He glanced up and down the street and behind him. His gaze eventually drifted to the city, and he imagined the search crews were on their way. Would the RBZs be with them? How many people would be searching for him? Taking a deep breath, he jogged away from the Jeep and headed behind the houses in front of him. With a knot in his stomach and sweaty palms, he headed toward the walls of the ghetto, keeping an eye out for the perfect shelter along the way.
CHAPTER 12
Caleb found a house about three blocks from the ghetto that would work. Aside from some peeling paint and a couple broken windows on the first floor, the building was intact and structurally sound. After making a sweep of the house—a habit from the before days—to determine it was safe, he checked on supplies. He didn’t think he’d find anything. The area had been pillaged long ago for anything of value. Food, clothing, weapons, kitchen items, all of those things would be gone. On the plus side, the area was still attached to the water main that served the city center, so he had that luxury. Water would be nice. Every so often, things were overlooked and proclaimed as useless. Garden tools usually topped that list. In the city, they were pretty useless, but out in the wilds, they made excellent weapons. Shovels, hoes, pitchforks, hedge trimmers, and trowels were awesome in a pinch. They could stand up to several blows and were sharp enough to take down a zombie, and they were usually lightweight. They were also silent. The only downside to them was Caleb had to be close to the undead to kill it. It wasn’t a place he liked to be, but between the choice of a garden tool and nothing, he’d take the tool.
He had been lucky and found a hoe in the garage. He didn’t really have to worry about zombies while outside the wall, but he would feel tons better having it with him in the ghetto. It could also come in handy against his pursuers, but he really hoped he wouldn’t have to use it against the living. Still, it was better to be prepared. Caleb doubted the hoe would have any effect against an RBZ, but—again—he felt better having it.
After making his sweep, he settled into an upstairs bedroom that had a small deck on the outside and an attached bathroom with a window. Should the need arise, he had several ways to escape. He found some old sheets in the closet and fashioned them into a rope he secured to the toilet. He didn’t drop the rest out the window—he didn’t want to raise suspicion—but it was ready if he needed it. He then settled into the corner of the room that afforded him a view of the door, the balcony, and the bathroom and angled the dresser so he was hidden but could still easily escape. He found some coffee mugs with lids in the kitchen and filled them with water. He also found a backpack with a ripped strap and broken zipper. Using some old shoelaces, he put the water inside and tied the bag shut. He hoped he wouldn’t be in the ghetto for long, but he didn’t want to be unprepared. Since water was the most crucial element of survival, he wanted to make sure he had some. He’d never been in the ghetto. He’d never even seen it until he was driving toward it. It was one of those places he never planned to visit. It was funny how things worked out. He had no idea what to expect when he got there, and that was making him incredibly uneasy.
After getting his supplies in order, he stretched out on the floor. He felt slightly dizzy, and his muscles trembled slightly. The cause could have been from any number of things from nervousness to excitement to lack of food to the zombie bite. All of the possibilities had their downside and reminded him of why he was in this situation. He didn’t want to think about any of them. He just wanted to rest.
Placing his arm under his head, he closed his eyes. They twitched and fluttered, trying to pop back open. His stomach tingled, and his mind replayed the events from the last few days. What could he have done differently? Was there any path that didn’t lead to where he was now? He hoped no one else was going to die because of him, especially Dr. Bentley. Maybe he should go back and turn himself in. Would he actually be able to save the world from the undead threat? He sighed with frustration and readjusted, folding his hands together over his chest. Taking deep breaths, he tried to clear his mind off all thoughts using the meditation technique the psychiatrist had taught him. But they wouldn’t go away. Darkness enshrouded his mind, taking over his thoughts.
You’re right where you need to be. The voice from the darkness was soft and strangely comforting. But you need to keep going. This is your chance to disappear.
Caleb placed his fists on his forehead and gritted his teeth, as if the action would squeeze the voice out of his head. That would actually make things so much easier and nicer. He envisioned the blackness running out of his ears like a thick tar and puddling on the floor next to him. The light would then be able to move in, and he would be able to face his situation with clarity and self-confidence. He wouldn’t second-guess himself. He would be free. A soft chuckling echoed through his mind—so soft he wasn’t sure he actually heard it. He just wanted to relax! He just wanted to find the answers, then decide what he was going to do with his life. It didn’t need to be complicated, and it certainly shouldn’t have been up for debate—especially with himself. He had to do this. End of story.
A slight calmness settled over him. His breathing became rhythmic, the darkness seemed less oppressive. His stomach stopped tingling, but the other symptoms remained. Still, it was enough for his brain to quiet down, and his eyelids settled closed. He folded his hands back on his chest and continued to take deep even breaths.
* * * *
Caleb held the knife in front of his face. Small flecks of dust covered the shiny surface, a piece of lint from his pocket was caught in the hinge. Using his thumb and forefinger, he picked out the piece of lint, then ran his digits down the length of the blade to clean it. He tested the sharpness with his fingertips as he did. The metal thinned to a strong but deadly edge. The tip was pointed and could pierce flesh with the slightest effort. The blade was only 4 inches long, but it was able to accomplish most of the tasks Caleb needed it to do. It was the perfect choice for the one at hand.
Caleb’s dad had given him the pocket knife for his 15th birthday. He’d made it himself. It was a hobby of his, something he did in the evenings after Caleb and his sister had gone to bed. His dad had put the knife together from spare parts—he didn’t have the tools to grind his own blades or do the metal work for the frames—but most people couldn’t tell. The craftsmanship was exquisite. The handle was made from a pine tree that had died in their back yard. The pale wood had darker rings running through the grain, giving it a swirling pattern. Dad cut the wood so it fit perfectly onto the metal frame, then coated it in a thick, clear lacquer for strength. He’d oiled the hinge so the blade opened and closed smoothly, snapping into place with a click. Caleb never went anywhere without it.
Memories of the day he received the gift caused his chest to tighten, his throat constricted. The pain was intense. He curled forward to relieve some of the hurt.
“Ah,” he cried softly.
The ache ran deep. It was coupled with a hollow sensation that originated in his chest and spread out to the rest of his body, leaving him feeling cold and empty. Loneliness pressed on his shoulders.
You should have tried harder to save them. If you had been more insistent, they would still be here.
His chest tightened further, goosebumps rose on his flesh. He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. With every beat of his heart, a dull ache traveled across his chest. He wanted to cry. He wanted deep sobs to wrack his body and tears to swell his eyes shut. That was how he’d spent the first week after his father met his fate, but there were no tears left. There was only pain, guilt, and loneliness.
You weren’t strong enough to save him. You failed. It’s time to pay your penance.
A numbness settled over Caleb’s body. His jaw relaxed, his eyes opened slowly. His shoulders slouched more. His gaze fell on the shiny metal of the blade.
End the pain. Release the guilt. Be with your family again.
Caleb placed the point of the knife on the inside of his wrist. There was no hesitatio
n, no second thoughts, only the burn as the edge cut into his flesh. He switched the handle to his other hand and placed the blade against his other wrist, repeating the action. This time, it was harder because he couldn’t grasp the knife tightly. The pain burned all the way to his fingertips.
The blood pooled briefly on his wrists, then flowed in streams of crimson. The knife clanked onto the sink counter, and Caleb slowly lowered his wrists into the water that sat in the sink. The heat caused the pain to flare up to his elbows. He cringed, tempted to jerk his hands out of the water.
You don’t deserve to live. You can’t handle the pain of loss and get rid of the guilt. This is your only choice.
His hands sunk deeper into the water. Dizziness swept over him. His knees gave out, and he went down, his chest leaning on the edge of the sink and keeping him upright. The water changed from pink to red to black. The darkness filled his vision until it overtook him.
*
His body twitched, sending tendrils of pain from his shoulders down his back and into his legs. His muscles tensed, causing the pain to increase tenfold. He groaned and tried to pull himself into a ball. As he pulled his hands to his chest, they were stopped short, and a tugging sensation radiated from the backs of both hands. Confused, he attempted to open his eyes.
Whiteness flooded in, causing them to water and snap closed. He attempted to blink, a task that proved oddly difficult. His eyelids felt like they had been tied shut. After a few moments, he was able to crack them open so they could adjust to the light. As his gaze came into focus, the first thing he noticed were the white bandages wrapped around his wrists. He turned his hands over to look at the IV needles stabbed into his veins.
“No,” he whispered. “How can this be?”
The hollow feeling in his chest flared, a chill flooded his body all the way to his toes. He placed his hands flat on the bed next to his body and averted his gaze to the tiled ceiling. A soft, bitter laugh escaped his lips. The world had all but been destroyed. Humanity was on the brink of destruction, and zombies were roaming the earth. Caleb had lost everything. The only thing he had left was his debilitating guilt and sorrow. He had been achingly alone. He resolved himself to his fate, was ready to end his pain and suffering.
Yet, before he could fall into sweet oblivion, be released from the unending torment that was his life, someone found him and saved him. What were the chances? He took in a shaky breath, then bit his lower lip. How was he going to live with himself?
* * * *
Muffled shouts pulled Caleb’s eyes open. For a moment, he stared at the ceiling and strained his ears. He turned his head, half-expecting to see the pale face and lifeless eyes of his father next to him, but they fell onto the emptiness of the bedroom. The shadows had traveled a short way across the floor, so he knew he had rested for a few hours. He didn’t feel like he had slept, but he felt relaxed.
The shouts sounded again, followed by a pounding and a revving engine. His brain finally registered what was going on. People were outside. In vehicles. No doubt it was the search party looking for him. Caleb’s heart thudded against his ribs, and he fought the urge to look out the window. The voices sounded close—almost outside the window—and he couldn’t risk being seen. He eyed the balcony for several moments, then let his gaze drift to the inside door. Those were the two most logical places someone would come from. All was quiet. Should he risk leaving the house? At the moment, they had no idea where he was, but if he moved, that could give him away. Where would he run then? He hated just lying on the floor, but in the present situation, it was all he could do.
The pounding sounded again. This time it was apparent it was the sound of a door being kicked in. From the loudness, it was the front door of the house he was hiding in. Caleb’s whole body jerked. He sucked in his lower lip to keep the sharp breath he took from being heard. As silently as possible, he rolled onto his stomach. With his left hand, he grabbed the strap of his backpack, and with this right, the handle of the hoe. He positioned himself with his hands next to his body, ready to push himself up onto his feet. His muscles tensed again, but this time, they were ready to run.
Footsteps thumped up the stairs. It sounded like two different sets. Caleb’s palms began to sweat. His arms twitched. His gaze was glued to the bedroom door. The booted feet made it to the top of the stairs, then separated into different directions. One set entered the room. Caleb’s heart was pounding so fast, he thought for sure the person would feel it through the floor. He held his breath. Surely that small sound would be enough to give him away. Caleb only saw the feet as they stepped around the room from the balcony door into the bathroom and stopped in front of the dresser he was hiding behind. He stared at those boots—the black laces that were frayed ever so slightly on the ends and had white showing through as they crisscrossed down the foot. There was a scuff mark on the inside right boot, and the tread on the front left was worn down. They were going to move again, but this time they were going to come around the dresser and grab him. With the wear and tear, he doubted these boots belonged to Hale, they wouldn’t have matched his dress pants and shirt that Caleb had seen him in, but they could have been on the feet of one of his officers. Hale had an army working for him. He could send whoever out to get Caleb. Slowly, he let out the breath he had been holding.
Run! Get out of here!
Caleb’s arms twitched again and were ready to push him up, but he knew he would be caught if he did. He had to focus on keeping his breathing soft and controlled. His skin became prickly, adrenaline coursed through his body. Nerves tingled his stomach, and it felt like his skeleton was ready to burst out of his flesh. He didn’t think it was possible, but his heart beat faster. Dizziness washed over him, sweat dripped into the carpet with a plink, plink sound.
They’re going to find you. You have to go. Now! NOW!
The squeak of wood on wood and the slam of drawers sounded above him and next to him. It happened rapidly six times, then all went silent. Suddenly, the boots turned and hurried out of the room into the hall. The second set of feet met up with the first, then the two sets of feet hurried downstairs. He heard a loud, “Clear!” then the pounding and engine sounds moved down the street.
Inhaling a silent breath, he painstakingly pushed himself up. His muscles quaked and threatened to dump him on the floor. He wanted to let them but was afraid the thump would give away his position. Pressed against the wall, he risked a glance outside the window. There was a group of six people dressed in jeans and t-shirts carrying bags on either side of the road heading into the houses. A white van drove slowly down the middle of the road. They had to be scavengers. There was no way they were part of the group looking for him. They would have found him. Any person with even the slightest tracking training would have noticed that the dresser had been recently moved and the rope made from sheets in the bathroom was out of place. Also, they wouldn’t have left without searching every nook and cranny.
Caleb knew he was lucky, but he doubted that would hold out for much longer. Apparently, the suburbs weren’t as deserted as he assumed they were. How could he be sure there weren’t more crews? He didn’t know what they were looking for, so he had no idea how often they were out. Now wasn’t the time to leave, however. He risked being seen. Even if the scavenger crew wasn’t specifically looking for him, he didn’t need them reporting an odd sighting to anyone. He would wait until they moved on, then head for the ghetto. Sneaking in during the day wasn’t part of his plan, but with current happenings, he had to be flexible.
He watched the crews head into the houses down the street and then emerge yelling, “Clear!”
What were they looking for? He assumed that these places had been cleared of anything valuable. He hadn’t found much in this particular house. Sure, there were still a few things inside, but nothing they didn’t already have in the city. If he had the time, energy, or desire, he would have followed them to find out. But one mystery at a time was all he could handle.
; The van turned the corner at the end of the street, and the people followed behind it. Thankfully, they were headed away from the ghetto, so that made his escape that much easier. He looked at his supplies. As much as he hated to do it, he had to travel quickly, so that meant traveling light. He pulled the water out of the bag and downed the liquid. It made his stomach extend in slightly painful fashion, but he needed to be hydrated. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be without water for long. For now, though, he just had to move. Grabbing the hoe, Caleb headed for the deck and hurried into the back yard. He stopped at the corner of the house and surveyed his surroundings. The thump of doors being kicked in was still audible, followed by the crew’s shouts, but they were becoming more distant. Crouching low and using anything and everything he could for cover, Caleb headed for the ghetto.
Kneeling behind a rusted out husk of a car, Caleb once again took in his surroundings. He was directly across the street from the wall; his mouth had gone dry while his palms began to sweat. The water would have come in handy at that moment, but he couldn’t regret his decision. His heartbeat echoed in his ears. This close, the wall looked more ominous than he imagined. The decorative stones that made up the original wall were reinforced with bricks and sheet metal, which was beginning to rust. Razor wire adorned the top, and cameras were placed on the power poles that surrounded the property. They faced both in and out of the area, and Caleb wondered if they had been there before the undead were ushered inside. Probably. It would have given the residents a sense of safety.
The sun was still a few hours away from setting, and Caleb still had the option of waiting for darkness to sneak in. He hadn’t seen or heard anyone else on the streets. He hadn’t expected the razor wire. Zombies couldn’t climb. Maybe it was just there to make the humans feel better. There was something very intimidating about it. Whatever the reason, Caleb had to figure out a way to get over it, and that was going to take some time.
Saving Humanity Series (Book 1): Humanity's Hope Page 12
