A slight thump and shuffle from the alley up ahead catches our attention. I bring up sharply as Luke raises a hand in the air. My heartbeat quickens as my eyes, accustomed to the dark now, search for the source of the noise. In normal times a thump in the night could be accounted to a stray dog or a raccoon foraging for its nightly meal...but these aren't normal times. The majority of animals that inhabit this city now are of the two legged variety.
Luke motions us back and we blend silently into the shadows of the building cornering the alley. If it is leeches, they'll stumble out eventually once they get a whiff of us. If it’s something else, then we'll have to be more careful. Noises from an alley that we have no choice but to go through, screams nothing but trouble.
Dropping my backpack into the building's shadow, I pull my Bowie knives. They feel comforting in my hands, like old friends. I hold the left one blade up, but the right knife I twirl easily with a practiced flick of the wrist so it's facing blade down. Whether it is crazies or leeches, I have a system for dealing efficiently with both. The knives are my weapon of choice. With their 12-inch broad blades and the clip point at the top, they offer me perfect control for thrusting attacks. A quiet and lethal weapon.
The boys prefer their guns. Ironically enough, in a world where food and medical supplies are running frighteningly short there are plenty of guns to be found. Luke's preference is his .44 AutoMag. He tries all the time to talk me into carrying one, but guns and I just don’t get along. Every time I hold one, my father’s mutilated head is all I can see and I can't shoot it. Talk about fucked up.
My keen ears pick up the stealthy movements coming from the alley and my body tingles in anticipation. There’s gonna be a fight! I smile into the darkness, flexing my fingers rhythmically on the titanium handles as I crouch into my attack position. Luke holds up three fingers to Kingsley, motioning with them to the hulking remains of a sideways transit bus in the overgrown street, partially blocking the alley. Kingsley gets the message. He and his guys sprint around the back of the bus so they can come out behind of whatever is about to emerge.
We don't have long to wait. The shuffling picks up and wet gurgling 'uck' sounds float through the air. Leeches all right. I never could figure out what that sound was. I'm not sure if it’s their form of communication or just the sound of the leech tearing from its host's throat. Whatever it is, it's a wet, thick sound and makes me want to gag every time I hear it.
Before the invasion, I had been a huge zombie fan. I couldn't get enough of those stupid undead movies, and comic books and shit. I lived and breathed it. Leeches kind of remind me of those zombies I used to adore. Torn flesh with strips of face meat hanging off. Exposed bone and teeth around the mouth from giving birth to the leech. No rotting or decomposing bodies since technically the hosts were still very much alive; just torn and irrevocably damaged flesh. Clothing hanging in tattered shreds, whether it had been the finest of silk or pauper’s cloth.
But that's where the similarities end. Whereas in the movies the zombies move with all the speed of a sloth, these leeches are fast. Very fucking fast. As soon as they get a scent they morph into Kentucky Derby race horses, and if you’re not prepared- then you’re fodder. Plain and simple. We think nighttime slows them down some. However, the horde emerging from the alley right at this exact moment doesn't appear to have gotten the memo. They have our scent all right, and they’re advancing like sailors on a whorehouse. I can hear Cal's softly muttered "Damn," from behind, and I can't help but throw over my shoulder, "Okay newb-let’s see you earn that nickname of Lucky."
There's no time for much else. The smell hits us then, and I can hear Cal gagging. Just because they aren't rotting corpses doesn't mean they don't stink to high heaven. The combined odors of old blood and decaying meat, unwashed bodies and excrement, hits us like a wall and I can feel my own stomach rolling violently. Thankfully my adrenaline overcomes the urge to puke.
"Come on, mothafucka’s!" I hear Dom scream as I rush by him, and the shot he fires whizzes by my ear with a high-pitched whine. I duck instinctively.
Stupid sonofabitch. He nearly blew my head off.
He hits the leech barreling our way straight in the heart—a perfect shot. It falls at my feet but another runs him over in a frenzy to get at me. In one swift motion my left knife swoops upwards, sinking into the torn flesh of the creatures chin. It impales the snapping worm almost down to the hilt, preventing it from moving at my throat. Without losing stride my right hand arcs down, driving that blade straight into the heart of the creature. The leech wiggles for a bit in distress before realizing its blood flow has diminished. It dies quickly. I yank my knives out, oblivious to the cacophony of shouts and shots, intent only on my next target.
The next to fall at my hands is a young blonde girl. Probably no older than me. I can't help but feel that familiar stab of guilt as I pierce her through the heart. The same thought enters my head like always. These things had been human once. Are they still human? They aren't undead or mutated creatures, they’re simply taken over by a vile parasite. Is the human still inside, trapped in a nightmarish world? Since they can't very well talk, I guess we’ll never know. It does nothing to ease my guilt.
I swerve at movement in my peripheral and instinctively raise my arm in defense. The sharp blades of the leeches yawning mouth clamps down on the metal form fitting arm guards I always wear in the field. The attack causes me to stumble back, and I trip over the blonde chick I’d just taken out. The damn creature is still attached to my arm though, and I pull it with me as I go down.
"Get off me, you fucker!" I scream as it falls on top of me. Pulling the knife up quickly between us, I let gravity take over as the knife pierces its chest, and I hope to God it hits the heart. The thing squirms on top of me, and the smell of it this close makes me puke some in my mouth. The leech’s grip on my arm relaxes as I watch the human face above me go slack. Its life force drains away. A mixture of black blood and bile, I'm not quite sure what, drips through the festering open wound that was once the dead things cheek and plops dangerously close to my mouth.
"Ugh," I yell in disgust as I pull a knee up between us and push the thing off of me with the bottom of my boot, dislodging my knife. Rolling from underneath it, I bounce back instantly to my feet. No time for my disgust right now. A wasted second can be the difference between life and death.
"Bix?" Luke cries out, and I answer back with, “Behind you!"
For such a big man, he dives effortlessly away from the two creatures about to have him as a Scooby snack. Both leech heads swivel in unison, following his descent. Before they can make a move on him though, shots from behind take them both down. Kingsley doesn't wait for any accolades. He and his men disappear into the alley, and I hear more shots as they find the latecomers to the party.
I spin around quickly, blades ready for their next target, but nothing else seems to be standing other than us. Lowering my knives, I let my shoulders relax and even out my breathing. My eyes automatically search for Luke, checking if he’s okay. He leaps nimbly to his feet, sending a quick nod at my unspoken question. Mollified, I search for the rest of my crew. Badger and Cal are busy retrieving our backpacks from where we’d dropped them, but Gordon is running my way and grinning like an idiot. His classic double take when he sees me, hits me right in the funny bone.
"Err, you’ve got a little something gross on your face there, Bix." He points weakly at his own cheek.
I laugh and wipe absentmindedly at my face with my sleeve.
"How many did you take down?" I question, knowing full well that’s the cause of his excitement.
"Six," he answers cockily, looking down at the ground. "And you had what? Three? Really, Bix? That's pitiful."
Cal and Badger join us. The new guy looks slightly shell-shocked and I kind of feel sorry for him. Besides his training, this is probably his first real encounter with a horde. Not something he will easily forget.
"You did good," I say, as I slap
him on the shoulder and relieve him of my pack. My next comment is aimed at Gordon.
"You too, kid. But the night’s only young, so don't be cocky. Come on, let’s catch up with Kingsley. Can't let him have all the fun now, can we?"
Cal appears a little taken aback at our nonchalant attitude, but I don’t take offense. He’ll come to the realization soon enough. If you think about it too much, it’ll eat you alive. That’s if they don’t eat you first. So you don’t think about it- you just do it. We leave him staring after us, mouth agape as my fellow ginger and I hurry off, giggling like two giddy school girls.
If I had any reservations left about Kingsley and his men joining us in the field, they're now laid to rest. We find them casually sitting on a crumbled stone wall, looking like they’ve nothing better to do than smoke Jonesy's crap ass cigs. Eight or more leech carcasses are piled up in the street.
"About time you showed up," Kingsley says, flicking the lit ember away and jumping down off the wall.
"Well, don't look like you needed our help," Luke drawls slowly as we look over the carnage.
"No, didn't need your help, but do need your opinion on something. Take a look at those leeches ...what do you see?"
The moon has finally won its battle with the clouds. After walking in darkness all night, this glow is almost as bright as early morning.
"I see a bunch of dead fucks, is what I see," Dom says in his best bored voice and I turn on him with an irritated glare. He’d best not think I've forgotten his almost shooting me back there.
Kingsley's response is a bit more civilized.
"Look again," he says calmly enough, but I pick up on the strain in his voice. It worries me. So I look closer, as do the others. Luke is the first to notice.
"Their clothing. It's not ripped apart and filthy like they’ve been wearing it for the past eight years. It's still in decent condition like..."
"Like they've only recently been infected. Very recently. By the condition of their clothes, probably just days ago I'm guessing."
I stare at Kingsley like I didn't quite hear right.
"But... that's impossible. I mean, the infections all happened that very first day. I haven't seen or heard of anyone who survived the first day being taken over after. I figured—we all figured—if you weren't infected the first day, you were immune somehow."
"That was the general consensus, yes. But something’s changed. There's no way this bunch have been playing host to those parasites for the past eight years. They look too fresh."
Kingsley's words chill me deep in my bones. Is it true? Are the aliens somehow infecting us again? And how? There's been no report of that strange mist since the invasion years ago. Have they learned to pollinate, or is it now conveyed through a different medium? The thought of the black drippings that had fallen on me earlier sends a shiver crackling up my spine, and I wipe my cheek roughly with the back of my hand.
A terrifying, echoing yell shatters the night’s silence. I jump in fright, my heart slamming into my ribs. That damn screaming never fails to unnerve me, no matter how many times I hear it.
"Ravagers," Luke says, glancing back the way we had come. "And close. They must have heard our little gun fight. They're on the way. Probably hoping to find some carcasses to pick over. We better move out. We're not far off from a safe zone; I'm thinking we should lay low for the night."
Another yell follows the first, and we head out without another word. Our discovery has rattled us for sure, because if what Kingsley says is true, then God help us. And He’d better be listening this time.
CHAPTER SIX
The old, dilapidated leather factory had been the producer of a top of the line sneaker in its heyday. A multi-million dollar business. Now it just looks sad in the predawn light.
Hulking monstrosities of machinery loom in the shadows like ghostly dinosaurs, just waiting to be brought back to life by workers that no longer exist. Half the ceiling has long since caved in and now litter the floor with bits of steel, broken tile, and glass that crunch under our feet as we walk. Graffiti covers the remaining walls, dire warnings of doom and death and end of the world predictions along with passages from Revelations. One budding artist, Rocky according to his tag, has even done a very lifelike spray painting of a leech erupting from a person's throat, with all the exploding blood and gore that accompanies it. His message underneath simply reads, 'We are fucked.'
No shit, Sherlock, I think as I read the message for the umpteenth time. Like always, I find myself wondering what happened to Rocky. Had he found a place to survive or had he, in his own words, been fucked? I guess I’ll never know. But if I ever come across a survivor someday with that moniker, I’m sure as hell gonna ask how handy he is with a can of spray paint.
We stop in front of the rickety stairs leading up to the office. Luke and Badger pull away the heavy metal shelf placed strategically across the bottom steps, just enough so we can squeeze by. To any outsider it looks like it had simply toppled over, but for us it’s a security measure.
"Gordo, check the seal," Luke orders and the boy nimbly climbs the ten steps to the metal door.
"Still intact," he calls down. I breathe a sigh of relief. An intact seal means it hasn't been breached by other survivors or ravagers, and that nothing is lying in wait for us on the other side of that door. Plus it means none of our supplies have been looted.
Each of our safety zones are set up with anything and everything we need when out on patrol. That in turn keeps what we carry in our backpacks down to a bare minimum so we can move faster- including sleeping bags. As pumped as I’d been at the run in with the leeches, the past 24 hours are catching up with me, and all I can think about now is sleep.
We take the stairs one at a time, not trusting it to support all of our combined weight. By the time I make it up, Luke already has the lamp lit, so I go to work on setting up the paint can heater/stove he taught me to make. Simple enough, it consists of a roll of toilet paper, cardboard center removed, stuffed into an empty paint can and then saturated with rubbing alcohol. It burns amazingly well, is smoke free and safe enough for us to use inside to keep us warm in the drafty old building.
Toilet paper and rubbing alcohol. They rank up there on our list of priorities along with any sort of food product when out on patrol. Who would’ve thought that finding a stash of ass wipe could be almost as exciting as winning a lottery back in the old days? Kind of funny if you think about it.
As soon as I have a nice flame burning I put the metal grill over the top, and Badger plunks a tin pot full of water on it, then throws in a couple of chunks of Cookie's dried herb and veggie concoction. It tastes like shit, but the hot soup always fills our grumbling stomachs so none of us complain too much. Well, that and the fact we don't dare complain in case word got back to Cookie. Nobody wants to face that wrath.
We eat in silence sitting around the makeshift heater, our ears alert for any sound of ravagers having followed us, but it remains quiet. My mind keeps hashing over what Kingsley suggested and wondering if it has any connection with what happened at St. Joseph’s. Hell, maybe those leeches are the people from St. Joseph’s. My mind won't let go of this idea, and finally I voice it out loud to the others. Kingsley stares at me over the flickering flames.
"Anything’s possible," he responds quietly to my words.
Gordon stops slurping his soup and looks up.
"You think so, Kingsley? What really happened at St. Joseph's? Do you even know?"
Luke chimes in. "Maybe we all should get some rest first before we dive into that can of worms. It's been a long night, and I'm sure we'll think better after some shuteye."
"No," I say stubbornly. "Cooper said Kingsley would fill us in en route. Now is a good time. How do you expect us to get any sleep with the idea of newly infected bouncing around in our heads? Coop knew more about St. Joseph's than he was willing to admit, isn't that right, Kingsley?"
I omit mentioning the fear I’d seen in Cooper's eyes.
Most of us consider that man a legend. I didn't want to tarnish him with his show of weakness, as much as it had scared me. I'm hoping Kingsley can shed some light as to the reason for that fear.
The man in question slowly sips his soup, not even looking at us. Almost as if he doesn't know where to start. Finally, decision made, he raises his eyes.
"Lois left out some of the story. She called us in-Coop and me-as soon as she heard that distress call. The guy was screaming like she said, but he was screaming about monsters. Not ravagers or leeches. Monsters. And there was something else. There was this sound I've never heard a leech make before. You could hear it above the guys screaming. You could hear it as the poor sonofabitch was being ripped apart. I don't know why we could hear it. Maybe his mic was locked on. Maybe it stayed in his hand right up until he died. The radio went silent after that. We thought it was over. But then...then it came back on for a split second, and I can't be sure but I swear we heard the words 'You next.'"
Gordon puts his tin cup down like he’s suddenly lost his appetite.
"You next? Like in the Grand is next?" he asks, with bug eyes.
"I can only assume."
"So was it ravagers?" I ask. Then more firmly, "Well, it had to be. No leech has the smarts to speak, let alone operate a radio. But how the hell did ravagers get inside? St. Joseph's defenses were just as good, if not better than our own."
"No, that's the scary part. I don't think it was ravagers at all. You had to have heard this voice—these sounds. They weren't human, I'm certain."
At first, I think Kingsley is just shittin' with us. But then I see his face. He's not shittin'.
"You think it was leeches? But leeches can't fucking talk," Dom says, and for the first time in a long time his words aren't filled with his usual arrogance.
"No leech we’ve ever met, no. But Cooper and I think this is something entirely new. Some new form, some mutation of these leeches maybe? We know they assimilate to their host bodies senses. They use their sense of smell, sight and hearing. Why can't they have assimilated their intelligence as well over the years? It would make sense..."
Strain of Resistance (Book 1) Page 6
