The Becoming: Redemption (The Becoming Series Book 5)

by Jessica Meigs

  “What are you doing?” Keith asked, leaning to look. Jude swatted him away, and then he wrote on the back of the sheet.

  How about we get started on that sign language lesson you wanted?

  Keith grinned. “I think that’s an excellent idea.”

  Chapter 6

  “How are your legs?”

  It was minutes before sunset, and Kimberly’s question cut through the silence like a hot knife through a stick of butter. Walking on the uneven, cracked pavement of a quiet back road that ran parallel to Highway 17, Ethan glanced at her, and it took everything in him to not laugh at her question. She had asked him variants of it almost on the hour of every hour that had passed since they’d set out on their mission, and it was beginning to verge on the ridiculous.

  Ethan suppressed a smile and hitched his backpack higher onto his back. He debated telling her the truth, that his legs hurt like hell and if they didn’t find some sort of vehicle to use soon, he would probably fall over. However, he didn’t want to deal with Kimberly’s potential mother-henning. Not that she was the type to play mother hen and flutter around him; she was more the consummate medical professional.

  “I’m fine,” Ethan settled on. He stepped up the pace to emphasize his point, hoping it would be enough to keep her from questioning him further.

  “You sure?” Kimberly asked, her voice doubtful. “It took you a bit to answer the question.”

  Ethan shrugged. “Maybe I had to think about it.”

  Kimberly snorted. “Yeah, okay, if you say so.”

  “What, you don’t believe me?”

  “You were practically bedridden for months, Eth,” Kimberly pointed out. “Now you’re up and moving around, with absolutely no real period of rehab, and you tell me you feel fine. Can you honestly blame me for being skeptical?”

  “Not really,” Ethan said. “I do feel okay, though, considering I’ve been walking off and on for…” He paused to look at his watch, “about eight hours.”

  “Your legs do hurt, don’t they?” Kimberly prompted. “And don’t lie about it, either, because mine hurt like a son of a bitch.”

  “I’ve never understood that phrase,” Ethan said. “Hurts like a son of a bitch. What does that even mean?”

  “Ethan…”

  He sighed. “Yes, Kim, I’m sore, and I would hand my left arm over to the next infected guy that asks for it if I could sit down somewhere.”

  They were silent for a few moments. Ethan scanned their surroundings, looking for a suitable spot to rest while trying to decide how much further he could make it without having to stop. His perusal was interrupted when Kimberly asked, “Why the left arm?”

  “Out of all that, that’s what you pick up on?” Ethan asked, and he grinned, unable to help himself. “Left hand is the hand of the devil, you know,” he joked. “It’s the hand for doing evil things.”

  “What sorts of evil things have you been doing with your left hand?” Kimberly asked, the grin on her face slanting toward mischievous.

  Ethan gave her a wicked grin and didn’t answer the question. Instead, he shielded his eyes from the setting sun so he could look ahead of them. “Do you think it’s time we got ourselves a car? It might get us where we’re going much faster so we can get back and find the others sooner.”

  “Do you think we’ll be able to find them again?”

  “I don’t have the luxury of considering that possibility,” Ethan replied, feeling his good mood start to evaporate with the thought. He found a new burst of energy somewhere inside him, one that was enough to help him speed up his walking pace.

  “It is a possibility,” Kimberly replied. She picked up her own speed to match his.

  “Yeah, well, it’s not a possibility I’m willing to entertain,” Ethan said. He gritted his teeth, not liking this direction of the conversation. Deep inside him, somewhere near his ever-present hunger, he sensed the ball of anger inside him beginning to stir, and he fought to suppress it. He didn’t want to be angry with Kimberly; she was the last person to whom he wanted to show his notoriously bad temper.

  “What if they’re dead?”

  Ethan stopped so suddenly that Kimberly took several steps past him and had to turn around to face him. His fingers curled into fists so tight that it made his knuckles hurt, and it took everything in him to relax his hands. “You did not just say that.”

  “Eth, you saw that bright light, the same as I did,” Kimberly said. “You heard the explosion and the shooting. That explosion was a damn big one too. Now I’m no expert, but there’s a pretty damn good chance that at least some of them might have died in that.”

  “They’re not dead!” Ethan exploded. He moved closer to her, almost too close. She drew in an audible breath but, to her credit, didn’t back away. “If I hear you suggest anything like that again, I promise you, I may not be totally responsible for my actions.” She stared at him, her blue eyes wide, and he added, “Don’t tempt the beast, Kim. Please.”

  Kimberly nodded, slowly, as if she were processing what he’d said. She took his hand in hers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m just trying to think of all the possibilities, no matter how horrible they are, so we can be prepared for them.”

  “I understand where you’re coming from. However, that’s not something I’m willing to accept, not to mention think about,” Ethan said. “So please don’t mention it again.” He squeezed her hand, accepting her apology while offering one of his own. “What do you say we find a place to sit down and get a bite to eat?” he suggested, trying to distract both of them from their argument. The wad of anger inside him began to loosen, unraveling and sliding away. “I’m sure we could use a rest.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” Kimberly agreed. She shifted her backpack and turned in a slow circle, searching for a good spot. She pointed to a wrecked pickup truck off the embankment alongside the road. “We could sit in the bed of that. It’s not too dirty, and the back end looks fine.”

  “Good enough for me,” Ethan said, starting in that direction. Despite the stillness of the area around the truck, he was on high alert. He motioned for Kimberly to stay put on the pavement and ventured into the tall grass lining the road.

  The sound of Ethan’s shoes scuffing through the grass wasn’t loud enough to drown out the sound of uneven footsteps somewhere on the other side of the truck. Ethan almost drew his pistol out of its holster, but he changed his mind and took out his machete instead. The last thing he and Kimberly needed was to make too much noise and attract unwanted attention. He held the machete at ready, prepared to swing it at anything that emerged from the grass on the passenger side of the truck.

  Ethan reached the end of the truck and eased around the corner, ready to strike out at whatever waited for him. He started to swing down with the machete and checked himself in time to stop the blow. A dog, a black lab by the looks of it, stood next to the truck’s passenger door. He tensed, worried that the dog was going to attack him. Dozens of packs of wild and feral dogs roamed the streets and highways now that there were no humans taking care of them and keeping them domesticated. There had been too many stories of survivors running into such packs and ending up dead at their teeth. This dog didn’t make any negative moves toward him, though. Instead, it stood by the passenger door, its thin legs shaking, and let out the softest of whimpers, almost a whistle through its nose. Its black coat was well groomed and shiny, and it still wore a collar around its neck that looked brand new. The dog appeared well fed, and it was obvious to Ethan that someone had been taking care of it.

  “It’s okay, Kim,” Ethan called. “You can come on over. It’s just a dog.”

  “‘It’s just a dog’ isn’t something that makes me feel any better,” Kimberly said from the road. “Have you seen any dogs lately? They don’t signify anything good.”

  “Yeah, well, this one is different,” Ethan said. He knelt, trying to present a less imposing profile, and held a hand out, palm up, toward th
e dog. “Come here, sweetheart,” he said, keeping his voice low and soothing. He fumbled for the side pocket on his backpack and found the packet of cooked rabbit meat he’d packed inside it and tore the packet open. The dog took a cautious step back, and Ethan pulled a chunk of meat out of the packet. He placed it in the center of his palm and extended his hand in offering to the dog, letting it catch a whiff of the meat before setting it on the grass between them. Then he backed away and let the dog creep forward and eat the morsel.

  It took several tries and the entire packet of rabbit meat before the dog was willing to approach him, and by the time the packet was empty, the dog was standing beside him, letting him scratch it behind the ears as its tail beat against the side of the truck. “Kim, it’s okay to come down,” Ethan said again. “The dog’s not going to hurt us. Just do it slowly so you don’t startle him.”

  There was a rustle of grass behind him, and Kimberly came into view, looking anxious. She hesitated near the back of the truck, eyeing the dog with no small degree of wariness, and eased closer to him. “You sure that thing isn’t going to attack us?” she asked.

  “I’m sure,” Ethan said. “Look at him. He’s just happy to see people. I think someone’s been taking care of him until recently. He has a collar on and everything.”

  Kimberly extended a hand toward the dog, who sniffed at her palm and let her pet him. “Huh,” she murmured. “What do ya know?” The dog made a movement toward her, and Ethan tensed, but the animal had only wanted to lick her face. Kimberly laughed, a bright smile on her, and Ethan returned it.

  They ate their dinner, however meager it was, sitting on the opened tailgate of the wrecked truck with the black dog at their feet, begging for scraps with his large brown eyes. After they were done eating, Kimberly pulled her map out of her backpack and unfolded it, smoothing it out on the tailgate between them.

  “We need to figure out which way we’re going next,” she said, taking out a flashlight and turning it on to shed extra light on the map. “We’ve got to figure out how to get there faster. At this rate, the samples are going to go bad before we find anyone to give them to.”

  “Where exactly are we?” Ethan asked, taking a swig of water from his bottle. He spotted a spare hubcap in the bed of the truck, snagged it, and poured some water into it. He set the makeshift water dish onto the ground for the lab. The dog wagged his tail happily and started to lap at the water.

  “We’re right about here,” Kimberly said, tapping a spot on the map. “We’ve been navigating the back roads this whole time, on Sadie’s suggestion. We’re never going to make it to Chapel Hill or anywhere else before we run out of time.”

  “What are you proposing?” Ethan asked. “I’m willing to defer to your expertise on this. You know more about those samples than I do.”

  Kimberly hummed and leaned against the side of the truck’s bed, staring at the map, her eyes darting over the paper while she calculated their options. Finally, she let out a long, slow sigh and folded her arms over her chest. “I think right now, our best bet is to get back to the main highway,” she said. “I know Sadie recommended we avoid it because it’s too open and we’re more likely to run into other survivors, but I think we’re in a situation where we’re going to have to risk it. These samples won’t last forever.”

  “So we go to the main highways, hopefully where they’ve been cleared, and grab a car from somewhere,” Ethan said. “I can get behind that.” He gathered their trash and stuffed it into a pocket in his bag, then slid off the tailgate. “Shall we get moving, then?”

  “What about the dog?” Kimberly asked, nodding toward the Labrador, who had abandoned the water left in the hubcap and come to attention when Ethan stood.

  Ethan shrugged. “Let him follow if he wants,” he said. “If anything, he might serve as a good warning system if there are any infected people in the area.”

  Chapter 7

  It hadn’t taken Brandt long to lose track of the hours. After the female doctor who’d claimed to be Cade’s sister had left, he’d been blindfolded and hauled out of his cell, taken through a disorienting maze of hallways to a large, tiled room, and hosed down with a high-pressure water hose, clothes and all. None of the soldiers doing this had spoken to him at any time, not even to ask him questions.

  Afterwards, Brandt had been blindfolded again and led in a meandering path back to his cell, his clothes soaked and dripping onto the tiles. His blindfold had been removed, and he’d been shoved back into his cell. While he’d been out, someone had stripped his cot of every scrap of fabric, which was why he was sitting on the edge of the mattress, shivering, his wet clothes clinging to his body. He felt feverish and achy, and the wounds on his arms and legs hurt with every move he made. No one had bothered to change the bandages after he’d been hosed down, and the edge of the tape was losing its stickiness and peeling up from his skin. He absently tried to smooth it back down, but when it wouldn’t stick, he gave up. He pushed up from the bed, starting to pace across the cell in the hopes that the movement would help keep him warm.

  Brandt’s mind was running across everything he knew about interrogation techniques as he walked to the far end of the cell and turned to go back the other way. They’d soaked him with cold water and left his wet clothes on, and if he wasn’t mistaken, they’d turned the air conditioning to freezing levels. It was clearly a tactic they were using to try to freeze information out of him. If only he knew what that information was.

  That doctor woman…that was the most intriguing mystery of all. She had said she was Cade’s sister. She looked so much like her that it was hard to deny the possibility. Out of all of them, she seemed to be the only one genuinely concerned for Brandt’s health. That didn’t mean anything, because it was clear she wanted something from him: Cade’s location, which was something he couldn’t give her, any more than he could give anyone else anything they were looking for.

  Brandt had just brushed his fingers against the steel door barring him from leaving the room when the sound of boots on the tiled floor outside met his ears. The small window on the door slid open a second later, and a voice barked through the gap.

  “Move to the back wall and turn to face it,” it ordered. “Put your hands flat against the wall and don’t move.”

  For a second, Brandt contemplated disobeying the orders. What would they do to him if he did? They couldn’t kill him; they obviously needed something from him, and they weren’t going to kill him until they got it.

  But there are lots of other things they could do to you that wouldn’t kill you, a niggling voice in the back of his head said.

  He scowled, turned away from the door, and walked to the back wall, pressing his palms flat against the cold concrete.

  The sound of metal scraping against metal rang out in the cell, and the door squeaked open. Brandt tensed like he were subconsciously expecting a blow. By the sound of the footsteps, three people had entered the room, outmatching him, so he couldn’t consider running. Two of them stopped several feet away, and the third one moved close, wrapping a hand around Brandt’s right wrist and twisting his arm behind his back. A cold metal bracelet clasped around his wrist, and his left arm was wrenched around and met with the same fate. Once he was handcuffed, hands grasped Brandt’s shoulders and turned him around fast enough to make his head spin.

  Private Hutcherson and Private Bayer were standing at attention at Brandt’s left and right, several feet back from the man who’d handcuffed him. It was another camouflage-dressed man that Brandt hadn’t seen before. His uniform was devoid of a nametag, and he was wearing insignia that identified him as a lieutenant. He looked Brandt over, nodded once, and beckoned to the privates. “Bring him,” he ordered, and he strode out of the room.

  Brandt didn’t have any choice but to follow. He wasn’t blindfolded for the trip this time, so he was able to see his surroundings. The hallway he was led down was covered in white—white tiles, white painted walls, and white ceiling tiles. At in
termittent points along the hall’s ceiling were small black bubbles that were likely security cameras, probably tracking his every move. He had the impression that he was in some sort of repurposed medical facility, though he couldn’t put his finger on what made him think so.

  Despite being able to see where he was going, Brandt still got dizzyingly lost in the twisting white hallways, a state that remained until he was led into the carpeted administrative area. The privates stopped him at the door near the end of the hallway, where there was a piece of unlined paper taped to the outside of the door that read in handwritten, blocky letters, “Maj. James Bradford.” Brandt read the name on the door and scowled. He kept his commentary to himself as Private Hutcherson knocked on the door and opened it.

  Then Brandt found himself looking at the man who’d likely single-handedly caused the deaths of everyone he knew, and it took everything in him to not tackle the man and try to strangle him to death with his bare hands.

  Major Bradford looked up from the papers scattered over his desk and smiled, a smile that made Brandt clench his fists and grind his blunt nails into his palms.

  “Lieutenant Evans,” Bradford said with false warmness, as if he were greeting a friend he hadn’t seen in a long time. “So good of you to meet with me.”

  “You act like I was given a choice,” Brandt said through clenched teeth.

  “Oh, let’s not act like that,” Bradford said. He beckoned Brandt forward, and one of the privates shoved him a bit, encouraging him to obey the major’s orders. Brandt sat in the chair Bradford had indicated, staying on the edge of it.

  Bradford sat back in his desk chair, watching Brandt for a long, silent moment. Brandt stared at him in turn, and when he couldn’t take the silence any longer, he asked, “What happened to my people?”

  “Your people?”

  “Yeah, my people,” Brandt said. “The other survivors in Woodside with me. Where are they?”