Chapter 12
Twelve
I wish it were possible to scrub clean hideous memories the way one washes dirt from their hands. The lifeless body of Justin Reims, lying on the stone steps of the capitol building, in his own bright red blood, will fester inside of me until the day I’m dead. As Ryland, Wes, and I walk away, hidden in the dispersing crowd, I try my best not to look at his body one more time. But I fail. A morbid part of me takes a quick glance. I’ll forever be haunted by this boy I never knew.
There’s no attempt to stop us from leaving the capitol grounds. The guards must believe we’ve decided to ignore the justice’s advice and are on our way to the Sanctuary.
I’d have the tiniest sense of peace if one other person was following our lead, but there’s not. These people had an opportunity to save someone’s life, and they stood silently by with no remorse as he was executed for falling in love. I’ll never understand how any of them are complicit with living in a community like this.
An overwhelming sense of relief comes over me the moment we step off the property, and at the same time, emotional fatigue weighs me down. Trying to refocus on our objective is impossible. The rational part of my brain screams that I’m becoming a liability to my companions. If I don’t get it together, and soon, I’ll be the weak link that gets one of us killed.
We walk past a lamppost, and one of the bright orange flyers for the Sanctuary catches my eye. It’s the piece of me that my aunt and uncle taught to question the establishment that has its curiosity piqued. I pull down the paper, fold it into a small square, and slide it into my back pocket. Is the Sanctuary purely a myth, or is there truth behind it? I’m not sure, but I won’t be spoon fed my final verdict on the matter.
Once the capitol building is nothing but a tall tower in the distance, Ryland stops and slides into the shadows between two businesses. After quickly scanning the area, he turns to Wes and me. “The hospital is only two blocks away. The closer we get, the higher the probability of encountering something hostile. Take a minute to piss or stretch or whatever it is you both need to do. Going forward, we can’t afford to be distracted.”
No distractions? Ryland must be out of his mind. Peeing is going to do nothing for my inability to focus. Besides, if there were a shut-off switch to my emotions, I would’ve cut power to them a long time ago.
“Quinn.” Ryland says.
“What?”
“Can you give us a second?” he asks Wes.
His friend’s gaze jumps back and forth between us. “Yeah, I’ll be over here keeping an eye on the street.” Wes walks to the end of the alley, and with his back to us, leans one shoulder against a brick wall .
Ryland takes a step toward me, and instinctively, I take one back, colliding with a brick wall. With me trapped, he takes another step and closes the distance between us to mere inches. He drops his voice to a whisper and says, “Are you going to be all right to do this?”
I swallow a lump in my throat and lie. “Yes.”
He places his hand on the wall next to my shoulder, his gaze burning into mine. “I know you’re disturbed by what you saw, but for the sake of Wes and me, I need you to get past it for now.”
“Okay, it’s done,” I say, trying to regain my much-needed personal space. Not many things on God’s green earth muddle up my mind the way he does when he’s close. My insides become a war zone of physical attraction versus common sense. Rational thinking must always win. I won’t let myself fall victim to him.
He cocks an eyebrow. “You’re sure?”
“Positive,” I say in a firmer tone.
“Then you don’t need me to kiss you to help you forget?”
“Are you… why would you—no!” I duck under his arm and rush past Wes, whose lips are pulled into a smirk.
Ryland catches up and strolls next to me on the sidewalk. He has me thoroughly flustered, and I wish he’d put a little space between us. There’s a whole empty street with a sidewalk on the other side just for him. As my annoyance mounts, my temperature rises, and I’m compelled to address his poorly timed flirtation. “I can’t believe you’re even trying to cut jokes right now.”
With his eyes on our surroundings and no attempt to hide his lopsided smile, he responds, “Who said I was joking?”
“God, you’re obnoxious.” I pick up my pace, and Wes laughs from behind me as I take the lead.
The asshole, with his sexy accent, crooked grin, and offerings of a kiss is frustrating! I want to get this done with—kill what needs to be killed, find the steroids, and get home early tomorrow morning. Yet, he consumes more of my thoughts than any of that.
The clapping of running feet and grunting echoes through the quiet. A middle-aged man, with sickly gray skin, tattered clothing, and an open salivating mouth, charges across a parking lot. He’s crazed with hunger and shows no signs of slowing down. I pull my gun from my pants, align my body with his, and open fire. My first shot grazes his jaw, dislodging it from his face. Dripping blood, it sways back and forth with each step he takes but does nothing to stop him. With a quick exhale, I pull the trigger again. This time his head rears back when the bullet meets his forehead, and he crumples to the ground.
“You’re welcome,” Ryland says as he walks up beside me.
“For what?”
“For infuriating you. You have a way of focusing all your anger on the task at hand.”
I scoff. Of course, he had an ulterior motive when he offered to kiss me.
“For the record, I wouldn’t have done it; not yet anyway,” he says, raising an eyebrow and drawing his lips between his teeth to hide his smile.
I pull my gaze from his, grip my weapon tighter, and walk faster.
I’m on high alert again. It feels like Zs are lurking around corners, waiting for us to step closer. My peripheral vision plays tricks on me, and I swear the Afflicted are scurrying across the road in the distance and bounding from rooftops. The deafening sound of Wes’s gun discharging behind me is a welcomed reminder that I’m not going insane.
He rotates around after shooting another Z. “Disgusting creatures,” he mumbles, stepping over the dead body.
We reach the hospital’s parking lot, and dread is like a sinking stone in my stomach. There is no telling what lurks inside the multilevel building. And whatever is inside will sense us way before we know they are there.
A metal door at the side of the hospital crashes open, and two Zs barrel out. Ryland quickly reacts and fires first, lodging a bullet into the head of the closest Z. At the same time, I step out from behind him and land a shot in the chest of the other. Both go tumbling to the ground. Keeping a safe distance, I look them over for any sign of what we’re up against.
“What are you thinking, Mac?” Ryland asks.
Wes looks at the building, squinting his eyes. “It’s a nest.”
Ryland pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s what I thought, but I was hoping to be wrong.”
I glance back and forth at them. “What’s a nest?”
“Hospitals, prisons, or any place where there was once a ton of bodies. These locations have the potential of being a nest,” Wes says, sweeping his arm in front of him. “Some of the Afflicted are hunters and seek their next meal, and others are driven by convenience. They’ll remain where they are if the food source was once high, forming a nest.”
I scrunch my nose and shake my head. “They build a little Z community, how cute. But what about nomadic Zs?”
“Hordes. I believe they consist of Zs who were infected at the same time and ran out of fresh flesh. They stick together and hunt. You know they’ll eat anything, even each other. It becomes survival of the fittest if there are no living beings around. Hordes provide them with a guaranteed food source. Someone is bound to catch something.”
As gross as it all sounds, I’m impressed by Wes’s knowledge. He’s put a lot of thought into the habits of Zs. I’m sure it is partly what got him and his friends this far, knowing your enemy and all of that.
“There’s absolutely no splitting up once inside. We stay within each other’s line of sight at all times.” Rylan looks directly at me. “No heroics.”
“No worries, I left my cape in the truck.”
His eyes light up for a brief second and his lips pucker as he fights a smile. “It’s never stopped you before.”
I can’t help but give him a small smile of my own as I say, “Point taken.”
“It’s going to be foul inside,” Wes says, pulling three handkerchiefs from his backpack and handing them to us. He wraps his around the lower half of his face, and Ryland and I follow suit.
Prepared for the stench, Ryland motions us to follow him. He holds a gun in one hand and a flashlight in the other, and when we reach the door, Wes eases it open. Ryland leans in, checking that it’s clear before we enter the Z nest.
The corridor would be dark if it weren’t for the two men multitasking. They hold a gun in one hand and a flashlight in the other. Unfortunately, I’m not feeling as skilled at the moment and need both hands steady on my weapon.
The hallway is thickly layered in dust and reminds me of the aftermath of an explosion. Tiny particles irritate my eyes as they float through the air, distorting my vision with tears. I’ll never admit it out loud, but I’m a bit over my head right now. The unfamiliar layout of the hospital and its unkempt state has me at a disadvantage.
Reaching the doors at the end of the hallway, Ryland looks back at Wes and me. “Try to call it before you shoot it. We don’t want to waste bullets or time by aiming for the same target. Also, we need to find a sign for the pharmacy, so keep your eyes open.”
We slide into the corridor, and instantly, my palms sweat inside my gloves. In the distance, growls and moans have my heart racing like it is vying for a gold medal in a 40-yard dash. Wes was right—the muggy air is disgusting. Even through my scarf, I can smell the rot. Every type of decay festers around us—human waste, molding food, and decomposing bodies. It’s the most repulsive thing I’ve ever encountered. I try to contain my disgust, but finally give in and dry heave.
“Hold it in, Ellery,” Wes says from behind me. “If you start puking, it will cause a chain reaction.”
I roll my eyes at the use of my last name; it’s so militant. So not me.
In hopes of taking my mind off the stench, I respond, “You remember the most random things. I don’t even remember your last name.”
“I have semantic memory. I can remember a bunch of useless information. And it’s MacVey, but Mac will work too.”
Metal crashes to the floor, bringing our conversation to a stop. The noise ricochets through the empty walkway, followed by a raspy snarl. The Zs must sense our presence, but don’t stampede to get to us. I hate when they’re assholes who want to play with their food. They’ve got me beat on speed and immunity to pain; I don’t need them outwitting me as well.
“Fuck,” Ryland hisses. His light shines on a revolting face, bolting down the corridor. “I got him. Mac, to the left,” he instructs before firing.
Wes steps around me and releases two rapid shots into another Z running out of a room. I hardly have time to watch both creatures fall to the floor when my arm is yanked, pulling me back a step. I spin around to find the half-eaten face of a Z snapping its teeth at me. Its ear is severed from its head, and a strip of skin peeled away from its neck. I recover from the shock of its gruesome condition when we’re almost nose to nose. I jam the barrel of my gun under its chin and pull the trigger. Its head explodes, sending brain matter and dark purple blood raining down on me. With my booted foot, I kick it, propelling its limp body into a wall before using the end of my scarf to wipe its guts from around my eyes.
Ryland stands several steps away, with his gaze boring straight into me. The bandana covering his lower face does little to hide the ticking of his jaw. I shift my weight and rest my hand on my hip, waiting for him to explode, but he turns to Wes. “I’m not saying this again, stay behind her.” To me, he demands, “Get your flashlight out, Quinn.”
“I handled it,” I snap.
He closes his eyes and fills his chest with air. With a forced calm, he says, “Just get out your damn flashlight so you can see what’s chasing after you.”
Being the subject of Ryland’s irritation is not something I’d wish upon anyone. It makes me want to lash out, and at the same time, it tears me up. It’s fueled by his desire to protect. I understand that need and the guilt that drives it .
Without any further argument, I reach into the side pocket of my backpack and pull out my mini flashlight. I press the power and illuminate the wall across the hall. Like a much-needed ray of sunshine on a dreary day appears the sign meant to guide hospital visitors to their destinations.
“The pharmacy is this way,” I say, walking in the direction of the arrow.
The further back we walk, the more intense the darkness. The odor is almost debilitating, and the occupants of the hospital sound crazed and restless. My heart bangs in my chest and my blood rushes to my head in dizzying pulses. This is feeling more and more like a death wish.
“Of course,” Ryland yells and punches the wall.
I spin around to find a yellow sign taped to a locked door. Due to renovations, the pharmacy is temporarily located on the second floor .
“Looks like we’re taking the stairs, boys,” I say, pointing to the door leading to the stairwell.
Ryland shakes his head while I hold open the door for him. “I’m not fond of restricted spaces.”
“Oh, really? I suppose we should just head on home then,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
He grunts before walking inside.
The stairwell door slams closed, and we sweep our lights over the winding steps. The compact space gives us no room to maneuver. It’s as if we are walking a tightrope with precise steps, and at the same time, there’s an urgency to get to the other side. It’s a deadly combination.
Halfway to the first landing, gunfire erupts in front of me. Without warning, Ryland’s shoulder jerks back from the kick of his firearm. I grip the railing to keep from falling on Wes, and he places his hand on my lower back, helping me to stay on my feet.
I’m partially deafened by the ringing in my ears, but I still register Ryland yelling, “I could use some help, Quinn.”
I drop to my knees and brace myself at his side. On the top landing stand several ex-humans who used to be doctors, caregivers, and patients. Many of the grotesque flesh-eaters have fed on each other; their exposed bones and shredded tendons hanging from their faces and limbs. Bloody hands reach out, and mouths salivate at the smell of our skin. Their numbers seem endless as they file in from the floors above. Not bothering with any order, they shove each other out of the way, trying to get to us.
Before I can release my first shot, the door we entered from swings open. We’re trapped between the predators as they pour in from the top and ground floors. I’m torn, not knowing where to shoot first.
Like he’s reading my thoughts, Wes yells, “Clear the landing.”
Not needing to be told twice, I shoot alongside Ryland. During the seconds I was distracted, the Zs coming down made some headway. They trip over the bodies of their dead comrades, racing at us. Ryland aims for the back of the group, and I take the closer ones. High-pitched wails and low growls are amplified, reverberating off the concrete walls. The blasts and infinite screeching mingle together. The result is a maddening sound.
I glance back at Wes. With swift kicks, he throws our attackers back. They stumble over each other as he showers them with bullets. The Zs climb over the dead and press forward. “Start moving up, Shaw. I’ve got an idea,” he orders.
While keeping his gun trained on those descending the stairs, Ryland grabs a dead body by its hospital gown and throws it behind us. Wes moves over the corpse and kicks it the rest of the way down, piling his victims on the floor below. Following Ryland’s lead, I pull on deformed legs covered in sticky, dark blood. I shove them out of our way and take the next step, making some headway. The attack from above tapers off, and my gun clicks empty. I cram it into my pocket and unsheathe my knife.
“Keep your aim high,” I instruct Ryland, taking a couple of steps ahead of him.
Hand to hand combat is not my favorite method of slaughtering Zs. If I can reach them, they can reach me, but I have no choice. I dive for the nearest body, and it too moves to attack, grabbing my hair and pulling my head to its mouth. I use one hand to gouge my fingers in its unseeing eyes. When I have a slight advantage, I plunge my knife into its gut and yank up. I say a silent prayer that I’m strong enough to make it through its ribs and pierce its lungs. It hisses, throwing my head into the wall. My skull meets the brick with a crack. Running on pure adrenaline and anger, I disregard the pain and pull my knife from its body. Once free, I bury my blade to the hilt in its slim torso over and over again.
A hand reaches out and grips my upper arm, pulling me up. I spin to take out my next opponent, but Ryland stops me by holding my wrist.
Not the least bit fazed, he orders, “Run.”
Together we rush up the stairs, stomping on the dead. Wes fires his gun a few steps below and hurries to follow us. There’s a break in the horde raining down from the upper levels, but I’m not so naive to think we’re out of danger. We’ve won a small battle in a war that has just begun .
As a unit, we climb the final set of stairs, heading for the wide-open door of the second level. I peer back at Wes. He pauses on the landing, surrounded by mutilated corpses. In his hand is something small, and he tosses it at the oncoming Zs.
“Go, go, go,” he yells, bounding up the steps two at a time.
An earth-shattering explosion rattles the stairwell, followed by a scorching heat. Wes plows into my back, pushing Ryland and me into the second-floor hallway. We end up in a tangled pile of arms and legs on the linoleum tile. Wes scurries to kick the door shut as Ryland snatches the fire extinguisher from the emergency case on the wall. He wedges it in the door handle, locking the Zs inside. The men collapse to the floor beside me, and we all release a deep exhale.
I pull my scarf from my face—no longer caring if the hospital smells like rotting bodies soaking in a sewer—and use it to wipe away the sweat and blood from my forehead and cheeks. “Wes, tell me you didn’t throw a grenade with all of us in there?” I ask through labored breaths.
“Yeah, I did.” He smiles up at the ceiling.
I roll over to get Ryland’s reaction. He’s on his back, looking down the hall with his gun pointed at a Z running toward us. With little to no effort, he pulls the trigger, and the creature falls into a heap. Ryland rests his head on the ground, turns to me, and slides the bandana from his face. “Did I ever tell you that I absolutely hate confined spaces?”
I smirk and say, “I think you might have mentioned it.”
Wes stands and shakes out his arms. “Let’s get this over with before our sickly friend ends up dying.”
I sit and bring my backpack around my body, taking out the extra clip from inside. With shaking hands, I reload my gun before refilling the used clip. I can’t fight with a knife again; it’s way too much work, and I’m on the verge of having a heart attack as is. I plan to keep my distance from Zs for the remainder of this run. The best way to do that is to riddle them with bullets.