Deadlocked 5 (30 page)

"Hurry up, you piece of crap." Bea jostled the tablet as it booted up.

"Do they know if they're still alive?" asked Audrey of Claire.

Claire shook her head and then said, "They don't know. They didn't say."

Bea's tablet finally turned on and she tapped on the letter icon that opened her email. She quickly found the urgent message from Facility 23 and expanded it. She read it to herself as Audrey stared over her shoulder.

"What does it say?" asked Audrey.

Bea shushed her angrily as she continued to read. When she finished, she dropped the tablet to the stone floor and put her hands over her eyes as she cried.

"What did it say?" asked Audrey again.

"Cobra's gone," said Bea. "They don't know where she is."

"Oh my God," said Audrey. "Oh, that's terrible, Bea. I'm so sorry."

Beatrice picked up the tablet and threw it against the wall behind Claire. It shattered and Claire dodged the debris. She yelped and covered her face.

"Computer!" Bea struggled to stand and Audrey helped her up.

"Yes, Miss Dell," answered the amorphous voice of the home's computer.

"Get Jerald Scott on the line."

There was a pause before the voice responded, "I'm sorry, Miss Dell, but Mr. Scott is not currently available to…"

"Get him on the phone!" Bea was shaking and her face turned red as she screamed at the walls of her home. Audrey backed away as if Bea was hot to the touch.

"Mr. Scott has temporarily put his account on hold while he…"

"Listen to me, you useless twit, you get Jerald on the phone right this instant. Call the Facility, call the Base, call the fucking President if you have to, just get him on the line. Now!"

"I'll do my best," said the computer.

Audrey dared to approach Bea. "Honey, listen. It might not be as bad as you think. They just said she escaped, not that she was dead."

"That's right," said Claire. "I haven't given up on Hailey yet."

"Shut up, Claire," said Bea. "It's not the same. You've still got another one. Cobra's all I have left."

"I'm sure everything will be just fine," said Audrey. "They have ways of finding the girls. If she's out there, they'll catch her. You'll be fine."

Bea stared at the wall of her house and scowled as she said, "I'll find her. If I have to go out there my God damned self, I'll find her."

Celeste

I was chained up, as were the other bleeding, weeping, battered, and shocked people in the back of the truck with me. The townspeople of Vineyard had been kind, but insistent when they shackled me. It was for my own good, or so they said. We were in danger of turning into the undead monstrosities that they called zombies.

The chains rubbed the skin on my wrist raw, but I'd suffered far worse wounds than that in the past day. My body ached, but the anguish I felt from losing Hailey eclipsed everything else. I couldn't get the image of her bloody face out of my mind. Her already pale skin had turned ghostly on top of that pile of fallen victims. The guards from the Facility had demolished Vineyard, and now we raced away after the last remaining helicopter had been destroyed.

The truck bounced over jagged pavement and wind screamed through the holes in the side of our compartment. The vehicle stank of manure, and I was told that this truck was normally used to transfer livestock. Today, however, it was hauling a load of bleeding, crying humans that had suffered traumatic injuries, both physical and emotional. We were savaged, and dying, as the truck sped through the chilly night.

There was another vehicle, similar to this one, which hauled an enclosed truck bed where the other wounded were kept. Those were the lucky ones, the people that hadn't been bitten, but suffered other injuries from the assault. Our truck had been dubbed the pity-wagon, because we were all going to die soon. We were infected, which the other passengers continually reminded me of as they bemoaned their fate. The second truck was sent to meet with the High Rollers, and I was uncertain where they were taking us. It was unnerving to know that a third truck, loaded with cadavers, was following behind ours.

"We're all going to die. We're going to die," said one of the women in my truck. I couldn't see her, or much of anything else, in the bleak night.

Urine, blood, or some other liquid rolled across the metal floor, caught in the grating that was designed to ferry it away. The perforated metal at my back provided a view of the Surface world I'd always longed to see. I could see the stars, and I marveled at their distant blaze. I never got to ask Hailey what she thought of them.

Something bashed into the side of the truck, rattling all of our chains. It came from within, and it banged again. Someone was trying to break free, and the others started to cry out in fear. I'd been warned of what would happen to us, and I was glad I couldn't see. Someone among us had succumbed to his wounds, and the virus was turning him into one of the undead monsters that had invaded the streets of Vineyard just a few hours earlier.

We were each separated from our neighbors by a few feet, allowing enough space to keep us safe if someone nearby turned. There was little room to maneuver, but I could hear as the people on the other side of the truck attempted to. They screamed out as one of the other passengers started to growl and bite. I could hear teeth snapping and fingernails scratching at the metal.

The bindings that wrapped around our throats were tied in a manner that prevented us from moving. When I pulled too hard, the loop around my neck would tighten and nearly suffocate me. It was an annoyance at first, but now I understood why they'd tied us up like this. The zombies were ravenous, and seemed to have no cognitive function other than the desire to feed. When we turned, and became one of these monsters, we would lunge at our fellow passengers, which would cause the bindings to tighten and choke us. I didn't know if that could kill a zombie, but at the very least it would keep them somewhat quiet.

"He's going to kill us," said a man near me.

I could only see silhouettes in the darkness as the passengers on the opposite side of the truck writhed and screamed. The distraught woman that had been yelling earlier started reciting her prophetic warning again. "We're all going to die. Every single one of us. Why don’t they just shoot us and get it over with? We're all going to die."

"Shut up," I said.

She did, for a moment.

"We're all going to die. You might as well accept it."

"Shut up," I said again.

The zombie rattled its chains and gasped as the bindings choked him.

"See. That's what's going to happen to us…"

"Shut up!" I screamed as loud as I could, and even the zombie calmed down in response, as if frightened by my outburst.

Then they all started screaming again. The crazed woman begged for a quick death, the zombie snapped his jaws, and others continued to try and free themselves from the chains. One man, somewhere to my left, endlessly moaned in pain.

I stared at the stars and tried to ignore the people I was stuck beside.

The night wore on, and the cries of the other passengers lessened as their voices grew weaker. I listened as someone else turned, and then another. The living dead were growing in number as we died off. I wondered if my thoughts would remain when I turned, like a prisoner within my own body. Do zombies lament their murders? Do their former selves reside within the corpse's mind, forced to watch as their bodies cannibalize friends and family?

Sleep was impossible. The smell was enough to keep me awake, let alone the sound of the dead and dying, or the pain from the shackles that bound me to the side of the truck. Of all the pain and discomfort, the thing that bothered me most was the way the liquid pooling in the grooves beneath us would splash up every time the truck went over a bump. The trailer would jolt up, and the putrid fluid would hit my face, often finding its way into my mouth. Blood, urine, fecal matter, and vomit mixed into a soupy mess that gagged me. I tried to spit it out, but that's not a taste that leaves easily.

Dawn crept up in a wash of blue that lightened the horizon on the opposite side of the truck from me. I watched as the plains were revealed through the holes and slats in the side of our transport. I was finally able to see the havoc that this disease had wrought on my fellow passengers.

Most of them were dead - but not silent. Their eyes had taken on a milky hue, and they stared at the closest living person with malicious intent. The chains that wrapped around their necks were pulled taut as the creatures tried to lean out and bite whoever was closest to them. Their hands were loosely bound, like everyone else, but I could hear as they scrambled to break free.

Most of the survivors were on the verge of death. Even the ones that only suffered a single bite were now succumbing to the virus. Their skin was pale, their heads drooping, and they coughed over and over.

My wounds seared me, but I didn't feel ill. I looked around for anyone else that might have survived the night in fair shape.

There was a boy beside me, younger than me by a few years, who had his head leaned back and his knees pulled up against his chest. His skin was tan, a welcome contrast to the pale faces of the dead and dying that surrounded us.

"How're you doing?" I asked him.

Various zombies around us responded to my daring speech. They rattled their chains and growled as the boy looked at me.

"Absolutely great," he said with a smirk. "Can't you tell?"

His face was speckled with the liquid from the bottom of the truck that must've decorated my face as well. I smiled and even laughed for a second. "I guess that's a stupid question."

"No, I know what you meant." He said and then rubbed his eyes against his knees to clear them from the droplets of blood that threatened to leak in past his eyebrows. "I don't feel sick."

"Are you one of the people that are immune?"

He shrugged and then winced from a wound I couldn't see. "Not that I know of. I've never been bit. What about you?"

"Me neither. I never actually saw a zombie until yesterday."

He was incredulous. "Seriously?"

I nodded and set my head against the metal behind me as I thought of the safety of the Facility I'd left behind. "Yep. I was trained to fight them, but I'd never actually seen one before."

"How is that even possible?"

"It's a long story."

He seemed appeased by my vague answer and set his head down on his knees. We were quiet for a few minutes before he spoke again. "I don't even remember the first time I saw one."

"What?" I asked. Enough time had passed that I didn't understand what he meant.

"A zombie. I don't remember the first time I saw one. They've been around for as long as I can remember." He set his chin on his knees and stared out across the truck at the line of undead that were chained to the opposite wall. They gazed back, the chains around their necks pulled tight enough to choke out their voices as they stretched out. Their jaws snapped, and the sound of their teeth clacking together was impossible to get used to.

"How old are you?"

"Sixteen," he said. "How about you?"

"Eighteen," I said.

"You were with the High Rollers, right? Were they the ones training you?"

I shook my head. Annie had warned me not to mention that I was from the Facility, but what did it matter now? "I was raised in a place called the Facility. It's deep underground, out by an airport near here."

He stared at me, unsure how to respond. "Seriously?"

I nodded, and we sat again in silence until he muttered, "Wow. I'd heard rumors of those types of places, but I thought it was just conspiracy talk. I never thought they were real. The Rollers always said the military still had a strong hold on this area, but those of us that lived in the towns never saw any sign of them. It's hard to believe they were keeping you down there your whole life."

"And you? Were you born in Vineyard?"

"No," he said. "But my story's not half as crazy as yours. I was born in the mountains somewhere, but my parents moved around a lot. We used to be part of a caravan of traders until I was about ten, and then we were able to stay in Vineyard."

"Seemed like a nice place to live."

"It is." He paused, and then corrected himself. "Was."

"Sorry. Do you know if your family made it out?"

"They didn't live there anymore. My dad died a few years back and my mom hooked up with the traders. I stayed with my sister, who's a year older than me."

"And what about her?" I asked.

"She died."

"Yesterday?"

"No. She got sick from some bad food last year and died from it."

"Sorry to hear that," I said.

He nodded and spoke nonchalantly, "We've all lost people."

I thought of Hailey again, and the vision that came to me when I remembered her was of blood smeared on her cheeks. I forced myself to try and think of better times, but her dead face kept creeping back into focus.