Alone (24 page)

Chapter Thirty-One

Pain

Where are you, Roman?

I’m in agony. Swimming in a sea of pain, surrounded by water that burns like acid. It licks at my skin, and I want desperately to peel it off. But I can’t get my fingers to cooperate. They are clenched into tight fists that I can’t pry open. I’m shaking, shivering, burning, and freezing. I’ve died a thousand times but keep coming back so I can die again, and each death is a thousand times more painful than the last.

The pain courses through my blood, starting at the bite and rushing up through every centimeter of my body.

I just wanted it to end.

End it for me, Roman,
I silently beg.

But he never comes.

My heart aches more than every other part of my body. I need to see him again before it’s over. Just one more time. I need him to hold me, to ease away the pain.

He isn’t going to make it back in time.

Was it all worth this? I thought it was before the agony became so intense. But now, I can barely focus on anything but the pain. I can’t remember the good stuff.

I
know
I love Roman. I
know
we spent a beautiful night together. But I can’t remember it. I can’t remember anything but the pain.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Hell

Outside, the sun has moved so low that it’s barely peeking over the horizon, and in the distance, the walls of Atlanta loom. They’re bigger than I expected. More intimidating. But they are nothing compared to the wall of zombies standing between us. There must be hundreds of them—maybe thousands.

What if one of them was Jules? What if she was trapped inside one of those rotting corpses?

“Do you think the zombies are conscious of what they’re doing?” I ask Mac as I turn away from the window.

He leans against the wall and snorts, lighting another cigarette. His second one since we left Coastal Manor. I’ve corrupted him.

“No way, man. The original ones died before they came back, and the hearts in the newer ones eventually stop beating. The person they were before that died.” He shakes his head. “Wouldn’t that suck though?”

I close my eyes. “What if this is hell? What if things on Earth had gotten so bad that God decided to just pick up the whole damn underworld and put it here to punish us?”

Mac snorts, and I open my eyes just in time to watch him blow out a big puff of smoke. “That’s bullshit. There’s no God. Isn’t the last two years proof of that?”

“You don’t believe in God?”

Do I?

“Nope, and I sure as hell don’t believe in hell.” Mac smiles at his own joke before turning to look at me. “Do you? You don’t seem like the religious type.”

I shrug. I don’t know what I believe, except that without Jules, I will die.

The room we’re in is empty, just like every other room in the abandoned house. Meaning there’s nowhere for me collapse if my legs give out.

I have to get it together.

Mac hauls himself off the floor and heads over to the window, peeking out at the wall. “We gonna climb that?”

“I’ll do whatever it takes.”

It’s the truth, but that doesn’t mean I love the idea of putting Mac’s life at risk. He should stay in the house. Dragging him through that horde isn’t fair. He doesn’t have to die for my cause.

“I think it would be easier to get through the horde if I went alone.”

Mac tosses the cigarette to the floor. “No way, man. I know what you’re getting at, but I’m not staying here. I’m all in. I told you that before we left.”

I stub the still-smoking cigarette out with the toe of my shoe before turning back to study the wall. It’s made mostly of empty semi-trailers, stretching around the city for miles, with the CDC in the very center. But a few sections of the wall are old buildings, and one happens to be right in front of us. It’s brown and rusted, and it has a faded sign on the roof that says
Miller Metalworks
. Jake was right about the weak spot.

“We’ll go in an hour, then. I wish I could talk you out of it.”

Mac plops down on the floor. “I’m gonna catch some sleep.”

I let him, but I don’t even bother trying to do the same. Sleep is impossible. Especially now that we are so close.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Losing

The haze of pain begins to clear, and my father comes back. Or maybe this is the first time he’s come in the room. I’m still not sure what’s real and what was a dream.

This time, there is no warm washcloth. Water runs down my body and drops to the tile floor when he pulls me out of the tub. He wraps my body in a towel that’s so thick it reminds me of the simple luxuries of the past. His hands move up and down my arms, warming them as I shiver and my teeth rattle together. Then he carries me to the cot, where he tucks a blanket around me. My body begins to thaw.

My dad sinks down, his eyes focused on the floor and his face damp. Has he been crying? That doesn’t seem right.

I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but I know there can’t be much time left.

The end must be getting close.

“Dad…” My voice is barely a whisper.

He crawls across the room to the cot. He isn’t wearing a suit. It looks…off.

“You’re back. Is there anything I can do for you, honey?” He takes my hand. It’s so gentle.

Where did this person come from? He’s never called me honey before. Never been this caring.

I swallow and try to focus. What was I going to say? My throat is so dry, and I’m…hungry

“How long…”

He winces. “It’s about midnight. The cold helped slow the process down, but I couldn’t keep you in there any longer. You were lethargic. Just lying there. I was afraid you’d drown.”

That’s why he said I was back. After the bite comes lethargy, then the person returns. It’s the trick, of course. In the beginning, we thought it meant they had beaten the virus.

Then they turn.

I close my eyes and try to fight back the tears. Roman is running out of time.

“Jules.” My father’s voice shakes. I’ve never heard him like this. So filled with raw emotion and pain.

I force my eyes to open.

He reaches out with his free hand so he can brush the wet hair out of my face.

I like this man.

I try to keep my eyes open, to stay awake, but they’re heavy. I close my eyes and work hard to focus my thoughts. When I go, I want Roman’s face to be the last thing I think about.

I try to remember. Try to find him.

It’s lost, though. Everything is lost.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Atlanta

My entire body is tense when Mac and I slip outside. The sky is dark and the moon high. It’s probably after midnight. In front of us, the crowd of zombies blocking our way is unbelievably thick. For the first time since we left Coastal Manor, I really start to worry that we aren’t going to make it.

But I can’t give up.

“We need a diversion,” I whisper.

Mac and I huddle behind a rusted-out car just one street away from the wall. I can see it. Even in the darkness it’s obvious we’re in the right spot. Next to the old warehouse, there’s a perfect place to climb. It will be so easy.

If only we can get past the dozens upon dozens of zombies blocking us.

“What do you suggest?” Mac asks. “You want me to run off down the street waving my arms and screaming like a maniac?”

“That sounds like a good way to get yourself killed.”

Mac flicks his hair out of his eyes. “I wasn’t joking. I know it sounds insane, but I can do it. I’ll draw them away from the wall and then circle around. Lay low in the house until you get back. It may be the only option we have.”

“You’re nuts!” I hiss. “I’m
not
letting you do that.”

“Look how slow these things are, Roman. I can outrun them. No problem.”

I focus on the zombies as they lumber across the open space separating us from the wall, and it only takes a minute for me to acknowledge that Mac is right. Still, the idea seems like suicide. There has to be a better way. Mac has sacrificed too much already.

“We can think of another way.”

Mac jumps up and does a few quick stretches. “There isn’t one. Get ready.”

I’m on my feet and reaching for him when he takes off running, shooting me a smile as he charges toward the zombies. My stomach jumps to my throat, but I don’t move. Not even when Mac lets out a whistle and he takes off into the night, drawing the dead after him.

“Shit,” I mutter as I duck back down behind the car.

He’s barely visible through the broken passenger window as he darts between groups of zombies, taunting them and calling them names—like only Mac would do—before taking off. And they follow. Most are so slow that they aren’t a threat, but even the fast ones obviously won’t be able to catch up. It makes the nausea in my stomach lessen just a little.

“Stupid bastard,” I mutter as I stand up and take off for the wall.

I keep low to the ground, my knife in my hand just in case one of the dead still hanging around gets too close. There aren’t many zombies left, though, and the few that are don’t seem to notice me. They’re focused on Mac, who is so far away now that I can’t even see him. But I can still hear him—screaming insults at zombies as he runs through the darkness.

I can’t help smiling. Only Mac…

I make it to the wall with no trouble and stash my knife before I start climbing. The wall in this section isn’t made of semi-trailers. It’s made of old cars that have been smashed and stacked on top of each other, giving me dozens of kinks in the metal that form ideal foot and handholds. In less than two minutes, I find myself climbing up over the last car.

The second I haul myself up, I hit the deck. The inside of the city is lit up like the Fourth of July. There are spotlights on the walls and in the streets, and lookout towers with armed men who I know would shoot me on sight. Getting into Atlanta requires government permission, and I don’t have it. The CDC is too important to risk.

I scoot across the bed of an old pickup truck so I can get a better look at the city. My pulse is going crazy, and beads of sweat have formed on my back despite the chilly air. I can’t climb down the other side unless I want to get killed, but there has to be a way to get in.

I lift myself up so I’m on my hands and knees and peek over the edge. It’s a long way down, and below me, guards walk the perimeter. Not an option. I look over my shoulder, but the wall stretches out until it fades into the darkness, only to be lit up again when it intersects with a spotlight and guard tower. Can’t go that way. I turn back, and my eyes take a moment to adjust after looking into the bright light. That’s when I see my answer. The pickup is only one car away from the old warehouse, where a small rectangular window hangs open like it’s waiting for me. Inside, the warehouse is dark, meaning I’ll be taking a risk, but it looks like it may be my only shot.

I do a quick scan of the area and then take off when I decide the coast is clear.

I keep my body low as I crawl out of the truck bed and onto the dented hood of the sedan. The car is the only thing separating me from my goal, and thankfully the entire thing has been smashed so that the roof is almost level with the hood and trunk. Getting across should be the easiest thing I’ve done since leaving Coastal Manor.

I slide across, gasping when the rusty roof pokes into my stomach. It isn’t as smooth as it looks. The flattened roof is sharp in places, forcing me to take it slow so I don’t get sliced across the stomach. Under my weight, the car groans, but it doesn’t move. I scramble forward a little more. Below me, someone yells, and I suck in a breath as I freeze. Waiting to find out if I’ve been caught. Nothing happens, and after a few seconds, I venture a look at the ground. Two guards are interrogating a woman.

I don’t move again until the guards have dragged the woman away, and my eyes are still on the ground when I once again scoot forward. Sharp pain slices through my arm, and I clamp my mouth shut to stop from crying out. I glance down to find the jagged edge of the rear window covered in my blood and a four-inch gash on the inside of my forearm.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I whisper as blood seeps from the wound.

I use my knife to cut a big strip out of the hem of my shirt and then wrap it around my arm to stop the bleeding. Hot waves of pain shoot up my arm when the fabric makes contact with the cut. The world spins, and I squeeze my eyes shut. It hurts like a bitch, throbbing with the beat of my heart, but I have to tie it off.

Holding one end of the shirt between my teeth, I make a loop and pull the fabric tight. The fabric between my teeth helps stifle my grunt when my arm screams in protest. My hands shake and blood pounds in my ears, and for a few seconds, I keep my eyes closed and concentrate on taking slow, even breaths.

I have to keep moving.

When I open my eyes, the window is so close that I can almost reach out and touch it. I ignore the pain as I pull myself the rest of the way across the car, scanning the area every now and then to make sure no one is around.

When I’m sure no one is around to see me, I reach out and grab the edge of the window, then propel myself across. My stomach slams into the ledge, and I dig my fingers into the metal when my body starts to slide back. My arms shake, and the cut throbs as blood soaks through my inadequate bandage. My teeth dig into my lip as I strain to get myself up, using every inch of energy I have. The cut on my arm screams louder with each passing second, but I ignore it and pull myself inside. My head, then my torso, and finally my legs.

I land on a metal beam not even as thick as my body. My heart races as I grip the metal, trying to steady myself. My legs dangle over the edge, but I hold on for dear life. If it wasn’t for this damn cut it wouldn’t be such a big deal, but I’m finding it difficult to ignore the pain coursing up and down my arm.

I have to work through it.

I close my eyes, dig my fingers in, and propel my legs upward, throwing them onto the beam and wrapping my body around it until I’m secure.

With my eyes still closed, I rest my face on the cool metal. I’m panting and my body is shaking and the throbbing in my arm has only increased, but I’m alive. I made it.

At least so far.

When my body has relaxed, I sit up and focus on my surroundings. There are metal beams every few feet, running perpendicular to the wall I just came through. Below me, the building is full of crates, some of which are stacked so high that they’re only a few feet below the beams. One pile two beams over catches my eye. If I can get to that beam, I can lower myself onto the crates.

I glance behind me and find a thin ridge along the wall. It’s barely wide enough for me to walk across, but it’s possible. And probably my only option.

With shaky hands, I grab the window ledge and pull myself up until I’m standing. I wobble but put my arms out to steady myself. Then I test the ledge by putting my feet on it sideways. They barely fit, but there’s room if I shuffle across.

It’s only a few feet
.

I swallow and move forward, pressing my body as close to the wall as possible and clinging to it for leverage. My heart is beating a million miles a minute. I scoot, moving an inch at a time. I make it to the first beam and consider taking a second to relax on the wider piece of metal, but there isn’t really time. Even after I get out of here, I have to figure out a way to get the vaccine.

I push on, moving faster as I cover the last few feet. As soon as I make it to the next beam, I lower myself to my stomach and let out a sigh of relief. My arms wrap around the cool metal like I’m hugging it for dear life. I still have to pull myself out a few feet until I’m over the stack of crates, but it looks like the most dangerous part is over.

I slide down the beam on my stomach, and it only takes a few seconds for me to reach the crates. I was right. They’re eight feet below me at the most. Not too far to drop. My legs go over first, with my arms still clinging to the beam, and it takes me a second to adjust my body. Once again, my injured arm begs for me to stop, but all I do is dig my fingers deeper into the metal and lower myself down. Once I’m sure I’m exactly where I want to be, all I have to do is let go

I drop onto the wooden crate with a thump that echoes through the warehouse.

I crouch, pausing a second to see if the noise has alerted anyone to my presence. Silence surrounds me, so I scurry to the edge of the crate. They’re almost like stairs, staggered next to each other in varying heights that slowly descend. Jumping from one to the other is a piece of cake, and when my feet finally touch the ground inside Atlanta, I’m so relieved I almost laugh.

Too bad the hardest part is still to come.

The best way to look like I belong is to act like it, so I walk right out the front door. My hands are shoved in my pockets and my head is low, but I keep my walk casual. Even though it’s late, there are a few people milling around in the streets, but no one glances my way as I hurry deeper into the city.

Next goal: find someone on the black market.

It’s the only way to get the vaccine, but it’s late and the streets in this part of the city are mostly empty. I have to find the entertainment district. That’s where they’ll be. Luckily, it’s the perfect time of night to find the kind of people I’m looking for.

The streets around me are silent and the buildings dark, but I keep going, turning corners until I find an area that is still buzzing with activity. Businesses line both sides of the street. Bars, strip clubs, pool halls—there are some things that even a zombie apocalypse can’t change.

I pass a few bars, shrugging off a few women who beg for my attention until I reach the end of the street and a trashy-looking strip club catches my eye. There’s something about it that sets off my radar.

A guy in his thirties stands out front, handing out flyers and trying to coax people inside. He’s dressed nicer than anyone else around, but it’s subtle. His clothes are a bit worn, but they aren’t dirty, and his shoes look almost brand new. He’s clean, too.

My palms begin to sweat when I catch his eye. He nods my way, and the certainty that he’s the guy I’m looking for grows. I pause and take a quick look around before heading over. If there’s a code, I don’t know what it is, so I figure the best way to go about is to just come out and ask.

He’s watching me as I walk toward him, and the closer I get, the more his eyes narrow. They are practically covered by his shaggy, blond hair, but I can still see the suspicious look in them.

He holds a flyer out. “Half-price night.”

I keep my hands at my sides and my voice low. “You know where I can find things?”

His right eyebrow shoots up. He stares at me for a few seconds while I hold my breath, waiting for him to size me up. I must have a trustworthy face, because only a few seconds later, he puts the flyer back on top of the stack before pulling one off the bottom.