Affliction Z Series Books 1-3

by L. T. Ryan

  Addison touched the girl’s shoulder. “I’m sorry about your father.” She glanced at Barbara. “And your husband.”

  “He’s not my husband. I was his wife’s best friend. She was away when this all started. She made it home, but she was…”

  Addison looked toward Emma. The girl turned her head. A tear fell from her eye.

  “I’m sure your father is out there. Maybe they’ll bring him here and you’ll be reunited.”

  “I hope they don’t,” Emma said. “I don’t want him to be captured.”

  Addison took note of the fear in the girl’s voice. She told her, “This is just a place they keep people until they can tell they aren’t sick. After that, they’ll bring you into their group. You’ll be able to live a normal life again.”

  “How long have you been in here?” Emma asked.

  “Not long. I was out there, but I did something stupid.”

  “What?”

  “Ran away.”

  “So you’ve been down here twice?” Emma asked.

  “No,” Addison said.

  “Then you were here when it all happened?”

  “No. They brought me here when they came upon me on the road.”

  “But you didn’t come down here first.”

  Addison shook her head. The girl was sharp.

  “So they don’t just put people down here to make sure they aren’t sick first.” Emma pulled away from Barbara and went to the front of the cell. “I bet everyone in here did something to be put in here. Whether they challenged someone, or were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. They aren’t worried about them being sick.”

  “I’ve got a friend out there. She’s…” Addison stopped herself from revealing Jenny and her connection to Phil. “She can be helpful. I’m sure word of my capture has gotten around the camp and hopefully to her. I expect her to visit soon. She may be able to help us.”

  “May?” Barbara said. “I can’t pin hope on ‘may.’”

  Addison glanced toward Emma, who faced away from them. “You better, lady. It’s all we have anymore.”

  The cell filled with bright light. The women looked down and covered their eyes.

  “What the hell is that?” Barbara said. “Where’s it coming from?”

  Addison blinked hard a few times and let her eyes adjust. She pointed toward the ceiling. “Up there. They’ve got some kind of a tube thing. My grandparents have a few in their house. The sun hits a mirror and, whatever, it makes it bright. Best I can figure, they covered it with sod or something and randomly pull it away.”

  “Does anything happen after they do?”

  Addison shrugged. “Have only seen it a couple times now. Nothing happened either time.”

  Barbara rubbed her eyes with her palms. “That hurts.”

  “Wait until it goes dark again.” She noticed Barbara’s gaze travel to back corner where there was a hole in the floor. “Yeah, it’s what you think it is.”

  Barbara shuddered. “How did this happen? How did the world end up like this?”

  Addison thought back to a conversation she’d had with her dad on the subject of the end of the world. She paraphrased what he had said. “Bound to happen at some point, right? We all live in our little sheltered worlds, no matter how good or bad. We often fail to look at the big picture. There are bad people out there. And then there are people worse than them. The bad people aren’t afraid to do what’s necessary to eliminate those that pose a threat to them. They, too, often fail to see the big picture. The end result is this. Everyone’s fucked.”

  Barbara glanced at Emma. “Not in front of the girl.”

  “I’ve heard it before, Barb. You know my father.”

  Barbara sighed. “Yeah, guess so.”

  “Think he’s out there?” Emma asked.

  “You know he is. He’ll make it here and rescue us.”

  “There’s so many of them,” Addison said.

  “You don’t know Sean,” Barbara said. “Former Special Forces. Air Force PJ. Know what that means?”

  Addison shook her head.

  “He’d jump in from thirty thousand feet with nothing but a pistol to rescue someone with half their body shot off. If anyone got in his way, he’d eliminate them. Trust me, when he gets here, we’ll all be better off for it.”

  “His name’s Sean?” Addison asked.

  Emma and Barbara nodded.

  “Ryder,” Barbara added.

  “Well Sean Ryder, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Thirty-Seven

  What the hell am I doing?

  Sean continued to doubt himself. There had to be more men than what he had seen on his property. And here he was, walking naked into a lion’s den. In what world did this make sense?

  “It’s not much further,” Derrick said.

  “I can see the map too,” Sean said.

  “Yeah, but, you don’t know that there’s checkpoints on the road on either side of the camp now.”

  “Won’t that give away your position?”

  “We’re subtle. You come with us or we shoot you.”

  Sean pictured a couple country boys sitting in the back of their trucks on the lift-gate. Rifles placed across their legs. Beer in one hand, ham sandwich in the other. He imagined the stretch of road ahead of them. A five-mile trail that offered no alternate routes. And forget about parallel roads. The thick trees throughout the countryside meant they’d have to travel on foot for several miles.

  “How many at each check point?” Sean asked.

  “Two to eight.”

  “That’s quite a range.”

  “Just depends.”

  “You ever work it?”

  “Nah, Dad don’t trust me.”

  “Dad?”

  Derrick said nothing.

  “Phil’s your father?”

  Derrick looked away. Sean watched a bead of sweat trickle along the edges of the guy’s sideburn.

  “Yes or no, Derrick.”

  “Yeah, he’s my dad.”

  Sean nodded. Things had gotten interesting.

  “I’m a bargaining chip now, ain’t I?” Derrick said.

  “Kid for a kid, right?”

  Derrick wiped the sweat from his brow. A damp line remained, entwined in his eyebrows. “He won’t negotiate with you. More ‘n likely, he’ll kill your little girl, and then dare you to kill me. He’s got the numbers. What you got? A bum leg is all I can see.”

  “And you.”

  “Let me tell you something, Mister. I ain’t worth jack shit to my old man. It’s all about the good of the community now. You want to get your kid out alive, then you best fall in line with Phil. Offer your services to the community. Get trusted. Then make your move.”

  Sean said nothing. He mulled over the man’s words.

  “But if you think he’s gonna cave when you hold that fancy gun to my head, you’re crazy.” He turned his head and spit out the open window. “And you’ll likely end up getting your head shot off.”

  “Stop the truck.”

  “What?” Derrick glanced between Sean and the road.

  “You heard me.” Sean aimed the MP7 at the man’s head. “Stop. Now.”

  Derrick slowed the truck down and pulled onto the grass shoulder. They rolled to a stop.

  “Get out,” Sean said. “Move to the front of the truck.”

  Derrick did as instructed.

  Sean stepped down and met him there. “On your knees, hands behind your head, legs crossed at the ankles.”

  “What’re you gonna do?”

  “Do it,” Sean commanded.

  The young man eased himself down and positioned himself as Sean had ordered. His nostrils flared wide and contracted rapidly. His cheeks flushed. His eyes darted around, looking for escape routes, or perhaps help in the form of someone he knew.

  Sean walked around the man. The back of Derrick’s shirt was soaked in sweat. Sean placed his prosthetic foot down on Derrick’s crossed ankles. He touched
the barrel of his gun to the top of Derrick’s skull.

  The man began to cry. Sean didn’t blame him. In this new world, dying at the hand of another man was the least of his worries. At the same time, it should have been his greatest concern.

  “Tell me everything I need to know,” Sean said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “About the setup, the structure. How many men? How many women? How well armed you guys are? Types of weaponry? Patrols, guards, whatever you call them, how many and where? How secure is the perimeter? Are there traps?”

  “I…I wouldn’t know most of that, man.”

  Sean tapped against the top of his head with the barrel. “I’ve killed before.”

  “Okay, okay. About half the place is women. Everyone works, building new houses and stuff. There are always four men on watch around the main camp. They’re positioned north, south, east and west. Four more a bit further out. Shift changes every ten hours.”

  “Why ten?”

  “Why not?”

  Sean shrugged. “Okay. What about the perimeter? Traps and such?”

  “I don’t know about any of that. They don’t want most of us leaving alone. And frankly, the danger of what’s out there is enough to keep most people at the camp.”

  “What if someone dies? These things smell death.”

  “Huh?” Derrick leaned back and made eye contact with Sean. “No one has died yet. At least, not that I know of.”

  “And how’s the place set up?”

  “The middle is mostly temporary structures for housing. This happened quicker than we thought it would. Dad’s got his place, and a few people stay there. There’s a couple other buildings, and lots more under construction.”

  “And what happens to people who dissent? Where do they go?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Come on, Derrick. No body is without its warts. What do you do with the people that can’t hack it in the group?”

  “Can I stand?”

  Sean took the pressure off Derrick’s ankles and then took three steps back. “Nice and easy.”

  Derrick rose, turned and nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Just answer the question.”

  Derrick nodded again. He rubbed his wrists as if they’d been shackled. “So there’s an underground, um, prison I guess you could call it. Dark and dirty, carved into the earth. We got a tube thing running into each cell and give them some light each day. Some people are permanent, others are temporary.”

  “How many people down there?”

  Derrick shrugged. “Ain’t been down there but once, man.”

  “How many then?”

  “Thirty, maybe.”

  “And how many cells?”

  “Ten.”

  “Size?”

  “Eight by eight, I guess.”

  “You guess.” Sean envisioned the conditions down there and contemplated the fact that he could end up spending the rest of his life in one of those cells if this mission failed.

  “What do they do with new people?”

  “You mean like your wife and daughter?”

  “She’s not my wife.”

  “Right, sorry.” Derrick looked away.

  “They put them down there, don’t they?”

  The man nodded.

  “And you know where it’s located?”

  “I do.”

  “Guess where you’re taking me, Derrick?”

  Thirty-Eight

  Turk stood in front of the hatch, prepared to break his number one rule. He would leave alone and without telling anyone. At some point his wife would realize he had gone through with it. She’d go to his computer and look at the security feeds. Maybe she’d spot him outside. Maybe she wouldn’t. Hell, maybe no one would even notice he was gone.

  He unlocked the hatch and passed through, closing it behind himself. The humidity took hold at once. Sweat dripped down his forehead, into his eyes. He blinked at the burning sensation. He rubbed his nose after inhaling the mold-laden air. How would the rest of his group react to the outside world after six or seven weeks, maybe more, inside the climate-controlled bunker?

  Turk hesitated before emerging from the underground dugout. The horde of afflicted had passed, and the men who’d killed Marcus were unlikely to be around. They’d come back, he was sure of that. But not yet.

  He slung is MK 14 EBR over his shoulder. His HK MP7 was strapped tight to his chest and equipped with a suppressor. Finally, he secured a Sig Sauer P226 in a compression holster behind his back. His cargo pants pockets were filled with additional ammunition.

  Turk unlocked the earthen hatch and lifted it enough to scan the surrounding area. Muted sunlight attacked his eyes like an icepick. He crawled through and rose to a crouching position. Turk dissected the area in quarters. There were no immediate threats. He spun back around and stared at his brother’s remains. Little was left of Marcus.

  He turned his attention to the world around him. It looked surreal. He hadn’t been sure what to expect. The feeds into the bunker appeared normal enough, if not a little grainy. But the colors were toned down. Out here, grays were grayer, green was greener. Fall showed traces of arriving. A few trees had yellow and red and orange leaves. The sun hid behind gray clouds that skated across the sky. Turk paused, as he recognized the low, fast moving clouds as possibly being the precursor to a tropical storm or hurricane. That could work to his advantage.

  Or it could kill him.

  Smoke rose above the trees. It looked distant. Charleston, perhaps. He wondered how survivors within city limits had reacted. Had they banded together to fight off those who had turned? Or did they take up arms against one another? Turk had witnessed what happens when things break down. Even among trained soldiers the possibility existed that chaos would ensue.

  He headed toward the woods. The men couldn’t be that far away. Marcus had found them not long after leaving. Turk scanned for trail markers, trash, broken tree limbs, beaten paths. Anything that offered a clue. He found a discarded water bottle, but determined it not valid, as it looked to have been cast aside some time ago.

  He found a couple cigarette butts on the ground. Promising. He picked one up and smelled it. It had been stomped out recently. It wasn’t definitive. Anyone passing through could have left it there.

  That was it, though. Nothing else offered any clue as to which direction the men had gone from that point. Turk kept moving away from the bunker.

  He paused every time he heard a sound, whether that of a stick snapping, leaves rustling, or an animal scurrying. Using skills honed over twenty years as a SEAL, Turk constantly reevaluated the surrounding woods. One of those men, or worse, one of the afflicted, could be lurking behind any of the thick trees he passed.

  Both hands gripped the MP7 tightly. He had the weapon set to three-round bursts. All he had to do was get close. The gun took care of the rest.

  His first break came when he smelled wood smoke. He followed it, altering his path. It took a few adjustments to stay on track. The smell intensified. He wondered if it attracted other beings as well. Perhaps it had been left burning as a decoy. Or worse, a trap.

  Turk slowed down, despite his excitement over coming face to face with the man who killed his brother. Of course, he realized all he had to do was look in a mirror to see the man ultimately responsible. Still, he hadn’t expected it to go down the way it did. Marcus was tough enough and street smart enough that he could have survived for quite some time.

  What had the guy done to trigger that reaction from those men?

  A shadowy figure darted between two trees thirty or forty yards ahead. Turk took cover. He leaned to the side and scanned the area. His rifle was equipped with a scope. He slid it off his shoulder. Further into the woods, he saw someone. A tree shielded most of their body. Turk had the shot, but he didn’t take it. He didn’t know who was out there, or if they were even a part of that group. It could have been someone lost and trying to find help.

  Or it cou
ld have been one of them, in which case, he would be presented with the opportunity to kill them soon enough.

  For now he had to focus on whoever, or whatever, he saw moments ago.

  A twig snapped off to his left. Turk shifted his weight and peered around the other side of the tree. He caught sight of the person again as they moved between two thick trunks. He brought the MK 14’s stock to his shoulder and waited. He kept his aim at the center of the tree. The woods were silent. For a moment he considered firing a warning shot. That might attract company, though, so he decided he would only shoot if necessary.

  Seconds passed. Sweat dripped down his forehead and cheeks and nose. It settled on his upper lip. Turk steadied his breath, and in turn, his nerves.

  The person appeared. They ran from one tree to the next, providing Turk with a full view through the scope. It was a woman. And she was unarmed by all appearances.

  Was she stalking him? Or running from something?

  Turk scanned the area the woman had come from. He’d seen one man positioned a couple hundred yards away. There could be more close by. Perhaps they had been tasked with watching the woman and she had escaped from them. But why would she be hiding behind trees, leaving herself exposed to them?

  He watched as she stepped out from behind her hiding spot and bolted forward. This time she bypassed several potential places she could have taken cover. She saw something. What, though? Something good that she ran toward? Or something bad that she ran from?

  Turk couldn’t decide whether to follow her or push on forward. His basic calling in life, that which pushed and propelled Turk, was to help others, especially those weaker and in need.

  Cursing himself, Turk headed in the woman’s direction.

  He found her trail, and despite the fact that she had gained separation, it didn’t take long for him to catch up. It seemed as if she did everything in her power to be heard. This gave Turk reason to proceed with caution. More than he might have otherwise. He didn’t only have her to worry about, but also whatever she drew in closer to them.

  She gave up her all-out run and took cover again. Turk watched her from this new vantage point. He studied her movements.

  She wore short jean shorts and a white button-up shirt tucked into the waist of her shorts. One of the sleeves looked like it had been ripped off. Her hair was long and dark. She wore hiking boots that came three inches above her ankles. She held something in her hand. Not a gun, a device of some kind. It looked like a handheld radio. She held it up. He saw the ambient glow of a screen. It wasn’t a communication device. She held a GPS unit.