The cascadia series book.., p.12
The Cascadia Series | Book 2 | World Between, page 12
part #2 of The Cascadia Series Series
“Where’s Jess?” Ethan asks, panting.
“Inside,” Rose says. “On the west gate.”
Ethan releases his breath. Across the lot, the northwest gate opens to admit four soldiers. Once they’re inside, five people push against the gate, but close to two dozen Lexers enter before they slam it shut. One of the inbound soldiers leans over to catch his breath, hands braced on knees, and a zombie tackles him. Two of his comrades raise their guns, and though their shots blow off the zombie’s head, they also blow our cover.
“Ah, fuck,” Troy says. “We’d better get over there.”
Over twenty zombies are loose in the fairgrounds, however, and we stay back as a barrage of gunfire takes down the first ten. The rest have moved too far into the lot to shoot safely, and, of course, they’ve spotted us. I unhook my spike from my belt. Rose pulls her knife. The others ready themselves, all traces of sleep vanished, as the Lexers advance.
I walk forward and grab the man coming for me. His jaw is completely unhinged on one side, barely attached by a grisly rope of ligament on the other, and I ram my spike through his palate into his brain. Around me, I hear a series of grunts and the clunks of metal hitting meat and bone. Between all of us, they’re down in seconds.
Rose points across the lot, where the chain-link bulges and ripples. One by one, coverings fall—a sheet here, a rug there—and are replaced by rotted hands and faces. There’s no time to set up tables, and since the coverings are coming down, there’s also no point. People push against the metal while others stab through the links. If the Lexers get in, we’re fucked. Well, it’s possible we won’t be fucked if we can pull off our exit plan, but the old people and children in the Events Center will be.
Daisy and Lana arrive, arms full of spikes; once Barry saw how well they worked, he tasked us with making more. Rose takes one, as do the others, and we race to an ominously bulging section of fence, where we begin hacking through the links. “Uncover the fence!” Tom yells. “Spread them out!”
It’s not as though we can hide any longer, and spreading out the zombies’ force might keep the fence from going down. We rip the coverings off the adjacent section. A woman throws herself against the metal, her putrid mouth wide. Four more crush her to the fence. I slam my spike into her staring eyeball and then stab the man beside her. I didn’t miss the gore or the fear, and I could definitely do without the smell, but I’ve killed enough that autopilot takes over. And because they’re pressed to the fence, offering themselves up for sacrifice, I don’t have to touch their grimy clothes or allow them to grab hold of me.
Jesse, Nora, and dozens of others do the same to the east. Holly uses what looks like a baby version of my spike, which takes out the zombies just as well. She rips off more coverings to the west and calls the zombies toward her. Rose follows, fitting her spike into eyes and mouths.
Knives are great, but in this case, nothing beats a pointy spike. Mine slams between links easily, dropping Lexers as I move down the line. Every fence section is crammed with bodies. All it’d take is one downed fence, one gate breached, to turn this into an Unsafe Zone.
I plow my spike into one, then the next, and the next, until my arm goes numb, my biceps tremble, and I can’t remember a time the world didn’t reek of rotten meat. Slowly, the chain-link straightens, bowed only by the weight of unmoving bodies. Voices become audible over the groans and hisses. Eventually, the final Lexers crawl over the mass of corpses and end up as dead as the rest.
The distant sirens fade while we wait for another wave. After five minutes, a soldier pronounces the street clear, and relieved murmurs begin. Rose stretches her arms and rotates the wrist of her spike-holding hand. Her shirt is spattered with brown, and she pushes sweaty, frizzy hair from her face with her forearm. “That was fun. Let’s do it again soon.”
“It’s a date,” I say. When I try to release my spike, my hand refuses to uncurl. “I think I’m broken.”
Rose wiggles the spike from my gloved hand, though my zombie juice-coated fingers stay curled. “I’m in love with this spike,” she says. “Do I get to keep it?”
“Of course,” I say, and finally get my fingers to cooperate.
We wash our gloves of gore at the raised barrels that serve as hand washing stations, then gather round, our clothes still flecked with brown globs and brain jelly. Rose inspects Sam, who inspects her in return, both smiling tiredly. Nora takes Holly’s hand. “You’re all right?”
Holly nods, gazing up at Nora with the adoring expression usually reserved for puppies and kittens. She sees the rest of us watching and promptly turns magenta. Mitch and Rose share an amused glance before our attention is diverted by the arrival of guards from the east. Though Jesse is speckled with brain matter, Rose draws him to her side.
Barry finds Ethan in the crowd. “We’ve got a few injuries headed to the infirmary,” he says. “Mangled fingers, mostly. Can you check them out?”
“Sure.” Ethan motions at his gory clothes. “Let me wash up first.”
“Want help?” Holly asks. At his nod, she smiles at Nora and follows him across the lot.
“Now what?” Francis asks.
“We’ll move the bodies, but that can wait until 13-East is repaired,” Barry says. He did more than his share of zombie killing, if his gruesome outfit is any indication. “I have people to cover the fence while the rest of you clean up. Anyone who wants can use the ice rink showers.”
The ice rink has real hot water, with actual pressure, and most everyone moves that way. “There goes all the hot water,” Mitch says. “I’m using the tent, but I’m demanding two shower bags.”
“That can be arranged,” Barry says. “Thanks for helping out.”
“It was either that or die. Who wouldn’t have helped?”
“You’d be surprised.”
As if to prove Barry’s point, Boone appears. His clothes are spotless, and he surveys ours with distaste. He’s been edgier in the past week. Shouting when he wants something done, even if that something hasn’t been stated aloud. Storming to and fro. Turning an impressive shade of puce on a regular basis. There’s nothing like reliving your picture-perfect childhood.
We turn wary eyes in his direction, but he focuses this particular frown on Barry. “Did you see who did this?”
“I’m guessing it was the removal squad.”
“They were supposed to warn us.”
Barry folds his arms over his chest, his expression chiseled from granite. “Maybe they couldn’t, but all’s well that ends well. No one was seriously hurt. They should be back tonight or tomorrow.”
Boone’s frown deepens. “How’d the Lexers get onto the avenue? Did someone let them in?” Troy laughs, and Boone fixes him with a glare. “Is something funny?”
“We were on that gate, and we sure as hell didn’t let them in. What kind of imbecile would do that?” Troy shakes his head like there’s only one imbecile in our midst. “They broke your shitty gate. A thousand zombies can do that, you know.”
Boone reddens, nostrils flaring. “You can’t speak to me that way. I’m in charge.”
“Maybe if you’d been at the fence with the rest of us, I’d have figured that out.”
Troy wears a half-smile, like he’s been waiting to bait Boone for weeks. He probably has; Troy has no love for authority figures, especially asshole authority figures. Francis seems amused at this new development, though Lana watches him open-mouthed, like he’s the imbecile.
After a glance around the group, Boone steps closer. “You’ll figure it out when you’re outside the gates. As long as you’re here eating my food, you live by my rules.”
Beside me, Rose sucks her teeth. It takes a lot to piss her off, but when she reaches her limit, you’d better watch out. And she’s not the only one—Boone’s assertion that it’s his food has not made him any friends.
Troy’s mouth opens, and Lana elbows his stomach hard enough that he gasps. “All right,” she says. “That’s more than enough. Let’s chalk this up to tensions running high and go shower.” Troy grunts, arms crossed. She looks to Boone. “You wouldn’t put anyone outside the gates. After all, you’re here to protect civilians, aren’t you?”
Boone wears a cold expression. The kind that makes you want to check over your shoulder. Lana’s smile doesn’t falter, but her eyes harden until he turns to Barry. “I’ll send a team out looking for whoever it was,” he says.
“Figured I’d go out, too,” Barry says. “The more people we have looking, the more likely they get back okay.”
Boone’s eyes flash with anger or annoyance. After a long moment, he nods, spinning on his heel and heading to where a dozen soldiers stand.
“What an asshole,” Troy says, watching him go. “Some people—”
“Need to learn when to shut up,” Lana finishes. “What the hell is wrong with you, Troy? Are you trying to get killed?”
“I didn’t know you cared, Poochie-kins.”
After a long-suffering sigh, Lana walks toward the shower tent. Troy follows, saying something that elicits an exasperated noise from Lana.
“He shouldn’t get on Boone’s bad side,” Nora says. “He might kick him out.”
“It’s impossible for Troy to stay on anyone’s good side,” Daisy says, and those of us who know Troy laugh. “But I’ll pass along the message.”
“Can’t you do something about Boone?” Tom asks Barry.
“Wish I could. I spend half my day smoothing over his bullshit.”
“Maybe he could go missing,” Mitch says. “I mean, honestly, who’s going to look for him? There are no cops to investigate a little old murder.”
Barry’s smile lacks humor. “Seriously debating it. But Nora’s right. Keep away from him.” He swivels his head as if checking who’s near, then leans into our circle. “I did a little more asking around, and only Boone’s people saw Daniel head for the boundary. He’d never done watch with them before. The first day he did, he was dead.”
All eyes go to the ice rink, where Boone disappears through the doors, and Mitch’s joking words take on an ominous meaning. No one’s here to investigate anything.
14
ROSE
The bodies have been moved, the ever-present groans are gone, and we’re free to roam again. There’s been a holiday atmosphere in the fairgrounds the past days, and while I still wish we were home, it’s better now that we can spread out in fresh non-zombie-scented air. Though the swarm was blocks removed, their presence was stifling, both mentally and physically.
I lean on the food truck’s counter and watch Gabrielle’s youngest, Lucy, play with another toddler girl on the asphalt. The game involves sticks and a mound of dirt, but Gabrielle doesn’t seem to mind, and I’m not the one who’ll have to clean them up. Holly and Jesse spent their childhoods playing in dirt at parks and campgrounds. But unlike Gabrielle, I was able to dump them in a bathtub every night.
Residents eat under the tents, reveling in the warmth and gentle breeze. There are a hundred-fifty elderly people here, and it seems every last one of them is outside after being stuck in the Events Center for weeks. Mr. and Mrs. Powell, a cute couple rescued from the senior apartments, hold hands in their folding chairs. He always brushes off her chair before he allows her to sit, no matter if it’s clean, and she always thanks him like he’s saved her from some terrible fate.
“What are you smiling about?” Tom asks from my right, where he’s appeared at the side of the truck with Willa.
“Old people, summer, messy toddlers, the usual.”
His eyes smile along with the rest of him. Ever since that day in the museum, he’s been very present. Not that I mind, but I don’t know where he’s going with this, and ruminating on it makes my nervous system go haywire. I’m overthinking, as usual, so I banish all thoughts except the one where I’m glad to see him.
“What are you up to?” I ask.
“You said you had to bring bread to Boone today. Thought I’d come with you.”
“To protect me or because you’re nosy?”
“Both.”
Whoever led away the zombies hasn’t returned, and I’d chalk Boone’s foul mood up to worry about the missing soldiers, except it’s hard to believe he gives a crap. Along with Boone’s men, Barry has gone out with his own search teams. Once with Jesse along for the ride, much to my chagrin. Mitch got tired of watching me pace and forced me into a game of the original Trivial Pursuit, which she loves to play because she memorized almost all the answers when we were teenagers.
“Give me a few minutes?” I ask, and Tom nods.
I wipe down counters while Gabrielle sweeps the floor. “Have you seen your youngest daughter?” I ask. “She’s an unholy mess.”
“It’s Alan’s night to clean her up,” she says with a semi-evil glint in her eye. I laugh, and she adds, “My IUD strings have disappeared.”
“Shit. What does that mean?” I have a brief moment of panic when I realize the last time I checked my IUD strings was never. But I got a half-assed period a week ago, so unless there’s an immaculate conception thing happening, I’m good.
“I think it means that either the strings have migrated into your uterus, which isn’t a big deal, or that the whole thing came out.”
“Uh-oh,” I say. “You’d better stay away from that husband of yours.”
“Lucy and Finn have been sleeping with us on our queen air mattress. I don’t think it’ll be an issue.”
“Ah, young kids,” I say. “Best contraceptive ever.”
“Tell me about it.”
She heads outside. I put two loaves of bread in a brown bag to bring to our hall, stick the other two loaves in Boone’s big Ziploc bag, then grab my pack and step into the early evening sun. Tom leans against the truck, arms folded over his chest while he gazes into the lot. The combination of his dark hair, the dark t-shirt that hugs his arms and chest, and his full-sleeve tattoos makes me want to check my IUD strings just in case. Willa leans against his leg, tongue lolling while she grins up at him. She’s a sucker, too.
My cheeks heat when he catches me staring. “Ready?” he asks.
He’s doing it again. The thing where he looks straight at me and his eyes say, Hey, I like you. YOU, in caps. My heart races. My hands tremble. A 3 to 3.9 on the Richter scale: some people feel the tremors, and objects inside begin to shake.
“Ready to enter the lion’s den,” I say. “Or the frog’s den, as the case may be.”
Tom barks out a laugh, then insists on taking my load, though I draw the line at my pack. “You wear that thing everywhere,” he says. “Isn’t it heavy?”
“It has good weight distribution,” I say. My pack is more of a vest, with large pockets on the front that balance the load in the back. It’s not huge, but it holds my phone and charger, lip balm and lighter, a Swiss army knife, fire starter, a few pieces of that Halloween candy I found, and water purifying tablets. My water bottle fits in the MOLLE pouch on the left side, and a gun would fit in the holster on the right, if I had a gun. For now, it holds the spike Craig and Daisy made.
“Plus, my phone and charger are in here,” I say. “I don’t want to lose those if we have to leave fast.”
“The worst that could happen?”
“Of course. People are cool and all, but the stuff on my phone is irreplaceable.”
Tom grins as we near the ice rink entrance. I open the door before he can beat me to it. “Stay, Willa,” I say, and she rests on her haunches. “Good girl.”
Her tail bonks the ground. Boone doesn’t like her, which only reinforces the notion that he’s a terrible person. I didn’t want Willa at first, but at least I felt guilty about it. She’s impossible to dislike with her alien pug face and easygoing nature.
To the right of the lobby is the glassed-in office where Boone does whatever he does all day. Tortures small children, most likely. I knock on the door, and he waves me in from where he sits at a table with six soldiers. One is a man named Javier, who we were happy to discover was from California and not Mateo’s father. I was dreading telling someone I killed their family, even if they were zombies.
I take the bag from Tom, who follows me inside. “Bread delivery,” I say in a chipper voice. “Where should I put it?”
Boone’s gaze moves past me, and he purses his purply lips at Tom. “Set it down anywhere.”
I leave it on the table closest to the door, which is filled with radio equipment. Broken equipment; a power surge in the Livestock Arena blew out almost every radio the other day. I back up and bump into Tom. He catches me mid-stumble, dropping the brown bag on the floor to do so.
“Sorry,” I say as he sets me on my feet. “Though that was your fault.”
He bends for the bag by the table. Boone watches, unamused. “I guess that’s it,” I say. “I’ll be back in two days.”
Boone nods curtly. Stephanie, at the table with Boone, says, “Thanks. I love your bread.”
“Sure,” I say. “Thanks.”
Boone may like my bread and allow me to take pantry items, but he rarely thanks me with actual words. When I turn to leave, Tom is at the table lifting one of the handheld radios. “I’m pretty good with electronics. Want me to see if I can fix it?”
A couple of the soldiers quickly look to Boone. His eyebrows form a V. “If we can’t do it, you can’t.”
Tom shrugs, expressionless in a way that makes me suspect he’s up to something. “Figured I’d offer. Guess we’ll have to find new radios now that we can go out again. I hope your guys are looking for some.”
Boone’s lips compress, and the chill in his eyes is murderous enough that I take an involuntary step back. “Of course they are,” he snaps. “Is that it? We’re in a meeting.”
I drag Tom into the lobby, then push him through the glass doors to the lot. “Are you trying to get murdered? Did you see his face?”
Tom grins, maddeningly amused at my agitation. “I’d like to see him try. I wanted to see what he’d say about fixing the radios.”
