Zomb-Pocalypse (18 page)

“Was it some kind of terrorist attack?” I ask after a moment of sitting in stunned silence while the doctor poked and prodded at me.

“We don’t know yet if it was a biological attack, or something that occurred naturally.” Dr. Rosen prods my sore arm and I wince, letting out a small squeak of pain.

Dr. Rosen steps back and draws her sidearm from around her holster. “Have you been bitten?” she asks. When I hesitate in confusion, she cocks the hammer back.

“No!” I shout in surprise. “I wasn’t bit. Don’t shoot me.” I hold my hands up in surrender. The doctor doesn’t set her gun down. Just like that, the feeling that the world hasn’t really ended and I’m just at the doctors for my annual checkup evaporates.

“Show me your wound,” she orders. The chatty, nice version of the doctor is gone, she’s all business now.

I move the gown back a bit to reveal my hastily stitched arm. “I cut it on some glass when I was climbing out a window,” I explain, hoping she isn’t the sort to get trigger happy.

Dr. Rosen examines the wound from a distance for a minute before holstering her weapon and coming closer to examine it with her gloved fingers.

“Someone saved you from bleeding out,” she remarks, and, not for the first time, I feel a surge of gratitude towards Silas. 

“Sorry about the gun. I’ve had a lot of people try and sneak a bite past me. People do terrible things when they’re desperate.” I don’t say anything and she finishes up the exam relatively quickly.

“The soldiers on the dock will take you the rest of the way,” Dr. Rosen tells me when I’ve gotten dressed again. “Take this form with you, it proves you have a clean bill of health.”

I take the paper with shaky fingers. I’m one step closer to finding out about my parents.

Ryan is just walking out of his own exam, and I breathe a sigh of relief to see that he’s holding a similar piece of paper in his hand.

“I guess we’re supposed to go see those soldiers over there,” I say, pointing to the place where several police cruiser boats are moored along the Hudson River.

Ryan nods. “That’s what they told me too,” he says, and I feel a bit foolish for telling him again.

“Good afternoon folks,” one of the soldiers greet us when we walk up. He holds his hand out for our papers.

We hand them over and, after a thorough examination of the papers, the soldiers help us into the boat. My stomach instantly rebels, and I feel a wave of nausea.

“If you have to throw up, aim over the side of the boat,” the older soldier tells me with a grin on his face. I nod at him to show I understand, but I don’t risk opening my mouth to talk.

Three more soldiers climb in with us, and the pilot steers us out into the rushing current. Cold wind whistles by, stinging my face as we fight the waves going upriver.

“Where are you taking us?” Ryan asks, and I chance looking up to hear the answer.

“Ellis Island,” one of the soldiers answers, his chest swelling with pride. Ryan and I look at each other blankly.

“Liberty Island,” the other soldier supplies, and I furrow my brow in confusion.

“We are going to Ellis Island, home of the statue of Liberty, so it’s also called Liberty Island,” the first soldier explains again, and this time the dots connect for me.

“You have the refugee camp set up on the island?” Ryan asks.

The soldier who answered us the first time nods, “It’s a great set up, we haven’t seen any of the infected risk going near the water yet. It’s small, manageable to protect, and completely cut off from the mainland.”

The second soldier grins, “We blew the bridge as soon as we set up base there. We get a few floaters that wash up every once in a while and fall in, but we’ve set up a perimeter that keeps them from reaching our population, and we have a rotating guard.”

I begin to feel a swell of hope as they talk. This place sounds secure—the perfect place for my parents to ride out the apocalypse.

“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,” one of the soldier’s quotes the inscription from the Statue of Liberty, and those words hit me like a punch in the gut with two tonnes of brick.

How hauntingly accurate for our situation. The island appears in front of us, Lady Liberty looming with FEMA tents set up all around her base. I grip Ryan’s hand harder than I mean to, but he just squeezes me back gently, giving me strength.

The island has its own dock cut right through the middle of the island. The boat drives through and then docks with a bump against land. The soldiers help us out of the boat. “You’ll have to do your twenty-four hours of solitary, but then you’ll be free to wander the island.”

Ryan and I nod our understanding. “I’m looking for my parents, they might be here,” I tell the soldier who has a light grip on my elbow.

“We’ll get you situated, then I can take down your information and look into that for you.”

I smile at the soldier, and he smiles kindly back. It’s nice to see the soldiers here treating civilians better than zombies, until proven otherwise. Though, I suppose we did just submit to a medical exam that Camp Freedom hadn’t had the man power to conduct.

“I appreciate that,” I tell him sincerely. He leads us through a building that looks like it had been a museum, though everything has been pushed and moved out of the way now.

“We don’t have the resources that some camps have. Being on this island, we’ve had to work with what was already here. We don’t have cells, and we need all of the available space possible for our civilians. So, we keep our newcomers in a group of offices on the second floor for their twenty-four hour hold. There are no windows or means of escape, other than the door, so it’s pretty secure.”

We climb a flight of stairs and then pass a long row of doors. Some have soldiers standing in front of them, others have no one guarding them, so I assume those rooms are empty. The soldier halts and opens one of the doors, holding it open to show us. I stare into the small office that has been cleared out. It’s more of a closet really, with a pile of blankets and pillows stacked on the floor.

“Good thing I’m not claustrophobic,” I mutter, and the soldier gives me an apologetic look.

“We’ve cut small holes in the doors for passing food and communication,” he says, pointing to a small rectangular hole cut in the door. It allows a bit of natural light in. “There’s also a small bathroom.” He motions to a door on the opposite wall. “A soldier will be posted outside your door at all times. Why don’t you guys settle in? I’ll be back in a bit to check on you and get your info.”

“Thanks,” Ryan says, speaking for both of us. I’m the first one to step through the door, and Ryan follows. The room gets dark when the door shuts.

“Great, no light,” Ryan says, opening his backpack and digging around inside. The soldiers searched us for weapons, but they didn’t take away the rest of our stuff. He pulls out a flashlight and shines it around the small space.

“I guess I’ll make up the blankets before the light dies,” he says.

I dig in my own bag, pull out another flashlight, and go to investigate the bathroom. It’s simple and small—a sink and a toilet—but it’s one hundred times better than the bucket we had at Camp Freedom.

My heart is pounding in my chest as I sit down on the blankets that Ryan has spread out over the floor. I click my flashlight off and sit in the dark to save my batteries. I’m so close. Now it’s just a waiting game.

Chapter Sixteen

Waiting is pure torture. Now I know why one soldier referred to this place as the box. It’s a badly ventilated, windowless box. There isn’t even electricity.

Ryan and I try to entertain ourselves, but finally we just curl up and sleep. The soldier comes and takes down my parents’ information. He promises to give me an update later and then he’s gone, taking with him the only entertainment I had.

I try and imagine my parents sitting in this very same office, but it’s hard to imagine anyone penning in my Father.

Finally I settle down, leaning against Ryan while he runs a soothing hand over my back. “It shouldn’t be much longer now,” he promises me, and I nod. Even though its dark and he can’t see me, my head is leaning on his shoulder, so I know he felt it.

“How much longer do you think?” I can’t help asking, unable to settle my jittery nerves.

Ryan sighs, “If I had to guess, I would say you already spent a good twelve hours pacing back and forth, another hour giving that soldier your info, and we’ve been sitting here for at least two hours.”

I do some quick mental math and grin.

“You should try and get some sleep,” Ryan urges me, but I shake my head.

“I won’t be able to sleep,” I complain, making him chuckle.

“What do you want to do then?” he asks, his hand making lazy circles across my back.

“Play eye spy?” I ask, and he snorts.

“Eye spy with my little eye something that is black,” he says, and I giggle. Everything is black.

“Tell me what you were doing when all of this started?” I ask, turning serious as I realize that, as much as I care about Ryan for the person he has been to Abby, Megan, and especially me…I know nothing about the guy.

I feel him grow still in the dark when I ask the question. It is so long before he answers that I start to wonder if he’s going to ignore the question.

“It’s something that you don’t want to talk about,” I guess. I can hear his heart hammering where my head lays on his chest. “Tell me,” I prompt, lifting my head from his shoulder and moving back a bit. I wish it wasn’t so dark.

“You might think differently about me,” he says, and that gets my heart pounding.

“It can’t be as bad as you think,” I tell him, but, honestly, I’m thinking of some pretty crazy scenarios.

“I was in prison,” he says, surprising the hell out of me.

My jaw goes slack and my mouth actually hangs open. The silence in our small space feels like a lead blanket.

“What?” I manage to get out after several minutes of trying to calm my rampant thoughts.

Ryan tries to hold my hand, but I pull mine away. I feel guilty as soon as I do it, but I can’t help my reaction. He just told me he was incarcerated.

“Did you kill someone?” I ask finally, blowing out a breath as I gird myself for his answer. I know the world has gone to hell and even Megan has blood on her hands now, but that’s different. Ryan did something terrible back when the rules of society were still important, terrible enough for him to be locked up.

“No,” he mutters, and I can hear the hurt in that one monosyllable. Relief washes through me that he can still be the person I thought he was.

“Tell me,” I ask, but he remains silent. I can feel his anger. It’s so palpable that I can almost taste it in this small, dark room. “Please,” I say more softly. This time my hand finds its way into his. I think I’m as surprised as he is, but Ryan has always had a pull over me that I can’t deny.

“I went to prison for robbery,” her says at last. I start to withdraw my hand again, that is pretty serious stuff, but Ryan holds on to it tightly this time, refusing to let go.

“It’s not what you think,” he says, his voice low and full of emotion.

“I told you before that I was in the principal’s office a lot?” he questions, seeing if I remember, and I do.

“Yes,” I confirm, and he takes a deep breath.

“My dad got killed in a car accident a year ago, and I spiraled out of control. I was hanging out with some bad kids at school. They would smoke pot and skip classes, and I went right along with them.” I can hear the regret and disgust in his voice as he speaks, and I squeeze his hand for support. “I didn’t even know they were gonna do it. They went into the convenience store and I waited in the car because I didn’t have any cash… I was driving because the other two guys were already too drunk.” My gut gets a sick feeling, and I’m pretty sure I know what he’s going to say next.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say it,” I murmur, but he keeps talking.

“They come running out and jump in the car, and I drive off. We only get a block before the cops are pulling us over. The guys are telling me to run from the cops, but I pull over. The cops surrounded us and the one guy pulls out a gun and starts shooting at them. I jumped down under the dash, and he was shot right beside me.”

Ryan takes a shaky breath. “The other guy surrendered, and we both got cuffed. I didn’t know what happened till later, but no one ever believed me. I was in jail for armed robbery. It was two weeks before my eighteenth birthday, so they tried me as an adult.”

I don’t even hesitate as I jump into his lap. “I believe you,” I tell him firmly. I’m so relieved when his arms wrap around me. Near the end of that story, I had suddenly been terrified that he was going to hate me for making him relive it.

“How did you escape prison?” I ask, and then instantly regret it. I wish I could swallow the question back up.

“Some of the inmates and guards started to turn. The prison went into lockdown right away. Some of the guards turned, most of them ran away…”

I feel sick as I think about Ryan sitting in a cell with zombies turning all around him.

“I was one of the lucky ones, my cellmate didn’t turn either. Some of the guys were ripped apart, locked in their cells.”

“Their cell mates must have had the rare blood type,” I say.

Ryan nods. “Maybe,” he says and shrugs. “One of the remaining guards took pity on us and he let us out. We had to group together and fight our way out of the prison, so maybe it wasn’t pity. Maybe he knew he couldn’t get out without us.”

I don’t know what to say, so I hug Ryan tighter. I’m surprised when his fingers brush across my cheek and then his mouth covers mine in a hard kiss. I gasp when his tongue slips into my mouth, but I kiss him back, holding him even tighter.

“Thank you for believing in me,” he murmurs as he pulls away.

My head spins. I want to kiss him again, but I’m not sure if I should.

A sharp knock on the door has me jumping off his lap and flushing red when a soldier opens the door, letting in a bunch of natural light that has me blinking.

“Your time’s up,” he says, and I’m surprised.

“Already?” I ask, making the soldier laugh.

“I’ve never heard that one before,” the soldier says, stepping back as we stand up and put our backpacks on.

Ryan squeezes my hand as I walk by, and I squeeze him back. I understand what he’s telling me, we are good—and I am so thankful for that.

 We follow the soldier out to the hall and back down the stairs to the main lobby of the museum. The soldier that took down my parent’s information is standing by the door waiting for us, and the look on his face says it isn’t good news. My feet stop walking. Ryan pauses as well.

“No,” I say, struggling to hold back the tears that are threatening to fall.

The soldier looks regretful as he strides towards us. “Don’t say it, please,” I beg him, but he shakes his head, rejecting my denial.

“I’m sorry, Jane, but we don’t have a record of your parents. They were never on Liberty Island.” My knees feel like they’re going to collapse. Ryan moves in to hold me up, to give me strength, but I shake him off.

“It can’t be,” I mutter like a crazy person, all logic flying out of my head. I break away from Ryan and run for the door.

“Mom, Dad!” I scream at the top of my lungs when I push my way outside. Several people in the area turn towards me to stare.

I realize what an idiot I’m being, half the people here are probably a Mom or a Dad. “Arthur Hanson!” I scream at the top of my lungs. “Meredith Hanson!” I wait to hear their voices calling back to me, but nothing, only the sound of boots running towards me. I turn to see Ryan and the soldiers heading my way, and I start running as fast as I can towards the base of the Statue of Liberty.

I keep screaming my parents’ names as I go, hoping one of the thousand people staring at me will step forward and be them.

The soldiers catch up to me and grab me around the arm, thankfully it’s the one that isn’t stitched.

“I’m sorry, but you need to settle down,” the one soldier tells me, and I begin to struggle in earnest. “We don’t want to hurt you,” the soldier repeats. I can hear Ryan yelling too, but I zone them all out, struggling against the arms that hold me as my eyes frantically scan the gathering crowd.

“Jane?” A hesitant voice asks.

I cease my struggling to try and focus on where the voice came from. It’s vaguely familiar.

“Jane Hanson?” I freeze when my eyes land on my Dad’s boss standing before me. I blink to be sure I’m not full on crazy and imagining things, but he’s still there.

“Mr. McKinnon?” I gasp in surprise, and he sends me a depreciating smile.

“Please, it’s just Richard now.” He spans his arms around as if to show that he isn’t the boss of anything anymore.

Mr. McKinnon was here in New York with my Dad for their meeting. I know this is true.

“Where’s my Dad?” I demand, not meaning it to come out that way, but also not caring.

The soldiers are so surprised that my carrying on has actually proved fruitful that they release me and step back, watching.

I can tell from Mr. Mckinnon’s face that my Dad isn’t here and a sob rips from my throat.

“I’m so sorry, Jane. We were all at our New York office when this happened. Things started going south, it was all over the news, advising people to stay inside.” Richard shoves a shaky hand through his thinning hair. “I told him to stay put, but he wouldn’t listen. He left to go find your Mom at the hotel.” I stare at Richard, sure that there has to be more to the story than that, but the man only shrugs helplessly. “That was the last time I saw him. The rest of us stayed in the offices for two days before we heard the military’s announcement that they would be bombing the city. We went to the roof and put up a flag to get their attention, and they rescued us in a helicopter. Landed it right on the roof.”

My heart sinks as this small piece of the puzzle falls harshly into place. I still don’t know what happened to my parents, but now I have a bit more information. I collapse onto my knees and sob, pressing my face into the dirt and not even caring.

The soldiers rush to pull me to my feet, and I’m forced to stand on shaky legs. Through their shoulders I see Ryan standing back with a pitying expression on his face and I turn away. My Dad had been so close. He could have been here too with Mr. McKinnon, but he’s not.

“Miss. I am very sorry for your loss, but you are going to have to compose yourself or retire to your barracks,” the one soldier says sternly, causing both Ryan and Mr. McKinnon to glare at him.

“No,” I say raggedly, my voice coming out like sandpaper. “I’m leaving.”

The soldier looks like he wants to refuse, but they aren’t allowed to keep us here against our will.

“Jane. You should stay. Your parents would want you to be safe,” Mr. McKinnon speaks up, but Ryan steps in for me.

“We have friends at another camp in Indiana,” Ryan tells them, coming forward to wrap his arms around my waist.

I want to cringe from his touch, but he’s taking me away from this place, so I tolerate it.

The soldiers escort us back to the boats, and one of them jumps in to run us back to the mainland.

This time the sea sickness doesn’t bother me, because nothing can compare to the pain I’m already drowning in.

The soldiers on the bank of the Hudson talk to us, but I have no idea what they’ve said. I walk away and head to the truck, leaving Ryan to talk to them and see about getting our weapons back.

When Ryan finally comes over, I am standing at the passenger side door and staring at a brown speck of dirt on the shiny black paint. I know I look like a zombie, but I don’t care.

Ryan fires up the truck and we are on our way. He keeps shooting me worried looks, but I only have the strength to look out the window.

Ryan keeps driving, even when it gets dark. I keep expecting him to pull over and find a place, but he doesn’t. I’m surprised because Ryan was always the one that said we shouldn’t be out when we can’t see, but I don’t ask. I’m not sure what his plans are and I don’t care anymore. The horrible thought intrudes, a tiny voice niggling in my brain that says the bite of a zombie might be a welcome relief from the pain. I ignore it though and push it back down, for now.

The motel comes into view, and I’m surprised that Ryan has returned when I don’t even care anymore.

I see Silas come out of room three, gun in hand, when the truck parks in front of the door. Ryan gets out and exchanges a few words with him. Then, Silas is coming towards my door, wrenching it open.