The Phoenix Trilogy (Book 1): World On Fire (17 page)

    Her
heart calmed quickly as she realized it was only BJ, now holding a stone of
some kind that he was methodically rubbing along the
edge of his blade. Knowing that the
source of the noise wasn't out to kill her, it began to coalesce into a rhythm
that was almost soothing.

    Lowering
herself back into her makeshift bed, Natalie
began to
focus on the cadence of stone against metal. A vague thought wormed its way
into her head, making her wonder if the sound of a sharpening weapon should be
considered peaceful. The idea slipped away before it could be pondered further
as Natalie eased into sleep,
her urge to prepare for a hard day ahead trumping her philosophical curiosity.

 
   “
Four marks confirmed. Three male, one
female, entering Outpost 12. All are armed well, though only the men appear to
have advanced training. This is likely the same group that we tagged at
Welsh's.” The flow of rancid yellow liquid faded to a trickle as the man
finished logging his observation, a small recording device at his lips. Zipping
his pants, he glanced back at the apartment building his quarry had entered.

    
He had been charged with tracking any
movement in and out of this zone, and he was very good at his job. So far, it
had been mostly uneventful. The slaughter of the soldiers hadn't been his idea,
but he
understood the need for it, and so he had
complied without hesitation. If he were being honest with himself, the
reasoning didn’t really matter; he had been able to enjoy himself with them,
and that was enough.

    
These new people didn't strike him as
being particularly special, but then, none of the survivors he had been tasked
with seemed anything but ordinary. Not bothering to stifle his yawn, he turned
to move back down the alleyway behind him.

    
Rounding the corner put him face-to-face
with a particularly filthy zombie, its foul smell nearly choking the man in
such close quarters. He wasted no time in slamming it aside, his arm
immediately being coated in sick as it contacted the undead.

    “
Oh, for fuck's sake... goddamn mongrels
are everywhere.” He growled in frustration even as the walker began to rise to
its feet, its movements slow and confused. Above it, the man’s eyes flashed
with growing rage.

    
He
liked
this jacket, and that thing got muck all over it. Clearly, the biter had no
idea how challenging it was to find clean clothes in the apocalypse, and it
didn't seem to care. That only served to infuriate him further.

    
A swift kick to the ribs, another, and
another. Through it all, the creature did nothing, accepting its punishment
without complaint and seemingly without understanding. Barely more than a
mindless ragdoll, a revelation that only spurred his wrath further.

    Eventually
spent and feeling dissatisfied that his victim didn’t seem to be agonizing over
its abuse, the peculiar watchman shook his head in annoyance. It was only after
he realized that his attempt to educate the putrid beast had been for naught
that he noticed he had managed to soil his good shoes in the process, as well.

    The
thought occurred to him that it might be satisfying to rip the offending
creature to pieces, but he quickly noted that that would likely just cause him
to become even more dirtied. The idea was briefly exciting, but faded quickly.
He had business to attend to, and he was a professional. Fun would wait.

    Accepting
that this situation should be considered a loss and left alone, he satisfied
his vexation with a handful of intense curses muttered under his breath before
resuming his course through the alley.

    Behind
him, rising from the ground without any sign that it had just received a rather
savage beating, the walker watched him leave with a look that could have passed
for uncertainty. It made no move to pursue, and after a moment of inaction, it
lumbered out of sight.

    The
man had witnessed all of this happen, despite never having turned his head.
Scattered all around him were bits of garbage, nothing of any remote value and
all meaningless to the wandering eye. To someone who understood their subtle
implications, however, they served as a network of informative surfaces.

    Shards
of glass and aluminum wrappers were mirrors to inform him of his surroundings.
Packing peanuts littered paths, squeaking the arrival of new footsteps or
clinging to shoes and clothing to mark where travelers ventured. For all of the
supposed chaos, it was in truth carefully orchestrated to give him as many new
facts to work with as was possible.

    Even
his walk betrayed nothing of the reality around him. He made no attempts to
avoid where he stepped, always appearing aimless and never hinting that
anything he did was calculated. Once, a long time ago, he might have considered
it all to be part of an act; an elaborate ruse to throw off anyone who might be
hunting him.

    Now,
all of his training was second nature. He had been living this life of hunting
and stalking for nearly a year, not even accounting for the time he had spent
in silent practice. It had become so ingrained in him that it was no more
unnatural than his own breathing, and in his mind, that made him powerful.
Superior.

    Ahead
of him was the drop-off for his observations, an overturned trash can that was
heavily dented and all but forgotten in another byway. The bottom had been ripped
out, so a cursory glance would reveal that it was empty. No reason to spend
time searching it, especially when death could come screaming out of the dark
at any moment.

    Reaching
under the lip to place the recorder inside, he amused himself with thoughts of
being intercepted. It would be interesting, at least, if someone did find this
place. The observations weren’t encoded, so they would be obvious to anyone who
found them. It would actually be a thrill to have another player in the game.

   A smirk
crawled out over his face as he considered what the future may hold in store,
his thoughts content to wander now that his current duty was finished. He hoped
he would be allowed to deal with the group of survivors he had reported. His
playtime with the soldiers had ended too soon, and he longed for another chance
to prove he was the apex predator.

    
Four
marks confirmed, three male, one female
. He tasted the words in his mind.
The odds would be against him, but that just made victory all the more satisfying.
He might even be given permission to have a little fun with them first. His
handlers knew he needed a bit of venting now and then, and they hadn’t had an
issue with granting him opportunities in the past.

    Nearby,
another walker hobbled between buildings. It started a lunge in his direction
before suddenly losing interest, taking a moment to consider what was in front
of it before limping along beyond him.

    Unfortunately,
it had caught his attention, and he had a grudge to settle with the undead. It
looked to him like it had been a young girl, in her teens maybe, and his smirk
split into a wide grin. Drawing a ragged knife from inside his sleeve, he
traced its steps while offering a silent prayer of thanks.

    He
couldn’t have asked for a better present. The dead never responded the way he
liked, but it would be enough for now. Letting his mind drift to more pleasant
thoughts, a vivid image of the young woman he had spied earlier came into his
mind. He was sure he’d be given new orders before long. Until then, this toy
would have to sate him.

    He
hummed a gentle tune, once again drawing the attention of the zombie that had
passed him by. Its face held no trace of fear or concern at his creeping
approach, and with that disappointment he felt a small pang of sorrow.

    “Ahh…
but life is full of little compromises, isn’t it?” The words were slow, spilled
like rotten honey from his lurid smile. This was just a fix, after all. He’d
have a better game to play soon enough.

    Soon
enough.
He let the words
echo in his mind a thousand times even as he put his blade to work, every cut
singing it back to him in morbid harmony.

    
Soon.
Soon. Soon.

   
 It felt like she had only just fallen asleep when
Natalie felt a tapping at her shoes. Out of violent reflex, her foot lashed out
awkwardly as she tried to get her crowbar into a fighting position. She hadn’t
been able to bring herself to sleep without it in her hands; the cool metal
helped to calm her down, like a bloody security blanket for the new age.

    “Easy,
Natalie. Easy.” The low rumbling tone quickly gave away her supposed attacker’s
identity. Natalie let out a heavy sigh as she realized it was just BJ letting
her know it was time to change watch. She might have felt embarrassed about her
reaction, especially since she’d done virtually the same thing to Rico the
other day, but BJ seemed to actually approve of her aggressive response.

    “It’s
good to stay ready. If I had been bad news, you might have saved your life.” He
paused, tilting his head in thought before adding, “Assuming you wouldn’t have
just been killed in your sleep.” The extra sentence almost made her laugh.
Thanks
for that, BJ. At least I know you’ll always be honest.

    It
suddenly made a lot of sense that she only ever saw the men wake each other up
with taps at their boots. Anything else ran a high chance of getting hurt, and
given the danger they were always in, it wasn’t exactly a behavior you’d want
to discourage.

    Adjusting
her eyes to the dim light that BJ had left on, she noted Rico wrapped tightly
in his gear in the corner, fast asleep. She had no doubt that if she touched
him he’d bolt awake, and she felt a spat of envy at his ability to rest, even
now.

    Checking
on Marco sobered her attitude considerably. His eyes were open, and his face
screamed exhaustion. It looked like his brain had completely checked out, but
he couldn’t bring himself to sleep. Natalie locked eyes with BJ and cocked her
head in Marco’s direction, but the old bear only responded with a small sigh.

    BJ
was worried, and Natalie couldn’t blame him. Even if Marco wasn’t infected, he
clearly wasn’t doing very well in the meantime. Whatever the case, BJ didn’t
give her any more time to think about it.

    “You’ll
stand watch for three hours. If you hear anything, and I mean anything, you tap
the boot. You don’t open the door, you don’t investigate, you don’t wait for
another sound.” BJ wasn’t even looking at Natalie as he spoke, his attention
dedicated to readying his gear for sleep.

    “When
your watch is up, wake Rico and get another few hours of sleep. Clear?” He
finished his speech and his preparation for sleep simultaneously, all with an
air of practice as if he had done this exact same thing a thousand times.
Natalie started to nod her head before realizing she had one small problem.

    “I
don’t have a watch or anything, I… how do I tell the time?” It was a question
that made her feel foolish, and she wasn’t proud for having to ask it, but she
did need an answer. She wasn’t even sure how BJ had measured the hours that
passed, for that matter. Any tactic she could think of involved being outside,
and he wouldn’t have risked leaving the room just to figure out what time it
was.

    BJ
chuckled to himself, which elicited a sigh of defeat from Natalie.
Wonderful.
Great Mr. Badass Survivor over there probably just sniffed the air and said,
“Yes, yes of course, the wind tells me all that I must know.”

    
Natalie’s sarcastic thoughts were interrupted
as BJ reached over to put something in her hand. She had to blink a handful of
times to try and process what she was looking at, but the answer never seemed
to change. It was a stopwatch, plastic and dented. The thing probably cost a
handful of dollars at the most.

    
...oh.
That’s… remarkably normal.
Natalie wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or
relieved. It was good to know even BJ wasn’t that absurdly capable, but at the
same time, it would have been impressive if he had been able to magically divine
the time.