Eaters: Resurrection

by Michelle DePaepe

  Cheryl nudged Zach in the ribs and whispered, “Go!”

  He and Diego took off, running like their feet had sprouted wings. They churned up a small cloud of dust as they crossed the ditch and disappeared in the sea of withered stalks. Their disappearance was so unexpected and swift, it took a second for the soldiers, including the ones just now returning from the other side of the building to react.

  “What the hell? Go after them!” one of them shouted.

  Four of the soldiers ran into the corn while the remaining two trained their guns on Cheryl, Aidan, and Vinnie who was now crouched on the cement with his arms wrapped around his torso and his head just an inch above the ground. He started make heaving, grunting sounds.

  Cheryl watched with curiosity. Still acting? You can stop now. We can’t run too. They’d shoot us before we made to the corn.

  The soldiers continued to talk, ignoring Vinnie as he convulsed and expelled a foul puddle of dark blood.

  “We could send some Beasts after them.”

  “Nah. Waste of time. We’re supposed to get our asses up to Denver ASAP, and they weren’t on the blacklist anyway.”

  “Yeah…but if they were RT, we could have gotten something extra for them.”

  “Pfff…you know how much we’re going to rake in for these three? They’re top ten in Zone A.”

  She saw it then—the mottling on Vinnie’s arms. There were pronounced dark blue veins underneath his splotchy skin, and it had a tinge of mushroom gray. He wasn’t faking. He was truly sick. Sick in the worst way. Cheryl took a step away from him, and Aidan did the same.

  The soldier closest to Vinnie hopped out of the way just before a trickle of blood snaked towards his boot. “Ahhh…Jesus! Really?”

  Vinnie collapsed and went limp.

  The other soldier scooted away from his body. “Better do it before he wakes up.”

  Cheryl turned her head away when the first one pointed his gun at Vinnie’s head and fired.

  “Should we bring him with us?”

  “Hell no! I’m not riding with an infected corpse. We still got a two hour drive. You want to breathe his decomposing stink for that long?”

  The soldier didn’t respond. He watched the corn as it rustled and figures began to emerge. It was the soldiers that had gone after Zach and Diego returning empty handed.

  “They’re gone. Can’t see a damn thing in that field. We don’t know what direction they headed.”

  Another pointed to Vinnie’s corpse. “What’d you do to him? He try to escape too?”

  “Infected.”

  Worried looks crossed their faces and they edged further away from Vinnie’s body.

  One of the others who had returned from the field asked, “What are we going to do about the guys that got away?”

  “Forget about ‘em,” said the man who appeared to be their captain. “We’ll tell Marshall they were eaten by some fucking rogue N.E.U.s. Think that’ll fly with the king?”

  A couple of them shrugged. “Maybe. If he’s hasn’t got that Cyclops thing I’ve heard rumors about up and running yet. If he does, we can kiss our asses goodbye, because he’ll know we’re lying.”

  They stepped around Vinnie’s body, ignoring it like it was nothing but a piece of garbage as they hopped into the vehicle. Cheryl buried her head in her hands. I’m sorry, Vinnie. And I forgive you. I’d have done the same thing.

  When she lifted her head, she saw an Eater emerge from the corn stalks. She had been a young teenager when she died, fourteen or fifteen at the most. Now she looked like a rail thin ghost, just a wisp of a thing with large milky eyes, wearing a bloodstained Hello Kitty t-shirt and torn jeans. She hobbled across the ditch, dragging a limp foot. When she reached Vinnie’s body, she stumbled over his forearm, not noticing it since there was no life remaining in his flesh. Just before the men slammed the doors shut, she reached a hand out with a look of desperation. Cheryl considered the idea that Eaters may not think when they’re dead, but they still seem to feel—they feel hunger, despair, perhaps even misery. She was somewhat relieved to think that Vinnie hadn’t been doomed to the same fate. Wasn’t real death preferable to such never-ending torture?

  They began to move. Aidan reached over and took her hand. He looked at her with a blank stare. She didn’t know how much of his sullenness was due to his injury, how much was due to exhaustion, or how much was due to a complete surrender to whatever fate was in store for them.

  She laid her head on his shoulder, and he leaned his head on top of hers. It was just the two of them again, as it had been during their long journey from Colorado down to Arizona. Now, here they were, making the round trip. Only this time, it was not of their own free will. The things Vinnie said about what O.N.E. had done to his fellow RT members disturbed her. She’d rather take a bullet in the head like had just happened to him than suffer some prolonged death at the hands of a hungry Eater or a remote-controlled Beast. It was better to stop thinking about it for the next two hours…if she could. The fear was working its way down to her stomach, fizzing around in there like some of bartender Jade’s white lighting and then shooting back up into a paralyzing terror. And what good would it do her or Aidan to lapse into the mindset of some invalid that could no longer think for herself or fight?

  Yet, the regrets pressed heavily on her mind. What had she been thinking that day when she goaded her friends to head straight into Sedona…into the hive? One New Earth was just too big, too strong to thwart. How could you fight a group that was so immense and organized that it could kill off most of the population, control those that were remaining, and even turn the dead into puppets? It was easy to fantasize about taking them down when she’d been part of the Resistance, and she’d done her bit then. Now, in O.N.E.’s clutches, she felt helpless.

  For the first time in a long while, she wished she had Mark’s voice pinging in her head for support. But, he was dead, probably a vulture-pecked corpse lying in the desert outside Sedona. Best to think of other things. She was going to have to be her own moral sustenance and hang on ‘til the very end with her ragged fingernails.

  She squeezed Aidan’s hand harder. He flinched, and she couldn’t tell if it was because she’d squeezed a little too hard or if he was reacting to her silent admonition for him to hang on along with her.

  Chapter 15

  The vehicle stopped for a long while, some ten maybe fifteen minutes. She could hear voices outside—two men talking. The soldiers in the back with them did not get out. They whispered to each other, sounding anxious, and from their conversation, Cheryl gathered that they had stopped at some sort of checkpoint just outside the city.

  They started moving, driving several miles and making multiple turns before stopping again. The back doors were opened and the soldiers got out. The last one turned around and waved his gun at them when he saw that they were still sitting. “What’s your hold up?” he sked. “Get out!”

  Wherever they were, it was eerily quiet. There were no sirens; there was no torch-bearing O.N.E. crowd ready to rip them to shreds for the role they’d played in the Resistance; and there were no moaning Eaters ready to rip them to shreds. Even so, she didn’t let her guard down—she was prepared for the worst to happen. She took a few slow steps towards the door. Aidan was so close behind her; she could feel his breath on her neck before she hopped out.

  Whatever she expected when they arrived in Denver, it was not this.

  It was still light outside. To the west, there was the craggy outline of the Rocky Mountains. Seeing them again gave her heart a jolt. Some of the taller peaks still had a bit of white frosting on them, evidence of a late spring snow. To the north, she saw the Denver skyline in the distance and recognized some of the more statuesque buildings: CenturyLink Tower, the curve-topped Wells Fargo Center, and the tallest, Republic Plaza. A couple of the high rises in between them looked darker than she remembered like they’d been charred by smoke.

  After getting her bearings, she turned her attent
ion to her immediate surroundings. They were parked in the driveway of a building that was several stories high and had bars on the windows. There was no signage out front, but it had the feel of a mental institution.

  She whispered to Aidan, “You know where we are?”

  He looked west, but his gaze seemed lower than the mountain peaks. She suspected he was looking towards Golden, her hometown and the place they’d initially met, but a place of deep heart pangs for him. It was where he had worked and where his former girlfriend and her child had met a gruesome end.

  “Yeah,” he said in a deep, gravelly voice. “I know where we are.”

  Knowing where they were was at least some sign of lucidity from him. She was glad for that.

  A few of the O.N.E. soldiers lit up cigarettes. Instead of forcing her and Aidan into the building, they stood around talking. What were they waiting for?

  “Where are we?” she asked the soldier closest to her, a young man with light brown peach fuzz above his upper lip who was standing apart from the others.

  He took another drag on his cigarette. “I don’t—”

  A scream from inside the building sliced through the air, causing her to jump and the soldier to drop his cigarette. He stubbed it out with his boot then stood on it, like he was trying to hide his fumble.

  “I don’t know,” he said, with a grim look on his face.

  A few seconds later, their driver emerged from the building with a prim woman tailing him. She wore a starched white shirt and black slacks. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and her dark brown eyes were magnified like bug eyes in the black framed glasses that had thick lens. She looked Cheryl and Aidan up and down as she circled them.

  “Any signs of infection?” she asked the head soldier.

  He shrugged. “None we noted.”

  “All right. I’ll take them from here. Come with me,” she said, turning her back and stepping onto the curb.

  Cheryl kept her feet planted where she stood. “Where are we?”

  The woman pivoted around. “The South Denver Holding Center.”

  “What does that mean…holding center?”

  “It simply means a place for you to stay until you’re transferred somewhere else.”

  “Transferred where?”

  The woman licked her lips then glanced at the phone in her hand. “It’s not my business to know. I simply provide a place of rest and comfort for guests until someone from O.N.E. picks them up.”

  “How long will we—”

  “You can ask questions later. Right now, we need to get you to the decontamination room. Follow me…please.”

  When they didn’t move, the soldiers threatened them with their rifles and a barrage of profanities.

  Cheryl edged onto the sidewalk, unsure if she wanted to leave the protection of the soldiers who hadn’t exactly been friendly, but hadn’t as of yet harmed them either.

  The soldier who seemed to be in charge gave her a nod with his head, “Go with Marna. It’ll be okay.”

  She glanced back at Aidan and he stared at her with a narrowed eye, a look of either resignation or indifference. Taking slow steps, she followed Marna towards the heavy oak door at the front of the building and Aidan did the same. As the soldiers hopped into their vehicle and the engine started, she looked back. Should they run now? It could be their only opportunity. Once they crossed the threshold of this building, she had no idea what would happen to them. She considered it for the briefest moment then decided not to take the risk when she thought she saw movement on the roof of the building adjacent to them. A sniper? Even if O.N.E.’s soldiers didn’t shoot them… who knew what this city had become? She and Aidan were unarmed and it was possible that the entire area was either still infested with Eaters or saturated with O.N.E.’s remote controlled Beasts. She decided to take her chances with Marna, and figured that if it came down to it, she and Aidan could take her and bail if they decided it was in their best interest.

  She braced herself as she stepped inside the building, expecting to be thrown into some sort of sterile inmate processing procedure. Confusion set in as she looked around the lobby. It had a seating area with plump couches and chairs, magazines on a table, and an array of potted plants. Soothing jazz music tinkled over their heads as Marna leaned over a counter and spoke to the receptionist, a trim young man with short dark hair who was surrounded by several computer screens. They talked for a minute in hushed voices then two armed men in plain clothes appeared from behind a door near the counter.

  “This way,” Marna said, starting down the hall that ran adjacent to the waiting room. She took a few clickety-clack steps in her shiny heels.

  “Wait!” Cheryl called after her. “My friend needs medical attention. He’s had a head injury—a couple actually. Is there a doctor or a nurse on staff?”

  Marna wheeled around, glared at Cheryl as if she was hearing some sort of ruse, and focused her gaze on Aidan. She came back and stood in front of him, cocking her head as she peered into his eye and seemed to bore through it with her stare. “He looks all right to me,” she said, blindly ignoring the matted blood in his hair. “Drugged maybe? A little tired from running from playing hide and seek with zombies all day?”

  “He’s not just tired. He’s been hurt. He was hit with a—”

  “Yeah. Yeah. I’m sure it’s a great story. I’ve heard it all. He’ll be just fine after some—”

  Cheryl lunged at the woman, grabbing the collar of her shirt, not knowing what she intended to do other than knock some sense into this cold, evil woman. They scuffled for a moment, and Marna’s glasses crashed to the floor, as the armed men pulled them apart.

  “Please…” she asked now, resorting to begging as her arms were restrained behind her. “…my friend is hurt…and we’re not going through decontamination…we’re not going anywhere until you find a doctor to look at him.”

  Marna reached for her glasses, stood back up, adjusted them, and placed them back on her face. She seemed to stare over Cheryl’s shoulder with what appeared to be either shock or an inability to focus and calmly raised a hand in the air above her head. Cheryl angled her head back and saw the camera mounted on the wall across from them as she heard footsteps running towards them from an area further down the hall.

  Four strong looking men and two women quickly surround them. They all wore black t-shirts with a white triangle and the number one inside, khaki cargo pants, and black boots.

  Cheryl felt the needle poke into her arm before she saw the syringe. “You don’t have to…” Her thought was lost as a warm, tingling sensation floated through her head.

  Aidan’s voice drifted towards her, warbled and muted like they were under water. “We’ve arrived in the Emerald City…and we get to meet the Wizard.”

  She had a sensation of falling, and the last thing she saw was the bright fluorescent rectangle of light above her dim just before it went out.

  ###

  When Cheryl woke she saw a white popcorn ceiling above her. Her head felt impossibly heavy like her brain had been suctioned out and replaced with an anvil, and her mouth was dry and foul tasting. Her first thought was that she was in a jail cell or a holding tank where people were put before being fed to a pack of Eaters.

  She bolted upright. “Aidan!”

  The quick motion made her stomach lurch, causing a dry heave. She collapsed back down onto the bed and coached herself to be calm. Okay. Okay. Breath…

  Moving her head as little as possible, she scanned her surroundings with her eyes. She was on a twin-sized bed, one of two in the small room divided by a nightstand and a dimly lit lamp. There was a discolored patch on the wall across from her where it looked like a flat screen television had once hung, and a small desk and chair in the corner of the room near the window which was covered with thick draperies, preventing her from seeing if it was day or night.

  She took a closer inventory of her body. Her head throbbed with pain, and she felt green with nausea. Her skin
felt fresh and clean, smelled like a mixture of chemical disinfectant and lavender, and she wasn’t wearing the filthy clothes that she remembered wearing last. She had on a pale pink jumpsuit. It was soft and smelled faintly of perfumed fabric softener. While she’d been passed out, someone had cleaned her up and changed her clothes. The idea that strangers had handled her unconscious body repulsed her.

  Breathing slowly, she tried to remain calm. The realization that she was in some sort of hotel room eased her mind. Maybe Aidan was here too. There had to be a bathroom. He could be in there…

  She tried calling his name again, and when there was no answer, she began a slow process of lifting her body off the bed inch by inch then stumbled towards the bathroom.

  Once there, she reached in, flipped on the light switch, and tried to focus against the harsh glare of the bright light.

  It was empty.

  White tub, white sink, white towels…but no Aidan.

  She moved towards the room’s outer door. The deadbolt and the chain lock were off, but the door would not budge when she tried to open it. So, it was a jail cell after all. But where was Aidan? She hoped he’d been taken to an infirmary and was getting some help for his injury.

  She crossed the room and opened the curtains. The only view was of a brick wall from an adjacent building, and she wasn’t surprised to see bars on the window. After a few minutes of pacing, feeling like a caged animal, she reclined on the bed. All sorts of potential scenarios flitted through her mind as she slowly started to feel more like a human being and less like a half dead corpse. The worst involved this all being a prelude to some sort of public execution where members of the RT would be tortured before a live crowd or put in an arena with Eaters for some ancient gladiator style sport.

  After an hour of torturing herself with more doom and gloom, she fell asleep. Sometime later, there was a knock at the door. She got up and looked through the peephole. There was a woman on the other side. The view wasn’t clear, but she could tell it wasn’t Marna. This person was extremely thin and wore a turtle neck sweater.