Pulse: Retaliation (Anisakis Nova Book 2) (11 page)

24 – Dom

Twenty-one people were crammed into Jim's living room watching the small TV. Today was the day they planned on leaving. It also happened to be the day the President himself officially addressed the country.

The words meant nothing to Dom. They were hollow, written by a dozen people to try and inspire confidence and hope, then delivered by a scared man who had neither. All anyone had to do was look at the infection rates across the nation to see the truth.

Confidence and hope was outside, loaded up in their vehicles, swirling inside their spirits. It wasn't with the nameless government officials giving orders from safe houses. It was within anyone who knew they needed to take care of themselves.

When the address ended, a hush fell over the group. Dom expected everyone to laugh and comment on how ridiculous the whole thing was. Yet there was doubt on their faces.

"What if they do have it under control?"

Dom wasn't sure who said it. It was a man's voice. He scanned the group but couldn't find the source. He needed to reel these people back in before they forgot what they'd all gathered to do.

"They had it under control last time, and look what happened. Millions of people were killed. Millions were infected, and the rest are unaccounted for. Even after we got MAC and started regrouping, things were bad. How many times were you turned away from Rations because they'd run out of food? And what about all the people who refused to integrate back into society?"

The last bit hit them. There were droves of people who believed it was still the end of the world. They rioted, looted, and caused anarchy whenever possible. Some cities in Washington were considered unsafe to go to, not because of infected, but healthy people who were losing it.

Dom continued. "It took a year to get where we are, and
look where we are
. It's starting all over again and worse because the infected are organized. When we talked to each of you, we mutually understood the need for change. That the world was a different place and we needed to adapt before we were killed. Leaving, starting new at The Lake, was the solution. There is a better life waiting for us."

His thoughts went back to Brian. To when the phones started working again, calling back home to find out if his mother was alive. The horror and confusion of finding out she was murdered months ago, her limbs amputated and left neatly stacked beside her.

"We've all lost friends and family to this nightmare." He let his gaze shift from person to person. "I don't want to lose anyone else. I know you don't either."

There were a few that's rights and nods.

Jim stood, pushing his frail body from his favorite chair. "I'm still with you Dom. I think most of these folks are, too."

"Don't let the TV fool you, people," Magnus said, his voice naturally booming. "Compliance and ignorance is what kills people. I'm with Dom. I'm with this cause and I'm not backing down just because of some fancy words coming from the TV."

Linda's kind, easy presence came to light as she stepped forward. "I for one, am excited to know where all my food comes from and live a Zen, peaceful life. People used to pay big bucks for a vacation like this, and dream of what we're going to do, and we get it for free." The joke was meant to make light of things, and it did. She got a few laughs and the mood of the room shifted.

Eventually everyone agreed they were still going to The Lake. Conversation started about any last minute things left, and it was as though the moment of doubt never happened. Dom was relieved. He'd hate to lose a single person there.

He heard a screen door clatter shut the same moment he realized Chelsea wasn't by his side. As he went to the kitchen, he kept his smile and clapped Magnus on the shoulder. He was a good man and Dom was grateful to have him on the team.

Dom found Chelsea on the back porch. She sat with her knees up to her chest, head resting against them. She ran her fingertips over the leaves of a giant pink hydrangea bush beside her. It was overcast, hot, and humid. Perspiration was already beading on her forehead. He sat next to her but gave her space. Everyone was shocked by the flippant attitude of government officials, including him.

This was worse than before. At least when the parasite first wreaked havoc, everyone was confused. No one knew what to do. Now the government was claiming everything would be okay, that it was under control.

It wasn't. It was far from it.

"You know those shows we used to watch about people living off the land in Alaska?"

The comment seemed to catch her off guard. She managed a small smile and nodded. "We used to talk about how cool it would be to be able to do that. Hunt your own food, live a simple life. Drop all the bullshit."

"That's going to be us. Kind of amazing, right? And I've been torn between being overwhelmed by what we're trying to do and also really excited. I'm scared but I'm hopeful. And that's okay. I think it's going to work out. I know it. There are good people in there ready to make it happen."

Chelsea leaned back, tilting her head up to the sky. Her eyes closed. "When I was a kid, mom would say, 'We're going camping, sweetie!' after dad messed her up and passed out drunk or high. She did it because she knew when he woke up he'd go after me. I didn't realize that at the time. I thought it was something fun we did together. Mom and daughter time.

"She always had the gear packed up in the station wagon underneath a dog blanket. Dad hated dogs and would never touch the thing. No matter what the weather was like, we'd pile in and go. I had so many fond memories of washing our clothes in the river, eating food cold or burned to a crisp from the campfire. We'd make snowman families in the winter. The air was so clean. That was the world I wanted to live in.

"It wasn't until I was a teenager that I knew what was going on. We went camping because we were dirt poor and couldn't afford to stay in a motel. Mom always went hungry because we didn't know how long we'd be camping and she never wanted me to go without."

She didn't talk about her family life often and he never pried. It wasn't his place to whittle away at her bad childhood to satisfy his curiosity. Dom never knew about any of this. All he could do was listen. He didn't know what else to do. He felt hopeless when he heard about her abusive father.

"The reality is that this is going to be hard, Dom. Really fucking hard. Right now you're seeing this how I saw our camping trips, like it's a big adventure. You've got everyone thinking we'll show up and the land will be ready to grow crops in, that it will be magical."

His brain seemed to go numb. Thus far Chelsea had been supportive of the entire thing. He'd hoped she had some smartass yet heartfelt comment about his rallying speech. "Are you saying we shouldn't do this? Is this because of what I said in there? The TV?"

"I'm saying you need to be realistic. You can't go into this thinking it's going to be perfect." Chelsea stood. The back of her thighs were indented and red from sitting on the cement step. "I know I'm being a killjoy. I know this isn't what you or anyone wants to hear. I just knew it would be better to say it now than keep seething about it."

Dom stayed sitting. He averted his gaze to a neat line of ants crossing the path into Jim's garden. "You're right. It will be hard. But I need to be confident right now. Everyone does, even if that means being a little delusional about it."

She sighed. Laughed, this time sad. "I know. Come on, let's get going. You've got a cult to lead."

He finally looked at her and saw the smile she was trying to hold back. She offered her hand, which he took and pulled himself up.

"The Cult of Dom. I like it."

25 – The Infected

Washington State: 54% Infected

Colum thought he and Heather were a good team. The best. They were pretty smart, as far as infected people go, and could follow orders well. Mr. Henderson told them Dr. Baker was very impressed with their performance. They organized many ambushes on hospitals and those evil MAC places. Most of them were a success.

The one in north Seattle was best. From what other infected told him, they almost destroyed an entire platoon. Colum used to be a soldier before he was infected. Well, a soldier a long time ago. He spent quite a few years in prison after serving. No matter; he taught the others about how soldiers sometimes carried grenades in a pouch on their vest. They could do a lot of damage if they got one.

He always liked hurting people. That's why he joined the army, because he thought he might have a chance to do bad things without being punished. Before he turned, he never told anyone about those bad thoughts. He got caught anyway. Something about unnecessary violence. Or maybe for beating that guy’s face in? Who could remember anymore. Now that he was free, he could do whatever he wanted. Some day he hoped to be Mr. Henderson's right-hand man.

Mr. Henderson was great. Colum knew him from before the worm. He'd follow him to his grave.

Colum wasn't sure what Heather did before she had the parasite. She didn't talk much. But when she did, she had great ideas. The one they were working now was an
amazing
idea.

Adam wanted the entire state infected. Having poppers run around on leashes, commanded by rabid infected, wasn't always practical. They killed people just as often as they infected them.

That wouldn't do.

They needed a way to easily infect in a nonviolent way. Colum liked disemboweling and skinning a person alive or letting parasites crawl into their orifices just as much as the next guy, but he was a soldier and Mr. Henderson told him not to do that. His orders were to be stealthy, smart, and get as much done with as little effort as possible.

And he did not disobey direct orders from a superior.

So, there they were, driving in a Public Utility District truck with their hostage tied up in the back. They didn't gag him because they needed him to tell them where to go. He screamed for a while at first, but quickly realized it didn't matter. No one was coming to save him.

"Left up ahead," the man said. His voice was resigned. Hopeless. "Drive to the end of the road."

"Thanks, buddy. You're doing really good," Colum told him. "Just a few more left."

"And you'll let me go?"

"No."

Heather parked the car outside of a green chain link fence. Behind it was a giant water tower. It provided water for the entire suburb which, Colum estimated, had at least five thousand people living in it.

The neighborhood was quiet. Many houses had orange X's spray painted on them and were vacant. Others had signs of life; movement in houses, cars in driveways. This would be a success. They'd done it in three other Bellevue neighborhoods already. Colum expected to see results within days.

Heather got out and retrieved the buckets from the backseat. Two 5 gallon buckets of microscopic parasite eggs, suspended in saline or some other medical-sounding thing. Colum didn't know for sure. But Mr. Henderson told him to move fast because the eggs wouldn't live forever without a host. By long, he meant a few days. That should be enough time.

Colum leaned into the back seat of the truck before exiting. He winked at the PUD guy. "Remember, you cry, you die. Got it?"

He nodded. A few tears seeped from his eyes and down his pudgy cheeks.

The thing was, no one had yet questioned what Colum and Heather were doing. A woman walking her little yapper dog strolled right by them a few towns over. Saw the PUD hats they hijacked from the truck, the overalls, and must've thought they were legit.

The healthies were practically asking for it.

They climbed the water tower, taking each rung of the ladder slowly, and set the buckets on top. Together they broke the lock on the small door and poured the eggs into the water supply. It splashed and made bubbles as it entered. Once they disappeared, the water was clear.

No one would know when they turned on their faucets for a drink of water, or drew a bath or shower, that the eggs were making their way into their bodies.

26 – Mandy Sillvers

The light blinded her so badly she had to pull the trapdoor back down and adjust for what seemed like an eternity. There was a rough inverted image of what she’d seen burned into her retinas that gave way to little neon squiggles floating in the darkness. Her senses felt overloaded. Between the smells and sounds flooding her, she was overwhelmed. Happy and optimistic, but overwhelmed.

One thing was for sure; the world hadn't gone back to normal. She heard the popping of gunfire every few minutes and the occasional scream. Sirens wailed across the neighborhood. Nearby, a car alarm was going off.

Her eyes adjusted and she got control of her heart rate by focusing on her breath. Mandy was ready. She pushed open the trap door and climbed out, assessing everything around her. To her right was the shed, and in front and to her left was a tall wooden fence. She peeked through the slats, looking into her neighbor's yard.

Their sliding glass door was shattered, countless shards glittering in the sunlight. The second story windows were broken, too, and blackness licked up from the windows where a fire once raged. There was no movement inside. It was a ghost house.

Mandy kept the M16 pointed downward as she walked around her shed, dreading what her own house looked like. She was ready for the worst.

The lawn was overgrown and tangled, the summer weather scorching it and turning it brown. All the windows were intact, and the house appeared untouched. The gap between her and the house was less than a hundred feet, but it might as well have been a thousand. If anyone was in the house on either side of her, they'd easily see her running across.

She willed her legs to move. The stationary bike in the bunker kept her cardio up somewhat, but she hadn't been on it a single time once the lights went out. By the time she reached the house she was winded. Her throat was covered in mucus and her lungs burned.

The back door was locked. It was a good sign. Mandy crouched down and pulled up a loose stone from the patio, brushed away some potato bugs, and retrieved the spare key from underneath. It was rusted, and for a moment seemed like it wouldn’t insert. She pushed harder and it gave. She quickly let herself in.

After seeing the back yard, she hoped the house would be untouched inside, too. She was wrong. The kitchen was ransacked. From where she stood, she could see their electronics in the living room were gone too and the beautiful glass-paned china cabinet her grandma gave them was tipped over and broken in pieces. The front doors were off their hinges and the glass was cracked.

And there was a smell. She caught scent of it like when she thought she detected cat pee, but wasn't completely sure. Mandy stood, trying to catch the scent again. It was uniquely sour and pungent. She looked at the fridge; it could be the food rotting inside.

Deep breath
, she thought.
Keep breathing and finish checking the house.

For what, though? Mandy wasn't going back into the bunker, but what was her plan now that she was topside?

She made her way to the stairs, crouched low to avoid detection through the windows. As she approached the living room she saw the front door wide open, and through it their car still in the driveway but with slashed tires and the windshield cracked.

Mandy went upstairs, glad her body still remembered which stairs squeaked so she could avoid them. Though she hadn't heard anything in the house, her gut told her something was wrong.

As she climbed, the sour smell worsened. She tugged her scarf up to ward it off, its fibers tickling her nose. It helped. A little.

There were three rooms upstairs. The master bedroom, a bathroom, and a small room they kept as a craft-storage-office-anything else room. She stared at the bedroom door. There was a yellowish, smeared handprint near the doorknob. A few drops of blood stained the carpet. The smell was coming from there, Mandy had no doubt about it. She knew what the smell meant from the news. People infected with the parasite, in comas most likely.

She held her gun tightly, debating on whether she should check it out or not. The obvious answer was to leave, but this was
her
house. Mandy wanted to stay there until she came up with a better plan. The idea of roaming a city she hadn't been in for 8 months and didn't know the condition of was terrifying.

Mandy walked forward, ears straining as she listened for anything. It wasn't until she was at the door that she heard wheezing. Slow, even wheezing. She turned the doorknob and pushed open the door a crack.

There were two people on the bed: a man and a woman. Their clothes were saturated in yellow sweat. Their chests rose and fell as they breathed deeply. Their eyes were shut. One twitched as Mandy opened the door all the way, but didn't move.

Nausea overtook her as the stench hit her fully. She stumbled back, pressing the scarf to her mouth with her free hand. A primal part of her screamed
get away! Danger!

What was she going to do? Kill them? Mandy had, obviously, never killed anyone before. But she'd seen the TV, she'd read the articles. These people were infected and crazy, and the first thing they'd do when they woke up was try to kill her. Then who knows what they'd do after that. She knew it wouldn't be good, whatever it was.

The decision seemed to make itself. Mandy leaned her gun against the wall and withdrew her folding knife. She then thought better of it; she didn't want infected blood on something she'd be using frequently. Instead she went to the closet, not raided, and retrieved a box from behind a laundry basket. It had old items of her grandfathers, including a straight razor.

Mandy brought it back to the infected, running the blade across each of their throats in rapid succession. Red bloomed from the cuts, pooling around their heads like a disturbed halo. Their eyes flashed open in the last moments, as red as the blood seeping from their wounds.

Then Mandy turned, ran out of the room, and made it to the bathroom just in time to vomit into the sink. She gripped the counter edge, clear liquid dribbling from her lips. The woman in the mirror was hollow and afraid. Mandy straightened and wiped her mouth. She clenched her jaw and forced herself to calm down.

One day at a time.

In the bunker, she decided to survive. That was exactly what she planned to do.