Foamers (15 page)

Inch by inch, Beta dropped back on his haunches and stretched his arms along the
ground, until his chest touched the cold snow. He lowered his head, touching it to
the earth. Alpha’s eyes focused on the line as each member of the troop bowed to
him in succession. Keeping his left hand on the ground, Alpha thrashed his right
fist against his barrel chest. He planted his fist on the ground and strutted toward
Beta. Slowly panning across the pack one last time, Alpha lowered his head until
it touched Beta’s.

The smaller one’s entire body tensed in a defensive reaction at the moment of contact.
As Alpha lifted his head, Beta’s muscles relaxed and he reared on all fours. He cocked
his head toward the troop he used to command and let out three forced coughs. His
pack rose in response. The group bounded toward the two corpses, playfully wresting
with one another to be first to feast. Beta kept his eyes on Alpha as he circled
around him to join in the feeding; Alpha, likewise, met Beta’s stare until Pepper
came to him and nuzzled her face along his neck. Beta joined in the ripping of flesh,
assimilating himself as one of the group he used to lead.

Every member of the pack stopped what he was doing at the sound of an engine on the
nearby road. The last one to be curious about that sound had become their meal. The
pack swung their bloody faces toward Alpha, who turned from the road and bounded
deeper into the woods. Pepper was close on his heels, and the rest of the pack joined
in the retreat.

* * *

On the road heading northwest from the campus, Tiny drove the farmer’s pickup—the
only vehicle with a full tank of gas—toward the nearest hospital. The rust-eaten
body had once been red with a white stripe down the middle, and the old shocks rattled
the shaky body like a massager. Air coming through the rotten rubber seals on the
windows made the inside of the cab sound like a wind tunnel.

John sat in the middle with his knees tucked against the dashboard, dressed in khaki
cargo pants, a brand new set of hiking boots, and a camo jacket with six pockets
over a black sleeveless Under Armour top. Beside him, Mick was wearing his full police
uniform as he stared blankly ahead; Tiny wore her usual tight black spandex outfit
with combat harness.

John swung his eyes between Tiny and Mick, wishing one of them would say something.
Other than the pounding wind, there hadn’t been a sound since they started the journey.
He reached around his balled-up legs and pushed the knob for the radio. Only static
came through the dead station. The orange line on the radio slid all the way left
and then right as John spun the knob. With a fast tap, Tiny turned off the radio.

“We have hundreds of iPods. Just claim one when we get back,” Tiny said.

“Stolen goods, pillaged for our comfort,” Mick said, his voice flat.

Tiny rolled her eyes. “What crawled up your ass and died today?”

That notion—not the insult itself, but the concept of something crawling up anyone’s
ass—received a laugh from John as he visualized a squirrel committing the act. He
silenced himself when Mick glared at him. John considered explaining, but had grown
to think that, with this group, the best thing he could do in any situation was nothing.

“It’s … I cared. There were things I should have done, should have told people,”
Mick paused. “The Old World.”

“It’s too late for any of that now,” Tiny said. “Move forward.”

John hugged his knees, trying to make himself as small as possible in order to avoid
getting drawn into their brewing fight. He had faced many days like this as a kid,
when there would be fights between his long-clawed stepmother and his spineless father.
He had never been able to avoid getting caught in the cross fire, which is what eventually
got him sent away to prep school.

“My profession before the Primal Age wasn’t badass like you. I was the law.
To protect
and serve
. All those dead people—it was my job to protect them. Now there’s no law.
Like the radio, I’m a relic,” Mick said, his eyes on the road.

John ducked his head between his knees, hoping that whatever volley Tiny would return
he’d be able to dodge. Unlike Mick, John was thankful to be away from the Old World.
He’d hated his family and his school. There was no place he belonged, even now, but
at least here was better than there. Here, every day came with a purpose. Even if
that purpose was survival, it was still a purpose.

“I’m not about to give you a pep talk. We have a job to get done. If you want someone
to make you feel better, talk to Kade when we get back,” Tiny said.

Letting out the breath he had been holding, John relaxed his grip on his legs.

“How can we ever repay him?” Mick said, throwing his hands up dramatically.

“I shot him.” The moment these words came off John’s tongue, he felt his face flush.
Tiny’s eyes bore into the side of his head, and John refused to look at her, for
fear her glare would kill him.

“I think we might have to do a little better than that,” Mick replied with a laugh.

She shook her head. “I’m just hoping that leadership doesn’t kill him.”

“Why aren’t
you
the leader?” John asked Tiny, instinctively tensing as Mick moved
away from him. His body knew he was going to get hit before his mind could process
the information. Tiny smacked John’s leg, which stung like a bee.

“I’m not made to lead. My mind functions on one objective. I can’t see the big picture
like he can,” Tiny said, placing her hand back on the wheel.

“Kade might not know it, but this is what he was born to do. Trust me, Stray, the
moment Kade Primes, you’ll understand,” Mick replied.

Stray. There it was again. He had never had a nickname he considered offensive or
that made him feel like an outcast, but now he did. Stray. He loathed it, but didn’t
know how to change it.

“I’m sorry I shot him.”

“I hope so,” Mick replied.

“Don’t worry, if Kade was here, he would say it was his fault for not making sure
you were properly trained. And after all, he was the one inconsiderate enough to
stand in the way of your bullets,” Tiny said as a smile overtook her face.

“So, it’s okay?”

“Hell no,” she snapped back. “You still shot him. Just, he’s not mad at you.”

A gust of snow whipped across the windshield. Without their weather apps, Internet,
and meteorologists, they were completely unaware of the nor’easter that had been
tracking north along the East Coast, blanketing the countryside north of Maryland
in a foot of snow. A couple of miles south, back on campus, an inch of snow had already
accumulated on the roof.

___________

With Kade and X handcuffed to beds, and Tiny, John, and Mick on the road, the group’s
manpower
had been diminished. Ashton had volunteered to take watch for a while, since she
had spent several days away. That was almost as good as a vacation for her. She held
a.22 rifle across her hips as she surveyed the landscape from the Lambian dorm roof.
The rifle was short and black from barrel to stock. The caliber was so lacking in
punch, Ashton would have to be perfect to kill someone at this range. The rifle was
a cheap composite, but it had been an effective tool for her father to teach her
and her brothers to shoot.

Damian had been as good as he cared to be, which wasn’t proficient. Ashton and Kade
developed a rivalry, as they did with most things. Kade would be damned if he’d ever
let his little sister outshoot him, and Ashton would be damned if she wasn’t better
than he was. Every time they practiced, they had a new trick shot with which to challenge
the other. Whether that was a plastic army man, open sight at seventy-five yards,
or hitting a swinging can ten shots for ten shots, they were constantly forcing the
other to be better.

Below her, in the med bay, Kade wished he was a better shot with a pistol as he tugged
his hand against the cuff that latched him to the bed frame. Beside him was X’s .357
revolver, and X had requested Kade shoot him with his own handgun if X did turn
into a foamer. The idea of shooting X with anything didn’t sit well with Kade. He
didn’t want to lose his friend, and wished Damian was here to tell them if he was
safe. If the foamers turned out to be contagious they became a much greater threat
than they already were. Kade had almost been bitten more times than he could count,
and he didn’t want to die to such a slight injury.

Across the room, X was cuffed to the other bed. They were running low on things to
talk about and had worn out the novelty of I Spy and Twenty Questions.

“So, I’ve told you what you missed. How was the trip for you and Ashton?” Kade asked.

X rolled toward the wall. “It was good.”

In all the years Kade had known X, he had never shared the criminal aspects of his
life, but he never dodged questions, either. His standard response to a question
he didn’t want to answer was, “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“Just good? No hitches?” Kade asked.

Argos jumped to his feet and scratched at the door, and a moment later the door pushed
open and Fenris ran in. The shaggy black dog stood cautiously with her tail straight
as Argos sniffed her nose. Argos wagged his tail and Fenris relaxed as the two dogs
playfully nipped at each other.

Grace pushed the door the rest of the way open, walked around the dogs, and took
a seat by Kade’s hip. For the first time since he had met her, she was dressed in
feminine clothes: a silky black top and a pair of jeans that fit her like a second
skin.

“You look nice,” he said.

Grace leaned down and ran her fingers through his greasy hair, matted from days of
not being washed. Her fingertips rubbed against his scalp and he would have purred
if he could.

“Not too mad at John, are you?” Grace asked.

“Not in the least. He tried to help. Since I’m guessing Ashton told you if you scratch
my head I’ll say yes to anything, you’re not here on the kid’s behalf,” Kade said,
enjoying the pressure on his scalp.

“Ashton and I were thinking.”

“That’s dangerous,” X said.

Grace shot him a glare, but continued without pause. “Whether or not your brother
ever gets here, we need to put together a lab and do what research we can. Ashton
says you were smarter than Damian, and I’m sure if we all pooled our minds and did
some studying, we could at least figure out what we’re up against.”

“Just let me out of the cuff and I’ll go right on over to the science center and
set up a lab,” he said, his eyes rolling back into his head.

“You might have genius blood in your veins, but I’m not an idiot. As much as you’re
running the show, I’m not going to do something that will intentionally piss off
Tiny.”

Until this point, Kade had been leading with his heart and not his head. He knew
he couldn’t keep the group inside Lambian forever, but he hated risking Ashton so
soon after he’d gotten her back.

He grabbed his walkie and pushed down the button. “Ash. Med bay, please.”

The moment he released the button, the room plunged into darkness. No lights meant
no power.

A beam of light burst into the room as Grace threw back the curtain on the window.
The low morning light cast them all in a ghostly glow.

“I’ll go check on that,” Grace said, leaving the room.

The camel’s back felt full enough without the added challenge of losing power. Ashton
opened the door and was greeted by the lapping tongues of the giddy dogs.

“X is okay, right?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” X replied. “Other than bored of out my mind.” A smile crept across Ashton’s
face as her eyes met X’s, the two of them having their own silent conversation. Ashton
snapped back to the moment and glanced at Kade, hoping he hadn’t noticed their exchange.

“You’re going to let us set up the lab, then?”

“Yes, but take Argos along,” Kade replied.

Ashton smiled and clapped her hands. “That’s great. We need to start studying.”

“You just have to unhook me, so I can take watch.”

Ashton braced her hands on her knees as she doubled over, laughing. “Yeah. No. Do
you have any idea what Tiny would do to me?”

As frustrated as Kade was by everyone’s fear of Tiny in this situation, he couldn’t
help but smile at her protectiveness of him. Tiny was right, though; he couldn’t
keep doing stupid things. Something as simple as an infection could be the death
of him. There was a fine line between brave and stupid, and Kade had leapt over it.
He knew he had to start leading with his head.

“I figured I’d try. Be careful,” he said.

“I will.” Ashton placed her hand on his forehead. She closed his eyelids and patted
him on the shoulder. “Get some rest.”

While Kade had his eyes closed, she quickly moved to X’s bed. With both hands sinking
into the thin mattress, she leaned in and kissed him on the forehead. X smiled his
stupid smile and gave her a wink. His lips moved silently: “Be safe.” Her gaze stayed
on his coal-black eyes as she gave him a nod and then turned away, patting her leg
to call Argos.

X glanced at Kade to make sure his eyes were still shut, and then closed his own.

* * *

From above, the Niagara Tribe base might look like a flea market and a medieval army
camp all at once. The Tribe’s base, Victoria’s new home, was surrounded by a nine-foot
chain-link fence that contained three separate layers of barbed wire. Inside was
a hodgepodge of different military personnel and civilians who had taken the Rights
of the Tribe. The Rights were created by the Three Chiefs, and were based on the
needs of the Tribe at the moment the new recruits came looking for amnesty. New recruits
might be asked to provide a set number of vehicles; a certain amount of food; track
down technology; or, if the new member was a craftsman, perform labors. Once the
task was completed, he or she would be assigned to a certain squad and unit based
on skills.

Within the fenced area were tables of every shape, size, and color, spread out all
through the compound. Currency no longer held value, and the procurement of goods
had become a barter system: They all traded their surplus for what they needed. Some
tables were covered in different types of ammunition; others held bolts and screws;
some had canisters of gas; even a few held fresh fish from the river.

Other open areas were occupied by entertainment centers, like a basketball court,
foursquare, horseshoes, and bocce; however, the snow had driven most people inside
the unpowered buildings.

The units that prided themselves on their toughness and resolve, however, refused
to take shelter indoors. They rounded up their vehicles into a circle and built
a fire in the center. There were four main currencies that defined the rank of a
squad; food, fuel, ammo, and resolve. Those that chose the outdoors earned the others’
respect for their resolve.

The base had once been a fenced in, self-contained, short-order town. It boasted
two barracks, a motor pool, officer’s houses, a church, a supermarket, a gym, a
dining hall, office buildings, and athletic fields. Most of the buildings that had
been converted to sleeping quarters looked like what would be found after a tornado
destroyed a town and forced the residents to shelter in the local gymnasium. The
rooms had been cleared of their furniture and the floors looked like a patchwork
quilt of blankets and sleeping bags.

The Primal Age had created a number of orphans, and about twenty of them were part
of the Tribe. They were all entrusted to the care of two women who had formerly run
day cares in the Old World. The orphans were being raised with the finest ideals
the Three Chiefs could offer, and everyone felt they would be a far superior generation
to those who had been raised in the Old World.

The Three Chiefs had been the first soldiers to say ‘no’ when they were called up
to help defend New York City from the rioters. They recognized what was happening
and fought for their own lives in the mutiny. It had been a bloody takeover, but
once they had power, they were able to broadcast their message. Other confused and
lost military units journeyed to join them in Niagara. The entire Tribe had grown
into roughly four hundred members, of which about three-quarters were former military
personnel.

They organized the Tribe into squads and units. There were four members to a squad
and four squads to a unit. In a unit, the first squad was composed of four former
military people. The second and third squads were three military members and one
support member from the civilian world. Each of those squads varied in focus between
medical or mechanical assistance. The fourth squad was one military member and
three civilian members that often acted in tandem with one of the higher-ranking
squads.

Unit rank was based on accumulated wealth, so when members weren’t under orders,
they often spent time running their own private missions to try to enrich individual
supply caches. These expeditions were far from safe; between the creatures, the elements,
armed civilians, and accidents, casualties were common. Whenever a squad lost a
member, they could replenish their ranks from a lower-ranking squad.

Civilian members of the tribe were ranked based on their skills. The most valuable
members were those who were educated in medicine. After medicine came the craftsmen:
architects, mechanics, engineers, and construction workers. Their skills aided in
maintaining their current base and adding more secure defensive measures than were
already in place. Next were those with a background in agriculture, since at some
point their provisions would run out. Then a small circle of those who had a career
that could be mildly helpful, like a sociology professor, or a taxi driver. The final
group was comprised of the ones in need of re-education—the business men and women
of the Old World.

Had Victoria fallen into one of the lower categories, the Chiefs wouldn’t have cared
to meet her, but because of her prestigious title of medical researcher, they saw
her as an asset. Now she stood before the Chiefs in their den as they appraised
her.

The room had a stonework fireplace big enough to burn most of a tree, and lying in
front of it was a bear rug that had been brought back from one of the pillaging expeditions.
Claiming most of the space in the room was a large red oak desk with dovetail-engraved
legs. In the corner nearest the door was an antique chair with a rising sun carved
into it, which was where Sarge sat, patiently waiting for the Chiefs to finish their
questioning.

Victoria nervously tapped her right foot on the bear rug, keeping her eyes on the
animal’s glassy stare instead of the penetrating eyes of the Three Chiefs. She tried
not to pay attention to the wet blood on the wall behind her. On the left was a
tall, lean man with short-cropped brown hair. He had a quiet demeanor with an intentional
three-second delay in his responses. Of the three, he was the one Victoria liked
the most. In the center was the one she liked the least—the only female Chief—and,
although there was officially no rank among the Chiefs, it was clear she was the
leader. Her pitch-black hair stopped at her shoulders. She had dark, almost chocolate-brown
skin with matching brown eyes. Victoria had had trouble identifying her as a woman
at first due to her square jaw and broad shoulders. She dominated the questioning
and was intentionally trying to verbally inflict pain on Victoria. The third Chief
was not quite short and not quite fat, but beside the other two, he looked like an
Oompa Loompa. It took Victoria awhile to figure out how he had risen to a position
of such power, but he was the female chief’s puppet and aligned himself with her
on every topic. They were all called Chief, but the Tribe identified them as Tall-Chief,
She-Chief, and Short-Chief.

They had grilled Victoria about her life in the Old World and the Primal Age; why
she’d left her group; the group’s background; how many of them there were; how many
weapons and what supplies did they have; what defenses; what vehicles—pretty much
everything but their Social Security numbers. Now the Chiefs were deciding her fate.

Tall-Chief sat with his arms crossed, disinterested, while Short-Chief whispered
into She-Chief’s ear. She-Chief leaned forward and threaded her witch-like fingers.

“To become a member of the Tribe, you have one simple task: You must bring us the
supplies from Houghton College,” She-Chief said without an ounce of emotion.

Victoria thought this was far from simple. The cohort wouldn’t hand all of their
supplies over to her, and there was no way she could steal them back. That didn’t
stop the small hairs on her body from tingling in fear at the thought of going back
there in full force with guns blazing. She wasn’t a warrior, and she wasn’t about
to become one.