S.W. Tanpepper's GAMELAND, Season One Omnibus (103 page)

The syringes!
my mind screams.

I can't move. My legs are stuck, squeezed into the footwell. And I'm in too much shock to try and free myself.

First, figure out where you are
, my mind reasons.
Take your time. You're not hurt badly.

At least I don't think I am.

Except for the blood. Jesus! I wipe it from my eyes, almost hoping it is coming from me, because I feel okay, and if I feel okay, then I can't really be hurt that badly.

Breathe.

Watching and hearing and smelling, but not really seeing and listening and knowing.

Barking.

Shinji.

The horn blaring.

Matthew?

Why doesn't he stop it?

The blood dripping—
No, gushing!

Where the hell is it coming from?

And the wind and rain and the roar of rushing water. Somewhere. Below ground. The sound of rocks falling.

The road crumbling!

A pair of feet appears at my window.

Good.

Brother Matthew!
I try to yell, but my throat won't work.
I'm here. Brother Malcolm! Help me!

Eight hours of daylight left to get back to Jayne's Hill and here I am, stuck inside a trashed car. And we're still miles from Gameland.

Below me—no, above me, on the ceiling of the car—I see the satchel. Then, yes! Strewn about are the syringes. They're okay. The bag lies on its side, the muzzle of my pistol sticking out. I stretch my hand out to grab it, but it's just out of my reach.

“
Brother…Matthew,” I gasp, my lungs unable to fill.

The feet have come over to the other side. They're joined by a second set. But these are naked and all the toenails have been torn away, all except for one. It dangles like a fish scale, attached by a thin thread of dried flesh. Then more feet: one clad in an old sneaker, another bare, a third caked in mud. This last one tilts toward me and the rain washes it off, exposing a ragged hole right through the top. I can see the tendons working and—
oh, god how they glisten, greasy and pale gray, in the spattering of the rain!

Finally the horn starts to die, coughing weakly, as if it's starting to run out of breath.

And the moaning begins.

‡ ‡

[END OF EPISODE FIVE]

This I know as I watch it drip off of my arm and puddle on the ceiling of the car. I don't know how I know this, but I just do. It doesn't smell right or look right. It doesn't
feel
like my blood. It doesn't feel like it's coming out of me. I think I'd feel something. There's just too much of it not to.

So where is it coming from? Brother Matthew? Brother Malcolm? I hope it's not Brother Malcolm. I was beginning to like him.

Vision is limited. My legs are stuck in the footwell and the back of the seat is blocking my view of the front of the car. I'm getting a cramp in my side from hanging upside down, another in my arm from holding myself up. I can only look above me at the blood. I can only see to the side where the Undead are standing just a couple feet away, drawn by the grating sound of the dying horn.

It must be Brother Matthew's blood.

God, I don't want to see them, the Undead. But I don't want to look at the blood either.

And closing my eyes would be even more terrifying.

I try not to look at it as it spreads its sanguine fingers over the ceiling, seeping into the faded fabric, funneling toward the front of the car. I try not to see it, but it's there, in the corner of my eye, creeping along. I'm not looking, but I can still see it.

There's a thud and the car rocks. Broken glass crunches underneath us.

The syringes have tumbled out of Brother Matthew's satchel. I see two. Father Heall's blood inside them, someone else's blood smeared on the outside. Not my blood.

It's not my blood.

Please, God, don't let it be mine.

If only you knew how precious—

A groan comes from the front, low against the rain and the sloppy wet flipper sounds of the naked feet on the road outside. At least the Undead haven't figured out we're inside. Yet. They will, soon enough. They'll smell the blood. They'll taste it in the air. They'll come looking for us because that's what they do. They're hungry. Some of them probably haven't eaten in years.

I need those syringes. I need them, because when the Undead do come that blood inside of them will be the only thing that saves us. I stretch my arm to reach one but the angle's all wrong. I strain and my fingertips brush it, but slip off, knocking it further away.

The treatment won't work for you
.

I don't believe him. How can Brother Matthew possibly know this? And why would he say something like that? I'd just figured he was lying to me back there, testing me, testing my will to go forward with the choice I'd made. But I know I made the right choice. I had to leave Micah behind. He's a traitor. He betrayed us.

Are you sure?

I push the doubt away and focus instead on those syringes. How could Heall's blood possibly be so damn precious to everyone? Everyone except me?

It can't.

I need those syringes.

I stretch, but I can't get them. Something pokes into my thigh, hurting. It's my inhaler in my pocket. It hides in there like an evil amulet, a piece of Micah and my Grandfather and Arc and… Betraying me. And Matthew's voice:
The deprolidone might have masked the results.

What results? What mask? Why would Grandpa give me something like that?

I should've asked Brother Matthew to explain when I had the chance. I thought I'd have more time.

Now I just want to rip it out of my pocket and hurl it away from me. I can't even do that. I doubt if I could even get a finger into my pocket right now.

What did Grandpa know?

Did he believe the medicine was supposed to block the virus? Is that why he gave it to me? Is that what Brother Matthew meant when he said the treatment won't work, because my inhaler already does the job? But if that's true, why not share it with the rest of the world?

The question seems ludicrous, not because it doesn't make sense for the world to have such a thing, but because I know my grandfather. Grandpa would never share a cure for the monsters he created.

“
Brother Matthew?
” I whisper. I need to ask him. “
Pssst.
”

He doesn't answer.

Okay. I'll figure it out later. Right now, I need those syringes. For Kelly. For Jake. I need to get them and get back to the hill.

How?

I don't know. Nightfall—that's all the time I've got. Jake's probably got less.

And here I am trapped. And the Undead aren't leaving us alone. If anything, there are more of them. That damn horn! And their moaning is growing louder. They can smell the blood now. It's making them crazy.

I push against the seat to try and free myself, but the damn thing is shoved all the way back and it's squeezing me against the seat cushion in the back. I twist, but there's not enough wiggle room. Damn hips. My foot slips a little and catches on something sharp underneath the seat. Pain streaks up my leg. Warmth trickles up my calf.

There's another noise from the front—one of the brothers moving! The car jiggles, followed by the sound of a body slumping. The front seat actually gives a little and my hip slips out and my head drops, banging onto the ground.

Ceiling. The bloody ceiling, not ground! Get out of the blood!

The car shudders, rocks. I'm still stuck, but a few more twists and I should be able to wriggle out.

Another thump from the front. Brother Malcolm's feet tumble down in front of my nose, startling me. There's a low moan. I can't tell if it's him or Brother Matthew or…

It's got to be one of them.

“
Malcolm?
” I whisper. “
Hey!
”

Another groan, louder this time but still unidentifiable. My heart pushes its way into my throat. I need them to be quiet. I need them to lie still or else those things outside are going to figure out that they just need to bend down. Once they do that—

“
Psst.
”

Nothing.

“
Malcolm? Are you hurt?
”

Still no answer, but his feet twitch reassuringly. At least he's alive. I push against the seat again, but there's not much I can do with what little leverage I have. I need to find the lever and move it, but it's behind me somewhere. I twist around, my fingers blindly searching. It's too far out of reach. My foot screams at me; my hips and knees are quickly going from being numb to becoming painful. And now I'm beginning to get a crick in my neck.

There's blood on my ankle. I can feel it running down—
up
—my leg. I pull my fingers back and the tips are red and slippery with it. My blood. The other bleeding has stopped, the other blood, the bigger blood. At least it's stopped dripping off of my arm.

Oddly enough, the pool on the ceiling continues to expand.

Brother Malcolm's blood. Has to be. I don't think he was wearing a seatbelt.

Somewhere out in the rain I hear a bark. Then another. Shinji, I think. He sounds far away, fading quickly.
Come back!
I wish I could see him. I wish I could tell him to come back to me. I need him. Come back. But all too soon his barks get swallowed up in the crackle of the rain and the music of the Undead.

I hear another piece of the road ahead crumble away. It sounds like an animal growling, or the earth crying, as another piece of it tears off and tumbles away.

Brother Malcolm's feet spasm again, then pull forward.

“
Malcolm?”

A cough. He must be coming to.

“
Hey
,” I say, under my breath. “
Be quiet.
” When he doesn't answer, I raise my voice a half notch louder. “
Can you see Brother Matthew? Is he okay?
”

The car judders and tilts slightly. Both of his feet slide forward simultaneously, a few more inches, then stop. Something's wrong.

“
Malcolm? You okay up there?
”

Another moan sounds right next to my head, just on the other side of the seat. Then, in a blink, Brother Malcolm's feet jerk away from my face and disappear toward the front of the car, smearing blood and yanking the syringes even further out of my reach. There's a quick series of knocks and grinding noises, and the moaning outside suddenly grows frantic, almost ecstatic.

Shh!
I think.
Please be quiet, Malcolm. They'll hear you.

But I know he can't hear me. He's already gone. They have him. They're eating.

There's a rattle outside my shattered window, and I turn reflexively, even though I know what I'll see, and I find his boots out there, dancing on lifeless toes like a marionette. They lift and spin, and the moaning becomes a serenade of cries and growls, a symphony of consumption. Blood soaks his jeans, sprinkles onto the wet ground. And then he collapses in a sudden heap and his head slams into the car, then bounces off the ground right beside me. His eyes are open and staring right at me and I let out a shriek because half his face is missing, torn away from the skull, exposing the glistening bone underneath, pink and white and—

They fall on him then, like wild scavengers, growling and champing their staccato teeth. They drop to their knees and bow their heads, opening wide their blackened jaws and roll out their charcoal tongues, as if to paint him. Their yellowed rotting stinking teeth sink into the soft flesh of his arms and neck and rip and snap and tear away and blood spurts out of him and yet he just lies there with that lipless grin on his face, staring at me.
You're next
, he whispers.
You're dessert.

His head jerks, nodding at me.

No…

And then his cheeks draw back and what remains of his face smiles at me.
Yes, Jessica
, he whispers, nodding at me.
When they're done feeding on me, on my flesh, they'll be coming for you. They like young, uninfected meat. They like the young hollow ones.

The desiccated head of a long dead IU lowers. It has a bald spot where the hair has rubbed away. It tears off the last bit of skin from Malcolm's forehead and half his scalp comes away. The monster gets shoved aside by another that bites into his eye sockets, but it too gives way to yet another. One of the eyeballs disappears into the mouth of a female zombie. I can hear them pop between her decaying teeth, inside that fetid mouth with its paper-thin lips. The tip of its tongue pushes through a hole in its cheek, the juices dripping out.

The Undead even further back press forward, shoving Brother Malcolm's body. His head enters the opening, as if he, too, wishes to feed, and I shriek before clamping a hand over my mouth. Now his skeleton face is just inches from mine, paralyzing me with terror. I can smell him, smell the coppery stench of his blood. The moaning grows louder. It comes from all around me now. It's right next to my ears.