Gods of the Dead (Rising Book 1) (12 page)

I shift uneasily, my spine itching with a restless feeling. A feeling like I need to run or react, but the reflex is an old one. It belongs to a time that’s already come and gone, a decision that was already made. To a bullet that’s already been fired.

“It doesn’t make it easier,” I say quietly. “I can promise you that.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Sorry.”

“For what?”

He rubs his hand over his face again, digging his fingers into his eyes. “I have no clue.”

I stand and take the cup to the water jug. “You should sleep.” I hand him the cup and watch as he tosses the nuts in his mouth before drinking. “Take that spot next to your brother. If he wakes up he’ll be confused. He’ll want to see you’re here.”

“You’re right. Thanks.”

Kevin lays down next to his brother so they’re face to face. It doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep. Just five minutes until he’s out, and I’m alone again.

I don’t know what to do with myself. I should go out to hunt, but I can’t leave them unguarded. I should gather more water, but my rain traps are too far away. I’m tethered to the camp, to the bodies on the ground. The live bodies.

It’s a nice change of pace.

Night will be on us soon. My only source of warmth is the sleeping bag Ryan is resting on top of so if we’re all going to pass the night down here on the dirt, I’ll need to build a fire. It’s not something I do very often, not unless I’m cooking, but with the state Kevin and Ryan are in it’s a necessity. I’m kind of a happy to have a reason to do it. I’m looking forward to the warmth. To the smoky scent.

To the night being a little less dark.

Chapter Thirteen

Vin

Asher and I run for the exit where we’re joined by more members of Marlow’s gang, all of us with weapons at the ready. We sprint in a tight herd toward the gates next door. Normally secured by chains and guards, they’re empty and flung wide open, and even though that’s unsettling, it’s not surprising. They wouldn’t sound the alarm if the wheels hadn’t fallen off.

We clear the gates and start making our way up the long, winding trail that leads to the outer rim of the building. I can hear the guys around me breathing heavily, their footsteps frantic but falling short of mine. I’m the first to reach the entrance to the field just as the old crank siren set up by the scoreboard goes still. The others pile in behind me and we pause high in the stands looking down on the field. Nothing looks out of place. Scared people are standing in small clusters looking around with wide eyes, but they’re not moving. They’re rooted to the ground next to the gardens when what they should be doing is heading into their homes for cover.

As I’m opening my mouth to shout down at them I see a parade of people making their way slowly out of the tunnels and out onto the field – another breach in protocol. Another sign things are worse than I thought.

Then there’s the gun in my back.

Guns are everywhere. They’re like bones on the street – you can’t walk five feet without finding one – and they’re just as useful. A million guns won’t do you a damn bit of good without bullets, and those are harder to come by. Extremely hard. Most people used up all their ammo in the first days when everyone from their grandmother to their priest was trying to eat them. Now finding a few useful shells is like finding the Holy Grail.

“Drop the knife,” Reynolds says in my ear, his voice low and his breath hot against my already feverish skin. “Hands in the air. Move forward. Now.”

I haven’t had time to react but he immediately digs the barrel of the gun painfully into my spine. It’s a reminder not to mess with him because, let’s be real, the guy knows me. Knows how uptight I am about loyalty and betrayal and that my first instinct is to take his face in my hands and pound it to a pulp, whether he has a gun or not.

But does he have bullets? Has he hoarded the Holy Grail all these years?

That, I don’t know and I don’t want to take a risk on it because even though a shot in the back might not kill me, it will cripple me and at that point I may as well be dead.

I drop my knife and raise my hands into the air.

“Forward,” he reminds me in a stiff bark.

I take a slow step forward until I’m at the edge. I’m standing over the steps that lead down to the field and the herd of people being brought to the center of it. He nudges me down one step, then another, until I fall into a rhythm he’s happy with.

I watch the crowd, looking for Marlow but I don’t see him. What I do see is a lot of people holding guns.
A lot
of people. Easily twenty of our nearly one hundred, all of them people I recognize. Men and women both. People I’ve eaten with, laughed with, fought in the Underground with. I go to turn my head to look behind me, to see who besides Reynolds is holding a gun, but he’s quick to smack me in the face.

“Eyes forward,” he commands.

I clench my jaw, balling my fists in the air, but I don’t turn around again.

By the time we make it to the field it looks like they’ve paraded the entire place out there too. Kids are clinging to their parent’s legs, the kitchen staff is still wearing aprons, and the night shift guards are shirtless and blinking into the bright midday sun.

And still there’s no sign of Marlow.

“Good afternoon!”

All eyes shift to the south end of the stadium where a guy I don’t recognize stands with his arms raised. He’s flanked by two other men, both members of Marlow’s guard. Both carrying guns pointed down at us – their family.

My blood runs hot at the sight.

“My name is Daniel,” the guy continues loudly. “You don’t know me, but you know a few of my friends because they’re your friends as well. They’ve lived with you. They’ve fought the plague beside you. They’ve been your family for the last year. Some longer. I hope you’ll remember that as we work through this transition together.”

“Where’s Marlow?!” a woman calls out frantically. Her frightened eyes scan the crowd, searching for him or some reassurance. Her hands grasp tightly at the worn out t-shirt of the little blond girl next to her. “What have they done with him?!”

Daniel raises his hand to calm the crowd before it can get going. “Patience. Patience. I promise you that your leader is alive and well. We haven’t hurt him and we don’t plan to. What we want more than anything is for this to go smoothly.”

“What exactly is
this
?” Asher demands from behind me.

I glance back at him, my eyes darting to his hands.

He gives me an impatient look and raises them for me to see. Empty. No gun.

“That’s an excellent question,” Daniel answers, addressing the entire stadium. “Plain and simple, this is a change in management. Marlow will be stepping down as the commander of this colony, I will be stepping in, and your lives will carry on as usual. This situation does not need to become violent. In fact, nothing would sadden me more than to see it turn ugly.”

“Who are you?” an old farmer demands.

Daniel smiles at him. At all of us. “I’m a shepherd sent to lead your flock.”

Religious freaks,
I think with disgust.
Perfect.

When the world went to hell the religious were quick to stand up and start casting stones. All in the name of God and his holy vengeance for how evil we’d all become. Some fanatics took up together but they didn’t last long. They weren’t in the habit of going out into the world for supplies because they refused to fight the zombies. They felt like the zombies were God’s own personal army here to wipe out the wicked, meaning if they were bitten and turned, it was punishment. If they stayed hidden they stayed holy so they shut their homes up tight and waited for it to blow over. Only it’s three years later and there’s not so much as a breeze.

Looks like they’re finally getting proactive.

“I’m sure you’re wondering what this means for all of you,” Daniel continues. “It’s a valid concern and let me quickly put your minds at ease. It means nothing. Nothing in your life will change. You’ll live here and work the way you always have because as I see it, it’s a good system and if it’s not broken why fix it? You’re all thriving and happy. You’re comfortable and safe. Why would I want to change that?”

“Then why are you taking over?” one of the nurses asks. “Why not just leave us alone?”

His face falls, becoming dark and serious. “Because there are more people out there, good and strong men, women, and children who have lost their homes. Who need the safety you have here. And I want to give that to them.”

“You want to push us out to make room for your own people,” I call out.

He looks at me, his eyes lingering for a beat too long to be comfortable. “No,” he finally answers. “That’s absolutely not what we want. I want to merge the two flocks and lead them as one.”

“There’s no room for that!” the nurse shouts angrily.

“Not here, no. That’s why as I stand talking to you here another team is taking control of the baseball stadium as well.”

The crowd erupts in gasps of shock and surprise, murmurs of confusion and anger. But not from everyone.

Mixed in with the appalled are the unaffected. The unconcerned. The men and women who have heard the changes and are taking them in stride. Maybe even welcoming them because it’s no secret that Marlow has an ugly past, and whether he wants to admit it or not I know for a fact a lot of people here see him as a slum lord. As much as we’re all thriving compared to most of Seattle, not everyone loves Marlow’s swift brand of justice or the fact that we’re not a democracy. Marlow is King and everyone in the stadium knows it.

At least they used to.

When they bring him out at gunpoint, we all know his reign has ended. His shoulders are slumped, his long hair falling out of his ponytail. He’s been fighting. Not too much, they obviously didn’t want to rough him up before showing him to the crowd, but you can’t corner a cougar and not get scratched. Three men I’ve never seen before surround him on the south, east, and west, granting the crowd a full frontal view of him in his dirty jeans and tattered sweatshirt.

It’s then with him standing next to Daniel’s crew that I notice how clean they are. How perfect their clothes are. Not a rip or a hole anywhere to be seen. Each of them has tightly cut hair and either shaved faces or expertly trimmed beards. They look like they stepped right out of the old world or a Tide commercial. It’s unnerving to see and it stirs something in me. Fear and rage. An overwhelming sense of disgust at the injustice of it. The total disregard for the struggles we’re all facing every day and I wonder where the hell they came from. Where have they been living for the last three years and why are they just coming out and laying claim to the new world now?

“I gave your leader a choice,” Daniel explains, gesturing to the caged animal next to him. “Join us and take a position of authority under me or vacate the premises. He has opted to leave peacefully.”

“The guns are empty!” Marlow shouts, suddenly stepping forward to address the crowd. “Turn on them! Take back control of your home and punish the ones who—“

The air is cracked by the rip of a gunshot, piercing and unmistakable. I flinch instinctively and search for who fired the shot. It came from inside the crowd, near the back.

It came from Nora.

She’s standing on the fringe of the kitchen crew, all of whom have dropped to the ground. Her arm is pointed at the sky. Her fingers are coiled around a black pistol.

“They’re not empty,” Daniel clarifies ominously, his kind mood evaporating with the smoke rising and fading over Norah’s gun. “We would rather not use them but if you force our hand we’ll have no other choice. You can either stay and join with us, living your life as you’ve grown accustomed to, or you can go. It’s as simple as that, but the choice has to be made immediately. Everyone choosing to stay please remain here on the field for further announcements and orientation. For those of you who are leaving, we’ll escort you to the exits.”

“What about our stuff?” the old farmer asks. “If we’re leaving are we going to be given a chance to go to our rooms and get our stuff?”

“No. Your possessions belong to the colony. If you’re leaving, you’re leaving just as you are.”

“That’s bullshit,” Asher mutters behind me.

I glance back at him and raise my eyebrows. “You leaving or staying?”

“What do you think?”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Really?” he asks, genuinely surprised.

I turn slightly to face him, frowning. Reynolds tenses next to me but I ignore him. “What does that mean?” I demand of Asher.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch. No one would blame you if you stayed.”

“I would.” I point an accusing finger in Reynolds’ face. “These people are traitors, you shit. Is that what you think of me?”

“What are you getting mad at me for?” Asher demands indignantly. “All I’m saying is this is your chance to get out from under Marlow clean and easy. Thought you’d be thrilled.”

“Leaving could still mean getting clear of him,” I mutter, scanning the crowd. People are heading in our direction. They’re being followed closely by the men and women with the guns, being led to the exits to leave the stadium. I turn to Reynolds. “I want my knife back.”

“No,” he says adamantly. “Property of the colony.”

I smile at him, nearly laughing, and his eyes dart to the side to check his backup. “Either you give me my knife or I’m taking your gun and all of your self-respect.”

“We don’t want this to go violently.”

“I’ll bust your teeth out with the barrel before your boys can lay a hand on me.”

He breathes out quickly through his nose before setting his mouth in a grim line. “At the gate,” he says quietly. “I’ll pass it to you through the fence when you’re on the other side.”

“Asher’s too.”

“Yeah.”

“Remember, Rey, the gates aren’t the only way inside. And I know where you sleep.”

He glares at me angrily. “You’ll get your knife, Vin.”

“You better hope I do.”

We join the crowd going back the way we came. We march slowly and silently down the pathway that winds around the stadium and toward the exit out onto the street. I give Reynolds a pointed look when I pass through and he wisely nods toward the right side of the fence. Asher and I follow him over and take our weapons as he passes them quickly through the metal slats.

“I’ll see you around, buddy,” I tell him happily.

He shakes his head. “You’re never setting foot inside this place again.”

“Maybe not. But someday you’ll have to step outside and when you do, I’ll be there. I’ll be watching for you.”

He backs up three paces from the fence before turning his back on me and heading over to help herd the rest of the defectors out the gate. Asher and I stand on the sidelines and count heads. Nearly thirty by the time they’re all out. Mostly men. No children.