Page 19

NINETEEN

CIPHER

“We have to try and limit the casualties,” I told the other Assholes when we arrived back at the compound. “They’re Rabid, yes, but the medical staff will want to try and rehabilitate them like they did with me.”

We stood crowded around the dining room table, our makeshift command center, with the map Kitten had drawn of the base laid out before us. I had my baton in one hand, pointing out the entry and exit points to the StarChem base. “We’re going to attempt to corral as many of them as we can here.” I pointed to the shooting range, the last remaining stronghold and the only location where the fences were still fortified. At least they had been when we’d last seen them. Anything might have happened in our absence. “Then we’ll have to clear out the buildings, one by one, until we reach the medical wing. Artemis, you’ve got the best aim, so you’ll have the tranq darts. Teresa, how many do we have?”

“Thirteen,” she said.

Thirteen wasn’t nearly enough, but we’d have to make the most of it.

“Make every one of them count. Keep a few on hand for close encounters. Macon, you’re good with the bat. Try and tag as many as you can without knocking their brains out.”

“I’ll try but it’s delicate work,” Macon said, looking doubtful.

“I’ll have my crowbar. Kitten, you take my Glock.”

“You said we should try not to kill anyone,” he argued.

“Aim for the knees, but if you have to, take them out. Our lives are more important than theirs right now. Our main objective is securing the base and liberating the medical workers. None of that will happen if we’re dead.” Kitten still looked uncertain about it, and I didn’t blame him one bit. It was one thing to kill a stranger, a whole other to kill someone you’ve shared a meal or living quarters with. Half-formed flashes of my own time being Rabid came to me then. I’d been out of my mind and out of control, but I’d still been human, hadn’t I? “You can stay in the Humvee if you want,” I said to Kitten. “You know these people. There’s no shame in not wanting to hurt them.”

“No, I’m not leaving you alone. I’ll do what needs to be done.” He nodded as if trying to psych himself up for the battle ahead.

I wanted him by my side anyway. God only knew what we were going to encounter in there, and the two of us made an excellent team. I went around the table assigning weapons and individual strategies. We made a plan for retreat in case we needed to. We’d be bringing both our automatic rifles. I really didn’t want it to turn into a bloodbath, but if shit went sideways, I was putting my family first.

We geared up, each of us wearing homemade armor to protect our limbs from bites–shin guards, PVC pipes, and helmets with plastic face shields that Gizmo and Wylie had fashioned a while ago for this very purpose. I’d been counting on a battle with Rabids (or raiders) ever since we’d arrived here in Assburbia, but I’d always thought it’d be here on our own turf and we’d be on the defense, not the offense.

“Here, boss, these should help,” Gizmo said to me as we were loading up. He handed over two baton-looking instruments with forked ends.

“What are they?”

“Cattle prods.”

“Fuck yes, Gizmo, this is brilliant,” I said and he only nodded with a grin. “Everyone ready?” I asked as we crowded into our armored vehicle. One of us had to stay behind to care for the animals–the nanny still needed milking twice a day. I wasn’t too crazy about leaving Selena there alone, but we needed as much manpower as possible if we were going to secure the base.

Nine affirmative responses came back in nods, grunts, and “yes, boss.” Nine people willing to risk their lives on a mission to save the remaining survivors on base, trusting me to lead the way.

I didn’t believe in God or religion, but I prayed for the universe to keep us safe.

We arrived at the western entrance of StarChem an hour or so later, finding it much the same as we had earlier that day, only this time James, the friendly Rabid, was nowhere in sight. I’d spent the ride laying out our game plan, spending time with Santiago in particular since the first phase of our operation involved corralling the Rabids from open air into a secure, fenced-in area.

“Kind of like how you might herd cattle,” I said, turning to Macon, since he had more experience with that sort of thing.

“Gotta scare ‘em,” Macon said. “Get a few of them moving in the right direction and the rest will follow.”

“I’m going up to the roof.” I had one of the cattle prods with me, along with my other weapons and my radio. “I’ll be giving you instructions via radio. Keep the windows closed.”

“I’m coming with you,” Kitten said, already scrambling out the passenger-side window, his cattle prod tucked under one arm. I didn’t think the Rabids could reach us up there on the roof, but then they’d surprised me before. Kitten had my Glock with plenty of replacement mags just in case. I wasn’t making that mistake again.

The sun was shadowed by clouds, but the Rabids didn’t seem to be all that affected by the light, which meant this was a new variant. These Rabids would be even more of a menace if they got loose. I braced myself against the metal cage mounted to the top of the Humvee and aimed the flare gun at the sky, firing off a shot to get their attention. The orange light flickered against the clouds, the movement catching a few of the Rabids’ attention as several others stopped shuffling around to look up at the sky.

“Rev the engine,” I said to Santi via radio and the Humvee’s powerful engine came to life. Attracted to the sound, they turned and set their sightless eyes on us. “Rush up on them now but don’t get too close.”

Santi did as instructed, prompting the Rabids into action, guiding them toward the shooting range. Thankfully, there were no weapons stored inside there. Those were in the armory.

“Keep it steady now,” I said to Santi as he dodged debris and dead bodies.

“They’re moving,” Santi said.

“If we can stay on the outer perimeter–” I started to say, but a loud thud cut me off as one of the Rabids managed to latch onto the ladder at the back of the Humvee. Fingers clawed at the metal, teeth snapping in mindless hunger.

“We’ve got a climber,” I said to Kitten in case he hadn’t heard the scuffle. He was ready with the cattle prod and jabbed the weapon downward, electricity crackling as it made contact with the Rabid’s shoulder. The Rabid convulsed and tumbled off, but it wasn’t long before he was right back on his feet, groaning in frustration and ambling our way.

“Keep an eye on that one,” I told Kitten.

“Yes, boss.”

“What do we do with the strays?” Santi asked regarding the Rabids on the fringes who weren’t following the others.

“We’ll circle back for ‘em,” I said.

We took a few more turns about the yard, using the cattle prod to prompt the stragglers into action. I hoped none of them remembered this and that the holes in their memory were at least as big as mine. Once all who we could see were contained, I hopped off the roof, and with the help of Gizmo and Wylie, secured the gate with chains and locks. The Rabids who’d been hiding now approached us, their hunger outweighing their caution. Macon and Kitten disabled them with the cattle prod to the spine, then jumped on their backs to hogtie their wrists and ankles with zip-ties. We left them wriggling like worms in the yard, still trying to inch their way toward us with little success.

“And that’s how you round up Rabids,” Macon said and gave Kitten a high-five. “What’s the next move, boss?”

I turned my attention toward the series of warehouses, all interconnected enclosed spaces with doors and closets and countless hiding spots where several more Rabids were likely hiding, or feeding, or both.

“Santiago, you stay with the Humvee. You’re our escape plan if we need it. Rafi, you guard the fields, disable any latecomers like we did these ones,” I handed him one of the cattle prods and a bundle of zip ties. “The rest of us are going to secure the command center, barracks, and mess hall in that order. I’m sure there’ll be several live Rabids inside, some of them hiding. We have to be prepared for anything.”

We adjusted our armor and checked our weapons, then I led the remaining squad to the command center, hoping there were some uninfected soldiers left to recruit, but the security wing appeared empty. Chairs were overturned, papers scattered like confetti on the blood-streaked floor. The monitors flickered erratically, displaying static or fragmented surveillance of the Rabids still wandering around inside the base, hunting. Their opaque eyes reflected ghostlike in the grainy video, their faces grimy with dirt and blood. I surveyed the videos and made an estimate. “Thirty or so live ones.” I turned toward Gizmo and Wylie. “You two stay here and be our eyes and ears. We’re going to need as much intel as possible as we go into the compound.”

“Roger that, boss,” Wyile said and took up a pair of headphones, passing another over to Gizmo. That left six of us to secure the compound–Kitten, Teresa, Artemis, Macon, Ansel, and myself. All of us were good fighters, even Ansel. He’d been training with Teresa, throwing knives and axes in the back forty, and from what I’d seen, he was pretty accurate.

“Barracks next,” I told them as we moved out in formation with myself in front and Macon bringing up the rear, similar to how we used to travel Rabid Country, all of us with our weapons raised and at the ready. The barracks were where it all began, according to Godara, so I knew it wasn’t going to be pretty. Still, I wasn’t prepared for the pile of corpses that nearly blocked the entryway to the barracks, their bodies picked over and hideously intertwined.

“Don’t look at that,” I said to Kitten, who was pale as a sheet with a look of horror on his face. “We’ll figure out who they are later. Macon, confirm they’re all dead,” I said before moving us along.

The linoleum floors were slick with blood and the tracks suggested that the wounded had attempted to get away, only to be overtaken. Papers, clothing, and personal belongings were strewn about. In one corner of the room, bunks and mattresses had been overturned as if to form a blockade. One of the closets looked as if it’d been blown up with a grenade. The smell of rotting bodies was so bad that even the shield of our helmets couldn’t mask it.

Inside the adjoining washroom, was another disturbing scene. A soldier, having been bitten several times, had taken his own life, his service pistol lying beside him. “I knew him,” Kitten said softly at my side. “He was good at Spades. Hated vegetables but ate them anyway.”

“Try not to think about it right now. We’ll mourn them all properly later, I promise.”

If we survived.

Just then I heard a thump, swiveled around to spot one of the military-issued metal trunks jump. “There’s a live one,” I said to my crew, bringing their attention to it. We approached the trunk slowly, all of us crowding around with our weapons raised as I unlatched the front of it and lifted the lid.

The person inside was bloody, curled up in a small ball, trembling and clearly traumatized, but she didn’t appear to be Rabid.

“Audrey?” Kitten said and immediately offered his hand. I kept my eyes trained on the woman to make sure she wasn’t going to lunge at him and bite.

“Joshua?” she asked, blinking her eyes open.

“Yes, it’s me. Are you okay?”

She let out a small cry and took his hand, slowly emerging from the trunk. “How long have you been in there?” Kitten asked.

“I don’t know. Days? I’m sorry I’m a mess.”

“Here,” Macon said and handed her his canteen of water. “Drink slowly.”

She raised the water canteen to her lips and gingerly took a few sips, another test because if she were Rabid, she’d have refused the liquid, something Godara had taught me.

“Take this.” I handed her the cattle prod since she was presently unarmed. “Do you want to come with us or stay here?”

She glanced down at the trunk, then took in our surroundings with a blank look on her face. I hoped she wasn’t going into shock. “I’ll come with you,” she said at last.

Our next stop was the mess hall, destroyed as well, with tables overturned and trays scattered across the floor. Dead bodies were everywhere, hard to distinguish their identities because the flesh of their corpses had been ripped from the bone. These people had suffered, and spent their last few moments of life in agony. It wasn’t right.

There were a few live Rabids in the kitchen who sprang out, but we were ready for them. We played chicken with them, using the tables as obstacles until we could get them isolated. Then Audrey hit them with the cattle prod and Macon tackled them to the ground, a solid maneuver. A couple of the Rabids didn’t have any reaction to the prod, so we had to use tranquilizing darts, but we had to be stingy with those. We were down to seven darts by the time we reached the administrative offices.

“This is where it gets real,” I told them. “We’re in close quarters now, and they’re going to attack. It’s us or them,” I said, looking at Kitten pointedly. “Got it?”

“Yes, boss,” he said, gripping the Glock tighter. He hadn’t had to use it, yet.

“We’re going to need to split up,” I told them. “Teresa and Audrey stay here and disable any escapees. Kitten and I will take the right side of the hallway. Artemis and Macon, you take the left. Stay within shouting distance.”

We all proceeded along the hallway, calling out “clear” after every empty office we encountered, checking in with Gizmo and Wylie at the command center for any intel they could offer. I shut the doors behind us, so no unaccounted-for Rabids would wander in. The fluorescent lights flickered, casting uneasy shadows, and at times plunging us into darkness. We reached an office I recognized as Captain Crenshaw’s. The reception area was dead silent, except for the wet sounds of a Rabid feeding, too faint for Kitten to hear.

If the Captain was being fed on, I really didn’t want Kitten to see it–that’s the sort of shit you never unsee–but as I slowly rounded the corner, I discovered she was not the victim but the perpetrator, hunched over behind the desk with her powerful back and shoulders to me, feasting on the face of a subordinate. I took a few steps back to where Kitten was still waiting on high alert.

“We’ve got a live one,” I told him.

“Captain Crenshaw?” he asked tentatively.

I nodded. “Guard the door and watch my six.” I’d need him to act as scout while I dealt with this. I didn’t have the cattle prod anymore as I’d given it to Audrey, but I did have a taser, so I pulled it out, still with my baton in the other hand. I rounded the desk silently, intending to tase her from behind, but sensing my presence, she sprang from the body and squared off, head tilted as if sizing me up. Her uniform was wrinkled and stained. One sleeve was torn, exposing where she must have been bitten, the flesh already showing signs of advanced infection. Dried blood crusted her fingertips and bloody spit dripped from her slack jaw onto the cheap, musty carpet. Her prosthesis was still functioning. It probably helped that the disease gave its host superhuman strength

I rounded the desk, putting the solid block of furniture between us, thinking I could potentially knock her out with my baton, hopefully without causing any long-term damage. She rounded the other side, knocking over the coffee pot in the corner of the room as well as the table where it was sitting. I waited until she was within reach, pulled back the baton to tap the back of her skull, but as the baton was arching toward her, she grabbed hold of it, ripped it out of my hands and threw it against the wall.

Her movements were so fast that I couldn’t keep up. Suddenly I was flat on my back on top of the desk with her distorted face looming above me, her hands like talons on my forearms, holding me down. She had me pinned, milky eyes wide with excitement as she locked on to me, her next meal. Her lips peeled back, teeth stained with blood as she opened her mouth wide. I thrashed about on the desk but it was useless–she was too strong. A string of drool dangled from her chin, swaying as she leaned in for the kill.

I had no idea where Kitten was, but before I could call out to him, a gunshot rang out and Crenshaw crumpled on top of me, howling like the devil himself. I grabbed her by both arms and body-slammed her onto the ground. Kitten was immediately in action, rolling her over and twisting her arms behind her back to tie her wrists, even as she screamed bloody murder.

“Where’d you hit her?” I asked as I turned her onto her back so we could check the damage.

“Her knee, like you said. She should survive it. She’s going to be pissed at me though.”

“Yeah, she is,” I said as relief and gratitude rushed through me. “Lucky she likes you.”

“Maybe not anymore.”

He ripped off his shirt, his signature move, and began tearing it into pieces, probably to act as a tourniquet to stem the bleeding from her leg. Even as he worked, Crenshaw jerked and wriggled in an attempt to bite him, so I retrieved my baton and held it against her neck with both hands. The look she gave me was absolutely murderous. When Kitten was finished, we both stood to assess the situation.

“We’d better move fast if we want her to live,” Kitten said.

“Roger that.” I got my bearings and checked in with my body. Healthy and whole. The endorphins from surviving a Rabid attack were better than any drug. “We’re going to make it,” I said, believing it myself for the first time.

He glanced up at me and said with complete confidence. “Of course we are. You’re in charge.”