Still no one answered.
She saw a child, who she estimated was no more than ten. She knelt and asked, “Can you tell me where we are?”
The child, a boy, naked and boney, pulled his legs close to his chest and shook his head. He looked away from her and tucked his face into his knees.
She reached out to him but was stopped when a woman spat on her. “Leave the boy alone!”
“So you do talk,” she said, wiping the spit from her arm. “Where are we?”
“In hell,” the woman replied.
Still holding her shirt over her nose, she quipped, “That’s obvious, but where specifically?”
“I don’t know. We were taken a while ago outside Woodruff. I told my damn fool husband not to travel the old freeways, but he insisted,” the woman growled.
Brienne stared at the woman. Her greasy hair hung long and heavy on her bare shoulders. Her soiled skin was covered in sores and bruises. “Why is everyone naked?”
“Don’t you worry, they’ll soon come to strip you. They do it when he rapes you,” the woman said.
Another woman, whose condition was similar, grabbed the other woman’s arm and shook her head. “Ssh.”
Curious, Brienne asked, “Who is he?”
“I’ve said enough. They’ll be here soon to take you or…”
“Or who?” Brienne asked.
“The boy, they’ll take him next,” the woman said bluntly, knowing the boy could overhear her.
Brienne thought for a moment, looked around the space, and as she became aware of who was holding them, her expression shifted from concern to terror. “They’re cannibals, aren’t they?”
The woman nodded.
Brienne quickly shifted her mindset into survival. It was that coupled with her perseverance that had kept her alive all these years so far. She stood tall and looked for anything she could fashion into a weapon; it didn’t matter how small, she needed something and fast. Disregarding the feces, she marched around the space looking. She found the skeletal remains of an earlier victim and spotted the one thing she could use. She knelt down, grabbed a rib and pulled until it snapped off. Holding it in her hand, she admired the jagged edge on the broken end. “This will do.”
Heavy footfalls sounded outside the door. She sprinted to the door and planted her back against the wall next to it. She didn’t know who or how many were coming through the door, but she knew her only advantage was the element of surprise.
The distinct sound of a key inserting and turning in the lock resonated through the room.
Her heart raced and sweat began to form on her brow. She firmly held the rib and waited.
The door opened and with it came the bright light of day. In walked a man, his clothes tattered and soiled, a bolt-action rifle slung over his shoulder. The man looked around the room but didn’t see Brienne. “Where’s the new girl?” he asked the huddled group.
The woman Brienne had been talking to raised her scrawny arm and pointed directly at Brienne.
The man shrugged and said, “Why are you pointing at—”
Before he could get the last word out, Brienne sprang on him. She thrust the rib into the side of his neck, pulled it out, and quickly slammed it in again.
He gasped and clawed at the two puncture wounds as blood pumped from them.
Seeing she had the advantage, she continued her assault. She pushed him against the open door and came down hard with the rib, this time stabbing him in the chest. She repeated this strike several times.
Weakened from blood loss, the man slid down the door and fell onto the floor. He gagged a couple of times, blood spewing from his mouth, and gasped one last breath of air before dying with his eyes wide open.
Brienne, covered in the man’s blood, smiled at her victory over her larger and armed opponent. She removed his rifle and opened the bolt to confirm it was loaded. She turned to leave but paused. Turning back to the others, she waved for them to follow her, but none did. She couldn’t understand why some people simply gave up. Were they actually thinking that maybe, just maybe, their lives would be spared? Were they so accustomed to being prisoners that the fear of dying while escaping was more dreadful than being killed then consumed? She’d never understand and gave it only a second’s thought.
Outside the building, she soon discovered that she’d have to do more than just kill one guard in order to escape; she’d need to fight her way out past what now seemed to be a small army that was headed her way. She raised the rifle, took aim at the first person she saw coming, and squeezed the trigger.
The thirty-aught-six round struck the man squarely in the chest and sent him tumbling to the ground. She cycled the bolt, swung the rifle to the next man she spotted, and began to apply pressure, but before she could fire, she was struck in the head by the woman whom she’d just seconds ago offered freedom to.
Brienne felt her legs give out. She fell to the ground and tried to shake off the hit, but the woman wasn’t done; she came down a second time. The blow did the job and knocked Brienne out.
DELIVERANCE, OKLAHOMA
Reid had met Kaitlyn Stone twice before but only in passing. She always seemed busy and unconcerned for anyone she didn’t know. Why he was being asked to meet with her came as a bit of a shock. He hadn’t ever been summoned to talk to anyone in the council before.
Weld had waited for him to get ready and escorted him to her residence. Stopping at the end of a long walkway, Weld said, “Go ahead inside. She’s waiting for you.”
“Just walk in?” Reid asked.
“Yes, just go in,” Weld said.
“Okay,” Reid said and walked to the front door. Nervously, he combed his thick black hair with his fingers, straightened out his wrinkled clothes as best he could, and entered the house. The smell of lavender greeted him. He looked and saw it was coming from a candle located on a small table in the foyer. “Hello,” he called out after closing the door behind him.
“I’m in the kitchen, Mr. Flynn,” Kaitlyn said.
He stepped farther in the house, the lavender odor giving way to the aroma of something savory. He navigated the large house until he found the kitchen. There he saw Kaitlyn standing in front of the oven with a large serving platter in her mitt-covered hands.
“Do you like eggplant lasagna?” she asked.
“Ah, sure,” he said. He stood awkwardly in the doorway, staring at her.
“I have to admit it doesn’t taste as good with goat cheese, but I’ve come to enjoy it. It’s been so long since I’ve had cheese made from cow’s milk that I’ve almost forgotten what it tastes like,” she said. “I hope you like strawberry vodka. I had them make this specifically. The strawberries are technically infused; they’re added during the distilling process, giving it a great strawberry taste, versus having them added afterwards.”
Finding the entire scene odd, he asked, “Why am I here? I don’t know you, yet I’m here and you’re offering me dinner and drinks.”
She picked up two glasses, both filled halfway, and walked over to him. She handed him one and said, “This is odd, isn’t it?”
He took the glass, but instead of taking a drink, he again asked, “Why am I here?”
“I need your help.”
“My help, with what?”
She walked back to the island kitchen counter and said, “Today we gathered more information about a potential cure for the dog flu.”
“That’s good news.”
“I understand your wife died from it,” she said.
“She did, and I contracted it myself but was fortunate enough not to die.”
“You’re the lucky ten percent,” she quipped.
“I would never consider myself lucky,” he fired back.
“Mr. Flynn—”
Interrupting her, he said, “Call me Reid, unless we should be keeping up the pretense of being formal.”
She smiled. “And you can call me Kaitlyn.” She took a drink and continued, “I believe the government
found a cure but, because of the situation on the ground, hasn’t distributed it.”
“I suppose there really isn’t anyone to distribute it to. I hear there’s not much left.”
“That’s not true. In Deliverance alone there are three hundred and thirteen souls, all worth saving, and if the dog flu managed to get in here, it could cause the deaths of many.”
“But there hasn’t been a case in years,” he said, almost quoting Kincaid to the word.
She sighed and said, “Don’t you want to know what’s happening out there? Don’t you think it’s important for us to find other survivors and possibly a cure or vaccine if there is one?”
“I suppose so,” he answered. He sniffed the vodka and found it smelled delicious. Curious as to the taste, he took a sip. “That’s nice.”
She smiled at his comment and continued, “I applaud everything that the mayor has done. His vision helped us survive the turbulent years following the war; however, we cannot continue to think we won’t encounter the flu again.”
“But the protocols are strict. If someone does have it, we quarantine them right away; we have a way to limit the spread.”
“But what if there are other communities? What if we could reestablish commerce? What if the government is up and running, and all we need to do is go find them? There has to be more than just death outside these walls,” Kaitlyn declared.
“Have you thought, though, that might be all there really is.”
Seeing that her vision wasn’t working with him, she said, “I reviewed your file and found you served in the Navy before the war. I also saw that you worked in special operations command on the West Coast.”
“I have a file?”
“Yes, you filled in that information. Don’t you recall doing that?”
It had been so long that he had forgotten about Kincaid’s requirement early on. “That’s right.” Now fully confused, he bluntly asked, “What can I help you with?”
“I never imagined I’d find someone, but lo and behold, out of all the people here, you actually have been to the place I believe the cure is located,” Kaitlyn said.
“And where’s that?”
“San Nicholas and San Clemente Islands.”
“You think a cure is on one of those islands?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He took another sip of vodka and said, “I have no idea if there’s a cure there. I haven’t stepped foot on either one of those islands in fifteen years. And you need to remember, while it says I was in the special operations command, I was in a support function as a radar tech, nothing more. I wasn’t a SEAL or anything high speed, low drag.”
“But you know where they are, you know the layout of the islands, correct?”
“It’s been a long time,” Reid said.
“But you’ve been to both islands, right?”
“I have, and if I were to venture to guess, I’d say it would have to be San Clemente Island. The Department of Homeland Security did have a scientific operation out there. I recall seeing many Homeland people out there, and they were setting up a secure site on the southwest side of the island away from the DOD’s sites,” he said. “I can give you somewhat of a layout. I know where the runways were, barracks, etcetera, but I couldn’t tell you anything beyond that, if the labs itself exist on San Clemente Island.”
She gritted her teeth and asked, “Would you be willing to drive there and find out?”
He took a step back and said, “Drive there, in what?”
“Let’s not discuss the means of transport until you agree,” she said. “You’re the only person who’s been there. You know the islands better than anyone and could verify if I’m correct.”
“Wait, hold on, you didn’t ask me to come because you want me to draft you a map of the islands, you want me to risk my life. Not one person who has ever left the town has ever returned, no one,” he blared.
“We’d equip you with as much firepower and weapons as you would need. We’d even get you a vehicle.”
“One of those half-broken-down trucks that we use for the harvest. I bet those things could barely get to forty miles an hour, and most would break down before I even reached the Texas border,” Reid mocked.
“I may have something else in mind.”
“You’re asking me to risk my life, and for what, to confirm a rumor?”
“You would, but you’d be doing it for the greater good, for your daughter’s future,” Kaitlyn said.
“You don’t even know if the disease is even prevalent anymore. You’d risk my life to confirm a rumor about a cure for a disease that may not even exist anymore.”
“I need to bring you up to speed, but it’s confidential.”
“And that is?”
“We’ve had people come to our gates seeking refuge. One recently had the disease and was asking for a cure. Of course we turned them away. Others who have come still talk about people catching it and dying. It appears to have gone dormant, but is still prevalent and can be caught. This might be why some of our patrols have not ever returned,” she said and cleared her throat. “With you being immune, you wouldn’t have to worry about the disease.”
“Then you should go,” he said bluntly. “You’re immune too, aren’t you?”
“Actually, I’ve never had it, hence why I’m concerned.”
She set her glass down, picked up the spatula, scooped out a piece of lasagna for him, and put it on a plate. “Are you hungry?”
“I don’t feel right eating your food after turning you down.”
“It’s fine. I’m asking a lot and have nothing to offer you but a vision. I know it’s tough for people to want to give up the luxuries of life here for the harshness of what’s outside the gates. I’m a fool to think anyone would go,” she said, holding up the plate.
He walked up to the island and set his glass down. “I’m sorry. I lost my wife, leaving my daughter with only one parent. If I died, who will take care of her? I can’t risk that.”
“You’re right. Will you forgive me for being pushy?”
“There’s nothing to forgive. I too desire to know what the world has become, but that desire is not greater than that of taking care of my daughter.”
She scooped herself a piece, dug her fork into it and took a bite. “Not bad.”
“It’s really good, thank you,” he said. “Tell me, where’s Mr. Stone?”
“I don’t know. I have to presume he’s dead. He was in New York when the bombs dropped. I happened along here while driving from Oklahoma City. The mayor gave me a place to stay, and here I’ve been since,” she explained.
He didn’t know her story and was impressed that Kincaid wasn’t such a hard-ass. He’d forgotten that in the beginning some strangers were allowed to stay. “I’m sorry about your husband.”
“Me too,” she said, taking another bite. “Keeping busy with the town has helped me though.”
“Do you also stay busy cooking?” he quipped, scooping up a forkful of lasagna.
“And that too.” She laughed.
The two enjoyed the rest of their food while chatting about life until Reid noticed what time it was. “I have to go. My daughter is expecting me to be home.”
“Want to take some of this home with you?”
“If you don’t mind, she’d love it.”
She prepared him a plate and said, “It was nice chatting, and please excuse my bullish behavior. I have these ideas and they get stuck in my head.”
“I can appreciate your vision, but I have to look out for Hannah. I made her mother a promise, and I intend on keeping it,” Reid said. He looked at the plate and continued, “And thank you for the delicious food. I’ll be sure to drop off the plate another time.”
She walked him to the door and opened it. “I’ll see you around, Reid.”
“Good night,” he said and exited.
***
Reid arrived at his house to find it dark. He turned on several lights and called out
, “Hannah, are you here?”
From the back of the house he heard whimpering.
Fear gripped him. “Hannah, is that you?” he asked as he sped in the direction of the crying. He ended up at her bedroom door and opened it. “Hannah?”
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she cried. She was curled up in a ball on her twin-sized bed. Her room was decorated in everything pink and ponies, with posters of the ocean and beaches on the walls.
Reid immediately went to her bedside and sat. Touching her shoulder, he asked, “Why are you crying?”
“I’m scared,” she whimpered.
“Scared? Oh, honey, I know I’m late. I apologize, but I do have some amazing lasagna for you. I think you’ll—”
“I got hurt,” she blurted out in between sobs.
“Hurt, how?” he asked, a look of concern on his face.
“I’m sorry, but I thought it was nice. I’m so sorry,” she groaned. Her back was to him and he couldn’t see any part of her.
“What are you talking about, Hannah? What do you mean?”
She craned her head towards him and said, “I’m so sorry. I don’t want to die.”
“Die? Hannah, tell me this instant what happened,” Reid insisted.
She lifted her right arm. On it was a white bandage with spots of blood soaking through.
“What happened? Is it broken?” he asked, examining it closely.
Rolling onto her back, she wiped tears from her eyes and cheeks and replied, “No, it’s not broken.”
“Did you fall down? Do you need to see a doctor? This skin is broken, I can tell that from the bandage,” Reid said as he began to unwrap it.
“I don’t want to die, Daddy,” she cried, her body trembling.
“You’re not going to die, honey, you just hurt your arm. The hospital has stocks of antibiotics still, and I think we can get you a shot for tetanus if they still have some, which I believe they do,” he said in a reassuring tone.
Tears flowed from her eyes. “I’m scared.”
“Oh, honey, there’s nothing to be…” he said then paused when he saw the wound with his own eyes. “It’s a bite.”
Seven Days: A Post-Apocalyptic Novel Page 3
