by Kim Faulks
We ran through the streets, not watching for The Mighty, not caring if anyone saw us at all. It wasn’t right, none of this was right. Three years I’d spend hiding. Three years I’d slipped out only to find my dealer amongst the silent underground trains.
And for three years I stayed alive. I stayed fed, and had water. I was safe, as safe as this world allowed. I wasn’t reckless, wasn’t crazy. I was confined…and alone…don’t forget that, don’t forget alone.
My legs pumped, boots smacked the ground. Pitt lunged and limped, finding momentum with an awkward gait. I had someone now, someone to take care of, and someone to take care of me.
The vibration raced, warmth seeped into my belly and spread out. The Calling raged, filling me with fuel and fire. I gripped the leather in my hand, and the gun in the other, and followed.
Purpose filled me. The hum trembled my bones and quaked my muscles. It led me to the church…to this strange woman with her machete and lack of fear.
I sucked in the bitter air as the gigantic red brick building loomed in the distance. The hospital…as we raced toward the hospital. A cramp ripped down my side, pinching something between my ribs, before we finally slowed.
I licked arid lips, and tried to speak. The words were nothing more than a hiss as I watched her lean over, hands braced on knees, and gulp the air. Sweat gleamed on her forehead as she raised her head. “Almost there…come on.”
The ground gave one last shudder before it fell still. The stranger stood, sucked in a hard breath, and pushed toward a set of automatic doors. I looked around. The main entrance to the hospital was on the other street. I remembered from before. Mom brought me here after I hurt my wrist playing softball at school.
But this wasn’t the main entrance. I glanced at the faded brass plaque that stated Davison Laboratories, and followed.
“We live in the lab,” she murmured and punched a button near the door. A lock clicked, leaving her to yank the handle. She waited for me to step through before she heaved again, until it clicked into place. “Kinda strange, I know. But it’ll make sense in a minute, just you wait and see.”
I hung back as she strode past. The lock unnerved me. Strange building, strange people. Trust…there was that word again. She slowed at the entrance to the hallway, long enough to glance over her shoulder. Her eyes narrowed, only for a second. “You know, you could wait here all day, but you’d miss out on roast for dinner.”
“Roast?” My mouth watered with the word. “No one has roast.”
Her eyes shone, lips stretched wide. “We do, and fresh corn. It’s a little rough around the edges, but still tastes the same.”
Roast, and fresh corn? My throat tightened. The click of a door echoed along the hall. Seconds later, a smell wafted through the air. A smell so delicious, I couldn’t stop my feet from moving. It was a trap. A cruel, sadistic trap. My belly bowed, a tiny mewl escaped. The sound so pathetic, so fucking weak. My fingers trembled as I reached for my waist.
“You coming? There’s plenty for all of us.”
Pitt moved, trotting forward. She didn’t care about trust. Not right now—not when that smell filled the air and the hunger we’d lived with for years still raged.
She gave a whine and slowed.
“No one’s gonna hurt you, I promise.”
I wrenched my gaze toward the woman, scanning the corners of the tired waiting room. The gun shuddered, the sight trembled as I clenched the grip.
“No pressure, you don’t want to come in, you don’t have to. You can just stay out here. But if you want food, the food’s inside.”
They could bring it out.
“We got a shower, too, and company, it’s not earth-shattering company—but we can eat and laugh and talk about the shit we used to do. You can trust me, you know.”
I flinched at the word.
Trust.
“Kenya, you okay?” A man’s voice cracked through the hall.
I clenched the gun.
“That’s Damon,” she murmured. “He’s not going to hurt you, neither will the others. Look, you got that gun. You can aim it at me. No one’s going to come near you.”
“Kenya, do you need me?” The man’s voice was urgent.
“No, it’s all good. I got a visitor!” She cocked her head and yelled.
Silence descended. I took a step, and then another, to find the guy at the end of the hall. He leaned on the door, more than held it. I scanned his hands first, looking for weapons, and then his clothes. Clothes could tell you a lot about a person…I used to judge people for the choice of style—but nowadays I judged them by blood-splatter stains.
This one had none.
Kenya took a step, and then another, slowly making her way toward him. It’s funny how your perspective changes when you’re alone with a city full of barbarians. Blood splatter, or no blood splatter—his gaze gravitated toward me, and then widened as he muttered. “You were busy, weren’t you?”
Sometimes the difference of what a person wears is the only thing that keeps you alive.
“Not a stray, or a Lost Boy, she murmured. This one here’s a loner.”
The whites flared in his eyes, although they weren’t exactly white. They were more jaundiced yellow with a road map of thin red veins. He was a little older than me. I want to say twenty-five, but the dark circles under his eyes pushed it to more like thirty.
He glanced at my hands, first the gun, and then the book. “Whatcha got there?”
“What the Hell do you think it is?” the woman snarled. “You gonna let her in, or what?”
He flashed her a look of annoyance, and then returned to me. I was used to people looking, used to people not trusting, and any other time I would’ve turned and walked away.
But the smell…the goddamn smell.
The rich, gamy scent filled my lungs, and coated my insides. I could almost taste it, almost feel my teeth sink into the meat. Pitt gave a small growl, and then a whine.
“Damon, open the damn door.”
“The dog,” Damon muttered. “Kris will pitch a goddamn fit.”
The woman stepped close, and yanked the door from his grip. “When the Hell doesn’t he?”
“True,” Damon stepped from the doorway as she barged through. “Guess you all better come in then.”
My escort turned her head, and gave me the hint of a smile. “I’m Kenya, this is Damon. Chuck is in there,” she jerked her head toward another doorway as she turned left down the hall. “And Kris…well, let’s just hope you don’t see much of Kris.”
The door closed behind me with a whoosh, and the lock clicked shut. I waited for fear to strike, but I was stolen by the glare of white…everything about this place shone…from the steel doors, to the floors, and the walls.
I’d forgotten what clean looked like, forgotten the sharp smell of alcohol—forgotten most things.
“You can put your dog in there,” Kenya lifted her hand and motioned to a door as she shrugged her pack from her shoulders. “There’s a first aid kit, and Damon here is pretty handy with stitches. We’ll get her fixed up in no time.”
I shook my head, the words on the tip of my tongue, but she’s not mine…until I dropped my gaze. Pitt lowered her head, sniffed, and then moved forward. But not too far, not to stray away from me. I guess she really was mine.
“She won’t be a problem,” I muttered. “I’ll keep her fed.”
“She speaks,” Damon muttered behind me, and then gave me a wink as he sidestepped us and pushed ahead. “Starting to think you were a mute. Don’t worry, there’s plenty of food, enough for the mutt.”
“She’s back!” The roar tore through the hallway behind us.
Thunderous steps followed as a giant of a man closed in. He gave me a quick glance as he opened mammoth arms wide. “’Bout damn time you came home. I was gonna have to send out a search party.”
“Who, you mean, Damon here?” Kenya snarled, but her words were muffled against his body as the giant man squeezed
her tight.
She slapped his body with feeble blows and muttered, “Chuck, can’t breathe…”
“And you brought a guest…s. You brought guests,” Chuck dropped his killer hug and stepped away, now giving me his full attention. “The dog I like. But this one…” His eyes narrowed and then drifted down my body.
I tightened my grip on the gun, but his focus moved to the book. “A preacher?”
“No, no preacher. Just a girl, Chuck. Just a girl,” Kenya answered with a smirk. “You’ll have to excuse them, they don’t get out much.”
Chuck gave a grin and nodded. “I’d shake your hand, but I’m a germaphobe.”
“And I’m an agoraphobe…can’t leave the building,” Damon muttered.
“But you got to the door today, so I’m impressed,” Kenya called over her shoulder as she turned away. “And dinner smells delicious!”
“But I can cook,” Damon shook his head. “Years of practice making something out of nothing. Come on,” he motioned me forward. “Let’s get you settled. You can have a shower while I wash the mutt and get her stitched up. I’m good with animals.”
A swab was taped to the crook of his elbow, like he’d given blood or just been injected. It was too precise to be anything but clinical. There was something bugging me. Something about all the closed doors and the smell of alcohol so fresh it made my eyes burn. “What do you do here?”
Kenya stopped walking, then slowly turned. There was a second where a secret passed from one to the other. A second where all eyes turned toward me. I felt the weight of that scrutiny, as though I was being weighed and measured to see if I was deemed worthy, until Kenya spoke.
“We’re saving the world.”
6
There was no air. No rush to my lungs, no bitter tang on my lips. I waited, while those words settled deep.
“Breathe, kid,” Chuck sniggered and gave me a soft whack on the shoulder and then winced and stared at his fingers.
Air rushed in, quenching the fire in my chest as I wheezed. “What do you mean?”
There was no stopping now, not the smile on her face or the secret bursting to get to the surface. “We’re creating a vaccine. One that will end this goddamn plague for good. It won’t stop the acid rain, or the storms, those’re out of our control. But we can end the disease—that’s the plan, anyway.”
Pieces started to slip into place. The lab, the smell. The injections. I glanced at Chuck. His arm was taped the same, and I was betting that underneath the long sleeves of her jacket, I’d find a taped swab over Kenya’s vein. I looked over my shoulder to the closed doors. “You’re creating a cure…here?”
Chuck nodded. “That’s the plan, well, as soon as Kris figures it all out. We’ve come up with a name for it, you want to hear?”
“No one cares about your stupid name, Chester,” came a sharp snarl behind us. I turned. His dark eyes cut toward me. He was tall and thin, dressed in a white lab coat that was perfect and crisp. There wasn’t a thing out of place on him. He was a step back in time, before the end of the world—before everything. Dark, beady eyes narrowed. Like a hawk moving in for the kill. Thin, bloodless lips curled into a sneer. “Who the Hell are you?”
I flinched from the acid in his tone.
“This is…this is…” Kenya started.
“Harlow,” I muttered and held out my hand. “My name’s Harlow.”
“Looks like trouble,” the cold bastard snarled, glanced at my hand and then lifted his head to Kenya. “Did you get what I wanted?”
Her eyes lit up as she delved into her pack, and wrenched out a book. “Yeah, but it cost me.”
He stepped forward, yanked the thin, hardcover book from her hands and turned away. He never asked what it cost her…and didn’t seem to care. The shine in her eyes dulled. There was a twitch of confusion, until it was smothered by resignation.
Chuck took a step, eyes blazing with fire.
But the cold-hearted bastard never seemed to notice. “I’ll take my dinner in the lab,” Kris stalked away, staring at the book in his hands. “This time, not too much salt.”
“Sonofabitch,” Chuck hissed when the cold-hearted bastard was out of earshot.
“Don’t let it worry you,” Kenya muttered as she turned away. “I don’t, not anymore.” But her shoulders sagged with the words.
“He’s just lucky we need him,” Damon snapped. “Or I’d leave him out for the vultures in a goddamn heartbeat…if I could get outside, that is.”
I glanced over my shoulder to stare at the empty hall. “Why do you need him?”
“Cause he’s the one that’s creating the cure,” Damon muttered. “The bastard’s smarter than all of us put together.”
“He knows it, too,” Kenya spat.
I felt the sting of their anger, and saw the hurt-filled resignation in their eyes, but I was captured by the moment—filled to the brim with purpose.
The Calling raged, filling the empty cavern I held inside.
This was the reason I was here—God brought me to this place and these people. They were creating a cure, one that would save the world, and, somehow, they needed me.
“What were you doing there, anyway?”
I lifted my head at the words and met Kenya’s gaze.
“At the church,” one brow rose as she looked to my companion. “You don’t live around here, or I would’ve seen you before.”
“No, I don’t live around here, I’m over on the east side,” I muttered while my mind raced.
Keep the food safe, keep the water hidden. Don’t tell anyone where you sleep. Survive.
“Okay,” she said with a shrug. “No biggie. Let me show you to the shower room. Chuck, here, would pitch a damn fit if you sat for dinner like that. You’re gonna love it. No hot water of course, but we’ve tapped into the hospital’s main water supply, so you get all the water you need, and we have a proper washing machine.”
“I made the soap myself,” Damon bent down to scratch Pitt’s ears, “and this one looks like she could do with some loving care. So, you go on now, enjoy your shower, while I get her all fixed up.”
He ran a gentle touch along her side, lingering at the cut on her shoulder. “Looks like someone beat you real good, didn’t they, sweetheart?”
Footsteps sounded as Kenya moved. I took one last look at my new four-legged friend. Animals had an innate sense about people, didn’t they? That’s what I’d been led to believe.
If a dog liked you, then you were a good person, and the way Pitt looked at Damon must mean he was a saint as he delved his hand into his pocket and pulled out a tiny piece of dried meat.
Her greedy tongue lapped his fingers, the morsel was gone in a heartbeat.
“You like that, dontcha, girl? It’s deer, dried it myself, and there’s more where that came from. Come on now,” he rose and gently patted the side of his thigh, and she followed.
I watched her limp after him before I turned to follow in Kenya’s wake. The sights and the smells hit me like a blow, first bitter and sharp, then rich and gamy. The smell of thick steaks on the grill. Memories flooded my mind as Kenya turned left at the end of the hallway and punched through a set of double doors.
“We sleep in here, everyone except Kris, that is. He sleeps in the lab…thank God. Here,” she grasped a small pile of clothes. Pale gray sweat pants and a faded yellow t-shirt. “These will fit while we run your stuff through the washer. This way, if you decide to leave, you know where the all-night laundromat is.”
A rumble tore through the room. Something small rattled on the desk. I stilled, and punched my hands out, steady…
“Aftershock. It’s okay.”
I tried to nod, but deep down I knew the real reason, and it had nothing to do with shifting tectonic plates, The real reason was me. I grasped the book and wrenched it close. “It’s my fault.”
The quake eased.
“What did you say?”
I flinched at the edge to her voice, but I was too far
gone, falling down a rabbit hole of guilt. “I did this…I caused the earthquake.”
She took a slow step forward. Her voice softer now, imploring. “Why do you say that?”
It was all I could do. I lowered my hand, the leather from the book shone under the overhead lights. “Then I saw when the Lamb broke one of the seven seals, and I heard one of the four living creatures saying as with a voice of thunder, Come.”
“I looked, and behold, a white horse,” Kenya continued. “And he who sat on it had a bow; and a crown was given to him, and he went out conquering and to conquer…Pestilence, the first of the four horsemen.”
The lights above seemed to dull, and then brighten. Kenya wrenched her head up. “Shit, generator’s going. I gotta go and check the fuel.”
She shoved the clothes toward me, and stepped away. “Listen, you didn’t cause the quake. Lord knows there’s a lot we are accountable for, but one woman holding a Bible isn’t going to cause that… That door right there,” she raised a hand and pointed to the other side of the room “will take you to the shower room. The others all shower in the morning, so you got the place all to yourself. Use as much water as you want, there’s soap on the side, it smells funky, but it’ll do the job, and when you’re all clean, we’ll eat and sleep. Too late to go anywhere tonight; if you want, you can head back home in the morning.”
Her smile was sad, and not comforting. “Give yourself a break, okay? God knows, surviving in this city, you deserve it. No one’s going to hurt you here, we’re the good guys.”
The good guys. My heart soared with the words as she turned and left, and even in the echo of her boots I found it hard to comprehend—I’d found others, others that were good, others who cared…others who were creating a cure.
My knees shook as I took that first step—they were creating a cure.
It wouldn’t bring back my family. But it would give us time to breathe. Time to re-group. I lifted my head to the faint echoes of her boots. It’d give us time to find the good people left.
We could create a new world.
One without greed.
One not hungry for power.
