by Paul Seiple
"Nothing."
A tear trickling down Sarah's cheek told a different story. Melanie took Sarah's hand and stopped walking.
"What is it?"
Sarah sniffled, pulled her hand from Melanie's, and walked ahead. Melanie let her get a few steps before following. She didn't say anything, just walked behind Sarah.
"You don't have to follow me. I know my way around this shithole," Sarah said.
"I'm not following you. I'm going to take a nap before watch. If you don't want to talk, you don't have to.”
Sarah stopped. "Do you know what today is?"
"It's October the fourteenth," Melanie said.
"Two years ago, my dad got sick." Sarah faced Melanie. "He killed my mom and my brother. I shouldn't have shot him. I should have let him kill me too."
"I didn't know that," Melanie said.
"It doesn't matter, and please don't tell me you're sorry. Do you know how many people have told me they are sorry I lost my family? It doesn't do a fucking thing to make it better. It doesn't make the nightmares stop."
"I wasn't going to say I'm sorry," Melanie said.
"Bullshit."
"Believe what you want. I know how you feel. I lost my parents. And I had to kill someone I cared about too."
"What?"
"He was my boyfriend. He hid an important fact from me. He was a serial killer. I only found out when he tried to murder me," Melanie said.
"No shit?"
"Most of the people here have witnessed horrors that will always be with them. Some won't make it. The tough ones will," Melanie said.
"I don't feel tough. Some days I want to walk past those gates and give up," Sarah said.
"So why don't you?" Melanie asked.
"Huh?"
"What keeps you from giving up?" Melanie asked.
"I don't know," Sarah said.
"I know. It's your toughness. You want to live. You wouldn't have shot your father if you didn't," Melanie said.
A scream interrupted the conversation.
"Watch out, Ben," Annie said.
A man tumbled towards Ben. His cheekbone was visible through decayed gray flesh on the left side of his face. The tip of his tongue was missing. He flicked what was left like a frog zoning in on an insect. He opened and shut his mouth with enough force to shatter a few teeth.
"How the hell did a JV get in here?" Steven asked, grabbing Ben and tossing him out of the man's way.
Ben sprang to his knees and then to his feet. He snatched a rock and aimed for the head. The rock lodged into the man's forehead. It didn't slow him down. The dead man moved closer to Annie. She screamed.
"Hey, asshole, I've got more meat on my bones," Steven said as he punched the back of the man's head.
The dead man stunned Steven with his quickness as he swung around and latched on to the kid's wrist. Steven jerked back. The man held on and lowered his mouth to Steven's wrist. Steven pressed against the man's forehead, keeping his teeth inches from his flesh.
A woman with grayish skin and patches of long blonde hair grabbed Annie from behind. She screamed again. Ben pushed the dead woman to the ground and kicked her in the face. There was a sickening crack and the woman's neck contorted. She tried to stand, but Ben placed his foot on her back and forced her face down.
"Hit her in the head with something," Ben said.
"With what?" Annie said.
"I don't know. A fucking rock or something," Ben said.
"Watch out," Sarah said, rushing by Annie. She shoved a knife into the back of the woman's head.
Melanie hit the dead man fighting with Steven on the side of the head with a thick branch. It gave enough pause for Steven to slip out from underneath him. Sarah plunged the knife into the top of the man's head. Steven dropped to his knees to catch his breath.
"Did he bite you?" Melanie asked.
Steven shook his head.
"Did any of you get bitten?" Melanie.
"No," Ben said.
"How did those things get in?" Annie asked.
"Is everyone OK?" Roger said, running around the corner of the barn. "I heard screaming."
"The dead got in," Melanie said.
"Not just them," a man wearing a ski mask said as he placed the barrel of a rifle into the middle of Roger's back. "Let's have a little quiet time, or this poor bastard is going to have a bad night."
Another man wearing all black and a ski mask pointed a revolver at Steven. "Get up and move over there with the other kids. And you..." He pointed the gun at Sarah. "... drop the knife and join your friends."
Sarah looked at Melanie.
"It's OK, drop it," Melanie said.
Sarah dropped the knife and moved next to Annie. Another masked man came from the side of the barn.
"We need to get out of here now. Two, armed with shotguns, are right behind me."
"You get over here," the masked man with the gun in Roger's back said to Melanie.
"Make it fast or I'll shoot the kids," another masked man said.
"Don't do it, Melanie," Sarah said.
"It will be OK," Melanie said. "Just don't do anything stupid."
Melanie moved toward the intruders. One grabbed her left arm and jammed a pistol in her side.
"Walk," he said.
Two masked men shuffled Melanie and Roger away from the kids while the third walked backwards keeping watch of the children.
"One move and I'll shoot every one of you," he said.
The kids stood helpless as two of the masked men scaled the fence. A third pushed Roger and then Melanie over the fence before turning back to the children. He aimed his pistol and said, "Bang" before climbing over the fence.
Fifteen
Faint carnival music was the soundtrack for Melanie's misery. Her temples throbbed. Stabbing pain poked the back of her eyes. The smell of popcorn meant she had to be dreaming. She hadn't tasted popcorn since a month or so before the virus hit Black Dog. That was at least two and half years ago.
Melanie rolled on her side. An ache pierced her shoulder, jarring her awake. She was surrounded by four dark painted concrete walls. Melanie lay on top of a thin piece of foam, maybe a mattress topper. Her legs were draped with a tattered blue blanket. But there was that distinctive aroma.
Popcorn.
"Where the hell am I?"
Her memories started to return. Winston. The masked men. Roger.
"Roger?"
"He ain't here."
The man's voice radiated through a small slot in a metal door, not much different from the ones used for mail.
"Where's Roger?" Melanie asked.
There was no reply. She struggled to get to her feet. Melanie's knees were weak, her legs tingled. She braced against the wall. Her head swam. The only time Melanie felt like this was when she had a few too many Jell-O shots in college.
"What did you give me?" Melanie asked, not expecting an answer.
"It'll wear off soon."
"Where's Roger?"
"Lady, I told you, he ain't here."
"Who are you?"
"You ask too many damn questions."
"Why am I being held here?" Melanie asked.
"And you don't listen. You'll get your answers soon enough. I'm just here to make sure you don't esc..." The man caught himself. "... leave."
Melanie used the wall for support. She inched her way around the room. There was no denying that this eight-by-eight box was a prison cell. She wasn't going anywhere. The coldness of the concrete stung the soles of her feet as she rested and regained breath.
"Where are my shoes?" Melanie asked.
"We took 'em."
"And why?"
"So you wouldn't run away."
Melanie looked around the room and chuckled. The metal door was the only way in and out. There were no vents. No windows.
"Don't you think that was a bit of overkill? There is no way for me to get out here," Melanie said.
"Precautions. Are you thirsty? You probably
are."
Melanie opened and closed her mouth. Her lips stuck together. Her mouth was dry as if she had sucked a cotton ball.
"I'm not taking anything from you. You've already drugged me," Melanie said.
"Water is clean. You were tranquilized."
Melanie rubbed her neck. That's why it's sore, she thought.
"You have to be thirsty."
"I'm fine," Melanie said as her mind tempted her with thought of a glass of ice water.
"Suit yourself. But you're going to be here awhile."
"How long?"
"As long as Maestro decides to keep you here. Could be forever. You'll need water at some point."
"Maestro?"
"He leads this place."
"What is this place?" Melanie asked.
"You ask too many damn questions, lady."
"I like to know who kidnaps me and where they take me," Melanie asked.
"Save your questions. You'll get them answered soon enough."
"What are you going to do with us?" Roger said, shifting to his left. His right side hurt. His ribs ached, making breathing a chore.
"I'd say the future doesn't look too good for you. You weren't the one Maestro wanted. You're kinda like excess baggage," Miles said.
"What the hell is a Maestro?" Roger asked.
Miles laughed and stood up from the table. He turned his back to Roger and locked his fingers behind his neck. "Maestro is the savior of the dying world."
"Oh, so you have this Jesus thing?" Roger asked.
Miles sat down and leaned over the table to face Roger. His breath was tainted with the smell of cigarettes and cheap whiskey, an odor that Roger knew all too well before things went bad. The outbreak helped Roger kick both habits. Alcohol was harder than cigarettes. The smell of smoke nauseated Roger. The hint of whiskey made him remember how alcohol numbed his pain. Granted, the pain used to be emotional after his wife left, but it did such a good job of numbing his thoughts, he was sure enough whiskey would do the same thing for his physical pain. Roger rubbed his ribs just under his right arm.
"Yeah, sorry about that. You put up quite a fight when we separated you from your girlfriend. True love is such a wonderful thing to watch."
Roger thought about correcting Miles but decided not to for Melanie's safety.
"She's a firecracker. Is she one in bed too?" Miles asked.
"Where is she?" Roger asked.
"She's safe."
"Why did you take her?" Roger asked.
"Maestro wanted her. What Maestro wants, Maestro gets."
"I was wrong. Not Jesus. A God complex," Roger said.
Miles smiled, exposing a split in his bottom lip. A speck of dry blood rested in the crease of his mouth.
"So you're a sheep who worships a false god, huh?" Roger said.
The smile grew bigger. "I know what you're trying to do. It won't work. I'm not going to react to your words."
"Something riled you up to get that gash in your lip," Roger said.
"I got in a fight with my brother, Gary. You know him, right?"
Roger remained silent.
"Gary? The guy who showed up at your nice little compound a few weeks ago?"
"Gary helped you kidnap us?" Roger asked.
"Technically, yes, but if it makes it any better, he was reluctant." Miles leaned over the table again. "I think he had a crush on your girlfriend."
Pain radiated from Roger's ribs to the underside of his arm and up to his shoulder. He moved his arm in a circular motion in an attempt to alleviate the ache.
"We roughed you up pretty good, but hey, you don't look like much of a fighter. You surprised Big Al. He probably took it a bit too far. He's more brawn than brains," Miles said.
"Fucking Gary," Roger said.
"Well, at least you don't have to worry about him anymore. I took care of him," Miles said.
"You killed him?"
"Had to. It hurt. He was my brother. Well, not by blood. But he betrayed me. Oh well, that's life."
Roger moved his left foot. His ankles were shackled to a loop in the floor with chains. He wanted to lunge at Miles but knew it was impossible.
"But he was your brother," Roger said, hoping to get Miles to open up. Opening up meant vulnerability and that would be an opening to attack.
"Brothers don't turn their backs on each other. Gary nearly got me killed back there. My life is more important to me than Gary's."
Miles flashed a hunting knife at Roger. Blood smeared the blade. Miles inspected it with a satisfied eye. He felt no remorse for gutting a close friend. Gary warned the others at the compound of the kidnapping and then got in the way of the escape. It left Miles with no choice. He did take the time to pierce Gary's brain so that he wouldn't turn. Miles gave Gary "Heaven," as Maestro called it.
"What about this Maestro guy? Is your life more important that his?" Roger asked.
Miles smiled again. "Maestro would never betray me." He slid the knife back into a sheath.
Roger smiled. It quickly turned into a wince. "You didn't answer my question."
Miles leaned forward again. "Maestro is the reason I have a life now."
Roger saw his chance. He lunged and grabbed the back of Miles’s head and slammed his face into the table. Roger punched Miles behind the ear. Again, and again. Miles's hands flailed as he tried to grab Roger's wrists. Roger snatched a handful of hair and slammed Miles into the table again. A snapping sound was followed by a piece of one of Miles's teeth sliding across the table. Roger lifted Miles's head. Miles finally grasped Roger's wrist. Miles's face was barely recognizable beneath the blood and the crooked nose. The sight stunned Roger. It was all Miles needed to retaliate. He flung his body forward, landing a punch against the side of Roger's face. The force sent Roger toppling over the back of the chair. Miles's momentum carried him on top of Roger. He threw a right, and then a left. Roger was out cold, defenseless. Miles kept hitting him.
"What the hell are you doing?"
A man took Miles by his shoulders, lifting him off of Roger.
"The bastard tried to kill me. I'm returning the favor," Miles said. He slurred his words as he tried to fight through the thick blood pooling in his mouth.
"Shit, man."
Miles broke free and kicked Roger in the ribs. He drew his leg back to land another boot, but the man tackled him.
"Get the fuck off me, Sam. I'm going to kill this motherfu..."
"You will do no such thing."
The voice was deep and assertive. Sam let go of Miles, who slid across the floor on his butt.
"Will someone please tell me how this peaceful conversation turned into a brawl?"
"I... just... got here," Sam said, getting to his feet. "I tried to stop Miles."
"Leave, Sam."
"Yes, Maestro."
Maestro stood nearly six-foot-five. His long, black hair needed a wash, but he purposely kept it dirty. He wore a jeans jacket with the sleeves torn off. The variety of tattoos on his skinny arms made them look like sketchpads. He stepped forward, placing his size sixteen Doc Martens next to Roger's face.
"Why did you fail me, Miles?" Maestro asked.
"I didn't..."
Maestro placed a gloved finger over Miles's lips and pressed, knowing it would be painful. "What have I told you?"
"I am responsible for my own actions. I cannot control what others do," Miles said.
"Not totally correct, but close enough, given the situation," Maestro said.
"He attacked me," Miles said.
Maestro pushed Roger with his foot and sat down in a chair. "How could a shackled man attack you?"
"I let down my guard, sir, and leaned over the table," Miles said.
Maestro extended a hand to help Miles to his feet. He wrapped his foot around the leg of another chair and slid it towards Miles. "That's not the right answer."
Miles eased onto the chair. The throbbing in his nose caused double vision. He ran his tongue over the jagged break in hi
s tooth. Miles wanted nothing more than to make Roger suffer slow torture until he begged for death, but that was not what Maestro wanted. He wanted Miles to learn from this mistake.
"I gave my control to an outside force," Miles said.
"And what does Marcus Aurelius teach us about situations like this?"
"My strength will come from realizing the power over my mind, not outside events," Miles said.
"Exactly. I have no doubt that man goaded you to react. He was smarter than you. He used his words to control your mind. You leaned in close enough for him to attack you."
"Why didn't we secure his arms?" Miles asked.
"Are you questioning my leadership?" Maestro paused to flash a smirk. "Your face wouldn't look like minced meat if you didn't let something out of your control rule you. It has nothing to do with the prisoner's arms being secured or not."
"Yes, sir."
"Not securing the prisoner's arms makes him a better guest," Maestro said.
Roger stirred. His cough stole attention the conversation.
"Sam, get our guest the medical attention he needs," Maestro said.
Sam ran back into the room and reached for Roger.
"Guest?" Roger tried to laugh but could only cough again. He spit blood on the floor and cleared his throat. "This is top-notch hospitality."
"See, Miles, our guest cannot do anything about his situation or what has happened to him. He can only control how he reacts, and he is using a sense of humor," Maestro said.
"He gets medical attention, but I don't?" Miles asked.
Maestro stood up and placed his hand on Miles's shoulder. He leaned in and whispered, "You fucked up, Miles. You need to suffer a little."
Sixteen
"Tell me everything. Don't leave out anything."
"I've told you everything I saw, James. We were messing around when two JVs attacked us. Sarah and Melanie came to help. Then those masked men grabbed Roger and Melanie," Ben said.
"And you?" James asked as he pointed at Sarah.
"That's it. They told me to drop the knife. I wanted to fight, but Melanie asked me to cooperate, so I did."
"All right, James, I have a group ready to go out and look for them," Oli Murphy said.
