by M. Van
| 15
Mags
Dire would definitely be a term that would come to mind in describing the situation that these people had found themselves in. On the other hand, I was somewhat amazed at the way they had managed to survive all these months. Six kids, fifteen women, and twenty-two men had carved out a spot for themselves on the second floor of a distribution center. Considering the fact that this had also become zombie Grand Central, it was even more impressive.
Everyone we had talked to inside the DC credited Bob as the man who had saved them. Apparently, Bob had been one of those survivalists or preppers or whatever they were called who had been hauling up supplies to his cabin in the woods for as long anyone could remember. Unfortunately, on the day that all hell broke loose, he found himself at the airport, waving off a friend.
After realizing all his efforts had been in vain, I guess he must have thought that the DC would serve as a worthy replacement. It held all the stuff and supplies that he would have collected at home, probably more.
From what I had gathered, he had taken charge after survivors had taken shelter inside the building. The zombies must have sensed their presence because the building had become surrounded right from the start, and they hadn’t left since. With preparation running through Bob’s blood, the group took on the task of hauling as much equipment, water, and nonperishables up to the second floor as they could and then securing it by removing all the stairs. After that, they had made use of pulleys, rope ladders, and the massive racks to get around inside the DC.
Angie had inquired about the reason that the ground floor sat infested with the undead, but none of them seemed eager to answer. One of the men, a burly fella named Marcus had said, “Let’s just say that it all went to hell.” He stared at the ground for a moment after that. I didn’t think it wise to ask any further questions, and apparently neither did Angie. It seemed obvious to me something had gone terribly wrong because that half-opened loading bay couldn’t have been opened by the zombies.
Preston had informed the bunch that we didn’t expect any backup, because there was just none to give. Some of the men had scoffed and cursed so much that little Joanie had run and fled into her mother’s arms. It had been Bob who had calmed them down. He had spent the past hours in his office with Preston and Tom, who no doubt were informing Bob of our great plan. Apparently, it took time to convince Bob—lots of time.
I was sitting on a desk in a corner of the room and took in the activities inside the lounge. The kids played in the middle of the room with one of the adults by their side. A couple of others had made themselves useful in the small kitchen. I had no idea where the others had gone, but considering the late hour—or perhaps I should say early hour—I presumed they had retreated into the offices that they had turned into somewhat private quarters.
Angie sat at a table across from me and peered out of the window, which looked over the ground floor area of the DC. I had no desire to watch the zombies stir about and had turned my back on it.
“What the …” she said, but trailed off as she pulled her feet off the chair that they had been resting on. At the frown on her face, I turned to look over my shoulder. I could only see the darkness that lay beyond the window. I turned back for a second, but Angie’s eyes sat fixed on the window. Again, I followed her gaze and then saw it.
I lifted my but off the desk and maneuvered to the window where I placed my hands on the glass to peer through it.
“You saw that, right?” Angie asked.
“Yeah, but what was it?”
There was another burst of light, longer this time. A moment later, two shorter bursts followed as if someone were signaling with a flashlight.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” I said, glancing over my shoulder. Angie’s frown had deepened, and a dark veil had fallen over her eyes. I didn’t need to ask whether she thought someone was out there; her expression confirmed it.
“Let’s take a closer look,” she said and moved for the door. I paused and glanced around the room, but no one seemed to pay attention to us. We took a right and ended up on a balcony that stretched out alongside the second-floor structure. It gave me a better view than I would have liked of the flesh-eating crowd downstairs. There was another flash, and I had to swallow hard. It came from one of the racks dead center in the middle of the DC.
Without warning Angie veered left, jogging down the balcony. I quickly followed.
“Hey,” she said as she came to a stop. The balcony was too narrow to stand alongside her, so I peered over her shoulder.
“Hey,” a boy of about ten said. I reached for my flashlight and flicked it on. “Turn that off.” At the frantic tone in his voice, I quickly extinguished the light. He used his own light to flash a couple of times and then apparently waited for the answer that came from the person on the racks. He sighed after a couple more exchanges.
The boy sat on a barrel and leaned on the balcony’s railing as he peered over the zombie-filled space at the rack. From the brief instance that the light had been on the boy, I had noticed straight, black, shoulder-length hair that stuck to a face with a slightly darker complexion. It gave me the impression that he might be of Hispanic descent. He looked severely malnourished. The dark rims under his eyes expressed he hadn’t had much sleep either.
Angie kneeled by his side and placed a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“What’s your name, kid?” she asked. The kid’s head shifted before he answered.
“Toby, ma’am,” he said.
“Yeah,” Angie replied, and I could hear the delight in her voice. “Well, I’m Angie and the tall one behind me is Mags.” Having spent a lot of time with Ash, we weren’t that used to polite kids anymore.
“Hi,” I said along with a wave of my hand.
Angie’s tone returned to serious as she asked, “Who’s out there, Toby?”
It wasn’t hard to hear the despair in the boy’s voice as he answered, “That’s my sister.”
Toby’s seventeen-year-old sister Savanna had been stuck on a rack raised high over a sea of zombies for nearly four days now. Toby had been communicating with her by light signals all that time.
“Are you using the light so you won’t rouse the zombies?” I asked as I leaned against the railing peering out into the darkness in the hope of catching a glimpse of the girl.
“No,” he replied in a shy voice, “she’s deaf.” Eyebrows raised, I glanced over my shoulder. My eyes had somewhat adjusted to the dark, but I could still only make out the silhouettes of Toby and Angie, who had taken a seat beside him.
“That couldn’t have been easy, running from zombies,” I said. The girl wouldn’t even hear them approach.
“I don’t know,” Toby replied, “but I think she might have developed a sixth sense or something, because she always seems to know when there’s trouble.” The kid’s voice sounded brighter as he started to explain.
“She knew something was up even before most others knew. We’d been waiting outside in our dad’s truck, watching one of the planes take off. I couldn’t believe it as in midclimb the plane’s wing started to tip, and it came crashing back down.” Toby paused and took a breath to gather himself. “Everyone stood aghast as they watched the black smoke billow up in the distance, but not Savanna. Her gaze sat fixed on the opposite direction over the field and at the airport. Soon after, she was pulling me by the collar inside this place.”
“What about your dad?” Angie asked hesitantly.
“I don’t know,” Toby said, sounding sad. “I never saw him again. I think he might be down there, and I’ve looked for him, but …” The boy fell silent. At that point I felt relieved that the kid hadn’t found his dad’s face gazing up at him with those foggy, dead eyes.
“How has she gotten herself out there?” Angie asked.
“Because she’s an idiot,” Toby replied in a harsh tone.
“Hey, don’t be like that. She’s your sister,” Angie said.
&nbs
p; “She always thinks she needs to prove herself.”
“Because of the hearing,” I said.
“Yeah,” Toby said, and I could still hear some of that anger lingering in his voice. “She volunteered to get stuff from out there to back here, but one of the men fell, and she tried to help him. The zombies almost got her before she managed to back up.” The boy’s voice cracked and we waited patiently for him to continue. “They thought she might have been bitten, and Bob ordered the others out there to cut the ropes so she wouldn’t be able to infect others.”
“Why would he do that?” I asked.
“Because they didn’t trust her to stay over there and wait to see if she were infected,” Toby said.
I bit my lip to prevent myself from saying something I might regret. These people had been stuck here from the beginning; they might not have known that the virus worked fast and that the girl would have changed within minutes. And with her brain quickly reduced to mush, she wouldn’t have been able to shinny those ropes.
“Have they tried to get her back over here?” I asked. Toby didn’t answer aloud, so I turned to see his head shaking no.
“Bob thought it to be a lost cause,” he added.
“Excuse me!” I said. A sudden rush of anger flashed through me and felt a need to vent it. I was ready to open my mouth when I felt Angie’s boot kick me in the shins.
“What!” I said appalled.
“They haven’t even tried?” Angie asked in a much calmer voice than mine.
“We wouldn’t know where to begin,” Toby said.
Overhead light started to filter inside the distribution center though the glass domes mounted on top of the roof. The sun had begun to rise. It shed a light on the terror that lay underneath my feet one story down, and I tried to ignore it as I leaned over the railing. My eyes searched the outer rim of the balcony and found the spot where another set of stairs would have been mounted. The ground floor continued underneath the balcony and revealed more of the undead. It wouldn’t be easy, but it could be done.
“What are you doing?” Angie asked as I heard footsteps approach.
“Mags, Angie,” Preston said before I could answer Angie, “I’d appreciate it if you two would let us know before you wandered off.”
“Yeah, we almost left without you,” Tom added.
“Tom, you wouldn’t last a minute if you didn’t have one of us to hold your hand,” Angie said.
“Oh yeah,” Tom uttered, “Well, let me—”
“What did Bob say?” I asked. The words came out sounding a bit condescending, and I cleared my throat. “I mean, how did he react?” Hearing that they hadn’t even tried to get the girl had rubbed me the wrong way, but I wasn’t in any place to judge.
Preston cocked his head, and I was sure he’d be giving me a look I wouldn’t have appreciated, but fortunately the sun hadn’t risen enough for me to see it.
“They are talking it over now, but I’m not sure Bob believed me,” he said.
“That’s not hard to believe,” Angie said.
“Maybe we can show them that it works,” I said.
| 16
Ash
Stuck in the back of an eighteen-wheeler truck tracking across country or wherever it was they were taking me, I sat tucked behind dozens of boxes holding God knows what, my chair bolted to the truck, my hands zip-tied to the armrest of my chair, and duct tape covering my mouth. This was turning out to be a bad day.
My backpack lay at my feet with most of the stuff that had been inside scattered about. Baldy had seemed very amused at the toddler-sized jeans that I was still carrying around. I had almost forgotten about the backpack that I had fastened to my chair.
I shivered and glanced at the discarded clothes on the ground. Moonlight filtered inside through the air grilles that allowed the temperature inside the truck to lower significantly. That extra sweater tossed on the ground looked very enticing at this point.
Wriggling around only made the zip-ties cut deeper into my skin, and I sighed. Fresh tears stung my eyes, but I noticed crying only made breathing harder with a piece of tape stuck over your mouth. It also didn’t help the throbbing in my head, and I squeezed my eyes shut tight to force them down.
Opening my eyes, I noticed the small bulge on my left thigh. Baldy had checked my bag for stuff that I could use as a weapon, but he hadn’t checked me. That guy actually was an idiot. A tiny sliver of hope lifted my spirits as I wriggled my hand below the armrest. I bit back the pain as plastic cut into my wrist.
Once my hand hung underneath the armrest, I stretched my fingers to reach the fabric of my cargo pants. Luckily they had a wide fit, and I tugged at it with two fingers until I managed to grab a handful of fabric.
It took some effort, but eventually I managed to take a hold of the pocketknife that I had snatched from my room. With the click on a button, it was easy enough to extend the blade, but cutting the zip-tie turned out to be a bit tricky.
“Son of a bitch,” I called out as the sharp blade cut into my flesh. My hand shook, and I took a moment to calm my nerves. Steadying the knife, I continued to saw at the plastic.
Relief washed over me as the tie gave way, and I quickly freed my other hand. I closed the knife and stashed it back into my pocket. With a tentative finger, I poked at the bandage wrapped around my head and winced. My fingers came back dry, though, so the wound didn’t seem to be bleeding anymore.
As I rummaged through the clothes, I found another black long-sleeved T-shirt and that sweater. Shivering all over, I removed my hoody, slipped on the extra T-shirt, and then put my hoody on again. The sweater was a bigger size, and I slipped it on over everything before extracting the hood and pulling it over my head. I instantly felt better, but I wondered if it would be enough.
It crossed my mind that I was probably lucky that this wasn’t Alaska. I would have frozen to death already. The thought made me wonder what Mags was doing right now, whether she and Angie had been sent on their mission yet. Would she know what had happened to me? Would Mars tell her? Probably not. He hadn’t told her about Warren in the first place. Boy, was she going to be pissed at him when he did. Usually, I wouldn’t want to be in the room when that happened, but this time, I kind of hoped I would be, because that would mean everything had turned out okay.
The truck shook and groaned as it carved a way across the roads. There was no way I was getting off the thing at this speed, but that was a problem for later. First, I had to free my chair. I undid the strap that held me seated and then did the same for my legs and slipped out of the chair.
Inspecting the undercarriage, I noticed a chain wrapped around the axle between the frame and the rear wheel. Realizing the simple fix that was needed, I smiled. I should have known I could count on Baldy to take the easy route as he had he fastened the chair. This meant I only needed to remove the wheel axle bolt, remove the chain, and reattach the wheel. The action was simple enough. I had done it before, changing tires. I reached for the small tool pouch mounted underneath the seat and got to work.
I had my chair unchained, and the wheel reattached as I noticed the truck started to slow. Then I felt it turn a corner. Could it be we were leaving the freeway—if we were ever on it? Quickly, I gathered my stuff that was still scattered across the floor and shoved everything inside my backpack.
Something slipped from my grasp as I picked up a pair of Rowdy’s jeans, and it thumped to the ground. It was Mags’s phone. I lifted it from the floor and pressed the button. As the light flashed on, I smiled at the picture of Mags and me wearing aviator glasses and silly smiles plastered on our faces as we sat behind the wheel of the Knight XV. Those freaking tears started to sting again. This was getting ridiculous. I’d been in tougher spots before and came out of it okay. Except those times I hadn’t usually been alone. Mags had been there, and no matter how bad the situation, she’d been a comfort to me. Guess I would have to do it on my own this time.
I checked the nonexistent signal on the p
hone, and considering it a bust, I shoved the phone in my pack. After I had climbed in my chair, I fasted the straps and made sure they were extra tight and secure. The backpack returned to its spot on the back of the chair. I rolled back and forth a couple of times to check the chair, but everything seemed in order. Now came the part of escape, but I had no idea how to do that.
A bunch of boxes surrounded me, maybe even hiding me from view in case the truck was stopped and maybe inspected. I managed to turn in the small space and rolled to one of the sides of the truck. Through a fissure between the boxes and the truck wall, I managed to see beyond the narrow space.
What looked like work tables stood bolted against the walls on either side of the truck. In the dark it was hard to see the equipment standing around, but the gleam from the stainless steel tables pretty much divulged their purpose. It seemed as if Warren had fashioned himself a miniature lab inside this truck, and I wondered if this wall of boxes was just a facade to keep me out of sight.
A tensioning belt held the boxes in place, and I reached up to release it. My fingers grazed the metal latch, but I couldn’t find purchase. The chair tilted slightly, and I finally got it. The latch released, and in the same instance, the tower of boxes came crashing down on me. This wasn’t exactly what I had hoped for, and I braced myself for the impact. Fortunately, the boxes were empty.
I just prayed the driver hadn’t heard any of that as I shoved at the boxes. A couple of them I had to pick up and toss them aside, but soon I had a decent path to the back of the truck. As I neared the rear, the truck started to slow again and nearly stopped. My heart rate picked up. Had we arrived? Had all this been for nothing? I reached the door and grabbed the latch. Able to push it up, I felt relieved that door wasn’t locked. I opened it at a crack and gasped at the distance I’d needed to bridge in order touch the asphalt. As the truck sped up again as it eased into a turn, I closed the door and pulled the latch down.
