The Becoming: Redemption (The Becoming Series Book 5) (5 page)

“
Is there a lot of stuff in the
ambulance?”
Jude signed without thinking about it. Keith stared
for a second and shook his head.

“Man, I have
got
to learn how to do
that,” he said. He reached the ambulance and grasped the back
door’s latch, pulling on it. It popped open with a squeak, and he
reached inside to unlatch the other door.

Jude grinned and pulled his notepad out,
writing down,
I could teach you
. He draped an arm over
Keith’s shoulder, dangling the notepad into his face so he could
read it.

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer,”
Keith said. “Mainly because eventually, we’re going to run out of
paper for you to write on.” He grabbed the metal bar bolted inside
the back door and hauled himself inside. Jude took the hand Keith
offered him, clambering up into the truck behind him. “So, where
should we start?”

Jude looked around at the cabinets lining the
walls inside the ambulance, getting his first real look at them,
since he’d been too preoccupied with Sadie on their trip here. The
cabinets on the right-hand side of the truck were full of medical
supplies, packed to overflowing with gauze, bandages, IV supplies,
and other things that he had no idea what they were or what they
were for. On the left, through the dark, semi-opaque glass over the
cabinet doors, Jude could make out stacks of boxes of ammunition.
In another cabinet were makeshift racks that held pistols, and
another with knives. In the cabinet above the seat bolted near the
head of where the stretcher had been, the cabinet doors were
missing in order to make room for the rifles that Dominic had
stuffed inside. There was a veritable arsenal inside the ambulance,
and as the size of it became more apparent, Jude raised his
eyebrows in wonder and mouthed, “Holy shit.”

Keith laughed. “Yeah, that’s what I said too
when I got my first real look into the cabinets. I have no idea how
he does it. Dominic is clearly talented at getting his hands on the
shit we need.”

Jude skimmed his hand over the pistol cabinet
and slid it open, reaching inside and pulling free a Walther PPK.
He held it up to study it, and his grin widened as he fumbled for
his notepad again.
My dad bought my mom one of these when I was
twelve
.
She had it up until she died last year.

“Assuming no one else needs it, maybe you can
keep it,” Keith said. “For sentimentality’s sake.”

An hour later, both of them were sitting on
the bench seat, the space between them covered with a pile of
pistols. They’d spent most of their time counting the bullets and
weapons Dominic had packed into the ambulance, jotting the numbers
down on the last sheet in Jude’s notepad. When they finished
counting the last of the pistols, Jude flipped to a fresh sheet and
started to write the alphabet on it in careful, neat block
letters.

“What are you doing?” Keith asked, leaning to
look. Jude swatted him away, and then he wrote on the back of the
sheet.

How about we get started on that sign
language lesson you wanted?

Keith grinned. “I think that’s an excellent
idea.”

“How are your legs?”

It was minutes
before sunset, and Kimberly’s question cut through the silence like
a hot knife through a stick of butter. Walking on the uneven,
cracked pavement of a quiet back road that ran parallel to Highway
17, Ethan glanced at her, and it took everything in him to not
laugh at her question. She had asked him variants of it almost on
the hour of every hour that had passed since they’d set out on
their mission, and it was beginning to verge on the ridiculous.

Ethan suppressed a smile and hitched his
backpack higher onto his back. He debated telling her the truth,
that his legs hurt like hell and if they didn’t find some sort of
vehicle to use soon, he would probably fall over. However, he
didn’t want to deal with Kimberly’s potential mother-henning. Not
that she was the
type
to play mother hen and flutter around
him; she was more the consummate medical professional.

“I’m fine,” Ethan settled on. He stepped up
the pace to emphasize his point, hoping it would be enough to keep
her from questioning him further.

“You sure?” Kimberly asked, her voice
doubtful. “It took you a bit to answer the question.”

Ethan shrugged. “Maybe I had to think about
it.”

Kimberly snorted. “Yeah, okay, if you say
so.”

“What, you don’t believe me?”

“You were practically bedridden for months,
Eth,” Kimberly pointed out. “Now you’re up and moving around, with
absolutely
no
real period of rehab, and you tell me you feel
fine. Can you honestly blame me for being skeptical?”

“Not really,” Ethan said. “I do feel okay,
though, considering I’ve been walking off and on for…” He paused to
look at his watch, “about eight hours.”

“Your legs
do
hurt, don’t they?”
Kimberly prompted. “And don’t lie about it, either, because
mine
hurt like a son of a bitch.”

“I’ve never understood that phrase,” Ethan
said. “Hurts like a son of a bitch. What does that even
mean?
”

“Ethan…”

He sighed. “Yes, Kim, I’m sore, and I would
hand my left arm over to the next infected guy that asks for it if
I could sit down somewhere.”

They were silent for a few moments. Ethan
scanned their surroundings, looking for a suitable spot to rest
while trying to decide how much further he could make it without
having to stop. His perusal was interrupted when Kimberly asked,
“Why the left arm?”

“Out of all that, that’s what you pick up
on?” Ethan asked, and he grinned, unable to help himself. “Left
hand is the hand of the devil, you know,” he joked. “It’s the hand
for doing evil things.”

“What sorts of evil things have
you
been doing with your left hand?” Kimberly asked, the grin on her
face slanting toward mischievous.

Ethan gave her a wicked grin and didn’t
answer the question. Instead, he shielded his eyes from the setting
sun so he could look ahead of them. “Do you think it’s time we got
ourselves a car? It might get us where we’re going much faster so
we can get back and find the others sooner.”

“Do you think we’ll be able to find them
again?”

“I don’t have the luxury of considering that
possibility,” Ethan replied, feeling his good mood start to
evaporate with the thought. He found a new burst of energy
somewhere inside him, one that was enough to help him speed up his
walking pace.

“It
is
a possibility,” Kimberly
replied. She picked up her own speed to match his.

“Yeah, well, it’s not a possibility I’m
willing to entertain,” Ethan said. He gritted his teeth, not liking
this direction of the conversation. Deep inside him, somewhere near
his ever-present hunger, he sensed the ball of anger inside him
beginning to stir, and he fought to suppress it. He didn’t want to
be angry with Kimberly; she was the last person to whom he wanted
to show his notoriously bad temper.

“What if they’re dead?”

Ethan stopped so suddenly that Kimberly took
several steps past him and had to turn around to face him. His
fingers curled into fists so tight that it made his knuckles hurt,
and it took everything in him to relax his hands. “You did
not
just say that.”

“Eth, you saw that bright light, the same as
I did,” Kimberly said. “You heard the explosion and the shooting.
That explosion was a damn big one too. Now I’m no expert, but
there’s a pretty damn good chance that at least some of them might
have died in that.”

“
They’re not dead!
” Ethan exploded. He
moved closer to her, almost too close. She drew in an audible
breath but, to her credit, didn’t back away. “If I hear you suggest
anything like that again, I promise you, I may not be totally
responsible for my actions.” She stared at him, her blue eyes wide,
and he added, “Don’t tempt the beast, Kim. Please.”

Kimberly nodded, slowly, as if she were
processing what he’d said. She took his hand in hers. “I’m sorry. I
didn’t mean anything by it. I’m just trying to think of all the
possibilities, no matter how horrible they are, so we can be
prepared for them.”

“I understand where you’re coming from.
However, that’s not something I’m willing to accept, not to mention
think about,” Ethan said. “So please don’t mention it again.” He
squeezed her hand, accepting her apology while offering one of his
own. “What do you say we find a place to sit down and get a bite to
eat?” he suggested, trying to distract both of them from their
argument. The wad of anger inside him began to loosen, unraveling
and sliding away. “I’m sure we could use a rest.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Kimberly
agreed. She shifted her backpack and turned in a slow circle,
searching for a good spot. She pointed to a wrecked pickup truck
off the embankment alongside the road. “We could sit in the bed of
that. It’s not too dirty, and the back end looks fine.”

“Good enough for me,” Ethan said, starting in
that direction. Despite the stillness of the area around the truck,
he was on high alert. He motioned for Kimberly to stay put on the
pavement and ventured into the tall grass lining the road.

The sound of Ethan’s shoes scuffing through
the grass wasn’t loud enough to drown out the sound of uneven
footsteps somewhere on the other side of the truck. Ethan almost
drew his pistol out of its holster, but he changed his mind and
took out his machete instead. The last thing he and Kimberly needed
was to make too much noise and attract unwanted attention. He held
the machete at ready, prepared to swing it at anything that emerged
from the grass on the passenger side of the truck.

Ethan reached the end of the truck and eased
around the corner, ready to strike out at whatever waited for him.
He started to swing down with the machete and checked himself in
time to stop the blow. A dog, a black lab by the looks of it, stood
next to the truck’s passenger door. He tensed, worried that the dog
was going to attack him. Dozens of packs of wild and feral dogs
roamed the streets and highways now that there were no humans
taking care of them and keeping them domesticated. There had been
too many stories of survivors running into such packs and ending up
dead at their teeth. This dog didn’t make any negative moves toward
him, though. Instead, it stood by the passenger door, its thin legs
shaking, and let out the softest of whimpers, almost a whistle
through its nose. Its black coat was well groomed and shiny, and it
still wore a collar around its neck that looked brand new. The dog
appeared well fed, and it was obvious to Ethan that someone had
been taking care of it.

“It’s okay, Kim,” Ethan called. “You can come
on over. It’s just a dog.”

“‘It’s just a dog’ isn’t something that makes
me feel any better,” Kimberly said from the road. “Have you
seen
any dogs lately? They don’t signify anything good.”

“Yeah, well, this one is different,” Ethan
said. He knelt, trying to present a less imposing profile, and held
a hand out, palm up, toward the dog. “Come here, sweetheart,” he
said, keeping his voice low and soothing. He fumbled for the side
pocket on his backpack and found the packet of cooked rabbit meat
he’d packed inside it and tore the packet open. The dog took a
cautious step back, and Ethan pulled a chunk of meat out of the
packet. He placed it in the center of his palm and extended his
hand in offering to the dog, letting it catch a whiff of the meat
before setting it on the grass between them. Then he backed away
and let the dog creep forward and eat the morsel.

It took several tries and the entire packet
of rabbit meat before the dog was willing to approach him, and by
the time the packet was empty, the dog was standing beside him,
letting him scratch it behind the ears as its tail beat against the
side of the truck. “Kim, it’s okay to come down,” Ethan said again.
“The dog’s not going to hurt us. Just do it slowly so you don’t
startle him.”

There was a rustle of grass behind him, and
Kimberly came into view, looking anxious. She hesitated near the
back of the truck, eyeing the dog with no small degree of wariness,
and eased closer to him. “You sure that thing isn’t going to attack
us?” she asked.

“I’m sure,” Ethan said. “Look at him. He’s
just happy to see people. I think someone’s been taking care of him
until recently. He has a collar on and everything.”

Kimberly extended a hand toward the dog, who
sniffed at her palm and let her pet him. “Huh,” she murmured. “What
do ya know?” The dog made a movement toward her, and Ethan tensed,
but the animal had only wanted to lick her face. Kimberly laughed,
a bright smile on her, and Ethan returned it.

They ate their dinner, however meager it was,
sitting on the opened tailgate of the wrecked truck with the black
dog at their feet, begging for scraps with his large brown eyes.
After they were done eating, Kimberly pulled her map out of her
backpack and unfolded it, smoothing it out on the tailgate between
them.

“We need to figure out which way we’re going
next,” she said, taking out a flashlight and turning it on to shed
extra light on the map. “We’ve got to figure out how to get there
faster. At this rate, the samples are going to go bad before we
find anyone to give them to.”

“Where exactly are we?” Ethan asked, taking a
swig of water from his bottle. He spotted a spare hubcap in the bed
of the truck, snagged it, and poured some water into it. He set the
makeshift water dish onto the ground for the lab. The dog wagged
his tail happily and started to lap at the water.

“We’re right about here,” Kimberly said,
tapping a spot on the map. “We’ve been navigating the back roads
this whole time, on Sadie’s suggestion. We’re never going to make
it to Chapel Hill or anywhere else before we run out of time.”