Zocopalypse (17 page)

Chapter Forty-Seven

~Now~

The window shudders from the weight of the two men, both caught in a fight for their lives. Well, really just one. 1029 kicks the already doomed, spider-eyed 1028 in the chest, crashing him into the glass. It’s a feeble attempt to get back to the safety of his cage. 1028 is in full E-TR virus rage at this point. I don’t know how long the man can hold him off.

“Help!” 1029 screams in the direction of the Drones, hiding behind their own locked, plexi-glass shield. His dark eyes are wide with fear. His chest heaves with adrenaline. The Drones do nothing more than make notes on their charts. I think we know who the real monsters are in here.

“How long do you keep this up?” I ask forcing myself to watch. Cole’s hand latched to mine the minute the men were released from the cage. He squeezes it in support.

“Until the Eater infects 1029. We have to see if the vaccine works.”

“And this is the only way? A fight to the death.”

“There’s a reason to my methods,” Erwin declares, but the darkness behind his eyes implies otherwise. He’s nothing more than a power hungry sociopath.

“I’m not watching this,” I declare and stand. A heavy hand comes down on my shoulder and I hear the familiar cock of Richardson’s gun. I glance over my shoulder. “Do you ever put that thing away?”

“Never,” he replies, his voice firm.

Another scream echoes through the adjacent room and I see that 1028 has become completely unhinged. His pale face has turned red and sweat pours down his cheeks. He tears his shirt and kicks the walls. Drool falls from his lower lip and his feet shuffle across the room. He’s one heartbeat away from a goddam zombie. He rushes 1029, cornering him against the back wall. The human has no chance—he’s not amped up on parasitic crazy juice and he’s got nowhere to run.

I do force myself to watch as they have a final, desperate scuffle. 1029 loses his footing, allowing the E-TR to grab his arm. He bites down quickly, ravaging his flesh, but before he can do further damage a loud alarm shrieks. Fully dressed soldiers enter the room to subdue the E-TR, while medical Drones, also dressed in protective wear, remove the screaming victim.

“Holy shit,” Cole says next to me, but his voice is barely audible over the soldiers fight with the E-TR. Four men manage to contain him by pressing his back against the window in front of us. His matted red hair flattens against the glass. Bile rises in the back of my throat.

Erwin steps toward the intercom and presses the red button. “Take him down,” he commands. Before he even finishes his statement a soldier holds up a knife and stabs it through his head. The Eater slides to the floor, leaving sweat and blood in a long swipe against the glass.

I take a deep breath and ask Erwin, “What happens now?”

“There are a couple of possibilities, Ms. Ramsey. 1029 is already in the medical bay where he has been given a dose of the E-TR antidote our team has developed with your blood contribution.”

“You said the likelihood of the antidote working wasn’t one hundred percent.”

“No, at this point it isn’t. We’ve had to start from scratch—as you’re well aware.”

“What happens next? More tests?” Cole asks. His hand is still clutching mine. Erwin’s eyes flick down to where they rest together on the chair.

“Unless you or Ms. Ramsey is able to come up with additional information, like the location of her father or data from the original trials, then yes, more tests.”

I nod to the blood splattered window and say, “And you’ll kill more people? I keep telling you, I don’t know anything about my father or this virus!”

“That’s unfortunate,” Erwin says gravely. “Luckily, we’ve already picked up and prepped our next test subjects. Traitors are easier to locate than you’d expect.”

Without taking his eyes off of me, he presses the intercom again. In a chillingly calm voice he says, “Open the doors.”

A loud buzzer sounds, the kind that I’ve learned is triggered by a security door being unlocked. Two people enter the room, both with hands tied behind their backs, hoods over their heads. They wear the same outfits as the last two. Army pants and a gray shirt with a number stamped across the chest—1030 and 1031. The small frame on one gives away the fact that it’s a woman.

They’re each shoved in a clear cage. 1030—the one with broad male shoulders, fights back, head butting his handler. A second solider comes over and pushes him into the cage so hard he crashes and falls against the side. The doors are latched and 1030 has already jumped to his feet.

“One test a day,” Erwin says. “Until we find a cure.”

“That’s insane,” I say. God, he’s disgusting.

“We’re in a war, Ms. Ramsey. There will be casualties. This is about more than the E-TR virus, it’s about national security and the future of our country.”

“You’re deranged,” Cole says. “We should be saving people, not using them for tests.”

“These are unpredictable times,” Erwin says. “Those disloyal to our country will find that out the hard way.”

Through the window the soldiers remove the binds on the prisoner’s hands. 1030 and 1031 move quickly to take off their hoods. I look away unwilling to see the faces of Erwin’s next victims.
My
next victim, since I refuse to divulge the information he wants. Cole’s hand grips mine so tight I think he’s going to break it. I open my eyes and see his face drained of color. “Cole?”

“Alex…” He nods to the window.

The fear in his voice scares me, but I follow his gaze. My heart jumps to my throat but I fight to keep my face calm. I refuse to let Erwin know I care—that he’s got me by the metaphorical balls on this one. That he just won.

Wyatt and Chloe stare at the reflective glass having no clue we’re on the other side. They do watch two Drones cleaning the bloody remains of the fight off the window and floor.

“These two will begin phase one of testing at zero-six-hundred tomorrow. Both will be given an injection. One antidote. One virus. We’ll meet back here at fifteen-hundred for the results,” Erwin says. He spins on his heel and exits the room. Leaving Cole and me with our handlers.

“On your feet,” Walker says, jabbing my back. I follow her directions without taking my eyes off the prisoners. They both look freshly scrubbed and clean. Thin but clean. I stumble on the leg of my chair and Cole grabs me tight.

In my ear he whispers, “We’ll get them out, Alex.”

I bite my bottom lip holding back all of the emotions about to rip through. He’s right. We’ll get them back but to do so I have to sell my father out.

Chapter Forty-Eight

~Before~

13 Days Ago

Nothing in this new world is easy.

Five minutes after we leave the house a massive pickup truck with oversized wheels comes barreling toward us. “Alex,” Mom says pointing behind us. I look back and see an almost identical truck coming that way too.

“Holy crap,” I say panic rising.

“What do I do?”

“Get off the road,” I say almost yanking the wheel myself. 

She floors the gas and quickly turns down a side road and then another and then another. Her eyes are on the road behind us and I’ve stopped breathing entirely.

“Are they coming?” she asks. She pulls over to a shady spot and we wait, engine on.

“I don’t know. What the hell was that anyway? The military?”

“Those didn’t look like the right kind of trucks—those were kind of like the ones at the monster truck rally.”

“Monster trucks.” I didn’t even know my mother knew what that was.

“Maybe it wasn’t about us. Maybe it was some kind of redneck showdown?” she offers.

“Maybe,” I say but something in my gut tells me that can’t be true.

Another three minutes pass before she eases the car back on the road. I look around and we are in the middle of Podunk nowhere. I pull out the map. “Yeah, these streets aren’t even on this map. Can you get back to the main road?”

“I wasn’t really paying attention,” she admits.

“Just keep going. This will have to take us somewhere, right?”

I’m studying the map, trying to get my bearings when the car rolls to a stop. I look up and see a metal barricade blocking one direction of the intersection. “Guess we’re not going that way,” I say.

This happens again. And again. Barricades blocking all of the roads leading east.

“Another one?” I ask when she pauses the car again. Just beyond the barricades, over the horizon, dark clouds bear down. No wonder the humidity is so thick. A major summer storm is brewing.

“I’m starting to feel like we’re in a maze,” Mom replies. “Does this even make sense on the map?”

“No…well, maybe a little, now that we’ve hit another one.” I get out a pencil and start to mark the detours, then connect the lines to one another. “It looks like a circle.”

“We’re going in a circle?”

“Yeah, I mean if there’s a pattern to this.” I move the pencil to the next intersection. “I think we’re close to where we started.”

I look at my mom and see that her confused expression matches my own feelings. I scan the area for movement. “Remember how that Eater I killed last night had that chain around its arm?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I saw another one after we left the house—tied to the mailbox.”

Her forehead creases. “Someone is tying them up?”

“Is there another explanation?”

“Maybe it
is
the military? Maybe they’re just looping us back toward an emergency shelter?” she suggests.

I review the map but do not see anything in the area large enough to act as a shelter. No schools or recreation buildings. We’re literally in the middle of nowhere. “I don’t think so,” I say. “Ugh, I hate to say it but with nightfall and that storm coming we’re going to have to go somewhere safe.”

She continues on but sure enough, we hit the next set of barricades as expected. Mom stops the car and we idle, staring at the road beyond. A crack of lightning zig-zags against the dark clouds ahead, but that is the least of my concerns. Who’s trying to keep us in this tight little circle? Or, I wonder, keep people on the other side in?

“I don’t like this,” she finally says.

I nod in agreement. “Let’s stop playing this game. If we follow this road here and keep going we should get out of this area for good. I’ll just have to get out and move the barricade.”

“And drive right into that storm in the process.”

I shrug. “We can handle a thunderstorm.”

Securing my hatchet to my pants I get out of the car and walk over to the metal barrier. The Honda hums comfortably breaking the oppressive silence. Bugs and gnats surround me—hungry. I swat them away but hear movement off the road. I stop, hand on my weapon and listen.

I don’t hear anything but the wind and the low hum of the bugs.

There’s nothing
, I tell myself, approaching the barricade. I lift one end—it’s heavy but not impossible—and shift it to the side. It lands with a louder than intended clank against the asphalt. I tense and look around again.

It’s just me and the bugs, which sound a little louder. Mom rolls down the window and asks, “Should you put it back?”

“It’s probably best not to leave a trail.”

She pulls the car through and I move the barricade back. I’m sweating by the time I get back in the car. “God, the humidity is intense,” I say wiping off my face with my shirt. Again, I hear the buzzing sound and look out the window. “Do you hear that? The bugs?”

“I don’t think that’s a bug,” is all she says, her tired eyes glued to the rearview mirror. “They’re back.”

She takes off like a shot, pushing the Honda as fast as it will go. The trucks, both of them this time, bust through the barricade with zero hesitation. The corn and tobacco fields whip by and the sky turns an even darker shade of gray. Mom moves to turn on her lights. “Don’t.”

“I don’t know where to go, Alex,” she says.

I don’t either. There’s nothing but corn and fields and creepy broken down barns. Lights wash over us and the trucks get closer.

“Oh, my God, what is that on the grill?”

I turn and look out the back window. Raindrops have started falling but in the glare of the headlights I can just make out what she saw. Strapped to the front of the truck is an Eater, “alive,” struggling against the binds on his arms and legs. The second truck presses down next to it and their side-by-side on the two lane road. A matching Eater strapped to the front like a hood ornament.

“Go! Go! Go!” I scream—because what else is there to say.

“I’m going! I don’t know where, but I’m going!”

The trucks bear down and we come to another set of barricades. “Go through it—don’t stop!” I cry.

My mother, God bless her, who would rather be curled up with a good book right now or baking cookies or watching a crappy musical on TV, charges through the barricade like a woman possessed. The rain starts to fall harder and her visibility drops. “I’ve got to get off this road, Alex, or I’m going to kill us both.”

I pull out my map and squint in the fading light. It takes a few seconds but catching a few street names, I find our basic location. “Take this left and it will head us into a small commercial area, from there we can get to the highway.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” We’ve been avoiding populated areas.

“It’s a crappy idea, but the other choice is some horrible Children of the Corn situation. Is that preferable?”

She takes the left.

In the distance, I see the buildings. Old ones—like one of the dozens of forgotten towns all over the south. My stomach feels like I swallowed a rock and the trucks haven’t stopped their pursuit. Through the rain I see the sign for railroad tracks and just ahead a row of train cars lines the rail.

“Go over the tracks and don’t stop. Just keep going. We’ll go so fast no one will see us.”

It’s a terrible plan. It’s not even a real plan, but my mother listens anyway. Without stopping she crosses the tracks, our tires bouncing up and down hard, nearly tossing me out of my seat.

I turn keeping an eye on the trucks but the first one screeches to a sudden stop. Over the rain I hear a series of pops. I duck instinctively. “Is that gunshots? Are they shooting at us?”

My mother doesn’t stop but continues through the tiny town, so small that if you blink you’d miss it. I do miss it because I’m keeping an eye out on the trucks. The second one plows into the first and both drivers hop out. I see them for the first time, two white men, angry and looking up at the top of the tallest three story building. They quickly pull out their weapons and fire.

“Slow down,” I tell my mom but she doesn’t stop. The last thing I see is the men go down in the glow of their headlights, both clutching their chests. I wait for the gunman on the roof to turn on us but he never does. “Why didn’t they shoot at us?”

She turns a corner leaving the small town behind us, my heart still racing like a jackrabbit. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Alex,” is all she says and drives us into the dark.