The sirens were within a few blocks. Samuel shifted nervously from one foot to the other.
“Aren’t you at least going to try?” Samuel’s voice was soft with a slight quake.
Caleb turned and looked at his coworker. Samuel’s eyes were moist, his lips turned down in a frown. It was the first time Caleb didn’t mind someone feeling sorry for him. The emotion was genuine, part of Samuel had been changed by the experience, by what he had seen. There was a helplessness in his features, one Caleb had experienced numerous times. He placed a hand on Samuel’s shoulder.
“What’s to try? I’m doomed. It’s best to let the authorities take me. It doesn’t matter if Zomtech turns me into an experiment; hopefully it will keep me from hurting anyone.”
Samuel’s breath hitched, and he attempted to say something, but no words came out, only a small squeak.
The BZ touched Caleb’s shoulder, jerking her head to the side.
He stared at her, his forehead wrinkling in confusion. Was she trying to tell him something? Why was she even there? How was it even possible a creature like that could exist? Where did it get the ability to reason? Caleb had so many questions, but no time to find the answers. It was the first and only time he had been curious about a zombie, and that conflicted him. She was an abomination, a freak of nature, and yet she had just saved their lives. She was aware enough to know they were in trouble. The thought caused goosebumps to form on his flesh.
The sirens were close, on the outskirts of the park. It wouldn’t be long before the officers found them. She tugged on Caleb’s sleeve, trying to get him to move down the path.
“I think she wants you to follow her,” Samuel commented.
Caleb nodded. “It would appear so.”
“What are you waiting for? Maybe she knows where you can find help.”
Caleb pressed his lips together in a line and studied the BZ for several moments. Her gray skin was pulled tight over her bones, a few wrinkles creased her flesh where her muscles were atrophying. Her bottom lip was missing, exposing the bottom row of straight teeth. Caleb imagined they were white at one point, but now they were stained brown. Hair poked out of her head in uneven, dusty clumps. The color may have been black at one time, or maybe brown, but it had faded to dusty gray and had the consistency of straw. Her eyes were a muted blue. They drew him in. He imagined at one point in her natural life, those eyes were brilliant blue. They were probably kind, full of joy, and able to keep any man in their gaze. Even now, Caleb found it hard to turn away. There was something behind them, a spark of intelligence, but also kindness and trustworthiness. A chill ran down his spine. He had never seen that in a zombie before. What did it mean?
Shouts echoed around them. The officers were getting closer. Samuel took a step away from Caleb, in the direction the BZ had indicated with her head.
“Time’s running out.” Samuel’s tone had an edge to it. He grabbed Caleb’s wrist. “I won’t let you be their guinea pig.” He jerked on Caleb’s arm.
The action brought him out of the trance caused by staring into her eyes. She turned and led the way. Caleb didn’t fight back. He allowed Samuel to pull him along the path and into the trees. The BZ stopped suddenly and crouched down. Samuel and Caleb followed suit. Looking over his shoulder, Caleb watched the officers congregate on the path where they had just been. They stared at the bodies, their hands on their hips. None of them seemed surprised to see the gigantic zombies lying dead on the ground.
“Search the woods,” one of them ordered. “See if there are any others.”
A few men nodded and headed into the trees.
Those who stayed behind continued to stare at the lifeless bodies. The man who had given the order spit on the ground.
“One helluva mess to clean up. Call for the incinerators.”
The officer closest to him saluted and turned away to talk on her radio. The man paced the area, taking in more of the carnage. He stopped when he got to the BZ’s arm. Crouching down, he grabbed a stick and poked it. Was he expecting it to reach up and smack him across the face?
“The trucks will be here in ten minutes, sir,” the female officer told him.
He nodded and poked the arm again. “Bag this one up. It doesn’t look like it belongs to us. Maybe it will shed some light on what happened here.”
Doesn’t belong to them? What in the world did that mean? And how could he tell? All zombie flesh looked the same. Caleb’s head spun again. He glanced over at Samuel, whose face had gone white, his eyes wide. He had placed his hands over his mouth to keep quiet. The realization Samuel was probably right about government conspiracies and hiding the truth about zombies hit Caleb in the chest, making it hard to breathe. This really couldn’t be right.
The officers that had ventured into the woods rejoined the group. They reported finding the two dead regulars, then went back in to take them to the incinerators. A hand touched Caleb’s shoulder, and he pulled his gaze away from the path. The BZ waved her hand through the air, signaling for them to follow, and Caleb quietly tiptoed behind her and Samuel. He was convinced he was going to hate wherever they were going.
CHAPTER 5
Dizziness swept over Caleb, nausea gripped his stomach. Placing his hand on a tree, he steadied himself so he wouldn’t fall to the ground. Pain radiated through his arm. Through unfocused eyes, he glanced at the bite. Blood continued to flow from the wound, blackness snaked its way through his veins. The sickness was taking over. Whatever it was that made zombies was taking over his body. The thought made his knees weak, his vision went blurrier. He barely felt himself falling to his knees. After everything he had been through outside the city, he was going to die in a park. Talk about irony. Or was it Karma? Caleb couldn’t keep his thoughts straight to figure it out. He might have found it ironic if he could form a complete thought.
He shook his head to clear his vision. The fuzzy outlines of Samuel and the Big Zombie were a few steps in front of him. He needed to follow them, get … where? Where were they going? What was going to happen to him once they got there? Why hadn’t he stayed behind to let the authorities take him into custody? Why did he trust a BZ? Why did BZs even exist? His head started to pound. He had to keep moving. Using the tree, he attempted to pull himself up. His hand slipped on the bark, and he fell forward, right into blackness.
* * * *
A click sounded behind Caleb, the distinct sound of a gun slide being pulled back and chambering a round. He glanced over his shoulder. The room was dark, so he couldn’t see the person behind him, but sensed him. The man’s body heat radiated through the back of Caleb’s shirt; the scent of sweat, dirt, and dried blood entered his nostrils. Caleb tightened his grip on his gun. The metal was warm. It was hard for him to tell where his flesh ended and the metal began. His breathing came in rasps, the warm humid air around him condensed and ran down his spine. In the distance, footsteps sounded—barely audible. Had he imagined them? After a few minutes, they grew louder, multiplied. A steady thump, thump, thump of feet on concrete approached, coming from what sounded like hundreds of people. A knot developed in Caleb’s stomach. It was possible there were at least a hundred, but he suspected there were more. Lots more. He adjusted the grip on his gun and made ready to fire. The comfort he normally felt when the firearm was in his grasp wasn’t there. It felt light, useless. The footsteps drew closer.
A metal clang resounded through the room. They had made it to the metal door. A rhythmic pounding starting. Clang, clang, clang, clang, clang. Repeating over and over, occasionally accompanied by low moaning. Caleb bit his lip. Darkness surrounded him, blanketing him in comfort, protecting him. If the light illuminated him, he would die. He hoped the darkness would never leave.
He shifted uneasily, hoping to get himself into a better position if the door gave way. A hand touched his shoulder, squeezing slightly. The touch was comforting, yet full a fear. The fingers shook slightly, the grip lost some of its strength. Caleb wanted to say something reassuring,
tell his father everything was going to be all right, but he didn’t want to lie. The clanging continued, growing more and more demanding. A shard of light pierced into the room, near the top of the door. Caleb’s heart skipped a beat. The hand left his shoulder, the body pressed closer to his, the muscles stiffening. Caleb felt his own muscles tighten, his finger twitched on the trigger, ready to fire. Another shard of light stabbed through the room, followed by another and another. Caleb’s face was illuminated, as was the empty expanse of room in front of him. Setting his jaw, he stared down the sight of his gun.
Boom! The door fell in. Caleb was blinded by whiteness. He blinked, trying to regain his vision. When he could see, a half-rotted skull was inches from his face, hissing and snapping for his flesh. Caleb sucked in a sharp breath and moved backward. His foot slipped out from underneath him, he fell to the floor. Warmth radiated through his back, followed by a stickiness.
Sweat beaded his forehead, an oppressive heat surrounded his body. He tried to wipe the perspiration from his brow, but his arm wouldn’t move. Panic gripped his chest. He sucked in a sharp breath and opened his eyes as wide as he could. Shards of light streamed all around him, illuminating the rotting flesh of the undead as they crowded around. Putrid bodies pressed against him, pinning his arms to the ground. They writhed and pulsated as they stuffed red, wet flesh into their mouths. Oh, God! Is that mine? He didn’t dare glance down at his body, but he had to know. Steeling his nerves, he held his breath and glanced down. The air rushed out of him in relief. His body was still intact. Who were they feasting upon? He turned his head. His nose almost touched the pale face of his father. The eyes were wide open, a look of horror covered his face. Caleb’s throat tightened, tears stung his eyes. He wanted to cry out, but he couldn’t risk drawing the zombies’ attention to him and suffering the same fate. He should have done more to save his dad. The door should have been barred better, they should have tried to escape like the others. Why had they stayed in that room? It was a death sentence. That’s right, Dad didn’t want to leave. He wanted to wait for reinforcements. Caleb couldn’t let him stay alone. He volunteered to be with him. He should have tried harder to convince him they couldn’t stay.
A zombie slithered over the top of him. Caleb barely felt the weight of the corpse, but the exposed ribs sliced across his flesh. He bit his bottom lip to keep from crying out. Why weren’t they attacking him? And how could it be so hot if zombies didn’t put off any body heat? He needed to get away. If they weren’t attacking him, maybe that meant he could escape. How? He was pinned to the floor. What if the zombies didn’t know he was there? What if he moved and that gave away his position? He could survive the ordeal if he just laid still and waited for the creatures to move on. As soon as the body was gone, they would leave. Presumably. Hopefully. But how long would it take? How long could he stand to watch the crimson liquid drip down their chins, smell the iron tang of blood, knowing it was his father they were consuming? Maybe he should just close his eyes, pretend it wasn’t happening. Soon enough, they would go away. He followed his own advice and shut his eyes.
The gesture didn’t help. All it did was heighten the sound of slurping and chomping. His Dad’s dead eyes and horrified look dominated his mind’s eye. Every time a zombie moved over him, he wondered if they were finally coming after him. Would he open his eyes to see a rotting face in front of him? The heat grew in intensity. Sweat ran down the sides of his head. His throat went dry, breathing became difficult. His stomach cramped, the bile rose into his throat. He couldn’t stay any longer. He had to get out. So be it if the zombies came after him. It was the risk he was willing to take to escape.
How was he going to get away? His hands were pinned to his sides, he couldn’t grab anything to pull out his weight. He wiggled slightly, hoping the movement would move the undead enough to free his hand. The zombie turned toward him, hissing and opening its mouth. Caleb’s heart skipped a beat. His wiggling increased, fear and adrenaline coursed through his veins. The creature slithered closer, blood and small chunks of flesh dripped from its teeth. Caleb’s attempt to free himself increased, a cry escaped his lips. The undead was inches from him, ready to sink its teeth into his neck. Caleb readied himself for the pain.
A hand grabbed the top of his head, rough and overly large. It jerked upward, freeing Caleb from the tangle of rotting limbs and snapping teeth. Relief should have flowed through him, he should have been happy, but the only thing that ran through his mind was what was big enough and strong enough to pull him free of that mess? He turned his head slightly, not really wanting to find out but needing to satiate his curiosity, when his gaze fell on a zombie the size of a house. Its mouth was open wide, its hand lifting Caleb farther into the sky, until he dangled over the open maw. Caleb screamed and clawed at the rotting fingers. They opened, and Caleb plunged downward.
* * * *
Caleb bolted upright, hiccupping in deep breaths. Oxygen wouldn’t enter his lungs. It felt like a belt was tightening around his chest. It wouldn’t expand to take in air. He gasped in a long breath, but it did no good. Fear surged through him as the thought of suffocating crossed his mind. He stood, jumping up and down to aid the air along, but only succeeded in making himself dizzy. He collapsed back onto the bed, still gasping for breath. Right when he thought he would pass out again, his breathing slowed, and he inhaled large breaths.
As his body regulated, he stared at the ceiling. He consciously made the effort to breathe in through his nose and exhale slowly through his mouth. He pushed the images from the nightmare away. There was no reason to replay them; it might throw him into another attack. When he calmed down, he glanced around the room. He didn’t recognize his surroundings, which worried him. He was supposed to wake up in his own bed from the horrible nightmare that was RBZs, BZs, and getting bitten. Instead, he had a bandage on his arm and lay on a cot. The room was sparsely decorated, with a dresser at the foot of the cot and nothing else. The walls were smooth gray concrete, and the single bulb in the middle of the ceiling was off, but the room wasn’t completely dark. Light came through a small square window high on the wall. Even standing on the cot and jumping, he wouldn’t be able to reach it. But if didn’t matter. It was too small for him to fit through anyway. It almost looked like a furnace vent, except it lit the room in a soft, bluish-white glow. If he didn’t know better, he would say he was in a bunker.
It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d been in a place like this. But unlike before, the undead weren’t pounding down the door. Throwing his legs over the side of the cot, he sat up and stared at his arm. How long would it be before he turned? How long had it been already? Hopefully, the door to his room was locked so when he did, he couldn’t get out and hurt anyone. His gaze drifted to the metal door. There was no window, so if someone wanted to observe him, they couldn’t. There was a handle, but maybe that was just for the convenience of whoever to get back out. Surely he couldn’t come and go as he pleased. He glanced around the room again, taking in the corners of the ceiling, looking for cameras. Nothing. If someone wanted to watch his change, the only way they could do it was through a camera. But there weren’t any. Caleb frowned. Where was he? What was going on?
He decided to take a chance. If the room wasn’t going to give him answers, maybe outside of it would. Assuming he could get out the door. He took the two steps across the room and reached for the handle. Again, his gaze drifted to the bandage on his arm. If no one else seemed worried about him changing and attacking them, maybe he shouldn’t be either. He grasped the cool handle and pulled. Surprisingly, the door opening smoothly and silently. He looked out into a common room filled with long metal tables and benches. At the far end of the room were two large windows that opened into a kitchen. That confirmed it, he was in a bunker of some kind.
To his right, speaking silently at a table were Samuel and some guy he didn’t recognize. The BZ leaned against the wall, staring off into space, her remaining hand on her shoulder, as if to p
rotect the missing limb—or maybe mourning it. Caleb had no idea what was running through the creature’s head. He stepped into the room. His footsteps caused Samuel and the man to look up.
“Oh, thank goodness you’re all right!” Samuel stood from the table and approached Caleb. He held his arms out to the sides like he was going to hug him.
Caleb held his hand out to stop his coworker. “What’s going on? Where am I?”
Samuel turned to the man at the table, slight hurt covering his face that he couldn’t embrace Caleb.
The man at the table smiled and stood. He held out his hand. “Caleb, my name is Matt Panton.”
Caleb shook the man’s hand. Something about that name seemed familiar. He heard it before somewhere. He searched his memory but came up with nothing.
“I used to be the head surgeon for the Army,” Matt volunteered.
Recognition sparked in Caleb. There were stories about the Army and their fight against the undead. They had been what encouraged numerous civilians into action to help fight the war. With soldiers falling in ridiculous numbers to zombies, Matt and his team had perfected amputations to keep the disease from spreading. The access they had to the undead gave them the capability to be the first to study the creatures to try to figure out what caused the epidemic. Matt worked on the project until the industry became privatized, but he wouldn’t be surprised if the man was still involved somehow.
Caleb lifted his bandaged arm. “Why is my arm still attached?”
Matt smiled. “Now that is something we need to talk about.” He gestured to the table. “Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything?”
Caleb sat at the table and asked for some water. Matt complied, then took a seat across from Caleb. Samuel took the seat right next to Caleb.
Matt folded his hands on the tabletop and leaned forward. “I didn’t remove your limb because there was no threat of infection from the bite.”
Saving Humanity Series (Book 1): Humanity's Hope Page 6
