Four (Their Dead Lives,1) (6 page)

What the hell is with these two?
 

Just then a door creaked open. Scot poked his head into the bar, pulling Angela behind him. “What up, guys?”
Figures he’s already a stumbling drunk.
 

Alec greeted him first, nearly toppling out of his chair. He staggered his way to Scot and wrapped his arms around him. Scot stood frozen, unprepared for a full hug. Once Alec let go, Scot’s eyes quickly shot to Kale.
Should I shake first, or him?
He waited.

“Kale,” breathed Scot as if he were disgusted to say his name.
 

“Scot.”

Alec stood between them, turning his head to face one and then the other. “Oh, will you two just shake on it already!” He grabbed their wrists and forced their hands together. They both froze, unsure of how to handle the situation.
 

Letting go first, Scot’s eyes wandered the bar, searching for someone or something. “Where’s Jeff?”

JEFF

Freezing water. Flashes of red.
 

I reach for the surface, for support, for something. My mouth fights for air, mashed into cold metal. My team. My friends. Where are they? The water is a quick ascension, my chances for escape dwindling. A piercing alarm blares in my mind. Bright lights glare off the surface. Water reaches my mouth and nose. I shut my eyes and prepare to submerge. The last thing I see before pulling myself from the submarine hull are the corpses floating in the water.
 

I paddle in the open dark sea as my empty lungs burn for air. Within a second, my mouth is forced open and saltwater floods my system. I can see the light of day just feet above me and I reach for help but it’s a hopeless effort.
 

I prepare for the reunion with my team in the dark abyss of death.

Jeff jolted awake. A nightmare. He grabbed at his chest, feeling his heart pounding. He shook and trembled on cold dirt and told himself that every flash of the submarine, every recurring nightmare, meant he was lucky to be alive.
 

Add being blown off a mountain to the list.
 

A woman’s voice greeted his ears before he had time for another thought. “Holy freaking crap! You came to. You’re one lucky schlub.” To his left, Lance Corporal Claudia Faith knelt by a tree with her two hands pressed on a fellow VTF member.
 

After struggling to his feet, Jeff stumbled his way to Faith and the wounded man she fought to save.
Don’t be Evans,
he prayed. He prayed for all their safety, prayed for this to be some minor attack.

What had happened? It’d been a set up,that much was clear. But who would do this?
 

Jeff reached Faith and the person on the ground. He didn’t recognize the young man; he was a member of a different squad. “Anyone else make it?” he asked, kneeling down.
 

Blood covered Faith’s gloveless hands as she applied pressure to the man’s leaking stomach wound. “No clue. Evans crashed the freaking transport and we scattered as those things attacked us.”
 

“Those things?”
 

“The Vault Inhabitants. They, well, shit. They’ve gone off the rails.”
 

“What do you mean?”
 

“Rabid maybe. Or Jennings was right and they’ve turned.”
 

Turned? Like, zombies?
 

“Who else was in the transport?”
 

“Evans, the LT, Longsong and Felix, Jennings, and a few others. This guy Pollock, he was stabbed during the crash. Freaking Jennings had his knife out and flew into him.”
 

“I see.” Jeff surveyed the dark woods; the trees were surrounded by thick fog. The air was bitingly chill, and his breath showed. “Where are we?”
 

“No freaking clue.”
 

She sure does say ‘freaking’ a lot.
Jeff pulled out his phone. Useless. Melted in the explosion.
 

“Let me ask you something, Private Brennan.”

Jeff turned to Faith. “Yeah?”
 

“LT told us you were blown off the mountain, yet you look freaking better than I do.”
 

True, he did. His black uniform, although ripped and singed in places, covered healthy-looking flesh. He did have a few minor burn scars and some scabs, and half his face was coated in dirt and ash. Other than that, he was unscathed. Most importantly, his silky golden hair had survived intact.
Gotta stay pretty for the reunion,
he joked to himself.
 

How had he survived in such good condition? That explosion should’ve ended him and if not that, then the fall down the mountain. But he quietly nurtured an idea about why he’d survived. Tell Faith?
Never
. Even if he did tell her his suspicions, she’d never believe him.
 

I barely believe it.

“So? What gives?” she said.
 

Jeff looked back at her and smiled, hearing Scot’s voice in his memory. “Pure freaking luck.”
 

“Whatever.” Faith stared down the empty road. “Do me a favor and keep pressure on Pollock’s wound.”
 

Blood had soaked through the towel Faith used to apply pressure. The sight of it didn’t bother Jeff. It took a lot to gross him out; he was similar to Scot in that way. Alec, however, well, Alec was always squeamish. Same with Kale, though he’d never admit it.
 

Faith jogged to the road, her rifle cocked and her flashlight on. She turned one way, then quickly to the other. “We traveled west.”
 

Jeff wondered how far ahead they were of any surviving VTF and how she’d managed to get both him and Pollock this far. A strong woman, as tall as Jeff and just as muscular, he had no doubt of her capabilities to save them both.
Still, she must have struggled. How many did she fight off?

Faith soon returned. “I have to go back. I have to find the others.”

“What about Pollock?” The towel was a dark red and soggy.
 

“You stick with him.”
 

“You’re gonna leave us?” Jeff regretted asking that.
You’re tough. Now act that way.
 

She smiled. “You’re armed, yeah? And apparently invincible. You’ll be fine.”
 

Faith had a point, though he had difficulty believing in his own invincibility. Yes, he survived that day in high school. Yes, he survived the submarine incident. And yes, he survived that C4.
But luck always runs out sooner or later,
as Scot used to say.
 

Faith gathered her equipment. Jeff no longer had his assault rifle, so she left him an extra clip for his Beretta. “You stay here with Pollock. You wait for me to return with the others. God willing, they’re still live.”
 

“I think we’re better off together, don’t you?”
 

Faith took one step, paused, rubbed a hand over her shaved head, and turned her face away. “I’ll get us all back together.”
 

“Be careful,” said Jeff, every inch of him flowing with adrenaline.
 

This is no minor attack. This night was due, and now I must reunite with them. Kale, Alec, Scot—I’m coming.
 

Faith vanished, walking swiftly back in the direction they’d come from.
 

Keeping pressure on Pollock’s wounds, Jeff faced west. Green Hills. It was close.
My friends are nearby. I feel them—lights shining in all this darkness.
Every ounce of his being wanted to join in their festivities.
 

More importantly, he had to warn them.

But Pollock; he couldn’t leave the fallen VTF.
 

Jeff looked down at the wounded soldier. The young man’s eyelids were still, barely revealing lifeless pupils beneath.
He’s dead?
He took one hand off the wound, sliding his fingers to Pollock’s neck. No pulse.
How long was he dead for? Did Faith know?
 

Jeff dropped the towel, thumbed Pollock’s eyelids closed.
Rest in peace, brother.
 

The ammo clip for his pistol joined his sidearm and a water flask on his belt. He made his way to the road and stared through the darkness and the fog. He wished Faith, Evans and the rest of the Vault Tactical Force the best, but he was headed on a separate path.
 

The time had come to return home and reunite with his friends. Unfortunately, he brought a warning that would bury their celebrations.

EVANS

A stream of blood spilled from his upper left arm. He clenched his teeth as he ripped away the sleeve of his black shirt, tightened the fabric around the gash in a makeshift tourniquet.
 

Bullets. Blood. Bodies. All I need is a beer.
 

Jon Evans, specialist of the VTF and former Marine, leaned against a tree as he tended to his wound. He had limited medical knowledge, but he only needed the arm to last long enough to fire his M4A1 until he made it back to his team.
 

Lost in a confusing cluster of trees and fog, he searched for the others. Short breaths of air burst from his mouth. He sprinted from tree to tree, silent in the dark, listening for those flesh-eating assholes. Sweat trickled off his nose. He enjoyed getting soaked by his own perspiration.
 

Catching his breath, Evans scratched at the side of his head, just under his short mohawk. He despised his hair, but he’d recently lost a bet to another VTF.
You had to make me wear a mohawk, Malone, you giant of a bastard.
 

Crouching, he steadied his carbine against bark. A road. Clear. A grey blanket of fog rolled across it.
 

Keep moving, they’re coming.
Yet he remained still, hearing footsteps. Not many.
One person?
Evans held his breath and ignored the aching pain in his arm in order to keep his aim steady. Footsteps grew closer with each passing second. He wanted to call out but knew better. Still as a statue, he waited.

Footsteps stopped. No feet. No legs. No body. Nothing. Pure silence until he let out his breath. Lifting his face from the carbine, he eased into a more relaxed position against the tree, rested his head against bark and shut his eyes for a brief second, thinking about the day’s events.
 

A simple escort mission had gone awry and turned into a bloodied nightmare. Their armored transport had escaped the initial bloodbath outside the Vault and he was told that Jeff had saved the vehicle.
The brave bastard got himself killed.
Evans had driven the piece-of-shit transport when hundreds of Vault inhabitants surrounded them. The crash. The team separated. Now he hid behind a tree.

Evans didn’t even care why the inhabitants wanted to devour his flesh, or what happened in those vaults. He just wanted to find his team and receive his next orders.
 

At that moment, he wasn’t sure why, but he thought about his Uncle Dylan. He was supposed to travel on his uncle’s yacht, but the call came through and the escort mission went underway. He hadn’t had a chance to cancel his plans with his uncle.
Never told him I wasn’t coming. Perhaps I’ll still make it.
 

The sound of footfalls sliced off Evans’ thoughts. He flipped around the tree, quickly achieving steady aim at the road. The first leg emerged from the fog.
 

Relief flowed through Evans upon seeing a VTF member exit the grey. But the relief faded quickly once he recognized the kid’s face.
 

Pvt. Gregory Jennings: one young, dumb, piece of a gum. He squinted from the roadside, gawking right in the open, ripe for the killing. “Evans?” he croaked loudly.
 

Evans groaned to himself, waved for the rookie to come over. Jennings stumbled about aimlessly, tripping over his own feet in the fog.
That klutz is as good as dead.
 

“Where is everyone?”

“Damn it, Jennings, get over here!” Evans kept his voice low, knew
they
were attracted to sound. And although he regretted yelling, he had to get this idiot in from the open.
 

Jennings finally jogged over, as awkward as humanly possible, but it wasn’t entirely his fault; his left leg had been wounded. He dropped next to Evans with a huff.
 

“How are you on ammo?” Evans asked him.
 

Jennings shrugged. “I suppose I can always use more.”
 

“Amen. The leg?”
 

His weak voice drifted. “I’ll survive.”
 

I doubt that.
 

Jennings beamed. “How about that though, huh? I was right! I win the bet! They’re zombies, man!”

“Don’t call them that.” Evans pushed against the bark of the tree, raising up to search the area for his team,
or
them
. Nothing. All clear.
 

“Well, what would you call them?”
 

“Not that. Let’s move.” He pulled Jennings to his feet and they traveled as quickly and quietly as possible along the road, passing through the heavily forested area.
 

Evans tried to keep a steady pace for the limping Jennings, who lagged behind.
 

They continued walking for several moments when Evans heard a branch crack nearby. He swung his carbine at the sound. Jennings stumbled right into him. Impatiently, Evans shoved the rookie off.
His movement and general demeanor will get him killed relatively soon.
Possibly me as well.
 

Evans refused to die because of Jennings.
 

A dark figure, several yards off the road, waved its arms over its head. “Get over here!” Corporal Longsong hollered in his irritating voice.
 

They pushed through the trees until they reached the VTF survivors. Longsong leaned over Pvt. Alicia Felix, while Lance Corporal Claudia Faith revealed herself from behind a tree with her rifle at the ready.