What Survives of Us (Colorado Chapters Book 1) (28 page)

Max was speaking, his voice animated.  “We tested it out – just used a deck of cards and had them guess the suit, so a 25% chance of being right.  The government used to do this same kind of experiment, years ago.”  Max leaned forward, nodding down the table.  “Our boy Ethan here guessed right 55% of the time – 55%!  That’s crazy!  And Tyler was right nearly 60% of the time!”  He leaned back, shaking his head, laughing in wonder.  “I won’t play cards with either one of ‘em ever again, you can bet on that!”

Josh looked uncomfortable.  “Christ, Max, what are you saying?  That the plague made people psychic?  How’s that work?  They didn’t get it – they were just exposed, like the rest of us.  And if you’re right, why aren’t all of us mind-readers now?”

Ruth cut in.  “It’s not really mind-reading.  It’s an intuitive hunch – like when you know who’s on the phone before you look at the name?  Or you know when the Daily Double is going to come up on Jeopardy, just before it does?  Stuff like that?”  Josh just stared at her blankly, and she snorted.  “Okay.  Never mind.  We don’t think everyone is experiencing it, and certainly not at the level Tyler and Ethan are.  And we’re not sure how it’s related to the plague.  People change as a result of stress – it could be as simple as that.  An evolution.”

“We haven’t talked to everyone about it.  Jenny and her family have other things on their minds.  And others, well…”  Max glanced in Piper’s direction, and she quickly looked away.  “We think it’s different for different people, too.  Ruth says she’s had ‘gut feelings’ all her life, but they’re much stronger now.  I haven’t noticed any change, but I’m still hoping.”  He chuckled.  “I will be so pissed if this passes me by – I read every book on psychic phenomenon I could get my hands on when I was a kid.”

Josh still looked uncomfortable, his fingers rubbing over the small cross he always wore around his neck.  “Yeah, well, some of us don’t buy into that evolution bullshit.  Ya’ll can believe you’re hairless apes if you want to, but I am a Created man.”  He stood, eyeing Ethan suspiciously.  “Far as I’m concerned, you can keep your mind-reading shit to yourself.  That is tool-of-Satan stuff, man.”

“No problem.”  Ever easy-going, Ethan stood, collecting his plate and silverware then nodding to the others.  “Off to do the Devil’s work.  Have a good day.”

Laughter followed him, and Piper’s mind raced.  What was this?  What had Ruth said?  Evolution?  As in evolution of the
species
?  Piper searched her experiences, looking for evidence to support this extraordinary hypothesis, but quickly let that line of inquiry drop.  She’d been so out of it, people could have grown tails and she wouldn’t have noticed. 

Brody finished eating, took his plate to the kitchen, then approached Ruth.  Piper resumed her blank stare, heard Brody ask and Ruth accept, and kept right on staring.  She jumped when Brody’s hand landed on her shoulder.

“Ruth has agreed to spend the day with you.  Try to keep your head out of the clouds and pay attention.”  He wrapped his hand around her ponytail as he spoke to her, just tight enough to sting her scalp.  Using his hold on her hair, he twisted her face up to him.  “I’m going out on patrol with Levi and Adam.  We’ll be back late this afternoon.”

“Okay.”  She was aware of everyone’s eyes on them, and kept her face still, though her eyes wanted to smart with tears.

He squeezed his fist once, hard, making her gasp, then dropped her ponytail and walked away.  Piper waited until Ruth rose from the table, then picked up her plate and utensils and hurried after her.

Ruth had set up a clinic in a room off the kitchen.  She had also commandeered one of the nearby cabins as a quarantine facility, though no one had been sick with the plague since Jenny’s youngest son died.  Ruth gave her a tour, explaining where supplies were kept and how they needed to be handled, as well as what she felt it would be most important for Piper to learn.

“I need someone to back me up for basic first aid, and simple procedures like stitches.”  As she talked, Ruth started setting out the supplies she would need for Piper’s first lesson.  “If this suits you, I can give you more extensive training.  Someone else should know how to assess more serious injuries and illnesses, to be able to decide whether or not to use the pharmaceuticals we have on hand.  Noah was really good with triage.”

Piper couldn’t suppress a flinch.  It was the first time she’d heard Noah’s name spoken aloud since the day of his death.  She had not grieved him.  She had not dared.  Of all the things she had done in the last weeks, neglecting the memory of her friend shamed her the most.  She looked up to find Ruth watching her.  After a moment, the older woman shook her head.

“Quite a pickle you’ve got yourself in, little girl.”

Piper kept her face still and returned Ruth’s steady gaze, though her heart was pounding.  She was fairly certain Ruth was offering an alliance, but she needed to stick to the plan.  When it was apparent Piper didn’t intend to answer, Ruth sighed and resumed her instruction.

They worked together all morning, took a brief break for lunch, and went right back at it in the afternoon.  It was bliss to use her mind again, to concentrate and learn.  She had maneuvered for this opportunity because it offered tactical advantages – people were grateful when you helped them, when you stopped their pain – but she hadn’t expected to find it so interesting.  By the end of the afternoon, Ruth was shaking her head in wonder.

“I’ve never seen someone learn as fast as you,” she said.  “I say it once, and you’ve got it.  Maybe this is how you’re manifesting psychic talent, like we were talking about at breakfast.  What was it you were studying at college?”

“Sociology,” Piper said, and Ruth snorted.

“Well, you were wasting your time, if you ask me.  You’ve got an aptitude for the medical field.  I think we can tell Sanders we’ve found your skill set.  I’ll have you trained in no time.”  She shot Piper a sideways look.  “And here I thought you were a dimwit.”

Oh, this wouldn’t do.  Brody wouldn’t buy this sudden brilliance after she had failed so miserably before.  He couldn’t know she was awake and functional.  On impulse, she put her hand out, resting it on Ruth’s forearm.  She had to play this just right.  “I’m sure I’ll forget it all as soon as I walk out of this room,” she said, gazing at Ruth steadily.  “And you’ll need to repeat it all tomorrow.  Every bit of it.”

Ruth cocked her head to the side and just looked at her in silence for a few moments.  Then she nodded slowly.  “I see. 
Yes, I see what you mean.  You have potential, but you need a lot of repetition.”

“Yes.”  Piper didn’t try to hide her relief.  “Exactly.”

In the outer room, there was the sudden sound of multiple pairs of boots on the wooden floor, as well as multiple male voices.  Brody, Levi and Adam were back from their patrol, and it sounded like the Things had arrived in the mess hall in anticipation of dinner as well.  Brody had told Piper to stay with Ruth until he came to get her, so she settled into a chair to wait.  She took several deep breaths, searching for the still, blank place she had been inhabiting, and schooled her face to vacancy, but oh, it was hard.  She was
alive
again, and she didn’t want to go back in the box.

Ruth moved to stand close beside her, and Piper looked up, startled.  Ruth frowned, and reached out to touch Piper’s bruised cheek.  She shifted her hand to lightly stroke Piper’s messy ponytail, her expression troubled.  Her mouth opened to speak, but she reconsidered, shutting it again.  Then, a smile of evil joy transformed her face.

Ten minutes later, when Brody appeared in the doorway, Piper was covered from the neck down with a plastic sheet, and her hair was lying on the floor around her.  Ruth was spreading mayonnaise liberally on her closely shorn scalp.

“Lice!” she barked at him.  “She ca
n’t work here with lice!  And-”  She pointed her mayo-covered spatula at him.  “She
will
be working here.  I need the help, and she did okay today.  She can learn this stuff – it’ll just take her a while.”

Perfect,
Piper thought.  She kept her head down and her eyes closed as Ruth swathed her head with plastic wrap, muttering her disgust.  “You would think somebody would have thought to bring a nit comb and some of that fancy shampoo, but no.  This’ll have to do.”  She gave Piper’s head a crinkly pat.  “There.  You leave that on overnight.  When you come back in the morning, we’ll rinse it out and hit you with the vinegar.”

Piper rose from the chair, and she and Ruth worked together to collect and discard every strand of her hair.  Only when they were finished did she dare a peek at Brody. 

He was staring at her, unnaturally still, and she couldn’t begin to analyze the expression on his face.  Horror?  Rage?  Regret?  Pretty big emotions, for someone else’s hair.  She stored the information away for future use.

Ruth shooed her along.  “You go get those plastic bags and take care of your bedding, like I told you.  Jenny can show you where the extra linens are.”  Brody moved to take her arm and escort her out the door, but Ruth’s voice cracked out, whip-like.

“Where do you think you’re going, Sanders?”  She held up her spatula and jar of mayo, and gestured at the chair.  “You’re next.”

             
Piper hustled out and headed for the storeroom, then reversed and slipped silently back down the hall to hover outside the doorway.  She heard the rustle of plastic as Ruth prepped Brody for the homemade treatment, heard the buzz of the hair clippers, and all the while, Ruth talked, talked, talked. 

Yep, sure enough, he was infested – had he been itching?  No?  Must have a thick hide.  She’d have to check the others, damn it all.  That Piper, she’d do as a helper – she tried hard, though she was none too bright.  Had a gentle touch, but the technical terms confused her.  Better than no help at all.  Squalled like a baby when I told her we needed to shave her head, but no way could I get all that hair clean, not without a nit comb, no way.  Some women sure put a store by their hair.

Piper heaved a silent sigh of relief and slid away, satisfied that Ruth wouldn’t betray her.  She headed once more for the storeroom, adapting her plan as she went.  She had an ally, whether she’d wanted one or not, and though it was riskier, it was good to know she wasn’t alone.

One by one, she would build connections and alter her standing.  Climbin’ the social ladder, she thought, and smiled.  Ruth was wrong; medicine wasn’t her supernatural talent.  People were. 

All her life, she’d been reading the people around her, and when it suited her purposes, manipulating them.  She was reading this group accurately, she
knew
it.  They needed another medic, so she’d be the second-best medic they’d ever seen – outshining Ruth was just bad strategy - right up until the day she took over as tactician. 

Because that was her end game:  When she had achieved the status she needed, it would be time to kill Brody, and take his place as leader of this group.  These people were going to pay her back for their blindness, their lack of judgment, and their failure to protect her from Brody’s abuse, by conveying her safely to her family.

What she thought of as the mom-bond pulsed in her chest.  Piper closed her eyes for a moment and put her hand over her heart.  “I’ll get there as fast as I can, Mom,” she whispered.  “I’m on my way.”

              Nineteen days.  That was how long it took Grace to identify an opportunity and make use of it. 

Jen, the catatonic girl, was long since dead.  As promised, Little Man had left her body to rot as an “object lesson” for Bri and Grace.  Bri had gone downhill swiftly after that, refusing to eat or drink, huddling as far away from Jen’s corpse as she could get.  Grace had found her dead five days later, slumped over on the floor, a peaceful expression on her young face.

              Little Man had removed both corpses the next day, and since then, three other girls had come and gone.  Grace had never learned the name of the first one.  Little Man had shoved her in the room, then swiftly shut the door, leaving Grace to deal with her panicked, endless circuits around the room.  The girl moaned as she half-ran half-crawled, clawing at every crack and crevice in the wall or around the door, until her fingertips were shredded.  By the end of the day, Grace had been near-crazy herself.  She ended up sitting cross-legged in the middle of the room, fingers in her ears, humming to block out the girl’s incessant, low whining.  Little Man took the girl away as the sun went down, and he never brought her back.

             
Two other girls had followed shortly after, sisters whose names Grace never asked for.  They were 12 and 14, and their presence offered Grace a few days of respite as the men amused themselves with what Little Man called “sister games.”  The younger one made a break for it one night, and never recovered consciousness following the beating she received.  She died in her sister’s arms three days later.  When the older sister finished keening, she had started growling, the animal-like sound making the hairs on the back of Grace’s neck prickle. 

As soon as Little Man opened the door that evening, she attacked like a berserker.  No matter how many times he hit or kicked her, she came back, biting, clawing, flailing, screaming.  She died fighting, something Grace both admired and disdained.  She had gone out like a warrior, but she was, after all, dead.  Grace knew she should feel bad about the girl’s death, but she didn’t.  Maybe she couldn’t.  Didn’t matter.  Feeling bad wouldn’t get her out of this room.

             
Take the next step
, she reminded herself
.
  Planning and executing the next step had kept her alive through the plague, and it would keep her alive beyond this room.  She had identified a pattern she believed she could use. 

Among other things, Little Man was responsible for procuring the girls the men used, and she had deduced that he preferred to have no less than two at any given time.  Grace had memorized every word of the men’s nightly reports, amassing a staggering catalog of information, which she repeated over and over to herself during the days when she couldn’t sleep, and during the nights when her body was being used.  According to Little Man, they had long since exhausted the supply of young women in the refugee camp, and he and his men were forced to range farther afield. 

Twice, he had been absent from the nightly revelry by the bonfire.  Both times, he had returned with girls the next day.  And both times, there had been a time, just before dawn, where the remaining men were exhausted or otherwise occupied.  Distracted.   Their lusts had been spent, their minds dulled by whatever substance they were using and exhaustion.

             
Little Man never took his eyes off “his girls,” not for an instant.  But the others did.  Grace had been alone for two days now.  If the pattern held, Little Man would be gone this night or the next.  Then, she could make her move.

She rested as much as possible that day, and ate every bit of the cold, congealed mystery food they brought her, washing it down with murky water.  They never brought quite enough to eat or drink, and she could feel the lack dragging her body down into ever greater weakness.  If this escape attempt didn’t work, she would soon face a choice:  Either go out like Bri via starvation and dehydration, or try to leave Little Man with a mark to remember her by.  Alone in her stinking prison, Grace bared her teeth and a soft growl vibrated in her throat.  That choice was already made.

When the sun had nearly set, and the lock on the door rattled, she was ready.  And when Giant entered instead of Little Man, she felt a smile lift the stiff muscles of her face for the first time in weeks.  She ducked her head to hide the expression and followed him docilely.

She knelt by the fire while the men gave their reports, repeating every word they said in her head and committing it to memory, adding to the mental picture she had been creating of conditions in the city.

Bean Counter was the first to speak, as always.  “Drugs, people,” he said, and the rest of the men groaned.  “Yeah, yeah.  I know you’re sick of hearing about it.  I’m sick of hearing about it, too.  I got people begging every day, especially for anti-depressants and painkillers.  Withdrawal’s a bitch.  Seems like everybody was on some kind of pharmaceutical, legal or otherwise, and now they’re all dying without.  So keep your people looking, keep your ear to the ground, all that.  And while you’re looking, we need seeds, and people who have gardening or farming experience.  It’s the end of May.  Winter’s nearly here.”

His words induced a moment of stillness.  Then Loudmouth jumped in, his voice blaring.  Grace figured he’d been around a few too many explosions.  “Haven’t seen a patrol leave Fort Carson for three days.”  He fist-bumped the man next to him and cackled.  “Guess they finally got sick of losing Humvees.”

“Soldiers being soldiers, though, we shouldn’t expect that to last.”  Bean Counter’s observation made Loudmouth roll his eyes.  There was no love lost there.  “They know we’re here, and they’re hard-wired to either bring us in or take us out.  We’ve got a man inside.  Word is, they’re having trouble feeding their refugees, which means they’re having trouble keeping the peace.  People are trying to leave, forming delegations, demanding the right to self-govern – all kinds of civil-disobedience shit.”

“Desperate people are disobedient.”  Giant’s voice was a low rumble.  “We feed ours enough, keep ‘em safe enough, keep this show up every night.”  Grace felt multiple eyes touch her and kept her head down.  “People who got nothing to lose fight back.  People who are scared but are getting their basic needs met will do anything to keep it that way.”

“Damn straight!”  Loudmouth crowed.  He leaned forward, grabbing Grace’s breast and giving it a groping twist.  “Feed ‘em and fuck ‘em – that’s how you keep ‘em in line!”

Laughter sprang up around the circle.  Grace heard Bean Counter sigh, and didn’t need to look up to know Giant would just be waiting patiently to continue.  Of all the men in the group, the participation of these two men in what went on every night bothered her the most.  It wasn’t just that they were obviously smart – all these men were smart, in their areas of expertise.  It was that they thought about things, as evidenced by their observations.

When the laughter died down, Giant went on.  “Camp’s quiet.  We haven’t seen new survivors for 10 days.  By now, they’re either here, on Fort Carson, or they’re laying low and staying hid.  For now, we’re not going to bother with them – we got enough to feed, and we’ll leave the forced relocation to Carson.”

Sleeper was kicked awake, and he sat up nodding.  He heard everything, Grace had figured out, even when he seemed to be unconscious.  “My spotters have seen some smoke, small trails here and there.  If it ain’t bigger than a bread box, we don’t check it out.  Figure it’s people’s cookfires.”  He turned to Bean Counter, yawning hugely as he spoke.  “Have your people finished their sweep of the homes along the foothills?  Fire season’s here.”

Bean Counter nodded.  “We started there – didn’t want to lose our chance if there’s another Waldo Canyon fire.  We’ve cleared from Mountain Shadows down to Manitou, more or less.  South of 24, we’re starting to step on Carson’s toes.  No need for that yet.”

“Good.”  Sleeper nodded as well.  “W
e finally found the hideout of that group that was poaching Highway 24 up in Manitou.  It was a different group than the one controlling Rampart Range Road, trickier, but we control access to both roads now.  Fort Carson still controls Old Stage Road, and they’re welcome to it.  Probably washed out anyway, what with all the rain.” 

Sleeper fell silent, and for a few moments, the only sound was the crackle of the fire.  Then Giant spoke again, looking directly at The Boss, something the men rarely did.  “For now, our location is secure, but it’s not defensible.  I recommend we look for another site, something with greater tactical advantage.  Carson’s not going to stay locked down for long.  We
should think about Manitou Springs, or somewhere in the mountains, like Woodland Park.”

For a moment, Grace went light-headed with distress.  She had plans and contingency plans following her escape, but all of them centered on Woodland Park.  She didn’t hold out much hope that her dad had survived, but she had to know, one way or another.  Now, a layer of urgency reinforced her plans.  If there were any decent people left in Woodland Park, any survivors at all, they needed to know what was headed their way.

Flanked by his two Trigger Fingers, The Boss nodded.  “So advised.”  He looked around the circle of men.  “And have any more incidents of psychic activity been reported or observed?” 

Grace risked a peek out of the corners of her eyes, watching and analyzing the men’s reactions.  The Boss had started asking this question a little over a week ago, after Giant had reported an increasing number of problems and complaints connected to what could only be called supernatural experiences.  People knew things they shouldn’t.  People predicted things, had unnatural luck at cards, or knew when someone was lying to them.  It was, apparently, causing even more fear among the already frightened refugees.

As soon as Giant had started describing the situation, Grace had recognized the phenomena as what she and Quinn had been experiencing – a
knowing
that couldn’t be explained.  And the men’s reactions to this question were telling – she was pretty sure she could identify which of them were and which of them weren’t experiencing a heightened sense of
knowing
themselves
.
  Not one of them, though, had admitted it.

Sleeper spoke up with obvious reluctance.  “One of my guys is pissing off the whole crew by finishing jokes – he jumps
in with the punchline, even though he says he’s never heard the jokes before.”

The Boss’ facial expression didn’t change, but Grace could sense his increased interest.  “Where is he now?”

“Bunked down with the crew.”

“Bring him to me tomorrow, and pick a man to replace him.”

Sleeper nodded, and The Boss’ eyes probed around the circle.  Grace was sure he was analyzing the men’s reactions, just as she was.  She had yet to figure out the source of The Boss’ power.  She had never seen him engage in a violent act, had never even heard him raise his voice, yet every man here feared and respected him, in that order.  She had begun to suspect his power rose from the supernatural arena the men were so uncomfortable discussing.

“Anyone else?”  After a long silence, The Boss nodded one last time.  “Let’s get the show on the road.”

He said the same thing every night.  Usually, his words triggered Grace to start her internal recitation while her body was stripped, argued over and abused.  Tonight, though, she couldn’t afford the luxury.  She had to implement her plan.

With every rape, she scooted closer to the edge of light cast by the bonfire, dragging her clothes with her.  Hour after interminable hour went by; she tried to doze in the lulls between the attacks, to get as much rest as possible.  Finally, finally, after Loudmouth’s second time, they lost interest.

Dawn wasn’t even a lighter color in the sky yet.  Bean Counter, both Trigger Fingers and Giant were exchanging half-hearted insults over a poker table.  Loudmouth was alternating between snorting lines of something off a dinner plate and collapsing back in his chair with a whoop.  Sleeper and The Boss were bent over a half dozen maps layered on a card table.  A motley collection of electric lights had been brought in to surround the table, powered by a gas generator that buzzed on the far side of the semi-trailer.

Grace fisted her hand in her clothes and rolled once.  She lay still, counting to 100.  She rolled again, counted again.  Twice more, and she was under the semi-trailer.  She dressed in swift silence, counting on her clothes, dark with filth, to contribute to her camouflage.  Then she curled up behind one of the tires, tucking herself into a tiny ball and hiding her face against her knees.  Her heart was pounding so hard, it made her whole body shake.

Three minutes later, Loudmouth raised the hue.  “Hey!  Where’d the cowgirl go?”

There was a moment of total silence, and Grace shut her eyes, willing herself beyond invisibility, into non-existence.  This was it.  If she’d miscalculated, she was about to die.  Then, The Boss spoke.

“Spread out and find her.  She can’t be far.  Let people know if they try to help her, they’ll take her place.”

Grace nearly sobbed her relief.  They would expect her to run, not hide under their noses.  She didn’t move so much as an inch for an hour, listening as the men circled back and checked in, swearing with increasing frustration and exhaustion.  Usually, they headed for their beds at dawn.  The descriptions of what they’d do to her when they found her got increasingly creative and violent as the sun rose higher.