Dead of Eve (13 page)

The grocery store would wait. Besides, Darwin kept me fed on fowl and fish. I put the truck in first and headed south. South to MO-64. Then east to I-44. East to Fort Leonard Wood.

If my memory was right, Fort Leonard Wood served as a training facility for the U.S. Army military police. Perhaps I could upgrade to a military SUV and gather more artillery and supplies. Beyond that, I didn’t know what to expect.

An hour later, I passed a guard building surrounded by a towering fence and rolled over the trampled gate. I kept the truck at a crawl, straining my eyes against the pitch black milieu for signs of life. A light on in a building? A fresh worn track? Movement in the shadows? With only the light from the headlights, an overt assessment was impossible. By what I could see, the base seemed barren.

Then I smelled it. A rot so thick it slid down my throat and met the bile rising there. I choked, buried my nose in the crook of my arm. My foot slid to the brake, my free hand slapping at the window crank. My gag reflex won.

The window half down, I emptied my stomach over both sides of the door. Another choking breath and I retched again.

I wiped my mouth, spun the wheel till it stopped and began a tight three-sixty turn. The headlights illuminated an empty field, a charred building, the entrance to the base, then mountains of…holy fuck. The knot in my gut rushed back to my throat. I held it off, swallowed repeatedly, breathed.

Scatters of arms, legs, gutted torsos, and unrecognizable fleshy parts blotted the horizon, stretching beyond the reach of the headlights. And the faces. Oh God, the faces staring out of the heaps. Men. Women. Aphid. Skin peeling, baked from the sun. Bones exposed, splintered and crushed.

I was out of the truck, moving closer, and realized a person could have too much courage. But I was sure it wasn’t courage. It was a train wreck. I couldn’t look away.

Bodies strewed the ground, piled where they fell, dismembered or eaten. Tanks and other armored vehicles belched human remains. A post-battle wasteland. Perhaps civilians were seeking shelter at the base and killed out of fear of infection. Maybe aphids overran the command post and the residents used up their ammo.

Decayed hands held shotguns and rifles. Empty eye sockets stared into the beam of the headlights. Mouths froze in silent screams. Human and aphid lay side by side in repose. The scene was peaceful. Could’ve been a painting if it hadn’t been so painful look at it. Did anyone survive? My stomach bottomed out. I whirled, carbine raised and searched the night for a breath of life.

Darwin huffed in the cab, ears up, eyes alert. My muscles relaxed. The rot was ripe. It wasn’t a recent battle. Survivors would be gone.

As I drove to the other side of the base, the stench dissipated. Pillaged structures and exsanguinated bodies became fewer and fewer.

Twenty minutes later, I parked in front of a narrow barracks, its two windows and single door untouched. Humping my pack and artillery, I surveyed the perimeter of the building, unable to ignore my exhaustion.

I broke the dead bolt with the butt of the carbine and swept the single room building with the Maglite. Darwin darted in ahead of me and sniffed out every nook. Empty mattresses lay on the bunks. Metal blinds covered the windows. A fucking Ritz Carlton.

I moved a desk in front of the door. With Darwin at my very sore feet, I was certain he would alert me of danger. My head hit the bed and sleep pulled me down.

I sprawled naked in the damp dimness, a stone slab cold against my back. My arms and legs stretched with heavy chains. The aroma of blood burned my nose.

Plip. Plop. Plip. Plip.

Beads tapped my face and trickled down my cheeks. Shallow respiration at my feet broke the rhythm of the dribble.

“Who’s there?”

The blanket of darkness lifted, unveiled a hollow cave. I blinked through the drops in my eyes. My vision clouded under a scarlet hue. Dark rain spotted my body. The ceiling was bleeding.

A figure emerged through my blinks. He stood at my feet, staring back through onyx eyes, cloaked in a sable cape. He pushed back the hood. Black curls curtained his Middle Eastern features.

“I am the Drone”, he offered with an Arabic accent, emphasizing the D.

I tugged at the chains. “What do you want?”

He leapt upon the alter and straddled my waist. “I think you know.” He smirked. Then a spear erupted from his mouth and pierced my chest.

Smoldering pain. I pawed at him, my hands not working right. Screams echoed. My screams. The ceiling erupted in a mud slide of blood. The gore rushed from unseen pores in the walls.

I bucked my hips against the pang of the Drone’s sucking mouthparts. I couldn’t escape the stabbing spasm in my chest.

“Fuck you.” My voice was strangled.

His slurping continued, each pull with the throb of my heart. An obscure shape swelled behind his shoulders. He crooked up the corner of his mouth around the bloody spear and extended immense transparent wings.

I screamed until the burning in my throat overbore the wound in my chest. The light danced away as if in fear. When the darkness curled under my chin, it was warm and wet and very much alive.

Deep into that darkness peering,

long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting,

dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.

Edgar Allan Poe

Slimy slaps doused my neck. Something slithered over my cheek. Warm puffs filled my ear. I opened my eyes and sucked in air to keep my scream from escaping.

Spittle showered my nose. Darwin’s dripping tongue hovered inches away. He licked his chops and recommenced slobbering my face. I wrapped my arms around his neck and buried my face in his fur. “Was I screaming, boy? Did I scare you?”

He leaned into my hug and rolled to his side with a rumbling moan and a playful snap of jaws.

Daylight leaked in around the edges of the window blinds. My senses back online, I bent my arms and legs to test flexibility. The fatigue and stress in my muscles were faint compared to the prior night. I rubbed my chest. No rents in my skin despite the ache.

The Drone.

Wish I could’ve told Joel about the dream. He would’ve wrapped me in the strength of his arms and nuzzled my cheek while murmuring reassurances. Then he would’ve set me on my feet and told me in his stern voice to pull my shit together.

As I sat there, feeling forsaken, panicked even, some intangible timeline forced itself upon me. It was a tug, clawing inside my chest. I ground myself in the urgency of it, threw on my jeans, black tee, armored vest and cap and removed the desk barricade.

As far as I could see, the base spread out in a barren reminder that even our military couldn’t fight this thing. Bodies scattered the ground, tattered by wind and cankered by the heat. I stared at them for long moments, waiting for them to rise.

On the way to the truck, I carried that expectancy with me. But there was no buzzing. No movement. No blood in the air. Only the hot scent of asphalt and the dormant lawn crunching under my feet.

Darwin froze halfway to the truck, his muzzle pointing at three vultures pecking at a thick clutter of decomposed bodies. In a flap of wings, the birds took air, chased away by a scraggly dog. As if my nose had just caught up with my sight, I gagged. The stench overpowered my other senses and caused my steps to falter. Darwin seemed to be effected by it too if his whimpers were anything to go by.

“Darwin.” I motioned to the truck, and like always, he obeyed.

It took several circles around the base before I spotted the armory. A single story brick building squatted off the outer road. The lot provided a breeding ground for daylilies. Bursts of orange overran the landscape as evidence of runners sprouted new growth in every direction. The armory’s thick steel door and only entry appeared closed and unscathed. It was either once heavily guarded or impossible to plunder.

I drove the truck over the lawn and parked a few feet from the door. Carbine in high ready, I crept to the entrance while Darwin fertilized the lilies. Would it be locked? I reached for the handle.

It cracked open. My hand jerked back. If there were men watching on the cameras, they’d see me going in. The truck felt like a magnet behind me. Ten paces would put me back in that cab.

Minutes passed. The cameras wouldn’t be working without electricity, and I blamed the breeze for moving the door. I thought about the ammo I needed and could possibly acquire. I steadied my breathing and summoned my grit. Then I stepped through the door.

The training Joel drilled into me took over. I blurred out of the doorway’s halo and swept right, back to the wall. Musk and alcohol lingered in the small foyer. I pressed into the shadows. That was when I realized my folly. Electric lights illuminated the corner. Fuck. A generator powered the building? That meant human occupancy.

I pivoted to the entrance, started to run.

Whoomp-click.

The slide action reverberated through my body. A chambered shell. I planted my feet.

In the doorway, Darwin snarled and bared his teeth.

Without turning around, I mimicked Darwin’s growl. “Lower your gun. I’m not looking for trouble.”

“Call your dog away or I’ll do it for you.” A masculine voice, deep and confident.

Darwin’s ears pinned flat to his head. His hackles shot up. I wasn’t about to do anything to chance his life. “Get. Shoo.”

His growl wavered, but his body remained stiff.

Shit. I couldn’t remember the command. Maybe “
Geh rein?
”

He slinked inside, head low to the ground, lip pulled back. Boots squeaked behind me.

I shouted, “
Nein. Nein.
”

Darwin stopped.

Blood pounded in my ears. I held up my hands for the benefit of the gunman and flexed my fingers when I realized they were trembling. “I’m trying. Give me a minute.”

“Not itchin’ to destroy such a fine animal but you’ve got five seconds to find out exactly how much I care.”

I took a deep breath. “Darwin.
Geh raus.
”

He backed out of the door and disappeared.

The number of boots squeaking the floor multiplied. “Now drop your gun and turn around.”

Until I knew what I was up against, cooperating was my only option. I set down the carbine, my only gun, and turned around.

Five men crowded a dark hallway and aimed guns of varying sizes at the only vital part of me not protected by my vest. My head.

Two of them used free hands to raise pants zippers and clasp belt buckles, faces flushed and sweaty. Didn’t take a genius to know what I’d interrupted. An environment stripped of women, much like prison, would be tainted with dominates and their bitches.

The one with the buckle walked by me and closed the door. My muscles trembled.

The bossy one gripped my neck. “Looks like one of Satan’s whores just stumbled in our door, boys.”

Their laughing carried undertones of something poisonous. Something not unlike insanity. A reminder that, for most, surviving the apocalypse meant surviving attacks by those they trusted. Did these men kill their own mothers, sisters, lovers to save themselves?

Veins bulged in their foreheads. Their eyes were cold and narrowed. I kept my arms behind my back and traced the stitching on my forearm sheath.

The grip on my throat tightened. A lingering lick caressed my cheek. A promise of what was to come. My quivering muscles betrayed me.

Someone said, “Look at her arms.”

Another laughed. “Goddamn. Bitch’d cut off a finger using one of those knives.”

Then a shout. “Take your knives to the kitchen, woman, and make me some dinner.”

More rounds of laughter. More ignorant barbs. But they didn’t take the knives. I smiled inwardly with images of serving them their own severed tongues on fine china, their starved mouths flapping as they silently begged for more.

“If you think I’m so inept at throwing knives,” I said, “put down your guns and try me.”

The stoutest brute roared. “No way am I wasting a fight on a worthless woman.”

If you understand the foundation of your anger, you might be able to promote it in others.

“If I don’t mind, why should you?” I said.

The brute’s face reddened, but confidence blazed in his eyes. He handed his weapons off to his buddies.

I jumped on the distraction, stepped back and brought up my left hand. The inside block knocked the bossy one’s arm off my neck. I hit his knee joint with a side kick. He stumbled back. I freed a blade and pierced his lung. He collapsed.

The stout brute’s fist hit my chest and gripped my vest. Shouts filled the air. A bullet whizzed by my ear. Then another. I sucked in a breath and trapped his hand and thumb with my left hand. I locked his arm, twisted it and knocked him off balance. With another blade, I struck his forearm. Something stung my thigh. A grazed bullet? I shot a shin kick to the bastard’s groin. He clutched his nuts, dropped to his knees, his mouth a huge
O
of surprise. I stomped his calf. His fibula cracked, piercing through a mangled hole in his knee.

The bossy one was on me again. I shifted his body, using it as cover and forcing a wheeze from his damaged lung.

Gunfire riddled the floor and shredded the furniture. His body jiggled under the spray. The entrance was closer. I dropped him and darted for it.

Lead ricocheted everywhere. I ran faster. The sun reflected off the metal door as I swung it open. I squinted against the glare.

Boots and bullets followed me outside. A vibration hit my stomach. I skidded to a stop. Six aphids blocked the walkway.

I spun to the side and let the bastard behind me absorb the first strike. Two mutants covered him, sucking him. His head fell back. His mouth opened, gargled.

The remaining aphids slashed their beaks and stabbed the chests of the final two. The assholes hadn’t even unlocked their stances or lifted their weapons. Maybe Joel was right. Maybe the bugs did move fast despite my inability to see it.