The Withered Series (Book 1): Wither (6 page)

As
I push off the wall my fingers sink into a hole.  I turn and
trace the indentation.  Six more span a two foot radius.  Bullet
holes.

I
search the fire lit street behind me.  My mind imagines all
sorts of foul things crawling toward me in the dark.  Evil men
with lurid thoughts.  Faceless people endlessly walking the
streets.  I listen for the tell-tale moan of the Withered Ones
but hear nothing.

I
look to the darkened windows all around and wonder who lived in these
homes.  Did they make it out alive?  Did they become
Moaners?

The
florist at the end of my street back home was among the first to go
missing near me.  She used to set up her wares each afternoon
and sell to the businessmen as they returned home to their wives or
rushed to rendezvous with a weekend lover.  Next, it was the
mailman.  An entire week went by without a single delivery.  At
first I thought it was a little odd.  Then it became downright
worrying.  The post office never bothered to send anyone else.
 I haven’t seen either of them in two weeks.  I’d
like to say that I believe they caught wind of the coming panic and
skipped town, but I don’t.  

The
kids that used to hang out on my street corner, playing chicken with
taxis or dodging in and out of stores in small groups vanished not
long after.  Poof.  Gone.  

Ten
days ago, during those hours in the night when I was halfway between
sleep and dreamsville, I heard shouting and the rumbling of engines.
 Men on loud speakers directed soldiers who scurried out of open
bed trucks and Humvees.  They broke down doors and ransacked
homes.  I curled my pillow around my head and hummed as loud as
I could to cover the shouting till the sun rose. When I awoke,
 silence had fallen over my street.

That
was the last night I slept in my house alone.  After that I
stayed at the hospital.  

The
sound of glass crunching underfoot behind me makes me freeze.  I
strain to listen, praying that I’m mistaken.  Maybe it was
a cat. Judging by the smell there are plenty of those still around.

Another
crunch.  And another.  The shuffling gait makes my pulse
thump in my ears.  I hear heavy breathing now, a rasping that
sounds like wind funneling through a moist cloth.

“Oh
God, no!”
 

If
it were day, I would easily be able to see vacant, glassy eyes.
 Pallid skin.  Oily, unkempt hair falling over her face.
 It is a her.  I can sense that.  Maybe it’s her
body odor that alerts me, or the small catch in her breathing.

The
thing walking toward me doesn’t move fast, doesn’t show
any sign of hesitation at the sound of nearby gunfire. It just keeps
coming.

I
back toward the light, terrified of being seen but there is no way
I’m staying in this alley with her.  At the exit, I pause
and glance around.  I’ll be exposed when I step out but
it’s a risk I have to take.

I
take three steps backward and hit something cold and solid.  A
scream erupts from my throat as I turn to see a man standing behind
me.  His cheek-length blond hair is matted with filth.  A
deep gash has peeled back the skin over his right eye.  Flesh is
torn from his jaw, revealing six teeth buried in his gum.  There
is no recognition of pain.  No attempt to stunt the blood
seeping down his face.  He does not look at me, but beyond me.

His
right foot is turned inward.  He steps toward me and I panic.  I
trip over the gutter and land hard on my back side. Still he comes.
 Unseeing.  

I
have never been so close to one of them.  Judging by the foul
scent clinging to his clothes, he turned a while back. Perhaps as
much as two weeks ago when people first started disappearing.

Over
my shoulder I see the woman behind me.  She can’t be more
than five steps away now.  The stench of feces emanating from
these two makes my eyes water.

Scrambling
to my feet, I ignore the pain in my palms and knees as I narrowly
miss the man’s step.  He jerks as his broken foot lands
unevenly in the storm drain.  His hoarse moan grows deeper as he
twitches, trying to yank his foot free.  I cower against the
wall, watching in wide eyed disbelief as the woman emerges from the
alley and walks straight into the man.  

Turning
to the side, my stomach heaves in response to the sickening snap of
bone.  The woman barrels over him.  Together they fall
toward the street, the man’s foot now attached only by a
stretched bit of skin.

I
can’t look.  I hear the sounds of their struggle but I
can’t bear to see it.

A
hand falls over my mouth and I rear back.  “Don’t
make a sound.”

I
buck against the stranger’s grasp but he holds me tight,
pressed against the length of his body.  He is taller than me
and much broader. His hand across my mouth muffles my screams.

He
pulls me backward down the street, forcing me to stumble to keep up.
 After dragging me a full city block, he pauses at an
intersection.  I can feel his torso shifting to look behind.
 “We’re almost there.”  

I
fight against him, digging in my heels to slow us down but he doesn't
relent.  His  grip on my mouth shifts so that I’m
incapable of biting him.  His arms tighten across my shoulders,
leaving me with little option to fight back.

In
the distance, the Withered Ones continue to struggle against each
other in the street.  They don’t stand up.  They
don’t roll off each other.  Instead they lay, one on top
of the other and flail, like a fallen infant.

“In
here.”

The
grip on my mouth falls away and the hand across my chest releases me.
 In the split second that I consider screaming for help, I am
thrust into a darkened doorway and fall into darkness.  

Pain
ripples through my palms and knees when I hit the floor.  Dust
rises up around me, choking out the clean air.  I pound on my
chest and roll onto my side.

“You’ll
get used to it,” a masculine voice says from behind me.  The
metallic ring of the lock sliding into place feels foreboding as he
steps around me.  “Follow me.”

“I’m
not going anywhere with you,” I wheeze, gripped with a
dizziness that leaves me temporarily immobile.  My arms quiver
as I try to push off the ground but they give out on me.

“That’s
not the right answer, missy.”  An arm wraps around my
waist and hauls me to my feet.  I beat against his grip but my
escape into the streets has left me weakened.  The man chuckles
and hoists me easily into his arms, ignoring my pathetic rebuff.  

I
feel suffocated in his embrace, though I’m not sure if the
blinding heat is coming from him or me.  I stare blurry-eyed at
a row of tall grimy windows as we pass. The light is a stark contrast
to the darkness surrounding us. I stop counting after we pass the
tenth window and realize somehow I have made my way down toward the
river where the old warehouses stand.

The
sound of my captor’s footsteps echo around me as we burrow deep
into the building.  It feels hollow, enormous in size.  Hulking
shadows fill the room.  The man weaves effortlessly around them,
as if he has the eyes of a nocturnal feline or a really great memory.
 I’d bank on the later.

My
head bounces against his chest as he ascends a set of stairs.  My
eyes droop with heaviness.  “You are safe,” are the
final words that I hear as my body betrays me and my eyes fall
closed.

From
time to time I think I hear whispers in the dark.  Voices hushed
and muffled, but I can’t place them.  My forehead feels
damp, cooler than the rest of my body.  I try to turn my head
but am held still.

“Don’t
move.  Not yet.”

“Who
are you?”  I taste blood as I swallow.  My lower lip
splits down the middle and I almost welcome the blood over the
cottonmouth taste lingering.

“A
friend.”

“Yeah?
 I had a guy tell me that earlier today.  Didn’t
believe him either.” My lungs feel on fire as I turn toward a
light glowing bright a few feet away.  As my nostrils flare I
detect the scent of gas.

A
delicate hand presses against my cheek.  “You’ve
been ill for several days.  It’s lucky that Alex found you
when he did.”

“He
didn’t find me,” I grunt, shoving the girl’s hand
away from my face.  I try to peer through the light to match a
face with her voice but it is too brilliant and my eyes are
sensitive. “He kidnapped me.”

I
spy a pursing of her lips just beneath the glow of lamplight.  Water
splashes nearby as she wrings the cloth out that was on my forehead.
 “He wouldn’t do that. Alex is a decent man.”

“Sure.
 Any girl would be lucky to be snatched off the street by a
complete stranger.”  My side feels unnaturally tight.  I
place a hand on my right side and feel bandages wrapping my bruised
ribs.  Thoughts of another healer strike me as I try to steady
my breathing.
Cable.

I’m
not well, but I’m a far sight better than I was when he found
me. I guess I have that to be thankful for.  “Where am I?”

“Our
Haven.  At least that’s what I like to call it.” I
can almost see the girl smile as she turns away.  The
wistfulness in her tone surprises me though.  She sounds young,
naïve.  “Alex went to fetch you another blanket. I
think your fever is starting to break finally. You should have heard
Sal and Devon getting into it with Alex over you.”

“Why?”
I cough and wince as I grip my side.

The
girl grabs the gas lantern and moves it away. I blink several times
to clear away the lingering effects and finally spy the girl beside
me.  She is young, perhaps no older than sixteen or seventeen.
 Her eyes seem kind.  I noticed that her fingers are
slender as she presses the back of her palm to my forehead.

I
raise a hand to push her away and realize the tip of my finger is
sore.  “I don’t remember hurting myself,” I
mutter as I inspect the slit.

The
girl’s lips purse as she looks away from me.  Her hair
falls in greasy white blond strands over her face, hiding light dots
of freckles along her nose, a much smaller patch than my own.  I
notice that she sits sideways beside me and roll my head to see a
swollen belly pressing against her tight shirt.

“You’re
pregnant.”

She
laughs and nods.  “And you’re observant.”

I
smirk at her whiplash response. I roll my head away to look up at the
ceiling, noticing uneven ceiling tiles held aloft by silver strips.
 I must be in some sort of office.  Surely the ceiling of a
factory would be far more vast and littered with exposed piping or
sheets of metal roofing.  Rain pings off of it from the space
beyond the closed door to my right.  One glance at it tells me
that the door is locked.  Figures.

The
room I lie in is small, not much larger than the studio apartment I
shared with my mother.  A couch lines the far wall.  Something
lumpy and decidedly human in shape is curled up on the cushion.  Soft
snores rise and fall from the shape.  

A
darkened window looks out of the room.  I can just make out a
hint of light and remember being lifted up a flight of metal steps.
I’ve been brought to a room that overlooks the factory below.
 The fluorescent lights overhead are dead.  The only heat
in the room comes from a small metal canister with plumes of smoke
rising from within.

“Is
this your home?” I shift, trying to roll onto my side but the
girl holds me down.  She places a pillow beneath my head and
lowers a cup of water to my lips.  I drink greedily.  The
cold fluid spills over my lips and down my chin but I don’t
care.  I feel as if it’s the first drink I’ve had in
weeks.

“For
now.  Alex and Devon have been talking about moving across the
river, away from the city.  I overheard them talking about the
dangers if we stay, but they never say anything openly to me.  They
all think I’m too young.”

Her
lip tugs into a pout.  I start to speak but a door across the
room opens and a man steps through.  Even though it was dark
when the stranger snatched me off the street, I recognize him from
right before I passed out.

“Well,”
his smile is oddly genuine for a kidnapper, “look who’s
decided to rejoin the land of the living.”

A
woman follows behind him.  She turns just this side of the door
and closes it.  “She’s awake?”

Her
voice sounds clipped and breathy.  I shield my eyes from the
lantern light to make her out.  She stands off to the man’s
side, her arms wrapped tightly around her ample bosom.  Wavy
hair sits on top of her head in a bun, curling at her temples.  Large
red-rimmed glasses sit askew on her nose, magnifying the crow’s
feet around her aged eyes.

“Finally.”
 The girl offers me a small smile, grabs her cloth and bowl and
rises unsteadily to her feet.  My captor rushes forward and
grabs her arm.

“I’m
fine.”  She reassures him with a smile.  He steadies
her a moment longer then releases her arm. When she walks toward a
cherry wood desk I notice that she waddles.

The
older woman squints at me from behind her bottle cap lenses.  “I
still don’t like it.  It’s not safe to invite
strangers.”  The woman’s chiding voice is one of
those nasally tones that remind you of nails on a chalkboard, but a
smidgen less annoying.  Only just.

“Invite?”
My snort turns into a hacking cough that leaves me with a splitting
pain in my side.  I grimace and hold my bruised ribs.  “You’re
off your rocker if you think I want to be here, lady.”

“Lady?”
She bristles and adjusts her glasses upon her nose.  A chain
dangles down from either ear piece.  I wouldn't be the least bit
surprised to spy a hearing aid or two as well.  “My name
is Victoria, and I’ll thank you kindly if you will address me
as such from now on.”

My
captor dips down before me and smiles.  “Don’t mind
Vicky. She’s a prickly one, even on a good day.”  He
offers me his hand in formal greeting but I don’t accept.
 Finally he lets it drop.  “The name’s Alex
Thornton. Pilot extraordinaire...well, at least I was until all of
this crap hit the fan!”