Duality (The Hitchhiker Strain) (13 page)

I pull back the curtains to the closest shower. It's fairly roomy inside, and there are dispensers on the wall for all t
he necessities. I don't bother pulling off my clothing before stepping inside. I've been wearing the same clothes for so long that it will probably be easier to get out of them once the fabric is soaked through.

No matter how much I fiddle with the control
s, the water temperature never quite gets to the scalding heat I'm looking for, but by the time I step under the showerhead, it doesn't matter to me at all.

The feeling of water against my skin is incredible. It hits my hair first and tumbles down my body
, soaking every inch of me. Watching all of the dirt and blood it pulls off of me is mesmerizing so I let the water do its job until everything I'm wearing feels too heavy against my body. Finally, I pull my sweater over my head. The weight of my jeans is enough to make them fall down of their own accord as soon as I unzip them. They aren’t the clothes I was wearing when I was first infected. I had to change a few times out of necessity—mostly to adapt to the winter and avoid any bouts with pneumonia—but not nearly often enough. I kick them both out of my stall as soon as they’re off me and enjoy having one less barrier between my body and the warm, clean water.

I should have asked if I have a limited amount of time I can spend in here. I don't want to rush
if I don't have to.

Well, they saw what I looked like. They can probably appreciate how long it will take to fix
that mess
. Still, I'd hate for someone to have to come in here and get me.

I start with my hair, running shampoo and conditioner through it an
d massaging my scalp at the same time. I'm sure being alive never felt this amazing the first time around. Soap on my body is a lot less fun as it interacts with wounds, both ancient and more recent. I avoid touching the bite mark on my arm altogether. I can't help but stare at it though—gruesome and ugly, but somehow precious to me. That bite saved my life. Well, it almost killed me, but
then
it saved my life.

When I'm finally as clean as I can manage
—a haircut wouldn’t be unwelcome—I let myself slink down to the floor of the shower for five minutes to cry it out. An uncontrollable mix of happy and sad and everything else flows out of me. I don’t cry for nearly enough time, but it's all I allow myself right now. My five-minute reprieve will have to be enough to get me through whatever is coming next.

Zack and my relentless guard dog are waiting for me when I get out of the shower, as expected. Nobody comments on how long I took or how blotchy my face probably is and I
’m grateful for that much.

I
’m about to ask if we have time to find some water before whatever is next on the schedule when Zack’s pants start beeping. With an apologetic shrug, he reaches down to pull a small electronic device that I don't recognize out of his pocket. It looks a little bit like an older phone, one of the ones with a flip-out keyboard and an inconveniently small screen. When he swipes his finger across it, the screen lights up. I think I see text scrolling across the screen but I'm too far away to read what it says.

I consider minding my own business, but my curiosity gets the better of me. I want to know as much as I can about everything that's going on around me. And if Zack minds or he can't tell me what's going on, he'll say so and that will be that. No harm done.
"What's up?"

"Perimeter warning," Zack says, keeping his eyes on the screen. He doesn't seem worried, but my heart tries to lunge into my throat anyway. Images of angry hoards of the undead flash through my mind. How well protected are we here? Will my re
introduction to humanity be cut short? Zack looks up and must see the fear in my expression because he starts frantically shaking his head back and forth. "No! Nothing dangerous. It's okay."

He seems sincere, but it's still a battle to get my fight-or-flig
ht response under control. Everything in my body is still pushing me to do whatever I have to in order to survive. Zack watches me carefully as I purposely slow my breathing back down.

"It's one car and it's one of ours. We're okay, really. Usually they wo
uldn't even tell me any of this, but Mack in the control room is a good guy."

I believe him that we aren't in danger but I'm still not sure I understand what's going on. "So they're telling you..."

"My friend Savannah went out on a supply run and should have been back by now. It wasn't anything to worry about really. People are late on these things all the time. But two of the guys she went out with are just getting back now and she's not with them." He doesn't have to explain why he's worried, but I notice that he doesn't say aloud what his friend's absence could potentially mean.

"So they're back now? You could go ask them what's going on."

"Not quite." Zack punches something into the device in his hand. We wait in silence until he gets a response. "They're still a couple minutes out. Mack let me know as soon as they were in range of our security cameras, but the area we cover is pretty small.”

"Did you want to go meet them?"

"Yeah." Zack stands up and slips the device into his pocket. "You don't mind?"

"C
ourse not." I look over at Gregor. "I'm guessing there's no chance I can go with him."

"Sorry, no." I'm not surprised but still a little disappointed. There's so much I want to know about this place and the people here. I won't learn anything if they conti
nue to treat me like a prisoner-turned-science-experiment, although I guess that's what I am.

"Maybe next time?"

"Next time for sure," Zack says. He's hovering, but I can tell he's desperate to leave and go find out what's going on. I can't blame him for it. "You're good?"

"I'm fine! Go!"

"It shouldn't be that long. I'm sure everything is fine." I hope so. I know it's selfish but I can't help but think that it could be days before I see him again if he's about to get bad news about his friend.

"I'll see ya
soon." I wave him away. Zack doesn't need any more encouragement, and he takes off down the hallway almost at a jog, leaving me to face the oncoming interrogation alone.

Chapter 18 – Savannah

Even with help, it takes far too long to get everyone on the s
ame page. Pierce, at least, is willing to help me without asking countless questions, but I completely underestimated how many people live in this complex. Every single house has multiple residents, sometimes multiple families. They were planning an expansion into a neighboring area in order to give everyone a little more space to work with and to possibly take in other refugees.

It's hard not to think that maybe everyone here has gotten a little too comfortable. So much of our time is lost in trying to co
nvince people to leave without their precious
stuff
. Books, pictures, useless items from their old lives. I shouldn't fault them for wanting to hang on to pieces of who they were before, but when it starts to cost people their lives, I run out of patience.

Eventually, we get a system in place, with the best fighters staying outdoors while a few of us run from house to house, making sure its residents get in a car and get on the road.

Bit by bit we lose ground, backing away from the influx of Zs as their numbers become overwhelming. The way things are going, we have less than half an hour before we're forced out completely. We lose another ten minutes when a small cluster of Zs somehow makes it around to the back driveway, blocking our one remaining route out. Once we've cleared them out of the way, it takes all of my effort not to stare at the half-devoured corpse that's now lying in the bushes—too far gone to ever get back up again.

The more we fight, the more desperate for food our enemy becomes. Once the
dead start breaking through the windows of the houses in order to get to the fight, I manage to convince Paulson to take Belle and go. The two of them drive off in the same minivan they've had since I was in eighth grade, their back seats loaded with the fruits of Belle's frantic search for easily accessible supplies—canned food, water, and enough warm clothing to dress a few dozen people for the night.

Gradually our perimeter of
fighters dwindles down to a dozen or so as we’re forced back, moving closer and closer to our final exit.

Liam leaves next, taking with him a few of the injured, including a woman who was bitten on the leg while trying to escape three sets of clawing, grabbing fingers. She came far too close to losing
her life, and not because the Zs almost got her, but because her friends were all too ready to do the noble thing and take her out on the spot, making sure she'd never have to live through losing herself to the infection—at least as far as they knew. I jumped in front of the barrel of the gun to convince a burly black man that they were better off taking her with them than riling the Zs into even more of a frenzy by shooting her here. It worked—this time—but it's terrifying to think that there might have been others today who were lost when I wasn’t there to prevent it. Their friends and family would likely never forgive themselves.

I can't believe that things have become
so
kill-or-be-killed here that an automatic execution has become standard procedure, especially with Tilly Mason and who knows how many others having been ferried away by Mrs. Park at the first sign of trouble.

I promise Liam that I'll get a ride out with Alex and Pierce, who are still going house to house, making absolutely sure not one
single person gets left behind.

It's down to eleven of us versus easily two hundred of them. It seems like impossible odds...because it is impossible odds. The only things keeping all of us in one piece are the countless bodies that form barriers to steer
the dead off into two directions. So far we've managed to keep each exit point covered by the skin of our teeth while I dart between them, attempting to kill any who try to come down the middle. If another group were to come in from behind now, we'd all be dead within a minute.

Despite the constant hungry groaning, the scene seems eerily quiet, like my brain has learned to somehow block out the noise of battle. All I need is an epic soundtrack playing in the background as we hack and slash our way to freedo
m or something equally heroic.

Three Zs try and breach the wall at once. As they climb, I can see blood-covered hands reaching up to join them. I think we've finally reached our tipping point.

"Time to call it a day?" I shout to the group on the left. They offer me terse nods before turning back to their fights. I take out all three of the Zs that are coming for me before heading over to the group on the right as Alex exits one of the last houses behind us.

"We've got to get out of here," he huffs, red in
the face as he catches his breath.

"My thoughts exactly. Where's Pierce?" Alex looks over his shoulder and then over to the other group. I do the same. Pierce definitely isn't here.

"He must have fallen behind. I left him a few houses back, but he said he'd catch up."

"He's officially out of time and needs to move his ass. Which house was he in?"

Alex points to one not too far away, but the driveway is already teaming with the undead.

"Shit. They're probably stuck." I'm not looking forward to getting him
out of there, but it has to be done, and it has to be done now.

I grab one of the last remaining armed men by the elbow to get his attention. "Can you guys hold out here for a few more minutes? We'll grab Pierce and whoever else we find in there and be bac
k in two minutes. Tops." Just then, the wall of corpses leans violently forward as a few more Zs tumble toward us.

The man I was speaking to grunts, but I don't expect more of an answer as he starts smashing away with his hammer, destroying anything that c
omes within range. I choose to take that grunt as, "We'll stay as long as we can," and that's the best I can hope for.

Alex and I lock eyes, both worried. We'll get Pierce out, but even with everyone here being absolute zombie-killing rock stars, I can't i
magine that there aren't others trapped as well—too far back and with no one knowing where to look for them. The Ravencrest list of the dead and missing will be far too long tonight.

The fastest way to get between houses without drawing unwanted attentio
n is to use the connected backyards. Alex and I tag-team through four or five—with him giving me a boost up to get over each fence before he vaults over behind me—until we get to Mrs. Applegate’s. She’s an older woman I didn’t know that well before but with whom Pierce has started up a strange friendship since I left. Odds are they’ve gotten trapped somehow and can’t get out to the car without some extra assistance. It’s something I’d probably mock Pierce about if it were just him, but Mrs. A was never the type to go quietly, and I’m not surprised she wasn’t willing to turn and run because a fourteen-year-old told her she had to.

It breaks my heart to see that a few of the people whose yards we trample through have clearly taken the time to try and start up
gardens. It’s too early in the season to tell what each little sprout was supposed to grow up to be, but people put time and love into planting them, and now they’ll go to waste, abandoned until they rot away in the dirt they came from. Exactly like all of the corpses that have been created here today.

“
Here,” Alex says, stopping in front of a sliding glass door that’s exactly like all the others we’ve passed. “This should be number 152.” Noiselessly, he slides the door open. There’s never an easy answer when it comes to deciding the best course of action in a situation like this one—do we announce our arrival in case someone needs our help and risk drawing the attention of Zs we don’t know are waiting for us, or do we keep quiet and risk finding the people we need to help too late?

I don
’t bother to close the door behind me when I enter the kitchen behind Alex, taking it as a sign that Pierce and Mrs. Applegate didn’t try to leave that way either. Pierce probably would have realized that hoisting the sixty-year-old accountant over fences was never going to end well.

“
There’s no sign of a fight,” Alex whispers.

It
’s good news,
I think. But then where are they? The house is compact, and if there are any Zs left, we should be able to hear them. The first generation infected have never been accused of stealth or subtlety.

Once we clear the kitchen and living room, we find Mrs. Applegate in the main floor bathroom, huddled in a corner with large, pearly
tears running down her cheek. Blood seeps from the side of her face where we can see the perfect indent of teeth.

"Shhh," I whisper, crouching down beside her. "It
’s okay. You’re okay." It doesn’t take long to find a small washcloth to press to her face. The shirt she was using has already soaked through and the blood flow isn’t slowing down. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Thump. Thump. Thump. The sound of someone running comes from directly above us. I turned to ask Alex to check it out but he
’s already gone. I suspect he left as soon as I started tending to Mrs. A. The question now is if I can get the injured older woman to wait quietly while I go help him. Something’s in this house and we still don't know where Pierce is.

"Mrs. Applegate." The old woman t
urns toward me, her face still red and blotchy. "I have to go upstairs. Lock the door behind me and don't open it unless we don't come back for...five minutes." Whatever is going to happen will happen by then. I move to stand up and she grasps at my wrist. I’ll yank free if I have to, but she’s been through enough already. "It'll be okay."

As soon as I close the door to the bathroom, I do another quick once-over of the main floor, trying to ensure we won
’t get ourselves trapped upstairs. It’s still deadly quiet.

I'm not sure I really want to know what's going to happen next, but I take the steps upstairs two at a time to a narrow landing that leads to three open doors. There's no question of which room to check first
—all I have to do is follow the sound of moaning. The noise doesn't sound like anything that human vocal cords would ever be capable of. It’s accompanied by a rhythmic thumping.

I allow myself one brief moment to close my eyes and pray that when I walk into the room I
’ll see both of my friends alive and unharmed, despite whatever is in there with them making that godawful noise.

But instead of finding Alex locked in battle with one of the undead, I find him hunched over against the far wall, slamming his fist into the plaster. My eyes widen, trying
to take the scene in, but all I can focus on is that noise. There are no zombies in here—at least none that are still alive. The horrible moaning noise is coming from Alex.

“
Alex?” I step inside the room, my eyes locked on my friend as I try to see where he’s hurt. As far as I can tell, he’s not even bleeding. That’s when I see them. Two bloodied bodies lying side by side on the floor. The first was clearly a Z before its head was taken from its body. The other, smaller form belongs to Pierce. His dark skin is ghostly pale and he’s not moving either.

No. No!

I rush to Pierce’s side and feel at his wrist for a pulse. I already know I won’t find it. A massive chunk has been taken out of his neck. He bled to death, probably a few minutes ago. His knife is still in his hand, dripping blood.

Alex has gone silent. I look and find him staring at me as I
’m pulling Pierce up slightly into a slump in my arms. “We should go.”

I ignore him and turn back to Pierce, running my hand over his hair. “
I’m so sorry.” His light brown curls are still damp with sweat. I can’t believe he’s never going to wake up again.

Oh, God.

Somewhere in the distance, a car engine starts—they’re leaving without us. Still, I don’t move. It’s too late anyway. I can hear each shuddering breath Alex takes as we sit there in silence.

“
We have to go.”

Silence. I don
’t want to go. Not without him.

“
Savannah. Please.”

When I don
’t answer, he takes two smooth strides and is standing above me at once. Too abruptly, I’m yanked to my feet by Alex’s strong hand on my arm. Pierce’s head falls from my lap and back onto the carpet with a quiet thud.

I
’m going to be sick. I try to turn away into Alex’s chest, but he’s already leading me away. "Please, Savannah! We need to go," Alex insists, his voice rough as he pulls at my arm to literally drag me out of the room. "He's gone. It's too late." I turn to tell him off, to scream at him and make him pay for letting this happen, but I can't speak. I can barely even see through the gruesome images that are floating around in my mind. Pierce sprawled on the ground, unmoving. His throat...

"His head!" I say, nearly shrieking. I dig my heels in until Alex can't make me move an inch farther. "He wasn't..." I can
’t finish the thought; it’s too horrifying. How can Alex suggest that we leave him without ensuring he won’t be getting up again?

"We don't have time. Please, Savannah. We have to go." I can see now that tears are streaming as freely down Alex's face as they are mine. I want to give in and get as far away from this pla
ce as possible, but I can't.