The Infected: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (6 page)

Sam closed her eyes and did as he instructed. Her mind wandered to the burning buildings, and she pictured standing in the field on the edge of town. The overgrown grass itching at her legs. David's crumpled body lying at her feet. His skin gray and already decomposing. The number seared into his skin.

"Soak in every detail," Holden said, "no matter how much it hurts."

Tears streamed down Sam's face but she didn't wipe them away. Instead, she concentrated on the memories. They appeared even clearer. Men in yellow biohazard jumpsuits walked toward her. They scanned her retinas and put her on a bus. The field igniting in flames. David still there, helpless. Sam opened her eyes.

"You can both remember that night, correct?" Holden asked.

"Yes," they said in unison.

"Now close your eyes again," Holden instructed.

"Is there a point to all this?" Jordan asked.

"Yes," Holden answered.

"Well, what is it?"

"Close your eyes and you will see."

Sam did as he asked and closed her eyes again.

"Clear your mind," Holden said, "and try to remember a day before the virus. Any day. Birthday. Christmas. First day of school."

Sam searched her memories but nothing remained except blurred and distorted images. She shifted in her chair and concentrated harder.

"I played with this boy in a field by the city," Sam said. "His name was David. We used to play games in the field." Her heart ached at the sound of his name. The image of his body flashed through her mind and she opened her eyes. "He died during the infection."

"But you can remember him before the infection? You can see yourself playing tag with him?" Holden steadied his voice. "Think as hard as you can, Sam."

Sam closed her eyes again. She pictured David in the field, but the only memory that came to her mind was the one of his lifeless body curled into the fetal position. She thought harder, confident the memories would flood back into her mind. But nothing came. Sam shook her head and opened her eyes. "I can't see them but I know we played them."

Holden nodded as if he understood and looked to Jordan whose eyes were still clamped shut. "And you, Jordan? Do you remember anything before the event?"

"I helped my father work on his car," Jordan said. His voice shook when he spoke and Sam squeezed his hand under the table. He didn't squeeze back. "Every weekend," he continued, "he would take me to the garage and we would work on the motor."

"And you can see this, you and your father?"

"No."

Jordan opened his eyes. A single tear rolled down his cheek. Sam's heart broke at the sight of it. She had never seen Jordan cry before. He was always so strong, so tough. He was her rock. His face had grayed and his palm was sweaty.

"You know these things to be facts, though?" Holden asked. "Playing tag in the field? Working on the car with your father? In your mind, you hold these as truths?"

"They are truths," Jordan said.

"Tell me what your father looked like, Jordan," Holden said.

Jordan didn't answer.

"Sam, who did you live with before the infection?"

"My mother," Sam answered.

"Describe her."

Sam squeezed her eyes shut, but again, there was nothing but a blank slate. A deep panic swelled in her chest as she grasped for any mental image of her mother she could find.

"What color hair did she have?"

Nothing.

"What color were her eyes?"

Again, nothing.

"What color was the car, Jordan?" Holden asked.

"I don't know."

"How tall was he?"

"I don't know."

"What did he—?"

"I told you, I don't know!" Jordan screamed. The outburst caused Sam to jump in her chair. The questions had shaken him. He buried his head in his hands and Sam ran the fingers of her free hand through his thick brown-black hair.

"It's okay," she whispered.

"No," Jordan said. "No it's not."

"As I told you before, I am a biogenetic engineer and before I came to New Hope I worked in a city called Concordia."

The name of the city echoed in Sam's brain and her stomach knotted. She thought back to the words in her file, 'Results recorded in main file in Concordia.'

"It's a city a hundred times larger than this one," Holden said, "located in the middle of the country."

"Bullshit," Jordan blurted out. "Everyone is dead, infected or lives in this city. There were no other survivors. No other cities, or towns, or villages. New Hope is the last beacon of light left in this hellhole."

"And how do you know this?"

"That's what they told us," Jordan said.

"The Ministry has told you a lot of things haven't they?"

Neither Sam nor Jordan responded to this. The Ministry had told them
everything
for the last ten years: what to eat, what to wear, what to do and especially what to think. The knot in her stomach grew tighter.

"Concordia gave you the memories of the fires and the men shipping you the quarantine centers. All the vague memories that you know as fact are all lies. They implanted a biochip into your brains. It controls your thoughts. Suppresses the old ones."

Sam's head swam. She closed her eyes again, as tight as she could, and tried to envision her mother or her father. Anything besides for David's cold, dead corpse lying in the field. She concentrated on remembering the city before it was burning, but there were no memories to back up the facts she knew.

"That's impossible," Sam whispered.

"What's going to seem even more impossible is the event you two remember so vividly—the infection—happened over 300 years ago."

There was a long pause. Sam tried to comprehend the words: 300 years ago. She couldn't. It didn't make sense. None of this did. "You've lost your mind," she said.

"I wish that was the case," Holden said. "But I assure you, I'm very much in control of my facilities."

"But why?" Sam asked. "How?"

"Your DNA is resistant to the virus," Holden said. "It possesses a certain genetic makeup we can neither identify nor duplicate. The weekly blood samples are collected to produce an anti-viral drug that's then administered to the citizens of Concordia."

Silence.

"The actual kill percentage of the virus fell more in the 97 percent range," Holden continued. "A large majority of survivors were cryogenically frozen and are reactivated as others from around the country pass on. The—"

"You're a liar!" Jordan slammed both his hands down onto the wooden table. "What would be the point? Why put on this charade? Why erase our memories and force us to live out in this Hell on Earth? Why not just keep us in the lab and milk us like cattle?"

"Because we're their science experiment," Robertson said. Her cold words sent chills up Sam's spine.

"New Hope, along with several other facilities around the country, is functioning as a giant science project," Holden said. "The primary purpose is blood cultivation but the secondary initiative is to test how far humans can be pushed. Where is the breaking point in mankind?"

"No—" Jordan started but Holden continued.

"Everything is monitored and recorded. The foods you eat, where you sleep, what you do. They're all controlled experiments. They harvest the data and implement it into how the citizens of Concordia live their life. The goal of the science project is to use the data collected to create a utopia in the center of Hell."

"It's not true," Jordan said.

"These science experiments have been happening since long before I was born. I've watched them since I was an intern in the Ministry's Science department. I've seen the horrors your people are subjected to." Holden's voice was grim and when he finished he sighed.

"You've seen the horrors?" Jordan asked. "Try living through them. Try watching everyone you love get taken away from you. Try living in a shit-box like New Hope."

"I can't imagine the struggles you've suffered," Holden said.

"No, you can't," Jordan said.

"That's why I'm telling you this," Holden continued. "The six executed today were working for me."

"The ones that let in the infected?" Sam asked.

"They didn't let in the infected," Holden said. "I did."

8

A deafening silence swallowed the room. The revelation caused Sam's insides to ache. Rebecca had died because of him. She struggled to stay in her seat. Her blood boiled and every muscle fiber yearned to rise out of her chair and rip out Holden Deckard's throat.

"The recruits' job," Holden continued, "was to infiltrate New Hope's data warehouse and collect as much evidence as possible. The majority of Concordia's citizens aren't aware of this facility's existence, and the purpose of the resistance is to pull back the curtain. Expose the dirty truth behind it all. The Ministry caught them hacking into the computers and I needed a distraction to obtain the information they'd collected before—"

"A distraction?" Sam asked. Her hands trembled with anger. "That distraction cost the life of a little girl. Did you know that?"

Holden looked down at the table and frowned. "Robertson made me aware of the child's death along with several others." When he looked back up, his eyes gleamed wet. "Was she important to you?"

"Very," Sam said.

He nodded. "I am sorry. I don't take the tragedy of the girl's death lightly. Or any of the others. I did what needed to be done to ensure that we can move forward."

"Her name was Rebecca," Sam said.

"Yes," Holden said.

"Say it."

"I'm sorry?"

"Say her name," Sam demanded.

"Rebecca," Holden said.

There was a long pause as the two stared at each other.

"Maybe we should take a break," Robertson said. "It's getting late. We can resume this in the morning."

"Why would we stay here?" Sam asked. "We're done as far as I'm concerned."

"Where are you going to go?" Robertson asked. "There's a whole city looking for you. Orders are to shoot on sight."

"We'll take our chances," Sam said.

Sam rose from the table and Jordan followed suit, but Cole stepped in-between them and the door.

"Miss Sam," Cole said, "what if I asked you to stay? Just tonight. And listen to the rest in the morning? You do that and if you still wanna leave, I'll help you get out of the city myself."

"Cole, I—" Sam started.

"I helped you get Jordan out," Cole interrupted. "All I'm askin' is you hear the man out."

"That's not fair," Jordan said. "Rebecca died."

"Ain't got time for fair," Cole said. "And everybody in this room is sad about that little girl. I can guarantee that. Wasn't no one's intention to get anybody hurt. That infected boy wasn't supposed to make it to the city. The soldiers at the gate shoulda seen him. Shoulda pulled the alarm a lot sooner."

"It doesn't make it better," Sam said.

"Naw," Cole said. "I reckon it doesn't. But neither will runnin' away from this. This thing is bigger than all of us."

Sam gritted her teeth together. She wanted to run out of this place, but where would she go. How long did she have on the outside before they caught and executed her? If she stayed, she'd compromise everything she believed in, but if she left, she'd be putting Jordan at risk as well as herself.

"I'll stay the night," Sam said. She turned back to Holden and Robertson. "You have two hours tomorrow morning to say whatever you have to say and then we're leaving."

"Thank you," Holden said.

"Don't thank me," she said. "Thank Cole."

They excused themselves from the group, and Sam and Jordan followed Cole into the offices beyond the conference table. He stopped at a small office toward the end of the hallway and opened the door with one of the many keys on the massive key ring.

"I know you two ain't married." Cole said. "But I don't suppose no one here is gonna mind you shacking up tonight. Unless, you two want separate rooms and that ain't no problem either."

"One room is fine," Sam said.

He pointed down the hall, back toward the conference room. "Washrooms still work. Tapped into one of the Ministry's water lines a few months ago when Tyler and his crew got recruited. Ain't got no soap or toothbrushies—"

Sam snorted at the pronunciation of toothbrushes and Cole's face flushed. "I'm sorry Cole," she said. "I wasn't trying to hurt your feelings. Toothbrushies…it's cute." The red in Cole's cheeks deepened, but a smile widened across his face. No damage done.

"I set a couple MREs on the table in your room," he continued. "Found a bunch of 'em at the hospital locked in one of the supply closets. Don't taste great, but they'll keep the meat on your bones. Laid the first-aid kit next to 'em."

"What's an MRE?" Sam whispered to Jordan.

"Meals Ready to Eat," Jordan whispered back.

"Why do you think there was a bunch stored at the hospital?" Sam asked.

"Don't rightly know, Miss Sam," Cole answered. "Got Holden all confused too."

"How are they still edible?" Jordan asked. "There's no way they would've kept for 300 years."

"They ain't that old," Cole answered. "These were made in Concordia. At least that's what it says on the packaging."

"But it doesn't have a date?" Sam said.

"No," Cole said.

"Do you know what year it is?" Sam asked.

Cole stroked his thick gray beard and shook his head. "Naw. Holden said it's been about 300 years since the fall. That would put us at 2332. Can't be entirely sure though."

"About anything it seems," Sam said.

"Or anyone," Jordan added.

"I know you're mad at Holden," Cole said. "I would be too if I was in your position. But he's playin' for the right team. I can promise you that much. He'll tell you the rest tomorrow. You'll see."

"I hope so," Sam said.

"You will."

Cole turned and walked down the hallway and disappeared out of sight. Jordan ran his hand through hair and shook his head. "What the hell is going on?"

Sam shrugged.

"How you holding up?" he asked. Gently, he pressed his thumb against the cut on her head. It stung, and she winced at the pain. He pulled his hand away from the cut and rested it against her cheek.

"I don't know," Sam answered.

It was the most honest answer she could give. The executions in the plaza seemed like a lifetime ago. Holden's revelation about their past coupled with everything else…was she dreaming? None of this could be real. Could it? She felt numb. Empty.

"I'm glad you're here with me," she said.

"Me too," he said.

They took turns going to the washroom. The water drizzled down in freezing spurts, but she was grateful for every drop. She grimaced when she pulled back on the dirty coveralls and sweaty undergarments.

They met back in their sleeping quarters and Sam took a seat on the floor against the far wall. Jordan brought over the first-aid kit Cole had left and one of the MREs. He squatted down beside her.

"What do you make of all this?" he asked.

He pressed an alcohol wipe to her wound and Sam cringed as the pain shot through her forehead.

"Sorry," he said, recoiling his hand.

"It's fine," she said through gritted teeth. "Just get it over with."

He pressed the wipe to her forehead again. Her head throbbed, but the pain was duller than before.

"I don't know what to make of it," Sam said. "Those things they said in the conference room, none of it seems real. How could they erase all of our memories? How does no one know about any of this?"

Jordan removed a bandage from the tin box and opened it. "We only know what they want us to. We're their puppets."

The words sent shivers down Sam's spine.

"If there's a chip in our mind suppressing our old memories then maybe there's a way to disable it. We can be fixed."

"We're not broken," Sam whispered.

"You know what I mean."

"I know."

Jordan placed the bandage over the cut and then kissed the top of her forehead.

"I'm sorry," Sam said.

"Don't—"

"It's all my fault."

"No, it's not," Jordan said. He sat down beside her. "None of this is your fault. It's theirs." He pointed at the corner of the MRE where 'Concordia' was printed in big bold letters.

Sam nodded but didn't speak. They sat in silence as Jordan opened the MRE. It consisted of a package of beef enchiladas, refried beans, crackers, cheese spread, and two cookies. They read the heating instructions, fumbled around with the packaging and then decided they weren't hungry after all. They split the two cookies and the package of crackers.

Cole was right. They tasted horrible. The cookies were dry and the crackers stale. When they finished, Jordan retrieved two glasses of water from the washroom.

"We should get some sleep," he said after they refilled their water glasses.

"Sleep sounds good."

There were no blankets or pillows or sheets. They stretched out on the hard wooden floor and Jordan wrapped an arm around her waist. He pulled her body close to his, her back to his chest. She rested her weary head onto his outstretched arm, and she asked him if it was okay.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," he answered.

"You can't be comfortable."

"I've never been more comfortable."

Sam felt the same way. They'd never been this close, yet their bodies locked together like they had been designed for that sole purpose. Sam turned so she could look at him.

"Jordan?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"I love you too."

She kissed him deeply. His lips were warm and full. Why couldn't there have been a lifetime of these kisses?

"Remember the flowers," Jordan said as he pulled away.

"I will."

A moment of silence passed and Sam felt herself slipping toward her dreams. Effigies of enflamed towers etched their way across the back of her mind. She forced herself to keep her eyes open. To not drift off before she had a chance to say what she needed to.

"In case we don't wake up," Sam said, "I want you to know that I've loved you since the day I met you. And whether that was ten years ago, or twenty, or 300, that feeling's never changed. If I could do it all over again, I would let you—"

Jordan interrupted her with a kiss. She melted into his arms and he pulled her closer. The kiss was sweet and rough and the best of her entire life. He pulled away and smiled and then they fell asleep in each other's arms.

Sam didn't dream of the burning city. Moments after they dozed off, Cole Porter burst into the room. He was yelling, but it took Sam a moment for her brain to catch up to the current situation. The unfamiliar place. Cole's thick southern drawl. The shouting. Everything was foggy.

"Gotta go now!"

His words clicked and panic rushed through Sam's body.

"Now!" he yelled.

They scrambled to their feet. Sam's head throbbed again, worse than when she had nodded off. She touched a hand to her head and felt it was puffy and swollen.

"What's going on?" Jordan asked.

"We got word the Minister is sendin' the transport out early. After it leaves, they're lockin' down the city for good. 'Til they find her." He nodded toward Sam and her head throbbed harder as her pulse quickened.

"What transport?" Sam asked.

"The blood truck," Cole said. "They take the samples to Concordia every week. Leave in the middle of the night when everyone's asleep. They're sendin' off the latest samples and they ain't openin' the gates again until you two are dead. It's our only shot of getting' you two out of here alive."

"What are we waiting for?" Jordan asked.

"But…" Sam started but her voice trailed off. The news that Rebecca's death was the result of Holden's ill-thwarted plan was still fresh on her mind.

"If we stay, they'll kill us," Jordan said. "At least this way we have a chance and I'm not ready to lose you."

She hesitated for a moment longer and then said, "Okay."

They followed Cole back to the conference room. She expected to find Holden and Robertson waiting for them but the room was empty. A small fire erupted in Sam's guts.

"Where are they?" she asked. She didn't try to mask the panic in her voice. "Where are Holden and Robertson?"

"They went on ahead," Cole said as he jerked open the door leading back to the train yard. "There's a whole mess of soldiers guarding the gates. They're getting in position. Didn't want to put you two in any more danger than necessary."

The knot in her stomach clenched tighter as she stared into the pitch-black darkness beyond the doorway. This was it. No matter what happened, they had spent their last night in New Hope. By sunrise, they would be dead or traveling through the wastelands. She swallowed hard and plunged into the lightless hallway.