Eaters (Book 2): The Resistance (11 page)

Kai shook his head. "Just cuts, scrapes, and a bit of shock."

Jake waved his rifle in the air. "Any of you show signs of the sickness…I'm telling you now…"

He didn’t have to spell out the threat. The gun was enough of a visual aid. Cheryl could already picture him hauling a screaming person into the brush and planting a bullet in their head.

Jordan returned a few minutes later. He hunched over, panting then looked up and said, "I didn't see any N.E.U.s, but there's a road not far from here. Maybe we could—"

"No!" Jake said. "We need to stay away from the road."

Edmond cocked an eyebrow and threw up his hands. "Why? There could be someone who could help, who could—"

"Somebody shot us down, man!" Realizing he was shouting, Mark lowered his voice. "Whoever it is…they're probably still in this area."

Jake pleaded for calmness. "Right now…we're going to be quiet and stay alert. We'll get our ducks in a row in the morning and get a plan together."

Deferring to his orders, Jordan joined the group, but he didn't sit. He held onto his gun, took a quarter out of his pocket and began flipping it over and over in his fingers.

Everyone else was just as wide-eyed and nervous. It didn't take much to make someone jump—a mouse skittering in the underbrush, a gush of wind rustling through the leaves, or the far off howl of a coyote.

Jasmine moved closer to Cheryl. "Maybe we could go back. Maybe by now…"

"That would be suicide," she replied, not feeling any urge to candy coat their dismal looking situation. "There were so many N.E.U.'s back there; we'd never make it through them to get back inside the fort. And the fort was completely infested anyway."

"Then we're as good as dead now."

Cheryl wondered if she was so jaded now that she'd lost all compassion. Just because things were rocky with Mark and all of her dreams had been crushed, did she have to piss on everyone else's parade too? She put her arm around the young woman. "No…we're not.  We stick together and we still have a chance."

Pulling away, Jasmine asked, "A chance for what? A chance to hide in the woods for a while or be on the run until we're just overwhelmed by those disgusting things? Eaten like slabs of meat?"

Cheryl couldn't think of a reassuring response. Who was she to be spewing rainbows and roses when she knew first hand that worst case scenarios
do happen
?
 
Months ago, she'd met a young woman about the same age as Jasmine, who'd been just as frightened. What had happened to her husband had been too much for her to bear. After that, the woman had given up. The memory of that night still made Cheryl wince with sorrow and regret. She'd hate to see Jasmine self-destruct, but what could she do to instill the
fight
in her? How could you make someone want to keep on going when it all looked hopeless?

She wrapped her arms around the girl in an awkward hug. "We live for now.
For tonight
. We're still alive. We're still breathing. In this crazy world, every moment we have is precious." Jasmine's stiff body was still a tightened coil. Maybe changing the subject away from death would help…

"So, Ben's your boyfriend? Where'd you two meet?"

"At the fort," she replied, pulling away. "The Dance Hall. At the New Year's Eve slosh fest."

"I didn't go to that, but I heard it was more of a drink-and-drown in the new year rather than a party."

"Yeah. Apparently, some buddies of his threatened to dunk him in the keg if he didn't suck it up and ask me to dance."

"And the rest is history?"

Jasmine cracked a smile. "After I forgave him for stomping on my toes. Chip's not a dancer."

The two of them talked for the next half hour, reminiscing about some of the pleasant memories they had in that oasis in the desert and temporarily forgetting they were sitting on a mountain top in the wilderness with unknown numbers of murderers, thieves, and zombies potentially lurking in the shadows all around them.

During a lull in the conversation, Cheryl felt that large cup of water from the night club finally sloshing around inside of her bladder and excused herself. "I'm going to hit the ladies' room…or ladies'
shrub
."

Jasmine caught up with her. "I'll go with you."

They wandered a few yards through the brush until they found a clump of bushes and trees close enough together to give them some privacy. Jasmine squatted a few feet away from Cheryl.

After finding relief, Cheryl reached back, searching for a handful of leaves to use as toilet paper that didn't include too many prickly pine needles. Her hand landed on something hard, covered with dampness and slime. She jerked her hand away and looked back to see what it was. In the dim light from the moon, reflecting off the pale dirt and rocks around her, she recognized the long white object as a thigh bone. It had been freshly gnawed, and still had scraps of stringy red flesh clinging to it.

Forgetting about Jasmine's fragile condition, she pulled up her jeans and rushed back to the camp. "There's a human bone over there," she said, pointing to the area she'd just come from and grimacing. "Still fresh."

The men with guns tightened their grips, eyes glancing nervously into the darkness around them. Jasmine came up behind her, put her hand over her mouth and gasped. Then, she convulsed a couple of times like she was choking back vomit.

"We'll be safe here…" Jake assured her and the rest of the group. "…at least for tonight. We're far enough away from the masses of them at the fort. There might be a few stragglers up here in the hills, but we can take them."

Cheryl knew it was a lie. With the sheer numbers of Eaters that had overwhelmed the fort, there were bound to be hundreds more in the area. Despite what she'd told Jasmine, there was no guarantee that their small group could fend off a serious attack.

Hearing the murmurs around them that hinted of the group unraveling as their collective terror mounted, Jake took the reins again.

"Since we're stuck here together, and may be for a while, why don't we get better acquainted?"

No one spoke up.

"All right. I'll start then. I'm Officer Jake Murtz. I've been a pilot for seventeen years. I know three of the guys that went out to patrol. Captain Ben O'Donnell is my co-pilot. He's been flying for nine years. Jordan Abbott is a Private First Class E3. Chip Murphy and Patrick Jones are also privates. They enlisted together last year before the epidemic started. "He glanced at Jasmine who seemed to be recovering from her repulsion. "Your turn, hon."

She hesitated, glancing around the group before speaking. "Jasmine…Jasmine Blume. I'm a graphic artist. I'm okay with a gun. I'm…I'm…Ben's girlfriend. He taught me."

"Good to know. He never told me that."

Jake nodded to the next in the circle. "Kai," the young nursing student said. "I'm from Hawaii. I came here to go to school."

"Any weapons training?"

"No," he said. "But, before I made it to the fort, I killed an N.E.U. with a chair after the bastard killed my roommate. I put a metal chair leg through his skull," Kai said, wincing. "For what he did to Berto…he deserved it."

"Of course he deserved it!" Cheryl told him. "You can't feel guilty about killing someone who's already dead and is trying to kill you. They're not human anymore. They don't feel pain."

"I know that," he said. "It doesn't make it any easier, though. I'm trained to heal, not to destroy."

Cheryl thought the next person in the circle would win the award for the most impeccably groomed survivor. For someone who'd just gone through a massive Eater attack and a helicopter crash, there wasn't a cut on him, not a drop of blood, or a slicked-back hair out of place on his entire head.

"Edmond Randolph," he said with a pronounced British lilt. "Professor of philosophy."

Without any warning of his approach, Zach emerged from behind a tree. He seemed to have simply appeared from thin air. He leaned into his Edmond's face and sniffed him up and down. "I can smell bullshit even before I hear it. You got the most fake blimey accent I ever heard."

Edmond lifted his chin and wrinkled his nose. Still hanging on to his haughty tone, he said, "As I said…I do teach philosophy. It's a part time gig at a community college. I…also…deliver milk in the mornings to pay the bills. Or…at least I used to…before the world fell apart."

"You're the milkman?" Jasmine said with a giggle.

"Useless," Zach grunted. "We should've knocked you overboard along with that chick that was bitten."

Jake's brow furrowed, and he scowled. "You back already?" Jake asked Zach. "How far out did you go?"

"I ran out a half mile. Saw nothing but a rabbit and a raccoon." He moved in closer to the rest of the group. "If we're playing the
What's My Name
game? I'll go next. I'm Zach Martino. "I 'm a physical trainer and a black belt in Tae Kwon Do."

"And a prick." Edmond said under his breath.

Zach flew across the circle and hovered over him. "You want to go? I'll knock that smart mouth of yours into mañana!"

Jake and Mark stood up, ready to break it up. Seeing the ready interference, Zach gave Edmond an imaginary shove before stepping back. "Pendejo," he said, flipping him off. "You're not worth it." Then, he stomped off and sat a distance away from the group, still muttering to himself.
"Fucking fairy princess…"

After everyone settled down, Jake told Cheryl it was her turn.

"Cheryl Malone. I worked patrol at the fort."

"Another lady who can use a gun?" He poised his fingertips on the salt and pepper stubble on his chin.  "Well…that's good for all of us to know, but what did you used to do? That's what we want to know—
who you are
."

Before?
Cheryl thought. It had been over half a year since the epidemic began. It seemed like everything that had happened before then had been in another lifetime, some dream world where there had been joy and color, not this life of black and gray, running with the redness of blood. "I was an insurance agent…in an office where…" She saw flashes of the past in her head. She was sitting at a long table in a meeting with co-workers, one keeling over dead then resurrecting and going through the garbage can before going berserk. "I processed claims and helped clients navigate through the regulations."

"You've come a long way from being a desk jockey."

"Yeah," she said. "I guess I have."

She didn't even hear what Mark said after that, just snippets about having completed several tours in Afghanistan and being in the National Guard. Assuming she survived this catastrophe, was she going to have to reinvent herself again? What would she be next? Official squirrel cooker? Maker of tree limb spears? First impressions were that this group wasn't going to settle nicely into defined roles while they tried to find shelter and a place to start over.

After hearing about the others in the group, she noted that some were military and some were civilians. How had this motley assortment made it onto the helicopter when so many other people at the fort perished? And how was it that all the choppers were fired up and ready to go? "Jake…how did so many pilots make it to the roof?"

"The pilots' quarters are on the top floor. There's direct access to the helipads and we were instructed to fire up at the first sign of an attack."

"I can't tell you how grateful I am for waiting for me and letting me on. I'm surprised that you let civilians—"

"Well…" Jake said, looking down at his feet. "…there was a protocol for an emergency evacuation. But, after I got word that the top brass wasn't on the way, and there were N.E.U.s climbing up on the roof, it was
leave
or risk not making it. You're lucky. If you'd come five seconds later…"

There was a good bet that was thanks to Mark. She suspected he'd held Jake there longer than he'd been comfortable with, hoping that she'd heed his telepathic orders to head for the roof. His ploy had worked, and she knew she should be thankful, but after finding the barber woman there with him, her emotions were still a bitter stew of gratefulness broth and with chunky bits of anger floating on top.

She sat now with her back to him, trying to avoid starting a fight. At the moment, their personal issues were secondary to the group's survival.

Jordan returned a few minutes later, followed by Chip who arrived a few seconds after that. Both reported that they hadn't seen any sign of the infected in the area.

"There's a road not too far from here. I saw it from up on a ridge," Jordan said, catching his breath. "There was a truck—"

"What kind of truck?" Jake asked.

"Well…it's dark. I mostly just saw the headlights, but it looked like a white delivery truck."

Chip looked over at Zach sitting on a rock. "Where's Patrick?" He asked.

Jake shrugged. "He hasn't come back yet."

"The rest of us are back. He shouldn't have taken much more time than we did to check out a quarter mile. Maybe we should go look for him."

"It'll be light in a few hours," Jordan said. "Maybe we should—"