“This
place is, for now.” I watch his eyes shift, rising
to survey the damage I did to my eyebrow. Judging by the
burning sting, I have reopened several new wounds. “Are
you done fighting me?”
I
can tell that he knows I’m barely staying upright. I am weak,
far too weak.
“Don’t
really have much choice,” I grumble. My shoulders ache as
I hold myself aloft on the edge of a futon, sitting only two feet
above a small, matted shag rug that may have once been a neon green.
Now it is splattered with drying remnants of my earlier bouts
with nausea. Heat floods my cheeks as I look away.
“I
tried to clean you up the best I could. You had me worried for
a while. I didn’t think your fever was going to break.”
At
the mention of my fever, a chill sprints down my spine. Am I
infected too? Am I going to turn into one of the Withered?
Determined
not to think about it, I notice for the first time that he is
concealed in fatigues. There is a Marine emblem on his chest.
“Are you a soldier?”
“Yes,
Ma'am. Stationed out of MCRD PI. ” I stare up at him.
That term means nothing to me. “It’s a Marine
base located in Parris Island, SC. A recruitment training
facility.”
“South
Carolina?” I rub my forehead. My headache is
getting worse and my head feels too heavy for my neck to support, but
I fight against my weariness. I try to focus, to keep him
talking until I can determine his motives. “How did you
end up here in St. Louis?”
His
expression darkens. “We were reassigned a couple weeks
back.”
He
says nothing more, but he doesn’t have to. Everyone knows
the government screwed up. This man, and countless others, were
sent in to clean up its mess. What the government actually did
was cause a shit storm that no one was prepared for.
“How
bad is it out there?” I turned off the TV long before the
rioting took out the power plants. I didn’t want to know.
Didn’t want to hear their version of the truth. The
problem is no one really knows what the truth is any more. Guesses,
opinions, and speculation are all there is now. I guess in the end it
doesn’t really matter.
He
looks away from me. His adam’s apple bobs once and then
again before he speaks. “It’s not good. We’ve
lost New York, Chicago, LA and countless other cities.”
“To
them?”
“The
Withered Ones?” I nod, not liking the way the term rolls off
his tongue with hardly any emotion. “No. They are the
least of our worries.”
I’m
not sure I agree with that.
I
always prided myself in being prepared for anything. Self-defense
classes at the Y and a few street brawls have helped me to survive on
my own, but nothing could have prepared me for this. The term ‘zombie
apocalypse’ has been thrown around. It’s sure as
heck not like what I was expecting!
I
spent hours at the hospital window watching the Withered Ones
shuffling along the streets, waiting for the gruesome deaths to
begin, but they never did. They show no signs of hunger, or
anger or fear, but I stay clear of them. I keep waiting
for this to all be some sick joke, and one of them will finally
decide I look tasty and take a chunk out of my arm.
Glancing
toward the window, I strain to hear the moans on the street below.
They are out there. The Withered Ones, or Moaners, as
some people like to call them now. A fitting name I guess.
“You
thought I was becoming one of
them
,
didn’t you?” I ask after a moment of silence.
“Of
course you did,” I answer for him to fill his continued
silence. How could he not? Fever is the first symptom.
Anxiety. Unexplained pain. Rashes. Delirium. Sudden lowering of
temperature to abnormal levels. Tremors. Loss of memory and a
dozen other symptoms that pop up randomly. The end result is
always the same...an all-consuming nothingness left in this disease’s
wake.
I
saw it at the hospital. Watched the woman in the room across
the hall from my mother slip into an eerie void. She was among
the first, the doctors said.
I
don’t know what they did with her. She just disappeared
from the ward. Maybe the military disposed of her. Maybe
the doctors did. After more people started turning I stopped asking
questions.
He
slowly nods and lowers his gaze so that his face is shielded by the
brim of his camouflage hat. “Then why did you stay?”
“I
had to know for sure. Turns out it looks like you just have a
common flu bug, mixed with a heavy dose of shock.”
What
would he have done with me if my fever hadn’t broken? Would
he have left me here, locked in this tiny apartment to slowly starve
to death? To beat endlessly against the door in a futile attempt to
escape?
“Would
you have put a bullet between my eyes?” I ask. He clears his
throat and turns his face away. His posture grows rigid and I
have my answer. “Nice to know.”
I
look at the room around me and notice black garbage bags duct taped
over the windows. Peering around the flashlight beam beside
him, I spy used candles on the tabletop, their wicks long since
spent. The furniture in the studio apartment is a hodge podge
of garage sale finds. Nothing matches. Nothing smells good.
Glancing
at the ceiling, I discover that all of the air vents are covered.
Torn drapes are shoved into cracks around the window sills. “You
think it’s in the air, don’t you?”
When
he glances back at me, I notice something akin to appreciation in his
gaze. “We don’t really know what caused the
mutations.”
“You
don’t know or you don’t want to say?”
His
gaze narrows. “I don’t know.”
I
nod slowly. “Someone does.”
“Perhaps.”
“Still.
Better to be safe than sorry, huh?” I spy an upturned gas
mask on the floor and realize the distorted face I saw before passing
out was this mask, not a person’s face. I wonder why he
has it. I’ve seen a few people darting around the streets
with clothes tied around their faces. Maybe the military knows
something they don’t deem important enough to share with the
general public?
Growing
up on the streets, I’ve learned a thing or two about reading
people. You have to when you don't have anyone to watch your
back. I can’t get a firm read on this guy. He stays
near enough to express concern for my well-being but not so close
that it alarms me. He is cautious in how he moves, always slow
and deliberate when he shifts, and always watching me.
Trying
to appear as if I have a choice in the matter, I lower myself onto my
elbows. The trembling in my arms eases minimally. It is
only a matter of time before I’m forced to lie down completely.
I
glance at the array of pill bottles, wet cloths and cleaning supplies
accumulated on the floor nearby. “I guess this means you
don’t intend to hurt me.”
I
watch his face for any hint of deceit but see none as he shakes his
head. “No, Ma’am. That’s not my way.”
He
backs farther away, but remains in a crouch not far from my feet.
“What’s
your name?” I ask. Reaching near to the point of
exhaustion, I push up on the cushion and struggle into a fully seated
position. I feel better upright, more in control, though the
tilt of the room reminds me that I’m far from well.
“Cable.”
I
wait for him to continue but he doesn’t. Instead, he
falls silent. “You got a last name to go with that?”
“Cable
is just fine, Ma’am.”
“I’m
no Ma’am.” I brush the hair back out of my face. My
cheeks still feel warm and my skin is sensitive to the touch.
“You can call me Avery.”
When
he cracks a small smile, his closed off expression softens. “I
knew an Avery once. Had a mean streak to go with that flaming
hair of hers.”
The
wistful tone in his voice makes me wonder. “She steal your
heart?”
He
laughs, lowering his head as the memory grips him. “Nope,
but she managed to swindle me out of a few days’ worth of lunch
money, though.”
“You
got taken by a girl?”
It’s
hard to imagine a man of his build being fooled by a girl, no matter
his age. “Nah. She was a pretty little thing. I
practically offered it up to her.”
I
cross my legs before me, enduring a moment of lightheadedness. I
clamp my fingers around my knees and focus on breathing until it
passes. When I open my eyes I see that he’s watching me
again. “How long have I been here?”
“Four
days.”
“Four
days!” My voice cracks with surprise as I jerk upright. “How
did I...what did you...what the heck?”
Cable
pushes back into a seated position, drawing his legs inward to
balance on his tailbone. Reaching over, he grabs a wet cloth
from a bowl sitting beneath a cluttered end table and hands it to me.
I press it to my forehead, grateful for the refreshing coolness.
“That guy back at the hospital messed you up pretty bad.
You were in a lot of pain when I first brought you here so I
gave you something to help you rest. You needed it.”
“I
wasn’t sure I was going to be able to carry you out of there.”
He pauses to swallow as his gaze grows unfocused. His lip
curls with disgust. “I’ve seen my fair share of
death in the past, but never anything like that. That was
twisted stuff.”
I
curl inward, crossing my arms over my stomach in a protective huddle
at the memory of my mother lying in a pool of blood, open and exposed
like a carcass left on the side of a road. Nothing can erase
that memory from me. Nor the sounds, smells, or fear that I
experienced trapped beneath her bed.
I
won’t miss my mother. Not in the normal sense of the
word, at least. She was familiar, even if she wasn’t
always wanted. Still, she deserved better. “The
blood wasn’t all mine.”
He
nods and takes the cloth as I offer it back to him. He dips it
several times in the water and then hangs it over the side. “I
figured that out once I got you back here and cleaned you up.”
I
run my hand down my bare arms and grow still.
I
was wearing a sweater at the hospital.
Glancing
down at my chest I see that I’m wearing a black tank top that
is two sizes too big. My breath catches as I lift the blanket
spread across my lap and discover that my legs are bare. “You
undressed me!”
He
points to his right and I follow the direction of his finger. There,
hanging on a makeshift drying line are my sweater and jeans; torn and
soiled but far less bloody than they should be. “You went
into shock. I had to get you warm.”
“So
you thought
removing
my clothes was the best option?” Heat races up through my neck
and settles into my cheeks as I splutter.
His
expression is impossible to decipher but I would bet money that
there’s a hint of humor buried within his dark eyes before he
looks away. “You were wounded and covered in blood. I
had to know the extent of your injuries. I’m sorry if
this has caused you some discomfort.”
“Discomfort?”
I run my hands through my hair, wincing at the ratty tangles. On
a good day my thick curls are hard to manage. I can only
imagine how terrible I look now. “My mother was torn
apart while I laid beneath her, listening. I was attacked and
bludgeoned nearly to death only to wake to find some complete
stranger has been groping me in my sleep. What’s to be
uncomfortable about?”
He
uncrosses his legs, only to cross them once more before pressing back
his shoulders and then raising his chin to meet me face to face. No
hiding. No backing away. “I told you, that isn’t my
way.”
Tucking
the blanket under my arms, I tap my finger against my leg, trying to
get a read on him. Nothing about his posture screams guilt. No
flush in his cheeks. He doesn’t look away, as if
embarrassed by his actions. In fact, he seems rather confident that
he did the right thing, despite my accusing glare.
“Alright.
Let’s say you are legit.” I concede for the moment.
“That you only want to help me. Tell me what happened at the
hospital? Why were you there?”
There
is a clank of metal and notice dog tags hanging from his neck as he
stretches out his long legs before him. A ridge of muscles
appear in his thighs as he flexes. “The hospital
was overrun. My team and I did what we could to neutralize the
threat.”
“Your
team?”
He
nods. “I had nine men under my command. We were on patrol
in the area when we saw the lights go out. It didn’t feel
right, so we decided to check it out. Once we saw the front
doors busted open we knew it was a raid.”
Despite
the headache trying to drill a hole through the back of my head, his
words bring clarity as I focus on this new information. I always did
like trying to solve puzzles.
“Do
you know why they were murdering people?” He grasps his
dog tags and slides them back and forth across the chain, stalling.
“Cable?”
He
looks up as I use his name for the first time. His jaw flinches but
he quickly averts his gaze. Even from his profile I mark the
pinch of his with disgust. “They were on a blood run.”
“A
blood run?” I lean my head back against the cushion. The
muscles in my neck ache from remaining upright for so long. I
need at least another’s day of rest to recover. “What’s
that supposed to mean?”
He
leans toward me, his lips slightly parted before he speaks. “How
much do you know about what’s been going on?”
I
shrug half-heartedly. “I’m not really the news
watching kind of girl.”
“But
you know about the deaths?”
“Duh.”
I rub my forehead, wishing I could search the apartment for a
bottle of pain meds. This headache is a real bitch. “That
one was kinda hard to miss.”