Haven (24 page)

“Lay down,” he whispered.

I did and soon felt the pressure of his body on the pad behind me. I judged he was less than a foot and yet I didn’t feel a single part of him touching me. No arm around my waist. No knees bent into the back of mine. No feet pressed against my boots. He was keeping his distance, and I knew it wasn’t simply out of respect. He still felt like he was the biggest danger to me. I wanted to tell him to hold me, to lean his body on mine so I could feel his warmth. It was ironic that this was every high school student’s dream…sharing a bed with the one you wanted most without parents present…and
he
was the one keeping us apart.

Dusk had passed now and the gym’s shadows had disappeared entirely, blending in with the night. I could make out the faint horizontal lines of the bleachers alongside us but nothing else. Our breathing, which was faster than normal, filled the gym but if I listened closely I could hear the muted growls of those hovering just outside. And then, despite my need to have Harrison next to me, something else overtook me. Sleep. I closed my eyes and felt myself drift into the darkness.

The next thing I knew, it was daylight and Doc, Mei, and Harrison were in a discussion near the gymnasium’s foyer doors. Surprised by their change of heart and the fact they’d be standing so close to Harrison, I left the pad and joined them because whatever they were discussing had them excited. As Doc held the little AM/FM radio we’d found in our locker pillage, he was using words like “shortwave radio broadcast” and “survivors”, which immediately attracted my interest. I was still working through the haze but those words helped jumpstart my pulse by the time I reached Harrison’s side.

By then, Mei was saying, “Beverly thought it was just a recording.”

“A recording?” I asked, fresh to the conversation.

“She said you guys watched some recording on Mr. Packard’s TV.”

“We did,” Harrison said with a nod.”It was the President’s last speech.”

“Well there’s no way this is the President,” Doc said. “This broadcast was made by a chick.”

Mei tilted her head at him, her expression disgruntled.

“A girl,” Doc corrected hastily. “A woman. Anyways, Beverly said she thought it was a recording.”

“Where is she?”

“In some office building downtown.”

“No, Beverly…”

Doc shrugged. “She was mumbling something about needing a facial while rolling the trash bins outside.” As Doc continued to elucidate the fine details of Beverly’s location, a deep, dark fear settled in the pit of my stomach. I looked at Harrison, whose face confirmed he was catching on to the same disturbing realization as me.

“She wouldn’t touch the trash bags,” said Doc, “so she’s carting the whole damn trash can out-… Hey, where are you going?”

Harrison and I didn’t need to hear any more. We were circling around them by the time they caught on, and as we flew through the doors and into the foyer, they trailed right behind us. The four of us ran through the next set of foyer doors and into the hallway where we began a full force sprint toward the kitchen. Our panicked footsteps echoed off the walls, making the loudest sound we’d heard inside the school since the day of the outbreak months ago. Their very existence and the reverberation they created were disturbing, but Beverly’s reaction once she got to the dumpster and saw what was left there would be infinitely more destructive.

We didn’t stop when entering the cafeteria or even after shoving open the kitchen door. It wasn’t until after we noticed the disruption of light in the room that we come to a sharp halt. It should have been dimmer, fed by sunlight from the windows lining the walls along the ceiling. It was just too bright. We turned the corner leading to a narrow hallway which ended at a large, heavy metal door, the one that led to the maintenance area and out to the dumpsters. Beverly had somehow managed to obstruct the doorway with one of the large grey trash cans and was using both her body weight and curse words to force it through.

“Come on, piece of sh-”

“Beverly,” Harrison called out, slowing his pace to a brisk walk. “I can take care of that for you.”

She swiveled around at the sound of his voice. “What are you doing out of your jail cell?”

As the remaining three of us funneled down the hallway, she gave us a quirky look. “What’s up with the party posse?” she asked, snidely. “Does
everyone
want to play Carry-The-Can?”

“Sure, let us handle it,” Harrison suggested stopping on the opposite side and placing his hands on it.

She gave him, and then the rest of us, a sincere look of distrust. “Doc hates taking out the garbage. Mei and Kennedy couldn’t care less if they live in filth. And you, Harrison, shouldn’t even be here. What’s going on?”

“Just go back and…do your nails.”

“I don’t have any more polish.”

“Then go suntan.”

“It’s November, Harrison.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why?” she asked. “Why don’t you want me out there?” Her head turned to peer outside.

From my position, I could see a small brick outbuilding that I knew from my rounds was a maintenance storage shed. Thankfully, it blocked Mr. Packard’s fence, the Infected beyond it, and her dad’s demolished Mercedes Benz.

“Just…,” Harrison said, “let me handle it.”

Beverly didn’t like taking orders. She preferred to give them. So when Harrison persisted with his request, she took this as pushy, which translated in her mind to a command. I could see this taking place as her expression morphed from irritated curiosity to full-blown determination.

Suddenly, she heaved the can aside and stumbled out the door. The weight of it pushed the can back into us, but Harrison caught it and, using his incredible strength, sent it flying back outside. This time, it easily cleared the doorway, and we were outside in seconds. Beverly had disappeared by then, having a good head start, but we caught up to her just after we rounded the corner of the maintenance shed. There she stood, as if she’d been frozen in mid-step, one leg in front, her body tilted forward. But she was no longer moving, because she’d spotted what we had been trying to keep her from seeing.

“Who is that?” Doc asked in a hushed voice from behind me.

Mei apparently recognized the Mercedes Benz embedded in the fence. Once she saw that and the dead body, she pieced it together easily. “It’s her…her dad.”

I heard a scuff behind me, and didn’t notice Mei until she had passed me. She walked up to Beverly and stood beside her, head tilted down in an almost prayerful stance. Of course they weren’t praying. Beverly was processing the fact that he did come for her, and he’d made it, he just hadn’t survived. Mei was trying to figure a way to help her through it. The rest of us were waiting to see what would happen.

I knew Beverly better than anyone here. I’d seen her fly into a rage when her hair got a few raindrops on it and when she’d lost a lipstick tube in the toilet. This was her dad. Any reaction she was going to have would not be good.

We stood this way for several minutes, none of us speaking or moving. Then she shifted, and I thought she had proven me wrong. Maybe she did have more fortitude then I gave her credit for.

But Mei’s arm rose up her back to settle across Beverly’s shoulders. It was meant to be comforting, to reminder her that she wasn’t alone, to tell her that there were people here who cared for her, to convey “We got you. We got your back.”

Instead, it was a trigger.

The moment that Mei’s skin came in contact with hers, Beverly showed us all exactly what she was capable of. Brushing Mei aside, she ran for a thin metal pipe stowed away beside the maintenance shed for a repair project that never did come to fruition. Now it would serve a different purpose. She picked it up and charged toward the fence, roaring in a way that shook me inside. Using all her weight, she sent the pipe stabbing through the bars and into the head of the first Infected on the opposite side. The impact sent blood splattering, spraying droplets across the other Infected behind her victim and out to the side. It was a solid hit. The Infected went down. But Beverly wasn’t done. After yanking the pole out with a heaving grunt, she stabbed it again, this time with a shout that seemed to come from the depths of her soul and carried out across the hushed school grounds.

“YOU…SON OF A…BIT-” The pipe nicked the fence on its slide through, breaking off the last part of her curse. It didn’t deter her though, and the hit was good. As the bodies fell she moved down the fence picking them off one by one like they were set up on a conveyor belt.

“YOU…SON OF A…BIT-” She caught the fence again, pulled back the pipe, and sent it back through again. “YOU…SON OF A…BIT-” And again, the pipe made contact with the metal bars but landed in the head of her next target.

What we didn’t realize, what none of us saw until it was too late, was that she was making her way toward the gate. Her incensed display of grotesque revenge had us mesmerized. Harrison was the only one to break free from it, just at the last second. He had already taken one step toward her when she launched the pipe that one last time.

She was getting tired now. The rage that fueled her was still there, propelling her on to the next Infected, but the toll of years spent refusing to build muscles, in fear they’d make her look too thick, had left her frail. Her aim was growing sloppier by the tenth victim and it was for this reason that when she reached the gate, and the lever that opened it, that she hit it…dead-on…and the gate unlatched.

The truth was, none of us had ever checked the lock. But thinking back, there had to have been a way for Beverly’s dad to get in. My assumption was that he’d made it through another gate, before those were locked, and wandered around to the back of the school grounds. I mean it was the maintenance gate. It wasn’t a main entrance. Who would have thought it would be unlocked in the first place? But it was, and as Beverly raised the pipe again, the Infected managed to slide it open.

The entire mob had become somewhat immobilized by the weight of their group bearing down on the car. Their feet were firmly planted, only allowing them to lean slightly. Beverly’s tirade had gotten them riled and they steadily grew into a single undulating wave of anarchy. Now, their mouths frothed, their heads whipped back and forth, their bodies shook with need. And their feet moved with the flow of those around them so that when the gate opened, the first one through was literally thrown forward.

It was Jeff Temple. He had a distinct white stripe down the center of his dark hair. His friends called him ‘Skunk,’ which he welcomed. He’d been in and out of juvi several times and had picked up the deft ability to maneuver his muscular frame quickly. Making good use of this skill, he hunched and ran for Beverly.

The one who approached from the side I never saw coming. He hadn’t entered through the now opened gate, but he was inside nonetheless. I didn’t have time to contemplate how. I only knew he was a few feet away and still charging.

~ 9 ~

W
HEN
I
WOKE UP THIS TIME,
I was fighting.

“Kennedy!” Harrison shouted, his voice hollow and echoing in the back of my ears. “Wake up, Kennedy! Wake up!”

My hands were bound, which meant I couldn’t fight, but I was still trying.

“You’re safe,” he insisted. I slightly understood he was within inches of me and that it might be his hands keeping me restrained.

“You’re all right,” he reiterated. “You’re safe. Take a breath.”

I did as he commanded, feeling my lungs expand and the cool air rush into them.

“That’s right,” he encouraged. “Breathe…slow and deep.”

“Right,” I said, in a daze. “Right…”

Even while saying the word, my eyes darted around the room in search of danger. It was dark, but I could distinguish the beige bleachers, the faded lines of the basketball court and the windows overhead letting in the moonlight. All of these things were harmless and definitely not interested in eating us.

When my shoulders relaxed and my breathing steadied, I focused on Harrison again. He released my wrists and fell back on the pad. Observing me, he brought his fingers up to brush aside his hair.

“That was a bad one,” I said, after I recovered.

“Yes, it was,” he agreed, watching me closely.

“I’ll be okay,” I reassured him.

He nodded but didn’t look convinced.

Shifting the focus to him, I said, “I’ve…I’ve never seen you out of breath.”

He paused, looking stumped. “I’m not, normally. I…I think it was because I couldn’t wake you up. It…made me nervous.”

“Well…thanks for trying.”

“You bet.” He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around his bent knees, closing the distance between us. “That was…” He shook his head anxiously. “What were you dreaming this time?”

I drew in a deep breath to steady my nerves, preparing to relive it in my mind. The vast gymnasium seemed unwelcoming right about then and I was glad Harrison was there with me.

“If you don’t want to talk about it…”

“No, I can…I can.” But I took in another breath anyways before recounting the nightmare.

When I was done, he assessed me quietly. “Do you think this one was a warning?”