Patient Z (13 page)

“You okay, Cal?” Mitch asked. “Did you freeze?”

“No!” Cal protested, then calmed himself. “For a second. I recognized them. Some of them, I mean. They were the group I was with before I ended up on the boat.” He shivered.

“I’m sorry. Were you, um, close to any of them?”

Cal shrugged. “No. It was just a shock to suddenly see them.”

“Understandable.” Mitch gave him a quick squeeze of the shoulder, some manly sympathy and reassurance. Thinking about it now, Cal didn’t much care about shooting that lot down. But he couldn’t help but think about what it would be like to face Mitch or Bren or the doctor, any of his new friends turned into monsters. Then he wouldn’t hesitate. Because he’d rather see any of them dead than see them like that.

These people were so alive, he thought as he watched Blanca, who used to be a bank teller, picking the lock of the building. They’d somehow made it across the land of the dead and found a place to live safely. Safe from the walking mass of corruption infesting the land anyway. Unlikely survivors many of them seemed, but stronger together in the group they’d formed around Mitch and Bren.

A group they’d invited Cal to join, and that he was now thinking of leaving to make his way alone again. Make his way where? And why? In the last two years he’d simply continued the pattern of his old life—traveling with no destination. Stopping only if the place or people offered him something he could use. It was hard to call that living, rather than just surviving. And had that been all it was before this all started?

The door opened, and the group looked into the dark interior of the storage building.

“Flashlights,” Mitch ordered. “I’ll take point.”

“Let me,” Cal said, obeying a sudden urge to prove himself after his brief freeze-up earlier. “Tell me which way to go.”

Mitch hesitated a moment, but then he gave Cal directions and took rear guard. They slung their rifles and took out their handguns instead. Cal gathered himself and led the way inside. He flicked on his flashlight. It was stygian inside once the door was closed. The only windows were small ones high up on the walls, and spiderwebs were so thick over them they might as well have been painted over.

Cal got his bearings. The space was large and had racking making various lanes. Of course where they wanted to be was right down the end of one of the long lanes, past racks of boxes and crates. He led the way, shining his flashlight around as he went, moving slowly, the others almost silent behind him, the sound of a boot or a rustle of clothing the only giveaway that they were following him. A quick glance showed him Blanca was right behind him. Dust stirred beneath his feet, and his nose began to itch. Do not sneeze, he commanded himself. He didn’t want to look like a complete fool.

He swept the flashlight across a gap between a couple of crates, across and back with a cry as his brain registered what he’d just seen.

A face.

The zombie stumbled out of the gap, mouth gaping in its gray face, arms reaching. For Blanca. Cal spun around, gun trained on the zombie. Shit, it was only a couple of feet away. He could smell it. The horror of being so close to one again almost overwhelmed him. The image of the one that bit him, its hand on his leg, its teeth in his flesh, filled his mind. His gun bucked in his hand as he fired. Several other shots came too; he couldn’t separate them enough to count them. The zombie fell at Blanca’s feet, very little left of its head. It hadn’t even touched her, and Cal’s moment of panic receded.

“Everyone okay?” Mitch asked, raking his flashlight over the body. It wore a naval uniform. “Guess he died in here; then he couldn’t unlock the door and get back out after he turned.”

Zombies had trouble with doors, even unlocked ones. About the only type they managed to deal with were those they could simply push open. Cal had seen zombies trapped on the upper floors of buildings where the elevators were long dead and the stairwells lay behind doors that opened the wrong way. A doorknob entirely stymied them.

“It wasn’t here last time we came,” Elaine said. “Think we’d have noticed.”

“Maybe he was living somewhere else on the base or one of the ships,” Natalie suggested. “It’s a big place.”

“And came here for supplies. And got bitten,” Mitch said.

“Yeah?” Cal said. “By something outside or inside?”

Chapter Thirteen

“Damn good question,” Mitch said. “Don’t drop your guard, anyone. Nat, I want you up on the roof. Keep our escape route open.”

“You got it, Mitch.”

The roof access hatch had a pull-down ladder. Mitch went up there with Natalie to check things out.

As they waited, Blanca looked thoughtfully at Cal until he said, “What?”

“Just wondering about something,” she said. “How come that zombie went after me instead of you?”

“Yeah, that was weird,” Elaine said. “You were on point, first tasty morsel to pass by.”

Cal frowned. That was a good question too. He tried to see the moment again in his head, slow it down. “I…I guess by the time it realized we were there and moved to attack, you were closer than me. Or…it thought you looked like an easier target.” They frowned at that, and he understood why. Zombies never displayed that kind of judgment. They went for people indiscriminately, no matter how big or small, dangerous or vulnerable they looked. “Maybe he was a ladies’ man,” Cal said, covering his puzzlement with a smile. “You’re a lot prettier than me.”

“Depends who we’re asking,” Elaine said, grinning. “Isn’t that right, Mitch?” Mitch had started descending the ladder from the roof.

“What’s right?” Mitch asked, rejoining them.

“Never mind,” Cal said. Mitch shrugged.

“Natalie’s in position. Let’s go.”

Cal could see Mitch didn’t much like leaving any of the group alone, but they didn’t have the numbers to leave two people up there. Natalie had her rifle and plenty of ammo and a walkie-talkie to let them know of any trouble.

The center of the storage space had an elevator shaft leading to the underground storage, but with no power, the elevators weren’t usable. Mitch showed Cal the door to the emergency stairs. Nothing jumped out at them when they cautiously opened the door. The emergency lights were still operating in the stairwell. Between energy-efficient lightbulbs and long-life batteries they might run for ten years. Though dim, there was enough light that everyone could put away their flashlights.

“We’re heading three levels down,” Mitch said to Cal as they began their descent, Mitch leading. “Be very cautious on the landings. We’ve secured the doors from this side on previous visits, but who knows if anyone else has been here since then and left them open. Go slow and quiet.”

The others followed Mitch, spread out in a loose line. There were dark stains on the concrete walls and floor that Cal tried not to take any notice of. This stairwell had seen some action. He was ultracautious on the landings. Boards had been nailed across the doors to hold them closed, but he still half expected one to burst open and disgorge a horde of walking, rotting flesh.

But they made it to the third level with no interference. Maybe this place was as dead as its former resident now lying on the floor upstairs. The space they went into was huge. Mitch left Elaine by the door to the stairwell to cover their escape.

“Is that the only way out?” Cal asked nervously, glancing back.

“Not quite,” Mitch said. “There’s access to a sewer, which takes us back to the quay quite directly.”

“A sewer. Lovely. Shit and rats. I’ll take the zombies, thanks.”

“Thought you’d think that. It’s a last-resort escape route only. We’d never get the crates through.”

The drugs were in a room where the walls were still rock. The air was cool but very dry. Mitch pulled out the doctor’s list, and they started to fill a couple of plastic carry crates with the supplies. Given the weight of the crates, Cal and Mitch were going to be doing the hauling. Sure enough, when the first was full, Mitch and Cal carried it upstairs while Elaine and Blanca kept on filling the next one. In the end they made three trips—and stuffed whatever else they could manage into their packs.

“How do we get them to the boat?” Cal asked when they brought up the last one. A clattering sound made him turn. Blanca was wheeling over a warehouse cart. “So much for stealth,” he added.

“I know,” Mitch said. “But it’s quicker than hauling them by hand, and this place does at least have good flat roads. Let’s load it up and go.”

They went, and Cal and Mitch pushed and pulled the cart while the women provided cover. It didn’t exactly have much in the way of steering. It was like a giant supermarket cart in that regard, and just as maddening.

And as Cal had feared, the racket it made attracted zombies. Natalie had reported seeing some moving around the base from her vantage point, so they knew to expect them. As the group reached the quay with its wide, flat concrete surface, they gave in to the urge to run, shoving the cart ahead of them, rattling madly.

The crates were far too heavy to lift into the boat by hand, but the group had done this before—they had a block and tackle set up by the quay. Natalie jumped aboard first and swept the boat for intruders while Mitch and Cal manhandled the block and tackle into place. Natalie called out that they were all clear aboard, and Elaine joined her on deck to receive the crates. One by one Cal and Mitch hooked the crates and lowered them to the deck, bumping against the side of the quay. Natalie and Elaine guided them safely onto the
Cora
’s deck, then unhooked the rope for the next one.

Blanca covered their backs on the quay, rifle out. Cal almost jumped out of his skin when she fired as he and Mitch were hooking up the second crate. Zombies were shambling down the quay toward them.

“Keep moving,” Mitch snapped at Cal. “Quickly.”

Cal left the zombies to Blanca and tried to ignore the shots and the undead things moving inexorably in their direction. Tried not to think about the fact he had no place to go but the sea. More zombies kept arriving, drawn by the shots. Moths to a flame, attracted to what killed them. He and Mitch got the second crate down and began to load the last one.

“Mitch,” Blanca said. “We’ve got about two minutes before there’s too many, too close to hold off.”

“Understood,” Mitch said, still working. Only having him there kept Cal from jumping for it into the boat to get away. They were too close.
No time! Go now!
Mitch clearly thought otherwise. Blanca kept on picking the zombies off, and Mitch and Cal lowered the last crate. It touched the deck, and Elaine unhooked it.

“All aboard!” Mitch yelled.

They didn’t wait to climb down the ladder. The three of them jumped for it. Cal landed in a heap on the deck and rolled onto his back. The engine roared. Mitch scrambled across Cal, grabbed the fire ax, and chopped through the mooring rope, the ax striking the quay wall and trailing sparks.

“Go!” Mitch yelled up at Natalie in the wheelhouse. Blanca, lying on her back on the deck, was still firing at the zombies as they reached the edge of the quay. Most fell backward. One didn’t; it fell over the edge. And it wasn’t shot; it must have just fallen, pushed from behind by the others. It landed on the open stern of the boat, half on and half off, right by Cal. Instinctively he lashed out with his foot and caught it in the face. It disappeared with a splash. There were other splashes—more zombies falling over the quay. But the
Cora
was pulling away, and none of them came close to the boat. Cal flopped down on his back, panting with relief. Safe. They were safe. A shadow loomed over him, and he squinted up at Mitch.

“You okay?” Mitch knelt beside him. “Did you hurt yourself jumping?”

“Knocked the wind out of myself. Otherwise I’m fine.” He offered a hand to Mitch, who took it to help him sit up and then hauled him to his feet.

Mitch nodded, slapped his shoulder, and went to check on the others one by one. Cal stood for a moment, watching the shore shrinking behind them. Up at the steering wheel, Natalie was singing—“Eye of the Tiger” of all things. Eye of the Fucking Tiger. Her voice sounded a bit hysterical. Cal felt pretty damn hysterical. His knees were shaking. A little too close at the end there. And at the start and in the middle.

Fucking hell. Just fuck me.

“I’m going to make us some coffee,” Mitch called. “Can you secure the crates, please, people? I’d hate to lose them overboard after all that. And good work, all of you.” His eyes lingered a moment on Cal, an extra glance passing between them. Was there worry there? A worry about what might happen now that it was all over. A worry about Cal’s choice. If there was, it was soon gone as he turned to go down into the boat’s tiny cabin.

Cal helped Elaine and Blanca secure the crates and then followed Mitch below, finding him in the little galley, not only making coffee, but sandwiches. The commander taking care of his troops. Fuck him, why did he have to be so fucking…righteous?

Mitch jumped at the sound of Cal’s boots on the steps, and just for a second as he turned Cal saw the terror and exhaustion on his face. The mask slipped back quickly, but the look stopped Cal in his tracks. Mitch had been through something much worse than anything Cal had. Not today, before today. He was so strong on the surface, so ready to keep working, taking care of everyone else.

But inside…inside he was shattered.

Cal’s choice came easily then. He had to stay. Mitch needed him.

“Hey,” Mitch said. “Coffee’s ready.”

“Fuck the coffee.” Cal crowded Mitch against the bench he was working at, pulled him close, and kissed him. Mitch didn’t pull away. He put his arms up around Cal’s neck. The knife he’d been using clattered to the floor.

“Cal,” Mitch moaned softly as the kiss broke. “Please…stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He leaned in for a kiss again but pulled back at the sound of boots on the steps from the upper deck. Blanca and Elaine stopped at the sight of them, and Elaine grinned.

“I’d tell you two to get a room.” She nodded at the tiny bunk room. “But we’d still be able to hear you.”