Four (Their Dead Lives,1) (38 page)

A LOST SOUL
 

Wet sand jammed under his nails as he crawled out of the waves, falling to hands and knees. Kicking, groaning, hissing with a burning throat, his stomach rose. Salt water ejected from his wide-snapped jaw. He heaved and grabbed his stomach, fingers aching to a fist. His lips curled against his teeth and he moaned, rocking back and forth, wet hair splashing in the night. Choking on his back, his pain subsided for a brief moment.
 

He savored the respite.
 

A raindrop splashed on his face quickly followed by another. Rain showered his entire body. His chapped lips quivered, his tongue flicking for hydration. And as he soaked himself, those dark eyes haunted his mind. He trembled in place, hands vibrating over his chest, stomach burning, eyes watering. He rolled over. Ocean spilled out his throat again. He whispered to himself, motivation to keep moving.
 

Voices. He heard voices over the roar of the crashing waves. Nearby. Salvation? Or death? None seemed worse than his pain.
 

Dark eyes still stared at him. He snapped his head from side to side, attempting to shake the image, face pressing in sand. All he wanted was for those eyes to leave him alone. His legs wobbled to a standing position, fighting with everything he had left. The voices were close. So close. He reached for his ankle, for the knife sheathed there. He left it there for the time being.

He screamed.
 

On his knees, his back arched in seeming agony, but no sound came out; he heard only waves, rain, and those voices. Water poured in his mouth, fresh water, needed water. His weak eyes landed on the moon glowing above. Somehow that sight gave him hope. But his stomach churned again, for the Embracer’s dark eyes still followed his every movement.
 

Death could be no worse than this.
 

The voices. On land. Closer. He unsheathed his knife and the blade shimmered in the moonlight. Strength found his feet. He stuck the knife out and it shook back and forth. Stumbling, fumbling, he continued on, closing in on those voices, those dark eyes always following, always haunting him. His legs gave out and he collapsed onto the beach. He groaned and moaned and forced himself. Stand. Move. Go. He readied the knife again and went straight for the voices.
 

Silhouettes scattered in the dark. The voices were upon him. He launched the knife forward, tripping over his feet at the same time. Sand attacked his face and the knife was lost. He coughed, sand coating his lips. Scrambling, spinning, reaching, he searched for the blade. The voices were addressing him but he couldn’t understand. He just kept searching and finally his hands touched the handle of the knife. He kicked to his feet and charged at the silhouettes.
 

“We have a gun!” one yelled. “Stop where you are.”
 

“Jeff?” a different voice.
 

“Kale?” another voice called.
 

“Just shoot it,” a third voice stated.
 

“Aveeayeahhers,” the lost soul tried to speak.
 

“What? What did he say? Speak like the living or I’ll shoot, damn it!”
 

“Eveeaars.”
 

One of the voices pumped something and stepped closer. The knife was ready to strike the hidden faces in the dark. “One more step and I’ll shoot! Now tell us your name! Your name!”
 

The lost soul wanted to strike but he knew that voice.
 

Family. Life. His own voice became clearer.
 

“Evans,” he choked out and collapsed at Uncle Dylan’s feet. Dylan dropped the shotgun and knelt next to Specialist Jon Evans of the Vault Tactical Force.
 

Pulled close, his uncle brushed his soaked sandy hair, whispering, “You’re alive. Don’t worry, you’re alive.”

JEFF
 

Three days had passed since the sinking of the yacht.

They had used a life raft to reach shore as the yacht was swallowed by the deep sea
,
taking Pat and Howard down to their watery graves.
As for the other survivors, the injury list was high, so they’d taken refuge at a medical clinic.

This clinic is our home while everyone heals.

Dr. Dylan Evans had his ripped leg, but used a makeshift cane to hobble around. Miller was still alive when they found him, though he was mutilated. Nicole had suffered head trauma and was unconscious. Jeff knew how she felt. After all, he’d been gone for most of the events leading up to yacht’s sinking.

Not all injuries the survivors suffered were physical. Alec became a silent, emotionless appendage, always at Nicole’s side, speaking with no one other than Dr. Dylan during check-ups. But Jeff needed Alec, his friend, with him to find a way to get Kale back.
 

The clinic, located in Oxnard, California, was close to the VTF base, Camp Numark, but not close enough in their current condition.
 

Jeff and Evans were the only ones in full health, well, close to full. Evans still had some minor wounds but none that would slow him during an inevitable supply run. Jeff hoped Alec would join them on the run, but the chance he would leave Nicole’s side was nonexistent. Still, Jeff was thankful Evans had made it to shore alive. They’d found him on the beach shortly after the yacht sank, and Dylan had almost blasted him with his shotgun.
 

Three days ago, but it feels like more time has passed.
 

Aside from the SPAS-12, their only weapons included Evans’ M4A1, his knife, Jimmy’s gun, and some scalpels. Both ammo and food were in short supply.
We will have to leave this place soon, dangerous as it is.
 

They had found the clinic with Dylan’s help and luckily it was empty when they’d arrived. Most of the streets, to Jeff’s surprise, were also clear. They had easily driven past stumblers and few sprinters were encountered.
The world died so fast.
 

The clinic was one story, with a waiting area and a thick-wooden door that led to a square shaped desk for the secretaries. Three exam rooms. Two offices. Two bathrooms. Small for the most part; the fact there was only one entrance provided them with a decent defense. Glass doors weren’t ideal for Jeff, but stacked chairs created a barrier to hide the survivors from the outside world. Luckily, there were no threats right outside their new, hopefully very-temporary, home.
 

They’d kept quiet the past few nights. Jeff and Evans had barely talked to one another. However, with dwindling supplies, the time to discuss their next move had arrived. Besides food and ammo, they needed to rescue Kale.
 

But how? Why did it take him? To where? Why not us?
 

Jeff, in those restless nights, had determined the Embracer never recognized him, or Alec, yet somehow knew Kale.
Because he was not in the well? Must be.
 

The sun set once again. Jeff and Evans slept in the waiting room. They left two chairs for them to sit, the rest belonged to their barricade at the glass doors of the clinic.
 

Jeff looked at the bruises around Evans’ neck. “How is it?”
 

“Peachy.” He had his M4A1 on his lap while Jeff had Dylan’s shotgun. Three shells left, but he would make them count. “I’ll tell you what really bugs me.”
 

“Yes?”
 

“We’re so close to Numark. So close. We can go and get help and bring them all back.”
 

Almost true.
“I have two problems with that.”
 

“Lay me the first.”
 

“If we’re gone for long, they are helpless here. And if there’s an attack...I won’t have that on my hands.”
 

Evans concurred silently. Devastation would flood his veins if anything happened to Uncle Dylan.
 

“Your second problem?”
 

“Numark. We have no idea what condition it is, or worse, if someone there was behind the Vault attacks. We—”

“I get it. No, you’re right. Stay here, recover, and then move on is the best plan. But what do we do about supplies? We’re running low.”
 

“This city is spread out, but there must be a grocery store close by.”

“I’d rather find a gun store. This half a clip won’t last long enough and you’re rocking only a few. I don’t mind stabbing them to death, but I prefer to let my bullets do the killing.”
 

Classic Jon Evans.
“Tomorrow morning or the next, we move out for supplies. Until then, the bread and soup will have to do.”
 

“Right.” Evans gave a curt nod and went up to their makeshift barricade. He tapped his foot a couple of times. “How many scalpels do we have again?”
 

“Quite a few.”
 

“Scalpel city. Hmm.”
 

Jeff stood. “What are you thinking?”
 

Evans smiled for the first time since the Vaults had opened. “We practice our scalpel-throwing before the supply run.”
 

Jeff had trouble sleeping that night.
 

During his coma on the yacht, his mind had been wide-awake. He thought he was in his realm, but he was in another. The things he’d seen in those visions haunted him.
 

On the waiting room floor, he wondered if it was a premonition. He’d never believed in that future-telling bullshit, but then again, surviving a sinking submarine? Rising unscathed from a block of C4? The list went on.
 

Whispered curses filled Jeff, and sleep became a deprived luxury. Perhaps fighting
to
sleep was keeping him awake.
Stress. Fear. Whatever it is, it needs to go.
 

Images of that unconscious-realm flashed in front of him when he shut his eyes. The area looked eerily similar to Oxnard. A grocery store bothered him most. Jeff was leading a group which included Evans. Scot was there. Alec, too. Miller was behind them, along with Jennings and Sadie. He wasn’t sure why, but that was the group. Kale was missing and a dark, lurking presence replaced him.

“Oreos, we gotta get Oreos,” said the Miller of that realm.
 

“No. Canned food. Water bottles. Anything that will last.” Evans pushed a grocery cart while holding his M4A1.
 

“I gotta agree with the deputy,” Jennings nudged. “Why deprive ourselves of tasty treats?”
 

Everyone ignored him and split off. Jeff stayed with Alec and Miller, while Evans led Jennings and Sadie. He had wished Sadie stayed with them. He had yet to explain his nickname to either her or Nicole.
 

Homer
. The name brought nice, simple memories.
 

“We have to find Kale,” Jeff told Scot and Alec.
 

“Why? Guy is nuts.” Scot scooped cans of beans into the cart.
 

“You know exactly why,” Jeff told him. “Right, Alec?”
 

Alec had said nothing the entire time in the unconscious-realm.
 

“But he’s such a douche-nozzle.” Scot grabbed more beans. Bean and cheese burritos
were
his favorite in high school. Soon he had a cart full of beans.
 

“I swear you better not flatulate when we get back,” Miller said, and giggled while pinching his nose, and repeating, “flatulate.”
 

They shrugged him off while Scot kept flooding the cart with a never-ending supply of canned beans. “All I’m saying, he did some bad shit to us
also
. He’s not a damn sain—” Scot flew from the aisle, bashing into dried goods. He grabbed his throat as blood streamed out.
 

“Not a damn what?” Kale stood at the aisle’s end.
 

“You—” Scot gurgled, kicking his legs on cold tiles. “You bastard!” His hand dropped from his gutted throat.
 

“Kale!” Jeff shoved the cart aside. “What have you done?”
 

Kale shrugged. “He was an asshole. You’ll thank me one day.”
 

Jeff spun back for Alec.
No
. He lay in his own blood pool, dead like Scot.
 

Black veins pulsated through Kale’s body as he flashed into Jeff’s eyes. “You let this happen to me, Homer. Why did you let this happen?” He grabbed Jeff’s shirt and yanked him down the hall. “See what I’ve done?”
 

His victims: Evans’ gutted stomach, Sadie’s decapitated head, Jennings was impaled by three knives, slumped against produce.
Miller?
 

Kale smothered his sight. Saliva filled his voice. “You of all people, Homer. We were best friends. Closer than those other losers. And
you
let
this happen to me.”
 

“I-I never wanted anything bad—”
 

“There’s only one thing you can do now, Homer.” Kale released Jeff and with each step he vanished deeper into dark.
 

“Tell me what to do!” Jeff reached for him. But his friend disappeared, leaving him alone in black. “Tell me, Kale. We leave as four. We always have. Just tell me what to do!”
 

The last thing Jeff saw was evil crossing Kale’s grin as he whispered, “Die.”
 

Jeff jolted awake, falling on his belly. He was in the clinic. Still night, and Evans was fast asleep near him.
 

That dream, what does it mean? Is Kale a threat? No, never. I have to save him. He hurts and I can fix him. I can fix all of this.
He was overcome by the temptation to leave right then and find Kale.
I can’t leave them here helpless.
He had bonded with Evans during their time in the VTF, and he considered him close, but his childhood friends consumed his heart.
 

The waiting room door called for him, wanting him to barge through, rush in the exam room, grab Alec, and knock some sense into him. Yes, Nicole was Alec’s one and only love, and their relationship had his respect, but Alec weeping at her side was pointless. Especially when so much needed to be done.