Four (Their Dead Lives,1) Page 23
Carrots and ranch. Flavored water. Oreos. Milk. His attempt to calm himself was interrupted when a cold liquid dripped on his back. A shiver ran across his neck but he refused to turn. He didn’t want to see what was behind him.
Chocolate chip waffles. Bananas. Crackers and cheese.
The shaking continued.
Then the whispers came, invading his skull. “It’s time.”
“Who said that?” Alec’s show of bravery had vanished. “Who the hell said that?” he shrieked.
No response from his friends.
Whispers were tangible in the darkness, surrounding the boys as they huddled on the ground.
Whispers, so many whispers.
“It’s the Others from Lost.” Scot couldn’t help himself.
The shaking continued.
“Who’s there?” Jeff found the courage to yell.
“Holy shit!” screamed Scot as his touch faded away. “Something is on me! Guys, help, something has me! Help! He—” He emitted one last squeal before he was silenced.
“Scot!” Alec yelled, blindly searching the darkness for his friend. “Scot!”
No response.
The shaking continued.
Macaroni and Cheese. Hot dogs. French fries.
Alec grabbed Jeff’s arm. “Homer, I—”
“Alec, we leave as—”
A strong pressure on his back forced Jeff down to his knees. He trembled, turning in the dark. The pressure increased. A grotesque smell struck his nose and the pressure slid around his belly. A snake? He grabbed it, his trembling hands touching a slimy stickiness. “Alec?” He was able to shove it off and he tried to step closer to Alec.
“Homer?” A massive black tentacle wrapped tightly around Alec, yanking him in the air. “Jeff!”
The shaking continued.
Jeff swung around without an aim, without a clue, lost and hopeless. What do I do?
“Get it off! Get it—” an ear-snapping crunch shattered Alec’s bones.
A stronger whisper, amongst all the unintelligible others, sidled in Jeff’s ear. “You are mine now.”
“Who are you?” Jeff cowered against a wall. Hot tears fell down his cheeks. He didn’t care. “Leave us alone!”
The shaking continued.
Something wet dripped on his shoulder, soaking through his shirt. He looked up to see the dark tentacle slithering down the brick walls toward him. “No!” It sprung around his face, wrapping, constricting. His muffled screams were only his to hear. He fought to break free but was quickly overpowered and sent crashing to the cold wet ground.
The grip tightened around his mouth, breaking his nose. Air vanished. He shut his eyes, no longer able to imagine his favorite foods as a comforting distraction. Falling to his knees, he scratched at the massive black tentacle, his nails ripping its skin. Its grip stiffened. He coughed and choked and his hands slid limply off the creature, dangling at his sides. His head was light. Numb.
A final whisper tickled his mind. “Embrace me.”
The shaking stopped.
Their loud screams tore into Kale’s soul. Along with the two brothers, he hid behind a large tree as they surveyed the area. The mouth of the well stood tall in a small opening within the forest, surrounded by fallen branches and leaves.
“Looks clear,” Fred remarked, the pistol raised.
Paul said, “Give me my gun back.”
“Let’s go.” Kale limped for the brick opening. The screams continued to echo from inside the well. I’m here!
The brothers yelled from behind Kale. “Kid, wait!”
The cloaked kidnapper leapt from behind the well, landing on top of its lid. He tilted his hooded head, eyes hidden from Kale’s view, yet he felt them staring right at him. The cloak fluttered in the air as the man landed right in front of Kale.
Eyes locked with the dark, heartless gaze hovering above him, Kale knew this man wanted his soul.
A gunshot from behind blasted leaves about the ground. Fred raised the small pistol, firing another shot at the cloaked man. “Stay there!”
Kale faced the kidnapper again. Fucker! He threw a punch for the hooded head. A black glove shot around his wrist. No! Another hand grabbed him and Kale was tossed, flailing through the air before landing on a pile of leaves. He rolled over to his back. The well was only a couple yards away, and he crawled for it. I’m coming for you, guys. He heard them screaming inside.
“Stay where you are!” Fred aimed the pistol at the kidnapper’s head. The cloaked man stepped forward, oblivious to the threat the gun posed. Is it even a real threat?
Leaves spiraled gently from the trees around Fred as he fought to keep his aim strong and steady. He fired another warning shot right in front of the kidnapper’s feet. “I mean it!”
Slow and deliberate, the cloaked man took another step forward.
The next bullet ripped through the kidnapper’s upper-right shoulder. Black ooze spilled out of the wound.
What the—
Fred jerked back in shock. “What are you?”
The kidnapper, tilting his hooded head again, remained silent but he looked on the verge of laughter. He flashed to Fred like dark lightning, twisted the pistol around in Fred’s hand, and forced the muzzle hard against Fred’s chin. “Paul!” Fred cried for his brother. A bullet blasted Fred’s scalp open and he dropped.
No, no. Kale kept crawling for the well. His friends still screamed inside, their voices filled with pain.
Paul rushed for the gun, but the kidnapper snagged his neck first, pushing him through the woods until the back of his head exploded against a tree. The kidnapper carelessly tossed his body aside, and one dead brother was left next to the other.
The kidnapper, his back at Kale, heaved up and down. Kale kept crawling, was about to touch the brick well when the black cloak flashed in front of him.
Police sirens in the distance.
Dark eyes simply stared at Kale, neither of them making a move.
“You hear them out there? Huh? You lose,” said Kale.
The kidnapper kept staring, as if memorizing Kale’s face, then flipped over the well and vanished into the woods.
“Hey!” Kale limped to his feet. “Yeah, run! I beat you, motherfucker!”
Screams still echoed from the well. Using both hands, Kale shoved against the cement lid with every ounce of strength he had left. A loud screeching assaulted his ears until the lid fell off the dungeon, crashing into dirt.
Screams finally stopped.
Wiping sweat covering his face, Kale had never been this exhausted in his life. Police officers yelled a good distance behind him. Dogs barked. The cavalry was almost here but he didn’t care. One of his hands wrapped around the brick top as he edged himself over the opening. No, no. His hand tightened as his heart dropped and legs gave out. What have I done?
Light revealed three mangled bodies curled up next to each other, all of them drenched in blood.
eight years later
KALE
He thought about the camera flashes, the smiles, the pats on his back, the longing looks girls gave him. Reporters had called him a hero that day. They said he saved his friends, and possibly countless others. But the media frenzy lasted maybe a few days. Kale became a mere memory to the world. A memory soon forgotten.
In the yacht, he stared at his amputated limb. A white bandage was wrapped around his forearm. No bloodstains, no pain. He was still in a daze from the alcohol. What did they do to me? Oh yeah, they took my hand. His vision swayed as he stared at the cauterizing iron. Pieces of his flesh stuck to its metal.
After pulling his friends from the well, they’d been taken to Green Hills Medical. Kale assumed they were dead, but the medics found pulses. A miracle, he thought. He was also taken to the hospital and was surprised to learn he’d fractured an arm and a leg. The costs of being a hero.
Lying on the bed in the yacht, he didn’t feel like a hero. The zombie apocalypse had arrived. And what have I done?
Killed an innocent girl? Yep.
Lost a hand? Yep.
He slowly curled onto his stomach, resting his new stub on a pillow. The slight change in pressure caused such pain he wanted to vomit.
When Jeff, Alec, and Scot had regained consciousness in the hospital, they all told the same story: they stupidly tried to save the kidnapped kids, who were never found, and ended up getting themselves caught by the kidnapper. Tossed in the well, they were left for dead.
Kale had found their story suspicious and he knew details were missing. But his three friends stuck to their tale. The media frenzy soon died down. The world was more concerned with the Vaults and the impending apocalypse than with survivors of a serial kidnapper.
It almost seemed their lives would go back to normal. Then, one night, they had told Kale the real story and—
Miller entered the captain’s cabin. Kale weakly raised his head. “How are you doing?” the deputy asked. Not Alec, not Howard, but fucking Jimmy Miller comes to check on me. Miller pulled a stool next to the bed. “Kale?” he raised an orange eyebrow.
“How do I look, Jimmy?” He raised his stub.
“I’m sorry this happened to you,” said Miller.
Don’t give me your fake pity. You hate me like everyone else. “Thanks.”
“Well, can I get you anything?”
Kale rolled over, flinching from a short burst of blinding pain, then rested his stub on another pillow. “Silence, Jimmy, silence.”
The deputy dragged his stool to the corner of a room and flipped open a magazine. He started to whistle.
“Jimmy,” Kale groaned.
“Right, silence, sorry.”
“Are you here to keep watch over me?”
Miller quit flipping the pages. “I’m here to keep us all safe.”
He’s my prison guard. The others had nothing to worry about. Kale would not try anything stupid again. He was always one to quickly learn from his mistakes. Losing a hand is a good lesson. “Can I ask you something?” he moaned, lips hanging open on the pillow.
“Shoot,” said Miller.
“Remember, remember that day in high school—”
“You mean when you guys ran off into the woods and got yourselves nearly killed?”
“Yeah, that day.”
“What about it?” Miller dropped the magazine.
He won’t have an answer, but might as well ask. “How did you know to check in the woods? How did you know you were right?”
“Ha! Kale, I had no idea. That was a crazy coincidence. Though I gotta say, being right about my hunch gave me the push I needed to join the force.”
Coincidence? No. Fate led us to that well. Fate saved my friends. Fate gave them their powers. If only they would use them. His eyes grew heavy with his thoughts.
“Why do you ask, Kale?”
Kale’s voice slurred. Weak and tired, he wanted sleep. “You always wanted to go to space, Jimmy,” he said, remembering all the times Miller celebrated the idea of being an astronaut.
Miller let a long, quiet breath out. “I still do.”
“Let me dream in peace.” Kale drifted off, head spinning as his eyes shut. He relived that day in high school but he forgot about the chaos, the tragedy, and the two dead brothers who had helped him save his friends. Instead, he was on the hospital steps, embracing all the camera flashes and all the glory.
Before he fell asleep, Miller whispered to him, “All you do is dream, Kale.”
EVANS
Someone is following us.
A speedboat had appeared on the horizon an hour or so after Kale’s operation.
Evans’ uncle had informed him Kale was in stable condition after they cauterized the wound. He deserves more than losing a hand, Evans thought several times as he dumped Erica’s body over the edge. The girl should mean nothing to me. She was a casualty of war, like my team. Perhaps it was the kiss that made him miss her.
Over a year had passed since his last physical encounter with the female species. That kiss. No matter the kiss, he’d not shed a tear for her or anyone else.
The speedboat had been trailing them for several hours. He would lose sight of it once night fell, and it was quickly falling. He wished a VTF sniper, perhaps Marshall Grange, were with them. Grange could’ve taken the speedboat’s navigator out with a single shot.
Who was following them? Why? There were only a few possibilities. First, the navigator could be cautious, surveying the yacht for a threat, and end up being a friendly. Second, the navigator could be cautious and dangerous, planning his first strike. Third, the navigator could simply be heading up north like themselves. Unlikely. They were moving slowly and the speedboat could’ve easily passed them by now.
They were being followed, and Evans was glad, because boredom lurked behind every minute, and he longed for excitement.
The sky flushed orange when Howard came to him. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Cool, cool.”
They stood in silence for half a minute before Howard spoke again. “So...”
Evans kept his gaze on the speedboat in the far distance, hoping Howard would get the hint he wanted to be left alone. No such luck.
“Did you kill anyone before? I mean, a living person that is.”
A stone, unwelcoming face. “The other night.”
“Oh. Right on, that’s cool, cool.” Howard’s voice faded away, his nose twitched under his glasses, and he left.
Solitude brought Evans great joy. He leaned over the white railing, intertwining his fingers. His M4A1 carbine was strapped over his light armor. The vest could take a weak bullet or two. Anything strong would pierce. But he wasn’t worried about bullets at a time like this. Unless of course the navigator following them was heavily armed and heavily dangerous.
Teeth worried him more, but he knew a zombie was not in their neighboring speedboat. They can’t navigate. He felt sickened at even contemplating the idea. No wonder I was transferred from the Marines.
No one in the VTF knew the reason for his transfer, except Colonel Hutton, and he wanted to keep it that way. Not even his uncle knew the real reason. There is no point in telling. Flashes of his fallen Marines tore through his mind but he shook them away. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault.
He had to shoot something.
Steadying his carbine over the white railing, aiming at their following friend, Evans knew there was no chance of hitting the target from this distance, especially with the wind. But he pretended he could anyway.
“Everything okay?” Uncle Dylan stepped to his side.
“We’re being followed.”
“Ah. Never a dull moment. Who is it do you suppose?”
“Not sure. Someone in a speedboat.” He looked up from the reflex sight of his weapon.
His uncle’s brown and gray hair flapped around as he played with his beard. “Jonny, if you want to talk—”
“Talking is a luxury we don’t have.” He moved away from the railing, heading for the bridge.
“I’m here, you know.” Uncle Dylan wanted to follow. “For anything, kid. I’m here.”
Evans found solitude once more on the bridge. He wanted to put the yacht in full speed. The sooner he got to Camp Numark, the sooner he had his next orders. Maybe the Colonel had answers. Maybe he didn’t. None of that mattered to Evans. I need an order, nothing but smokin’ and jokin’ right now.
When night arrived, Evans went back to the white railing he’d stood at earlier. Unfortunately, there was no chance of seeing the speedboat, and if the navigator were going to attack, he had the perfect chance now. But Evans would be ready.
If he doesn’t attack tonight, tomorrow morning will confirm if we truly are being followed.
He was thankful for a warm night. Warm nights were better for staying awake, and everyone else was inside the yacht. I’m the only one out here to protect us.
Except H
oward, who’d found a champagne bottle, finished most of it, then passed out on a lounge chair behind Evans. The bottle stayed in Howard’s lap and Evans thought about finishing it. A useless action. Howard occasionally mumbled during his sleep, usually about animals. I give my life to protect people like him.
Evans would keep these people safe at all costs, for he had to honor Lt. Sampson’s death.
Jeff. He needed his squad mate back. All these civilians knew nothing about anything, and Jeff was usually good conversation. Get here, brother.
“Porcupine, why you in my igloo?” Howard mumbled in his sleep.
Evans kept his eyes on the dark sea until he heard an approaching footstep. He swung his carbine around, and through the moonlight, recognized the man.
Pat. Shorter and pudgier than Uncle Dylan, and he had a clean-shaven head. Pat said, “Mind if I join you?”
What is this, my social gathering spot? “Sure.”
“Dylan said you think we’re being followed.”
Evans had expected Pat to start this conversation differently. “There’s a speedboat out there in the dark. It’s been heading our way for hours now.”
“Should we accelerate? To see what it does?”
“I think we should stop. Either he will come, or he will pass.”
“Sounds risky.”
“I don’t plan on missing,” he said, tightening his grip around his weapon.
Pat laughed. “Dylan told me you’re funny.”
“Yeah? How long have you two been fucking?”
No laugh that time. “And there is the other part of you.”
“Relax. I don’t care where my uncle sticks it.” Evans created more awkward silence.
“The giraffe! The giraffe ate my jelly beans!” Howard slurred sleepily. He twisted and turned on the lounge chair, knocking the champagne bottle over. Pat went to pick it up, then returned.
Pat said, “Has he—”
“Yes.”
“All night?”
“Yes.”
Pat took a sip of the champagne then offered it to Evans. He politely declined. So Pat sipped some more. “It’s quite warm.”
“The night or the drink?”