed up to a wall and tried to calm down. When she’d been only eighteen and homeless, she had snuck into a building and curled up in the back of a storage closet. She had fallen asleep and, when she’d awoken, she’d been trapped. She had pounded on the door and screamed until she had completely lost her voice. She had been in that closet for three days before someone found her, dehydrated and desperate.
Flashbacks to the long hours she had spent in the darkness were pulling her into a panic again now.
“Breathe, Regan, breathe. This isn’t that. They know you’re here. They’ll be back. Relax,” she chanted, needing to hear her own voice.
Swallowing down her nerves and still trying to even out her breath, she kicked the mattress a few times, listening intently for the sounds of evicted mice running around the room. When she heard nothing, she sat down on the mattress, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. There was a small amount of light coming from a grate near the floor by the door, though no light to speak of came from the grimy window above. Neither did anything to illuminate the small area. If Carla had meant to break her, this would do the trick.
Regan was losing every sense of herself. She could feel it. She wasn’t the vibrant, scrappy woman she had been a week ago. She didn’t feel tough or invincible. She was weak. Carla was winning. The thought of being under Carla’s control stole away Regan’s last bit of strength. She fell over on the mattress and let the despair pull her into a half-sleeping, half-waking state of mind. She had to blank out or she would do something drastic that would end her suffering for good.
It was a familiar voice calling her name that eventually pulled her out of the deep sleep she’d fallen into.
“Fred?” she asked, assuming it was her brain playing tricks on her.
“Regan, yes, it’s me, Fred.”
Regan rolled to her back and blinked several times. The door to her room was open, light pouring in and nearly blinding her. She’d been facing the wall, and it had taken his voice to make her come to.
“Fred?” she repeated when her eyes focused on his tall form standing in the doorway.
He dropped to his knees beside the bed.
“It’s me,” he said in a quiet, shocked voice, sympathy written across his familiar face.
She hated that he pitied her, and hated even more that, for a moment, she feared she might cry. She bolted upright and quickly stood up. Fred rose along with, towering over her. There was a guard at her door, she noticed, listening in to whatever she said. She wondered what would happen if she told Fred the truth of what had happened.
“Can we have some privacy?” she spat out.
The guard closed the door, plunging them back into darkness. She heard Fred gasp at how dark it had gotten, but could only breathe out in relief when she didn’t hear the lock click. She was sure the guard was right outside the door listening.
“Not exactly what I meant,” she groaned as she leaned back against the wall. Still, the darkness didn’t feel so threatening with Fred’s presence in the room. His breathing was a comfort in and of itself, she realized.
“What are you doing?” Fred asked in a soft voice.
“Oh, taking a little siesta,” she quipped. “Why are you still here? I thought you’d all be long gone by now.”
“Wolf wasn’t ready to move, and Geno’s still recover
ing. He’s getting better, but still sick. We got some more food and water, bought another few days at the hotel.”
“Oh.”
There was a pause, and then he asked, “Regan, are you okay?”
She smirked in the darkness. “Don’t I look okay?”
In typical Fred manner, she heard him suck in a breath, betraying every emotion he felt; the man didn’t know how to be discreet or tactful to save his life. “I can’t see you now, but from what I saw? No, you don’t.”
“Thanks, Fred, you always know what to say.”
“What did they do to you?” he whispered, and she guessed he also realized they had to be listening in.
Regan sighed. “I didn’t follow the rules. I guess my days of rebelling are over.”
“This isn’t funny, Regan. Are you sure you’re not seriously hurt? Let me ask them to let Tabitha in here to take a look at you,” he pleaded.
“No!” she said a little too fast, and too loudly. She took a breath, calming her voice; she couldn’t let him see her panic—not about this, and not about the thought of Tabitha seeing her like this, or coming into this building at all. “No one else needs to come here. It isn’t safe, Fred,” she hissed quietly, praying the guard wouldn’t hear her. “I’ll be okay. It only happened the one time, and I know how to take care of myself,” she added, though it sounded like a fib even to her, knowing how she felt and what she’d seen in Fred’s face. She had to look like a bruised up nightmare, she guessed.
“Regan, I called your name several times before you heard me. You were nearly unconscious. That wasn’t a nap. You are definitely not okay.”
She shrugged, though she knew he couldn’t see her do it. “I was tired. The darkness makes me sleepy.”
“You could have a concussion, judging by the bruises around your face,” he said, and she could hear the concern in his tone.
“If I did, I’m past it. It’s … I don’t like the dark, and it seemed better to sleep than sit here thinking about everything else,” she mumbled.
“Concussions last weeks, Regan. And, you’re claustrophobic,” he said matter-of-factly.
“A little. I was tired. It wasn’t like I had anything else to do, okay? I took a little nap. Why are you here, Fred? How did you even get in here?” she asked, tired of the conversation and his intrusion into her personal life.
“I paid my way. I wanted to see you and give you this,” he said. “Reach out your hand—I can’t see you.”
She reached forward instinctively. “What is it?” she asked, holding out her hand and waiting for whatever it was he had to be placed in it.
“It’s Wolf’s knife,” he whispered. “He had a feeling you may need it.”
Regan fought back the sob that threatened to burst out of her mouth when she felt the weight of the knife in her hand, wrapped in fabric. The knife gave her something to hold onto. It gave her strength. She wasn’t completely helpless. This changed everything. His knife gave her a fighting chance, though she wouldn’t allow herself to think about how important the knife had been to Wolf, and what it meant that he’d give it to her.
“Thank you,” she said, her words coming out harshly with the emotions threatening to spill out of her eyes.
“Visit’s over,” the man at the door said, swinging it wide open.
The light flooded in again, but not before Regan had slid the knife into her long, back cargo pocket, using Fred’s body as a shield.
“Wait a minute,” Fred barked, taking Regan by surprise with the force in his tone.
He was usually so easy-going. The man never yelled. For the first time, she realized how upset he was at seeing her like this, this guy who she’d barely connected with over the past weeks.
The light allowed her to make out his face, which she was actually happy to see. The emotion she felt, seeing him, surprised her. She hadn’t thought he’d be someone she missed, but… she cut the thought off. Whatever she’d been about to admit to herself, she couldn’t afford the sentiment. Not now.
“You don’t have to stay here,” Fred hissed quietly. “We can walk out together, right now. Choose to leave and we’ll get you out of here, Regan.”
His voice sounded desperate somehow, and she knew he wanted her to go, but she shook her head anyway, without hesitation. Regan knew Carla was not a woman to be messed with. She would not let Regan walk out of this little compound she had created, and Regan couldn’t risk Fred getting hurt. If the others were waiting outside, she couldn’t risk them being captured and held captive alongside her. It wouldn’t be fair, and that wasn’t something she could live with. Carla had no regard for human life. She would kill them without thinking twice if she didn’t think they were valuable to her. Regan had gotten herself into this, and she’d have to get herself out.
Meeting Fred’s eyes, she forced herself to smile and nodded toward the door, hoping he’d take the hint. “I’m fine. It’s an adjustment period. I messed up and I’m paying the price. It will get better for me, I’m sure of it,” she said with what she hoped sounded like conviction.
He shook his head. “I can see the price all over your face,” he said gruffly. “Leave with me now. We’ll get out of the city and never look back.”
She smiled at his words, a new vein of ache running through her at the thought. It was sweet, but she knew Fred a little too well to count on him to be her white knight. If they both tried to walk out of this building, things would get ugly. Fred didn’t have the strength or the skills to fight his way out of a paper bag, let alone a heavily armed compound. A prison.
“I’ll survive,” she said with a certainty she didn’t truly feel.
“Time to go!” the guard insisted from behind them, and Regan heard an unspoken threat in his voice, whether Fred did or not.
Fred looked around the tiny room again and shook his head. “This isn’t right.”
He stopped by the door and casually kicked out the grate that was near the floor. The guard looked at him, scowling, and Regan feared he would do something to Fred, but the scientist used his height to his advantage and looked down at the guard. Regan quickly moved up to stand behind him, providing her measly strength in support even if it would do nothing to stop an actual physical assault.
Fred looked back at her. “That should help. Think about what I said,” he said then, before walking out of the room.
The guard slammed the door in her face and she was plunged into darkness once more. She dropped to her knees in front of the small hole in the wall where the grate had been and drew in deep breaths. It wasn’t exactly fresh air, but it was better than the stale air in the room. It helped calm her panic and the claustrophobic tendencies that had been making her a little crazy.
She thought about the others and wondered how they were doing. She had hoped Geno would have healed completely. Wolf was the one making the group stick around the city, she couldn’t help guessing. Regan had a bad feeling he was doing it for her. He shouldn’t have. She had screwed up, and it was her price to pay. They could get to safety and forget all about her.
21
Regan woke up with her face turned toward the hole in the wall that Fred had created. She heard the door to her closet cell open and felt the light shine in as she waited for whatever was to come.
“It’s time for you to prove you are one of us,” Cameron stated from above her.
Regan stood up and looked at him. The door was open, and she didn’t see a guard. She knew she could take Cameron, but she had learned the hard way that this place was locked down tighter than a maximum-security prison. She would never make it out. Not from here.
“And how am I supposed to do that?” she asked.
“You start by doing some chores. We’ve lost a couple people and need to adjust schedules,” he answered.
“Lost people?” Regan asked, hoping to hear they had escaped. If they could get free, she could.
“The flu,” he answered dismissively.
“They died?” she aske
d in horror.
“Yes.”
“Where did you put the bodies?” Her voice had come out a little higher than normal, but with good reason—he should have been panicking also.
He didn’t immediately answer, and Regan got a feeling she knew what her task was.
“The bodies are outside,” he finally said. “Carla doesn’t want to burn them. She says it will stink too bad and she doesn’t want them buried on the property. They have to be moved.”
“Moved where?” she asked.
“Anywhere but around here. She doesn’t want the bugs and scavengers being attracted to the building.”
Regan nodded her head. “So, I’m on body-dump duty?”
“There are several people going out. You’ll be with a team,” he explained.
“Will you be there?” she asked.
“No.”
He didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t push the issue. Instead, she focused on memorizing the layout of the building as they walked along, noting exits and potential escape routes. The place was a stronghold. The only way out was going to be through the front doors. That wasn’t an ideal option.
She was led upstairs to the ground floor. People were milling about, and the strong scent of bleach burned her nasal hairs.
“What are they doing?” she asked, looking at the women on their hands and knees who were spread around the open lobby floor. The woman she’d met at the cook-out, Tina, was among them, and Regan wondered whether she and her friend had been purposefully misleading in their praise, or whether the recent bout of illnesses had made her life with the cooperative go downhill in its wake. Either way, it was hard to find sympathy for her—the woman had given Regan some further optimism about this place, only for her to have it dashed on the walls of dark, stuffy closets.
“Bleaching everything. Carla’s decided it’s time to disinfect. She doesn’t want anyone else to get sick,” Cameron explained.
Regan snorted. “Gee, why stop now?”
“Stop it,” he bit out. “That kind of attitude is only going to get you put back in your room. Do this and you may be able to move back upstairs.”
Surviving the Swamp (Survivalist Reality Show Book 1) Page 21
