Four (Their Dead Lives,1) (46 page)

“You don’t have to. We will take you to Numark, leave you there, and return.”
 

“By leave me there, you mean with them, right?”
 

“Sure, if they’re clear of bites.”
 

Kelsey, Addison, and Scot all boarded the helicopter, and they flew west.
 

Scot, with one arm around Kelsey, leaned toward the woman. “You have my name, what’s yours?”
 

“Sergeant Chelsea Slinger of the VTF.”
 

“So you know Jeff Brennan, I take it?”
 

Slinger nudged the big man to her side. “Brennan is the only guy to beat Malone in arm wrestling.”
 

“He got lucky,” Malone growled, but not without a smile. “I was shit-faced.”
 

Scot laughed. “How do you know my name?”

Slinger and Malone glanced at one another. “Your friend likes to talk.”
 

Jeff? A talker?
“Doesn’t sound like the Homer I grew up with.”
 

Slinger tilted her head. “Homer?”
 

Scot couldn't help but smirk at the old joke. “A story he has to tell you someday.”
 

Malone grunted. “Let’s keep the cheesy small talk to a minimum.”
 

Scot didn’t believe they knew him simply because of Jeff, but he went along with it.
 

The helicopter glided over the forest they’d escaped, heading for the coast. Rays of sun glimmered on the surface of the ocean, a beautiful and sparkling sight. Scot pulled Kelsey close, and nestled against each other; he inhaled the sweet scent of her hair. Despite all the fear, all the death, and all the suffering, he smiled.

KALE
 

Covered in a damp layer of Henry’s blood, Kale fell onto pavement in an alleyway just outside the liquor store. His hand ran with tremors over his chest, while the bone-dagger retracted back into his other arm. His skin wrapped itself neatly over the leftover stump. There was still no pain.
 

“What did you make me do?”
 

Silence in his mind.
 

“Answer me!” He rolled on his side, grabbing his gut.
 

A whisper,
“I am simply the nudge you need to accomplish your desires.”
 

“Henry was an innocent man.”
 

“Then why did you kill him?”
 

“You dumb alien fuck!” Kale clawed at the ground until his nails bled, then he clawed at his own skull, hoping to dig the whispers out of his mind. Without any action on his part, his hands swung down to his sides of their own volition before he managed to do any damage to himself.
 

“Much more work to do.”
 

“Not by me.”
 

“You showed great loyalty by ending poor Henry. Such a good boy. Don’t disappoint me now.”

Spit oozed down his chin. “I don’t care if I disappoint you. I care nothing about you.” He tried to crawl with aching limbs to the alley’s end, but an invisible force, a heavy pressure, slammed his chest to the ground. He flipped on his back, striking to stab his attacker.
 

Nothing. He was alone.
 

“Where are you?”
 

“Only heard, never seen.”
 

“You’re not real!”

“If I’m not real, then you are solely to blame for Henry’s death. Why did you kill such a nice man?”
 

“I never wanted to!” Kale launched to his feet, the bone-dagger ripping forth from his arm. He rushed to the street and leapt on a taxi’s hood. In a crouched twirl, he scanned for anything to stab, anything to slice, anything to unleash his hatred.
 

No humans.
 

No animals.
 

No zombies.
 

The shoe store became the only thing in his sight.
 

“Yes, boy, yes. Take the wife. Take the son.”
 

“Never,” Kale snarled.
 

“Maybe. They are innocent, after all. But they’re not your friends. Leave Henry’s family to mourn. Now we must follow destiny.”
 

“Henry was one thing,” he whispered. “You have to kill me before I harm my friends!”
 

“No,”
the gravelly voice echoed between his ears.
 

Kale slid off the hood of the taxi. His feet carried his weak legs toward the shoe store. “You can’t make me.”
 

“Go to your friends and we will spare the family.”
 

A frail woman to his side feasted upon an unrecognizable body. It paid Kale no attention. “Kill
me
,” he cried at it. Nothing. The bone-dagger slowly retracted.
 

The shoe store grew closer.
 

“Please, please, stop.”
 

“You know what to do.”
 

“But my friends, they—”

“They don
’
t respect you. They never cared for you.”

“They do, they have to.”
 

“You’re naïve. I care for you. I’m here for you.”
 

“I saved them from you once. I’ll do it again.”
 

“Yes, yes, Kale the hero. You’re not their hero, though. You’re only a burden to them. Always have been. But you can be this family’s savior.”
 

“No!” Kale tried to drop his body. He wanted to, needed to, but the shoe store flashed to a reaching distance. He pressed against the outside wall, inches from mannequins in the window. He heaved, eyes closed. “I will save Henry’s family. I will save my friends.”
 

The Eradicator of Life fell silent.
 

“I’ll save everyone from you!”
 

Silence.
 

Kale rushed for the door. He frantically knocked until Polly, Henry’s wife, opened.

“Kale, oh my!” She grabbed his arm and pulled him in. She poked outside. “Henry, where is he?”
 

“Polly, get your son. We have to go,” Kale said, yanking her off the street and slamming the door shut.
 

She stared at him with such innocent eyes. “Henry? Kale! Where is—”
 

“Mommy, are they back?” Benvolio stepped from behind a shoe rack. “Where’s Dad?”

Polly rushed to her son, back facing Kale as she hunched over the young Benvolio.
 

“
Kill her now.”

No
, Kale thought, stepping to the shadows for the remaining Wright family.
Never
.
 

Polly rose and grabbed Kale’s wrist. “Are you hurt? Your blood.”
 

“Not mine.”
 

Her grip went slack. “My Henry. My sweet, sweet Henry.”

Kale embraced her, pulling the widow close in a hug meant to comfort. Benny ran to them and they held one another.
 

“I’ll see to your safety.” Kale’s voice spoke lightly, but it didn’t feel like
his
voice. “Everything is fine now.”
 

The bone dagger ruptured from his skin again.
 

Later, he lay their bodies neatly side by side. Mother next to son, son next to father. He shut the three pairs of eyes and interlaced their fingers. The Wright family lived in a better world now, he told himself.
 

The black evil that dominated his eyes and flowed through his veins slowly seeped away. He stumbled from the three bodies, sickened by the sight of them. A ray of light came in from under the front door of the shoe store, and it called for him, wanted him, and needed him. And he needed a way from the dark. “I killed them for you,” he called out, “and now my friends are spared.”
 

Light was closer and closer, and Kale knew he’d just killed for the greater good. Light was so close.
 

The soul-scathing whisper came darkly.
“No.”
 

Kale gagged in misery, outside pavement warm against his palms, rays beaming at his back. “I can’t, please,” he begged.
 

“Go to them, or all such innocent families die by your hand.”
 

“Jeff, Alec.” He crawled along the ground, disjointed, weaker than any corpse.
 

“Deep down it eats at you, knowing my words speak truth. They hate you, and you hate them. Let us end such suffering together.”

“Just kill them yourself.”
 

“You must find them, for I cannot.”
 

Kale felt their presence close, but he refused to admit such a thing. Maybe, he thought, maybe if he got to them, they could help. They could fight evil as four.
 

Yes, as four.
 

Shaking, he rose to his feet and cracked his jaw. “I’ll take you.”
 

The voice was silent.
 

Jeff and Alec: their light seeped into his dark heart, warming his body as he drew closer to them. The last he wished to see, Scot, was an unknowable presence.
 

Kale traveled his new path, heading for his friends, passing the building from where he’d first spotted the wretched Wright family. Light reflected bright off its glass, shining cheerily on the worst damned day of his life.

JEFF
 

He slid his hands through his silky golden hair. His elbows dug into his thighs. The stained carpet of the SUV they’d found reeked of dead flesh, rotten blood, lost hope.
 

They’d loaded its trunk with bags and bags of groceries. To his surprise, the grocery store had yet to be ransacked. He wondered how many survivors were still out there. Life seemed to have been wiped off all of Earth in a matter of seconds.
 

Evans swiveled his head around in the driver’s seat. “You okay?”
 

Jeff lifted his eyes. “Yeah, sorry.”
 

“Keep your wits, Private. If you let any of those things bite me, I’m coming straight for you.”
 

The dark green SUV roared to life and Evans reversed. Six other cars occupied the parking lot of the grocery store.
Where has everyone gone?
He wanted to lean against his window and rest but the specialist needed him alive and alert. Still, there were too many thoughts consuming his attention.
The truth shall set you free—or it’ll consume you, bind you, and destroy you.

Evans said, “Talk to me, Pvt. Brennan.”
 

“Roads are clear.”
 

“I mean, shit, tell me the trouble in your mind.”
 

“Look,”—he raised a hand—“we were set up during the escort mission. That’s clear. We lose power, we lose communications, and the whole world goes dark. All this happens around the same time. I’m no zombie expert but these creatures don’t seem that smart. Whatever caused them to turn undead in those Vaults—something has been planning this for a while, right?”
 

Evans’ grip tightened around the steering wheel. “We can speculate about anything.”
 

“True, but I had to vent.”
 

“Understandable. A plan will be waiting for us at Numark. Orders, Jeff, it’s all about orders.”
 

Jeff prayed the specialist was right, for his sake, because Jeff had his own plans. Once they were safe at the base, he would find Scot and he would save Kale. He would—

Evans slowed the SUV. There was nothing blocking their path, a clear road heading for a freeway entrance. But off the street, they spotted a gun store. Their eyes locked, pupils flushed with hope.
 

“Bingo,” said Evans.
 

They parked the SUV outside the gun store and scanned the interior through windows. Despite the bright day, it was almost too dark inside to see anything. Evans went for the back door, which was conveniently unlocked. He entered first, sliding against a wall with his M4A1. Jeff held a scalpel by his own thigh. Dust flew across his face as they stepped past the back office. Evans ignited a light on his vest. The racks and the walls were almost all cleared. A shotgun hung. Several handguns sat in a display case. “Well, fuck.”
 

“At least we get something other than these,” said Jeff, raising his scalpel. “Although I’d like to kill at least one zombie with a scalpel throw.”
 

Evans let out his usual grunt. He circled around searching for ammo, disappointed to find nothing for his assault rifle. As Jeff snagged the pump shotgun off the wall, Evans whispered for him. He left the unloaded weapon on the display case and circled around an aisle for Evans. Light shone on dirty footprints tracked on the floor, leading for a carpeted corner. Evans lightly moved for it. He motioned for Jeff to unroll the carpet from the tiles as he kept cover.
 

With a swift pull on the carpet, they revealed a trapdoor in the floor.
You can’t be serious.
If what Jeff expected to be down there in fact was actually there, then fate truly guided his life. He opened the door next. A short ladder led down to a dark pit.

“Anyone down there? We will shoot if you don’t respond,” said Jeff.
 

No response.
 

Evans removed the light on his vest and tossed it down into the hole hoping to trick any threats into revealing themselves.
 

Nothing.
 

“All clear, I think.”

“I’ll go first.” Evans shoved past Jeff. Less than a ten-foot drop and Evans crouched, aiming, dust floating around him. He shot a look at Jeff, eyes beaming and a larger-than-usual smile. “Get down here.”
 

Jeff had no idea where to begin . . .

Kevlar? Check.
 

Pistols? Check

Sub-machine guns? Check

Assault rifles? Check

Grenades, C4 and other lovely explosives? Check.