The Night Sweeper: A Zombie Conspiracy Novel (The Sweeper Chronicles Book 1) (17 page)

I look into the eyes of the beast, their color a sick amber, massive fangs bared and dripping with saliva. It roars at me and the sound is deafening from so close. I’ve grabbed onto the branch with both hands now, and try inching my way farther out in a desperate attempt to put more space between us.

The creature crouches and I know any second he’ll pounce, when I hear two rapid thunks. The animal snarls and bucks, thrown off balance, and falls to the ground far below, two long spears sticking out of its muscular hide. The other four below instantly attack the creature, their teeth and muzzles flashing red in the moonlight as they tear it to shreds.

Looking up, I see Ilana standing at the edge of the railing, a third spear held in her hand. I pull myself up, and quickly climb up to the hut, collapsing onto the floor as she slams the trapdoor shut behind me.

“Are you alright?” she says.

“Yes,” I answer through my gasps for air. “Thank you.”

A bright smile lights up her face. “Nothing I wouldn’t do for myself.”

After making sure the bleeding is stopped on my leg, I move around the small hut and marvel at the way Ilana lives. In one corner is a cot, probably moved from the dome, and there are a couple of pieces of small, fragile looking furniture that have been constructed. Thankfully, she keeps this place well stocked with weapons, for which I owe her my life.

The creatures below feasted on their pack mate until nothing remained but grotesque bones, then moved on. I guess once they got their meal, they no longer felt the need to pursue us anymore. Or maybe they just knew from experience they can’t get into this place.

Ilana moves to a little fireplace near the outer wall and lights some kindling, blowing gently on the flames until they catch up, casting dancing shadows on the walls and bathing us in warmth. I know the jungle is sweltering, but I feel cold all the same. I think of Cray, and the worry threatens to strangle me. I feel completely helpless.

“We’ll find him.” Ilana’s voice breaks the silence gently. I can only hope she’s right. Johnson wants that location from Cray, and I am sure he’ll do anything he needs to in order to get it.

“You’re very brave,” I say, trying to distract myself from the awful turn my thoughts have taken. She shrugs off my comment, and we sit in the small chairs facing the fire.

“I don’t think of it that way,” she says. “I simply do what I must to survive. That’s how it’s always been here.” She looks at me, then back to the flames. “And I know if it was me, and someone had taken the one I love, I would fight to get him back.”

I start a little at the accusation. “I wouldn’t call it love,” I say, surprised by my own defensiveness.

“And why not?” she says.

“We hardly know each other – have only known each other for less than a week. I don’t think love happens that fast.” Does it? Can it?

“Maybe, but I see the way you look at each other. It might not be love yet, but I imagine it wouldn’t be too far off.”

I look away from her back to the glowing embers in the fire, and think about what she said. It’s true, I feel different about Cray than anyone else I’ve ever known. He’s fascinating to me, strong, smart beyond reason, but above all, he radiates goodness and selflessness.

“So what were those things down there,” I say after a minute. She chuckles, and I don’t doubt that she sees my dodging of the subject plainly for what it is. Thankfully, she doesn’t push it.

“Hybrids. Some of Damian’s experiments. I don’t really know what all he put into them, but we always called them pups.

“Pups? You're kidding.” I think of the hellish creatures we escaped from tonight, and the irony of the nickname. “When you say we, you mean you and the others that lived here?”

“Yes. They’re just one of the many reasons the jungle’s not safe, especially at night.”

“Damian,” I say, echoing the name. “He meant something to you, didn’t he?”

I watch her as she considers this, and I think I catch a glimpse of a tear forming.

“There was a time,” she says, “when I thought he was someone else, something better than what he really was.”

“What happened?”

Her voice turns bitter, “I found out the truth.”

“You know, you’re not very forthcoming?” I say after a moment.

No response.

“How did you know we were alike in our physical abilities?” I ask her.

“I suspected it since I first met you. Just a hunch, but it seemed to me if we were both clones, we both would have had the same attributes.”

“Why all of this, Ilana? What was he trying to accomplish?”

She shakes her head. “I wish I knew.”

“He didn't tell you?”

“No. Our relationship was brief and based off of a lie.”

She's only succeeding in giving me more questions, but I resist the urge to push her. Maybe, if given a little freedom, she'll open up.

“I know you want answers,” she says, mirroring my thoughts. “But the truth is, I just don't have them. If not for a freak accident, I never would have even known him. Even so, I still probably never did.”

Her calm demeanor belies the heavy emotions underneath the surface. I can tell they're there, maybe only because she has the same kind of look I would have if I was trying to hide something. We talk for a while, but she doesn't reveal anything else. Whatever happened here, she's locked it away and doesn't want to dredge it up, much like Eckert.

It doesn't take long for my concern for Cray to overwhelm me, and I rise in frustration, walk through an entryway, and stand against the railing looking out over the forest below. Above, a full moon looms majestically on the horizon. Now that the pups have gone, the arboreal orchestra has returned. Insects chitter, and birds flutter here and there as the tropical wind rustles through the trees. Other sounds fill the jungle floor. Some I recognize, but most are foreign to me.

Johnson won't kill him, I tell myself. He needs him. But that doesn't mean he won't hurt him, and I feel sick at the thought of what could be happening to him even now.

I don't hear her approach, but suddenly, Ilana is standing beside me. In silhouette against the night, she seems regal, a warrior, a survivor.

“He'll be okay,” she says.

I want to believe her. I really do.

She reaches out and places an arm around my waist, surprising me.

“We'll start at the airfield,” she says. “It's the most logical place. Johnson will have to go back there to leave the island, so that's where we'll go too. One way or the other, he'll eventually end up there.”

I say what I'm dreading. “What if they're already there? What if he leaves tonight?”

“I don't think he will. The runway isn't lighted, and I doubt he'll have enough moon and starlight to navigate it safely. No. I think he'll wait.”

I hope so, but there's too much left to chance, and it fills me with fear.

“You need to rest,” she says. “We'll start at first light, but we'll have to move fast to cover the distance.”

I open my mouth to protest, but she stops me.

“Mira, there's nothing else we can do tonight.”

I want to scream, but instead, to distract myself, I ask the other question that has been burning on my mind ever since learning the truth. “Do you know where…
who
we came from?”

She smiles sadly and shakes her head. “No. I never found out. He never told me.”

Of course it was too much to hope for, but I had so wanted an answer.

“I wonder if we’re much like her. If she was like us. If she
is
like us."

“I ask myself the same questions every day,” she says.

Cray

So, I’m really not happy about how much of a beating I’ve been taking lately. My whole body hurts, and from the way it looks, things are about to get a lot worse. Then again, I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.

I sit in a metal chair in the former air control room of what used to be the compound on the shore of the island, my hands tied behind me. Outside, the runway of the airfield stretches into the distance, the morning sun causing shimmers on the asphalt. Avery Johnson is standing in front of me rolling up his sleeves. He reminds me of a kid on Christmas morning. He looks like he’s really going to enjoy this. I guess I’m going to have to do my best to make sure he doesn’t. I do have a plan, but for the moment, I need to keep him distracted.

Up to this point, that hasn’t been very hard. In fact, he’s been distracting himself, going on and on about how he really had wanted to trust me and how I double crossed him. What a whiner. You’d think a double agent would have more self-respect. I almost tell him so, but I’m not quite ready to enrage him even more yet. My feet have been tied together, but Johnson made a critical error in not tying them to the chair as well.

I decide on a different approach for now. I need to make some pretty obvious movements, so they’re going to have to be covered so to speak. I mentally groan at what needs to be done, but I’m no foreigner to pain, and hopefully it won’t last long.

“Let me ask you something,” I say suddenly, interrupting his dissertation on why he really wishes I would have seen the logic in helping him. “If you wanted Jonathan Harbin, why did you send the sniper? Kind of counterproductive don’t you think?”

He sneers at me, standing there with his hands in his pockets now. “You really have no idea, do you? I told you before, lots of different groups were after what Jonathan was working on.”

I push him a little harder. “You know, I think I would prefer it if you would be just a little more cryptic. If you worked at it, I’m sure you could actually make less sense than you already do.”

There we go. I can tell he’s ready by the little twitch in his left eye, and I brace myself. He walks forward and lands a hard blow to my left cheek. The pain explodes like I’ve been hit by a sledgehammer, the sharp strike knocking my head to the side, but also providing the perfect distraction I need to yank my right foot hard, trying to dislodge it from the tight laced boots I’m wearing. Unfortunately, they don’t give enough, and my foot remains stuck inside.

“You know exactly what I mean,” he snarls. “A new virus, a cure, either way it doesn’t matter. They can both be used for leverage. Whoever controls it, controls the entire world. Secrets have a way of getting uncovered. I’m sure my employers weren’t the only ones to get access to such vital intelligence. Apparently, someone had the idea to terminate Mr. Harbin. It was my men that took out the sniper and bought you idiots some time.”

That’s a surprise, but I file it away for later. Right now, I need to keep my concentration focused.

“Yeah, about that,” I say, opening and closing my mouth to try and relieve the pain, ignoring the blood threatening to gag me, “the guys you sent after us were top notch,” I say sarcastically. “It actually took me more than half a minute to get rid of them. Come to think of it, I’ve had Festers show better tactical ability. Did you train them yourself?”

Johnson actually laughs at that, and steps back a few paces. “Listen, Vamp, enough with the small talk. You can think or say whatever you want about me, but I’m going to get the information out of you that I want. The question is just how bad and how long it’s going to hurt before you tell me. Do you want to go ahead and save yourself the trouble?”

I’m going to enjoy knocking that gloating look off of his face. “I’m not going to tell you a blasted thing, so you might as well get started. In fact, I’m hoping maybe you’ll break a finger or two on my face in the process.” I manage to smile and give him a condescending wink.

He walks forward slowly, fist balled. “Since you’re so enthusiastic, I’ll show you just how well I can throw a punch, but you have my word, your face is only the beginning.”

I brace myself, gritting my teeth. “Sounds like fun,” I say deadpan.

In the split second he pulls his arm back, I allow my senses to speed up until he seems to be moving in slow motion. The blow comes fast and hard, but to my awareness, I have plenty of time to react, throwing my head back at just the right instant. His hook misses my nose by a fraction of an inch, and he grunts from the near miss. At the same instant, I hold down the toe of my right boot with my left foot and pull with all of the strength I can, feeling a satisfying freedom as my foot slips out of the boot and restraint.

Johnson screams in anger and throws a backhand catching me right above my right eyebrow before I have a chance to dodge again. He must have been holding back the first time because this blow is unreal, and I struggle to remain conscious through the haze. Dancing flickers of light fill my vision, which slowly and painfully comes back to normal as Johnson stands over me menacingly. He pulls out a knife that gleams in the light of the control room. The edge is razor sharp, and Johnson looks like a hungry hunter about to gut a deer, but he doesn’t seem to have noticed my feet.

“Now,” he says brandishing the knife, “what are those coordinates?”

He inches forward and the positioning is suddenly perfect. “First star to the right, and straight on until morning,” I say.

Before he can react, I shoot both of my feet up and outward, catching the inside of each of his knees. The bones and ligaments give sickeningly, and cave in backwards while Johnson screams in agony, dropping to the floor. Before he can move, I kick outward with my left foot, the steel toed boot connecting with his forearm, bending it at an awkward angle, and sending the knife skittering across the floor.

I push myself up, my hands still tied to the chair in the back. Stepping over him, I pin his left arm with my right foot and allow all of my weight to drop into the chair, restraining his chest and abdomen, my left foot pressed against his throat. He gurgles as I press down, and I’m seriously considering snapping his neck, when an unexpected sound catches my attention.

I look out the small window and see a large, steel-gray transport plane approaching. When I look back at Johnson, he manages a grimacing smile, and it suddenly hits me why. He’s called in backup, and they’re right on top of me.

I kick down hard and Johnson’s face goes limp as his neck snaps under my boot. I stand awkwardly and begin making my way towards the knife now lying near a bank of old computers, when the door to the small building crashes open and I spin, ready for an attack.

To my surprise, Mira and Ilana stand in the doorway and take in the scene in front of them.

Mira dashes across the room and pulls me into an excruciating hug. “I was so scared! Are you okay? We came to rescue you.”

She releases me, and I glance at Johnson’s lifeless body and smirk. “Thanks.”

“Oh shut up. I’m sure you noticed the incoming,” she says nodding to the window as Ilana steps behind me and slashes the bonds holding my hands. “I’m pretty sure that’s not a friendly.”

“It’s Johnson’s. Looks like a transport,” I say, angling for a better look at the aircraft through the window. It’s basic military grade, no recognizable markings. I’ll bet a thousand bucks there’re plenty of soldiers on that thing.

Mira crouches over Johnson’s bent, lifeless form, digs in his clothing for a moment, and produces two .45 caliber pistols. Tossing one to me, she says, “Any ideas?” I quickly check the clip and slam the magazine back into the gun.

“
I
may have one,” Ilana says.