Into The Fire (The Ending Series) (5 page)

“What other options do we have? We need information…
something
,
otherwise this trip was pointless,” I said anxiously. We’d come so far and now
they were considering turning back. “There are only four of us. There’s gotta
be a way we can get to the museum without being seen.”

Sanchez and Harper considered it for a moment, and finally Sanchez
nodded. “Fine, but we need to stay off the main road. We’ll go in from the
back.”

“There’s probably an alley,” Jake said, and he found my hand
and led me to the back of the gun store. He unlocked the back door and slowly
opened it. Loosening his grip on my fingers, he let go and leaned out for a
better look. A moment later, he closed the door. “The back alley runs along all
the buildings. If they stay inside, it’s doable.”

Sanchez took a deep breath. “Let’s get this over with,” she
said bitterly.

Within minutes, we were darting behind the buildings,
crouching and ducking wherever we could. We were getting close. Just as Jake
and I slipped behind an enormous delivery truck, a screen door flung open. It
was the back door to a café—crates of coffee filters and paper cups were piled
beside the dumpsters like they’d been unloaded but never delivered. Sanchez and
Harper were up ahead, but Jake and I were stuck behind the truck, waiting for
whoever had come out of the café to go back inside.

“I thought we were giving her a few days to get the intel,”
a man with a lisp said. Curious, I peeked through a slat in a stack of empty crates
behind the truck just in time to see him unzipping his pants. I shrank back.
The man—a soldier wearing green fatigues with a black armband wrapped around each
sleeve at the biceps—had dark hair and a goatee. I could smell the tobacco smoke
from his cigarette amidst the other rank smells of rotting food in the
dumpsters.

“I mean, I don’t get it,” he said. I could tell by his
muddled words that he was holding the cigarette between his lips as he used his
hands to pee…at least that’s what I assumed he was doing. “Just seems a little
excessive, don’t you think?”

“Apparently she’s something special. He wants her back
sooner,” another man called from inside.

“She better be great in bed for all this trouble we’re going
to. I thought he had a thing for the doctor, but I guess he can get away with
more than one piece of ass.” The man cleared his throat. “Either way, I heard
his newest flavor is a redhead.” He groaned. “I love redheads.”

A redhead…that could be Dani! So, who’s the “he”? MG?
The
soldier’s second groan made me want to walk over and kick him repeatedly in the
groin, especially when the men inside the café only laughed.

“So, the raid’s moved up to tomorrow night?” After goatee
zipped up his pants, I heard him take a deep drag on his cigarette and cough.

“Roger that. We’ve got to get his toy home safe and sound, though.
God, have you seen that bitch naked? I swear, I’ve never gotten a chub so fast.”

“Hey, fuck-wad,” another man called. “Are you taking a piss
or a dump? If you’re taking a shit at least shut the fucking door!”

Goatee laughed. “Shut up, dickhead, I’m done. Don’t get your
panties in a bunch.”

Once the screen door slammed closed, I looked at Jake. The
dread I felt was mirrored in his eyes.
A raid?
Assuming Dani was the
“redhead,” I couldn’t help but think they were likely talking about us.

“A raid? Tomorrow?” I mouthed.

Jake shook his head, not wanting to think about an impending
catastrophe while we were in the middle of another.

Carefully, we continued on toward the museum. Once we were
inside, luck seemed to throw us a much-needed bone—a regular post-apocalyptic miracle.
The museum contained ample information about Peterson Air Force Base.

We rummaged through the mini-exhibit and gathered a few maps
of the base—they were vague and had obviously been created for tourists, but
helpful nonetheless—a few history and general information books, and some black-and-white
photos that had been taken on the base.

After nearly an hour, we cautiously found our way back to
the horses, hoping that the café outpost was the only one we needed to worry
about. It was another hour before we made it back to camp, leaving us with only
a few hours before dusk.

Chris was the first person we saw as we rode up behind the
barn. She’d apparently been waiting for us.

“I was starting to worry,” she said, then let out a nervous
laugh. “I never thought I’d be so happy to hear Sanchez’s voice in my head.” She
surveyed our group, her eyes assessing, and I figured she was making sure we’d
all made it back in one piece.

Jake’s boots hit the ground with a dull thump, and he started
unloading the duffel bags and backpacks of weapons, ammo, books, and maps. I
dismounted and patted Wings on the neck, thanking her for being so steady and
fast.

“We saw soldiers…I’m assuming from the Colony. They had
trucks and were wearing armbands, but these ones were black instead of yellow.”
I frowned, feeling slightly ill as I recalled the perverted comments they’d
been making. “We overheard them talking about a redhead…and, well, they mentioned
a raid that’s supposed to happen tomorrow,” I told Chris while, around me, the
others were unsaddling their horses. “We think the raid’s gonna be here.”

“Great,” Chris breathed.

“Seriously. We were talking on the way back and we think we
should leave. We can’t take any chances. Especially with Sarah so—”

“Carlos is gone,” she blurted.

I froze, my mouth gaping open. “What?”

“I’m sure he went after Jason.”

“Jesus,” I muttered, resting my forehead against the side of
the barn.

Chris ignored my melodramatics. “So…Ky and Ben went after Carlos.
Ky felt responsible, since Carlos must’ve ridden right past him.” Her eyes
drooped with exhaustion, and she shook her head. “This is such a damn mess.”

I could sense there was something else she needed to tell
us.

“What is it?” I groaned, straightening and dropping my hands
to my sides. “What else happened?”

“A woman showed up this afternoon. She’s not a Crazy, but
something’s not right about her. Her mind is…off, somehow. Cooper heard her
walking around in the forest and…” Chris shook her head again. “Anyway, she was
unarmed, confused, and seemed like she hadn’t bathed or eaten anything in a
while. Sarah and I got her cleaned up and fed her.”

Sanchez took Wings’s reins from me, and Chris matched my
stride as I headed for the campfire.

“She seemed so lost and helpless,” Chris added.

As we rounded the corner of the barn, I slammed into Jake’s
stiff, motionless body. “Jesus, Jake…” I half expected him to turn around and
reach out to steady me like he’d done so many times before, but he didn’t move.
I righted myself and glared at him. He was completely unfazed that I’d just
crashed into him. “Good thing I’m not as delicate as I used to be,” I muttered
tartly, but he didn’t notice. Shock and horror—
his
shock and horror—trumped
all preceding thought, and goose bumps prickled my arms.

I shifted my eyes in the direction of his to find the woman
Chris had mentioned—our uninvited guest. The duffel bag Jake had flung over his
shoulder slid to the ground with a heavy thud.

“Oh my God,” I rasped, and Jake said, “Becca?”

3

DANI

MARCH
15, 1AE

From the journal of Danielle
O’Connor:

Apparently I
was attacked by a roving band of Crazies. That’s what MG says, anyway. There
was a patrol of Colony soldiers nearby, and they stopped the Crazies from doing
whatever their insane little minds desired. I don’t actually remember it, probably
because I got knocked out and now have the mother of all headaches.

Honestly, all I
remember is stepping out of the tent for a minute in the middle of the night,
then waking up in a hospital with absolutely no idea of how I got there. I
guess the Crazies really did a number on my head. At least the Colony patrol
was around. Lucky me…

Yes, I know I
should be grateful and super happy that I didn’t get maimed or killed by the
Crazies, but this place is kind of weirding me out. It’s not the hospital
that’s bothering me, exactly, but the fact that it has electricity, which I
haven’t seen in months. I’ve decided I hate florescent lights.

Mostly, I just
want to get back to Zo’s camp. Jason and Zo and the others are probably
freaking out, and I can’t even use my telepathy to let them know I’m okay. I
mean, my Ability’s working, but it’s not strong enough to reach across the
fifty or so miles separating us. FML.

Thin paper crinkled beneath me as I shifted my butt on the
padded exam table. I was sitting on the edge, my legs dangling over the foot of
the table. It was my first official trip out of my itty-bitty hospital room
since waking this morning, and MG had escorted me down a single flight of
stairs and all the way to…an even smaller room.
How lovely.

At least I had a change of scenery. I’d exchanged a hospital
bed, beeping monitors, and a cramped bathroom for an exam room containing only
a padded table, a rolly stool, and a cabinet-counter-sink-desk fixture that
looked to have been manufactured in the 1980s.

I sighed heavily. “I still don’t really remember what
happened,” I told the doctor, who was standing in front of me. She leaned close
as she shined a small, painfully bright penlight into my eyes. She was
middle-aged, her gray-streaked, black hair was cut in a tasteful bob that
reached just past her chin, and her eyes were a deep, ocean blue. They hardened
at my words.
Well,
excuse
me.

She clicked the light off, stuck it in the breast pocket of
her lab coat, and shook her head, making her sleek hair sway. “You’ll have to
ask your Domestication Officer. I’m not up to date on your background
information.”

“Doctor…”—I glanced at the front of her coat,
double-checking the silver name badge pinned to her lapel—“Wesley, I’m not
asking for special treatment or anything. I’m just…confused.” I took a deep
breath, then shivered, thinking they had enough power to bump the thermostat up
a few notches based on all the lights glowing throughout the building. “I mean,
I was in the woods, and then I woke up in a hospital bed…I don’t remember getting
attacked by Crazies…I don’t remember getting saved by the soldiers…I don’t
remember coming here…I don’t remember
anything
. It’s strange.”

The taupe walls of the cramped exam room seemed to be
closing in on me, awakening a newfound claustrophobia. All the shiny
instruments and disposable utensils on the counter took on a new, menacing
purpose, and I shivered again. A thin, bleach-white cotton robe was the only
thing covering my peek-a-boo hospital gown. It wasn’t doing much to stave off
the chill.

“You remember something from before you were—” Dr. Wesley
snapped her mouth shut as she stepped over to the counter a few feet away from
the foot of the exam table and flipped open a folder. “Hmmm…you’re not
a…usually I only deal with…” She shook her head. “This is very unusual.” Her
intense blue eyes studied my face, and the delicate lines spider webbing across
her temples and around the corners of her mouth deepened.

“Unusual” wasn’t quite the word
I
would’ve used, but
her acknowledging the oddness of my lost hours made me feel a little
vindicated. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I mean, is it normal for a
concussion to lead to memory loss?” I asked the doctor. “All I remember is
stepping out after…um…hanging out with my friends.” Blushing, I recalled the
delicious sensations I’d experienced at Jason’s fingertips—and other parts—only
a few minutes before getting knocked out. “I remember walking a little further
into the woods, and then I woke up here. I don’t think I even have
a…whatever-you-called-it officer.”

“Domestication Officer,” Dr. Wesley said absentmindedly
before shaking her head and whispering, “Gabriel. I should have known.” With
renewed interest, she returned to the first medical chart in the folder and
scanned it from top to bottom.

Dangling over the edge of the exam table, my feet were cold
despite the thick, white socks I was wearing. I rubbed them together idly and
grumbled, “We never should’ve left Bodega Bay…should’ve just had ’em come to us.”

As she read, the doctor transformed into a living ice
sculpture, not moving, apparently not even breathing.
Did she find something
alarming in my charts?

“What is it, Dr. Wesley?” My head
was
pounding. It
felt like my skull was being used as an anvil by an angry blacksmith.
Am I
dying? Do I only have days to live? Only hours? This is so unfair!

The doctor shook her head, and like she was shaking off
sheets of ice with that simple gesture, the rest of her body regained movement.
She set the folder on the counter. “I just thought something looked off, but I
was wrong. It’s nothing. Tell me what you remember from before you woke up.
Maybe I can help.”

I didn’t bite, at least not at first. Instead, I eyed her
warily, wondering what had caused her sudden change of heart; she’d been aloof
and dismissive only moments before.
Maybe it has something to do with
MG—Gabriel?

I shook my head, which only seemed to enthuse the miniature
blacksmith pounding away inside my skull, then squeezed my eyes shut and
concentrated.
What was I thinking about? Oh yeah:
what to tell the doc.
Was it entirely wise
to tell her, a stranger, about my friends…about our little camp? But, if I made
nice with the doctor, befriended her, maybe she really
would
help me remember
what happened. For some odd reason, I felt like I could tell her, like I could
trust
her—though my processing ability
was
slightly limited at the moment.