by Angel Lawson
There’s a massive pot of oatmeal on the counter—no longer hot—but better than nothing. I scoop a bowlful and grab a spoon before heading to the long table in the middle of the room. It’s midmorning and the hall is quiet.
Davis sits across from me with a cup of muddy brown coffee in front of him. The lack of steam makes me think it’s as warm as my oatmeal but it feels better to have something on the stomach. “Erwin wants to start sending out teams to confront the Hybrids. He thinks it’s time to make a move.”
“We can’t hide here forever,” I agree. I stir the oatmeal, mashing out the lumps. Or try. It’s useless. “Although I’m not sure these new recruits are ready for what’s waiting out there.”
“The main problem is that the Hybrids don’t require a training period. They get the shot and transform into a supersolider.” He glances at the kid guarding the door. “We don’t have that luxury.”
“No, no we don’t.”
“But they’re coming anyway. How long do you think we have?”
“They’re just below Macon, heading straight down Highway 16, spread for miles on either side. It’s like they’re reenacting Sherman’s March.”
The reference is heavy with implication. By the time General Sherman torched his way through Georgia and got to the port town of Savannah, the town was prepared to beg for mercy. In the end they let the devil walk through the door, trading their lives for the cause so many--including their own blood--had died for. If we surrender it’s likely they’ll give us the EVI-2 shot, transforming all of us, men, women, and children, into supersoldiers.
Death would be preferable.
“So a couple weeks,” he guesses.
“At most.”
I focus back on my oatmeal. Davis nurses his coffee. Together we sit in silence.
Chapter 5
The firelight makes the soldiers look like demons—when really they’re just genetic abominations. Quiet laugher rolls through the men and women as one tells a joke. I can’t hear the words but it annoys me anyway. I’m cold, tired, and standing in wet boots. An owl hoots overhead, followed by a branch cracking. I stiffen and wait a beat, searching the shadows for movement, but none comes.
Alexandra called this ’apocalypse quiet”’where all the sounds of the mechanical world are gone and we’re left with the echoing booms of nature. It’s a mixture of pure silence plus amplified sound. Nothing makes it more noticeable than when you’re in the middle of the woods spying on a group of genetically enhanced soldiers that would just love to kill you.
“Settle down,” one of the voices says. “Let’s go over tomorrow’s assignment.”
The laughter fades instantly and there’s no sound but the snap and crackle of the campfire. All attention is on the leader. “Smith, Carson, and Miller—there’s a farm to the west. Scouts tell us there’s a large storage facility in the back. Take what you can carry.”
“Yes, sir,” they reply in unison.
There’s a pause and their leader continues, “Johnson—where are you?”
“Here, sir.” a female voice replies. She stands, her form blocking some of the fire from my view.
“There are at least ten survivors living there. Possibly more. Unvaccinated. You’ll need to take your kit and a team. Everyone over ten gets the ETV-2. The rest terminate.”
“Got it,’ she replies and then quickly adds, “Sir.”
I roll my eyes at their false efficiency. It’s easy to follow commands when you have no free will. The news about terminating children doesn’t surprise me. Chloe has no need for them which makes them expendable. She needs soldiers—nothing more, nothing less.
“The rest of us will hold the line. Our next major destination is the small town of Dublin. We’ll wait there for orders.”
This is all the information that I need but I wait a bit longer to move, even though I’d give anything to take a piss. I’m good in a fight, but going up against a whole squad is a death sentence. Something about the firelight and the shadows is playing tricks on me, and an unusual sense of paranoia inches over me.
The chatter amongst the soldiers slowly returns and I take miniscule steps away from the fire, careful not to put my full weight down. I make it to the road without incident but still can’t shake the feeling I’m being watched.
An hour later I meet up with Jude, who went to watch a second group camped in the opposite direction. He waits by an old gas station, leaning against the motorcycle he salvaged from the back of a barn about a month or so ago. While Davis grew his mustache and I cleared an island of Eaters, Jude tinkered and toiled, eventually getting the engine to run and the chrome bumper to shine. Erwin gave him access to the reserve of fuel we have at our disposal at the base. He owes us that much, otherwise our feet would be worn to nubs from walking so much.
“How’d it go?” I ask, taking off my gloves. He’s bouncing on his toes in an attempt to stay warm. Guess he’s been waiting on me for a while.
“What took you so long?”
“They were deep off the road. Took me forever to get out of the forest.”
He nods. “They’re headed south in two days—”
“Dublin. I heard.”
“Anything else?” he asks, pulling the helmet over his head. No one wants to survive the apocalypse and then die in a road crash. I tug a mud-splattered black one over my stocking-covered head.
“They’re giving the EVI-2 vaccine to some people tomorrow a couple miles away. Terminating those under ten.”
That’s all Jude needs to hear. It’s something we’ve decided together, along with other members of our original team. The kids come first even though they’re a pain to take care of. Jude gets on the bike and I sigh, regaled to the back. We’d had a fight about it in the beginning, no self-respecting man willingly rode bitch. I walked fifteen miles back to the base before he came back for me. Bitch, it is.
The engine kicks alive, shattering the apocalypse quiet. I hold on to the seat as Jude steers into the road and we’re shooting down the highway on a starless night.
With the motor buzzing in my ears and my chest vibrating with each mile, I consider how twice tonight Alexandra has been on my mind. If my math is right, it’s five times less than yesterday.
*
Behind the fortified fence line, sharp with barbs, blades, and creative alarms, the farm sprawls over many acres. The buildings are divided into two sections, operational and livestock. The smell of manure and pig present in the air. The house, Jude tells us after he gets back over the fence with only a thin scrape on his cheek, is over a hundred years old. The two-story, white clapboard home sits beneath massive, shade-providing oak trees.
“That’s where they live. My estimate is it’s an extended family, parents, kids, their kids, all living in there together.”
“Guards?” Davis asks. Our team is assembled just outside of the fence line. Jude scouted the property while we prepped by a small stream. I kneel on the dirt, arranging and checking my weapons.
“They’re not-unprotected. There’s a reason they’ve stayed alive this long. I suspect they’re good hunters, but it’s not a formal system. The Hybrids will take them quickly.”
Parker looks up the hill—where the dome of a silo breaks into the sky. “What’s in the other buildings?”
“Pre-crisis, this was a massive farm,” Jude explains. “There are multiple barns—some with livestock. Others with stores and equipment. There’s a large functional greenhouse which is pretty ingenious, if you ask me.”
“So they could have lived here for a long time if the Hybrids weren’t coming.” Parker adjusts her ponytail until it shifts into something like a bun. I glance at Davis and find him staring at her.
Jude rubs his chin. “I think so.”
“That sucks.”
I stand and dust off my knees. “We’re running out of time. I say we get started.”
“For the record,” Parker says, “I still think we should knock.”
“Noted,”
I say. “And denied.”
She flips me her middle finger.
We stash our packs beneath a bush and cross over the fence line at what we’ve determined is the weakest point. The stream makes it hard to cover the ground without damming up the flow of water and that gives us a gap to breach. I take the first step into the creek, feeling the cool water soak through my toes, and wade downstream. One by one, we follow the exact same route through the barbed wire. Wet and muddy, we make it through to the other side.
Paul slips away from the group. He’ll wait near the fence in case the Hybrids get here before we leave. His mixed up chemistry makes him faster than the rest of us, making him the best to leave at a distance.
It’s early morning, just before daybreak, and a light fog hovers over the fields. It’s a peaceful sight, really. Spring is near and the grass is turning green and the trees have little buds growing at the ends of their branches. The metal roof of the barn glints with the sunrise and I take an indulgent, brief second to bask in it.
A rifle cocks behind me and I snap back to reality. Davis stands behind me messing with the gun, not realizing he destroyed my moment. No matter, we have work to do and I take the lead, rushing toward the house.
The clapboard is rough against my hand as I catch my breath. One by one the others follow until we’re a dark speck of a line against the wood. Shrubs buffer the house and Davis tramples a flower garden with his massive boots. I nod, waving him on. He and Parker will go in the front door. Me and Jude, the back. We split into opposite directions, snaking around the house.
Lamplight warms the windows and the shadow of a person flickers across the window, moving with quick efficiency. The scent of bacon, oil, and fried eggs fills the air and my stomach churns with hunger. We crouch beneath the window, guns raised.
I count down with my fingers. Three. Two. One.
On quiet feet I leap up the steps and storm the door, kicking it at the handle. The door swings in, slamming into the wall, a stack of dishes shatters to the floor. Booby-trapped.
Another crash sounds from the front of the house, like splintering glass. I step on the shards, crunching them under my boot. I turn left, into the kitchen, and find myself face-to-face with a woman with gray hair braided over her shoulder, holding an AK-47. It’s nicer than mine.
Jude crunches in behind me, hands up, another long rifle aimed at his back. Shit.
I don’t lower my gun, not yet, and Davis appears in the doorway behind the woman, hands up. Parker follows, there’s no mistaking the irritation on her face. We’re surrounded.
“Put the gun down, son,” the woman says, her voice gravely with age, and I reluctantly lower my weapon. One of the other women grabs it from my hand. “Thank you.”
“We’re not here to hurt you,” I begin, but whatever leverage I may have had has zapped out of the room. “We’re here with a warning. You’re in danger.”
“Is that so?” Lines crease in her forehead, but she never lowers the gun. I’m waiting for her to shoot us. Feed us to the pigs that made that bacon or maybe just eat us for dinner when she says in an easy tone, “Well if that’s all you wanted to do, you should have just knocked.”
Chapter 6
“Now,” she says, with that strange, friendly tone. “Help clean up this mess and I’ll fix you some breakfast.”
“What?” Jude asks, eyes wide.
“You heard me.” She nods at the broken plates all over the floor. “The broom is in that closet.”
With an incredulous expression, Jude does as he’s told and the woman turns to the wood burning stove under the window as though this is a normal day—a normal moment—at their farm. A bowl of eggs sits on the counter along with greens and a slab of cured meat. Children’s plastic dishes are stacked in the sink and the drawings taped to the refrigerator haven’t escaped my notice.
I know there are others on this farm. Children and some men. Why she hasn’t made to call for them is beyond me. Parker moves to help Jude and it gives me a chance to check out the other women in the room.
They look similar—sisters probably—in their mid-twenties or a little older. Brownish-red hair and hazel eyes. Freckles dot the fair skin on their faces. The more I look, the more I consider that the Crisis must have aged them, like it’s done the rest of us. I’ve spotted more than one gray hair in my own beard lately. They aren’t hardened, though. More like confident, but there’s a quiver in the way one holds the gun, like something isn’t quite right. Although, the blonde behind Davis squares her shoulders and holds her finger on the trigger in a way that gets my attention.
“By the way,” the lady at the stove says. “My name is Dorothy. Those are my daughters. Sabrina,” she points to the one that brought in Jude. “And Tabitha.”
“Listen,” I say, “Dorothy.” I take a step further into the kitchen. Gun barrels follow my every move but I keep my hands in the air—and my distance. “I’m very serious when I say you’re in danger.”
She cracks an egg on the side of an iron skillet and wipes her hands on a dishrag hanging nearby. The egg sizzles from the heat and in the same pan she adds strips of bacon. She turns to face me. “What’s your name, son?”
“Wyatt. That’s Davis and Jude and Parker. We’re working with a still functioning branch of the military and it’s important we evacuate this area immediately.”
“The military?” She looks over at Sabrina, who shrugs. “We haven’t heard of any military around here.”
“We’ve been further north and then recently south,” Davis chimes in. “There’s a threat coming this way.”
“You mean the infected?” she asks. “Because we’ve handled them before. We don’t need your assistance taking care of those nasty beasts.”
“I’m sure you don’t. You seem more than capable.” But her hands shake when she shakes pepper into the pan. She’s scared of something and it isn’t us.
“Ma’am,” Jude chimes in, his accent fully southern. A full dustpan in his grip. “What we’re talking about is worse than the infected. It would be in your best interest to come with us right away, gather any other residents and evacuate with us to safety.”
The women glance at one another while the room fills with the sound and smell of frying bacon. I think for a minute we’ve convinced them but their solemn expressions shift to one of amusement and then to outright laughter.
“Wyatt,” Dorothy says. “I’m sure you mean well. Or maybe not—I can’t tell from that handsome face of yours what your angle really is—but if you’d like to stay for breakfast before moving on that’s fine. If not? We’ll have to handle this another way.”
There’s a beat, one where there’s not a sound in the room but the crackling frying pan. I touch my hand to my hip and chaos rips through the room as my team attacks as a well-oiled unit. Davis spins and bats the gun away, knocking it to the ground with a clatter. Parker steps on Tabitha’s foot, while Jude fights for the rifle. She hits him once above the eye, and blood drips down his face, but Parker elbows her in the ribs and she bends, crying out in pain.
Davis is double the size of Sabrina and even after he picks the gun up off the floor and holds it to her chest, she juts her chin out, still trying to look strong.
They all look at me, where I’ve got Dorothy against the cabinet, knife from her butcher block to her throat. With my free hand, I take the pan off the stove.
In a low, serious tone, I say, “I need you to get ready to leave. Tell me where the men and children are hiding. We’re running out of time.”
Something clatters on the ceiling above, followed by soft footsteps. I glance up at the same time a child squeals somewhere upstairs. Parker’s eyes meet mine. I nod for her to check it out.
“Don’t,” Dorothy says. “Don’t go up there.”
“I’m not going to hurt children,” Parker says, pausing at the door. “I was a teacher once upon a time, for God’s sake.”
“It’s not that,” the older woman says with a whisper. “
There’s someone up there with them.”
“Your men?” Davis asks, thinking like I am that it seems stupid not to send us up there to our fates.
“No, a man.” She swallows. “Not one of ours. He tied them up and locked them in the cellar.”
“There are no bullets in these guns but he told us he’d kill the kids. He’d kill all of us—”
“Sabrina!” Dorothy whisper shouts at her daughter.
“Mother!” she replies, exasperated. The defiance she wears isn’t just for show. “He knew you were coming. You’ve got to help us.”
I nod and take my gun back from Tabitha. She points to the hallway and to the back stairs. Her hand clenches around my upper arm and gives me a warning. “He’s not normal.”
*
There’s little doubt I’m about to walk straight into a trap. I want to kick myself for not following my instincts two nights ago when I felt like I was being watched. The post-apocalyptic world tends to make me a little paranoid, skewing my judgment. Or maybe not.
Jude and Parker clear the women out the kitchen door, promising to come back for the men downstairs. I hear Davis instruct them to burn the barns and storage facilities. We can’t afford to hand this farm over to the Hybrids. Davis follows me, but the stairs leading to the upper floor are narrow and steep, only allowing one of us to head up safely. I pass the framed portraits angling down the wall, identifying Sabrina and Tabitha with their husbands and kids.
With a glance down the stairwell, I spot Davis waiting at the bottom of the stairs, his stupid mustache the last thing I see before I round the corner.
The ceilings are low and I duck down to clear my head. I count four doors, two on either side of the long hallway. Faded wallpaper lines the hall. I pause and wait, hand tight around the grip of my gun. He’s good, whoever’s waiting for me behind one of the doors, but I’m not bad. I’ll just have to be better to get out of here alive.
Sure enough, he gives me what I need, the floor squeaking with a whine down the hall to the left. A shadow moves under the door. Taking a deep breath I move fast, although I have no doubt whoever’s up here is biding his time, waiting on me.
