Dead Of Winter (The Rift Book II) (40 page)

One by one they patted him on the back and then dispersed to their respective rooms to mourn in private. Allison excused herself and carried away a sleeping Shelly, leaving Corky and Tom alone.

Tom stared up at him, looked away, and then stared up at him again. Tears ran down his face. “Thank you,” he blubbered. “Thank you so much.”

Corky stepped toward him. Tom cringed as if he was about to strike him, but Corky simply wrapped his massive arms around the man and held him tight. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. The tears really did come this time. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Tom patted his back. “It’s okay,” he said through his sniffles. “I’ll fix it. Everything’s going to be all right. Trust me. It will be.”

“It better be,” Corky replied. “It fucking better
be
.”

He never noticed when Tom’s face, wedged against his shoulder, distorted in pain.

Chapter 15

Waking the Dead

i

Christopher leaned over the railing and stared at those gathered on the street below. Their numbers were too many to count, packed together like cows at a Midwestern beef factory. They swayed and shoved into one another, their dead eyes staring at nothing in particular. Their combined groans were white noise that he could barely register anymore.

He leaned further over the rail, gathered a wad of phlegm, and pursed his lips. The thick glob of spit slowly descended. When the strand broke the bead plummeted, landing on the head of a female zombie. The dead thing craned its neck back and stared up at him. Its skin was the gray shade of used-up charcoal and it had deep grooves in the side of its face, as if one of its brethren had decided to claw at it. The dead eyes sparked with life. The creature opened its mouth, revealing its few remaining teeth, and stumbled into the side of the building. The others apparently noticed this, because many followed its actions. In a few seconds two dozen of the undead were slamming their weakened, reanimated corpses against the hotel walls.

A hand grabbed his shoulder and yanked him off the railing. Those same hands spun him around.

“Don’t play with them,” Jamie Forrest said with a frown. “They aren’t toys.”

“C’mon, Mister Forrest,” whined Christopher. “Doc Terry said
you
used to screw with them. Why can’t I?”

“Because when I did it there were only a few. Now there’s hundreds. It’s bad enough when they just mill around out there. But what happens if they break through the barricade? You want them all in the building with us? How long you think we’d last if that happened? And not only that, but what happens if you fall over the edge? I already saved your ass once. I don’t want to do it again?”

Christopher shrugged. Embarrassment flushed his cheeks. “Sorry.
Didn’t think of that.”

The older man rustled his hair. He smiled. “Don’t worry about it, kid.
Just not again, ‘
kay
?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Christopher. He saluted. Forrest saluted back, then spun around and headed inside.

“I’m not a kid,” Chris muttered when his back the man’s turned, but there was no conviction behind his umbrage. The last thing he wanted to do was appear immature. He owed Mister Mathis as much for all he’d done for him. But there had been so much talking going on in the room,
talk
about subjects he wanted no part of. He had to escape somehow.

Boredom overtook him so he stuffed his hands in his pockets and strolled through the sliding glass door. The suite they were in was large, but with the atmosphere surrounding the conversation going on in there it seemed to constrict him. Mister Mathis sat on the bed, being peppered with questions from Dr. Terry and his wife. Billy nodded and said, “I understand,” at the end of each inquiry. He’d shaved and buzzed his hair, and Christopher found it shocking how much younger he looked all cleaned up.

Much too young to die.

Forrest stood by the exit. He tipped his baseball cap to Christopher and gestured to the door. Christopher said, “Yes, please,” and Forrest acquiesced.

Out in the hallway he could breathe. He slumped against the wall. The depression he felt wanted to strangle him. Mister Mathis, the man who kept him safe for the last few months and told him so many interesting things, was going to leave him. He was sure of it, but no matter what he said he couldn’t change the stubborn professor’s mind.

At least they’d been able to patch things over with Dr. Terry. That gave Christopher some sort of relief. The first couple days after they arrived had been rough, with the old man constantly on Mister Mathis’ heels, berating him for lying. Mister Mathis told Dr. Terry that he only lied because he didn’t know what else to say, and Christopher guessed that was the truth. And when he
did
mention his true reasons for trekking the miles he did, all because a dream told him he had to help the pretty dying girl down the hall, the others reacted the way Christopher did – by laughing and thinking his friend a fool. But when they saw the sincerity on Mister Mathis’ face, when they heard how serious he was, they changed their tune, even Dr. Terry. Christopher guessed that was just the old man giving in to his wife, who’d acted as the girl’s doting mother for a long time and obviously hoped for a miracle.

But now Mister Mathis was about to throw it all away. In his wish to protect a person he didn’t even know he was going to kill himself. Christopher didn’t understand. How could he do such a thing? How could he leave him alone with these strangers when he was the closest thing to family he had left? He found it hard to believe a man as smart as Mister Mathis could be so stupid.
And selfish.

Christopher shook his head. He put his ear to the door, heard them still talking inside, and decided he’d had enough. He walked toward the staircase. He’d seen a game room in the lobby. Maybe they had foosball.
But it’s hard to play foosball by yourself
, he thought.

Yeah, but if Mister Mathis gets his way I’ll
be
by myself. I might as well get used to it.

*
 
 
*
 
 
*

“Are you sure you understand the ramifications?” asked Dr. Terry.

Billy rolled his eyes. “Of course I understand, Doctor. This is the third time we have gone over this.”

The old doctor shook his head. “I don’t like this. Not a bit.”

“I know. However, it is my choice, and as I see it there is no other option available to you.”

Dr. Terry resigned with a shrug. “You’re right. We don’t.
She
doesn’t. But I have to make sure you recognize the risks. I took an oath to
preserve
life, not end it.”

“And you will not end mine,” Billy said.

Jamie Forrest approached them. “So…are we really doing this?”

Billy, Dr. Terry, and Mrs. Terry all nodded.

“All right then. Let’s go.”

The four of them exited the room. Billy looked for Christopher when they entered the hall but the youngster was nowhere to be seen.

He does not want to see you do this
, he thought.
He is fearful for his own safety and yours
.

Forrest led them down the staircase past the first floor. From there they entered the huge basement. It was lit by twenty or so candles, giving it the eerie glow of a medieval dungeon. In one corner was a sizeable cage lined with empty bookshelves, and because of that Billy assumed it had originally been used to store the hotel’s financial records.

A cot had been set up against the wall. Forrest stood aside and Billy walked through the steel bars. He proceeded directly for the bed, sat down, and rolled up his sleeve. Doctor and Mrs. Terry entered after him. The missus took the syringe her husband held out for her and then scrubbed the inside of his elbow with an antiseptic wipe. Dr. Terry fastened an elastic band around his bicep and held it taut. Billy’s heartbeat pounded in his ears. The veins in his arm bulged.

Mrs. Terry frowned. “I’ll pray for you,” she whispered before plunging the needle into a waiting vein. She depressed the plunger and the red liquid gradually flowed into his body. Billy leaned his head back and sighed.

“All right,” said Dr. Terry. “Her blood has been injected into you, as discussed. With the level of contaminant in there, along with a direct line to your heart, I’d say we should know for sure if you have the proper antibodies in about forty-eight hours. Forrest will come down to check on and feed you. Other than that you will be totally isolated. If you come out on the other side we can start the procedure. If not…”

“I know what will happen,” Billy said. “I am not afraid.”

“Well, thank goodness
you
aren’t,” replied the old doctor.
“Because right now I’m just about to shit my britches.”

Mrs. Terry placed a gentle, warm hand on Billy’s cheek, then detached the elastic from his arm, packed it away with the syringe, and stood up. She followed her husband out of the cage. Forrest, who’d been standing by the entrance, closed and locked the steel mesh door. He tipped his cap to Billy and then trailed the old couple out of the basement, leaving him alone in the flickering candlelight.

Just like that, Billy was behind bars once more. And just like last time he was there by choice.

He stood up, cracked his neck, and paced, counting his steps. It took fifty-three to cross from one side of the cage to the other, where the bookshelves sat. He ran his finger over the dusty surface. Something caught his eye and he abruptly stopped. He’d originally thought the shelves empty, but he’d been wrong. On the top shelf sat a single, familiar-looking tome. He snatched it and held it out before him. A black cover with silver stitched printing stared back at him. The words glowed in the candlelight.
The
New Kingdom
by William F. Mathis.
His first book.
He hadn’t laid eyes on a copy of it in fifteen years. With that much time having passed it would almost seem like reading a brand-new book. Perhaps the hours would move quicker than he thought.

Curiosity overcame him and he opened the first page. He’d signed this copy in his tight, exacting penmanship.
To Leon, may you grow up to be the strong black man I know you will be, WFM
.

Leon
. Dr. Terry’s teaching resident. He’d seen the imposing young man a couple times over the last few days but they hadn’t spoken. Most of his time had been spent in the ball room, after all, away from the general populace, discussing possible courses of action while Marcy slept just out of sight. But judging by the loving condition the young man kept the book in it was obviously something very important to him. The old doctor had said as much, too, if he remembered correctly. He guessed
Leon
was simply too nervous or shy to approach him.

He turned the page and that assumption fled back to the egocentric portion of his brain it came from. On the blank page before the dedication was another hand-written note. This writing was jagged and angry.
You were our hero
, it read.
And you let us all down.

Billy exhaled and closed the book. It was going to be a long two days, after all.

He slept most of the time away, a strange, dreamless sleep that left him feeling more tired than when he put his head on the pillow. Twice a day Forrest came with a bowl of cold soup and a litany of questions designed to test Billy’s cognitive functions. He passed with flying colors each time, though Forrest always kept his hand on the butt of his revolver during these sessions. By the time he came downstairs the fifth time, boredom had whipped Billy into exhaustion. When Forrest unlocked the cage and held it open for him he didn’t move.

“You’re all set, man,” Forrest said in a kind yet apprehensive tone. “Let’s go. The Doc is waiting for you upstairs.”

Billy stood up, his body sore from inactivity. He grabbed the book –
his
book – off the cot and exited the cage. His every muscle hurt. His head pounded. Forrest stayed behind him as he made his way, painfully, up the long staircase, positive the man’s fingers were still tapping on his gun, just in case.

They went up to the third floor and Forrest ushered him into his room. He found Dr. Terry sitting at the desk, a medical kit spread out before him. The old man gestured for him to take a seat.

Billy sat down on the bed and removed his shirt. “Why did we not do this in the basement?” he asked. “Would that not have been safer?”

“You could look at it that way. On the other hand, you could say that you had infected blood injected directly into your bloodstream, which means that if you don’t show any symptoms now you never will. I’ve seen enough RF victims to know that. I know how fast it spreads, and you don’t have so much as a fever.”