Plague World (Ashley Parker Novel) (25 page)

All I needed was to figure out where it was, and how I was going to get there. From one of my childhood family trips, I had a vague recollection that it was out on a peninsula past Point Loma, one of the more expensive neighborhoods in San Diego. I’d need transportation.

First, however, I needed to get out of the facility without being swarmed by zombies, or ambushed by our unknown enemies. That meant the way we’d come in and the exit via the kitchen were both out. The “back door” Lil had used was probably also a no-go, since Griff knew where it was. That just left the one option—the exit Appel had described as “not easy to find.”

No surprise there.

Whoever was responsible for the assault, they had scavenged most of the weapons and gear, but they must’ve been in a hurry because I spotted my knapsack under the table where I’d dropped it, hidden by one of the corpses. I gingerly pulled it out, trying not to look at the corpses of my teammates. I winced at the nasty sound made by the canvas as it separated from a tacky pool of blood.

Moving to a table that was free of bodies and blood, I performed a quick inventory. Thanks to Griff, I was pretty much down to bare bones. He’d taken my radio—not that I had anyone I could call now—my M4, and the squirrel rifle. Most of all I mourned the absence of my katana. On the plus side, without all the gear banging around, I’d be able to move quickly and quietly.

I still couldn’t figure out why Griff had taken the rifles and sword, but left me my pistol and tanto, but I’d given up trying to figure him out. As far as that prick was concerned, all that mattered was finding him and—to use one of my dad’s favorite phrases—turning his asshole into a turtleneck.

Rifling through my remaining goodies, I tossed the extra M4 magazines—they wouldn’t be much use without the rifle—and the extra drum mags, too. Those I emptied first, since the .22 rounds would fit the Ruger.

Nathan would be proud—and surprised—that I’d retained something from his firearms lecture.

Finding a stray hair elastic in the mix, I braided my hair and folded it double, securing it with the band to keep it out of my face. Then I sheathed my tanto and strapped it into its usual cross-shoulder position.

Even if I made it out, I’d need transportation. Too bad I didn’t know how to fly a helicopter. The roads would be FUBAR, though probably not as bad as San Francisco had been. I needed a vehicle, preferably one with working GPS. Finding an available car was a big “if,” though, since I hadn’t learned hotwiring in my spare time. I needed keys—preferably ones with a remote.

I tried not to feel like a grave robber as I reluctantly started patting down corpses and pulling out keys. I was on my fourth corpse when a creaking noise came from somewhere above. I had the Ruger out of its holster with a speed that would have done Quick Draw McGraw proud, and aimed it at the top of the access ladder as the hatch slowly opened.

“Stay where you are,” I ordered as a pair of feet in Doc Martens appeared on the top rung of the ladder. “I’m armed, I’m really pissed off and I will not hesitate to shoot.”

“It’s Appel,” came the muffled reply from up top. “I’m coming down.”

The feet descended another rung, but I wasn’t buying it. At this point, I didn’t know whom I could trust.

“I said, stay where you are!” I fired a warning shot about a foot away from his Doc Martens. It pinged off the cement wall. Not a lot of stopping power, but he didn’t know that.

The feet froze in place.

“I’ve got Aimee and her daughter up here. Grace is hurt. She’s bleeding badly. I need to get them down there now—to the first aid kit.”

Shit.

But it could be a ploy.
“Aimee, are you up there?” I called.

“Yes.” I heard a muffled sob. “Please… we need to get Grace some help. They got her in the leg.”

Those bastards shot a child?
I took a deep breath. Okay, it still might be bullshit, but I’d take that chance. I moved over behind a pile of boxes, just in case, keeping my pistol trained on the ladder.

“Okay, come down.”

Appel descended first, slowly, as if the movement hurt. He stopped partway down and reached up as Aimee handed a semi-conscious Grace down to him. Grace had a makeshift bandage tied around her lower right leg, but it fell as she was jostled by the movement, and she gave a little whimper.

I gasped when I saw the unmistakable imprint of human teeth that had sunk in deep and taken away a chunk of flesh. Her patent-leather shoe was soaked with blood, and the wound itself had already started to turn black.

Oh, god—poor Grace. Poor Aimee.
I closed my eyes for a moment, my heart hurting so badly I could barely breathe.

Opening my eyes again, I holstered the Ruger and ran over to help Appel as he laboriously carried a semi-conscious Grace the rest of the way down the ladder. Aimee followed swiftly, her face white with shock and fear, her daughter’s blood splattered over her dress and hands.

“What happened?” I asked as we set Grace down on one of the empty cots. She whimpered again, her skin tone sallow. A little bit of black fluid oozed out of one of her nostrils.

Appel didn’t answer, and turned to Aimee.

“Get me the first aid kit.” She nodded and vanished into the kitchen. Then he looked at me.

“The bastards got in through the entrance in the back of the House of Hospitality,” he said. “They opened the door, and let the zombies in.” He turned back to Grace, gently removing the bandage from her leg as he continued, “As soon as the first ones came through the door, I knew we’d been breached. I told Aimee to bring Grace and follow me up to the air chamber. We could lock the hatch from above.”

“What about everyone else?” I gestured around the room at the carnage.

A brief flash of guilt passed over his face, only to be replaced by a stony façade.

“There wasn’t enough room for everyone,” he said quietly. “And not enough time to get them up the ladder. As it was…” He shook his head and gently brushed Grace’s hair back from her forehead. That simple gesture spoke volumes of the person he really was, beneath the bad temper. “One of them managed to take a bite out of Grace,” he said. “Your people started firing on the zombies. Last thing I saw before I closed the hatch were men with guns. They came in from the kitchen, and started firing on your people.”

“Were they wearing black?” I asked.

He thought for a moment, then nodded.

“Yes. Yes, they were.”

Bastards.
By itself, what they wore didn’t mean anything—hell,
I
was wearing black. But there wasn’t any doubt in my mind.

Aimee returned with a large white box, a ubiquitous red cross stamped on the front. She set it on the cot next to the one on which Grace lay, fear for her daughter clearly etched on her face. I wanted to tell her everything would be okay, but I couldn’t. I knew all too well what fate awaited this sweet little girl unless, by some miracle, she was a wild card.

That brief hope died when Grace started coughing—thick, rasping coughs that turned into a liquid choking sound, as if she was drowning from within. Appel immediately lifted her upper body from the cot, just in time for Grace to expel a mouthful of black, foul-smelling fluid. More blood trickled from her nose.

The choking turned into feeble crying.

Aimee moved to comfort her, but Appel shook his head and motioned her back.

“Don’t touch her. She’s infected.”

“Are you crazy?” Aimee once again reached for her daughter, but I grabbed her arm, holding tight when she tried to yank away.

“He’s right,” I said, facing her furious glare without flinching. “If you get any of her blood or vomit in an open wound, even a scrape, you’ll die too.”

Aimee leaned in close.

“My husband is dead,” she said, biting off each word for emphasis. “Ripped to pieces in front of us. So if you think I’m going to let my daughter suffer without the comfort of her mother’s touch, you’re crazy. Now let go of my arm.”

I stared at her for a beat, saw the determination and anguish in her eyes, and slowly let go of her. She immediately pushed past Appel and sat on the cot, cradling Grace in her arms.

Appel dug into the first aid kit, pulling out antiseptic, antibiotic ointment, and bandages. He quickly and deftly cleaned the wound, wincing when Grace thrashed. I knew how much pain she was in. I wished I could take it away from her.

Aimee stroked Grace’s hair, murmuring soothingly to her, tears running unheeded down her face as Appel slathered the wound with ointment before wrapping clean bandages around it. His own willingless to risk infection made me admire him even more.

He then turned to me. “You’ve had more experience with this than I have,” he said. “Is there anything else I can do for her?” His expression told me he already knew the answer, but hoped against hope he was wrong.

“Make her comfortable,” I said softly. “If you have anything that will knock her out, spare her the pain. It—” I stopped and swallowed, unable to continue.

“You said you were looking for a cure,” Aimee said softly.

I nodded. “We’re trying to find it. The people who did this… they’re trying to stop us.”

“If you find it… can you help her?” She stared at me with fierce hope, but my expression told her all she didn’t want to know.

She bowed her head and took a deep breath.

“How long?”

As if in answer, Grace’s body began to convulse and more black fluid gushed out of her mouth. I shook my head wordlessly, unable to speak as tears welled up in my eyes.

Thankfully it didn’t last long. Grace heaved one last shuddering breath before her body went limp. Appel took a blanket from another cot and draped it gently over her body and face.

I hated what I had to say next.

“She’s going to come back.”

Aimee looked at me without comprehension. “What do you mean?”

“This thing… this virus, I mean. It brings you back after it kills you.”

For a brief second, a terrible hope flashed in Aimee’s eyes. Then it dimmed.

“You mean back as one of those things, don’t you?” she said dully. “A zombie.”

I nodded.

“Yeah. And she won’t know who you are. You’ll just—” Oh, I hated this world. “You’ll be food to her. And that’s how it spreads.”

Aimee looked down at her daughter’s corpse.

“How long?” she asked again.

At that moment, Grace’s corpse twitched beneath the blanket.

I looked at Appel. “Take her out of here, now.”

Aimee put her hand on my arm.

“No. I’m staying with her to the end.”

“Are you sure?” I gestured around the room. “Look at them. You’ve seen what I had to do in here. It’s the only way. So if you can’t handle it, you need to leave.”

She nodded.

Another twitch under the blanket as Grace began to wake up.

“I want to be here.” Aimee took a deep breath. “I
need
to be here.” Appel put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

The blanket slid down as Grace sat up, her beautiful green eyes now milky white in a sea of red-streaked yellow. Her mouth opened and closed, teeth clacking like a malevolent nutcracker.

I took my tanto, and drove it home. Then I bowed my head over Grace’s body, and cried alongside her mother.

Appel set a mug of soup in front of me. I looked up and gave him a shadow of a smile.

“Thanks.”

He nodded and put another one in front of Aimee, who stared at it blankly for a few seconds before reaching out and cradling it between her hands.

We were both sitting at the table where I’d spread out my gear. Grace’s body was covered up with the blanket over on the cot and all the other bodies had been stacked on one side of the room as neatly as possible, with blankets over them as well. They stank—the whole room did—but we didn’t have the strength to move them into one of the rooms down the hall.

I took a sip of the soup—Campbell’s chicken noodle again, which was fine by me.

“I need to get out of here,” I said.

“Won’t be easy,” Appel said, sitting across from me with his own mug of soup. “Those things are all over the place now. Last time I checked up top, they were piled up against the doors and pouring in like army ants from all directions.”

“What about the kitchen exit?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I can hear them against the outer hatch. The assholes that did this got them all riled up.”

“I could try the route Lil took,” I thought out loud. “But that fucker Griff must’ve told them about it.” I looked at Appel. “What about the other back door you mentioned? The one that you said was harder to find?”

“The one at the end of the utility corridors.” Appel nodded. “It’s a bit tricky getting there, and you’ll likely come up in the middle of a bunch of zombies. The entire park is thick with them.”

“That’s a chance I’ll have to take,” I said, wondering if I had a hope in hell of making it on my own, and then dismissing the thought as unimportant. I had to try. “I need you to help me. So show me how to get out of here. Can you draw me a map?”

Appel shook his head.

“It won’t work. You’ll be ripped to pieces.”

“Damn it!” I slammed my fist on the table. Appel flinched, but Aimee just stared into her soup. “I don’t have a choice! If I don’t get my people back, this shit’s going to keep spreading until there’s nothing left!”

Aimee slowly raised her head and spoke, her words so soft they were almost lost.

“Do you really think a cure is possible?”

“Yes.” I reached over and took her hand in mine. “The people who did this, they know it is. And they don’t want us to find it. Maybe they want to control it, maybe they want everyone to die. I don’t know. But I do know this—that it’s the only chance we have to stop it, or even slow it down.”

“Would it help if we could draw the zombies away from you?” Aimee’s expression sharpened.

“Y-e-es,” I said with hesitation. “But it would take a helluva distraction to take their attention away from live prey.”

She stood up. “The organ,” she said. “I can play the organ, and draw them to the pavilion while you get out the back way.”