Twenty-Nine
Rubin
“You know this is crazy, right?” Simone said.
“Does that word have any meaning?” I responded.
She licked her lips and then let out a little shrug, like she was actually considering the question. “I suppose not,” she finally said, “but this…”
“They reinforced the barricade,” I said, looking at the door that led to the units on the first floor.
Simone shivered but quickly brought herself under control. “That’s great. They put up the barricade. So we should go back upstairs and leave the barricade alone.”
“We are going to leave the barricade alone.” Her face brightened, and I had to keep myself from smiling when I deflated her. “We’re going outside.”
“What?” She blinked, looking at me like she misheard. “Outside? Outside, outside like where there are dozens, if not hundreds, of corpses walking around. That outside? Or a different outside?”
“That outside.” I handed her the Bowie knife, pressed it against her palm, and held it there until she circled her fingers around the grip.
“And why would we do a thing like that?” she asked.
“Because I need to see what’s out there.”
“I don’t,” she responded.
“Grab the knife, Simone,” I said.
She tightened her grip and then nodded.
I took the handgun Kane had given me, along with my own knife, and slid the baton into my belt loop. “Kill anything that tries to attack me,” I said.
“Rubin, this is so fucking—”
She cut off when I pushed the door open. It let out a creak that may as well have been a dinner bell. I stayed still a moment, watching to see if my calculation would hold. I waited a beat, then another, and when none of the things I could see in the distance stirred, I started to walk.
Air, an actual breeze, hit my face. Yes, it smelled of smoke and decay, but it moved. And the sun hit my skin like it always had, the hot rays reminding me that some things were constant. Reminded me that I had to be too.
I kept my eyes forward and kept her in the corner of my vision. This had probably been a mistake. I should have brought Besnik or Arben, even Damian, or no one at all. But not Simone.
The thought lingered, but I refused to second guess myself. This was necessary. We were down to six days’ worth of food—maybe—and still had no idea what was out there. Simone was best positioned to tell me how long whatever I found, if I found anything at all, would last.
Taking Simone had been the right choice.
I glanced back and saw that she had noticed the fence running along the edge of the building.
It was how I had gotten her inside, and so far my guess that it might work as a route out was holding.
I turned the corner, and other than a few empty laundry bags strewn across the grass, there was no sign of disturbance.
So far, so good. I stopped at the fence and saw the chain.
“Damn it,” I muttered.
But Simone tapped my arm, then pointed. The chain was in place, but it wasn’t locked. I lifted the heavy padlock as gingerly as I could and eased the gate open, moving it increment by increment so it wouldn’t be too loud.
Soon the gate swung wide, and I stepped through. Simone stepped in behind me and looked back at me, her eyes wide. I nodded ahead, toward the small shed at the far edge of the employee parking lot.
Unfortunately, it sat a little over quarter mile from the main building, through another set of fences.
It left us exposed, but I had to trust that quick thinking and the network of chain-link would carry us.
Simone shook her head, no. I nodded again, then tightened my grip on the gun and turned, certain she would follow even if she hated it.
And she did.
I moved at a walk-jog. I worried she’d cut herself, the way she held the knife up by her ear. I stopped and nodded at her. She shrugged. I pointed at the knife, then at her waist. She frowned but lowered her hand and loosened her grip.
Good. If she tried to use that thing the way she’d been holding it, she’d either slice her own face or snap her wrist from the force. And there was no way I could—
“Watch out,” she muttered.
One of those things shambled toward me. A CO, clearly, his radio still dangling from his shoulder.
I looked at Simone and stepped out of the way. She glared at me, near riotous. I made no attempt to move. She looked at me again, her eyes pleading, but not like the day before. She didn’t want to do this. But she would.
I would see to that. And more importantly, she might not know it yet, but this was getting easier. That was good. She gave me one last look. I gave her nothing in return.
And then she moved. She raised the knife and stabbed at the CO’s face.
The blade sliced through its jaw and the skin hung down at an odd angle, like mis-sliced ham.
Simone cringed, but she kept going, stabbed again, this time driving into its temple.
I could see her fight to force the blade in, but she didn’t relent, and soon the CO crumpled to the ground.
She pulled the knife free, then frowned at the goo that spurted from the wound.
She looked back at me, and this time I did smile.
Simone
I told Rubin this was crazy. And it was, but I was even crazier. That was the thought that rambled around my brain as I followed behind him, the knife he’d forced into my hand dripping with red-black blood.
The distance between the jail, which had been protective, and the shed in the parking lot felt like an eternity.
And with every step I again wondered what I was doing.
Reminded myself I was doing exactly what I had to, to survive.
I caught Rubin’s eye, and he nodded toward the door when we finally reached the shed.
This was the way I had been escorted in before.
And as I looked around the small fence and parking lot, I saw signs of what had happened here.
Car doors open, the batteries long drained.
A body, an actual body and not a zombie.
Half of it behind the car, the other half in front.
I crinkled my nose at the stink. I thought I had gotten used to it, but in the warmth of the afternoon sun it wafted new and revolting in new ways.
Rubin tapped his baton on the door and listened. He heard nothing, I assumed, because he tried the knob. Locked. Of course it was locked. I frowned and then looked around, caught Rubin’s gaze, and nodded toward the bottom half of the corpse.
He arched a brow, challenging me, and I cursed myself for even mentioning it. Knife in hand, I approached the body and was happy to see the keys on the belt loop. Before I reached down, I glanced back at Rubin, who was smirking.
Asshole.
I grabbed the keys, careful to make sure they didn’t jingle, and then went back to the door.
Rubin watched, his posture relaxed but everything about him ready, as I tried the keys.
There were seven, so this might take a while.
But I studied the shape of the lock, the keys, and took my best guess.
It slid in, but the lock didn’t turn, so I grabbed the next most likely contender.
Jackpot. The lock opened without a sound, and Rubin nodded for me to move and then turn the knob.
The door opened and a blast of heat came out.
And another sickening smell, though this one at least wasn’t the dead.
I stepped in after Rubin and pushed the door closed.
It was an open space with lockers against one wall, four desks facing each other, and racks for shotguns that were sadly empty, and a lone bulletproof vest hung on a row that should have been full of them.
Rubin’s nose wrinkled at the first hit of air. Mine did too, and I quickly spotted the source of the stink.
A giant fruit bouquet that had withered—the grapes raisins now, the pineapple brown instead of yellow, and the watermelon that had been used as a bowl disintegrated into nothing. I frowned, even though my stomach grumbled.
“Let’s see what we can find,” Rubin said.
I wanted to make quick work of this. There were lights that were dead, but the windows gave the space some illumination.
I searched through the desk drawers and found an unopened box of cheese and crackers, which passed for a treasure these days, two meat sticks, and a bottle of water that hadn’t been opened.
“Here,” I said to Rubin, handing him the meat sticks and a pack of crackers.
“Save it,” he said.
“No, Rubin, you need to eat it.”
He frowned at me. “I’m supposed to believe you’re invested in my wellbeing?” he said.
I shook my head. “No, you’re supposed to believe I’m invested in mine. Now eat it.”
“Too bad,” he said, looking at the jerky.
“Too bad what?” I asked.
“I was hoping there would be more of them.”
“Suck it up, buttercup. This could be a honey bun,” I said as I put the meat sticks in his hand.
He made quick work of the cellophane and swallowed both sticks in two bites each.
When he was done, he swept the room again, his gaze lingering on the gun rack.
He crossed the room and grabbed the bulletproof vest off the hook. I didn’t speak when he crossed the room again, hoisting the vest over my head, and cinched the straps with quick, efficient tugs.
“Just in case,” he said, his voice calm but his hands almost tender as he checked the straps.