by Perrin Briar
It was a frightening couple of minutes as they waited for the fit to subside, her lips wetted by a white foaming froth. Dana was literally watching the chances of finding her sister slip through her fingers. At any moment Debbie could slip into a seizure or a final convulsion, and Max would be gone forever.
Hugo crouched next to Debbie and tenderly wiped the froth off her chin.
“She’s stopped,” Hugo said.
“We have to get moving,” Dana said. “Now.”
They left the gardens and came out on NE 41st Street. It was very suburban, with large, attractive houses along the northern side, set well back from the sidewalk and screened for privacy by large evergreen bushes. As they headed east, the semi-calm that had found them in the gardens pervaded.
“It’s quiet,” Hugo said. “Really quiet. I always thought the apocalypse would be noisy, with no respite. But maybe it’s the silence that’s really dangerous. Humanity has a way of creating noise, sounds, with our chuffing, clanking modern technology. It’s nature that’s silent. Now that the world’s reset button has been pressed, that’s what we’ll be hearing a lot more of.”
A zombie stumbled along a long driveway, scuffing its feet, unused to the sharp decline it was walking down. It hadn’t spotted them, and seemed quite happy to muddle its way through the world.
Dana and Hugo ducked behind a short brickwork wall.
“You take Debbie,” Dana said. “I’ll go deal with him. Looks like there’s only one.”
She stood up. The moment she did, the undead exploded in a burst of meaty chunks, raining down over the driveway and road, forming a single large splatter.
Dana’s eyes widened and she dropped back down again.
“What in God’s name was that?” Hugo said.
“High calibre assault rifle or gatling gun, unless I missed my guess,” Dana said.
“Jesus,” Hugo said. “Well, they certainly didn’t miss, did they?”
A squad of soldiers in full tactical gear hustled onto the street in their hurried crouched walk, turning their whole bodies as they combed the area.
“Damn it,” Dana said.
“Who is it?” Hugo said.
“The military,” Dana said.
“How many?” Hugo said.
“Eight, ten,” Dana said. “I’m not sure. Too many. And I think I can hear an artillery truck too.”
“Hence the exploding body,” Hugo said.
There was a lull, just the swishing sound of the soldiers’ camo gear as they hurried down the street. They were heading in the trio’s direction.
Dana shut her eyes. She could imagine the scene now.
The soldiers would peer over the wall, see them, shout something about freezing and, upon seeing their grey skin and the unconscious body at their feet, would assume the worst. They would open fire. It was obvious. It was going to happen. No question about it.
And then, a miracle.
“On our ten!” one of the soldiers shouted. “On our ten! On our ten!”
The shooting began, accompanied by the roar of the undead. They had crept up on the squad, coming from behind, probably attracted by earlier gunshots, or the roaring engine of the artillery vehicle.
The shooting was immediate and cacophonous, filling the air and turning the quiet suburb into a warzone within a fraction of a second. The low groans of the dead were hardly audible over the cracks and thrumming of automatic weapons.
Dana caught sight of something out the corner of her eye. Movement. From the house before them.
The front door was open, and a face peered out from around it. It was a pleasant woman’s face. Her mouth was opening and closing, saying something, but Dana couldn’t hear the words over the shooting. She recognized the hand waving at her, toward the speaker. Come here! This way!
Dana didn’t need to be told twice. She was already on her feet. She hauled Hugo up and together they carried Debbie toward the open door. They threw themselves inside. Dana couldn’t help but look back at the street.
The zombies had caught the soldiers unaware and outnumbered them five to one. Probably more—Dana couldn’t see the end of the undead army that wound round the corner. Dana was glad that, for once, she would not be part of the aggressive assault.
Their host, a short elderly woman, shut the door and turned the locks. Fat lot of good they would be against either army just outside.
The elderly woman said nothing, but gestured for them to follow her out of the hall and into the next room. It was the lounge. It was packed with suitcases, backpacks, briefcases. Most of them had been opened and searched, the items spread out like they’d exploded.
The curtains were drawn, but nothing could disguise the battle taking place on the street outside.
“Thank you,” Dana said. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Oh no,” the elderly woman said around a mischievous smile, eyes glinting. “Thank you.”
She said it so sweetly in a strong welcoming East European accent that Dana didn’t immediately realize what was in the old lady’s liver spotted hand.
A pistol.
Chapter Sixteen
“PUT WEAPONS down,” the woman said.
Dana and Hugo exchanged a look. Was this for real?
“Is this some kind of joke?” Hugo said.
The old lady moved the pistol to one side and squeezed off a shot. The bullet made a thunk! noise as it embedded itself deep into a hard backed suitcase.
“I no joke,” the woman growled. “I do not like repeat myself.”
Dana bent down and put her rifle on the floor. She could take the old lady. In a fair fight there was no question. But having a pistol pointed at your head by a competent gun user hardly made for the most fair of situations.
And she was competent, there was no question of that. The old lady held the lump of metal like she was used to its feel, its weight. She was comfortable with it and wouldn’t suffer the hesitation most people did before firing at a living person.
“What wrong with you?” the woman said. “You look bad.”
“It’s been a long day,” Dana said.
Her knife. She still had her knife. If she could get her hand in her pocket she could whip it at the woman in the blink of an eye.
“One more chance,” the old lady said. “Put rifles down or I shoot.”
Dana put her gun down and made a move to put her hand in her pocket, but she daren’t. The old lady was watching too closely. Hugo followed suit and put his weapon down too.
“Other weapons too,” the woman said.
This was one smart lady, Dana thought. Or else very experienced. And suddenly the stored suitcases were no longer a mystery. They belonged to others just like them. Others who had been hoodwinked.
How could Dana have been so dense? Because she was desperate, that’s why. She had let down her guard when someone had, for the first time since the world had turned to shit, been kind to her. And then this happened. Kindness was evidently no longer a common currency. If it ever was.
Dana reached into her pocket.
“Slowly,” the old lady said, repositioning her feet.
Dana gritted her teeth. If the woman had pointed the gun at Hugo she would have made a try to wrestle the pistol from the woman. But she seemed to have correctly identified her as the ringleader, or at least as the one most competent with weapons.
Very smart.
“Lay on front,” the woman said.
“Lay on what?” Hugo said.
“You hear me,” the woman said. “You no speak English? I say get down.”
They did, slowly. Dana couldn’t believe this was happening.
“What her story?” the woman said, nodding to Debbie’s unconscious form. “She bite?”
“No,” Hugo said. “She’s sick, that’s all.”
“Maybe I put hole in her, make sure,” the woman said around a grin missing most of its teeth.
This was a game to her. She was enjoying it.
&
nbsp; “So what’s the deal?” Dana said. “You hijack us and get some military-grade weapons? Congratulations, they’re all yours. Just let us go and I promise you won’t ever see us again.”
“No, no, no,” the woman said. “You no understand. This not stealing. This giving.”
Dana frowned.
“I’m not following you,” she said.
“No,” the woman said. “You do not. But you will.”
That same toothless grin.
“It dangerous world,” she said. “You will come to harm. Here, you safe. Pick up Sleepy.”
She was referring to Debbie.
“You take with you,” she said. “She too heavy for little Olga. You take. Come on. Up, up.”
Dana and Hugo got up. Hugo took Debbie’s arms, Dana her feet. They followed Olga’s directions into the hall and to a set of stairs that led into the basement.
“You go down,” Olga said. “You go down now.”
They began to descend the stairs, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the walls. They were halfway down when they began to smell what they were heading toward. Dana had been to a zoo once, and it rekindled those memories. Dirt, feces and a general sense of damp.
The scene brought Dana to a stop, her eyes scrubbing the setting. Nothing could have prepared her for this.
Cages lined the walls, cages with people—children and adolescents, mostly—locked inside. The cages were small, built for animals rather than people. The woman ushered them toward a trio of empty cages at the opposite end of the room.
Dana couldn’t let herself get locked away like this. Max needed her. She reacted out of instinct, letting Debbie’s feet strike the ground.
Dana spun, attempting to rush the old hag, but she was ready for her, and struck Dana hard across the temple.
Dana hit the concrete. The dark underworld span sickeningly about her. She could have been in a nightmare. She was in a nightmare!
“You children always do same thing,” Olga said. “You predictable. You stupid.”
Dana could make out the woman with her pistol aimed at her face around the flashing black spots in her vision. She stood over her, from this angle, big and powerful and magnanimous.
“You,” Olga said, shifting the sights of her pistol to Hugo. “Put her in cage.”
Hugo hesitated only a moment before bending down to hook his head under the crook of Dana’s arm. He led her toward the empty cage on the left.
“Don’t,” Dana said weakly, meekly. It didn’t sound like her. “Don’t.”
“I’m sorry, Dana,” Hugo said. “I have to.”
Dana held out a hand to prevent herself from being put inside the cage, but she was too weak to offer much resistance. The woman must have clobbered her pretty damn hard.
“Shut door,” Olga said. “Lock. Give me key. Now you put sleeping woman in cage.”
Hugo did, struggling with Debbie’s flimsy limbs. That was all Dana could work out with her vision swimming in and out of focus. She spied the other occupants of their cages, but saw only body parts and flashing glimpses of faces.
“Now you get in cage,” Olga said. “Good. Now lock it and give me key. You good boy. You smart.”
Olga turned to the occupants of the other cages and put her fists on her narrow waist.
“Now, who help me with cook meal?” she said.
There was the bleeping sound of desperate children, calling out and crying for attention. The noises they made did not sound like words to Dana’s ears. They might have been baying animals for all Dana knew.
Soon, perhaps that was exactly what she was going to be turned into.
Chapter Seventeen
DANA’S DREAMS were filled with nightmarish visions from beginning to end, starring the same young girl with dirty blonde hair and green eyes. In each encounter, she was in the thrall of a person of disrepute, and every time Dana made a move to free her, she was brutally forestalled.
In one, Max was tied to a tall pole suspended over a fiery pit. Dana succeeded in carving a path through the cannibals, but the moment she stepped on the rickety platform, it gave way beneath her feet, and they both plunged into the fiery abyss.
In another, Max was trapped between the crossfire of the military and the undead. Once again, Dana came to the rescue, sporting near-superhuman abilities, and made it to her sister. But then she stepped on an unseen landmine that destroyed them both.
On and on the scenarios played out, one after the other, like a well-worn Hollywood trope, lacking any real originality, but delivering a twist that kept audiences coming to the multiplexes.
Just what was her subscious trying to tell her?
Dana shot up, her head striking something hard, causing it to rattle. She pulled back, covering her head with her hands. It hadn’t hurt, but it hadn’t been pleasant either.
She took her time, opening her eyes slowly to peer around at her surroundings. She was in a cage. She could neither lay down, nor stand up. She could barely get to her hands and knees without considerable discomfort.
Dana took a moment, her head swimming at the movement. She swayed slightly. That’s right, she thought—and she was pleased that she could think—she had been struck across the back of the head. The world stopped spinning and Dana peered at her surroundings.
She was in a dark place and could make out the shape of wire fences on either side of her, identical to the one she was in. There were bodies in those cages too. Dana shook her head. It didn’t matter about those other cages, only her own.
She ran her fingers over the wire squares, feeling for what was her new home. There were no broken links, no weaknesses in the structure so far as she could make out. There was a lock on the front door latch. An old-style one with a large keyhole in the middle.
Dana checked her pockets for something she could use to pick it, but found them empty. She unclipped her belt, put it through a hole in the fence, and used the clasp to begin working at the lock. It was not the perfect tool, but with any luck it might get the job done.
“What are you doing?” Hugo said.
Dana started, almost dropping her belt in the process. She shook her head. Hugo was in the cage beside her own. The memories of the events that took place before she was knocked unconscious came back to her. It was because of him she was in here. He wouldn’t fight.
“I’m baking a cake,” Dana said. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Any luck?” Hugo said.
Dana felt the little spring she was looking for and hissed as she lost it. It bounced back into its locked position. She concentrated on starting the procedure again.
“How is she?” Dana said, nodding toward Debbie’s cage. She was on Hugo’s other side.
“Okay, I think,” Hugo said, which was another way of saying he didn’t know. “She’s been talking in her sleep. I don’t understand what she’s saying, but the fact she’s talking more has to be a good sign, right?”
The only good sign would be when they were out of here and Debbie could tell Dana what she needed to know. But that wasn’t going to happen if they couldn’t get her to a hospital—and soon.
“I’m sorry about before,” Hugo said. “I was scared and didn’t want to fight. I thought if I did, she would kill us all.”
Dana focused on working at the lock. She didn’t like to think what she would do if she got her hands on Hugo. She didn’t need the stress of the argument. Hugo seemed to notice this, and changed the subject.
“What do you think the old lady’s going to do to us?” Hugo said.
“I don’t care,” Dana said. “She can do what she wants, but I won’t be here when she does it.”
Hugo cast around at the other cages in the room. They were lit by a single dim light bulb, painted with a dirty yellow glow.
“She robbed all these kids,” Hugo said. “She could have killed them if she wanted. No one would notice or care in today’s world. But to keep them locked up like this? What’s the purpose?”
“I did,” Hugo said.
Dana paused, holding her belt still. Her eyes moved to the side. Talking to Hugo was generally a waste of time, but it wasn’t a waste if he genuinely knew something useful.
“What did they say?” Dana said.
“Why don’t I just show you?” Hugo said.
He turned to the room and raised his voice.
“Hey everyone!” he said. “Can anyone tell me what’s going on here?”
“Quiet!” a dozen voices hissed from the darkness. “Quiet! She likes quiet!”
“Thanks,” Hugo said. “But does anyone know what’s going on in here?”
“Quiet!” the voices repeated. “She likes quiet!”
“That’s it,” Hugo said, turning back to Dana. “That’s all they say.”
“Brilliant,” Dana said, turning back to the lock. “Does she come down here often?”
“Not since she left us,” Hugo said. “She took one of the others with her. A fat girl. They went up the stairs together, and then they were gone. The girl seemed really happy to be going.”
“So would I if I could get out of here,” Dana grumbled.
A lock turned. Unfortunately it wasn’t Dana’s, but the door at the top of the stairs.
The door creaked open. Dana retracted her belt and wrapped it back on around her waist. Light footsteps came down the stairs. The room became even more quiet than it had before.
The old lady—Dana seemed to remember she referred to herself as Olga before—was cast in silhouette by the light at the top of the steps, a glowing aura. She carried a bucket in one hand.
She moved to the first cage and tipped the bucket over at an angle. There was a splat noise and something hit the bottom of the food bowl clipped to the wire cage.
Olga moved from one cage to the next, depositing the sickly slop. The kids in the cages nodded, almost bowing, keeping their eyes on the floor at Olga’s feet. They were terrified of her. Just what had happened to them to make them like this? It was certainly not the normal behavior of an ordinary teenager.
