Catching Red (2 page)

But she had been too stubborn to die. In the undead wastelands she found a peace absent throughout her childhood. The rules of survival were simple—see and remain unseen. She learned to disappear into the shadowed darkness; she learned to find whatever her grandmother demanded. For the past seven years she raced back to the only family she had, knowing it was a matter of time before she was dispatched on a more arduous quest.

She rolled onto her back and met her grandmother’s mocking gaze. Any medicine within a month’s journey from this place was here. Over the years, scouts had gone through every clinic, hospital, and pharmacy. Even the medicine meant for animals had been brought back. She’d seen the empty buildings with her own eyes.

Her sister was dead. Her mother’s life hung in the balance. But this assignment was a fool’s errand. “You know I won’t find anything.”

Eleanor’s smile made her face seem even more like a mask. “There is one place left for you to go.”

All scouts had been warned away from that section of the woods. According to verbal lore, when the outbreak first reached this area, all patients were quarantined in a single hospital. The doors were barred, and the authorities erected a chain-link fence to keep the undead in. If the stories were true, this facility held one of the densest concentrations of brain-eaters in the region. Any idiot desperate enough to enter never returned.

“Why don’t you just kill me?” Scarlet asked in a hoarse whisper. “You’ve wanted me and my mom dead for as long as I can remember.”

Eleanor’s laugh sent a chill down Scarlet’s spine. “My dear naive child. Death is short-lived. Suffering can last a lifetime. I want Mary to know you were eaten alive because you tried to save her.”

* * * *

When Scarlet won the fight to open her eyes, Belle’s accusing gaze was the first image she saw. As her vision came into focus, she recalled the impossible task Eleanor had just given her. Covered in wounds, she didn’t know if she would be able to walk out of the compound, let alone survive a building full of undead.

Belle was a few years Scarlet’s junior and a member of the Prophet’s elite guard. With dark brown hair and gray eyes, the skilled fighter seldom stood out in a crowd. Though Belle had spent years by Eleanor’s side, Scarlet wasn’t certain her grandmother knew the young woman’s name. Anonymity was an asset for the leader of a rebellion.

“I didn’t realize you were capable of this level of stupidity.” Belle’s voice was emotionless. She had learned to hide her feelings so well many wondered if she still felt at all. But caring was a prerequisite for believing in a doomed cause enough to risk one’s life. Someone with a heart of stone couldn’t hold on to a hope so frail it was on the verge of shimmering out of existence.

Scarlet wouldn’t have been surprised if Belle had chosen to never speak to her again. After all, their carefully laid plans were now dust. “Angie is…was my sister. I had to give her the chance to escape.”

“And now she’s dead. You accomplished nothing.” Belle’s words felt like a whip.

“I know.” Scarlet squeezed her lids shut. Her eyes were parched. Her chest felt hollow. The bruises on her body weren’t the only reason she found it impossible to fill her lungs. “But I don’t regret trying. I’m sorry I won’t live to help you see this through.”

To Scarlet’s surprise, Belle supported her nape and poured warm soup down her throat. “I have no use for apologies.” Only once Scarlet had swallowed a large portion did Belle continue to speak. “And there’s too much at stake for you to give up. Mother Gothel and her consort grow old. You know they’ll burn us all before their time is done. Their recent preachings are already laying the foundation for a mass suicide.”

Scarlet shook her head. “Not everyone will follow their lead.”

Belle’s expression was flinty. “Since birth we’ve been told the Prophet’s word is God our Mother. No one outside their inner circle knows a world beyond these walls still exists—that men aren’t mythical creatures and the reason undead roam the wastelands. More than half of all the women here will follow your grandmother to the grave. When they do, they will take the children with them.”

A part of Scarlet clung to the hazy memory of a time before Eleanor’s mind had twisted into a dark, lethal labyrinth. “The church is her life. She cares for everyone here as if they are her own children.”

“Your grandmother’s love is inseparable from hate. Her daughter has been in a straitjacket—her neck collared and attached to a chain—since you were eight.” Belle’s logic was difficult to refute. “You were sent into the wastelands when you turned sixteen. For the past six years, I’ve watched her dispatch you on one perilous quest after another. Her other granddaughter was killed by her decree. Forgive me if I don’t trust everyone’s lives to Eleanor’s mercy.”

Hysterical laughter bubbled at the back of Scarlet’s throat. “What should I—what
can
I do?”

Belle shrugged. “It’s quite simple. Complete the mission as soon as you can. Come back alive. Stay that way until we’re ready to make a move.”

“Is that all?” Scarlet hoped she didn’t sound as defeated as she felt.

“It’s what you owe me. It’s what you owe all of us.” Belle stood. “You got emotional. You screwed up. But we can’t get rid of your grandmother without your help. You need to get back on your feet and in fighting shape. You need to scrounge up more weapons and bring them back. When we’re ready, you need to piss her off enough she’ll summon another Circle. You can’t accomplish any of that if you let this quest turn you into a corpse.”

Their gazes locked. Scarlet didn’t see judgment or pity in Belle’s gray eyes—only understanding and utmost confidence. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to focus on the present. She had tried to save Angie. She had failed. In time, she would have the chance to mourn her sister. But she couldn’t fall to pieces when so many futures rested on her shoulders.

With a trembling hand, she wiped the tear she had only just realized was on her cheek. Her sister might be dead, her mother and grandmother might be insane, but the cause Belle started years ago filled that void. Everyone who was part of this fight possessed the strength to escape. They stayed because this was their home.

The utopia her grandmother had once sought to create was worth fighting for. Without this church, almost everyone Scarlet knew would be dead. Those who remained would have had barren lives fueled only by survival. If she chose to abandon them in life or in death, she would lose the part of her that made her human.

Scarlet lifted the corners of her mouth even though the muscles on her face felt like stone. Smiling had never been this difficult. She was beginning to understand why she hadn’t seen Belle smile in years. Both of them deserved a chance to learn how to be happy.

“I’m still in this fight. I’ll come back to help you win.”

With great difficulty, Scarlet tamped down on the glimmer of hope blossoming inside her. Getting into the hospital wasn’t the hard part. Countless others had been lured over the years by the promise of medication and supplies. None had lived to tell their tale.

It had taken over ten days of recuperation for her to regain enough mobility to leave the WITCH. Even now, errant movements still triggered twinges of pain. She was weeks away from full strength. But she knew the weather patterns better than most. The temperature had dropped below freezing, and the skies were overcast. It was a matter of time before a blizzard covered the woods in snow. She couldn’t risk being caught in the open on either leg of the journey.

The dark, heavy-duty denim she wore was a rare find that had made more than a few eyes flash with envy. There wasn’t much they could have done. Scarlet was shorter, her hips were narrower, her breasts flatter, and even her feet were smaller than every other member of the church. The clothes that fit her wouldn’t fit anyone else.

She tied the drawstring under the hood of her sweatshirt in a belated attempt to salvage body heat. Her breath came out white. At this temperature, each movement consumed too much energy. Her wool gloves weren’t warm enough to keep her fingers from becoming sluggish. A storm was coming, and it was coming soon.

Someone had cut a panel through the chain-link fence. Judging from the multitude of vines snaking through, the first break-in happened years before now. The foliage’s pattern of disturbance suggested many others had started their journey here.

She pulled the rusted metal back and frowned. After fifty years of dereliction, the area was overgrown with trees, weeds, and vines. But there was a fresh path leading straight to the closest window.

After maneuvering past the fence, she bent down to inspect the damaged plants. They had been hacked clean by a large blade, and there was no sign of regrowth. Whoever had come before her made the trip recently.

A few undead roamed the fenced-in area. Since their movements were random and wouldn’t intersect her path, she left them alone. Most humans made the mistake of either fighting or fleeing from these creatures. Missing limbs and covered in gashes that oozed black, viscous blood, their appearance was the substance of nightmares. Coupled with a light gray pallor, clouded eyes, and worn yellow teeth, these monsters signaled imminent danger.

But in the open they were less dangerous than a wild animal. Blind and slow, they could be heard from a distance and easily avoided. Confrontation risked injury, and blood was a surefire way to draw a swarm. In isolation, they could be disposed of. As a group, they were the predators that had almost wiped out the human race.

She approached the broken window. Dust had settled over the sill. It bore two palm-shaped imprints. She paused and listened. The sounds of tearing flesh and frenzied undead would be hard to miss.

She breathed a sigh of relief after hearing nothing but low growls and steady dragging footsteps. Whoever just came through must have died more than a few hours ago. She hoisted herself inside and immediately fell into a crouch. The undead were everywhere.

No matter how many years passed, these walking corpses neither weakened nor decayed. Preserved in a state of perpetual low-energy motion, they moved forward until an obstacle altered their course. Only when something triggered the urge to feed would their movements become unpredictable.

Blood riled them up even from a distance. Proximity to any human would yield the same response. Nomads covered up as much as possible and masked their scent with a mixture of herbs. Even then, no one could get within a few inches of an undead’s nose without being detected.

Going into a building full of brain-eaters was suicide. Scarlet wasn’t strong or fast enough to fight more than a handful at once. Her scabbed-over wounds might reopen at any moment. A single drop of blood would draw dozens to her location within seconds.

Her only chance at survival lay in patience and a level head. Even though the windows were covered in dust, light filtered in. She could see the monsters, but they couldn’t see her. As long as she stayed close to the ground, they wouldn’t smell her. If she was careful, they wouldn’t hear her. There was a slim possibility she could find what she needed and get out in one piece.

She placed her gloved hands on the floor and crept forward. The cabinets in this room were open. Items were strewn everywhere. Whatever resources were once here were long gone.

With growing trepidation, she roamed the first floor inch by torturous inch. She snaked her body to avoid falling feet and kept a wary distance from the few amputated undead crawling over the floor. It took an eternity to cover a distance she could walk in minutes. And her efforts didn’t yield a single bottle of medicine.

She had almost lost all hope when she reached the far end of the building. The sign next to the doorway read “Free Clinic.” Metal doorframes led to a large room filled with beds. The entryway was covered in shards of glass. She picked her way inside. To the right she found a tall counter. Behind that counter were shelves laden with bottles and small paper boxes.

Though she wanted nothing more than to grab her prize and run, she forced herself to turn and survey the area. She counted over twenty brain-eaters.

After waiting for two of them to clear the way, she scurried behind the counter and stood up. Her heart raced as she reached blindly for a bottle. It rattled.

She froze and whipped her head around in time to see the closest undead turn a full circle. It growled and hobbled in a straight line toward her. Her free hand closed over one of the two knives strapped to her lower back. She held her breath and waited. The creature hit the high counter between them. A drop of sweat slithered down her spine.

With a snarl, it turned and continued in the opposite direction. She breathed. A long moment passed before her hand became steady. Though her heart still raced, she returned her gaze to the bottle clutched against her palm. A layer of dust covered the label. She used the pad of her thumb to brush it off. After deciphering the directions, tension drained out of her. She had just hit the mother lode.

She shrugged off her backpack and flipped open the top before lowering the bottles inside one by one until the bag was full. After redoing the fastenings, she left it on the ground.

Turning to face the dimly lit room, she set her mind to stalking undead. She crept along the floor until she was within a few inches of a pair of dragging feet. She folded into a crouch before straightening into a standing position. With a single clean stab through the eye, she eliminated the threat. Catching the falling body, she braced its descent so it landed without a sound. After repeating the process two dozen times, her chest heaved and sweat soaked her clothing. Every one of her wounds throbbed. Her chances at escaping detection dwindled with each moment she wasted.

The room cleared, she strode over to her backpack and hefted it over her shoulders. The resulting sound almost made her jump out of her skin. Even when she limited her motions to the greatest extent possible, walking triggered a rattling noise. It wasn’t loud enough to draw any undead into the area, but there was no way she could traverse the hallway in the same manner as before. The creatures might not catch her scent, but they would hear her every movement.