Though I wasn’t sure Holly had found a way to charge her phone, I sent her a text anyway. Are you alive?
The message went through. I waited for a few minutes, hoping that Holly would answer. Nothing. I texted her the name and address of our building in case she and Griffin could make it there.
Once my phone was charged, I pulled Warnick aside. “I need to find Holly and Griffin.”
“Tomorrow. You need rest.”
He was wrong—I was ready. I tried to sleep but couldn’t, so I checked on Nina and the baby. I found her in the lunchroom on the first floor changing Evan’s diaper. The baby seemed calm and happy, gazing into her mother’s eyes the whole time.
“How much stuff have you got in that bag?” I said.
I took a seat at one of the small, round tables and watched as Nina put her baby’s clothes back on and washed her hands in the sink. She carried Evan to the table and sat across from me, stroking the baby’s cheek.
“You want to know what I was doing there,” she said.
“The thought crossed my mind.”
“It was stupid, I know. But I needed formula and diapers.” Her eyes teared up. “I knew I should’ve left with the rest of the neighbors, but I was so scared for Evan. I didn’t know what I’d find out on the road. So I barricaded myself in our condo.”
“Till you ran out of food,” I said.
“I thought Walmart would be deserted and I could run in and grab some supplies. Like I said, it was stupid.”
“Well, you succeeded.”
“Right. Then my car wouldn’t start.” She laughed, embarrassed. “Next thing I know, I’m surrounded by those things.”
“She’s beautiful.”
“Thanks.” She looked at me. “We’re not going to make it, are we?”
I didn’t know what to say. I could’ve been a man and given her a big speech. But it was a question that nagged at me too, one I kept pushing from my mind as I thought about Holly and Griffin.
“I don’t know,” I said. She nodded, almost in relief. “Where’s your husband?”
“In San Francisco. We separated for a while.”
“Doesn’t he care about you?”
“He tried coming back, but the roads were blocked. I need him here. What about your wife?”
I told her what had happened except for the part about me cheating on Holly.
“Holly’s lucky,” Nina said.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks, Dave. For saving us.” She kissed my cheek and left the room.
Sleep came immediately. The last thing I remember was sitting at the table and looking at my cell phone. Hoping to hear it ding. Praying that a long-awaited message from Holly would reach across the nightmare and give me strength.
When I awoke, Warnick was making coffee. I rose stiffly and checked my phone. Still no text from Holly.
Warnick and I stood by the large windows in the reception area, watching the morning come. Soldiers patrolled outside, and I felt safe. It was getting light out as I sipped my coffee. Warnick must’ve sensed that I was anxious to leave.
“I can’t go with you,” he said. “I have to be here with these men to make sure they stay on task.”
“What you mean is, you don’t trust Estrada.”
“She’s still on probation. I’ll assign a couple of men to go with you. That’s all I can spare.”
“I don’t even know where to start.”
“Start with where we were originally picked up by Chavez’s men. The girls might still be nearby.”
“Okay, that sounds good. Hey, make sure you keep your phone with you so I can contact you.”
“Sure.”
“What if I run into any nailheads?”
“Make sure you don’t.”
Brilliant blue daylight streamed through the adjacent buildings as I went out to the loading dock with Springer and Popp. Another soldier followed us to the door, ready to lock it once we were outside.
We took a Humvee. As we drove onto the main road, I looked up at the building, wondering if I would ever be back. In addition to Holly and Griffin, I thought about Nina and her baby and the other civilians.
That was the worst thing about these dark days—the uncertainty of every moment. No one ever thinks when they go somewhere that it may be the last time they’ll see their home or their loved ones. I’ll admit, there’s a certain feeling of freedom to it, not being tied down to anything. It’s how Jim and I saw Life in the thick of our drinking days. But it was a lonely feeling too.
I didn’t know what we would find out there. Part of me wanted to stay inside and survive with the others. Start a new life. The other part wanted to find my wife and the young girl whom I now thought of as my family.
WHAT WAS WORSE THAN DRAGGERS and the trail of death they’d blazed as they devoured the town was the low state the nailheads had gotten to. I used to think there were good people and bad people. What I learned in this tragedy was the eternal lesson of good people going bad.
Not that Ormand Ferry was ever good. He was one of those men who pretended to be your friend while screwing your wife. Over the years he’d built up a loyal following of the disillusioned and the disenfranchised. People like Steve Pinkerton. He fed them, comforted them and gave them guns. Then in their weakened, soup-fed state he preached to them. And they listened.
In the world according to Ormand, or at least what I gathered from his sidewalk sermons, the “affliction” had been sent down from on high. God was using His winnowing fork to separate the chaff from the wheat. The strong and the pure would survive—no one else. And he, Ormand Ferry, would lead the chosen to safety. Tough words from a certified nutcase.
We traveled at night, counting on the darkness to keep us safe. As we neared our destination, we decided to ditch the Humvee and hike in. I took in every detail of our surroundings and listened to every faraway sound. The night and its secrets weighed on us, the air stifling. Taking our weapons and ammo, we made sure we weren’t being watched and headed out. After a few blocks, I was drenched in sweat.
As we pressed on, we saw draggers in various states of decomposition. The fresher ones—if a dead, stinking body could ever be considered fresh—traveled in packs. The older ones, the ones near total collapse, wandered alone, no longer able to hunt. Eventually these pathetic corpses lay by the side of the road, looking up at the moon with unseeing eyes, waiting for what? Death? I don’t know how these things died without benefit of a bullet to the brain pan. They seemed to exist in an eternal twilight of longing.
“I think it’s down here,” I said.
As we entered a familiar alley, I saw Ben’s motor home and remembered the day Holly and Griffin escaped, a million years ago. My heart leapt at the thought of finding them alive. Why didn’t we bring more men? It was stupid to think that three of us could keep ourselves safe.
Someone had set fire to the motor home. It was now black and burned out from the inside, a rotting hulk that offered no protection or escape. Beyond the wrecked vehicle was the door Holly and Griffin had used to escape.
Springer pushed the door open and peered inside. Then he went through, signaling for Popp and me to follow. It was black inside, so we had to use our flashlights. We listened for movement of any kind. Anything could be in there, and we had to be ready.
We had agreed in advance to use hand signals instead of speaking. Good thing, because as Springer walked towards a hallway he was greeted by a dragger, a partially eaten hand hanging from its mouth. It glared at Springer, as if angry that we’d interrupted its dinner.
Springer didn’t fire. He and Popp had attached bayonets to their AR-15s, and Springer raised his weapon and ran the knife through the dragger’s head before it could strike. The creature fell with a groan and stopped moving.
We found the emergency stairs and started up. I don’t know how I ended up in front. Right away I noticed that the peeling metal railing was wet and sticky. I shone my flashlight on my hand and found blood. Then I he
ard something and directed the beam up the stairs. I was face-to-face with a horde.
The creature nearest me hissed as I fell into Springer and Popp. Gaining their footing, they shot the ones closest to us through the head. The others came down, forcing us to retreat.
I dropped my flashlight and hit the ground. Searching for it, I felt draggers pushing past me towards the light from the other flashlights.
A volley of bullets took down another five or six. Finding my flashlight, I scrambled to get out of there. Once off to the side, I shone the flashlight across the room. I saw a dragger about to attack Springer. I didn’t fire my handgun for fear of hitting the soldier.
“Push him away,” I said.
As Springer shoved him back, I took aim and fired, missing the creature. Then another shot hit the thing, and it went down. I panned the flashlight over and saw Popp lowering his AR-15.
Two more draggers appeared, and as I raised my weapon, a decaying hand grabbed me. I let myself go limp. Shining the flashlight up, I saw the bewildered dragger coming for me again. I shot it through the mouth as it was about to shriek, shredding its slithering black tongue.
In a few minutes we finished them all. Exhausted, we sat on the floor in a circle and looked at one another.
“Whole damn building is infested,” Springer said.
“I have to find Holly and Griffin,” I said.
The two soldiers looked at each other and stood. “Break’s over,” Popp said.
“Thanks, guys.”
We checked out each floor, looking for draggers but found none. It took us more than an hour to search the building and we eventually arrived at the top floor. Halfway up the stairs to the top, we found the body that the disembodied hand belonged to—a soldier who looked to be around the same age as Springer and Popp. He’d been shot through the head.
Springer opened the stairwell door and peered into the hallway. As Popp and I entered, we heard the drone of a single voice. I thought of Holly and moved forward, but Springer held me back. He signaled for me to stay behind Popp and him.
As we entered the office suite through the walnut double doors, we found rows of fabric-covered cubicles on either side of us. And towards the windows, a conference room. The door was closed.
I expected a dragger to leap out from one of the cubes, but they were all empty. Each was filled with personal items—family photos, stuffed animals and children’s drawings taped to the small whiteboards.
The sound grew louder as we approached the conference room. My guts twisted up as I imagined finding Holly and Griffin hurt and dying.
Springer grabbed the handle of the conference-room door, looked back at Popp and me and flung the door open.
Inside, we found a lone soldier lying in a corner by the windows, muttering and rocking. At first he didn’t notice us, but when Springer shone his flashlight on him, he pointed his handgun at us.
“Easy,” Springer said, moving forward as Popp and I closed the curtains and turned on the lights.
The soldier was young, his face clean, though in need of a shave. He was alone and scared. I guessed that the body we found in the stairwell was one of his buddies.
“I’m Springer. What’s your name?”
The soldier tried to speak, but he was delirious and nothing but moaning came out. His speech sounded suspicious, but I chalked it up to fear.
“It’s okay,” I said. “We’re here to help.”
“Put down the weapon, son,” Popp said.
Looking confused, the soldier turned to each of us, then lowered the handgun.
As we came closer, I was revolted by what I saw. His right leg looked like it had been chewed off up to the knee. The soldier had made a tourniquet from the strap from his AR-15. I noticed the trail of blood that led from the door to where he lay.
Popp raised his bayonet, but I grabbed his hand to stop him. Crouching down close to the soldier, I looked him in the eyes. He was fading, and I had to talk fast. I saw from his Black Dragon uniform that his name was Barnes.
“Barnes, listen to me,” I said. “There were two women in here. One of them is a teenage girl. They had a dog.”
He stared at me, uncomprehending yet mesmerized by the sound of my voice. I saw that the other two soldiers were getting impatient.
“Did you see them?” Barnes shook his head. “Are you sure?”
“Ran away. When the draggers came.”
“Where? Where did they go?”
“C-covered them best we could. Too many. They get away?”
He was near death, and we knew it wouldn’t be long before he turned. I felt for this kid. Who even knew where he was from, whether his family was alive? I wanted to help him, but I knew he’d been given a death sentence the second he was attacked by those things.
I looked at Springer, filled with sadness for not having found Holly and Griffin and for what I knew was about to happen.
“You better wait outside,” Springer said.
I left the conference room, found a cube and sat in the dark. Moonlight streamed through the windows. I saw photos of a man and woman and their two small children. One looked to be three and the other eighteen months or so. The photo looked like it had been taken at the Monterey Bay Aquarium. Holly and I had gone there once.
“Please, God, I’m so tired.”
I waited for a sound that never came. The conference room door opened. Springer and Popp came out and turned out the lights. Without a word, they waited for me to pull myself together.
Fresh blood shone on Springer’s bayonet, decorated with what looked like strands of hair. I grabbed tissues from a box and handed them to him. He wiped the blade off, and we headed out.
“Sorry you didn’t find them,” Popp said as we made our way downstairs.
When we reached the ground floor, we heard a dog barking somewhere far off.
“Greta,” I said, and ran to the alley door.
“Wait,” Springer said. He and Popp caught up to me and held the door shut. “You can’t keep doing that.”
“Sorry.”
Springer opened the door a crack and peered into the alley. When he was satisfied, he opened the door the rest of the way, and we stepped outside in single file.
We didn’t see any draggers around as we moved through the streets, not sure where to go next. I heard a distant death shriek, then the barking dog closer.
“It might be Greta,” I said, and we jogged towards the sound.
As we got closer, the barking grew louder. All I thought about was seeing my wife and Griffin again.
Big mistake.
I almost called out Holly’s name when a gunshot tore through the alley. Springer went down, his hand on his throat and bright blood gushing through his fingers. Quickly I examined him, trying to see how bad the wound was.
Another bullet caught Popp in the forehead. He dropped to his knees and fell on his face.
When I looked up, I realized that we’d run into a nest of nailheads. Tricked-out vehicles with their headlights on appeared at the intersection on either side and stopped directly in front of me. A dozen of them got out of the vehicles, stood in a line and trained their weapons on me. I failed, and now I was dead.
From out of the shadows, Travis Golightly walked forward with a man who held a pit bull on a chain at his side.
“Well, lookee here,” he said.
Travis was severely burned. The skin on his face looked like it had melted, the wrecked tissue obscuring one eye. All his hair had been singed down to the roots. His arms were black with crusty, dark skin, and he walked with a limp. The fingers of his right hand were burned to the bone. His weapon was duct-taped to his arm, his stiff, bony index finger fused to the trigger.
I tried to run but was held by three others. Travis hit me with the rifle barrel in the side of the head, making my ears ring. I felt blood flowing from my nose and could barely stand.
“Where’s my daughter?” he said.
“Dead,” I said, and staggered
forward.
“Wrong answer.” He hit me again, this time jamming the barrel into my shoulder blade. Searing, hot pain shot through me, and my arm went numb as I fell to my knees. Growling, the dog lunged and bit me in the hand. I didn’t even feel it.
“That wasn’t very nice, Sally,” Travis said. Then to me, “Where’s Griffin?”
“Dead,” I said, and collapsed on the ground.
“Hey, Travis, he don’t look so good,” a voice said.
Everything turned to darkness.
I was bone cold. Under bright fluorescent lights, I realized I was inside a cold room surrounded by huge tanks of beer. A single metal door stood across from me. I read the labels on the tanks—I was inside the Lucky Moon microbrewery.
My head throbbed, and my temple felt squishy where Travis had struck me. My shoulder ached too. I was a mess. I heard voices outside as I reached into my pocket for my phone. It wasn’t there. Across the room, I saw it. I crawled towards it—it took me forever. When I picked it up, I found that the screen was smashed. I put it in my pocket, thinking I could rescue the SIM card later.
Not that it mattered. They were going to kill me. But not before Travis beat the truth about Griffin out of me. The world had unraveled, and all this dumb bastard could think about was abusing his stepdaughter.
I heard the door unlock and tried crawling back to where they’d left me. One of those crazies came in, swilling beer from a bottle and swaying. He was followed by a Latino boy who looked to be around ten or eleven. The man had a fresh beer in his other hand and smiled.
“Thought you might be thirsty,” he said.
He tried handing me the beer. I looked at it. He shrugged and set it down on the floor next to me.
“Maybe later,” he said.
He signaled to the boy, who reached into a cloth bag and removed a small glass jar and a square of cardboard. Something moved inside. My body tensed as he handed the jar to the man, who knelt down, grabbed my arm and rolled up my sleeve. I saw that the jar contained live bees.
“What’re you doing?” I said.
“Testing you.”
He unscrewed the cap, which had holes punched in it for air, replaced it with the cardboard and flipped the jar over onto my arm. Then he slid the cardboard out so the bees could come in direct contact with my skin. I grimaced, ready for the inevitable stinging. But the insects merely crawled around, which tickled.
The Dead Series (Book 1): Tell Me When I'm Dead Page 24
