by Angel Lawson
His reply fills me with relief and I nod. “Thank you.”
“Your team has already started preparations, Alexandra,” he says, going back to studying the map, his fingers now lingering in the expansive yellow section that surrounds the south in every direction. “I suggest you find them and get up to speed.”
*
The only member of my team that I find is Davis, and he’s cataloguing weapons in the armory. I want to think it’s for the mission but I’m pretty sure he just likes to hang out in here.
“You’re looking a little better,” he says when I walk in the room. Fort Arnold’s armory isn’t as high tech as Jane’s underground R&D room but it’s pretty well stocked, particularly after a few raids to boost supplies.
“Thanks.” I pick up a bullet from the pile and roll it between my fingers. “Erwin just gave me our next assignment. Think we can do it?”
“I think so. It’s not going to be easy, but sooner or later Jane’s going to come after us. Dismantling that outpost is necessary.”
“I guess I’d forgotten about the big picture,” I reply. It’s easier to keep people safe in small, quiet missions. We didn’t realize that last one would go so badly, but eventually we have to make a specific effort to take out Jane’s larger holdings.
“It’s easy to forget about the war when you’re caught up in smaller battles.” He smiles. “That’s why we have a General. Hey, hand me that box?”
I pass him the box of ammunition and watch him make a notation on a notepad. I take a deep breath and then ask, “So was Wyatt telling me the truth?”
The pen hesitates over the pad for a brief second before Davis begins writing again. “Depends on what he said.”
“That he’s helping us and working against my sister.”
“We have people on the inside assisting us in our cause. Wyatt is one of those people.”
I spin the bullet and the gold glints in the light. “He told me…he gave me some reasons about why he can’t be here with us. About what’s going on with him, and I just don’t know…” My face heats.
Davis puts down his pen and looks at me. I liked it better when he was focused on his job, because he’s massive and the full force of his attention is intimidating. He runs his hands over his face, looking as uncomfortable as I feel.
“Never mind,” I say, turning to leave. He grabs me by my shoulder and slowly turns me around.
“Wyatt isn’t a complicated man. He’s a soldier—a good one. He’s spent his life working around a strong set of values and systems that have helped him keep himself and others alive.”
“I know. He’s told me.”
“Living in this type of world doesn’t faze him. It’s just one long battle. It suits him, but…”
Nerves flare in my stomach and I want to run. “But what?”
“Every fight has an outlier—a snafu—something that can’t be expected or planned for. That’s what he’s struggling with and it will take him some time to work through it.”
“I can’t imagine what it would take to throw Wyatt off.”
Davis shakes his head. “Exactly. He didn’t see you coming, either.”
Chapter 14
We spend the next four days packing for the long road trip. The journey from Chattanooga to Augusta will be the farthest any of us has traveled on the road in months, and everyone is on edge. We’ll skirt around Atlanta, everything we’ve heard says it’s overrun, and stick as close to the cleared areas as possible. There’s no doubt we will spend at least one day traveling through the Death Fields and we need to be prepared.
Our packs are loaded down with everything we’ll need from camping gear to food, and of course, weapons. The teams will head out separately, going various routes so as not to appear noticeable or allowing ourselves to be a target of Jane’s soldiers or the Eaters. In the garage before we leave, I spread the road map across the table and trace the zig-zagging course I’ve designed.
“We’re keeping off the highways. Erwin’s flown over the city and he says the car backup goes for miles so there’s no way to take a direct shot,” I explain. “Instead, we’ll take back roads as far as we can. It’s not the most efficient route but hopefully the least deadly.”
“Does anyone else feel like this is a suicide mission? Not just taking on the Vaccine Center, but the journey itself?” Jude asks, looking across the table. I don’t expect a reaction from Davis but do wait for a reply from Cole or Paul, even Parker, but no one says a word. I realize that Jude’s not talking about the fight ahead but getting there. Only Cole knows what it’s like to travel for weeks on the road like this.
“You see these dots?” I say, pointing to the map. “If we stick to our schedule, those are the areas we’ll look for somewhere to rest up.
One of Erwin’s officers in charge of the vehicle fleet points us to the truck we’re taking. It’s not military—but a large, black SUV. He points out the extra supplies packed. “There are four tanks of gas in the back and under the seats I hid extra ammo and guns. Hopefully that’s enough.”
“Thanks.”
“Good luck out there,” he says, patting the back of the car.
Cole steps next to me as I stash my bag in the back. His blonde hair is tucked beneath a black stocking cap, accentuating the sharp angles of his cheeks and jaw.
“Do you think this is suicide?” I ask.
“I don’t think there’s much we do these days that isn’t a risk,” he replies, securing a zipper. “Sacrifice is the currency we trade in now. You should know that.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
He reaches up and closes the heavy back door of the SUV. “You sacrificed your mother for your mission. Jude took his parents out for his own survival. Paul by force.” He inhales sharply. “Chloe paid with her soul.”
“We’ll get her back. She’s not lost to us. I refuse to believe that.”
His eyes grow cold and stormy. “My point is that risk is the only currency we have right now. It’s what we have to do to stay in the game. Look at Wyatt. Even that selfish bastard has paid heavily.”
“Wyatt?” I’m increasingly confused.
He laughs darkly. “I’m not an idiot, Alex.”
“I never said you were—and I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Wyatt is playing a deadly game as a double-agent right now for something he thinks is worth the risk.” He adjusts his cap, tugging it down over his ears. “All I’m saying is that before this mission is over, someone will pay Jane’s price. If I have my way, it will be me.”
*
“This road has been a disaster,” Parker grumbles next to me.
“I know. Sorry,” I say for the tenth time this hour. We got seventy miles away from the base and came to a complete standstill. “I just didn’t expect this.”
At some point, I assume early on, survivors camped out in a sprawling athletic park just outside the town of Greenville. A chain link fence surrounds the former baseball fields and the remains of tents and other abandoned camping supplies litter the area.
That’s not really the issue, though. The problem comes from the infected roaming the area. They’re slow moving, bone thin, and not the biggest threat we’ve come across. There’s just a freaking ton of them.
“Have you seen anything like this before?” Paul asks. His expression is one of befuddlement. It’s definitely an odd sight. A sea of brain dead infected just waiting to be put out of their misery.
“We suspected the bodies would eventually decay and fall apart,” Cole says from the middle row. “Their bodies are overtaken by the parasite and as long as they find something—or someone—to eat, they’ll keep going, but weather and body composition do come into play.”
Jude looks out the SUV window. “It looks like it’s been a long time since these guys had something to eat.”
They amble down the road, clogging nearly every available space. Lumped in groups against old storefronts and under the gas station
awning. They appear to have little energy, mostly ignoring our moving vehicle altogether. Davis drives slowly, their bodies bouncing off the sides of the car. Through the window, I hear their typical howls are replaced with low, whimpering cries.
“This is a nightmare,” Parker says, covering her eyes. “A literal nightmare.”
It’s not a nightmare but a harsh flash of our possible future.
Davis tries to turn the corner. It’s completely clogged with apathetic bodies. The tendons on his neck clench with annoyance and he mutters, “Get out of the road, moron.”
I bite back a laugh and add in ranty voice, “Where’d you learn to walk? Your grandma?”
Without warning, Paul rolls down the second row window and shoves his knife into an Eater’s head. An ungodly odor fills the car as the victim gasps and falls to the ground. I hold my nose and Parker pulls her shirt up over her face and fights a gag. He does it again and again, like shooting fish in a barrel, until Davis overrides the window control and rolls it back up.
“What?” Paul asks. “I was releasing some stress.”
“Disgusting,” Jude says, although I think he’s jealous he’s not next to the window.
“How long do you think this is going to take?” Parker asks, shifting around her seat. Between the Eaters and Paul’s shenanigans and Davis’ tension, the car ride is getting to everyone. “Because it feels like it’s been forever.”
“God, you sound like my kids.” All eyes snap to the driver’s seat. His hands clench around the steering wheel and from the set of his jaw everyone knows better than to pursue it.
But yeah, Davis just revealed he has—or had—kids, and for better or worse, that truth bomb gets everyone to shut up.
*
We wasted so many hours passing through Eater Town (yes, we named it) that our next stop was not where I’d planned it. There’s nothing in this area but abandoned apple orchards and dilapidated bar-b-que shacks, so we settle on an old farmhouse converted into an art gallery-slash-antique store. It’s tucked up on a hill and definitely has a haunted house feel to it, but I’m not willing to sleep in a place that reeks of rotting pork, so it seems like an okay place to stay. Antiques don’t have much of a barter value post-apoc. I mean, there’s only so many uses for a stack of mismatched hubcaps.
“At least the windows are already boarded up,” Jude says.
Parker presses her nose against the window. “There’s literally nothing else around here. They probably went out of business years ago.”
Davis pulls the truck around the back of the house so it’s not visible from the road and we do a quick sweep of the outside. The front has a funky vibe, an old claw foot bathtub filled with metal folk-art flowers. Stacks of rusted Coca-Cola signs lean against the porch next to a pile of bicycle wheels. A peeling swing hangs still from chains and Jude nudges it when we pass, making it sway back and forth with a disturbing creak.
Davis approaches the door and raps on it twice. We wait in silence, but there’s no sound but the squeaky swing.
“Seems okay,” he says, twisting the door knob. It’s locked, but a quick hammer with the butt of my hatchet knocks it loose. The door swings open, releasing the scent of dusty books and old, stale fabric locked up for too long.
I follow Davis in and feel like I’ve stepped into a time capsule. Artifacts from another life are piled on every surface; vases, figurines, and jewelry. There are boxes of postcards and license plates stacked in crates on the floor, and large metal airplanes hanging from the ceiling. I’m immediately crushed with feelings of loss and nostalgia.
“Hey, we had one of these,” Paul says, pointing to a small, rusted fire truck perched in the corner. “It was my dad’s when he was a kid.”
We split into pairs and sweep the first floor, squeezing past boxes, china cabinets and racks of clothes. Parker and I pass through the former dining room and then the kitchen, working our way to the enclosed back porch. She steps carefully into the room filled with glass windows—an overly exposed nightmare of a room—but jerks back suddenly. I crash into her but manage not to knock into anything.
“Dude,” I say, but she covers my mouth with her hand. Gesturing ahead she whispers, “There’s someone in there.”
“Human or Eater?” I mouth.
She shrugs. I lean past her and sure enough, a person is pressed against the back wall, partially hidden behind a stack of cardboard boxes. If there’s one person or Eater there could always be more. But we don’t kill humans—at least not for hiding in their own homes. I glance down and see a basket of cassette tapes and pick up the one on top. The bearded, faded face of Willie Nelson stares back.
Parker levels her gun and I count to three loud enough for her to hear and toss it in the direction of the person. I flinch when it lands, clattering against a box and onto the hard floor. We’ve got our guns aimed but nothing happens. The figure is silent.
“Cover me,” I say. We can’t play this game forever.
I tiptoe into the room, stepping over a coil of rope. The person is wearing an old Falcon’s jersey and has a mop of dirty brown hair sticking out from under a baseball cap. I don’t see a weapon as I come up behind them and press my hatchet against their neck.
“Turn around,” I say. “Hands where I can see them.”
Again, there’s no movement, and panic mixed with confusion rolls over me but I take a deep, dusty breath and spin the person around by the shoulder. The hat and the hair both fall to the ground and I jump back with a high-pitched yelp.
“Oh my God,” Parker declares, snorting back laughter.
I’m eye to eye with dirty, cracked-faced mannequin with powder blue eye shadow and pale pink lips. I kick the wig with my toe, flinging it into the corner.
“Shut up,” I bite, feeling my cheeks burn with embarrassment. I turn and spot not only Parker but Jude grinning over her shoulder. I hold my hatchet up. “Not a word. Not a single word.”
*
“You know in Harry Potter when Harry, Ron, and Hermione go on the run and Hermione has that purse that’s really a magical suitcase—“
Davis cuts me off. “Like Mary Poppin’s bag?”
“Yes, like that,” I continue. “I wish we had one of those.”
“I wish we had magic for all kinds of things,” Parker mutters from her spot on the couch, stabbing her finger into the tin plate in her lap. We’ve made a lumpy nest of chairs and cushions, passing around our dinner rations. Erwin has, for now, a massive supply of MREs, which are not great but are better than scavenging around for food.
“If you could pick one thing,” Paul asks, obviously liking this topic, “what would you put in a magic bag?”
“Unlimited ammo,” Davis says without hesitation.
Jude goes next. “A magical refrigerator with cold drinks and food inside. And ice. I miss ice.”
“A bed,” Parker says, her eyes taking on a dreamy shine. “No, a really warm blanket. No, clean socks. Unlimited clean socks. No. Wait. Can I say a shower? Because right now several of you could use a shower and I’m happy to share.”
Jude throws a pillow at her and she squeals when it lands smack in her face. She tosses it back, but misses, hitting Paul on the ear. His eyes narrow and he grabs two stuffed animals from the shelf behind him and pegs Parker in the chest.
“No fair,” she shouts, scooping up the small bean bag-sized dolls. “Alex, help me!”
I’m about to come to her defense, lifting my own cushion, but I’m tackled and held down by Cole’s strong arms.
“You’re on their side?” I ask, with a huff.
“Bros before…well, you know.” I roll my eyes. He can’t even say it.
I scramble and manage to get out of his grip. The entire nest is now one big pillow fight (except for Davis who moved to the side to continue eating) and I take advantage of the fray to attack Cole. I throw the two stuffed animals I’m holding at him, one gets him in the neck, the other he snatches out of the air. He then grabs the whole basket
of bean-filled animals off the floor and eyes me like a target.
“Don’t you dare—”
He hits me square in chest.
“Cole—”
Thwack. Again. I search for my own weapon but the others are in a pile of laughter on the ground and the pillows are scattered under their bodies. I look up again and Cole gives me a tiny smirk.
My next move is because I have to. I take the coward’s way out. I run.
The antique shop is laid out like a maze, rows and rows of furniture and display cases dividing out the space. I travel down one, listening for the sound of Cole’s boots on the hardwoods—he’s headed other direction. I dash off again, tripping over a rolled up rug and steadying myself on a sunglasses rack. The plastic frames clatter to the floor. I freeze and mutter a curse when his boots start my way. I search for a place to hide, eventually settling on a 1950s style chrome and Formica kitchen table. I get down on my hands and knees and squeeze beneath the chairs, keeping an eye out on the direction he’s coming from. Then I’ll jump out and attack.
The room grows still, other than the faint sound of my friends laughing and talking in the other side of the shop. I hold my breath, knowing he’s near—waiting for the scuffed brown of his boots to appear. A minute passes and I think maybe Cole’s given up on our game and I’m foolishly hiding beneath a kitchen table. I inch out from the table on my hands and knees and see nothing but an empty pathway. My shoulders relax and then I hear quietly in my ear, “Found you.”
I scream. I scream louder than I’ve screamed in years. Every Eater in eastern Georgia must hear. Every Hybrid just turned this direction. Cole’s eyes pop wide and he clamps a hand over my mouth. My chest heaves and he yells out, “We’re okay. It’s okay,” so the others don’t race back and attack.
“Holy crap, Cole. You do not do that to people in the apocalypse, okay? What if I’d shot you?”
He looks down at my side. “You’re not carrying a gun.”
I hold up my hands. “These are deadly. I don’t need a gun to hurt you.”
