Amongst the Dead (17 page)

“Good morning my dear,” the Hag said. Riley listened to their footfalls as they entered the room, stopping abruptly. “No,” the Hag said. “No.”
 

“My Lady,” one of the Sisters with the Hag said, her voice concerned.
 

“She’s been infected,” the Hag said. The two Sisters that accompanied the woman gasped. They drew large curved daggers simultaneously. “Wait,” the Hag commanded, holding out her arms and blocking the Sisters’ paths. The old woman approached Riley’s bed and sat.
 

She placed a hand to Riley’s forehead, then her arms and legs before resting her palm on Riley’s stomach. “You lied,” the Hag said. “That man didn’t bite you, did he?”
 

“No, my Lady,” Riley muttered, her voice hoarse.
 

“You were bitten when you went over the wall.” It wasn’t a question.
 

Riley didn’t answer and truth be told she no longer cared. Her plan to kill as many as she could was over. She was too weak and ready to die. “Just kill me,” she told the Hag.
 

The Hag laughed, her voice a witch’s cackle. “No child, your fate is not what you believe it to be, but what I know it to be. You are staying with us.” The woman rose from the bed. “Leave her. If she survives the night, then she is truly the one.”
 

“My Lady?” one of the Sisters asked. “Nobody has ever recovered from a bite. Surely it would be better to kill her now than when she is undead.”
 

The Hag spun upon the Sister, slapping her across the face. “You dare question my word?—the word of God?”
 

“No my Lady.”
 

“This girl was brought to us by His will. Now come, leave her be.” They exited the room, leaving Riley to stew in her soaked bed sheets.
 

Riley’s mind began to wonder. She hadn’t eaten since her escape, not that she could even if she wanted to. She kept throwing up, her chest covered in puke.
 

Remembering how her father had been was difficult, a weight on her soul. She had always tried to remember him before he grew sick, but the sick-father image was always rearing its face like a permanent fixture in her memories. She hated thinking of him as a man on the verge of death, a weak man dying, but she could now understand his plight and how difficult it must have been for him to leave her and die.
 

She held on for as long as she could, trying to stay awake, to fight, but the virus or whatever it was worked fast. Like everything else in her life, Riley wouldn’t go down without a fight. She wanted to die earlier, allowing the Sisters to kill her, but she was beginning to feel a glimmer of hope. A renewal of spirit. She wanted to live.
 

On the brink of death, Riley dreamed.
 

Chapter Thirteen
 

Leaving

She was a baby, no more than a year old.
 

The room she was in was bustling with activity. Men in white lab coats were at various stations, looking over data from printouts, peering into microscopes and conversing amongst each other as various solutions bubbled in tubes over open flames. The cinder block walls were the color of split-pea soup, but the bright overhead fluorescents gave the place a semblance of warmth. The tables, like the one Riley lay upon, were shiny and metal like a surgeon’s operating slab. A long counter took up the length of the wall to one side of the room. Above it were cabinets with glass doors revealing cylinders, boxes, tubes and other medical type objects. The overhead lights hummed, accentuating the buzz of excitement that was in the air. Riley disliked the unnatural odor of the place. She could taste on her tongue, a pungent mix of manmade chemicals and stale air.
 

Then she looked to be around the age of four, but was aware of the things around her. She knew not the names of items or the scientists, but her eyes took in the sights as if recording them on a memory chip. She’d been here before. Everything was familiar as if it occurred almost every day. She wasn’t frightened, and felt warmth in her heart for the people dressed in the white coats—especially for the individual who was holding a stethoscope to her chest. He was a balding man with a ring of white hair around his head and wore glasses with thick dark frames. A long, rough scar ran down the man’s right cheek, but he was still her favorite.
 

She blinked and the room changed. Only four scientists remained and all were standing around her. The scientist that was most in her favor held a long and terrifying syringe. Riley felt trepidation creep into her bones, wanting to run away. She never cared for the shots and she’d had many. They always stung and sometimes they burned her on the inside. Why did the scientists want to hurt her so many times? The scientist spoke in a reassuring tone that told her it would be okay, but it never was. She didn’t understand the meaning of the shots and even as she watched with her current awareness she was still confused.
 

The scientist with the scar stuck the needle into her arm and pressed the syringe’s plunger, sending the contents into her bloodstream. Riley began crying as her body began growing hot. Her skin felt as if she’d received severe sunburn. The pain was intensifying and she wanted it to stop. The doctor told her not to worry, picked her up and held her close.
 

“There, there,” he kept saying, but it did no good. Riley began screaming, her voice reaching octaves she didn’t think a child could reach and then she woke up.
 

She opened her eyes, the white ceiling with its minute cracks staring back at her. The morning sun was shining through the window, hitting her in the face. She swallowed and felt no pain. She sat up, realizing she was alive and better yet, she felt good. The chills were gone and her mind was clear. The dream she had had revealed itself like someone hiding in a closet. She startled as the images from the dream flashed through her mind, hitting her like reality. Had she been in that place for real?
 

She pulled up her gown. Her eyes opened wide at the sight of her ankle. The purple veins were gone and the color had returned to her skin. Her ankle was still raw, but scabbing over. Using two fingers, Riley pinched the skin on her left arm as hard as she could until the pain made her want to tear up. She wasn’t dreaming and she doubted the dead felt pain.
 

The Hag’s words echoed in her mind then.
This girl is special. She will begin a new breed.
What the hell was going on? Riley’s pulse quickened as she hopped out of bed. Everything in the room appeared the same as the night before. Looking out the window, she saw the familiar sight of the street in front of the building. She walked back over to the bed. She had to sit. No one survived a bite from the undead. How had she? Was the Hag correct about her being special? Riley’s stomach rumbled with hunger.
 

Last night’s meal was still present, resting on a metal tray on top of the nightstand. She began wolfing it down like the starved animal she was when a loud boom caused her to jump. Still chewing—her cheeks puffy with food—she ran over to the window.
 

A section of the makeshift wall looked as if it had been blown open. Small fires and black smoke rose into the air around the area. A short distance away lay a man. He looked like a guard. The man’s head appeared to have been stomped on with a large boot. It was squashed like a tomato, the scalp hanging off the skull like it had been peeled, and blood pooled around the body. He must’ve been caught by shrapnel from the explosion.
 

From the hallway outside her room, gunshots rang out. Riley flew from the bed, ducking behind it. Who was attacking the Sisterhood? Had the pact between the gang and the Sisters fallen apart?
 

“Tell me where she is,” a female voice screamed from outside her room. The voice sounded familiar. The door to Riley’s room burst open. Peering under the bed, Riley saw one of the Sisters shoved to the floor. Then a gunshot rang out and the Sister’s head exploded. “Riley?” the female voice called again. She knew the voice now, but that was impossible, wasn’t it? “Riley,” the voice called again.
 

Peering over the mattress, Riley saw Joanne. She barely recognized the woman. Her hair was matted and her skin was covered in filth. She wore tattered clothes with rips and tears in them. But it was her. Joanne stood with a rifle leaned against her hip, making her appear like some crazed backwoods woman.
 

“Joanne,” Riley shouted, jumping up.
 

“Riley,” Joanne returned, her voice a shrill of elation. They raced toward each other, embracing. Riley felt her insides spin with warmth and happiness. She wrapped her arms tightly around Joanne, never wanting to let go.
 

Joanne’s odor was repulsive and she felt bony, as if Riley embraced a skeleton, but she didn’t care. Finally separating, tears running down her cheeks, Riley asked, “How… Where…” but she couldn’t find the words. Joanne tossed the rifle on the bed and cupped Riley’s face.
 

“I knew you’d be okay,” Joanne said.
 

Riley swallowed and forced the words out. “I can’t believe you’re here.” She smiled through sobs of joy and wrapped her arms around Joanne again.
 

Joanne eased Riley back, holding her by the shoulders. “It’s so good to see you again, kiddo,” Joanne said. “Listen, there’s so much to tell, but we need to move.”
 

Joanne grabbed the gun off the bed, holding Riley’s hand, and together they started to head out of the room. Riley’s heart sank as fast as it had risen. Where was Eric? She wanted to ask, hardly able to stop herself, but was afraid to, not wanting Joanne to falter. If Eric was alive Joanne would lead them to him, and if they escaped without him she’d know the answer.
 

“Mom,” a young voice called out from the hallway followed by a few gunshots. Riley knew the voice, her heart leaping into her throat. She breached the hallway outside her room, looked to the left and saw the boy she grew to love as a brother.
 

“Hi, Riley,” he said, cheerfully. She wanted to rush over and tackle him with hugs and kisses, but remained where she was. He’d grown a bit since she last saw him. He was taller and thicker, but still a kid. His head was shaved, revealing peach fuzz, and his skin was filthy like his mother’s.
 

A Sister came up the stairs at the end of the hall. Eric turned to face her as she came running, a knife held high. He raised his weapon and opened fire. The Sister’s gown fluttered as bullets tore into it. “All clear,” Eric said, a slight grin on his face.
 

Riley looked upon him with a mixture of amazement and dread. What had they done to him that made him kill so easily? How much had he and his mother been through? Looking at them again, she realized they resembled members of the gang. Obviously they were still the people she knew and loved, but they had also changed.
 

“Eric,” Riley spoke, wanting to simply say his name, almost needing to make sure it was really him.
 

Joanne held out the rifle she was carrying and handed it to Riley. “You’re better with one of these than anyone I know. I’ll be fine with these,” she said, removing two handguns from the holsters on her belt and answering Riley’s question before she could ask it. She held them up at ear level, a look of fierceness in her eyes, and Riley felt the need to smile.
 

The heat of battle surrounded her, awaking her warrior spirit. She welcomed it, letting it take over—the state of mind that would allow her to survive and do what must be done. There was no room for fear or hesitation.
 

Eric, for whatever he’d been through, had the killer instinct in him now too. Riley could almost smell it, just like Joanne’s. They were both warriors, hell bent on preservation of the greater good and well being of loved ones. Riley knew the feeling well, like an old friend. Deep down, she was a killer too, flicking on the switch when the need arose. It was part of the fabric of the world now. Good versus evil. Kill or be killed.
 

Together they headed down the hall, Joanne in the lead. Four dead, bullet-strewn Sisters’ corpses lined the hallway. As Joanne stepped over the last one, the downed Sister raised her bloody arm and sunk a knife into Joanne’s right thigh.
 

Joanne howled in pain. Riley lowered her weapon to shoot, but Eric was quicker and put a bullet into the woman’s head.
 

Joanne winced as she pulled the blade out, blood coming out like a spray at first, misting the wall in crimson. “Damn it,” she groaned.
 

Riley tore strips off her gown. “Here,” she said, holding them out for Joanne. The initial burst of blood was over, but it continued to ooze like a small stream. Joanne’s jeans were rapidly darkening with her blood.
 

“Are you okay, Mom?” Eric asked, concern clear in his voice. Joanne replaced the guns in their holsters and began wrapping the makeshift bandages around her wound.
 

“I’ll be fine, sweetie,” she told him.
 

Riley watched as Joanne’s face grimaced each time she wrapped the cloth around her leg, finally tying it off tightly. She was a strong woman, trying her best not to show weakness or fear in front of her son.