Four (Their Dead Lives,1) (22 page)

“Man, she has one fine body, don’t she?” Miller smiled lecherously, his lips curling back to reveal his small teeth.

“Yeah, well she’s dating the Mexican version of Zac Efron, so don’t get too excited.”
 

“Efron has made some good movies now, I mean he started out as a twerp but he’s grown into a fine actor. But I don’t think Alec is Mexican.”

He takes everything with a pound of salt.
“He’s some kind of Latino.”

“Alec Gutierrez? Yeah, suppose so. Oh, wait, I think his real name is Alejandro. I forget why he changed it.”
 

Evans was growing tired of this pointless conversation. “Can you do me a favor?”
 

“What do you need?”
 

“Stay up here and keep a look out for any boats, ships, or anything. Come down and get me if you spot anything.”
 

Miller nodded. “Will do.”
 

“Okay on ammo?”
He should be.
 

“Yeah, got those bullets you gave me this morning.”
 

“Amen. Make them count.” Evans left, made his way back to the cabin, passing all the sleeping people on the interior berths, and pressed against the cabin door to listen. Quiet inside.
They seem to have already finished.
He pushed the door open and his uncle waved for him to enter. He closed it behind him.
 

Erica lay semi-conscious on the bed. Her face was pale and her lips quivered. Blood-soaked towels covered what was left of her leg. In the bathroom, Pat rinsed off the axe and explained, “We had to take the leg, at her upper calf. If it kept spreading it would’ve turned her.”
 

“You’re sure?” Evans helped his uncle to his feet.
 

“We’re pretty sure. Not all the way. It was our best course of action, though.”
 

And if it doesn’t work, then I have the only cure.
His fingers brushed against his holstered gun.
 

“How’s it looking out there?” his uncle asked.
 

“Us and the water.”
 

“Good, keep an eye on her for a second, realized I left my shotgun up in the bridge. Not the smartest thing.”
 

Runs in the family.
Evans made his way to the bed and knelt once again by Erica’s side. He grabbed her hand. Her fingers moved but they were weak. Drool dripped off her lips. He grabbed a towel and dabbed her mouth. Her eyes were distant.
 

“I’m alive?”

“Yes. You’re safe now.”
 

Sampson wanted me to save her. I did that. I fulfilled his final order.
This time, Erica forced a half-smile and Evans got excited,
too excited
, at the idea of kissing her again. As he tightened his grip around her hand, the cabin door swung open. He figured Uncle Dylan had just left the room. He figured wrong.
 

Kale stepped in, aimed Dylan’s shotgun at Erica.
 

Evans leapt to his feet, reaching for his pistol. “No!”
 

Kale pumped.
 

The spread flew across the room, and Erica’s face exploded in a shower of blood. Evans struck Kale before he could pump again, pinned him to the ground, and threw the shotgun out of reach. A vein bulged from Evans’ forehead as he throttled Kale.
 

“Jonny!” his uncle cried. “Jonny, what did he do?”
 

You don’t look back till you take every breath he has.
His grip tightened around Kale’s neck.

“She,” Kale choked and gasped, “she was infect-infected.”
 

“No,” Evans growled, “she was one of us.”

KALE

Stay awake. Things are not what they seem.
 

Outside on the main deck, Kale fought to keep his eyes open. He’d watched them bring Erica into the interior.
Bit. Dangerous. Must. Stay awake.
 

Miller walked past Kale. “What’s going on?” he asked the deputy.
 

“Talk to me again and I’ll put those cuffs back on you,” was the only reply he received. Miller left the main deck.
 

Bitter asshole.
Kale stayed on his back. Howard snored viciously on the bench across from him.
 

The interior of the yacht was dark.
So much darker than out here.
He wondered if they were killing her or trying to save her. He doubted there was any cure.
So soon? No way.
His eyes grew heavier, his head lighter, and his body went to rest.
 

He forced himself off the bench and his legs carried him to the interior, and he passed the sleeping forms of Alec, Nicole, and Homer. Although he wanted to stop and check on them, he kept moving, heading right for the closed cabin door.
 

From inside came a stifled scream and a thud that shook Kale’s bones. The door seemed to shrink with every step he took. He tried to stop and call the others for help, but instead, he kept moving, his feet padding silently along the carpet. His hand was outstretched, his eyes on the door.
 

Tremors ran through his hand as it hovered over the gold handle. He briefly formed a fist before resting his palm flat on the door. A deep sigh and his fingers slid around the handle. Cold, so cold it sent a warm shiver down his spine.
 

Another thud from within the room.
 

Do it, Kale!
 

The door blew open, striking Kale to the floor. He stared at Erica leaning rabidly over him. Blood covered her face and dripped from her lips. A chunk of human flesh rolled off her chin. She licked her lips and he could tell she wanted to devour him. Behind her, the white cabin room was covered in red. Blood was splashed as high as the ceiling. He saw Dr. Dylan crawling on the floor, reaching for something. With one hand, the doctor clutched his hollowed-out eye socket, while with the other he shakily reached for his eyeball rolling along the carpet.
 

Pat was dead, eviscerated, on the bed.
 

Miller was in the room. Evans tried to resuscitate him but the deputy choked to death on his own tongue.
 

Kale’s view of the room was cut off. Erica pounced on him and struck for his face. He shoved his hands against her chest and screamed, kicking his legs in a frenzy. Drool fell from her mouth and her tongue flopped long and moist against his cheek. His fingers sunk into her face, the side of it blown open. He tried to shove her away; he tried to dig his hand deeper into her skull to destroy her brain, but he was too weak.
 

He tried to scream but found no voice. His hands gave out and he realized she was chewing on his ribs, but he felt nothing. His vision blurred as a red chunk of his heart fell from her mouth.
 

Get a gun!
 

This thought blasted through Kale’s mind after he jerked awake from the nightmare. Shakes consumed his sweaty body. He fell off the bench and landed on all fours on the deck. He raised his head, his eyes locked to the dark interior.
Get a gun.
He remembered the shotgun in the bridge that belonged to the good doctor. He also remembered the night before when they reached the yacht, Dylan had held off the remaining horde as they waited for Evans and made their escape. He remembered how badass the doctor looked, blasting and yelling, “Get the hell off my boat!”
 

Now it’s my time to be the hero. All infected must die.
He snuck past Miller, who was leaning over a white railing and gazing off into the ocean.

The shotgun was right where Kale expected it to be. He grabbed it, not expecting it to be so heavy. Sneaking past Miller again with ease, he entered the interior.
 

Alec. Nicole. Jeff. All were still sound asleep. He stood outside the cabin door again, but unlike in his nightmare, he had control over his body. He could control his next move.
 

Save them all.
 

His world turned in slow motion.
 

The door swung open, he heaved the shotgun and pumped it, the effort straining his arm. Evans charged at him, screaming his lungs out. Dylan fell to his knees with shaking hands. Pat peeked from the bathroom, eyes widening with terror. But Kale knew what had to be done.
 

Erica was on the bed directly in front of him. There was no time to see what they had done to her, so he fired.
 

Evans tackled him so quickly Kale wasn’t sure what hit him. Most of the spread had ripped the bed’s headboard open. Most of it.
 

Evans slammed Kale to the ground and choked him. The doctors yelled something. Evans yelled something back. Kale choked out words but even he couldn’t hear himself. He finally made his point clear, yelling, “She was going to turn!”

Evans’ grip tightened even as Dylan and Pat struggled to pry him off of Kale. “He killed her!”
 

“Let him go, Jonny! It’s done,” one of them said.
 

Kale’s vision spun and clouded, but finally Evans released his chokehold. Kale heaved and curled up on his side, bringing his shaking hands to gingerly touch his neck. He glanced at the enraged Evans, yelling, “She was going to turn and kill us all!”
 

“No, Kale.” Pat knelt to him. His eyes were sad. “She was cured.”
 

“Cured?” Kale repeated in disbelief. He swallowed. “Cured? How?”
 

The impact of what he’d just done hit him as he stared at the bed — at Erica’s destroyed face — at Dylan and Pat doing their best to calm Evans — at this mess of his.
 

And a sickness roiled within him. He clutched his stomach and fell forward on his knees. “I wanted to save us,” he sobbed. His eyelids trembled. His lips shook. Feeling the need to the need to justify his actions, he stumbled, “I—I...”
 

“He killed her!” Evans screamed in rage.

“Calm down, Jonny,” said Dylan.

Kale collapsed, his face slamming to the ground. He heard the sounds of Alec and Nicole waking behind him, and heard Miller making his way to the scene. But Kale only curled, shivering in place, his eyes shut as he ached for
that
feeling
he’d once savored.
 

That feeling he had in high school.
 

That day he saved his friends.
 

That day.

eight years earlier

THEM

The Garner family’s living room was bright, wide, and carpeted in a lovely shade of sea green.
 

When Scot awoke, he shuffled on the couch, his dry eyes hard to open. He rubbed his short reddish hair almost angrily. “Did you guys even sleep?”
 

Kale rolled on the carpet, his hand loosely holding a remote. “Dude, we watched
Batman Begins
again. How did you fall asleep?”
 

Scot yawned. “By closing my eyes.”
 

Kale grinned. “If it was my origins story, your eyes would stay open.”

“Why would
you
have an origin story?”
 

“After I save the world? Every good hero needs an origin story. Come on.” Kale waved him off, falling back to his chest next to Jeff. In front of them was a large flat-screen that TV that Scot’s dad had bought a few weeks earlier. Some cartoon was on.
 

“Shouldn’t we be watching the news?” said Scot.

“Why?”

“See if they caught that kidnapper guy.”
 

“Ha. I’ll catch him,” said Kale. “I’ll be the hero.”

Scot ignored Kale and scanned the room. Wide windows surrounded them, allowing the morning sun to seep in. “Where’s Alec?”
 

Jeff slowly pointed his fat arm at Scot’s driveway, never taking his eyes off the cartoon. He seemed half-awake.
They never sleep when they're here,
Scot thought.
 

Outside, Alec was sitting on a brick wall, swinging his legs. A bright smile crossed his face as he talked on the phone.
 

“Oh, Nicole, of course,” sniped Scot.
 

Kale blew out his cheeks and sang, “Wherever Nicole may be, Alec you’ll see.”
 

Jeff gave a light chuckle. “You sound like Yoda.”
 

“Yeah, man, Yo-duh.”
 

Scot lowered his head and sighed. “Lord, help me.” He glanced at his watch. Another hour before school. “How did you guys get away with sleeping over?”
 

“Meh. I’ll deal with the consequences later.”
 

Jeff scratched his neck. “Mom’s away on business.”
 

“You mean staying at another guy’s place?”
 

Jeff’s chubby face jiggled in displeasure. “Not cool, Kale.”
 

“Sorry, Homer.”
 

Scot, having enough of their silliness, hopped off the couch and went outside to join Alec. It was a nice morning — cold in the shade, warm in the sun.
 

“All right, baby, I’ll see you at school. Okay, yeah, love you.” Alec hung up.
 

“Whoa, you guys are using the ‘L’ word now, huh?”
 

Alec hopped off the wall, landed right next to his friend. “We’re growing up.”
 

“A freshman in high school is grown up?”
 

“I said
growing
up, not
grown
up. Anyways, what’s new with Kelsey? Any progress?”
 

Scot stared at the cement, puffed out his cheeks. “Trying. I can’t find the nerve to ask her out.”
 

“Just do it, man. What’s the worst that could happen?”
 

Hands tucked in the pockets of his pajama pants, Scot shrugged, his face reddened.
 

“Don’t be shy.” Alec slapped his arm then flicked his nipple. “Man up.”
 

“You already got the girl, so this is easy for you to say.”