Eaters (Book 2): The Resistance (13 page)

"Which way did they go?"

Still encumbered, Patrick motioned with his chin. "That way," he said, motioning with a bloody hand to the east.

"Deeper into the mountains?"

"I think so. I…I don't know really. It was so dark. I think they went east."

As they all kept watch for more Eaters or members of the gang that attacked him, Patrick told them more about what had happened. "I was on my way back last night when this group popped out of the trees and surrounded me. I was outgunned, so I had to drop my weapon. They demanded to know who I was and what I was doing on the mountain. When I told them I'd come from the fort and we'd crashed here, they didn't believe me. They said I looked too clean to have been in a helicopter crash. They thought I was a spy—"

"A spy?" Chip asked. "For who?"

Patrick looked over his shoulders and craned around to look behind him before answering. Then, he whispered, "
O.N.E
."

Chip shrugged his shoulders and craned his neck forward. "Who?"

Mark stepped closer to them. "O.N.E. It stands for
One New Earth
."

Cheryl hadn’t heard the name before. Whatever Mark knew, he'd maybe told Jake and Ben, but he'd never shared it with her. "What? With all your research, you never mentioned—"

He motioned for her to pipe down.
Now isn't the time…

"I've heard reports of their activity in the Tucson area and maybe further north. Phoenix. Flagstaff. But, you're saying this group wasn't part of them?"

"I don't think so," Patrick said. "They were worried that I was sent by O.N.E."

"So, that's why they tied you up?"

"They were going to let me go, but this guy, some big jerk named Diego, convinced the others that I could be a snitch. It was his idea to tie me up. He said I'd be a lure to keep Eaters them away from their camp."

"Bastards!" Edmond and Zach said at the same time, glancing at each other like they'd just jinxed each other by agreeing on something.

"So what now?" Ben asked.

Jake thought for a moment then said, "Whoever this group is, they're obviously armed and aggressive enough that we don't want to risk crossing their path. If Patrick thinks they went east then we'll head north. We'll get to Omaha eventually, even if we have to walk there."

The group exchanged weary glances, but there were no protests, presumably because no one wanted to risk going it on their own if they were kicked out of the group.

Once they'd given Patrick some water and let him rest to regain his strength, they began to hike again. They walked for hours, stopping on occasion to catch their breath from the laborious high altitude, to try to reach someone on the handheld radio, or to settle a dispute between Edmond and Zach who seemed to spend much of their time thinking of ways to literally trip each other up. Cheryl couldn't keep herself from laughing at some of their comical banter.

When Edmond whined about his sore feet, a retort was inevitable.

"Hey…
Milkman
…my grandma could walk farther than you. And she's ninety-two."

Later, a decrepit Eater, with faded, torn clothing and decayed flesh jumped out of the scrub and lunged at Edmond as he passed. He yelped and jumped away, nearly prancing as he scurried to hide behind the others.

"What a pussy!" Zach said, rushing up and making a show of putting the ghoul down with a rock, slamming it into his head until it burst in a red shower. When, he was done, he stood back, surveying his handiwork. "See there, chica," he said to Edmond. "You grow some balls, and you won't be so afraid to defend yourself."

Edmond rolled his eyes. "Nietzsche once said, 'The secret of enjoying life is to live dangerously.' I beg to differ…"

They walked and walked as complaints from the entire group mounted. When the late afternoon sun finally began to sink in the sky, it created a palette of soft oranges and purples above the tree tops, and black shadows all around them. They started to think about setting up camp for the night. As they searched for a clearing, they came to a wide dirt path. Jake pointed out the fresh tire tracks on it and looked nervously in both directions.

"Someone's been through here recently. It looks like—"

He was cut off by a man's voice, shouting from some unknown location on the other side of the road.

"Hola, amigos! Put down your guns, and we'll let you pass."

"That's him!" Patrick whispered. "I know the voice. He's the one that tied me up!"

Ignoring him, Zach stepped into the road. "Que te jodan! Show yourself, and we won't shoot."

"Sorry, amigo," the man said, stepping out of the shadows. Standing well over six feet, he dwarfed Zach by several inches. His sun-bleached hair was a wild nest of tangles; he wore a tan leather vest over his bare, muscular chest, and stained, torn jeans that mostly hid the pointed toes of his boots. He pointed a rifle at Zach's head. "You're outnumbered."

"Los cojones!" Zach said. "You're only one man."

The man sneered. "Really?" He raised one arm then drew it down, signaling to someone.

Bright lights, like tiny moons, appeared between the trees behind him, hovering several feet off the ground behind him. Cheryl shielded her eyes, squinting as she recognized them as the headlights of motorcycles.

Figures emerged in front of the lights—a lot of them. They joined the man on the road, lining up beside him with an impressive array of guns at their side in a show of force. It was a ragtag crew mostly made up of men. They were unshaven, with scruffy chins and faces covered in dirt and blood that looked like they hadn't been washed in months. Their clothing was in similar condition; their leather jackets, sleeveless shirts, and vests were ragged and filthy.

There was weariness in their eyes, but it didn't diminish the coldness behind them. This looked like a barbarian tribe who'd been through hell…and survived it…again and again.

As Cheryl scanned their faces, she was surprised that some of them looked familiar, though a lot more haggard than they'd looked when she'd encountered them months ago. Her eyes continued to scan until they focused on the man in the center. He wore a black cloth patch over one eye while the other emerald green eye fixed on her with an unblinking stare.

Aidan.

PART II

Chapter 10

There was a full beard covering Aidan's chin, and his dark brown hair had grown three inches longer. It was in a braid now, cascading down his back. With that and his sun-darkened skin, he looked like a Native American warrior. It had been five months since he'd left Fort San Manuel. While he had been rugged and capable back then, there was something about him now that looked
fierce
.

The other familiar faces were those she'd encountered at Black Todd's, the bar she and Aidan had happened upon in the middle of the Arizona desert on their way down to Tucson. There was Jade, the bald bartender with a wispy beard and a lightning bolt tattooed over one ear, Earl, the whippet thin doorman with the handlebar mustache (who still wore a shop shirt with a nametag that read, "Kevin"), and the nameless bleached blonde floozy that hadn't left her barstool or her never-empty glass until the devastating attack. Cheryl's eyes automatically scanned the rest of them, worried that somehow
Roach
had been resurrected and was with them. After she was satisfied that there was no trace of that corpulent pig (who should be nothing but a mangled piece of rawhide by now), she relaxed.

"Easy boys," Aidan said, holding up a hand to hold the gang back.

"Aidan!" Cheryl yelled,

"Is that Cheryl Malone?
My God
…"

Ignoring the guns pointing from both sides, she stepped forward. She took another step…then she ran towards him. He held his arms open wide, and they fell together in a tight bear hug.

"I can't believe you're alive," she said breathlessly, her lips tasting his salty neck as she spoke.

"What are you doing out here? Why would you leave the fort?" He pulled away from her. "Oh no. Don't—"

"It fell. It was overcome…" She stopped, as she became aware of Mark's eyes boring into her back and heard his disgruntled voice in her head. "Um…we have a lot to catch up on. First, I need to…"

She walked back towards Mark, though it didn't feel like walking. It felt more like she was slinking on her belly, like a snake.

"I know him."

"Obviously." He stared down at her with his arms crossed.

"It's Aidan, the guy I told you about. The one I rode down with from Colorado."

Mark kept his arms crossed. He was glaring now, glancing from her to Aidan and back. His eyes were cold. Instead of crystal blue, they looked steely gray and guarded.

"If it wasn't for him, I'd never have made it. You know that, right?"

He didn’t answer.

Jake kept his gun raised toward the opposing group. "Who are you?"

Earl puffed up like a Chihuahua fronting for a pack of pit bulls. "We're the Vultures, man. Somebody you don't want to mess with!"

That declaration was met with chuckles from the men in Cheryl's group.

Diego, the man who'd originally greeted them asked, "Who the hell are you?"

"Just some evacuees from Fort San Manuel," Jake replied. "We're looking for a place to stay and re-supply before we head north."

"We got nothing for you," Earl said. "You better turn around and—"

Aidan, who was obviously the leader of this crew, threw up his hand to reign in his troops. "Cool it, guys. We're out here because we're refugees. They are too. Give 'em a chance to talk."

With the tensions dropped down one small notch, Jake lowered his gun. "Look…we need a place to camp for a couple of days, just to get our bearings and get a plan together. If you can help us out, we promise we'll be on our way after that."

"What are you doing?" Mark whispered.

"Let's not assume the worst. Maybe they've got a camp, food…"

"Why'd you leave the fort?" Aidan asked.

"We had to evacuate. It was overrun by N.E.U.s."

Diego shouted, "What the hell's an N.E.U.?"

One of the guys in Cheryl's group yelled from behind her, "Necrophagous Eating Unit."

He burst into a chuckle, laughing so hard that he could barely stay upright. "You mean a fuckin' Eater? Sounds like some fancy military shtick!"

Hands tightened on guns.

"Diego…" Aidan warned.

One of his men asked, "Any of you infected?"

"No," Jake said. "We're all clean. What about you?"

"We had to put someone down two days ago who was bitten, but everyone else is fine."

Both groups looked each other over. Cheryl wondered if the two packs were going to end up sniffing each other's butts before deciding they could dispense with a fight.

Aidan focused his gaze directly on her. Then, he glared at Mark. "So he's your main squeeze?"

Cheryl quickly guessed a reason for some of the sarcasm in his voice. Mark was still in the slacks he'd put on last night before the attack and didn't have on a uniform like some of the others from the chopper, but his sharp, fresh buzz cut screamed
military
. She'd forgotten how much Aidan disdained anyone who had anything to do with the armed forces. It had something to do with his dishonorable discharge—a story he'd never discussed with her.

The tone in Aidan's voice wasn't lost on Mark. He took a threatening step forward.

Cheryl stepped between them, holding her hands out to maintain their distance apart, which was several yards, but in the red zone of danger. "Mark is my
fiancé
. Remember? I told you about him."

"Yeah, I remember," Aidan said, shaking a wisp of hair out of his eyes. "You said he was dead."

"I was wrong. He survived. I found him at the fort."

Aidan tilted his head and raised the tip of his gun, pointing it towards Mark. "You also said he was infected."

"He got the vaccine in time. He's okay now."

"Never did trust that vaccine," Aidan said, staring at the scars on Mark's cheeks and hands. "I've always wondered if this virus is like the chickenpox. It could lay dormant in you for years then
BLAM!
pop up just like the shingles."

Mark stepped forward, continuing until he was within just a few feet of Aidan. He towered over him by a couple of inches. "I don't know what your problem is buddy, but if I was infected…you'd be the first bastard I'd eat."

Before Jake or Cheryl could play referee, Diego, raised his gun, aiming at them and growling, "None of you are from O.N.E?"

"We don't even know who the hell that is," Zach replied.

"Well…my friend." Diego spat on the ground. "You got a whole lot of learning to do."

"All right," Jake said. If this O.N.E. group is so dangerous, it's probably not a good idea to be hanging out here in the middle of the road spitting at each other."

"He's right," Aidan agreed. "We need to stay out of sight. It's risky to be in the open for long."

"We'd be much obliged if you can help us out, at least for a night," Jake said.

Aidan paused, seeming to consider the request.

"Just for a night?" Cheryl pleaded. "Then, if you want…we'll go. I promise."

"Diego…" Aidan signaled the man to join him, and the two of them withdrew behind the rest of their group to confer in private.

"We don't need them," Mark said to Jake.

"Not at the moment, but we only have enough food to last a couple of days. And, I don't know about you, but I haven't seen a Hilton or a Holiday Inn anywhere around here. We're going to need some shelter and a whole lot of help if any of that horde from the fort heads this way."

"I'm not sure we'd be better off hanging out with a bunch of rednecks and yahoos."

Patrick jumped in. "You're both crazy if you think I'm going anywhere with them. They tried to kill me!"

"They didn't know who you were," Cheryl said, shaking her head. "Aidan's a good man. I trust him. He's not going to turn on us."

"Yeah? What about the rest of them?" Mark asked.

At that, she shrugged. She didn't know anything about the character of the rest of the gang. "It's been half a year since I met some of them. All I can tell you is…
they're still alive
. They've been surviving out here all that time. At least they know how to take care of themselves…and we're safer in numbers."

"Not if their stink draws N.E.U.s down on us," Zach chimed in "I can smell their funk from here."

Jake tried to instill some reason over the bad vibes. "If any of you would rather go it alone, be my guest. As for me, I'd rather take my chances with this gang then wander in the wilderness much longer, just waiting until death finds us."

There were murmurs all around until Aidan and Diego returned a few minutes later.

"Okay," Aidan said. "We could use some more guards at our camp tonight. There were close to twenty Eaters looking to make a meal out of us last night. We've got guns, but we're low on ammo. So, it's hard to turn away additional firepower. But…I'm warning you right now…any one of you does something stupid, we won't hesitate to take you all down. Got it?"

Jake held his hand out to Aidan. "We're cool. You've got my word."

The men shook, but there was more banter, and a bit more posturing between some of the men before the majority on both sides formally agreed that they'd concede to joining forces.

"Wait!" Zach said, facing their group. "I'm not going anywhere yet. If Patrick says they tied him up and left him for Eater bait, why should we trust them?"

"That little rat?" Diego said, overhearing him. He pointed at Patrick. "He snuck up on us last night. Wouldn't tell us anything. We figured he was a scout for O.N.E. If it had been up to me, we would have killed him."

Patrick stood with his fists balled, literally vibrating with anger, unable to speak.

"It was a mistake," Aidan assured them. "We couldn't possibly have known who he was. You have to understand we were just trying to protect ourselves."

Jake walked over to Patrick and motioned for Zach to join them.

A few seconds later, they returned.

"Patrick wants an apology," Jake said.

"Fine," Aidan replied. "I'm—"

"Not from you." Jake pointed to Diego. "From him."

"Oh…Dios mio!"

"Do it," Aidan told him.

"Alright, you little shit. I'm sorry."

Patrick didn't respond.

"I'm sorry; I said." Diego extended his hand, but Patrick remained stiff with his arms folded.

"Aye yay!" Diego walked away.

"Okay," Aidan said. "There's one more thing….before we take you to our camp…we need some proof that you're all clean. We want to see your skin."

After a moment of shock, Jake, Mark, Ben, Chip, Jordan, and Patrick huddled together and whispered while Kai, Edmond, Zach, Jasmine and Cheryl stood where they were. Cheryl could only hear bits of the heated conversation.

"No way in hell I'm gonna…"

"They've got food and water."

"…if they put a gun to my head…"

After another minute, the group broke apart, still grumbling.

"We'll take turns," Jake said, "and we'll only remove our shirts."

"Alright," Aidan nodded.

Nobody moved to go first.

Finally, Zach stepped up. "I'll show you some skin!" Standing in front of the motorcycle lights, he ripped off his tank top, exposing his chiseled chest and flexing his pecs like a peacock.

"We don't have to do this," Ben and Chip pleaded together. "We don't need them."

Jake stood his ground. "Yes, we do. There's safety in numbers. If we combine our firepower and their motorcycles, we're stronger."

"Do it," Mark added. "But keep your gun within reach."

With much reluctance, the rest of the men in Cheryl's took turns whipping off their shirts.

"What about them?" Diego asked, pointing to Cheryl and Jasmine with a smirk.

Aidan shook his head. "If Cheryl says she isn't sick, I believe her."

"That's fine for you," Diego whined. "But I'm not risking my—"

"She's excepted."

"Well…what about her?" Diego pointed at Jasmine.

"She all right?" Aidan asked Cheryl.

"As far as I know. She escaped on the helicopter with us."

"Take her in the brush and check her out."

Cheryl apologized to Jasmine with a glance then motioned for her to follow her away from the group. Once they were well out of the eyesight of the others, she asked her to take off her shirt.

Jasmine refused.

"Okay. I know this is weird. Just roll up your sleeves then."

She complied and Cheryl gave her forearms a thorough inspection, finding nothing but white, unmarred skin with a few random freckles and moles.

They returned to the group, watching the guys endure a physical inspection from Aidan's men.

While the banter continued, Cheryl stared at the new bike Aidan had acquired. It was a Harley-Davidson with tall handlebars and a black and white Jolly Roger flying on a thin pole from its rear. It looked surprisingly similar to the flag that had been flying over Black Todd's, except the skull had been altered with white spray paint to look more like the skull of a bird.