The Withered Series (Book 1): Wither (5 page)

“We
can’t stay here.  The gangs are on the move, trying to
expand their territory.  My orders were to secure the quadrant
near the hospital and return to base.  It’s only a matter
of time before this area is lost.”

I
drop my legs over the side and tuck the blanket around me.  The
dark blue fabric of the futon is faded and tatty, the stuffing
beginning to migrate toward the floor as I shift.  “What
about your team, squadron, or whatever you call it?  Don’t
you have others like you that you’re supposed to be with? Some
commanding officer to report to?”

I
get the distinct feeling that he has no desire to speak of such
things as he begins to collect his gear.  I consider pressing
him, almost eager to do so as payback for him getting an eyeful of me
while I was passed out, but I let it go.  

Pursing
my lips, I push up from the futon and rise unsteadily.  I almost
think that I’ve managed to pull it off until I topple backward,
my head slamming into the cushion.  Cable is by my side before I
am able to recover.  

“I
can do it myself,” I growl and shove off his hand.  “I
don’t need you.”

He
backs away but doesn’t go far.  This annoys me.  “What’s
with you, anyways?  You one of those guys with some stupid hero
complex?  Is that why you joined the military?”

I
glimpse a hint of a smile but it fades just as fast as it appears and
I realize that this guy is tough, but not as tough as he wants me to
believe.

“I’m
from the south, where people still have manners.”

“And
you’re implying that I don’t?”  

He
shrugs.  “A thank you for saving your life would be the
normal response.”

“I
said thank you.”  At least I’m pretty sure I did at
some point.

“Did
you?” The corners of his mouth twitch.  “It must
have gotten lost in all of that self-righteous independence crap
you’ve been spewing since you woke.”

My
mouth hangs open in disbelief.  Is this guy for real?  Now
he’s going to lecture me on being a feminist?  I start to
whip out a comeback but he turns his back on me and heads for the
door.  “Where are you going?”

He
pauses at the door to don a jacket.  I spy the name
Blackwell
stitched into his chest and wonder if it’s his name or if he
grabbed the coat from another soldier.  Reaching into his pocket
he draws out a pistol.

“Hey!
 That’s my gun!”

“Not
until you learn to use it.”  He chambers a round and tucks
the gun into his waistband.  “I’m going for supplies
and to see if any of my men made it out.  Stay here and stay
down.  If you’re quiet they won't know you’re here.
 If you get into any trouble, just barricade the door and wait
for me to get back. I won’t be longer than an hour or two.”

He
grabs a gas mask from the table beside him and pulls it down over his
head.  He places the hood over his head and slips into gloves,
concealing nearly every inch of bare skin. It’s not the cold
that he hides from, but from the invisible killer he thinks is out
there.  

When
he opens the door, I consider asking exactly who
they
are,
but I don’t.  I consider lying back down to rest while he
is gone, hoping that he will bring water to still the unease in my
stomach, but I don’t.  I even consider barricading the
door like he said and hiding in the corner until he returns, but I
don’t.

I
don’t do anything that I should.  

Later...I
will regret that decision.

I
grew up in a sleepy town in northern Kentucky, not too far from the
Illinois border.  One stop-light.  One mom and pop grocery
store that still had small glass jars of candy near the register.
 Old tree-lined streets with a tire swing dangling in nearly
every backyard.  White picket fences straight out of the Leave
It To Beaver era.  Everyone knew my name.  I could trust
people back then.

I
miss that place.  Especially right now.

Looking
out from behind the black trash bag covering the grimy window of
Cable’s fourth floor hide out, all I hear is chaos in the
night.  I can almost smell the fear and smoke fumes filtering in
through the glass and try to prepare myself to enter a world where
people have run amok.  I guess in a way I don’t blame
them, not after what Cable told me.

I
never wanted to come to St. Louis.  Of course, I never wanted my
Dad to bail on us either, but as my mom used to say, “shit
happens to the best and worst of us.”   My older
brother Connor made out better than I did.  Not long after we
moved here he took off to be a groupie for some stupid rock band
touring the east coast and I haven’t seen him since.  He
never even knew about mom’s accident.  Never wasted a
single minute at her bedside.

Bastard!

With
a pained grunt, I force myself to focus as I slip on a navy blue
hoodie I scavenged from the bottom of the closet.  It smells of
stale man sweat.  I pinch my nose and second guess myself for
the twentieth time since I stumbled off the futon.  Is it really
safer out there on the streets than in here? Cable did save my life.
 That’s gotta count for something, right?

I
shake my head and wince at the throbbing in my neck.  It coils
down into my shoulder and makes my fingers tingle.  I’ve
always done best on my own.
 
I’m
not about to start needing people now.

Discovering
a pair of jeans on the floor, I slip them on.  They are loose at
the waist, tight around my hips and nearly three inches too long.  I
sink onto the bed to roll large cuffs then pad across the hall to the
bathroom.

After
relieving my swollen bladder, I lean against the sink.  Judging
by the ring of yellow staining the porcelain bowl and the thick
coating of lime scale residue on the faucet, this apartment
definitely used to belong to a single guy.  A very disgusting
guy.  

I
glance at my reflection in the mirror.  The skin around my right
eye is puffy and angry looking, the bruising dark and extensive.  I
have several small bandages patching my chin and cheek, hiding some
of my freckles.  Dark ginger hair lies in tangles about my face,
the fringe around my forehead still matted from fever sweats.  My
lower lip is a deep shade of purple and split down the middle.  My
hazel eyes are lifeless, dull.  Dried blood trails the curve of
my cheek.  I knew I looked bad but I had no idea it was
this
bad!

“Maybe
I’ll look roughed up enough that no one will want to mess with
me when I leave.”
 
Wishful
thinking, but it’s all I’ve got.  

After
digging through the contents of the medicine cabinet and down a
couple pain pills then stuff the bottle in my pocket. I grab some
stomach pills for good measure then turn away from my image and limp
back across the living room, feeling a sense of urgency to escape
before Cable returns.  He would try to stop me.  I can’t
let that happen.  Gun or no gun, I’m not waiting around.

I
feel out of place in a strange man’s clothes as I grab a
plastic bag to stuff my jeans in.  My sweater is still too damp
to defend against the frigid night air.  My red Chucks bear a
hint of moisture but they will have to do.  Even with Cable’s
scrubbing, blood still stains the white soles.

I
pass by a stack of plates piled haphazardly with molding food on a
small two-seater table and chair setup in front of a lifeless TV.
 Stacks of credit card bills teeter on the edge, unopened and
long forgotten.  I tread as lightly as possible on the wooden
floor as I press my ear to the front door.  The peeling paint
scratches my cheek as I listen for sounds.  I hear nothing
beyond my own labored breathing.

Brushing
my hair back out of my eyes, I take a deep breath and draw the hood
up over my head.  “You can do this.  Hit the stairs
and don't look back.  Don't slow down.  Just move.”

I
glance back at the gas mask lying on the floor. Indecision hits me.
 What if Cable is right to be cautious? What if I can get sick
just by breathing?

My
pulse dances in my throat as I make my decision and turn away from
the mask. I unbolt the lock and grasp the knob, slowly opening the
door to peer out. The hinges squeak loudly.  A gust of frosty
wind seizes me from the right and I realize the window at the end of
the hall is blown out.  

Gathering
my courage, I release the door and hobble for the stairs.  The
door slams behind me with enough force to vibrate the bannister
beneath my palm.  I wind down a stairwell that has an
overwhelming stench of mold and body odor.  It seems to leach
from the walls.

In
the flickering of light entering through the window before me, I
notice that the wallpaper to my left is yellowed and peeling.  At
one time it appears to have been a pale pink but it’s hard to
tell under the water stains that trail from the walls above.  The
floor is old wood, knotted and gouged over the years.

“And
I thought my place was rough,” I mutter under my breath as I
pause on the bottom floor, breathing hard. I stifle a cry and duck
low as a car alarm bursts to life. Headlights spill through the
windows then disappear again, leaving me in near darkness.

Leaning
forward, I wipe the window with my sleeve and peer out.  Flames
pour through a shop down the street.  Maybe at one time it was a
small pharmacy or liquor store.  The fire rises high into the
night, flickering against towering brick and wood sided buildings.
 In the light I spy four men jumping and shouting, glass bottles
illuminated in their hands.

I’m
trapped.

Despite
the cold flowing under the wide crack at the bottom of the door, a
bead of sweat trails down my brow.  My head feels weightless as
I pause to focus on my breathing.  It won't do me any good to
step out there if I’m just going to pass out
.
 

I
glance to my right and spy several cars weaving down the streets.
 There is debris in their way, making the path treacherous in
the dark.  The men celebrating down the road turn to inspect the
new arrivals.

Shouts
are quickly followed by gunfire.  I watch in horror as a man
slams his elbow into the rear window and drags a woman out by her
hair, kicking and screaming. Seizing my chance, I decide to make a
run for it, ignoring the shrieks of fear.  The instant I open
the front door I am assailed by the scent of garbage left out to rot.
 Cat urine is nearly as potent.  I press my sleeve to my
mouth and take a shallow breath as I keep to the shadows and move
away from the fight, wishing that I could plug my ears against the
screams and laughter.

My
hoodie catches on the brick as I weave around overturned garbage bins
and discarded bicycles.  Suitcases spill from forgotten
vehicles, their engines dead and cold.  Car doors stand open
like empty tombs as I pass.  Apartment windows remain dark,
blinds pulled and curtains drawn.  I wonder if anyone has
remained in this part of the town.

Gunfire
up ahead makes me eat pavement.  It chews at the skin of my
palms and knees but I choke down my cry.  That was close.

At
the ping of bullets hitting metal and brick, I belly crawl toward an
abandoned car.  Crouching in the space of an opened passenger
side door, I peek into the back seat to make sure nothing is going to
leap out at me.  A vacant child’s car seat sits behind the
driver’s seat.  Its pink material is splattered with
flaking blood.  I shiver and draw my gaze away, checking under
the car to be sure I’m safe.

Screams
spill  out into the night, shrill and filled with terror. A
man’s bellow cuts off suddenly.  An eerie silence follows.
I clutch the seat belt for support, feeling the fibers dig into my
bloody palms as I frantically look all around.  Which direction
did that come from?

The
narrow streets and tall buildings make it nearly impossible to
determine the location of the screams.  A loud explosion comes
at me like a rolling echo and rumbles in my chest as a fireball rises
into the sky from two or three blocks away.

I
trip over my laces as I get to my feet, using the car to steady me.
 Staggering back toward the edge of the building, I slip down
the darkened alley.  The sound of my shoes slapping the ground
is covered by more gunfire.  This time it sounds closer.

Headlights
pass by, zipping erratically.  A crunch of metal is followed by
a steady honk of the horn.  They will hear the sound.  They
will come.

I
know who
they
are
now.  Cable tried to warn me about the rioters but I didn’t
listen.  He said they were in another part of town, over by the
hospital.  That’s at least ten miles to the west by my
best guess.  Have they moved into this area so quickly? Has the
entire city already been lost?

I
look around to get my bearings.  I’m not overly familiar
with this part of the city.  I lived further west, towards the
outskirts of town.  I used to take the Metro each morning to see
my mother and return long after dark.  That was before the
Moaners arrived.  

Reaching
the end of the alley, I hug the wall and peer around.  This
street is not as well lit and that scares me.  Shadows mean
plenty of hiding places for things lurking in the dark.

As
I step forward, glass crunches beneath my sneakers.  I look up
to see that the streetlight overhead has been knocked out.  My
hands seek purchase on the building for support as I gulp in air.
 Darkness encroaches along the edge of my vision.

“Don’t
pass out.  Don’t pass out.”
 
I
chant to myself for a minute until the dizziness passes.  I
clutch my stomach with my free hand and double over, desperate not to
be sick. Grabbing the stomach meds, I fight with the plastic cap then
toss back a couple of pills without looking at the dosage.  I
hold my breath and count.  After a minute I feel better and
rise.