“Same,” Frank said, crunching into his granola bar. He chewed with his mouth open. Char was forced to look someplace else, otherwise, she might get sick watching him.
“You’ve been unnaturally quiet,” Chris said to Ross.
“Did a lot of tossing and turning last night.”
“You don’t look too hot. Coming down with something?” Chris said.
“Need a flu shot?” Frank said, and let a burst of laughter erupt from his mouth, bits of granola generously scattered across the table.
“What’s the deal with showers?” Char lifted her tray. “Want me to take yours?”
Chris shrugged and handed her his tray. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Welcome.”
“Every other day. There’s a locker room the guards use. We shower tonight in groups of four after the shift ends,” Ross said.
She made her way around the table and knew it must appear obvious that she’d avoided interaction, and even eye contact, with Ross. When she returned to the table and said, “It’s bad enough having a toilet on display. I’m not showering with everyone. If they think I am, they’ve got another thing coming.”
# # #
Char hated the elevator rides. The shaft was just wide enough to fit the car. The men were so big that she felt trapped between them. Breathing inside the mask was unnatural. She kept gasping. The sound attracted attention. The others would turn toward her, and then turn away. It was just enough that it made her uncomfortable and self-conscious.
Stepping out of the car was a relief. It even helped her breathing. The Cog was so well lit, and the ceilings so high that a lot of her claustrophobia subsided in the work area of the prison. She preferred it to where her cell was. It felt more as if she was inside a factory and that beyond the walls might be a parking lot, and a Wal-Mart. She supposed thoughts like that would help her achieve a mental happy place, somewhere she could eventually escape to while passing time.
Three years’ worth of time.
Lou Kilmer held a clipboard and directed each prisoner to a work station. “McKinney, you’re on the mill again. Ross, you too.”
Chris and Frank were already on this level, and working. Frank was at his wheel and Chris on a bike.
Gonzales was on a bike again. It was on an end. As she followed Ross toward the mills, she stopped and introduced herself to Gonzales.
He kept pedaling.
“I’m Char. I didn’t get a chance to meet you yesterday.”
He stared at her.
His head wobbled slightly side to side while he pedaled.
She held out her hand.
He stared at it.
She couldn’t see his eyes. Char was confident they bore holes through her skull.
“McKinney, get to a mill!” Kilmer pointed the clipboard at her.
“I was just introducing myself,” she said, risking further reprimand. She looked back at Gonzales, and then down at her still extended hand.
He shook her hand, but did not say a word.
“Mingling time is over, McKinney,” Kilmer said.
Char lowered her head and walked away. She climbed onto the mill next to Ross and started walking.
“What the hell was that?”
“What was what?” Char said. She looked straight ahead. She power walked.
“Slow down.”
She didn’t.
“Why would you have gone over there? I’m trying to do you a favor, kid. You don’t want to be interacting with Gonzales or any of his people.”
She turned her head. “Why?”
“You just don’t.”
She concentrated on the walk.
After several awkward moments of silence, Ross said, “You did not do that. Tell me you did not bring him food?”
Char looked at Gonzales. He snuck bites of the granola bar she’d handed off.
“He missed two meals,” Char said.
“Because he started a fight,” Ross said. “You bring anything for the other guy? The victim?”
The victim would never be able to help her get what she needed. Gonzales was different. He was exactly what she wanted. Ross was getting out in a month. Gonzales, like her, might as well be serving a life sentence down here.
# # #
She stood under the nozzle. The water was not hot, but neither was it cold. She felt the dirt washing off her skin. It was never suggested that she would have to shower with the other prisoners. She just had to go last. Almost better than the shower, was the bathroom stall. She was allowed to go to the bathroom without anyone watching, it felt like freedom. There was no way she’d be able to wait two days to go to the bathroom. Newstead said as long as she was quick about it and ate her meals quickly, he’d let her use the bathroom after breakfast and dinner as well.
Civility.
After rinsing the suds out of her hair and the soap off her body, she toweled dry and dressed in fresh clothing. While she zipped up her jeans she thought she heard something. A howl. It was different from an infected moaning. She wasn’t sure where it came from. She picked up the towel and continued to dry her hair as she walked around the small locker room. There were three rows of lockers. Some had Master combination locks on the handles.
The air vent was above a waist high cabinet. The sound she heard was wind.
She dropped her dirty clothes and her towel into a hamper, as instructed and left the sanctuary of the locker room.
Three years was two years and eleven months too long.
Chapter 31
Benjamin Forti took point. He held his rifle in both hands as he stepped over tree limbs and brush. The sky was cloudless. It was nearly a full moon, and stars filled space. They didn’t need to use the flashlights clipped to their belts.
“You heard something?” Earl was behind Ben. He had a machete in his right hand, a long pole in his right.
“Shh,” Benjamin said. He pointed forward.
Earl turned and rolled his eyes at Wayne. “Guess they’re this way.”
Benjamin stopped walking and stood up straight. “Are you kidding me?”
Earl winced.
“When I said, shhh, what did you think it meant?”
“That we should be quiet,” Earl said.
“Then I pointed to over by those trees. Why do you think I did that?”
“Because the noise you think you heard came from over there.”
“Over where?” Benjamin said.
“By those trees.” Earl answered each question with confidence.
“Then what did you do?”
“I told Wayne.”
“You turned around and told Wayne. You didn’t even try to whisper.”
“What if he didn’t hear me?” Earl said.
Benjamin wanted to call it a night. Earl was an okay guy, he just sucked at Gathering. He was the sheriff’s cousin. Huber didn’t want him patrolling town and didn’t trust him to uphold the law, but somehow managed to pull strings getting Earl a job on Gathering Patrol. Earl did not belong in a deputy uniform as a peacekeeper, but neither did he belong in a deputy uniform outside Arcadia walls hunting for zombies. Benjamin never complained about getting shafted by the sheriff. He knew because he was the mayor’s son, people talked about him behind his back endlessly.
“When I tell you to be quiet, do me a favor, don’t talk.” Benjamin knew taking out his aggravation on Earl was somewhat uncalled for. Yes, Earl did this every time they went out, but it wasn’t Earl he had the issue with. It was Huber and his father.
Charlene had been railroaded in court. She was used as a political pawn. His father had held the mayor’s seat for the last three years. Rumor was, Gary Priestly planned to campaign and run against his father next year. To prove to the people of Arcadia that he was serious about maintaining a safe a peaceful community, someone had to be punished for the murders committed. Since everyone involved was either dead or in a coma at the hospital, Charlene was left to take the fall.
A three year senten
ce was absurd. While his testimony at her trial had been accurate, it did not allow for explanation. His father and Huber had told him that he needed only to answer questions asked and to not elaborate.
He’d had his chance to take a stand when he testified. He could have explained how events played out. A jury would have had to have found Charlene innocent and that her actions were purely self-defense. He hadn’t. He’d crumbled to the pressure. He’d let his father intimidate him. The guilt from backing down crushed him. He had no one to blame for the sleepless nights but himself.
“No more talking. Earl, you got it?”
“Yes.”
Benjamin cringed. “Wayne?”
Wayne nodded. He carried a pole like the one Earl held, and a handgun.
Benjamin walked toward the brush. Something was close by. He’d heard the rustling. The closer he got to the thicket, the more he could smell them. He held up his hand. The three of them stopped. Just to be sure his command was not misinterpreted, Benjamin pressed his finger to his lips. “Shhh.”
He motioned for the others to stay put. He crept forward. He knew he was breathing fast, with quick and shallow breaths.
He stopped.
Listening, he could hear them grumble. They had to be on the opposite side of the bushes.
The moonlight was perfect. It was nearly as bright out as if the sun had been shining.
He knelt down beside the bushes and poked the barrel of his rifle through. In his scope he saw four zombies. He’d have to shoot and reload until they were all down. He panned left and right just to ensure more creatures weren’t in the area. He did not see any.
The rifle sounded like a puff of air being released when he fired.
Through the scope he saw the tranquilizer dart stick the tallest zombie in the neck.
He loaded a second cartridge, aimed, and fired. The tranquilizer stuck in the female zombie’s back.
Without putting hands out, the tall zombie fell forward, face first.
The third zombie got hit in the thigh, the fourth Benjamin hit in the triceps.
It took roughly four minutes for the other three zombies to collapse. Benjamin raised his arm and waved Earl and Wayne over. “String them up,” Benjamin said, “and we’ll head home.”
# # #
The main gate closed and locked, as Ben followed behind Earl and Wayne.
Wayne had dropped lassos around two of the zombies’ necks. The ropes from the opposite ends of the lassos fed through the six foot hollow pole. Earl controlled two with the pole he had, dog catcher style.
The zombies were slow, groggy from the tranquilizers. The drug didn’t last long. It merely incapacitated the creatures long enough for the gatherers to secure them with the ropes.
Four was a pretty good haul considering there seemed to be less and less zombies in the area. The cold, wet weather didn’t help. Winters were always tough. It was why it became important to store up on zombie while there were zombies to nab.
They led the zombies toward City Hall. They’d lock them in a holding cell until morning, and then Benjamin and Wayne would take them down to the Cog.
Normally, Earl and Wayne made the deliveries, but Benjamin had an ulterior motive for wanting to drop the zombies off to the warden.
# # #
Benjamin met his father at the Diner for breakfast. When he pushed open the door, a bell jingled.
“Morning, Mona,” he said. His father was sitting at a booth by the window, staring out at the few people walking along the sidewalk.
“Coffee, hon?”
“When you have time, no rush,” Benjamin said. He slid into the seat across from his father.
Victor Forti had both hands on his cup. “Good morning.”
“Hey, dad.”
“How’d it go last night?”
“Brought in four.”
Victor nodded. “Not bad.”
Mona came over with a spoon in one hand as she set a cup and saucer down in front of Benjamin. She dumped an ice cube off the spoon into his coffee. “Need a minute before ordering?”
Benjamin caught his father looking at him.
There were no menus on the table. The Forti’s didn’t need one.
“I’ll just have some toast and scrambled eggs,” Victor said.
“Of course, Mayor, and for you, Benny?”
“Same.”
When Mona was gone, Benjamin watched his father. The man just continued to look out the window. He seemed older, his hair going more grey. “You okay, dad?”
“You’ve been on gathering how long now?”
“Two years.”
“Two years. You know, there isn’t a night that you go out that I don’t lie awake in bed worrying.”
“I can take care of myself.” Benjamin wasn’t sure he believed his father.
“I know you can. I do. Things happen. Plans go bad. There could be a horde of zombies that surprise you. You never know.”
“If a horde of zombies surprised me, I’d be surprised. You can hear them, smell them—”
“You know what I mean, Ben. Please,” he said.
“Sorry.” Benjamin sipped his coffee. It was hot. It burned his tongue. It reminded him of a night by the fireplace with his mother drinking hot cocoa. He always wanted that chocolaty fill, and always sipped too much, too fast, too soon, burning not just his tongue, but also the roof of his mouth. From that point on, she always added a few ice cubes to the cocoa. He drank his coffee the same way, with an ice cube. “I am very cautious out there, I promise.”
“The four at the jail?” The subject of safety forgotten, or was just ignored for the moment.
“Yeah. Dropped them there last night. In fact, after breakfast, I was going to meet up with Wayne and deliver them to the Cog.” Benjamin stared into his coffee.
“Where’s Earl?”
“Told him to sleep in. I’d handle it. I’m close to my wits end with that guy.”
“He mess up out there?”
Benjamin shrugged. “Yes. Nothing I couldn’t control, this time. Between you and me, father and son, okay? The guy’s a liability.”
Victor simply nodded, showing he understood but wasn’t planning to comment, or for that matter, take any action. “I don’t want you interacting with her.”
“I’m dropping off zombies. In and out,” Benjamin said.
“Your word?”
Benjamin held up two fingers. “I swear.”
Chapter 32
Char sat on a stationary bike. Chris had been absolutely correct. Her legs felt like rubber. Kilmer let her switch from the mill to the bike when she told him she didn’t think she could walk another mile. The boots she wore were heavy with cushion, but not meant for walking fifteen plus miles a day. Her feet ached. She’d rubbed them as best she could, but the backs of her ankles were chaffing. The bottoms of her feet felt blistered and calloused. With pedals she was able to position her feet in a way that delivered the least pain.
“You get used to it,” Ross had told her, “and you will have muscles like marble in a month.”
She was getting tired of his silver lining outlook.
She gripped the handlebars and leaned forward as she pedaled. She knew she was putting out close to ten miles an hour, just about the minimum requirement. There wasn’t a single clock anywhere. It felt like she had been riding for hours and had gotten nowhere.
At the moment, all she could think about was music. She’d give almost anything for a headset with her own playlist downloaded. She could recall songs she’d loved. The lyrics, the beat. It was distant though, almost inaudible inside her head.
All those musicians. They were probably dead, or among the infected. She tried to imagine Ross Lynch from R5 stumbling around infected, pouncing on unsuspecting victims and tearing into their flesh with his teeth.
It was surreal.
She thought about celebrities, and politicians, police officers and factory workers. No one had been immune to the vaccination, and no one, as
far as she knew, survived being bitten.
She’d made it.
The dark of the last three years should have gotten her somewhere. Instead, she was on a bicycle in the bowels of a mountain trying to out-pedal infected walking behind her on mills.
She laughed out loud.
The sound of her laughter startled her.
She looked around to see if anyone had noticed.
They hadn’t.
The mask had kept the obscure sound mostly muffled and trapped behind the plastic faceplate.
To the right, by the elevator, she saw the guards stare up the shaft. It was far too loud inside the plant to hear anything over the hum and crackle of manufactured lightning of the generator. Something was coming, though.
The guards stepped back.
Char kept pedaling. She was getting used to how fast her heart beat inside her chest. Cardio was supposed to be the best exercise. Ross might have a point. Her thighs would be like marble, and she’d have the heart muscle of an ox if she stayed at this workout routine for long.
An elevator slowly descended.
She saw two infected in front of the car, and something behind them.
Benjamin Forti led the infected off, and handed a pole to one of the guards. That guard led the infected away. They reminded her of dogs on the end of an unbendable leash.
Char hated the way her heart betrayed her. She should not have nearly gasped when she saw Ben. He meant nothing to her. Nothing.
She looked down at the handle bars. She did not want him to see her like this. The prison garb made her look like a gang branch of the C.D.C. She was caked in sweat, and knew her body odor had marred the Carhartt material forever.
Her speedometer read 12 mph. There was no reward for putting out more energy than what was required. Her legs pumped fast and hard, not for recognition, but to keep busy, and preoccupied.
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