Escape (10 page)

“It hasn’t failed me yet.”

“You’ve been here before?”

“This is where I lived for the first few days after the infection began,” she said. “I slept over there on those blankets, and I ate over there in that corner.”

She pointed to each of the locations in turn, and Dan followed her gaze. Sandy’s tone was calm and even, as if she were a realtor describing the newest property on the market. Gone was the frightened girl he had first seen on the rooftop; this new girl was confident and controlled.

Perhaps he’d found her at a moment of despair, and she’d since regained some of her fortitude.

Sandy walked to the corner and retrieved a set of folding chairs, then brought them to the center of the room and set them up for Dan and Quinn.

“I think the people who worked her used to use this as a break room. I found a pile of cigarette butts in one of the corners.” She laughed. “I even tried smoking them once when I got bored.”

Dan nodded. He stared at the chairs, but made no move to sit down. The rear entrance rattled and shook, and a chorus of fingernails scratched the exterior.

“Were there others with you?”

“No. I was alone. My parents died when I was twelve. Before all this I was living with my brother, but he didn’t make it.”

“Did he turn?”

“Yes.”

Sandy averted her eyes, and Dan knew not to press her any further. He paced the room for a few minutes, inspecting the racks and boxes, but found nothing of any use. The door was still shaking from the efforts of the creatures.

“They’ll leave when they get bored,” Sandy said. “But sometimes it takes a while.”

“How long did you say you were here?”

“A couple of days.”

“How’d you get that dumpster in front of the door?”

“It was already there. I think someone must have sealed the place off when things first started, right after people realized what was happening. I ran into a young couple in a convenience store and they told me about it. They’d been staying here for a day or so.”

“What happened to them?”

Sandy shook her head. “They didn’t make it, either.”

“What have you been eating?”

“When I was staying here, I would make trips into town and grab what I could find. At the lumberyard we have a stash of food.”

Dan told her about the contamination, and how, to the best of their knowledge, the food and water was the root cause of the infection. Then he told her about the provisions in the station wagon.

“We need to get that food back,” he said simply. “It wouldn’t be wise to trust anything else.”

The girl nodded gravely.

“I still can’t believe that Reginald left us behind like that. Hopefully he won’t tamper with what you had in the car.”

“Did you say there were ten people in the lumberyard?”

“Yes. Aside from Reginald and myself, there are eight others.”

Sandy listed off the names, but Dan didn’t recognize any of them. The town was small—though he knew a lot of the townsfolk, he didn’t know all of them.

“Has anyone talked about leaving?” he asked.

“A few have tried, but none have returned. I think everyone else is scared. One of the survivors—Hector—came from New Mexico. He said that things are even worse there, if that’s possible. They’re a good group of people. Except for Reginald, of course.”

Dan spoke about the agents, briefing the girl on everything they’d learned, and about the survivor’s they’d since parted ways with. Sandy listened intently, but didn’t appear to be surprised.

“With those men in white coats shooting people, we’ve been trying to stay hidden. This run was the first time anyone’s been out in days. We’ve been taking turns when our supplies get low, but nobody’s been rushing to volunteer. I was with a group of people and I got separated. That’s how I ended up at the bank.”

“I understand.”

Dan retrieved his pistol, which to his relief, he’d been able to keep tucked in his pants. He examined the weapon and determined he had only two bullets remaining.

“So what’s next?” Sandy asked.

Dan stared back at the door, where the cries of the creatures still rang with intensity.

“Now we wait.”

13

A
t the sound of John’s voice, Meredith felt her heart jump in her chest. She revved the engine of the pickup and cut the wheel, turning back in the direction of the furniture shop.

She’d successfully led the creatures a few hundred feet from the building, and while she’d prefer to have them even farther away, she knew that time was not on her side. By the looks of John—or what little she’d seen of him—he appeared to be injured and in need of help.

She couldn’t afford to wait any longer.

Before she knew it she was racing toward the building, the tires of the pickup kicking up dust and gravel. The creatures behind her had changed direction as well, but she’d bought herself a little time before they’d reach her. She needed to make this fast.

Meredith spun up next to the entrance and threw the vehicle into park, leaving the engine running. Then she opened the door and jumped out into the parking lot.

The door to the furniture shop stood ajar, but there was no sign of John. Her heart raced. Had he collapsed inside? Was he still waiting?

What if he’d turned?

In her haste, she’d forgotten her rifle on her seat. The only thing she’d been thinking about was rescuing him; concern for her own safety had gone out the window at the sight of him. But there was a real possibility that he’d been infected. That he could do her harm. In spite of her emotions, she needed to be cautious.

She edged up next to the door.

“John?” she called.

No answer. She kicked the door open with her foot, surveying the store’s interior. Almost all the furniture had been upheaved or shattered; the remaining pieces were buttressed against the doors and windows.

She called out again.

This time she heard a murmured response. John was calling her name. She burst through the doorway, heading toward the noise.

When she caught sight of the man her stomach tightened. John had wedged himself in a corner beneath a table, clutching his knees to his chest. His face was smeared with dirt and blood and his left leg looked it had been torn into. His rifle lay on the floor next to him.

“I thought you’d left,” he whispered.

Meredith felt her heart swell, and she fought back the tears.

“No. I wouldn’t do that.”

Outside, the commotion of restless bodies had grown louder. She spun and stared out the door. The herd was overtaking the building.

“We have to move.”

“I can’t. My leg…”

He pointed to his jeans, which were stained and torn just below the knee.

“We have to go!”

She reached beneath the table, took hold of his hands, and pulled him to his feet. John winced in pain, and when he stood, she noticed a puddle of blood where he’d been sitting. In the time she’d known him, she’d never seen him incapacitated like this. In her head, he’d always been her rock. Strong. Indestructible.

“Oh my God, John…”

She scanned the wound she’d seen seconds earlier, noticing that it was worse than she’d thought. He’d need medical attention. In any case, they had to move.

“Come on!”

She flung his arm over her shoulder and led him to front of the store. Several of the creatures had already reached the truck. Meredith motioned at John’s rifle on the ground.

“Are there any bullets left?”

“Only two. I was saving them, in case…”

“Wait here!”

She propped him against one of the beams and darted back to retrieve it. It was a .22, similar to the model she owned, and she tucked it under her arm. John had started to sag, and she took hold of him again, saving him from falling.

Before they could take a step, one of the things leapt through the door, fingers tearing at the air. She immediately recognized it as Scotty Maglund, a worker at the town post office. Unlike the man Meredith remembered—polite, friendly, always willing to lend a smile—the creature in front of her stared at her with a vacant expression, teeth bared and ready to gnash.

She squeezed the trigger of the rifle.

The bullet caught Kenneth in the teeth, and he sank forward, crashing into a broken chair. Next to her, John mumbled something. She pulled him forward.

“You can do it, John!”

He took several wearied steps beside her. Despite the fact that he had her outsized, she did her best to support him. She could see clearly through the door now: two of the creatures were on the bed of her pickup, flailing aimlessly at the sacks and lumber she had stored there; two others were headed right for them.

Only one bullet left Meredith.

The two things approached in succession—one behind the other. She lifted the rifle and aimed through the doorway, hoping to incapacitate them both.

Here goes nothing.

She fired her last round and struck the first in the neck. Fluid spit from the wound, and it toppled to the side, tripping up the other.

Thank God.

Meredith and John continued, reaching the doorway, and she pulled him along to the truck just ten feet away. Once at the door, she flung it open and ushered him inside.

“Get in, John!”

She’d assumed he would need assistance, but to her surprise, he took the last few steps on his own, as if the air outside had given him a burst of energy. Once he was inside, she slammed the door and prepared to run to the driver’s seat.

The creatures in the bed of the truck were already scrambling to get down. Before she could take a step, one of them leapt out at her. She tried to move, but she was too late. The thing crashed into her, and she cried out, losing her grip on the empty rifle.

Meredith pitched backward to the ground.

Her head struck the loose gravel, and she tried to roll, but the thing was already hovering over her. Unlike Scotty Maglund, this creature was one she didn’t recognize. It swiped at her stomach with clawed hands, already lowering its head to feast.

She kicked and writhed, but to no avail. The thing had her pinned, and she was powerless to stop it. She opened her mouth to scream, but all her breath was gone, and the sound lodged in her throat.

Even if she got something out, there would be no one to help her. The area was covered in fields, John was on the verge of unconsciousness, and everyone she knew appeared to have turned into one of the things.

Meredith was out of luck.

The thing’s eyes bore into her, two black orbs without pupils, and she batted at its cheeks. The creature’s skin was soft and pliant; not what she would have expected from something so vile. At one time, the thing had been a man in his twenties. Dark hair. Chiseled features.

Now its countenance was weathered and grotesque. She gritted her teeth, thinking it was going to be the last face she saw before she died.

A gunshot rang into the air.

The top of the creature’s head exploded, raining a residue of blood and bone onto her shirt and face. Before Meredith knew it, the thing had collapsed, and she pushed it off of her and rolled to safety.

When she glanced up, she saw John pointing her rifle through the open window of the pickup. He must have found it on the seat.

“Hurry!” he yelled.

She pushed herself up from the ground, her head spinning, and stumbled to the driver’s side of the vehicle.

A minute later they were careening out of the parking lot.

John was more alert than he had been before, but Meredith could tell he was in pain. His eyes fluttered and his head sagged onto the windowsill. In spite of his condition, he looked at Meredith and smiled.

“I never would’ve thought you had it in you,” he said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I always thought you were a pacifist.”

She scowled at him, but her heart warmed. It’d been so easy to hate him from a distance.

“How’s your leg?” she asked.

He was still clutching his calf, which had suffered a large gash. Having cleared the furniture shop, Meredith pulled to the side of the road and threw the pickup into park. Then she dug in the seat behind her and pulled out a spare shirt she had in back.

“We’re going to need to tie that up,” she said.

John extended his leg, allowing her to create a makeshift tourniquet. Once she’d tied it off, she instructed him to put pressure on the wound, hoping to keep it from bleeding further.

“What happened back there?” she asked.

“I’m not sure. One minute I was making a chair for Gladys Stevens, the next minute those things were crashing through the door. I was able to fight them back for a while, and I even got them outside, but right before I closed the door one of them took a chunk out of me.”

“Jesus, John.”

“I’m sorry, Meredith. The last thing I wanted was to drag you into this. I put you in danger.”

“I was the one who called you. And besides, I don’t think there’s any escaping it at this point. These things are everywhere.”

She relayed her story about Sheila, Dan, and Marcy. John listened closely, his face growing more somber by the minute. Watching his reaction, she felt a renewed sense of emotion. Because everything had happened so fast, she’d barely had time to process what had occurred.