He turned away, standing from the couch. Most of the time he didn’t recognize what he had become and the memory of who he was faded every day. Surely, he wasn’t the only one who saw what he had become, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe others viewed him differently, like he wasn’t broken. What would he give to see himself like that again? Hell, what would he give to feel like that again? Sighing, he turned and headed toward the door.
He opened it and looked at his neighbor Rachel. Short, thin, and dark skinned, a smile came easily to her gentle face. Her black hair was pulled into a bun, she wore green scrubs. They looked clean and wrinkle free; she must have been heading to work.
“Sorry to disturb you.” She spoke softly, the hints of her Spanish accent colored her words. “I’m heading to work, but I wanted you to know my brother is visiting. He looks pretty much like me with short hair. He’ll be coming and going quite a bit; you might not see him at all, but if you do, I wanted you to know he’s been tested and cleared. You should have received a notice, but I wanted to tell you personally.”
Caleb smiled. “Thanks, Rachel. Hope you have a great night.”
“Thanks. You too.” She turned and headed down the hall.
Caleb waited until she was a few steps away before closing the door. A touch of confusion coursed through him as to why Rachel would feel the need to tell him personally about her brother. He would get a notice. Perhaps she was considerate. He didn’t know her well, only spoke to her briefly as they were coming and going. Still, the gesture was sweet. Maybe he would attempt to get to know his neighbor better. He turned from the door and headed for his room.
Caleb laid in his bed with his eyes closed, focused on his breathing. His hands were folded on his chest, his mind was empty. The psychiatrist gave him some meditation skills to fall asleep at night. Otherwise, Caleb might not ever fall asleep. Taking drugs was out of the question. He had some sitting on his nightstand, but he’d never cracked open the bottles. He didn’t want to become dependent. What would he do if something happened in the middle of the night and he was so drugged up he couldn’t hear it? He didn’t want to be a sitting duck because he was medicated. Natural was best. He needed to keep his faculties. He could lay in bed for hours, but it was worth it to Caleb to be ready for anything that might come his way. That night, relaxation came more quickly than normal, but he still drifted into a restless sleep.
Caleb sat on his bed absently running his thumb over the scar on the inside of his wrist. What had woken him? It hadn’t been the nightmare—he knew that for certain. His sheets were still dry, and his heart wasn’t threatening to pound out of his chest. His father’s pale face and wide, lifeless eyes weren’t lingering in his mind’s eye. No. It was something else. He wasn’t terrified, but he wasn’t comfortable either. His stomach tingled slightly, his hands were clammy. He was on the verge of panic and a scream lodged in his throat, but he was holding it in check.
His gaze drifted out the window to the brick building next to him and its dark windows. At the edge of the blackness was a tint of red. Was it real? It could have been his imagination. His mind liked to play tricks on him in the middle of the night. It liked to make him believe there were things there that really weren’t. He leaned forward so his forehead rested on the glass. It was cool against his skin. It soothed him slightly. Looking down, he saw nothing but the stairs of the fire escape leading into darkness. If something was going on down there, he couldn’t see. The fifth floor was high enough to block out happenings on the street directly below.
Taking a deep breath, he sat upright and became aware of his thumb rubbing his scar. He jerked his hands apart and rubbed them against his thighs. The sheets shushed softly under his palms. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. He forced himself back onto his pillow. It’s all right, he told himself. Everything is all right.
His brain believed him. The anxiety drained from his body, his muscles relaxed. He no longer had to force his eyes to stay shut, they settled closed naturally. Exhaustion overtook him, and he drifted back to sleep.
The alarm screeched through the room and pulled Caleb out of sleep. His eyes opened slowly. The sun streamed through his window. He squinted at the brightness, his eyes watered. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision. Throwing off his covers, he stepped out of bed and into the bathroom to his right. With eyes half closed, he turned on the shower and stepped in.
The water hit him like prickly shards of ice, tensing his body. His eyes popped open all the way. He shuddered. Within seconds, the water warmed, allowing him to relax, but not back to the point of sleepiness. He was awake now. Shocked into life by the coldness. He washed, then turned the water off. After drying, he wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped out of the shower. Steam hung in the air, circling around him in moist circles. He wiped the condensation from the mirror and stared at his reflection.
When did you get so old? He frowned.
Dark circles sat under his eyes, which seemed dull and colorless, his cheeks sunk in. His lips were dry and cracked despite the moisture in the room, and his brown hair hung limply to his shoulders, the bones of which stuck up and tried to break through his pale skin. He averted his eyes to the sink and reached for his toothbrush.
He shouldn’t have looked that old. He was only seventeen, a far cry from the old man he saw in the mirror. Is that how others see me? he wondered. Like a walking skeleton? He shuddered at the thought. Probably not the best comparison to make. So many had literally become walking corpses. Resurrected by something unknown, by something that should only exist in nightmares.
Dizziness swept over him, nausea clenched his stomach. He gripped the sides of the sink to steady himself and squeezed his eyes shut. Splashes of crimson dominated his mind’s eye, the smell of copper and rot flooded into his nostrils from memories. His chest tightened, his knees went weak.
“No! Not when I’m awake. Not again.” His voice came out strained, weak.
Caleb leaned against the sink, pressing all his weight into his hands to stay upright. He sucked in a breath and held it, turning the visions in his mind away from blood. Sunlight streamed through a window, illuminating dust that floated in the air and warmed his face. Laughter sounded behind him, soft and melodic. For a second, the scene flashed dark, the laughter turned to a scream. Tightening his grip on the sink, Caleb pushed it away and pulled the light back.
His body started to relax, his legs regained strength. Slowly, he released his grip on the sink and eased the weight off his hands. He opened his eyes. Dizziness threatened to take him down, but after a few deep breaths, he regained control. He glanced at himself in the mirror. No longer did he see the old man; he saw a scared kid. He turned away in disgust and headed into his room.
Jerking open his dresser drawers, he pulled out his clothes for the day. His mind was still focused on the light, but the smell of blood and rot seeped through and tickled his nostrils. The urge to scream constricted his throat. Biting his bottom lip, he forced it down. Memories of waking in the night drifted through his mind. This had been how he felt last night, but he wasn’t sure what had caused it. Whatever it was, it had dredged up the darkness. He’d worked hard to keep it suppressed. The sooner he figured out what triggered the memories, the sooner he could cope.
A soft knock echoed through the room. “Caleb?” The voice was muffled through the door.
Caleb’s attention was pulled back to the room, and it took him a minute to realize what was going on. Staring at the door for several moments, he finally opened it to see Dr. Bentley’s familiar face. He was wearing a blue button up shirt and khakis that hung loosely on his thin frame. His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly combed, and a few days’ worth of stubble showed on his face. His lips were pressed into a line, his forehead wrinkled as if he was concentrating.
“Oh.” Dr. Bentley’s eyes widened slightly. “You are up. Good. I wanted to let you know I’m heading in early today. You all right to make it to work by yourself?”
&nbs
p; Caleb refrained from rolling his eyes and nodded his head. He plastered a smile on his lips, hoping to hide the discomfort and panic that continued to surge through his body. Not that Dr. Bentley would necessarily notice—he was often lost in his own thoughts, pretending to function in the real world but not really observing what was going on around him.
“Good. See you tonight.”
Caleb closed the door as Dr. Bentley walked off. He sat down on his bed. Rubbing his hands together, he averted his gaze to the ceiling. His mind drifted back to the night before when he had woken in the middle of the night for unknown reasons. What was happening? Why?
Taking a deep breath, his gaze fell to his lap. He stopped rubbing his hands together and turned the palms upward. The tattoos on the inside of his wrist became his focus. An angel wing adorned his left wrist, a demon wing on the right. But he saw through the ink at what they covered. Time was fading the scars to a white line, but the flesh was raised slightly higher than the surrounding area. The tattoos did a great job of covering the marks, but Caleb was convinced others saw through to the ugliness below. He hated talking about the wings. They were for him alone. A pang carried across his chest. He balled his hands into fists and turned them over. With a huff, he stood and pulled on his clothes.
What was going on? He had been making such progress. The memories and panic had finally been getting under control, why now were things spiraling out of control? He couldn’t go back to living with the constant fear, having the guilt dictate his thoughts and behaviors. That would lead back to darkness. It was always on the edge of his thoughts, waiting for any instance to work its way back in. His gaze drifted to his nightstand and the bottles sitting on top. He shuddered at the thought of taking the medication.
Pushing his arms through the sleeves of his hoodie, he headed out of the apartment. Caleb stepped onto the sidewalk, blinded by the morning sun. He blinked and squinted. When he could see, the cop cars across the street caught his attention. He stopped. His heart leapt into his throat. His breathing became rapid, and the darkness edged farther into his brain. The lights held him transfixed. The red and blue flashing a calling to a darker time. The memories were there, right at the tip of his brain trying to force their way to the surface, but he held them back. He stayed focused on the light.
“Hey, kid.” A voice pulled him from his thoughts.
Caleb’s gaze fell on a police officer standing behind an orange and white roadblock.
“You all right?” There seemed to be genuine concern in the man’s voice. It was the same he’d heard so long ago.
Caleb’s inclination was to say yes, then head on his way. Whatever had happened didn’t involve him. It wasn’t any of his business, but his feet weren’t listening to his brain. They were heading closer to the cop and the barricade.
“What happened?”
The officer hooked his thumbs in his belt. “There was a zombie attack last night.”
Caleb’s mouth fell open. “What? How?”
The zombies had been rounded up and placed in ghettos. That was what made the city safe to be in again. Zombies shouldn’t have been roaming the streets and attacking.
The cop held up his hands to stop Caleb’s onslaught of questions. “All I can tell you is that some regulars escaped the ghetto. They have been taken care of, and you have nothing more to worry about.”
Caleb’s stomach clenched. He glanced over the cop’s shoulder. Patrol cars and detectives blocked his view, but he was convinced he saw blood staining the asphalt. Why hadn’t he just walked away?
“Do we need to be concerned?” The question croaked out of his mouth.
“Nah.” The officer shook his head. “Everything is going to be all right.”
The last words echoed around Caleb’s brain. He’d heard them before, and they were a lie. His hands went cold, his wrists tingled. He had to get away. He couldn’t deal with this again.
“Thanks,” he spoke quietly before heading down the street.
He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to be so polite to the officer. He hadn’t exactly delivered wonderful news. Why was he even telling Caleb a zombie had attacked? That could be a sure-fire way to incite panic. The city was supposed to be safe. Zombies weren’t supposed to get out of their enclosure. How many had gotten out? Had they stopped the threat? Were they still roaming the streets? Was that why the officer said something? So Caleb would be aware of his surroundings? No. The cop said they had been taken care of, and he appeared to be too calm for the undead to still be around.
Still, it left Caleb feeling uneasy. He didn’t want to have to constantly look over his shoulder, be on edge. Not anymore. Was this what had pulled him out of his sleep last night? Did he have some kind of premonition about what had happened? The thought chilled the center of his chest.
His pace was quick, keeping in time with his thoughts. How could a regular get out of the ghetto? Were they even aware they were in a locked environment? From what he understood about them, they weren’t aware of their surroundings until a human was around. Then their focus switched to devouring flesh. Otherwise, they wandered around aimlessly. They couldn’t have gotten out without help. But who would do such a thing? And why?
Caleb stopped at the doors of the office building and stared through the glass. The lobby lay before him, pristine white with a half-circle desk and a guard behind it. Behind that was the elevators. No one got on them without the guard’s say so—safe.
Caleb stared at the guard at the desk through the glass. His eyes were half-closed in weariness, the corners of his mouth turned down slightly. He looked bored, but there was also something else in the lethargy. Caleb couldn’t quite place it, but it seemed like content. It wouldn’t surprise Caleb. Compared to what their lives could be like—what they had been like—his job was a dream. He must not know. He must not have heard what happened six blocks away. About the death. About the undead. He was lucky.
Caleb knew he should feel the same. He wanted the ignorance. Even without knowing what was going on, that didn’t take away anything that had happened in the past. He was aware that he should be thankful for what he had—that he had survived—but he wasn’t convinced what he had was better than death. He still had the memories, saw in vivid detail the death and destruction, carried with him the pain and anger and guilt of loss. Death would have relieved him of all of it. He stared into the building.
This is pointless. It was the voice in the darkness. Its tone was harsh. It’s mundane. It’s an attempt at normalcy when nothing is normal anymore. Why are you even bothering? Why carry on? Why are you pretending everything is fine when it clearly isn’t?
You could leave, the voice whispered with enthusiasm. Keep walking and just go.
Caleb’s gaze drifted away from the building and down the sidewalk. Dark gray buildings rose into an overcast sky and lined the lighter gray sidewalk that traveled up a slight hill to the horizon. It wasn’t the first time Caleb had contemplated leaving. More often than not he fought the urge to run down that path. But he knew what was out there. He was fully aware what lay outside the safety of the city. There was nowhere to go.
His chest tightened. Caleb folded in slightly to relieve the pain. Visions of what had occurred that morning in the bathroom flashed through his mind, followed by the cop cars and the realization zombies had been in the city. Apparently, nowhere was safe anymore. The dark voice became more persistent that this life was pointless.
His breath hitched in his throat. He couldn’t believe it. There had to be something more. His life—what he had done—couldn’t be in vain. Painful and dark, yes, but for a greater purpose. He tore his gaze from the sidewalk and back to the glass doors in front of him. His feet felt like blocks of concrete as he willed them forward. His head threatened to turn down the street, to take one last look at what could be his, but he refused to let it turn. He pushed open the door and stepped into the warm air of Zomtech’s lobby.
CHAPTER 3
Samuel ploppe
d into the seat next to him, pulling Caleb’s gaze away from his computer as it booted up.
“I hear you had some excitement this morning.” His voice was low, barely above a whisper, and he glanced around the office nervously.
Caleb furrowed his brow and stared. How could he have heard about it already?
Samuel rolled his eyes. “I have a scanner. Besides, I bet you ten bucks the scientists on the third floor probably already have the corpses and are studying them. You know just as well as I do any zombie or corpse comes directly to the lab.”
Caleb nodded. Samuel was right about the bodies. If Zomtech was going to solve the mystery of the undead, they needed to study every corpse they could get their hands on. Plus, they functioned as the city’s morgue and performed the autopsies.
Samuel leaned forward in his chair and whispered. “You didn’t hear this from me, but I heard RBZs helped the regulars get out. I hear it was an assassination attempt.”
Caleb frowned and shook his head. “Where did you hear that?”
“I have my sources.”
Caleb refrained from scoffing. “What kind of sources?”
Samuel glanced around the room and leaned in even closer. “There’s a group of people online.”
Caleb rolled his eyes. Samuel and his conspiracy theorists. Caleb first heard rumors about the internet group that was supposedly uncovering the secrets of the government, bringing to light all the things they didn’t want regular people to know, when he was in the hospital. It was just a bunch of unproven propaganda. Supposedly, they were the ones responsible for telling the world about Big Zombies (more often called BZs, zombies that were slightly larger than humans), Really Big Zombies (called RBZs, creatures that were supposedly up to 10 feet tall), and how zombies could be cured. Because the “think tank” had come up with these names for creatures that may or may not exist, there were some who referred to normal zombies as “regulars” to keep them separate from the other abominations. The thought of BZs and RBZs existing was outlandish. Whoever made them up really had an imagination. They were probably the ones who claimed the blood tests were discriminatory. Caleb would bet his right arm that none of them had even seen a zombie in real life.
Saving Humanity Series (Book 1): Humanity's Hope Page 3
