S.W. Tanpepper's GAMELAND: Season Two Omnibus (Episodes 9-11)

by Tanpepper, Saul

  She drank a little water, then immediately vomited it back up again. When there was nothing more but thin yellow bile, she got up.

  Naturally, the bike was completely ruined.

  She retrieved her backpack from beneath the desk in the office, found a pair of black biking shoes that fit, then set out after the others.

  By then they had an hour on her, but she was fine with that. Now that she knew where they were going, she needed to come up with a plan for dealing with them once she caught up. Maybe she’d hit them with an EM blast, just like she had the night she broke into the arcade. It wasn’t very creative, but it proved quite effective.

  She ate as she went, forcing water and food into her mouth, even though she left much of it regurgitated along the side of the road. Her head hurt, and there was a tender spot just above her right temple. Once or twice she had to stop and rest, waiting out the dizzy spells. But by jogging at a steady pace she made good time.

  She almost ran into them just west of North Patchogue, about two miles from Brookhaven. If it wasn’t for the dozen or so IUs surrounding them, she actually would have. And if the five weren’t so distracted with trying to stay alive, they might have seen her.

  Rosie was still with them, which surprised Jessie.

  She slid down the berm of the highway into the weeds with a sigh of relief and watched as they fought off the Undead. She had no desire to help, no intention of immersing herself into their little game. It was obvious they still thought of this as such, the way they were going about it, shouting tips at each other the same way Ashley and Micah used to in his basement.

  Penny was the first to fall.

  Jessie could see it happening before it actually did and almost jumped up to warn her. The woman had gone to the aid of Henry Jayco, who was grappling with an Infected that had a hold of his arm. She picked up a loose chunk of the highway and raised it over her head, yelling at Henry to hold still so she could get a clear shot without also braining him by accident. Jo joked that it wouldn’t make a difference, as far as he was concerned, and Emerson laughed.

  But while Penny jockeyed for position, another Infected Undead detached itself from the group and wandered over to her unseen.

  It bent over and closed its jaws deep into her armpit and didn’t let go. Even when the chunk of road slipped from her hands and took a huge divot from its head and crushed its shoulder, it remained attached to her. There was a horrible tearing sound as it ripped muscle and skin away from her ribcage. Penny collapsed to her knees with a screech that was sure to bring even more of the dead to her. The stitching of her uniform failed and a large panel of fabric folded away. She dropped to her side as blood geysered into the air, screaming and clutching with her hands at the hole. She didn’t even try to protect herself from further attack.

  Not that it mattered by then.

  None of the others came to her assistance. By then they’d figured out this was for real and were too busy saving their own lives.

  Penny’s shrieks infuriated the attacking horde. More joined them from the surrounding areas. Their numbers swelled to twenty, then thirty.

  Jessie had to give her credit. She lasted a long time, considering how much blood was gushing out of her. And the volume of her screams was surprising given that half her chest was missing by the time she was done. Only when her final scream dwindled away to a wet gurgle, did the three other Live Players make a break for it.

  All but Rosie. Jessie couldn’t see her anywhere. She must have fallen.

  One of the remaining ran straight up the road toward Jessie.

  “No no no!” she whispered, pressing herself even closer to the ground. “Not this way!”

  “Jayco!” Jo shouted after him. “Where are you going? This way!”

  He stopped and turned. That was his first mistake. Several Infecteds converged on him, and he stayed to take them out. That was his second mistake. His third was not shooting himself in the head when he had the chance.

  They fell on him. His screams did not last nearly as long as Penny’s.

  The remaining Undead throng lurched after Jo and Emerson. Jessie watched them until they disappeared out of sight. Then she stood up, her head spinning, and made her way down the road toward what was left of Penny, Henry, and Rosie.

  Penny’s head was completely separated from her body, the stump of her neck gnawed down well south of her shoulders. The skull was nowhere to be seen. A handful of Undead shoved at each other. They buried their faces inside the growing hole that was her chest cavity, squabbling over the juiciest organs. Her hands were also gone, everything but the bones stripped right up to the elbows.

  Jayco was in much better shape, which was actually worse. One feasted on his chest, while another had somehow torn through his uniform and was devouring his left buttock and thigh. Jessie knew it wouldn’t finish before he reanimated. She didn’t want to be around for that.

  She hurried past the scene, giving the dead enough berth to defend herself if need be. But they didn’t rise from their quarry. They didn’t even notice she was there.

  The heat of the road was already baking the flesh and gore, making her stomach clench. Steam rose from the bodies, carrying with it the stench of their infection. Flies swarmed by the thousands.

  Jessie stumbled into the grass and fell to her knees.

  Get up!

  She just wanted to sit for a moment, until her stomach and head felt better.

  Get the fuck up!

  Just a few minutes.

  She finally did get up, and was surprised to see that Jayco was gone. From the dried, bloody footprints on the road, she knew he’d risen and wandered off.

  Did I pass out?

  All that remained of Penny was her pelvis and a few dripping fragments of the larger bones. A skinless, faceless Infected crouched over what appeared to be the head of a femur. Each time it clamped its toothless gums over the bone and tried to bite through it, a foul black sludge oozed out of its ass, and Jessie realized it was Jayco.

  His one good eye settled on her, and he snarled and stood up. The motion forced more shit from his ruined backside. It ran down his legs in a putrid stream of diarrhea and undigested muscle.

  He stepped toward her.

  Jessie grabbed their abandoned packs and hoped one of them held her stolen Link. She tried to run, but before she could go ten steps, her legs gave out on her. She collapsed to her hands and knees on the baking surface of the road.

  She could smell Jayco getting closer. She managed to get to her feet again and staggered over to the shoulder. Her vision tunneled.

  Below her, coming through the grass, was a lone figure. At first she thought it was Rosie, but then she saw that it was too short. This was the size of a child.

  Her stomach cramped up again. She tried to rise, but she had nothing more to give. Down she went, and the grass crackled as the dead child made its way up the berm toward her, while Jayco came from behind.

  Chapter 30

  The children surrounded her on all sides, preventing her from escaping. There were hundreds of them. Thousands. And they were all whispering inside of her head, accusing her, blaming her for turning them into the things that they had become: You killed us, Jessie Daniels. It’s your fault we’re trapped inside our dead bodies. It’s your fault we’re monsters.

  She could feel the tears on her cheeks. She was crying, not because of what she had done, but for what they wanted her to do now.

  Free us. Free us. Free us, Jessie Daniels.

  But how could she do that? They were just children.

  You know what you need to do.

  One of them stepped from the group, a girl. She was so small, so fragile. She wore a dirty white dress with a wide crimson bow. It had come undone and dangled like two ribbons of gore on either side of her hips. In her arms was a huge white rabbit with a chocolate milk stain on its belly. It was dead, too.

  No, Jessie wanted to say. It wasn’t me. I didn’t do this.

  Th
e girl stepped up to her, stopping only a few feet away. Slowly she raised her face, and her eyes were as black as night, while her skin was as pale as the sky in winter. Was she offering herself to be the first?

  Jessie looked over the girl’s head and out over the sea of dead faces. Boys and girls, all of them long dead. All of them long since forgotten, left to rot in a place that would never let them rot away.

  She was crying, not just for herself, but for all of them who couldn’t cry for themselves.

  She lifted her hand and wasn’t surprised to find her sword in it. She raised it up until the gleaming steel tip pierced the blue sky above her and the black poison spread from there and over the world. She brought the gleaming metal down.

  The girl’s head came off clean, and through the gap came a shriek so shrill that it pierced her soul. It was of no earthly voice. It was no voice at all. And yet, in it Jessie heard the girl’s cries, not of gratitude or relief, but of hatred:

  You killed me! You killed me!

  Hordes of spiders erupted from her skull, pouring out of every opening, scurrying away over Jessie’s feet. The skull shriveled as the tiny creatures fled; it shrunk until it winked out of existence. The body collapsed into dust, leaving nothing but a few cobwebs. And the rabbit hopped away.

  Jessie was horrified. And there were still ten thousand more to go.

  A hundred thousand.

  Millions.

  How could she kill them all? How could she free them?

  One by one, that’s how.

  She lifted her sword again.

  * * *

  Jessie recognized the room as soon as she opened her eyes. The angle and quality of light slanting in through the window were different than before. It was fall now instead of summer, and the furnishings had been moved around, but it was the same room. The same pillow. The same bed as before.

  How did she get to Brookhaven? And who was caring for her?

  As far as she knew, all of Father Heale’s people had been killed or fled. And with him slain too, there was no reason for any of them to stay. He had been their sole reason. He had kept them alive. His death was their death.

  There was a needle in her arm and it was connected to a clear tube which was connected to a bag on the stand above her head. The liquid was thin and colorless, dripping rapidly. Lactated Ringers solution. The same stuff the Coalition had been pumping into Micah when she found him unconscious in LaGuardia. The bag was almost empty.

  A second bag, already drained, hung from the same hook. Both had expiration dates which had passed more than ten years ago.

  She peeled the tape away and pulled the catheter out, mesmerized for a moment by the drop of blood that bubbled out. She placed a thumb over the tiny hole, then stuck it in her mouth. Her stomach gurgled. She was starving.

  The needle slipped over the side of the bed and drained the rest of the bag onto the floor.

  How did she get here?

  Who brought her?

  The questions kept repeating in her mind.

  Why was she even still alive?

  She sat up and saw her clothes folded on the same chair as before, her shoes underneath. They’d been washed.

  How long had she been out?

  She raised her arms and realized that she, too, had been bathed. Her skin smelled faintly of homemade soap, as did her hair.

  Was it Rosie? Was she secretly one of Heale’s people?

  Or was she caring for Jessie only to return her to Gameland so she could collect her bounty?

  With a sense of dread, Jessie lifted the bed sheet from her body, expecting to see another tube between her legs, but there was none. Nor was she naked. Someone had taken the time and care to dress her in comfortable pants and a matching shirt. Pajamas. Pink pajamas. They were well worn, but clean.

  She sighed and shook her head, then laid it back onto the pillow.

  Who brought her here? Where were they now? What did they plan for her?

  Instinctively, she reached up to touch the back of her neck, but she found no bandage there, either. This was both relief and disappointment.

  Why am I here?

  The bedroom door would be locked, of course, so it wasn’t even worth getting up and trying.

  She did anyway.

  The knob turned without resistance and the latch released. The door popped open.

  She stuck her head out into the hallway, which was unlit, gloomy. The floor runner was torn and folded back at the top of the stairs, stained with old blood. The place had always looked neglected, but unlike her previous visit, it now seemed utterly abandoned.

  She slipped down the stairs, unconsciously avoiding the two steps that creaked. Through the tiny window in the front door, she could see that the day was coming to an end. Golden light glittered through the trees.

  Down the hall she crept, as if on cat’s toes. To the kitchen.

  Dirty dishes were piled in the sink, mold growing on them. A half slice of petrified toast sat on the counter, no plate to hold it. Mice had eaten most of it away.

  The basement door was locked, but the keys were still hanging on the hook inside the storage closet across the hall. She noticed that the supplies had been plundered. Most of the chemicals they’d stocked to prepare Heale’s blood for injection were scattered about the floor, the eviscerated bottles spilling out their contents.

  She found a candle and lit it, then unlocked the basement and went down.

  The air smelled sweet, a hint of old wine and an undertone of decay. She expected more of the latter. After almost three weeks, her grandfather’s body should be a putrefying mess. But the smell didn’t grow any stronger the deeper she went, and by the time the table came into view she already knew she wouldn’t find what she’d come all this way for.

  The body was gone. The blood where her grandfather had bled out was also missing. Someone had cleaned up.

  A teacup sat in the middle of the table, though not the one Father Heale had used. That one had shattered. The scene appeared staged, like someone was expecting him to return. Jessie snatched it up and hurled it against the far wall with a cry of anger. It just wasn’t fair! She’d come all this way, risked everything, and it was for nothing. The Link was gone.

  Micah had been right. She’d wasted her time, risked her life, all on a hope. She didn’t even have her own Link anymore.

  She wanted to storm out of there, up the stairs and out of the house. She wanted to go home. She was ready to give up. She couldn’t take this anymore.

  The candle in her hand flickered, came dangerously close to extinguishing. She cupped her hand around the flame and prayed for it not to go out. There was something about the crushing darkness surrounding her, something overpoweringly terrifying. She couldn’t imagine being stuck down here all alone. To just disappear in this godforsaken house in this godforsaken place.

  Slowly, she made her way back upstairs. The darkness there was deeper than she’d left it, the silence heavier. She stopped and listened, but there were not even the usual creaks of the walls settling. All was still.

  She returned to her room and searched through the drawers and closet. She did the same in each of the other rooms and found them all empty. The last, Brother Walter’s, was locked.

  She used the keys and opened the door.

  The lantern on the desk was still lit, the chair before it empty. Across the room, the bed clothes were rumpled. A short bed. A child’s bed. Empty.

  Brother Walter wasn’t there.

  She went to the desk. The objects on it reminded her of Doctor White’s office: a cup holding an assortment of pens from places that no longer existed, an old telephone, a stapler. One by one, she pulled the drawers open and checked inside. She had no idea what she was looking for.

  The contents of the bottom drawer were bathed in inky shadow, forcing her to bend down and angle the candle in order to see. Something shiny reflected the light. It was black and rectangular. Wax dripped onto her hand, and she flinched, hissing in
pain, and dropped the candle.

  Behind her, the door handle jiggled. A key slipped into the lock and turned.

  She shut the drawer, then spun around to face whoever it was.

  Brother Walter didn’t seem at all surprised to see her. The scowl on his face remained unchanged.

  The only reaction he gave was to raise the pistol in his hand to her chest.

  “You’re awake,” was all he said.

  Chapter 31

  Brother Walter quietly shut the door behind him and locked it.

  “You should be resting,” he quietly told her. “You’re not ready to be up and about yet.”

  He crossed the room and sat down on the bed, still holding the gun. He didn’t say anything more, just sat there looking at her, the large eyes in his oversized head glinting from the dim yellow light of the lantern. His hands were similarly too big for his body. He was not an attractive man to look at, and yet Jessie found it impossible to look away.

  “Please leave the keys on the desk and return to your room.”

  “How did I get here?” she asked, not moving.

  “We’ll talk in the morning. I brought you some dinner. It’s not much, but I couldn’t risk using the generator.”

  “Not in the morning. I want answers now.” She pulled the chair out and sat down.

  “I carried you from the highway.”

  “That was you?” She frowned. “The child? I’m sorry.” She looked away, embarrassed for him, that she’d thought he was one of the young Infected.

  But if he was insulted, he didn’t show it. “You were lucky,” he said quietly. “Unlike the others. The Children were hungry.”

  “Some of them got away. They’re heading here now.”

  He shook his head. “They went to the Church. They’re still there, waiting. I’ve been watching them for the past two days.”

  “Two days?”

  “You were severely dehydrated. I think you also suffered a concussion. I couldn’t do anything about that but hope the swelling receded. It appears to have done so.”